Crazed Reckoning, a Nick Spinelli Mystery

by Valerie J. Clarizio

  “Are you sure? I can order something for you, whatever you want.”

  Shannon unclenched her jaw. “What I want is to be released with my friend Anna.”

  “That I can’t do. Not until our business is resolved.”

  “What business?”

  “Isn’t it obvious?”

  Shannon just stared at the camera. What in the world was he talking about?

  A few beats passed. “You’ll look lovely in that dress today.”

  Shannon’s head spun in the direction of the garment bag. “The wedding dress?”

  “Yes, my dear.”

  * * * *

  Spinelli stood on the boardwalk and stared out over the frigid waters of Sturgeon Bay. The early-morning northwest wind coming off the bay was raw and stung his cheeks. How could she do this to him? Not even have the common courtesy to tell him in person that she was about to marry someone else?

  To be so thoughtless and uncaring was not typical of her character. Just over twenty-four hours ago, she lay in his bed with her warm limbs entwined among his. The scent of her sex flooded his bedroom, satisfying his sense of smell beyond any level he’d ever encountered before; more than he’d ever thought conceivable. He lay with her in a completely satisfied state, both sexually and emotionally. The emotion always amazed him. Until Shannon, he’d never known such fulfillment. Only yesterday, he considered finally proposing to her—this weekend, on her birthday. He felt like such a fool.

  His body quivered. How could she do this, give herself to him so fully and then turn it off so quickly to marry someone else? He shook his head. None of this made any sense. He was a detective, for chrissake. He read people for a living. There was no way he misread Shannon. It just wasn’t possible. Running his hand over his face, his fingers warmed. Not even forty degrees outside, yet his head was nearly ready to combust.

  For lack of something better to do with them, he stuffed his hands into the pockets of his jeans as his gaze stayed glued to the dark swirling waters of the bay. He stood still, alone on the promenade, pondering his life. How had everything gone to shit so fast?

  Vehicle tires hummed as they crossed the grate of the old steel bridge to his left. People were coming to life on this crappy Saturday morning. And little by little, light brightened the dingy cloud-covered sky. Not quite sure what to do with himself at this very moment, he spun on his heel and headed back toward the lobby of the hotel.

  Spinelli pushed his way through the door to find Walker and Marsh still in the lobby. They stood off to the side of the room analyzing the document the waitress had delivered minutes earlier. He watched and listened unnoticed.

  Marsh held the paper in his gloved hand and pulled it closer to his eyes. “It looks real.”

  Walker nodded. “Yeah, but there’s just no way. I’m not buying it. Something’s up. This is not the way she behaves. And with the call, Spinelli got from her yesterday ...”

  “So, you think this is a fake?” Marsh summed.

  “For comparison purposes, I wish we had another signature of Shannon’s,” Walker said as he pointed at the document, careful not to touch it. “And notice how her signature extends outside the box.”

  “So?”

  “It seems odd to me that someone as particular as Shannon would let her signature extend outside the area she’d been given to sign her name. The ‘S’ from her first name actually crosses over the left line of the signature box and the top line. And the ‘O’ from her last name extends way beyond the top line of the box. I would picture her as the type of person who would neatly tuck her signature into the box.”

  Spinelli rushed forward and poked his head between Walker and Marsh’s. Walker was right. And deep down, he knew Shannon would never do such a thing. Nobody could fake the love they shared. He wanted to kick himself. How had he not noticed the signature issue when he looked at the marriage license earlier?

  Spinelli’s gaze drifted toward the other signature on the license. Who in the hell was this Davin O’Brien?

  Spinelli hadn’t wanted to worry any of Shannon’s family until he knew more details, but perhaps it was time to call her Uncle Bernie in Milwaukee. Shannon and Bernie were close. Maybe he could help.

  Bernie answered his cellphone so quickly Spinelli swore he had been waiting for him to call.

  “Spinelli.”

  “Yeah, hi Bernie. Sorry, I know it’s early but do you by chance know where Shannon is?”

  Spinelli tried to wait out the agonizing, uncomfortable silence. He could hear Bernie breathing, so he knew he hadn’t been cut off. “Bernie?”

  “No. I don’t. I’ve been trying to reach her myself but she’s not answering her cell.”

  “She’s not answering my calls either.”

  “Last I knew, she was going to Door County with Anna for some geocaching thing.”

  “Yeah, we’re in Door County now looking for her.”

  “We’re? What? In Door County?” Bernie sputtered.

  “I, Walker, and Marsh are in Sturgeon Bay looking for Shannon. I received a strange call from her yesterday at about 3:30. We got cut off and I haven’t been able to reach her since.”

  Something clunked. Did Bernie drop his cellphone?

  The sound of wood scraping against wood resonated into Spinelli’s ear canal; shattering glass followed.

  “What have you done to her, you sawed-off little runt?” Bernie growled.

  “Nothing. I didn’t do anything,” exclaimed a high-pitched adult male voice.

  “Bernie ... Bernie,” Spinelli yelled into his phone. It was no use. The man had obviously dropped his phone.

  “What’s going on?” Walker asked.

  Spinelli shrugged and shook his head, his phone still pressed to his ear. The sound of shuffling feet echoed through the line, followed by a thud.

  “Where is she, you little prick?” Bernie’s voice sounded even angrier than a moment ago.

  “I don’t know. I haven’t seen her ... really. Just put me down and we’ll talk about this,” the unfamiliar voice pleaded.

  What in the hell? “Put me down,” Spinelli repeated. Did Bernie just pick up some guy? Christ, he’s sixty-some years old. Who is this guy? And why would he have done something to Shannon?

  It sounded like a sack of potatoes had dropped to the floor.

  “Ouch, seriously? Was that necessary?”

  “Shut up,” Bernie snapped.

  Bernie’s labored breathing penetrated Spinelli’s ear. “Bernie, what’s going on? Who’s with you?”

  “Nobody. Just an old family friend.”

  Before Spinelli could question Bernie further, Bernie began his own line of questioning. “Tell me about this strange call from Shannon. What did she say?”

  Spinelli debated his response. Should he let Bernie in on the details? At this point, they needed all the help they could get.

  Spinelli expelled a breath. “She called me from one of the cache locations. She was pretty worked up. She told me she and Anna found a finger in the cache box.”

  “A real finger?” Bernie asked. His tone didn’t seem all that surprised.

  “Sounds that way.”

  “I see. By chance, Nick, was there a gold Claddagh ring on that finger?”

  Did he really just ask me if a severed finger had a ring on it? How would he know?

  “Yes.”

  Something clunked, feet shuffled.

  “You little son of a bitch! I’ll wring your scrawny neck. Where is she?”

  “I don’t know. I haven’t seen her yet!”

  “Ouch. You bit me. Men don’t bite. What are you, some sort of animal?”

  “Let me go!”

  Spinelli pulled his cell from his ear and stared at the screen. “Dammit!”

  “What’s happening?” Walker asked.

  “I’m not sure, but I don’t like it.” Spinelli put the phone on speaker so they could all hear the fight on Bernie’s end. “He knew about the ring on the severed finger.”
r />   “How on earth did he know that?” Marsh asked.

  “That’s what I’d like to find out. And evidently, the person with Bernie knows Shannon and may know something about the finger.”

  Moments later, Bernie huffed into the phone.

  “What’s happening? Who are you with? And how did you know about the ring?”

  After sucking in a couple of more quick breaths, Bernie cleared his throat. “I’m guessing the finger belongs to my dad, Shannon’s grandfather.”

  “I thought your dad was deceased?”

  “He is. He died in 1969.”

  “Let me get this right. You’re telling me your dead father’s finger showed up in a cache box in Door County, over forty years after your father died.”

  “It appears so.”

  Chapter Four

  Shannon pounded her fists against the door, demanding to be released.

  Maybe someone other than her captor would hear her as well. “You’ll shut up if you know what’s good for your friend Anna.”

  Shannon silenced and halted her numbing fists. Her body tensed as an agony of rage jolted through her. She didn’t like hearing this stranger say Anna’s name. She drew in a long deep breath in an attempt to provide herself with the needed time to regain her sensibility. Anna’s safety was the priority.

  Shannon pressed her forehead against the door, wondering what to do next. “What is this all about? Why are you doing this to me?” she asked in barely more than a whisper.

  The door clicked. Shannon jumped back and pressed her back to the wall on the opposite side of the room. A tall, thin, older gentleman stepped through the doorway. His dark blue eyes immediately fixed on her.

  Shannon studied him, wondering if she could out-maneuver him. She sighed. It didn’t matter because they had Anna.

  The man shut the door behind him but kept his distance. “You look scared,” he said, his stone-cold eyes unwavering.

  Shannon froze in place. Of course, she was scared. She’d been kidnapped, held captive, and separated from Anna.

  “As long as you do as you’re told, everything will be okay for both you and your friend.”

  A glance at the wedding dress on the back of the chair alerted her to the fact she would be married soon, but to whom and why? The man before her had to be at least as old as her father.

  He must have read her mind. “Don’t worry dearie, it’s not me you’ll be marrying today. You’ll be marrying my son, making good on a promise made by your grandfather some years ago.”

  “Excuse me?”

  “You are all that stands between me and my inheritance, which is contingent upon you marrying my eldest son.”

  Shannon vaguely recalled her Uncle Bernie and mother discussing from time to time a crazy story about some madman her mother was promised to marry in the old country. Evidently, the pasty, grey-haired man standing before her was the madman.

  “I can see the wheels spinning in your pretty little head. It appears your family hasn’t informed you of your obligation.” He paused and then huffed, “but I’m not surprised. They’ve avoided their duty for nearly two generations, but it stops here and now. Today, you will marry my son and all debts will be paid in full. I will inherit the money due me and someday the wealth will be passed onto Davin, making you a very wealthy woman. Very wealthy,” he repeated coolly. “It would be nice if you’d take on this task voluntarily, but we’re prepared to make it happen either way. The choice is yours, understood?”

  Shannon understood all right. They’d hurt Anna if she disagreed. Her knees went weak and she’d have fallen if she hadn’t been leaning against the wall. She considered her options but found none. For Anna’s sake, she’d go through with this plan and figure out how to undo everything later. Her heart nearly dropped to her feet. So much for saying ‘I do’ only once. Sweat beaded on her brow at the idea of marrying someone she didn’t know, let alone love. Her breath hitched as terror snapped through her at the possibility of consummating this farce of a marriage.

  Her gaze refocused on the old man before her. She needed to suck it up and drum up some courage to get herself and Anna through this disastrous event. After willing away the tears burning in the back of her eyes, she squared her shoulders. She would be darned if she’d let him see her sweat or cry.

  “When will this marriage take place and when will I see Anna again?” Shannon asked, hoping to gauge how much time she had to figure a way out of this mess. With any luck, she might find a way to delay everything and give Spinelli more time to locate her. Surely, after the frantic phone call about the finger in the cached box, he’d be looking for her. Why does this crazy crap keep happening to me? It’s like she was being punished for something. But what did the finger have to do with anything? “Wait, the ring,” Shannon whispered.

  “Yes, the ring.”

  Shannon lifted her eyes to meet the old man’s again. She couldn’t help but notice the evil grin on his face as well. The kind of grin bullies wore during recess on the playground. She worked to firm up her voice. “What’s the deal with the ring?”

  His atrocious grin grew wider. “Sent as a reminder to your Uncle Bernie as to what happens when deals are broken.”

  “So then why didn’t you put the ring where he’d find it, rather than me?”

  “Oh, but that wouldn’t have delivered the kind of impact I hoped to achieve.”

  He stepped forward slowly, edging closer toward her. His ice-cold gaze pinned her in place. The sheer intensity of his stare alerted her to the fact that he was beyond ‘bully’ status; he was simply mad. Reaching up, he skimmed the back of his long, ice-cold fingers over her cheek. His hand was soft like a woman’s. His stale breath brushed over her face. Shannon pressed the back of her head tighter to the wall. “But he doesn’t even know that ...”

  The old man snugly gripped her chin between his thumb and forefinger, glanced at his watch, and then shifted his gaze back to hers. “Oh, trust me, dearie, by now he knows. And I’m guessing he’s rethinking his past choices.”

  What in the world is this idiotic old man talking about? What choices? Stay strong. Shannon jerked her head to the side to break free from his hold, hoping her abrupt movement would send him a message.

  * * * *

  Spinelli paced the floor waiting for Bernie to phone back. Bernie had disconnected the call abruptly after their initial conversation regarding the finger and ring. Spinelli didn’t get to ask any of the numerous follow-up questions that flooded his mind. However, he found some comfort in Bernie’s assurance to call with more details the second they got on the road. They—who exactly were ‘they?’

  Spinelli placed his cell phone on the small round table in his hotel room. He, Walker, and Marsh stared at it as if their impatience would cause Bernie to call back quicker. Spinelli was dying to hear an explanation about the forty-year-old dismembered finger. His patience shot, he slammed his fist against the table and jolted the phone into ringing mode. Okay, coincidental, but it didn’t matter. The release of anger made him feel better for a split second.

  Walker tapped the speaker button on the phone so they could all hear Bernie.

  Spinelli leaned toward the phone. “What in the hell is going on?”

  “We just left Milwaukee and are headed North on I43. We should be there in less than three hours.”

  “That’s fine, but what’s this all about? And who’s with you?”

  After a brief hesitation, Bernie spoke, “It’s going to sound ridiculous, but this whole thing is a result of the marriage of my grandparents, Shannon’s great-grandparents.”

  “Excuse me?”

  “The crazy bastard is trying to make good on a deal struck between my father and his.”

  “I thought you said it was your grandparents, now it’s your father? And who’s the crazy bastard you’re talking about? What’s the deal?” Spinelli asked, unable to keep the agitation from his tone.

  “That’s what I’m getting to. You need to give me a mi
nute to get this in order,” Bernie replied with unmistakable frustration.

  Spinelli glanced from the phone to Walker. Walker’s look was enough for Spinelli to know he needed to zip it up and give Bernie a chance to explain.

  “I’m sorry, Bernie. I’m just a bit confused as to what in the hell is going on here.”

  “Yeah, I know, I get it. Unfortunately, Nick, I’m afraid it will get worse before it gets better. It’s a long, convoluted story, and I’ll do my best to explain it all from the beginning.”

  The millisecond of a pause gave Spinelli enough time to catch another silencing glance from Walker; one for good measure.

  “We’re ready to listen, Bernie,” Walker replied to verbally reconfirm the fact that Spinelli would not interrupt.

  “Okay. It all started in the mid-1920s. My grandfather, Graham Mathison, was a student at Oxford when he met my grandmother. After a short courtship, they were married in a private ceremony. When she returned to Ireland with an English husband, the shit hit the fan. She was an only child and had been promised by her father to marry Tomas O’Brien. Both my grandmother’s parents and Tomas’s parents were wealthy landowners and they viewed this union as a way to increase their wealth and stature. Hence, the Mathison and O’Brien feud began.”

  Marsh pulled a frown. “An arranged marriage started all this trouble?

  You’ve got to be kidding me.”

  Walker cocked his head to the side and fixed his silencing glare on Marsh before Spinelli had the chance.

  “No, I’m not kidding, that’s what started the whole ugly feud. Things were different back then. Anyhow, Tomas eventually married and had two sons, Emmet and one that died in an accident when he was just a teenager. My grandparents had three boys: my father Winston and my two uncles. Seeing as both unions only yielded boys, they had no options of marriage to join the wealth as promised by the earlier generation. Though Tomas married someone else, he still felt he’d been wronged and demanded restitution. Graham refused so Tomas did anything he could to make my grandfather’s life a living hell.”