Twisted: A Tracy Turner Murder Mystery Novel (The Tracy Turner Mystery Series Book 1)

by Keyla Hunter

  “What about your dad?”

  “You mean Doug? What about him? He was good for nothing. A damn fool. He was an embarrassment to me and an embarrassment to himself. Do you know he can’t even read?”

  “You sent him messages.”

  “That’s just to mess with him. He’s a great pretender. He’d been fooling the Henderson’s for years. The man’s a complete loony tune.”

  “But he loves you…”

  He sniffed and turned his face away.

  “Doug knew that you killed Frank. He tried to protect you.”

  “He was meddling. He tried to get the letter back from Katherine. I told him that I would take care of it. The fool almost got us caught.”

  “So Doug knew everything, yet he tried to help you?”

  “He didn’t do anything for me. Everything I had, I’ve earned. I take care of myself, always have. He pretended to be my dad, but I knew, I always knew.”

  “You knew that Frank was your father, but you still killed him?”

  “He had no respect. He laughed at me on the golf course that morning. All I asked was for his help.”

  “You needed money?”

  He nodded. “But he said that I would amount to nothing. He said that I was not his son. I heard them talking to Doug at the bar, so he knew. Oh yes, he knew. He said… he said I was a good for nothing b-bastard.” His eyes flashed at the memory.

  “That would have hurt,” I said. “You looked up to him. I saw the pictures in your drawer. You loved him. You knew for years”

  “I watched him, the way he walked, how he talked, his strokes. I was his.” Mike’s voice cracked. “I wanted to be just like him. B-but he… he wouldn’t give me the time of day.” His head drooped down and he sniffed. He raised his head with a jerk, nostrils flared and his glazed eyes narrowed to slits. “He said I would never amount to anything. I showed him didn’t I?” His face cracked into a twisted smile.

  “I went to his room to scare him and show him who I was, what I could do. Burns was after me. I needed the help. He knew I was in trouble, but he didn’t care. I asked him. I pleaded.”

  I rolled my eyes and snorted. “He had no money. He was in it as deep as you were, maybe worse. He couldn’t help you even if he wanted to. He was probably too proud to admit it.”

  He took a step back and stared at me.

  “Th-that’s not true. You are lying. He had that money in his room.” He nodded at the briefcase. “He was counting it when I went into the room. He lied that he had no money.”

  “He was right. It wasn’t his. That was what he owed Burns. He was a gambler, just like you, and he was in trouble, just like you. Like father, like son, I guess.”

  “Shut your dirty mouth.”

  I felt cold steel against my temple. Though my clothes were damp the room was hot and stuffy. Sweat poured down my face and tickled my underarms.

  “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean…”

  “Too late,” he barked

  He cocked the gun.

  I turned my head, but there was no getting away. The weapon followed my movement. A whimper escaped my lips. I felt hot and cold at the same time. Pulling at my bonds, the bed rattled in response. He snarled down at me. “Say goodbye, Tracy.”

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  The gun was plastered against my temple. I felt the sweat rippling down from my hairline onto my face. I shut my eyes and had to think fast. Why did I agitate him? I really needed to learn to keep my mouth shut. Think, I told myself. This is no time for regret. Reason with him. “There is no rationalizing with a mad man. Make your peace, Tracy,” said the voice. Get out of my head.

  Think, I commanded. He has not pulled the trigger yet. I have come this far, and I can’t give up now. Help is on the way. It’s a matter of time now. I have to get over this moment, but how? In the middle of a forest, my arms immobile with only my legs free, and a gun so close to my head, I was going nowhere. My only hope was to somehow talk Mike out of pulling that trigger.

  What about his mother? He had a photo of her on his table. He obviously cared about her. I could remind him about her and how she wouldn’t have wanted this from him. But would it work? What if she was an even stronger emotional trigger? What if her memory made him so angry that he took it as his cue to finish me off?

  What else could I use? I worked through the clues that I had picked up about him over the last couple of days. I sifted the options and permutations, but nothing really felt right.

  He had said that I was his contingency plan. I could play on that. What if I told him that his best option was for us to keep moving rather than being trapped inside the house?

  I could say that my phone’s GPS coordinates were being tracked and that his best chance of getting away was to keep moving. I could play on his ego, that he knew the surroundings better than anyone else. Once we were outside I would give him the slip and I would double back here.

  I heard him pull out something from his pocket. A drop of whiskey sloshed down on me. I opened an eye and peered up. He was drinking out of a bottle now. There was no other way. Getting drunker by the minute, his impatience grew. That could also mean that he would get sloppier with the gun or trigger happy. His injury would also make him slower. It would give me the chance to get away, at least it would buy me some time.

  Millie had told me about a cellar beneath the house. Edward had built it in during the war as a safe haven to be used in case of an emergency, but it was never used for its purpose. It was the coolest place in the house and during warm nights the family would sleep down there. Did Mike know of it? Probably not. If he did, we would be down there.

  Millie had said that it was directly beneath the house. I racked my brains trying to remember exactly what she had said about it. As I remembered, there was a trapdoor and a stairway that led down to it. It was at the entrance in front of the front door under a rug.

  I glanced over to the door and it was ajar. Mike was so cocky that no one would find us that he had left the door wide open. There was a faded runner at the entrance as Millie had said there was.

  It was a hard call, but I had to do something to save my life. I didn't want to die in this cabin. If I played my hand right, this would work. I hoped that I was about to do the right thing. If not, the next few words would be the last that I would ever utter.

  “You’re right,” I said with deliberate anguish in my voice. “I was completely wrong.”

  “Damn straight.” His crooked smile told me that he enjoyed my subservience. I was on the right track.

  “You can use me as your bargaining chip, but for that I have to stay alive.” I looked at him with a doe like gaze.

  “You’re trying to trick me.” The gun was still at my head and his hands trembled.

  “Look, they know we are here. My phone, they are tracking my phone. See it’s in my pocket.” I moved my hip and shifted my eyes toward it.

  With the gun still at my head he reached into my bulging pocket, took it out, and flicked it on.

  “It’s dead. Water damage, there’s no signal, you’re lying.” His voice was high-pitched.

  I bit my lip.

  “They can track it anyway. Besides, yours is still working.” I stared at his pocket, careful to keep my head still.

  “What are you saying?”

  “You’re… we’re sitting ducks.” Closing my eyes, I swallowed. My heart thumped as his agitation escalated.

  “They are tailing me using this?” He dug his phone out of his pocket and flung it across the room.

  “And they are coming… did you hear that?” I exhaled slowly through my mouth, willing myself to keep calm.

  “Hear what?” His hands shook violently.

  I held by breath. “The sound of a helicopter.”

  “No… you are lying.”

  “I’m not. Listen…” Thankfully the rain had passed and the helicopters were in the air again.

  “Don’t play with me,” he said as he tightened his grip on the gu
n.

  “I’m not. I swear. Shh… Listen.” I heard the hum of a helicopter that sounded like it was hovering just above the tree tops.

  He heard it too and began to pace around the room. Placing the gun in his pocket, he ran his fingers through his hair over and over again.

  “It told you. I have no reason to lie.”

  He gulped.

  “They will figure out you are here. Millie talks about this place all the time. Brett will bring the police. Your best hope is out there.”

  “No… No…”

  “You know it better than them. You found me so easily.”

  “Uh-huh. Uh-huh. I do.” His head was going back and forth like it was on a spring. A second helicopter swooped over. This time the sound was louder.

  “You are better off out there than in here. The helicopters can’t find you under tree cover. With your injury, you will need a head start.”

  His brow furrowed, and he continued to pace.

  “They’ll surround this place.”

  “So you want me to go and leave you here? Think again, you’re going with me.”

  “Yes, take me with you. They can’t get you as long as I’m with you.”

  He nodded profusely now. Despite his drunken state, he seemed open to my logic.

  “You know this place,” I repeated like a soothing mantra. “You grew up here. You come here all the time. This is your backyard. You know that.”

  “They will never find me out there.”

  “The longer we stay here, the easier we are to find.”

  “They are coming.” He ran to the window and peered out. “We must get out of here.”

  “You’re right, we must.”

  He went across to the table and poured the contents of the bottle into his hip flask. His hands trembled. There was more of the liquid on the table than inside. He tucked his flask and gun back into the back of his jeans, rubbing his palms on his legs. He picked up the knife from the counter top.

  I felt my eyes widening as he approached, and he sensed my fear like a rabid dog who had smelled blood. He knelt down over me, and with a light hand traced the knife along my jawline.

  “You are gorgeous, especially when you look at me like that.”

  There was no difference between the look of fear and lust. Both were wild, raw emotions marked by the same widening of the pupils. Oh Lord, I had given him the wrong signal. He worked his knife down into the crevice between my shirt. The knife was so close I swore he could hear the mad beating of my heart. I knew that he was preying on my fear. That was what he got off on.

  “They are coming. We can do this later. We have time.” I wondered where the words were coming from.

  He snapped out of his lecherous reverie.

  Looking up at my face, he pressed his slobbering lips on my gaping mouth. Saliva gathered in my mouth. I wanted to spit it out but that would have meant more trouble. I shut my eyes and gulped. I had not seen that side of him before. His drunken stupor seemed to have made him forget his fear of germs.

  He moved his arms over the closest wrist and cut the cord. Then he moved up and across my body and cut the cords on the other side. He took his time about it. His gun gleamed and dangled out of his pocket and over my face. Could my free hand snatch it? Even if I could, what would I do with it? He had a knife. He could kill me in an instant. It was not the time to change track. I had a plan and I was sticking to it.

  The sound of the choppers overhead spurred him to get on with it. It had been a long and difficult day, but I thanked God for the good weather and the festivities in the town center that day.

  He pulled me off the bed. I tried to muster my strength, but my body felt like pudding and refused to cooperate. He hoisted me up and I was on my feet for a moment. The ankle that had tangled with the root refused to hold me up. I crumpled to the ground and felt the dry, wooden floorboards against my calf as he dragged me along toward the door.

  “Get up. You are slowing me down.”

  “I’m tired. I’ll try.”

  He stared down at my weak form trembling on the ground.

  “I need to tie your wrists. Where’s that rope?” He walked to one of the cabinets in the kitchenette.

  This was it. This was my moment. I pulled myself up and dashed outside. My ankle complained, but I didn’t listen. My heart thumped but I ignored it. Adrenaline numbed the pain and carried me out of the house before Mike realized what had happened.

  “Hey,” he yelled and fired. A shot whizzed past my ear and he shouted again and cursed.

  I zigzagged my way through the clearing and toward the trees. The footsteps behind me were getting closer now, and I heard a muffled groan followed by the sound of a falling tree come from his direction. Looking over my shoulder, Mike lay spread-eagle on the forest floor. I continued to run in a wide circle with the goal of running back into the house.

  He was down for a few moments because I soon heard him calling out in a sing-song voice “Oh, Tracy, give it up.” He fired an occasional warning shot, but I was sure that he no longer had eyes on me.

  He walked out into the clearing, and I paced around the trees, waiting for him to move in. We stood close together. He puffed like an angry buffalo and I was as quiet as a hamster. I picked up a stone from the ground, careful not to rustle the leaves. I threw it away from me and into the tree as far as I could manage. He heard the commotion and followed the sound.

  Once I headed back into the house, I lifted up the rug and threw it aside. It was just as Millie said—a wooden trapdoor beneath. A discolored metal latch held it in place. It had not been opened in years. I bent over and pulled on it, but it didn’t give. I looked up toward the trees, but Mike was not insight.

  I knelt down and tried again, rattling it and pulling with every bit of strength I could muster and after some trying I got lucky. Lifting up the door, I spied the wooden stairway, just as Millie had described.

  How could I get him back into the house? I’d have to make a sound to attract attention to myself. Just then he reemerged into the clearing. I stood at the entrance and he saw him.

  “You damn fool,” he screamed. “Of all the places to go, you decided to go back there?”

  Shutting the front door, I quickly opened the cellar door. My plan was to make him think that I was down there, so I got down on my knees in case he saw me through the window and crawled as fast as I could under the bed which I was tied to just moments ago.

  I lay flat on my belly and raised the edge of the duvet cover and watched. The dust on the floor tickled my belly. About to sneeze, I held my nose and stopped myself just as he flung the door open and yelled my name. He saw the open cellar door, his eye grew wide, and he smiled. Just as I hoped, he limped down the steps into the space underground, still calling my name and yelling random curses.

  In moments I was at the cellar door. I pulled the door up on its hinges and shut it with a bang. I heard him running up the stairs. I pulled on the latch to lock it, but it came out of its nails and into my hand. The door shuddered as he heaved against it. I sat on top of the opening and he began to bang on it. Standing up, I reached across to the old-fashioned wrought iron love seat beside the door and pulled it over the trapdoor. He shot through the door and barely missed my foot.

  A second shot rang through, and I jumped aside. Red velvet, wool, and dust flew up into the air as the bullet pierced through the cushioning. I began to pull every piece of furniture I could carry and placed it over the door, taking a deep breath in and a long breath out.

  I picked up Mike’s phone that was in a corner of the room. Peeping outside through the open window, I saw something or someone moving in the bushes. Ducking my eyes in line with the window frame, I watched uniformed policemen emerge through the trees. Brett was with them.

  I stood on the porch and he ran up to me.

  “Tracy, are you okay?”

  “I’m fine. Really I am.”

  “Thank God. Your foot…”

  “I’m o
kay, Brett.”

  “Is Mike still out there?”

  “Nope, down there. He stopped firing a little while ago.”

  “Firing?”

  “I’m guessing he’s out of bullets.”

  “What? How?”

  “Long story.”

  “Did I say thank you, Tracy?”

  “Yes, Ryan, only a hundred times.”

  “So did you ever find out why me?”

  “Not really, Ryan, but I don’t think you should lose sleep over it.”

  “I’ve been a victim all my life, Tracy. It’s no fun being the scapegoat, you know.”

  “He probably picked you because you were one of the last people who went into the room before Frank was killed. He had access to the live security feeds. He could watch whatever went on at the resort. He used what he could to get away with what he did. But seriously he was not right up here.” I twirled a finger in the air close to my temple. “Don’t take it personally.”

  “What’s with the look? It seems like you feel sorry for him.”

  “It’s not that, Ryan, but these things are not that cut and dry. Even a killer has a story.” I ignored the eye roll. “Tell me, how are you going to celebrate your freedom?”

  “I’m gonna party till it hurts,” he said with a wink. “My phone’s been ringing nonstop since my release. Turns out I’m quite the celebrity.”

  He flipped open a mini tablet and showed it to me. “Check it out.” The headline read: Walters’ Killer Revealed, Socialite Ryan Evans Released.

  “Nice picture, Ryan,” I said, looking at an old photo of Ryan hand in hand with his ex-partner.

  “He called me today, you know.”

  He looked so happy. I didn’t want to remind him of their messy breakup and burst his bubble.

  “And your debts?”

  “How did you know?”

  “It does not matter how I know, I just do.”

  “Millie… Millie told you.” He hung his head down.