Realtors For Sale

by Diane Rapp

  Chapter 5 – The Attack

  Six more couples toured the house during the next two hours, but when five o’clock arrived, Tamara rushed to lock up the house. She took down the sign at the driveway entrance and drove down the road to collect her other signs. Back inside the garage, Tamara opened the car’s back hatch and stacked the open house signs neatly against the garage wall.

  Bentley was already sitting in the back seat of the Honda. “Stay in the car while I go change into comfortable clothes,” she told him as she grabbed a gym bag. Setting her purse on a nearby worktable, she rolled down the car’s windows a few inches and tossed the dog a cookie.

  Inside the laundry room, she changed into comfortable jeans and a sweatshirt. She walked through the house, turning off lights and checking locks on the windows and doors. Remembering to set the alarm, she returned to the garage.

  Tamara gripped the chrome handle to open her car door. It was locked.

  Hearing gruff laughter, she turned to see the creep who’d threatened her earlier. Blocking the garage entrance, the man leaned against a dark blue Mercedes with muscular arms crossed over his broad chest and a wicked gleam in his eyes.

  Sneering, he said, “I relish the sight of a chick in skinny jeans as much as the next guy, but you better change back into that sexy velvet jacket and short skirt. Don’t bother with the silk blouse. We want bare skin in the photos we send to Jeffrey.”

  Furious, Tamara jumped to grab the red plastic handle dangling just above her head. A loud metallic click sounded. The heavy garage door disconnected, rolled down the track, and slammed against the concrete. Tamara picked up an open house sign and jammed the metal pole through one arm of the door mechanism. She dashed back to press the manual door lock on the control panel and stood panting.

  The sound of laughing attracted her attention. The man stood outside the decorative iron bars over the garage window and waved her keys. He hissed, “I’ll just let myself into the house and we can go on our date, Suzanne.”

  Again, the jerk had called her Suzanne and the way he ogled her felt terrifying. She must block the door leading from inside the house into the garage. Her heart pounded as she opened the door and punched a false code into the control panel. The alarm started beeping as she closed the back door.

  Grabbing another open house sign, she examined the connections. The flimsy sign would get in her way since she only needed the metal stake. She stood on the wood sign and twisted the metal pole until it ripped away from the screws. Outside, she heard the ring tone of her phone and listened to the man answer.

  “Oh, hello. Yes, my wife, Tamara Owens, just punched the wrong code into the alarm system again. It’s so funny. The silly woman can’t seem to remember the right code. No. She can’t speak now. She felt sick and just ran into the restroom. This is her husband, Jeffrey Owens, and I know her safe word. It’s poodle.”

  Tamara felt shocked. How did he know her safe word? Was he listening when she talked to the alarm company that morning? He didn’t know Jeffrey was deceased, but the alarm company didn’t know the facts either. Where did he get Jeff’s name?

  “Sure, I’ll tell her to call you as soon as she’s feeling better. You know how a pregnant woman has morning sickness day and night.”

  Hearing the front door of the house slam, she jammed the point of the metal stake into the wooden frame near the door knob and wedged the other end against the hinge on the opposite side. The door swung into the garage to open, so the barricade should give her a few minutes to escape. She realized it wouldn’t take long to break through if the goon was stubborn.

  First she must release Bentley from the locked car. How? Luckily, she always opened the front windows a few inches to allow for air circulation. She pushed her arm through the narrow space and tried to reach the door handle on the driver’s side. Squeeze as she might, her fingertips barely grazed the handle.

  Bentley climbed into the driver’s seat and licked her hand. “It’s okay, boy. I’ll figure something out.” Could she use a metal stake to break the glass? She wrenched another sign off its post but remembered the first time she got locked out of the car. It was a few months before Jeffrey died. He drove to her rescue with a spare set of keys and promptly bought a hide-a-key.

  That was it!

  She threw down the post with a loud clang and searched under the fenders. Nothing would stick to plastic fenders. Dusty and frustrated, Tamara wiped her hands on the legs of her jeans.

  She was startled by loud pounding on the barricaded door. Bentley started barking at the top of his voice. The man shouted, “You think you’re so clever, Suzanne! I’ll kill your blasted mutt and make you watch him die.” The door shook as he banged harder.

  Where had Jeffrey hidden the key? The gas cap! She finally remembered that Jeff told her the key was under the gas tank lid! She popped the lid open and ran her fingers around the edges. She connected with a square piece of black fabric, hidden but easy enough to reach. She tugged the edge and the Velcro flap on the bag ripped open to reveal the key.

  “Thanks, Jeff, I love you!” she whispered. A warm feeling filled her chest and she knew he loved her too. With no time to lose, Tamara released Bentley. He bounced around her legs, barking with excitement.

  “I swear I’ll break the noisy dog’s neck!” the man shouted as the door vibrated with renewed pounding. How much time did she have before he burst through the door?

  Tamara reached inside the car to secure a hammer-like tool, designed to break glass or cut a seatbelt. She headed toward the crawl space access door. Normally the space under a house was accessed from outside, but Mike thought a door from the garage was more convenient. Tamara never demonstrated this feature to potential buyers, because she hated spiders and didn’t want to crawl under the house. Could she gain extra time to hide? The panel swung outward to open, therefore, Tamara knew she couldn’t block the access panel with a metal stake. Bentley poked his head through the opening and sniffed the stale air, wagging his tail as if he were ready to forge into the dark hole. Tamara shuddered, trying not to imagine creepy crawlers that loved dark places. A handy little flashlight was attached to her keyring, which the assailant now had in his grubby hands. Oh well, she’d rather face spiders than get caught by him!

  “Tunnel,” she told Bentley as she pointed. He jumped through the hole and Tamara crawled in behind him. Her hand jerked as her palm landed on a stray nail in the dirt. “Great, now I’ll get tetanus,” she grumbled. Picking up the long nail she wondered, “Can I nail the panel shut from inside?”

  She pulled the door closed and felt grateful to see it was framed with sturdy two-by-fours and a cross-brace. Hammering the nail with her windshield-breaker was difficult, but she secured the top half of a barrier to keep them safe. The sound of the hammering was drowned out by the man’s shouts and banging. Scrabbling around through the dirt, she discovered another nail and hammered another one into place at the bottom of the door panel.

  “I’m so grateful for sloppy carpenters,” she whispered. She peered into the dark hole under the house and knew she must keep moving. “I wish I’d explored this place during daylight. Mike said he installed a crawl space access under the master bedroom’s closet.” She recognized plumbing pipes jutting down from the kitchen, so she must crawl to the left to reach the middle of the house.

  Heavy footsteps stomped across the floor above their heads, and the familiar ringtone of her cellphone sounded again. She held her breath and listened.

  “No, Tamara’s not here. This is her husband, Jeffrey. Tamara left her cellphone at home today, but I can give her a message when she comes home. She’s due here any minute.”

  The thug was using Jeff’s name again! Hopefully the caller knew that speaking to her dead husband was impossible. Maybe they’d send some help, but in the meantime, Tamara needed to find a safe place to hide. She noticed a square frame cut into the floor joists above her head and pushed up. The square opened into a large master closet. She boosted
Bentley up and scrambled into the closet with him. The access panel fit into the closet’s hardwood flooring with only a finger latch to reveal its place when closed.

  More angry steps echoed through the house, and she heard a metal clang as the man finally broke through the garage door. She lowered the square opening back into place. How could she keep the man out of the closet if he found the spot from underneath?

  Searching the closet, she removed a mahogany shelf from its bracket and wedged the strong wood tightly into the drywall on both sides of the closet. The barrier stretched over the trap door. It might keep the access shut for a while. “Sorry to damage your closet walls, Mike,” she whispered. She was glad the goon had not been interested in the special features of the home, so he didn’t know about the mechanical room in the tower above the master suite.

  Tugging on a rope attached to the ladder above her head, Tamara held her breath. The first half of the ladder dropped quietly and when she unfolded the second half, padded feet rested on the wood flooring in the closet. The ladder treads looked sturdy enough, so Tamara pointed at the steps. “Climb, Bentley,” she whispered.

  The poodle sniffed the wooden ladder and backed up, not ready to obey. “Go! Climb,” she said emphatically and patted the tread with her hand.

  With a loud sigh, Bentley put his front right foot onto the first tread, and then alternated feet to slowly climb up the wooden steps. He gained confidence as he approached the opening at the top and hopped into the room above. When Bentley poked his head into the opening to stare down at Tamara, she climbed the ladder to join him.

  Tamara stood in the octagonal room where the air-conditioning equipment and in-floor water heater for the house were installed. It seemed like a safe place to hide. She’d better pull up the ladder and rope to ensure their safety.

  Gazing down into the closet, Tamara discovered that the rope was attached to the bottom of the steps, and there was no way to retract the ladder from above. She felt so stupid. That angry man would discover the blocked hatch from the crawl space into the closet. Given time, he’d make his way into the closet and climb up to get them. Her only weapons were a windshield smasher and a dog. What could she do now?

  Tamara checked her watch and realized it was after six already and would get dark fast. Twilight spilled into the room through windows circling the tower, giving her enough light to examine the complicated equipment in the control room. Mike Taylor had explained that the computerized system would call for service if a failure occurred.

  How could she make a failure happen now?

  She flipped switches until the hum of the machinery halted. A red light blinked, but she worried about loud beeps suddenly starting. She flipped the switches back on and the light glowed green again. Repeating the process twice, she decided to leave the machinery running. It wouldn’t be smart to attract the kidnapper’s attention by alarms blaring. Hopefully, the erratic operation of the equipment might trigger a call to Mike Taylor.

  How long would it take?

  Furious, Max couldn’t make the back door to the garage budge by banging his shoulder against it. He reared back and kicked his way through the door, causing a sharp jolt to reverberate up his spine. A loud clatter drew his attention to the metal stake Suzanne had wedged in the door frame, but he couldn’t see her anywhere inside the garage.

  He got real pissed off.

  The only thing left in the garage was her little green car. He grabbed the metal stake and raised it over his head to smash the little car’s windshield. Abruptly a pain shot through his spine, and he knew he’d better not make it worse. He lowered his arms gently and sat on the car’s hood, determined to think like a broad and figure out how she got away. His gaze wandered around the place as he patted the palm of his hand with the metal stake. Sure enough, he spotted a little door set into the wall and figured she escaped under the house.

  With a smirk, he tugged on the door’s handle but got nowhere. The woman must’ve nailed it shut, because it wouldn’t budge an inch. Anger got the best of him, and he smashed the little door with the stake until a good-sized hole opened up, wide enough for him to grab the framed edge and yank. Wood splintered, and he was left with a gaping hole leading into a very dark space.

  Max wasn’t afraid of most things, but dark spaces made him flinch, probably from spending so much time in a dark solitary confinement cell in prison. He needed a light. Remembering the tiny flashlight on Suzanne’s keyring, Max ran back to the kitchen. He ripped the flashlight off the keyring and returned to enter the dirty hole.

  He knew crawling under the house would mess up his smart suit, so he shrugged out of the pinstriped jacket and draped it over the hood of the green car. Taking a deep breath, he crawled in after the broad.

  The flashlight was tiny, but it cast enough light to spot dog prints and the woman’s scrape marks across the dirt. He laughed and followed the trail straight to the middle of the house, where a framed square cut out of the floor was clearly visible above his head. He breathed a sigh of relief. Now he could climb out of the dirty hole, get back into a brightly lit house, and catch the irritating woman. He shoved, but the square budged a couple of inches and stopped. Banging against whatever blocked the square got him nowhere, fast.

  This whole day was like a nightmare where things kept going wrong, over and over again! The crazy broad might have blocked him from getting into the house the easy way, but he wouldn’t let her win. No way! Of course Max vented his fury by screaming at her, vowing to get her no matter what. Then he turned around and crawled back out of the darkness.

  Silence in the house was broken by loud banging under the closet that jarred Tamara’s nerves. “He found the opening into the closet,” she whispered to Bentley.

  The man shouted, “You can’t get away so easy, Suzanne! I’ll come up there and find you right now! You’re trapped.”

  He was right! They needed to sneak out of the house before he caught them. Bentley had been sniffing the floor of their sanctuary, but found nothing of interest. He suddenly decided to stand on his hind legs and gazed out the nearest window.

  Tamara stroked his head and whispered, “You’re a good boy, Bentley. The house next door is for sale, and the old woman who lived there repurposed a wine cellar into a bomb shelter during the 1950s. There’s a phone inside the main house, and the bomb shelter might be a perfect place to hide. I hope we can get down from here.”

  Tamara opened the window nearest the adjacent ridge of the lower tile roof. She lifted Bentley outside and climbed through the window herself, stepping carefully on the red tiles.

  Bentley waited for her next command.

  She pointed at the row of tiles stretching across the rooftop. “Walker, Bentley. Go!” Without hesitation, Bentley trotted across the rounded roof tiles and down the slope on the other side. She grumbled, “I guess I’d better follow him. Just hope I don’t crack expensive tiles, but Mike would forgive me.”

  Tamara felt grateful Mike’s construction company installed thick, kiln-dried tiles on this roof. Of course, a few of the tiles cracked under her weight. Holding her arms out for balance, she placed one foot in front of the other, like a tight-rope walker, until she reached the end. She exhaled a pent-up breath and looked down. Bentley waiting for her on the hillside below, his long pink tongue dangling.

  The roof eave ended a few feet above the retained hill slope, but Tamara hated heights. She sat and scooted down the tiles until her legs dangled above the hill. Pushing off from the eave, she landed with a thud on the soft turf next to Bentley. He promptly gave her kisses, his body wiggling with excitement. She groaned and wiped her face with her sweatshirt’s sleeve. This was just a new game for him and he was having too much fun!

  Tamara stood and looked around for any sign of the creep. She felt safe about moving and gave Bentley a hand signal to follow. They headed toward the house next door. Running in a crouch made her thighs burn, but she knew she must avoid being seen by the vile man. She prayed Bentle
y’s white coat wouldn’t catch the man’s attention.

  They reached a slatted wooden fence. Tamara pointed and said, “Jump!” She watched Bentley sail easily over the top. It wasn’t such an easy climb for her, because the pointed tops of the fence poked her legs. She felt grateful her denim jeans protected the sensitive skin on her thighs. Leading the way toward the house, she reached a long hedgerow with tall shrubs spaced about two feet apart. Tamara grinned and said, “Why not have some fun. Weave, Bentley, weave.”

  He sprang forward and twined his limber body through the bushes, hardly touching them as he zigzagged down the living plants. Tamara muttered, “This would be fun if it wasn’t so serious.” Remaining low, she crab-walked alongside the bushes until they reached a well-groomed section of open grass. On the far side of the lawn, Tamara could see their goal, the vacant house and the entrance to a bomb shelter.

  She had always wondered whether the bomb shelter would be effective against a bomb. It had been converted from a wine cellar into a bomb shelter, but most of the building still stood well above ground. Although it was constructed from concrete, the tiled roof overhang sheltered a wooden door, and she remembered that there were several steps leading down to the room inside. It didn’t matter now. It might be a perfect place to hide.

  Taking a deep breath, she darted across the open area and stopped under the roof eave. Exhausted, she bent over with her hands resting on the tops of her thighs. Bentley pranced up to their goal, wagging his whole body with doggie enthusiasm.

  “Shh, boy! Easy now.” She could tell he wanted to jump and bark as part of the fun. “Sit and stay.” She gave him a hand signal and left the shadow of the roofline of the bomb shelter. She ran toward the back door of the main house.