Spinelli rose from his chair.
Walker zoned in on him and sprang to his feet. “Where are you going?”
Spinelli ground his teeth together and glared at his friend. He felt like a caged animal. “Bathroom.”
He didn’t care if he just lied to his friend or stretched the truth. He was going to go to the bathroom but in all reality, if given an opening, he’d be out the door.
He stepped out of the restroom to find Walker leaned against the wall waiting for him.
“Really?” Walker sighed.
Spinelli returned to his desk and dialed both Shannon and Anna’s cell numbers as he’d done countless times in the past couple of hours. Both immediately went to voicemail. Would Walker and Jackson just leave already? It’s Friday night for chrissake. They never stay this late, especially Jackson.
Every time he glanced through the Captain’s office window, she was on the phone, talking to the Door County Sheriff’s Department he assumed.
Spinelli’s desk phone rang and Jackson’s number flashed across the display screen. “Hello.”
“Grab Walker and Marsh and come in here,” she said, leaving him unable to read anything in her tone.
Spinelli stood and motioned for Walker and Marsh to follow him. They crammed into Jackson’s small office.
Jackson looked up from her computer screen. “I just hung up with the Chief Deputy. They’ve found nothing but legitimate caches at each location, including the Newport site where Shannon and Anna were last. No signs of struggle, nothing. They’ve also touched base with the other players but nothing else unusual has happened.”
“Dammit! What in the hell?” Spinelli yelled.
Jackson shook her head. “I don’t know. All seems normal with the exception of Shannon’s phone call to you, and Anna’s to 911. Yet there’s no sign of them or Shannon’s car at the park.”
Spinelli glanced at Walker and knew they were of a like mind.
Though they knew the truth, no concrete evidence had been found to indicate that the ladies were truly missing. In all likelihood, the Sheriff’s Department would not allocate more resources until something else turned up.
Spinelli sprang out of his chair. Walker leaped to his feet in response. “I’ll drive.” Marsh chimed in.
Jackson’s gaze shifted between them, a tinge of regret evident in her eyes. He knew she wished she had let him leave earlier. “I’ll take a burger and fries,” she responded, unwilling to verbally acknowledge their plan. As the party in charge, it was her job to follow the rules; Spinelli knew that. The evidence was such he understood her earlier decision, though he didn’t like it.
Within the hour, Marsh pulled into Spinelli’s driveway with Walker already in the car. The drive on 43 North toward Door County would take nearly three hours. At least this time of year there would be no traffic to hold them up. But still, three long hours. A lot could happen—or not happen—in three hours. Was she simply lost? Scared? His breath caught in his throat. Or had she really been abducted? Was she waiting for him to rescue her? Dammit, why didn’t I leave when she first called? Hours— valuable time—lost. Sweat beaded on his upper lip and brow. He swallowed hard as he imagined the worst. Was she hurt? Or worse, was she...No. Even silently, he couldn’t finish that last question. His heart couldn’t take it, and his mind wouldn’t bear the thought.
Spinelli tapped the screen of his cellphone for the tenth time in the past hour. Perhaps she’d answer this time. No luck.
Marsh flipped on his turn signal.
“What are you doing?” Spinelli asked, unable to keep the frustration from his tone.
Marsh glanced at him through the rearview mirror. “I have to take a whiz.”
“For chrissake, can’t you hold it?”
“We need gas, too,” Marsh replied as he pulled up to the pump.
“Fine then, go whiz while I pump the gas,” Spinelli replied.
Back on the road, Spinelli tapped his phone screen again. Same result.
He raked his hand over his face. Shannon’s scream and the disconnected call were not enough to allow for formally contacting her cell phone provider to ping her phone for a location. He’d have to wait until the circumstances substantiated such a request. A sharp pain shot through his chest. He might not make it through the agonizing period.
Marsh parked the car in the lot of the Sturgeon Bay resort and conference center where the geocachers were booked. On one hand, Spinelli was relieved to see only a few cars in the parking lot; they’d likely have rooms available for them. On the other hand, the scarceness of vehicles made it easy to see that Shannon’s Impala was nowhere to be found.
Spinelli grabbed his duffle bag, slung it over his shoulder, and headed toward the front doors of the dimly lit hotel with Walker and Marsh in tow. Cool air swirled off the partially frozen bay and nipped at Spinelli’s face. He hadn’t expected it to be quite so cold yet in the middle of March, but then he recalled TV weather reports about the unusual weather in Door County. Other than the whistling wind, all was quiet. None of the usual city noises Spinelli was accustomed to: no sirens, horns, or screeching tires, and no shouts of profanity on the street.
Walker scooted ahead and opened the door. A blast of heat washed over Spinelli as he stepped through the doorway. A large stone fireplace stood in the corner of the open concept reception area. Gas flames roared. A young lady sat alone on an oversized leather couch near the fire. Her eyes stayed fixed on the screen of her laptop as her fingers danced over the keyboard. Marsh hit the bell for service at the unmanned reception counter just beyond the couch. A large ship-wheel clock hung above the desk. It read 10:30. They’d made pretty good time.
Faint laughter echoed from the wide hall that spilled into the reception area. Spinelli’s heart sank. He didn’t recognize any of the laughter as he hoped he would. But in that split-second, his heart begged him to look down the hall anyway before his logical brain took over. She wasn’t there. His gaze drifted to the large brown sign on the wall engraved with ‘Bar’ and ‘Conference Center’. An arrow pointed down the hall.
Marsh grabbed Spinelli and Walker’s duffle bags from them. “I’ll ditch these in the rooms and meet you guys at the bar. And no, the receptionist wouldn’t give me Shannon and Anna’s room number but she called it and no one answered.”
Marsh knew him too well. Spinelli wouldn’t be able to rest and start his investigation in the morning. He would head to the bar, question the clientele from the geocaching game, and find out if they knew anything about Shannon and Anna.
Spinelli and Walker took a seat at the retro-modern bar and ordered some drafts. The young female bartender immediately fixed her intense blue-eyed gaze on Spinelli. Months ago, before he and Shannon started dating, he would have not only eaten up her attention but likely worked to intensify it. Now he just needed information from her. Nothing more.
The room, fairly empty with the tourist season over, held mostly female patrons. Spinelli assumed they were geocachers. They’d sit and listen for a while, and see if they had any information that would help find Shannon and Anna.
Marsh pulled up a stool next to Spinelli. The bartender came over to get his order but kept her gaze on Spinelli. She spun on her heel and sashayed to the taps, returning a moment later with Marsh’s frosty mug in hand. Easy target.
“Where are you all from?” she asked, though her gaze never left Spinelli.
“Milwaukee.”
“Up here for business or pleasure?”
Spinelli forced his lady-killer smile and worked to darken his gaze. The very gaze Shannon’s friend Anna often teased could talk a woman into anything without a word being spoken. Both would surely work on the bartender, she was a talker. If she had any information he needed, it wouldn’t take much to get it out of her. “A little of both.”
“I’m Corrina,” she said as she extended her hand toward him.
“Nice to meet you. I’m Nick.” He gestured toward Marsh. “This is Greg,” he said a
nd then gestured toward Walker. “This is Brad.” Their first names sounded strange on his tongue. He couldn’t remember if he’d ever called them by their first names before.
Corrina shook each man’s hand before her welcoming gaze returned to Spinelli. She reached toward him and rested her hand on his forearm. “Are you here to work at the shipyard?” Hmm, she naturally assumed he was a physical laborer. Evidently, his workouts were paying off.
Before he could answer her question, a lady at the curve of the bar— just on the other side of Marsh—motioned for Corrina.
Corrina padded off to mix the lady’s drink.
Marsh leaned forward and peeked around Spinelli. “Hey, Walker, you think she even knows we’re here?”
Walker chuckled. It was business as usual. All the ladies gravitated toward Spinelli.
They sucked down the last of their second beer and decided to call it a night. They’d only gathered old information from Corrina. The women from the geocaching weekend adventure were all at this resort but the game had resumed play after the initial scare with Shannon and Anna. Yet Shannon and Anna were still nowhere to be found. The other participants assumed Shannon and Anna had simply called it quits due to the uncooperative, cold weather.
* * * *
Davin rubbed his sweaty palms together as he paced his large, dark hotel suite. He needed to call his father and get him up to speed about his conversation with Shannon’s Uncle Bernie. A multitude of excuses to avoid the dreaded call flashed through his mind.
Davin glanced at the clock. Almost midnight, which meant it was nearly 6:00 a.m. in Ireland. His dad probably already waited by the phone for his call. Why did his dad always get up so early? He didn’t have to work. He’d never worked a day in his life, living off old family money. The same pot of money Davin wanted to secure. He blew out an exaggerated breath in recognition of his previous failed efforts.
A sweet fragrance lingered from the open bottle of Jameson on the bedside table. It crept through the darkness and teased Davin’s nostrils. His mouth watered at the thought of another swallow of the robust, yet smooth, nectar. Perhaps just one more glass could calm his nerves. He tossed his two-drink limit out the window.
Traditional Irish dance music blared from the desk in the corner of the suite, and the light from his cellphone lit up the dark room. Davin knew his father would be on the other end of the line. Perhaps if he ignored it, his father would think he was still sleeping; after all, it was only midnight here in Wisconsin. Wisconsin, seriously? He never would have thought in a million years that he’d visit Wisconsin. The United States he could have imagined but Wisconsin, the land of dairy cows?
The music stopped, but Davin knew it would only be a matter of time before it started up again.
Even though he knew sleep wouldn’t come, he climbed up onto the bed anyhow. He flipped on the reading lamp and snatched up the photo of Shannon he had placed on the nightstand. He eyed the photo and wondered how his father had come to acquire the recent picture of Ms. O’Hara. Davin held the picture closer to his eyes. She was a thing of beauty with milky white skin, bright shiny red hair, and piercing emerald-green eyes. A man could easily lose himself in those eyes. Davin supposed Spinelli did. He thought about how he would handle Spinelli if the need arose. The cop’s reputation preceded him.
Davin switched the light off and lay back on the bed with Shannon’s photo pressed between his hand and his heart. He felt sorry for her. She didn’t deserve this. He sighed heavily. A deal was a deal, and their grandfathers had shaken on it. What had Emmet O’Brien and Winston Mathison been thinking when they’d made such an agreement? Shannon’s grandfather, Winston, had died more than forty-five years ago. Yet Davin’s own grandfather, Emmet, insisted the Mathison family make good on the deal struck between the two men nearly sixty years ago. Crazy dying bastard. Davin never much cared for his Grandpa O’Brien; he was a wicked old tyrant. He cared for him even less now. But his family counted on him to secure the old family fortune before his eighty-eight-year-old grandfather passed. He needed to prove to his own father, once and for all, that he was worthy of the O’Brien name.
* * * *
Shannon opened her eyes to a pitch-black room. Her dry throat itched. She swallowed and ran her tongue over her teeth. What is that awful metallic taste? Her tongue gravitated to her teeth again; the taste grew stronger. When she inhaled, her eyes instantly watered like she’d just inhaled flames. Her right hand moved toward her nose but jerked to a halt, inches from her face. What the heck? She tried to move her hand closer to her face but it wouldn’t budge. With her other hand, she came across a thin rope wrapped around her wrist. The opposite end was fastened to the bedpost.
A low groan echoed in the blackness. Shannon sprang off the bed nearly jerking her shoulder out of its socket. The small length of rope didn’t let her go too far. Another breathy moan penetrated the incredibly thick air. Shannon fumbled around the nightstand next to the bed for a lamp. She nearly knocked it over before she located the toggle switch at the base. The now dimly lit room allowed her to focus on the body in the bed. It was Anna. Her left wrist was bound to the bedpost on the opposite side of the bed.
Sheer panic ripped through her. Where were they? How did they end up here? And who tied them to the bed?
Shannon climbed back onto the bed and shook her friend’s shoulder. “Anna, wake up.”
Anna stirred but her eyes remained closed.
She glanced around the room for something within reach to cut the rope. A small glass-top table with two leather chairs facing a stone fireplace sat in the corner of the room. To the left of the fireplace were a desk and chest of drawers with a TV centered on the top. Even if there had been something of use on any of the furniture, she couldn’t reach it.
Oddly, the room resembled the hotel room she and Anna had rented for the geocaching adventure, only larger and nicer. A suite? Shannon looked for a way out. To her left was a hallway, presumably leading to the bathroom. She assumed the door directly in front of her led to an adjoining room, perhaps the room of her captor. If she and Anna wanted to escape, they had better hurry. She had no idea how they wound up in this room but she needed out.
Shannon swallowed hard. The metallic taste faded, and with each breath, her nostrils stung a bit less. It’s like they’ve been burnt raw.
After another glance around the room, Shannon leaned closer to Anna’s face. “Anna, wake up. We need to go,” she whispered, fearing her captors might hear her.
Anna’s eyes fluttered open. Her confused gaze zoned in on Shannon. “What?”
“We gotta go,” Shannon replied as she worked to free her bound wrist from the bedpost.
Anna sat up and glanced at her own roped limb. She spun at the waist and faced Shannon again. “What in the world is going on?”
“Shh, I don’t know. Just get yourself untied and let’s get out of here. Shannon freed her wrist and then worked on Anna’s. The older woman sucked in a breath and expelled it. “Holy man, my nose feels like I inhaled sulfur or something. It tastes like someone poured acid in my mouth.”
“Yeah, mine too, but it’s wearing off.”
The women slid off the bed and scoped the room for a phone and an exit. No phone. And as for exits, their only two options seemed to be the sliding glass doors leading to the balcony or the door to the adjoining room.
Shannon parted the vertical blinds that covered the sliding glass doors and gripped the handle. A rush of cool damp air played havoc on her still tender nostrils. They stepped onto the balcony and around a small patio set to assess their surroundings. The balcony faced another wing of the hotel. Though viewing the building from a different angle, Shannon knew this was the same hotel she and Anna checked into earlier in the day. Not one single room opposite them glowed with light. Perhaps the hotel didn’t use that wing during the off-season. She leaned over the rail and craned her head to the right to find a dim glow of streetlights off in the distance. To the left, she found the bay of
water, just a couple hundred yards away. Residential lights shined sporadically across the bay. At that distance, a yell for help would likely go unanswered. She counted the levels beneath them. Three floors up. Jumping was not an option.
She had no idea of the time but the black starless sky indicated they’d been out for quite a while. The last time Shannon could note was 3:30 p.m. or so when they discovered the finger in the cache box. A shiver penetrated her body either from the cold or the recollection of the severed finger.
They retreated into the room and assessed their only option. Shannon pressed her ear to the adjoining-room door. Nothing, not even the glow of a light beneath it. She dropped to her knees and pressed her cheek to the floor anyway to take a look. Nothing. She sprang back to her feet and shook her head. “It’s pitch black. I can’t see anything,” she whispered.
Anna nodded. Wrapping her hand around the knob, Shannon turned it slowly and gave a slight pull. The near-dark adjoining room felt eerily still. A faint glow peeked out from the crack under the door directly across the main room they now entered. It gave her enough light to make out the kitchenette to the left and the living room area to the right. Yep, they were in a hotel suite and she could only assume their captor occupied the other adjoining room from which the light came.
Shannon tiptoed toward the kitchenette, hoping to find an exit. Anna was on her heels. She worked her way around the kitchen counter, praying there would be an exit around the corner.
The stench of whiskey assaulted her sensitive nostrils. Her eyes had adjusted enough to the darkness to make out a couple of booze bottles laying sideways on the countertop. The bottle caps lay next to them. For crying out loud, did we sleep through a party? More importantly, how in the world did we come to be here? Shannon shook her head. She’d worry about that later when they were safely away from here.
Once in the narrow aisle between the kitchen appliances and the kitchen bar, Shannon noticed a faint crack on the floor. A hall door. Relief rippled through her, they were nearly home free.
Crazed Reckoning, a Nick Spinelli Mystery Page 3