Not possible. These were smart people.
Excited conversation from the hall stopped his musing. Sounded like Rosten on the phone, almost shouting.
When he came around the corner and looked through the guest room door, he saw why. The room was chaos. The searcher or searchers hadn’t cared what kind of mess they made. Edie stood in the hall, looking stunned. At least she was smart enough to know she shouldn’t go in the room yet.
“Edie, what were they looking for?”
She shrugged, and shook her head. For the first time, he felt sorry for the woman.
WAIT, oh wait! What if . . . ?
He hurried down the hall to his and Carrie’s bedroom. Neat as always, except for her sweater drawer, which had been emptied on the floor. Was that where Carrie had hidden his little police car? Were they looking only for that car? Otherwise why hadn’t they tossed this entire room like they did Edie’s? And why Edie’s? Were they somehow aware of her current work as a confidential source for DEA?” But how did they know where to look for the car? Only Carrie would have known that.
“Carrie was here,” he shouted to Rosten as he rushed through the rest of the house. Carrie’s purse was on the entry hall table, contents spilled out. Her house key, as he had suspected, was missing.
In the kitchen he found two banana peels on the table with a partly empty glass of water. The splintered car was scattered across the floor, its tiny red-painted roof light lying next to the edge of a counter as the only remaining evidence of its identity. There were dents in the floor. He felt a chill when he saw the iron skillet that had obviously made the dents. Such rage. And Carrie had been here.
Without touching anything or stepping into the mess, he looked for signs of blood, and felt some relief when he didn’t find any. He saw a scrap of what looked like electrician’s tape but didn’t touch that either. Had it been used to secure Carrie’s hands and ankles?
He sat at the kitchen table next to the banana peels. She was right here. He looked at the peelings, and saw a smear of blood on one of them. Oh, dear God! Little Love, what did they do to you? Hit you in the face? Did your lip bleed?
At least they gave you water and something to eat.
She had been in this chair.
Be quiet. Think. What happened here?
He shut his eyes and put his hands on his knees, bumping a knuckle on the curved table skirt. He thought about the time he’d hurriedly stuck his gum on the under side of the family breakfast table when he was only seven or eight. One of his mother’s firm rules had been against chewing gum at the table.
Carrie’s hands were probably tied. Still, if she could manage to peel and eat a banana, that means they were either tied in front, or they freed her hands so she could eat. Is it remotely possible she tried to leave me a message somewhere?
Tentatively, slowly, he got on his knees, bent to look under the table, and, to the astonishment of both Deputy Rosten and Edie, who had just followed him into the room, turned on his back and slid beneath it. “Flashlight!” he said. “Quick. Drawer below the phone.”
When the flashlight was handed to him he studied the wobbly scratches. They didn’t look like anything that had been caused by manufacturing or moving.
He said, “Looks like a number 2, a plus sign, and then letters. Probably W O M A, a space, then what looks like C and maybe an A or an R.”
“Let me see.” It was Deputy Rosten. Both she and Edie, in turn, slid under the table to study the marks, then sat at the table with him.
Edie said, “I think you’re right on the two and the letters, but what made those marks? That’s hardly from a fingernail. How could she make marks like that? If she was tied up in some way, how did she do it?”
“Is she wearing a large ring?” Rosten asked.
“Simple wedding ring,” Henry said. “No stones in it, and I never gave her an engagement ring. She does have other rings, but rarely wears them. I’m fairly sure she had only her wedding ring on today.”
“I don’t think a simple wedding ring could have done that,” Rosten said.
They were silent for a minute before she continued. “If she was tied, and I believe we all assume she was, they must have fastened her arms in front rather than more painfully in back. And she had enough free movement, I assume, to eat one or two bananas. So, she sat here for some time, and could have moved her hands and wrists under the table without being observed.
“Oh, wait! Suppose they used metal handcuffs. Those have fairly definite edges. Metal handcuffs could have made the marks.”
“You’re right, that is possible.” Henry went to get a cooking spoon out of the drawer. Holding his wrists together to simulate handcuff confinement, and keeping away from the original marks, he tried making scratches with the spoon. Then he got down to look under the table again.
“The spoon cut through the wood stain and made clear marks. Metal handcuffs could do that too. It wouldn’t have been hard for her to make the marks undetected, assuming she was restrained with metal cuffs. Painful and awkward, maybe, but possible.”
Rosten said, “Two, a plus, then W O M A, and CR.”
“Two . . . ”
“Got it!” Henry said. “What about the two men she’d expect us to know about, plus a woman!”
Rosten said, “A woman? Has a woman now joined up with the two guys? What woman? I wonder . . . ” She stopped, and shook her head.
“Well, anyway, I’ll go with your idea about what she tried to write. It sounds logical. So, what’s the CA or CR?”
Edie spoke up, sounding hesitant, Henry thought. He decided the abduction of Carrie had trimmed her cousin’s sails considerably. “If she’d written a and r it would be car. So, what do you two think? Maybe she started to write car and got stopped before she could finish. But, if that’s it, what’s the significance of car?”
“If it’s car,” Henry said, “it probably means they’ve switched from the van to a car, which would make good sense from their point of view. And that means there’s a home base located somewhere in this area, a place where the van could be left and a car picked up, unless they simply ditched the van and stole a car.”
“I need to report this,” Deputy Rosten said, pushing her chair back and heading for the phone.
Chapter Twenty
THE END OF THE RIDE
As soon as the pillowcase was secured over her head and Second Man had leaned back in his seat, Carrie said, “I’ve been wondering how you knew we were at the mill. Pretty smart, however you did it.”
“You bet,” he said. “We did it the old fashioned way. We followed you there.”
“But, how?” We were in a car you’d never seen before.”
“We were parked up the road a bit, where that house is being remodeled. We knew we could be there a long time, but the guys working on the house let us sit in the drive when we told them we were supposed to bid on a tree removal job, and the folks weren’t home yet. We almost missed you at that, but the Caddy has nice clear windows. We didn’t know the car, but saw you all inside.”
“Ah,” Carrie said. “You sure must have wanted to get ahold of me—or someone.
“You were our current interest. Harley said you had those pull toys. Besides that, Embler was now staying in your house and the boss says she has important old papers.”
“Ah,” she said again, and went back to figuring out where they were headed. Since they’d started from a known place, she was having little trouble understanding where the car was in a landscape that, so far, was familiar.
Finally Second Man said, “Reception good here. Stop at the next easy place and I’ll phone.”
When Arnie pulled off the road, Carrie was sure they were in the parking lot of her nearest town’s grocery.
“I’ll call,” Arnie said, as his door opened. After it slammed shut, Second Man puffed out a breath in a sound easily recognized as frustration.
The “Be friendly” voice inside her mind was still there, so Carrie, duck
ing her head to avoid getting the pillowcase in her mouth, asked, “Are you married? Do you have children?”
“My profession makes family life tough. Was married once. Didn’t last long.”
“Oh, I’m sorry. How about parents, or sisters and brothers?”
She thought he wasn’t going to answer, then he sighed, and she could tell he was looking away from her, probably staring out the window. “There’s Mom. She’s about your age. Had a younger sister when I was a kid. Don’t know what happened to her. I was, uh, away from home for a couple-a years and when I came out—came back, she was gone. Mom never said what happened to her.
“Pop disappeared when I was seven, and Mom was expecting Laurie. Guess he didn’t much care for little kids.”
“Pretty name, Laurie.”
“I always thought so.”
“What about you?” he asked, after a pause.
“I have a son near your age. Only the one. My first husband was killed a few years back.”
“Oh yeah? How’d that happen? Some kinda accident?”
“No. He was murdered. Shot.”
Carrie could tell Second Man was thinking that over.
“Shot?”
“Uh-huh. Guy who did it had once been a friend.”
“Guess he really wasn’t.”
“I guess not,” Carrie said, as the driver’s door opened.
Second Man asked, “So, what’s up?”
“We’ll talk outside,” Arnie said
“What if someone comes near the car and sees this woman with a pillowcase over her head?”
“We can stand right here by the window and that’ll hide her. I’ll put the kid lock on so she can’t get out.”
Carrie felt a cold draft as both car doors opened. She heard a grocery cart banging into the cart rack, then the doors slammed and she was alone.
She thought, I never knew what being truly alone was like. Until now.
Muffled sounds and garbled voices, near and far, continued all around her as what seemed like endless time passed. Finally, she reached again for thoughts and prayers that came from within, calling on calmness and protection as companions instead of Arnie and . . . she wished she knew Second Man’s name.
Would Henry find her scratchings under the table? Would he be able to figure them out? Probably not. How could he? Wouldn’t matter anyway. She hadn’t known enough to be of much help. Now she knew the car was silver, but she hadn’t seen it then.
Feelings of panic shot in and out of her mind as she waited. She had no doubt they were discussing her fate. Considering the fact she’d heard so much and could easily identify them, it was pretty certain what kind of fate they planned.
Henry, I’m sorry, my love. I should have listened to you a long time ago. Now I’m the one who needs help, and there’s no me to help me. I know you’re trying to find me, but, how could you know where I am? Only God, Arnie, Second Man, and I know that.
So, who do I trust with my fate?
She began giggling again, then remembered Second Man’s slap, which had stopped her earlier hysterics. This time she stopped herself, and began thinking the words of The Lord’s Prayer, as Arnie and Second Man got back in the car.
“Oh-kay, off we go,” Arnie said.
Second Man was silent.
At first Carrie didn’t pay much attention to where the car was going. She was too involved in her attempts to overcome both panic and sadness. But then something clicked in her head. They had turned back in the direction they’d come from. The car turned right, not left. Why?
The ride continued in silence while Carrie tried to judge locations. They were most likely near her house, but hadn’t made the final turns that would take them there. Instead, it felt like they were going on into the wooded area that stretched for some distance along Walden Valley beyond the Booth’s pastures and the bluff caves. It was a bit of remaining wilderness that everyone in the area cherished.
The car turned off the valley road, bumping uphill on what Carrie suspected must be the old logging road, a remnant of major tree harvesting in the 1950’s, and still used occasionally by hunters.
So, this is the place.
NO. I won’t accept that. Dear God, I told Jason Your love and care are with us every moment. Do I—can I, really believe that right now? Believe it for me, too?”
The car stopped. Arnie said, “Be sure it’s out of sight.”
Second Man grunted, opened his door and pulled her out. She fell on her knees and folded to the ground while the car door slammed. One slam. She was alone with Second Man.
He pulled her up, tugged her off the road, and then they were in the woods, with underbrush, rocks and fallen tree limbs attacking her as she was yanked between rough-barked trees. Her mind went numb. No comforting thoughts came, only an apology to Henry.
I can’t endure any more painful bumps without crying. Well, who will care? Who will hear? I can cry all I want.
No, I will not die with tears running down my face. Our Father, which art in heaven, . . . this is my sufficient guide to eternal life.”
Second Man dropped her, and her head hit a log. She was fading into foggy oblivion when she heard a shot. Two shots.
I feel so fuzzy. Where am I shot? Don’t you feel something besides fuzzy when you’re shot?
All she felt was someone taking the handcuffs off. Then she heard Second Man’s voice saying, “Lady, you’d better play dead until I can get out of the country, or I’m dead.”
After his footsteps faded away, Carrie shut her eyes and let herself fade away too.
Chapter Twenty-One
NOT QUITE DEAD
Cold.
That’s all Carrie was aware of for what seemed like a long time.
Silly, pull the blanket up. She reached out and tried to close reluctant fingers around . . . what? Leaves? They rustled when she touched them. Leaves.
In the woods. I’m in the woods.
She was lying on the ground, and she was supposed to be dead.
Not dead?
She heard a noise. It’s me, Carrie McCrite, laughing and crying.
Not dead. Not . . . dead. Oh, thank you.
But she had to play dead until Second Man got out of the country. She must do that. He’d saved her life.
And she had to tell Henry she was alive.
Using her arms to lift the weight of her upper body, she moved stiff muscles into sitting position. After a few moments spent wiggling feeling back into her hands, she reached for the tape around her neck, found an end, and pulled, passing the tape from one hand to the other to unwind the several loops that held the pillowcase in place.
At last she breathed clear air. Cold air.
It was still daylight, but the sun was in the west. Both the golden light and her rumbling stomach told her it was near suppertime, and lunch had been only a banana.
I’m hungry. I’m alive.
She took another breath of cold air, then surveyed the woods around her. No sign of the road, but Arnie had told Second Man to pull her far into the woods so her body wouldn’t be found quickly. She shuddered, and said a prayer of thanks.
Bless that man. Nameless, but he’d become a real person to her, a human with a living mom and a missing sister named Laurie.
Just so, she’d obviously become a flesh-and-blood human to him, someone he couldn’t kill, someone he’d been willing to trust with his own life. He knew Arnie and his boss wouldn’t tolerate a living witness to any part of their criminal activities.
Carrie took several breaths and thought about the man who had not shot her. She’d be grateful to him for the rest of her life. Her instinct to be friendly, rather than show anger or fight her captors, had probably helped save her, but she’d never sensed the mind or heart of a killer in Second Man. There had been too many tiny kindnesses, though they were well hidden under the tough guy façade.
Her feet felt like lead weights when she bent her knees to reach the tape around her ankles. She found the end of
the tape and began unwinding until the last bit came loose. Her feet were free, though not ready to support her.
She’d made it through the first step toward safety.
Step two was to find the road before dark. Thank God this was fairly familiar territory for her, though possibly Arnie, at least, hadn’t thought of that. But then, what difference would it make if she were dead? He’d just headed for the nearest heavily wooded area he knew about.
Had Second Man suggested this place? Did he understand that familiarity would help her find a way out? If so, that meant he may have known, back in the grocery store parking lot, that he wasn’t going to kill her. Was it simply luck he had been the one chosen to take her off into the woods? Maybe it was just that Arnie didn’t want to be tagged as a murderer, should he ever be caught. She drew a breath in, blew it out in a long, wavering whoosh.
Her body felt numb and wobbly, it would help to have a walking stick. She looked around, saw a small branch that looked possible, and crawled toward it. It broke in her hands. Too rotten.
Several years ago she’d seen a man parked on the logging road when she was out hiking. He sat on the tailgate of his truck, carving a walking stick. Several small, uprooted trees were stacked next to him in the truck bed. “Dogwood,” he’d said, and showed her how the dogwood trunks in his stack had turned to the side just underground, forming a natural handle for walking sticks and canes.
Well, had she the strength, she’d uproot even a dogwood tree right now; though, back then, the waste and loss of spring beauty in the forest had made her angry at the wood carver.
She spotted a low branch on a nearby tree that looked dead. Maybe she’d be able to break it off. She crawled forward and reached up to grab the branch with both hands, testing its strength by cautiously lifting her weight. She caught herself just in time when the branch broke off.
It would do.
A Fair to Die For Page 16
