Diners, Dives & Dead Ends

by Terri L. Austin

  “Where did you get all this stuff?”

  “Sometimes it’s better not to ask.”

  “You didn’t steal these, did you?”

  She looked at me with wide blue eyes. “That would be wrong.”

  She was right. I didn’t want to know.

  We took turns in the bathroom getting ready. I looked like a dork with the black sweats and white tennis shoes.

  She frowned at my feet. “Don’t you have any black shoes?”

  “Everything was destroyed, remember?”

  “Maybe we can rub dirt on them.”

  “I am not rubbing dirt on them.”

  “Fine, okay, whatever.”

  Ma arrived just before nine dressed in polyester black pants and an orange Halloween sweatshirt covered with bats. Basically, what she wore every day.

  Ma held up two Ziploc bags. “I made chocolate chip cookies and more Chex mix.” She shook the bags and her bootie at the same time.

  We headed off to Eric’s early. I guess I was the only one who was nervous. In fact, I was shivering, despite having the heater cranked as high as it would go. Ma and Roxy seemed to be free from the case of nerves that gripped me, as they talked about the zombie game they played at Eric’s place. I tuned them out as I drove and mentally ran through the plan one more time.

  Eric and Steve were waiting for us with a pile of computer bags by the front door. We each grabbed a bag and headed out to Steve’s Explorer. I helped Ma into the front seat and slipped into the back, wedged in between Eric and Roxy.

  As Eric gave Steve directions, Ma passed out cookies, and I put my head between my knees so I wouldn’t pass out.

  Eric bent down and whispered in my ear. “You’re doing this for Axton. If I were in trouble, I’d want you in my corner.”

  “Thanks,” I whispered back.

  Steve made a sharp turn and I lurched against Roxy.

  “Sorry,” Steve said. “Now, where do I turn once I get off the highway?”

  “Take a left,” Eric said.

  We pulled onto the side of the road and into a shallow ditch next to the woods that surrounded Sullivan’s house. Or what I hoped was his house. Eric jumped out of the car and stepped around to the back. With Roxy’s help he began unloading equipment.

  Steve and Eric opened up their laptops and plugged in their wireless drives. Roxy and I stood next to the car, while Ma sat in the passenger seat with the window rolled down.

  The night was cold and I could see my breath as I danced from one foot to the other, my pulse racing so fast I thought I might faint. “Okay, are we even sure this is the right house?”

  “Rose, shut up and stop hopping around. You’re starting to make me nervous,” Roxy snapped.

  Steve pulled out the headsets. Eric helped Roxy while Steve handed me the wire so I could feed it down the back of my sweatshirt, then he plugged it into the receiver. He duct-taped the receiver to my lower back.

  “I’ll be here if you need anything, okay?” he whispered in my ear.

  “Okay, but I feel ridiculous.” I stepped away from Steve and tugged on the hem of my sweatshirt.

  Eric squeezed my arm. “Hopefully, Axton is in there.” He slipped a black backpack over my shoulders. There might be evidence I needed to take out of the house.

  I tucked Sparky, my pepper spray, and a small flashlight into the utility belt, and adjusted the headset. Taking a deep breath, I looked at Roxy. “I’m ready.”

  “Follow me,” she said.

  We’d seen the path that led to the house on the aerial map. We would have to climb a small wooded hill before reaching the house.

  The night was clear. Stars seemed brighter out in the country. The harvest moon hung low in the sky and I took a deep breath, getting a smoky whiff of someone’s fireplace.

  Old dead leaves crunched under our feet. It seemed unnaturally loud. I fleetingly thought about ticks and snakes and poison ivy and squelched the urge to run back to the car.

  Although the moon was bright, very little light penetrated the thick forest of trees. I tried to keep my eyes on Roxy, but found myself tripping over branches and roots jutting out of the ground.

  Roxy didn’t seem to have that problem. She navigated the terrain like an expert on one of those wilderness shows. If she started drinking her own urine, I was out of there.

  Finally we reached the edge of the clearing. Crouching behind a tree to assess our next move, we faced the house, which stood about two hundred feet from the woods. Large and traditional in style, it was comprised of wood shingles and smooth stones. The windows on this side of the house were dark.

  Despite the cold night air, sweat trickled down my back. Getting through the woods was the easy part. Now we had to get into the house.

  “Okay,” Roxy whispered, “we’re going to make a run for it.” She pointed at the side corner leading to the back. “Ready?”

  “No—”

  She took off and I scrambled after her as fast as I could. My left side cramped. I made a silent vow to start exercising and tried to control my need to gasp for air.

  Roxy must have triggered the motion-activated security lights on the side of the house because they flashed on brighter than the sun. I froze. My gaze met Roxy’s and since no one came storming outside with weapons raised, I ran the rest of the way.

  Roxy peeked around to the back yard. She reached in her utility belt and pulled out a little pick and an Allen wrench. “Here we go.”

  We edged around the corner and across the lawn to the back door. There were no interior lights on, and as I scanned the back of the house, I didn’t notice any cameras either. Not to say they weren’t there, just that I didn’t see any.

  Roxy, tools in hand, bent down and examined the doorknob.

  “You might see if it’s unlocked.” I twisted the handle and the door opened.

  “Damn it, Rose, I was really looking forward to that.”

  She stood and pushed the door open farther, and we walked into the kitchen. From what I could see in the dark, it had granite countertops and stainless steel appliances. No dishes, no towels, no clutter.

  We stood still by the kitchen door and listened. I heard a television from another room, probably the living room, down the hall.

  “I’ll take the upstairs and you take down,” she whispered.

  I grabbed her elbow. “That was not the plan. Splitting up was not the plan. Every time they split up in a movie, someone gets hacked to pieces,” I whispered.

  She shook her elbow free. “Calm down. We’ll meet back here in five minutes.”

  “I don’t have a watch,” I mouthed silently. I stood in the kitchen and fought the overwhelming need to get the hell out of the house. I gave myself a little pep talk. Get it together, Rose. You are already here and you can do this. You have to do this. For Axton.

  I pulled the mini pink flashlight out of my utility belt and crept out of the kitchen, hugging the walls as I went. Outside the kitchen door was a hallway hub. One dark hall led to the left, one to the right, and the short hallway in the middle led to the foyer. I craned my head and looked into a darkened dining room to my left. Empty. The stairs took up one side of the foyer. The room on the other side of the foyer next to the staircase, was obviously the living room. It was brightly lit and whoever was in there watched a Seinfeld repeat. I tried to imagine Sullivan sitting on the sofa, watching Seinfeld. Nope, couldn’t quite picture it.

  I took the hall to the left. I flashed my light over the bare walls. The first door I came to, on the right side of the hallway, was closed. I opened it and swung my penlight over the furniture. A pool table sat in the middle of the room with a small bar to one side, barstools in front of it, and a jukebox on the other side of the room. No Axton. I moved on. The only other room in the hallway was a set of double doors directly in front of me.

  My heart began to pound. I wasn’t positive until I turned one of the knobs, but then I knew. Sullivan’s library. The books, the fireplace, the massive de
sk, it was all familiar. I’d picked the right house. Yay for me.

  I shut the door and dabbed at the sweat on my brow. The laptop was gone. I went behind the desk and tried the drawers. They were locked. Damn, where was Roxy and her mad skills when I needed them?

  I hastily looked around for anything else that might be of use to me, but found nothing. Feeling defeated, I opened the door a crack and peeked out before slipping back into the hallway.

  I retraced my steps and made my way down the hall to the right of the kitchen. Only one door in this hallway. Easing it open, I darted in, closing it quietly behind me.

  Chapter 30

  Sullivan’s bedroom smelled like him: oranges, sandalwood, and hot male. I took a deep breath, inhaling his fragrance, and hoped it was lingering cologne not a lingering Sullivan.

  But his California King was neatly made and took up most of this part of the room. Small bedside tables sat on either side of the enormous carved headboard. I wondered what he looked like, lying there at night. Did he wear pajamas or go commando?

  Opposite the bed was a stone fireplace, a replica of the fireplace in the library, but instead of windows flanking it, there were bookcases. A sofa and coffee table sat in front of it.

  To the left of the bed was a door. I opened it and shined my flashlight around, which reflected on a mirror, and I got a quick view of myself. I looked startled. I gazed around, taking in the largest, most opulent marble-covered bathroom I’d ever seen. The Jacuzzi bathtub was big enough for two. Without letting my mind wander down that road, I stepped further into the bathroom and opened the door next to the large steam shower.

  It led to a walk-in closet. Row after row of suits, shirts, slacks, coats — divided by length and color — and shoes stretched out before me. My mother would kill for this room.

  Built-in wood cabinets stood along one side, filled with shallow drawers on the top half, deeper drawers on the bottom. I pulled each drawer out, one by one. Time for payback. I was rifling through his shit for a change. One drawer held rolled ties in little cubby holes. Others contained watches, socks, underwear. Sullivan was a boxer-brief man.

  None of the clothes belonged to a woman. That didn’t mean anything, of course, and it wasn’t why I was there, but still, duly noted.

  I shut the drawers and the cabinet and walked out of the closet, through the bathroom, back into the bedroom.

  In the sitting area I ran my penlight over the fireplace and bookcases. A few books and knickknacks decorated the shelves. I stepped closer, shining the light over the titles, when I noticed a small space between the hearth and the left bookcase. At first I tried pushing the back of the shelf and wound up knocking a stack of books onto the floor.

  “Damn,” I muttered, then stopped to listen. My clumsiness went unnoticed, thank God. I picked up the books and put them back.

  Well, pushing the shelves didn’t do anything. I took a hold of a shelf and pulled. When the bookcase opened outward, I landed on my butt. Hard. Mentally cursing, I picked myself up and crept into the secret room. It was approximately the same size as the walk-in closet

  As I looked around, my pulse began to race, but this time out of excitement, not fear. Turns out the large library where I met with Sullivan was a fake. This room, this windowless, hidden room, was the real study.

  A small desk stood front and center. No books, no tchotchkes, no smooth clean surface. This desktop held neat stacks of papers and folders. Which I quickly began leafing through.

  They contained mostly spreadsheets and cost projections — thank you, accounting class. I searched the drawers, starting with the shallow center one and found an old photo. A boy who looked very much like a young Sullivan with a boy-band haircut stood next to a smiling woman with gold eyes. His mom? I ran my finger over the picture. Next to it was an old school ladies Timex, the kind you have to wind. The black imitation leather band was creased and the watch had stopped at eleven forty-seven. These were the only personal items I found in the house. I pulled the drawer out further. There were USB drives. Four of them. I snatched them and stuck them in my utility belt.

  The second drawer held three files neatly stacked. I flipped through them. They were labeled Packard Graystone, Axton Graystone, and Rosalyn Strickland. Without taking the time to read them, I shrugged the backpack off my shoulders and stuck the files inside.

  I looked in the lowest drawers, which contained hanging file folders. I quickly sorted through them, pulling out files of the most notable people in Huntingford, including Councilman Beaumont and Martin Mathers, the Chief of Police. I shoved those into the backpack as well, zipped it up, and slung it back on my shoulders before stepping out of the study.

  Click. I jumped at the sound, my hand flying to my throat. I froze, waiting for more but it was only the heater kicking on. Warm air blew over my head. Crap on a cracker, now I suddenly needed to pee. With shaky hands I opened the door and eased back into the hallway. I paused to listen, but all I heard was the laugh track from the television.

  I had no idea how long I had been searching the downstairs. It felt like hours. Roxy should be waiting for me by now.

  I snuck back to the kitchen, the backpack weighing on me as if filled with rocks. Every sound magnified. The clink of the USB drives in my belt, the squeak of my left shoe on the tile. I sucked at this. Roxy wasn’t there. I opened the basement door and listened, but it was dark and I didn’t hear anything.

  Panic crept up and the sweat and the heat made me lightheaded. I quickly ran down my options. Go upstairs and keep searching for Axton or stay in the kitchen and wait for a henchman to pop in for a snack. I spoke into the mike on my headset. “I’m in the kitchen and Roxy isn’t here. I’m going upstairs now.”

  I crept back out into the foyer. The television blared from the living room, but I didn’t dare peek into the room to see who, if anyone, was there.

  Keeping as close to the wall as I could, I tiptoed up the stairs. Once I reached the top, I looked back down to reassure myself no one followed. With my gaze still on the bottom step, I walked forward and ran into Roxy. Literally. We knocked our heads so hard it made an audible thud.

  She gasped. “Shit, Rose, that hurt.”

  “You were supposed to meet me downstairs,” I whispered.

  “I’ve already checked this side of the house.” She jerked her thumb over her shoulder.

  We crept down the other hall, me in front, Roxy right behind. Muffled voices sounded from a room up ahead. I stopped dead and Roxy slammed into me.

  “What the hell?” she mouthed.

  “Voices,” I mouthed back. “Could be Ax.”

  “Might be Henry.”

  The door was ten feet away. I couldn’t make out words, but it sounded like two men. Henry? Axton? Henry torturing Axton? I’d already come this far. I motioned with my head, and as quietly as I could manage, I walked toward the voices.

  I turned off my flashlight and tucked it back into my belt, then pulled out my Sparky. I looked at Roxy and nodded.

  Stepping closer to the door I held up my index finger. One. I held up my second finger. Two. When I held up my ring finger I twisted the door handle and burst into the room.

  Axton and the bald henchman sat on the edge of the bed with their backs to us. They faced a TV and held controllers in their hands.

  All this time I’d been worried about Axton, and here he sat, playing video games.

  Irritation, relief, and joy flowed through me as I walked forward and zapped the bald guy in the back of the neck. He gave a little grunt and slumped forward, but I caught him by the collar of his jacket before he fell off the bed.

  Roxy shut the door and walked into the room behind me.

  Axton, surprise on his face, looked over at the bald man, then up at me.

  “Rose,” he cried.

  “Shhh,” I said.

  “Rose,” he whispered. The controller was still in his hand as he threw his arms around me.

  “We’re getting you out of here.
” I turned to Roxy. “We need to tie this guy up and gag him.”

  She nodded and pulled a rope out of her tool belt.

  “You guys are like covert warrior women and stuff,” Axton said.

  I put my fingers to my lips in the universal shushing motion. “Axton, help me get this guy to the floor.”

  “His name’s Ron,” he said.

  Together we got Ron down on the ground and flipped him over on his stomach. Roxy trussed him up with her rope while I looked around for a gag. The queen bed was the only piece of furniture in the room, so I used one of the pillowcases. Roxy took another rope and secured the pillowcase in his mouth, tying it tightly behind his head.

  “Let’s see if he’ll fit in the closet,” she said.

  “Good idea. Axton, help me with his legs.”

  Ron blinked up at us, dazed, as Roxy grabbed under his arms and pulled. Axton and I each took a leg, and pushed, scooting him on his butt into the empty closet.

  After we tucked Ron away, I scrutinized Axton. He looked a little shaggier than normal, but otherwise fine.

  “Are you all right? They didn’t hurt you, did they?”

  “I’m okay.”

  I smiled at him and he smiled back.

  “Enough with the love fest, can we get out of here already?” Roxy asked.

  “Okay, right. Do you have your pepper spray?”

  She dug it out of a pocket on her belt and held it up.

  “I’ll go first, since I have the stun gun. Axton, you go second, and Roxy will be behind you.”

  “Be quiet and stay close to the wall,” Roxy told him.

  Slowly, quietly, we made our way out the bedroom and down the hall. I peered around the corner at the top of the stairs. We were in the clear, so I motioned with one hand for Roxy and Axton to follow me.

  I sidestepped my way down the stairs, my back so tight against the banister, I might be bruised for life. We were halfway down when a man stepped out of the living room and blocked our clean exit. It was the guy who sat next to me in the car when Henry kidnapped me, the one with cold eyes who slipped the blindfold on me.