She felt the tape tear. Not totally through, but a beginning. The edges of her hands above and below the tape had grown raw and might have been bleeding. But she couldn’t stop. Her shoulders and knees ached but she kept on. She’d made some progress, and she could make more. Callie dragged her wrists over the wood edge over and over, feeling the tape tear, bit by bit. Finally it broke apart.
Thirty-Seven
Callie jubilantly pulled her newly freed hands in front of her, then reached for the duct tape over her mouth and peeled it away. She threw her head back and gulped in air, fully expanding her lungs for the first time in hours, then bent down to search for an edge on the tape that bound her ankles. When she found it, it didn’t take long to free her feet. If she’d been up to it, she would have danced a jig. As it was, she simply flexed her stiff ankles and rubbed at them, basking in relief and joy.
The shed was still pitch dark, so when she stood, she edged forward carefully, hoping she was heading in the direction of the door. When her feet bumped up against a box, she felt her way around it until she could continue moving. Eventually, she came to a wall.
Callie ran her hands over the surface, inching first left, then right until she discovered what must be the thermostat. Excited, she slid her fingers further and came to what felt like a light switch. She clicked it, flooding the shed and her eyes with light, which required several seconds of rapid blinking to adjust to. When her vision cleared, she checked out her prison.
It was large, approximately fifteen by twenty feet, with a concrete floor and cinder-block walls. Wooden boxes and variously sized wrapped paintings covered about half the area. Callie guessed that items didn’t stay there for long but were stored temporarily until buyers were ready for them. Where it all came from, she couldn’t imagine. But the operation was definitely lucrative enough for Duane to commit murder to protect it.
She thought of his claim that he’d been off buying a painting at the time of Bobby’s murder and felt gullible for having believed it. She’d gone along with the emailed confirmation from the supposed buyer, not thinking about how easy it was to fake an email! How she wished she’d pushed harder and demanded an address and phone number to speak to the person. But she hadn’t been suspicious enough at the time, plus Duane had already prevented her from making that move with his fictitious seller’s claim to be leaving soon on a trip.
Callie’s gaze landed on her purse, lying on the floor where Duane had tossed it, containing the phone she’d heard ring during her darkest hour. She lurched forward, snatched it up, and pulled out her phone, praying it was still charged. It was! But when she checked for bars, there were none. She ran back to the door to hold the phone against it, hoping to bring up a bar that would allow her to make a 911 call. None appeared.
How could that be? She knew she’d heard the phone ring earlier. What had changed? Some mysterious shift in the atmosphere? Whatever the reason, her phone was useless. Frustrated, she grabbed the door’s handle and yanked up with all her strength. It wouldn’t budge. She’d expected that, but it still made her scream. Then she pounded and kicked until her fists were sore.
What good had it done to work herself free of her bindings only to remain trapped in this concrete cell, waiting helplessly for Duane to return with Ben and kill them both! Callie pounded and shouted for help until her throat grew sore and her fists were raw. She slid to the floor, leaning against the door, certain that she hadn’t been heard and that she was only exhausting herself.
Duane’s advice had been, “Save your energy.” Though he’d meant it as “Don’t bother,” she realized it was what she needed to do. That, and to come up with Plan B. She’d made it this far. She could do more.
Callie began searching through the shed. She was excited to find that several of the wooden boxes weren’t nailed shut, possibly to allow for quick removal or rearrangement of the contents. One by one, she opened what she could, looking for what she needed, pulling out and testing several items until she was satisfied. Then she sat down and waited.
Light had begun to leak around the edges of the door. What time did the sun rise? Six? When would Ben be at his bus stop? Callie wasn’t sure. Seven thirty? Later? If that was when Duane planned to grab him, she still didn’t know how long it would take for them to get to the shed. It could be another half hour. That might mean two hours more to wait. But she needed to be alert. For all she knew, Duane might have other plans and could show up at any time. She only prayed that he wouldn’t hurt Ben before they arrived.
She got up to stretch her muscles, then paced as much as the area allowed. Fatigue hovered from the remnants of whatever drug she’d been slipped, followed by her struggles to break free over sleepless hours, but the adrenaline that coursed through her did its best to counteract this. What worried Callie most was how quickly she’d be able to act when the time came. But she had a major element on her side: surprise. At least, she hoped she did.
Her pacing took her regularly back to the shed’s door, where she always pressed her ear to listen. Over and over, she heard nothing beyond the faint chirping of birds as it grew lighter. She switched off the shed’s light, now that the slivers of daylight coming in plus her memory of the shed’s layout made movement through it possible. Finally, she heard what she’d been waiting for: the sound of a car’s motor and tires crunching on gravel.
She flattened herself against the wall at the side of the rolling door. The car came closer, then stopped. She waited. It seemed forever until finally she heard a car door open and close, then footsteps approach. Another excruciatingly long pause. Was he searching for keys? Checking something outside? Callie had a moment of panic. Surely there wasn’t another entrance, was there? Wouldn’t she have seen it? Just when she was ready to move and hide behind a large box, the door began to rise. She braced herself.
She couldn’t wait too long. Duane would expect to see her lying where he’d left her. How high was too high? She saw his shoes, then his shins. When she saw at least two inches above his knees, she swung the heavy metal sculpture of a woman, holding it by the head and shoulders so that the solid base connected with a knee.
As Duane screeched and stumbled back, Callie rolled under the door and struck again, this time at the other knee. This took him down as she scrambled to her feet.
“Bitch!” he cried, rolling to one side and clutching a leg.
She struck a third time, something so totally against her nature that she could barely believe she was able to do it. But Ben’s life was at stake. She hit Duane’s shoulder, then his head, twice. He went limp.
Callie paused, breathing hard. Had she knocked him out? Worse? All she’d needed to do was to incapacitate him. But at this point, she didn’t care if she’d done more. He didn’t move.
Callie spotted his keys on the ground and snatched them up. Not car keys. He must have left them in the ignition. Duane still hadn’t moved, so she turned, realizing as she did so that the car wasn’t his SUV but her own Chevy Malibu. Dropping the sculpture, she jerked the driver’s side door open and saw Ben lying across the back seat, gagged and tied, but his eyes—thank God!—were open. He made a muffled squeal when he saw her.
“Hang on, Ben,” she cried. “We’re getting out of here.” She had one foot inside the car when her head was jerked back.
“Not so fast,” Duane snarled, one fist holding her hair as the other arm wrapped around her neck.
Callie kicked back hard and the two of them fell to the ground. Duane lost his grip on her but grabbed at her shirt as she tried to scramble up. She fell back but spun around to punch hard at his face. He rolled them both over, trying to get the upper hand, but they were on an incline and momentum continued their roll, ending with Callie pressed against a tree. She couldn’t move as his weight held her down.
“Now you’ve done it,” he cried, panting. “I was going to make it easier, but—”
The wail of a s
iren stopped him. As they listened, it grew louder.
“You called the cops? Bitch! I should have got rid of you last night!”
Duane clambered to his feet, but Callie grabbed an ankle and held on. He lost his balance and fell to his already painful knee, crying out. He kicked back at her. But the siren was deafening by then, as a flashing red light wound up the gravel driveway. Duane kicked again, this time connecting hard enough that her grip loosened, and scrambled away. But by the time he reached Callie’s car it was too late. The squad car had screeched to a stop behind it. Two officers jumped out, guns drawn, shouting, “Face down on the ground! Now!”
Callie exhaled. It was over.
Thirty-Eight
Callie sat at the edge of the emergency room bed. She’d been ex- amined, had her scrapes attended to, and was pronounced good to go. Lyssa stood beside her.
“You’ll come to my house, of course.”
“Of course?”
“Well, yeah.” Lyssa rolled her eyes. “Like, I have electricity, for one thing. And a hot shower. And food. Besides all that, no way should you be alone. Not for a while, anyway.”
Callie smiled tiredly. Everything on Lyssa’s list sounded pretty good. “What about the shop?”
“Tabitha’s got it covered.”
“Okay then. Just for the night. But first you have to tell me how you got the police to Duane’s shed.”
Lyssa sank into the chair. It was going to be a long story, Callie guessed. But before it began, there was a knock at the door. A very familiar voice asked, “Callie?”
“Brian!” Callie responded. “Come on in.”
Brian made it to her in two giant steps. He wrapped his arms around her, then stepped back worriedly. “You okay?”
“I’m okay.” She pulled him back for a longer hug.
“Hey, I’ll be right outside,” Lyssa said, getting up.
“No, stay,” Callie said, letting Brian go and explaining, “Lyssa was going to tell me about the police. But first, how is Ben?” She’d last seen the nine-year-old being carried out of the ambulance that took them both to the hospital. With all the medical people bustling around, she hadn’t had much chance to talk to him.
“I just left him. Annie and Mike are with him, and Justin too, of course. He’s okay. Shaken, but no physical harm. They’ll be setting up counseling.”
“And Annie and Mike?”
“A flood of emotions to work through, but mostly relief that Ben’s unhurt. At least they didn’t have to go through fear and panic. The first they knew he hadn’t made it to school was when the police called to say they had him and he was fine.”
“How did Duane manage to get him?” Lyssa asked.
“Duane was careful to dress in his shopkeeper’s clothes, not in sweats like he wore that night in front of the house,” Brian explained. “It was a risk, but since Ben hadn’t really gotten a clear look at him that night, it worked. Then Duane gave him a story about the bus breaking down and Annie asking him to pick Ben up. He claimed he’d be picking up more kids at the next bus stop. Ben’s young enough that he never questioned it. Nor did he recognize Callie’s car, which he’s barely seen. Before he knew it, he was tied up in the back seat and probably scared out of his wits.”
“Poor kid.”
“So, how did the police know where to find me?” Callie asked Lyssa again.
“Okay, first of all, I picked up your voicemail a few minutes after you left it.” Lyssa grimaced. “I was in the middle of working out a plot twist when you called. If only I’d answered right away!”
“You couldn’t know,” Callie said.
“But as soon as I heard your message, I figured no problem, I could catch up with you at that pub. So I hopped in the car. The place was jammed! I had to push my way in, then inch around to find you. I’m not that tall, you know, so it was hard to see over heads. I did text you to let you know I was there, but the place was so noisy I guess you didn’t hear.”
“No, I didn’t. I wish I’d checked my phone.”
“Me too. Anyway, I caught a glimpse of you when you were going out the door with Duane. I tried to catch up, but a couple of idiots thought it was cute to block my way. By the time I got to the door, I saw Duane driving off with you in the passenger seat. Nothing about that looked right, especially the glimpse I got of you. So I dashed over to my car to follow. But I couldn’t get out on the road in time. He’d disappeared. I tried texting again. This time I knew you should have heard it, so when you didn’t answer, I went straight to the police.”
“But how did you convince them she was in trouble?” Brian asked.
“Well …” Lyssa shifted in her chair with a guilty grin. “I kind of embellished what I saw. Like, maybe I threw in a bit of a struggle, and I might have suggested a gun. Hey! I’m a fiction writer, right? But it got them moving.”
“I’m glad you did! But,” Callie said, “they still had to find me. That shed seemed to be in the middle of nowhere!”
“It is,” Lyssa agreed. “But after they didn’t find Duane at his house or shop, they did some digging and learned that he owned that property. It’s several acres of wilderness, but they saw from overhead photos, I think, that there was a structure of some kind on it. They were on their way to check it out when they spotted someone turning onto the property. Duane was driving your car, which is how he’d managed to evade getting caught sooner. They had a lookout for his SUV.”
“He must have gone back to the pub to get my car,” Callie said. “I think he was planning to kill Ben and me in a way that looked like a car accident.”
Lyssa nodded, wincing. “Anyway, once they called in the license number and realized it was your car, they took action.”
“It was their siren and flashing lights that probably saved my life.” Callie remembered the feeling of helplessness as Duane pinned her against the tree. Would she have been able to fight him off? The shop owner wasn’t an athletic man, but he was surprisingly agile despite his injuries, and though not tall, he definitely outweighed her. Her odds hadn’t been good. She shivered, and Brian put a comforting arm around her.
Just then Annie and Mike came in, full of tears and gratitude that Callie deflected to Lyssa. “She’s the one that deserves the credit.”
“Well, the police played a part too,” Lyssa added modestly, gathering up her things.
“We’re getting Ben a cell phone,” Annie said, “which he’s promised he’ll use in the future to check anyone’s claims about broken-down buses or messages from me or anything else sketchy.”
“It’s something he’s been begging us for,” Mike said. “We held off on it, believing he had no need for one at his age.” He shook his head.
“Who could imagine anything like this happening around here?” Annie stroked Mike’s arm. “But this phone will be very limited. No game-playing or endless texting.”
Mike nodded, still looking regretful, and Callie guessed that he had been the original holdout on the cell phone question. But as Annie pointed out, who could have guessed?
“We’d better get the boys home,” Mike said. He stepped forward to give both Callie and Lyssa a heartfelt hug, and Annie followed suit. They left amid promises to talk more once all had recovered.
Callie spent the rest of the day and that night at Lyssa’s and allowed herself to be fussed over—it wasn’t to Delia’s level, of course, but who could match that? She also checked in with Tabitha, but not before calling Hank with the good news, which, it turned out, his lawyer had already beaten her to.
“Yeah, Allard’s here,” Hank said. “He’ll be taking me out of this place any minute. Hallelujah! I’m more than ready. So it was the guy who organized the festival, huh?”
Hank didn’t seem to know how Duane’s crimes had come to light, and Callie skipped sharing those details right then. “It was a shock to us all,” she sa
id. “But I’m so glad you’re cleared.”
“Yeah, me too. Hey, thanks for the support. It meant a lot.” Callie heard another voice in the background. “Gotta go,” Hank said. “I’ll catch up with you later, soon as I can, okay?”
She was glad to hear him sound more like his old self. It had been rough … on both of them. But the worst was over. Hallelujah, indeed.
As much as she enjoyed her rest time at Lyssa’s—and the hot shower—the next morning Callie announced her intention to return home. “I have to fly out to Oregon tomorrow night, and there’s a bunch of things to get done before that,” she explained when Lyssa protested.
“You’re still going?”
“I promised, and Mom’s expecting me.”
“Going to tell her what happened?”
“An edited version. Mom will have enough on her mind with her surgery coming up.”
With nothing to pack at Lyssa’s, Callie was ready to go as soon as the breakfast dishes were cleared. As they climbed into the Corvette, Lyssa said, “You know that Duane probably set that fire at your cottage, right?”
“I figured, once I learned everything else he’d been up to. He was probably expecting to throw me off track.”
“Didn’t know you very well, did he?” Lyssa grinned and started her engine.
“Or you,” Callie added.
“Well, they can add arson to his list of crimes. It’ll be the least of his worries, though the more they pile on him the better, I say.”
When they reached Keepsake Cove, Lyssa detoured slightly to drive past Duane’s glass collectibles shop. It was closed and dark, with no sign that its owner was currently locked up in jail. No curiosity seekers peeking in or angry graffiti on the windows. It was as if the Cove had quietly but firmly turned its back on both the shop and its owner. What would become of the shop, Callie wondered. Hopefully it would be taken over by someone who would erase all the bad memories associated with the place.
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