Dead in the Water

by Denise Swanson

  Exploring her temporary new home, Skye was impressed at the features. Prior to now, the one and only time she’d been in an RV was when she was ten years old and her brother, Vince, was fourteen. Their parents had rented some sort of shell that was installed in the bed of Jed’s pickup. When the family had tried using this hybrid creation to camp in the Colorado mountains, they’d ended up freezing.

  Skye chuckled. Maintaining a comfortable temperature in her new motor home sure wouldn’t be a problem. They may not need heat, but in addition to a furnace, it had an air-conditioning unit, thirty-two- and fifty-five-inch LED Smart HDTVs with a Blu-Ray DVD player, an electric fireplace, and a master bedroom with a king-size bed and en suite bathroom.

  Then there was the additional bathroom, the stacked washer and dryer, and a full-size refrigerator, which May had stuffed with food. Skye’s mom had also packed the cabinets with tasty treats. Evidently, she didn’t want her soon-to-be-born grandbabies to go hungry.

  Skye’s bags from her shopping trip to Target, Walmart, and JC Penney were lined up neatly on the bed, and she decided to put everything away before she washed up. She hummed as she stowed household goods and toiletries in their proper places, but when she found the sack with Wally’s clothes, tears slid down her cheeks. Would he ever have a chance to wear the jeans and shirts she’d bought him?

  Feeling like the rattling lid on a pot of boiling water, Skye perched on the edge of the mattress and tried to steady her emotions. She couldn’t afford to have a meltdown now. Wally was depending on her to keep a level head and be an asset in finding him rather than a liability. And her babies were depending on her to carry them to term rather than letting stress throw her into premature labor.

  What was it she always told the kids she counseled about handling stressful situations? Something about leaning into the curves life throws at you instead of just falling off the bike. She needed to take her own advice.

  After taking a shower in the surprisingly spacious bathroom, Skye changed into a pair of knit capris and a maternity T-shirt. For the first time in almost twenty-four hours, she felt comfortable. Now if only Wally were here to share it with her.

  Checking her newly purchased Timex, she saw that Carson would still be in the air. There were at least a couple of hours until she could reasonably expect him to arrive in Scumble River. Longer if traffic on I-55 was bad.

  Skye’s stomach growled and she felt a kick. One of the babies was reminding her that it was eight p.m. and she hadn’t had anything since her lunch at Olive Garden. Wondering if Wally was hungry, and feeling guilty, Skye forced herself to eat a serving of the chicken-and-spinach pasta casserole May had somehow found time to whip up.

  With the dishes washed and put away, Skye stood in the open door and gazed across the backyard at what remained of her home. Explaining that it would give Skye and Wally some privacy when they hired a crew to clear out the rubble and rebuild, May had directed the guy to set up the motor coach as far as possible from the destroyed house.

  Through the late twilight, Skye saw, as Wally had predicted, that two of the walls had collapsed and she could now look directly into the kitchen and sunroom. Pieces of their lives were strewn on the floor and across the lawn. She fought the visceral urge to pick through the debris to try to reclaim some of their previous existence.

  Intellectually, she understood that things could be replaced, but emotionally, she wanted the pictures and mementos. She wanted the baby afghan her Grandma Cora had made for her. She wanted her sorority pin and chapter songbook. But most of all, she wanted her husband.

  How had things gone to hell so fast? Slumping against the doorframe, Skye wrapped her arms around her stomach and let her tears flow.

  Several minutes later, she wiped her eyes with the bottom of her shirt and went inside. Her cell phone vibrated and she snatched it from her pants pocket. There was a text from Carson. He’d landed at O’Hare and he would be in Scumble River in an hour.

  As soon as her father-in-law showed up, Skye intended to start searching the country roads around town. Because Wally’s officers would have been on the lookout for him in the tornado-damaged areas, she and Carson would scour the outlying regions.

  Knowing it was going to be another late night, Skye removed the spread and stretched out on the bed to rest until her father-in-law arrived. As she chewed a couple of antacid tablets to relieve the almost constant heartburn caused by her pregnancy hormones, she considered Carson’s question about the Lyons homicide. Was the councilman’s murder connected to Wally’s disappearance? If there was any chance it was, she should try to figure out what Wally might have been investigating when he went missing.

  Skye closed her eyes and tried to visualize the ME’s report. Why hadn’t she printed out a copy? All she could recall was the unusual cause of death and that he had been killed in the period right before the storm to right after it.

  Hmm… When Mrs. Lyons had been demanding that May send someone to look for her husband, she’d mentioned a heart problem. But according to the autopsy, Zeke died from an arterial weakness in his brain.

  Had the killer known about the councilman’s condition and given him a jolt, hoping his heart would give out? Was the location of the marks from the electrical shock a coincidence? Someone would have had to get mighty close to the man to zap him in the middle of his chest.

  The more Skye thought about it, the less she was convinced that Zeke Lyons had been a victim of looters. The whole scenario suggested someone who knew him and whom he trusted. As with so many cases, motive would be the key. Who would want the councilman dead?

  As Skye dozed off, she dreamed of tornadoes and houses falling from the clouds. She was surrounded by Munchkins in the middle of an endless poppy field. Suddenly, flying monkeys were attacking and the Cowardly Lion lay dead at her ruby-slippered feet.

  The sound of pounding woke her and she tried to sit up but couldn’t quite manage the maneuver. Rolling to the edge of the mattress, she scooted her butt over until she could get her legs under her, then awkwardly lumbered to her feet.

  “Are you all right, darlin’?” Carson’s voice was muffled, but his Texas twang was distinctive. “Skye, sugar, I’m getting worried.”

  “Everything is fine,” she called out. “I’ll be right there.”

  Hurrying through the length of the RV, Skye flung open the door. It was beginning to rain again and lightning crackled behind Carson as he pulled her into a hug. Kissing his cheek, she moved back and gestured him inside. He put his suitcase and briefcase near the leather sofa and gazed around the motor home.

  “Not bad.” He nodded toward the couch. “I take it this unfolds?”

  “Got me, Dad.” Skye shrugged. “Since the setup guy claimed we’re able to sleep five in this thing, I would hope so. Or the king bed could get mighty crowded.”

  Her father-in-law was a distinguished-looking, older version of his son, with a trimmer but still muscular build, and more silver streaks in his dark hair. Seeing Wally’s warm, brown eyes and strong jaw on Carson made Skye blink back tears.

  He obviously noticed and grasped her arm. Taking a seat on the sofa, Carson tugged her down beside him. “I have some news. It’s not the best, but in a way it’s good.” He paused, then asked, “Ready?”

  “Definitely,” Skye said, her heat thumping so hard she could barely hear over it.

  Carson took her hands. “Wally is alive and seems to be relatively unharmed.”

  “How do you know that?” Skye barely stopped herself from screaming. “What does that mean?”

  “Two and a half hours ago, I received a phone call,” Carson explained. “It was from Wally’s cell, but another man was on the line.”

  “A doctor?” Skye asked. Fear clogged her throat and she squeaked, “But Quirk said he checked all the hospitals.”

  “Not a doctor.” Carson’s lips thinned. “Wally is being
held for ransom.”

  “But…” Skye started to ask why someone would take a police chief hostage, then realized that whoever had her husband had called his father, not her. Obviously, the kidnapper knew about Wally’s wealthy family.

  As Skye processed the information, Carson remained silent.

  Finally, the realization of what he’d said about the timeline dawned on her and she demanded, “Why did you wait? Why didn’t you call me right away?”

  “I thought this was a conversation better held in person.” Carson frowned when Skye jerked her fingers from his and struggled to her feet.

  “At least I would have known he was alive.” Skye glared at her father-in-law.

  “Sorry, my dear.” Carson’s face reddened. “I forget how tough you are.”

  “Did you notify Sergeant Quirk?” Skye snapped, waving away his apology, still angry at her father-in-law’s actions.

  “No. And we’re not going to tell him. The kidnappers said no police.” Carson ran his fingers through his salt-and-pepper hair. “Truthfully, I doubt the Scumble River PD would be able to do much, considering their current situation.”

  “You are paying the ransom, right?” Skye asked. “Please tell me you don’t buy that ‘we can’t negotiate with criminals’ crap?”

  “Of course not.” Carson rose and put an arm around her. “As soon as I hung up, I contacted Quentin to bring out the money. Once the storm lets up, the company plane will head back to Texas to get him. He’ll be here by tomorrow afternoon. The ransom drop-off is scheduled for midnight, so he has plenty of time to get us the cash. Tuck Tucker, the head of CB International security, and several of his men are accompanying Quentin. They’ll have eyes on the kidnapper when I make the drop.”

  Quentin Boyd was Wally’s first cousin and second in command at CB International—a position Carson had wanted Wally to take. Although Quentin’s father had died when Quentin was a teenager, and Quentin had lived with Wally and his parents, the two men had never been close. But things had been better between them once Carson had accepted that Wally was not taking over the company.

  “Did you speak to Wally?” Skye asked. When Carson nodded, she gripped his shoulder. “How did he sound? Did he say he was okay?”

  “He said he’s fine.” Carson patted her hand. “And to tell you that he loves you.”

  “I know.” Skye’s voice cracked. “He makes sure of that every single day.”

  “He’s a good man.” Carson stared at Skye. “And an even better one with you.”

  “And I’m a better woman with him.” Skye took a deep breath and straightened her spine. “Do you want anything to eat or drink before we hit the road? The bathroom is over there if you need it.”

  “No thanks,” Carson said. “When you fly via private plane, all of that and more is provided.”

  “Right.” Skye briefly recalled the luxurious flight from Illinois to Florida’s port for her honeymoon cruise. “Then let’s get going.”

  “You still want to drive around?” Carson wrinkled his brow. “Now that we know Wally’s been kidnapped, it’s a lot less likely that we’ll find any sign of him. Whoever has him will have hidden his car.”

  “Probably,” Skye agreed. “But are you willing to take the chance that the kidnapper might be stupid, but we didn’t bother to look?”

  “Hell no!” Carson thundered. “Grab your handbag and let’s go.”

  “Ready.” Skye put her purse strap over her shoulder and walked to the door.

  Carson had parked his specially modified SUV next to the car that Skye’s Uncle Wiley had loaned her. Thanks to Jed, the Grand Am had been waiting in the driveway when May drove her home from the police station. The old Pontiac looked like a Hot Wheels toy next to Carson’s humongous vehicle.

  After helping Skye into his Hummer, Carson asked, “Where to?”

  “We can eliminate the areas to the north and east,” Skye said thoughtfully. “Those regions were heavily damaged by the tornadoes and emergency workers would have spotted Wally’s cruiser if he were there.”

  “Which direction is the old Hutton dairy farm?” Carson asked.

  “West. Near the I-55 exit.” Skye felt a flicker of something up her spine. “Why?”

  “That farm is where the kidnappers ordered me to make the ransom drop.” Carson fired up the engine, turned on the windshield wipers, and threw the SUV into reverse. “Maybe they picked that place because it was close to where Wally is being kept.”

  “Oh, my, gosh.” A tiny spark of hope warmed Skye’s heart. “At breakfast, we talked about the school possibly using the Hutton farm for classes. Maybe Wally went there to look it over.”

  “Good thinking.” Carson backed out of the driveway. “Show me the way.”

  Skye gave her father-in-law directions, then held on tight as he pressed down the accelerator and they sped into the stormy darkness. As they drove, she observed that the ginormous Hummer was equipped with giant searchlights and even a heavy-duty grill guard.

  Noticing all the extras, Skye teased, “Where did you get this thing? It looks like it was designed for the zombie apocalypse.”

  “This beauty is an H1 Alpha.” Carson smiled fondly. “This model had a very limited production of one year. The chassis is made of high-strength steel and it has a Duramax diesel engine with a five-speed Allison transmission.” He patted the instrument panel. “It has run-flat tires and a sixteen-inch ground clearance.”

  “Which explains why you had to boost me into the passenger seat,” Skye murmured, still squicked out over his hands on her rear end.

  “Yep. This sweetheart could pret’ near float down the Scumble River.”

  “If the rain keeps up, we might get to test out that capability,” Skye murmured.

  Skye guided Carson south on Kinsman and then west on Maryland. Once they passed Up A Lazy River Motor Court and Great Expectations, the hair salon her brother owned, the scenery became rural.

  There was an occasional house along the way, but they were separated by acres of corn and soybeans. With the crops fully mature, the residents had complete privacy. Exactly the kind of seclusion a kidnapper would prize.

  As they drove past each home, Carson slowed and swept the searchlight around the property. Nothing at any of the houses aroused either Skye’s or her father-in-law’s suspicions. Just before they reached the highway ramp, an old sign advertising the defunct dairy loomed up on their right.

  As Carson swung the Hummer onto the rutted dirt road, Skye looked at the pair of decrepit wooden gates lying on the ground. They were a painful reminder that agriculture’s heyday was long gone. After the huge vehicle bumped down the lane for a quarter of a mile, the buildings came into view.

  The Hummer’s searchlights illuminated the once-white clapboard farmhouse that was situated on the left side of the property. It was separated from the other structures by a neglected yard and a detached garage with a large, gravel parking area in front of the doors. A row of overgrown evergreen bushes completely blocked the front porch, and the grass was so tall, Skye could barely make out the rusted, windmill lawn ornament that spun madly back and forth in the wind that had kicked up again.

  The entrepreneur who had hoped to turn the property into a country music theater had renovated the milking barn and a couple of outbuildings, but most of the structures remained untouched. With the exception of there being no dead body squashed under a steamroller, the place looked exactly as it had the last time Skye had seen it. There was no evidence that anyone had set foot there since the crime scene techs had cleared out nearly two years ago.

  Like an overweight cat, disappointment settled on Skye’s chest, and she saw a matching expression on Carson’s face. The kidnapper may have chosen this spot for the ransom drop, but there was no sign that Wally or anyone else had ever been there.

  Carson tapped Skye’s shoulder and
said, “Where shall we try next?”

  Gathering her resolve, Skye instructed her father-in-law to get back on Maryland, then go south on Rosemary Street. As they drove up and down each rural road to the west and south of town, they continued to examine every driveway, lane, or dirt turnoff.

  Several hours later, they admitted defeat and headed back to the motor coach. Skye fought to keep her eyes open and Carson’s face was gray with fatigue. Exhaustion and frustration hung heavily in the air.

  Neither had spoken for the last thirty minutes, when Skye asked, “Do you think the kidnapper will really free Wally if you give him the money?”

  “If Wally hasn’t seen his face, there’s a good chance he’ll be released.”

  “Do you think that the kidnapper is also Zeke Lyons’s killer?”

  “I think we can’t ignore the possibility.”

  “So we have less than twenty hours to solve that murder.” Skye firmed her jaw. “I’m not going to rely on Wally’s abductor being an honorable criminal and letting him go.”

  Chapter 13

  “Come along, Toto,” she said. “We will go to the Emerald City and ask the Great Oz how to get back to Kansas again.” She closed the door, locked it, and put the key carefully in the pocket of her dress. And so, with Toto trotting along soberly behind her, she started on her journey.

  —Dorothy

  When Skye and Carson got back to the motor home, she helped him turn the sofa into a bed, handed him a stack of linens from the well-supplied closet, said good night, and left him to his own devices. She wasn’t sure if her mom had provided the sheets and pillows or if they’d come with the RV, but she was betting on May. Especially since her own bed was already made up and smelled like her mother’s favorite fabric softener.