Every Good Plan

by Urcelia Teixeira

  The highway was relatively free flowing so he shifted his body into a more relaxed seat. Easing into the drive, he settled at the maximum speed limit. He was cautious not to break it—the last thing he needed was to be pulled over for speeding. But in the pit of his stomach, he had a feeling of dread he just couldn’t shake. His hands tightened over the wheel and he shuffled back into an upright position. Desperate to rid the tension he now felt in his chest, he rolled his shoulders back and cracked his neck sideways in both directions. Diaz had at least a three hour head start. He swore under his breath, annoyed at himself for wasting so much time on picking out clothing. But he knew why he had done that too. He wanted to look semi-decent when he saw her again. She had last seen him in an orange prison suit—not his best moment. He glanced at her photo in the newspaper. He had smoothed out the article on top of the dashboard in front of him. But the ball of tension remained in the pit of his stomach. He decided he needed to try and get there quicker. He knew Diaz wasn’t a man who bluffed. So he pushed his foot down onto the accelerator, just enough to send him over the speed limit. Fifteen minutes later he heard the faint sound of police sirens somewhere in the distance behind him. His heart skipped a beat and he slammed his good hand down on the steering wheel, instantly regretting his decision to push the limit. He glanced back at the police vehicle that was closing the distance behind him. Can’t be caught! Not now! His mind shifted into planning mode and he lifted his foot off the pedal instantly to reduce speed. He pulled into the middle lane and settled between two slower cars, both of which were also black. With any luck, the police wouldn’t be able to tell which one had been speeding and pass him by. He tried to look casual as the police car came into view in his right rearview mirror. He stared straight ahead. From the corner of his eye, the blue lights flashed to his right but then flew past him.

  “Yes!” he screamed victoriously out loud.

  Less than a minute later another police vehicle zipped by followed by the paramedics. Soon after, the emergency response team followed suit. Something must have happened up front. Up ahead he could see the traffic starting to slow down.

  “No, no, no! Keep moving,” he said out loud as if they could hear him.

  But before long he, along with all the other cars, had been brought to a dead standstill. And because he was in the middle lane, he was now wedged between both lanes of cars with no way out. He rolled his window down and popped his head out to see what had caused the sudden congestion. But he was too far back to see anything. He rolled his window up and took a few more bites of the half-eaten burger that he had left open on the passenger seat. Five minutes later the traffic had still not moved. By now he had turned his car off and his left knee was bouncing up and down from the pent-up stress.

  “Come on, come on! What’s the hold-up?”

  He flipped the radio on and turned the dial to the traffic channel but there were no reports on his location. Deciding to leave it on nonetheless, he got out of the car and knocked on the window of the car next to him. Inside the senior couple seemed unperturbed by the delay. The woman was peacefully knitting away in the passenger seat while her husband sat quietly behind the wheel listening to the radio.

  “Sorry to bother sir, ma’am, but I was wondering if you might know what’s causing the delay?” Lenny asked through the half rolled down window.

  Just as the old man was about to answer him the news report sounded over their radio. Together the trio listened as the broadcaster explained that an eighteen-wheeler had lost a tire and overturned, causing its entire load to spill across the highway.

  “Great! Just what I needed,” Lenny cried out in anger as he pushed himself away from the window.

  “You know, dearie, sometimes these things happen for a reason,” the old woman said in a wise tone.

  Lenny had stepped back from the car into the narrow space between their vehicles and rubbed the back of his neck with his good hand.

  “Yeah well, who decides that?”

  “The Lord does, of course. He always has everything under control.”

  It wasn’t what Lenny wanted to hear at that moment. He dropped his hand as if to swat away a fly and got back into his car, slamming his door loudly behind him. It was rude, he realized that, but he was beyond the point of irritation. He was livid. If he hadn’t lingered in the Chinese store, hadn’t taken so long to freshen up at the gas station, he would have missed it all. He would have been in time to get Carrie to safety. Now it might be too late.

  Every cell in his body wanted to explode, be angry at someone. He slammed his hands down hard on the steering wheel, momentarily forgetting that his arm was broken. He winced with pain as his cast hit the wheel and sent vibrations through his broken bones.

  “Aargh! Why is everything going wrong? Why can’t it just go right for me, for once in my life, huh?” he shouted out at the universe. As if he expected an answer.

  But when no answers came, he flopped his head forward onto the steering wheel; he had no choice but to wait it out. Lenny sat there in his car in total silence for the next two hours before the traffic finally started to move again. With his body upright leaning forward onto the steering wheel he pushed the car forward as fast as the congested traffic would allow. It took every ounce of willpower not to ram the car’s nose into the back of the cars in front of him and push them out of the way.

  “Move idiots!” he yelled in frustration when he saw the line in front of him snaked at least another half a mile.

  When at long last his Chevrolet Malibu slowly glided past the accident scene on the highway, Lenny looked back at where the paramedics were lifting a covered body into the back of the ambulance. Pulled off onto the shoulder of the highway were two cars—both totally wrecked—and one still pinned beneath the truck’s trailer. Apart from a few oil spills that had been covered with sand, piles of shattered glass and vehicle parts lay all over the place. Dozens of boxes and goods that had exploded and scattered everywhere were still being swept onto the side of the road—to clear the way for traffic. By the looks of it, the accident appeared far worse than he had thought. A faint voice in the back of his head whispered that it could’ve just as easily been him. But he brushed the thought away, concluding that the timing was off. Or was it?

  * * *

  It was almost midnight when Lenny’s car finally approached Wilmington. The port city was quiet with not a single soul in sight—at least not where he was. Great! Now whom do I ask for directions? He slowly rolled the car down the main street, stopping every now and then to scan for an open store or restaurant. But everything was already shut for the night. He thought of looking for a city map. Most visitor and information centers would have them somewhere out front. It was a smart move because less than ten minutes later he had followed the public direction posts and found the large map erected outside a quaint Georgian house in the middle of the Historic Downtown District. He parked the car slightly over the pavement and directed the car’s headlights onto the map. It didn’t take much time at all to find Turtle Cove. Marked with a picture of a turtle next to the title and a line leading to a brief caption along the side of the map, it showed the distance and the approximate traveling time—twenty-five minutes.

  Chapter Nine

  Carrie’s legs were shaking beneath her body. Not from the cold, but in fear. She had briefly looked back a moment ago and he had increased his pace too. Who is he and why is he following me? By now she had increased her gait so that she was moving in a light jog. The park was empty—they had closed it off until the ceremony. She kept her eyes on the street up ahead where visitors had started gathering at the market. With her clipboard pinned in the crook of her arm, she glanced back once more. She had to know how far behind her he was. But the man was no longer there. Relieved, she settled back into a brisk walk. She turned her entire body around so she could have a better look, make sure he was gone. Her eyes scanned the park behind her. Nothing. He was gone. She let out a nervous giggle. Silly woman. You
got yourself in a tizzy over nothing.

  When she stepped out into the street she smoothed her hair, drew in a deep breath, and let it out slowly—gathering herself. She willed her red lips into a smile and set off to Al’s Hardware.

  “You come as if you were called,” Al said from behind the counter as soon as she stepped inside.

  “Really? Great timing then I suppose,” she smiled. “How are we doing with the lanterns?”

  “Well, that’s kinda what I needed to talk to you about. I’ve hit a slight snag. The consignment of battery-operated lanterns never arrived—apparently, the truck overturned on the way here. They won’t have another truck heading this way until next week.”

  “Oh, that’s not good. Any chance any of the nearby towns’ hardware stores might loan us some?”

  “I’ve already checked. They don’t have spares.”

  Carrie fell silent as she thought her way through the problem. She checked the time on her watch.

  “Okay, we still have a little bit of time. I’ll have Betty quickly put together a craft table—we’ll offer free DIY paper lanterns. She should know how to make them. It’s a fire hazard but we’ll make sure everyone follows the necessary safety rules. I’ll get Chief Perry to stand by with a firetruck just in case.” She scribbled on her notepad.

  “You’re a genius, Carrie Claiborne. This town is so blessed to have you, you know that?”

  “Aw, thanks, Al. Only doing what any mayor’s wife would do.” She flashed a smile and left.

  As she made her way towards the Crafting Queen craft shop, she reached for her mobile to make a call to Chief Perry. As she dialed his number she noticed her battery showed four percent. She’d forgotten to charge it earlier. Taking the chance she made the call anyway. The chief didn’t take long to answer so she quickly filled him in. The battery died the second she ended the call.

  * * *

  The craft shop wasn’t on the main road. It was at the end of a short lane one block down. She’d have to hurry before Betty finished her last workshop for the day. Once she was done, she’d quickly swing by the house to pick up her portable phone charger then make her way down to the tree for the switching-on ceremony. When she rounded the corner at the end of the block she pulled her coat’s collar higher over her neck as the icy wind hit her face. The alley was dark and empty. She realized the Christmas parade had already started—everyone would by now have made their way to the other side of town. Please let her be there, she prayed.

  Her heels noisily hit the cobbled lane, sending echoes into the chilly evening air. She pinned her eyes on the small shop. From where she was she could already tell the shop had closed. She briefly stopped, contemplating whether to even bother going closer. As the noise of her shoes died down, she heard a second set of footsteps somewhere behind her. She spun around. Peered into the darkness. Listened. There was no one there. She turned and carried on toward the shop about ten yards away—just to be certain. When she got to the door she jiggled the knob. It was locked. She put her face between her hands on the window and peered inside. The shop was deserted. As she stood still in front of the shop at the end of the lane, she heard footsteps again. Perhaps Betty had come back. Perhaps Al got to her first.

  “Hello? Betty, is that you?” she called into the darkness. Her back was pinned up against the shop’s door in fear. No one answered. She strained her eyes to see better in the shadows. But saw nothing. She waited, listened. She thought she heard a shuffle halfway down the lane. Her heart pounded noisily against her chest. Her throat went dry.

  “Hello? Who’s there?” she called out again. This time with a slight quiver in her voice.

  Her insides lay in a knot in the pit of her stomach. Run! her instincts told her. But she was trapped in the alley. There was nowhere to run but back down the lane. Toward the noise.

  With her back still pinned against the door, she fixed her eyes on the dark lane in front of her. Her hand blindly searched for the door handle behind her back. When she found it she jiggled it again, this time with more force. The door didn’t budge. She thought of breaking the window in the door with her elbow—like the burglars did on the tv shows. Once inside she could use the phone to call the police. But what if she was just paranoid? Broke Betty’s window for nothing. Fearful for no reason like in the park earlier.

  She decided she’d brave the walk back down the alley instead. After all, whatever she’d heard was no longer there. Probably a rat. She made a mental note to contact the council about it in the morning.

  She slowly pushed herself away from the door. Took one small step, then one more. Slowly, quietly, on full alert. Her heart pulsed noisily in her ears. Her body went rigid. She paused, listened, nothing. Two more steps. This time she moved faster. When nothing happened she increased her stride, strained her ears. She felt like crying. She felt like throwing up. Pull yourself together, woman. Your mind’s running away with you. She pinched her eyes closed, took a deep breath, and let it out slowly. She shook her hair back as if to shake the fear away and set off down the dark alley toward the quiet street. From inside the recessed doorway of another shop directly to her right, something moved in the shadows. Her body jerked to a halt. Then she saw him. The man from the park.

  Mayor Grayson Claiborne scooped his little girl up in his arms as she darted away from Adam toward him.

  “Fly me, Daddy. Fly me! I’m an angel.”

  “You’re getting too old for me to pick you up, Maribelle,” he laughed. “Even though you’re the most beautiful angel I’ve ever laid eyes on.”

  He kissed her forehead and lowered her to the ground.

  “Now where’s that other angel of mine, huh?” he asked Adam, referring to Carrie.

  “I’m sure she’s flying around here somewhere. We’d agreed on meeting back here for the ceremony. Although she should’ve been here already, we’re about to start,” Adam said.

  “Knowing that wife of mine she’s probably taking care of a tiny emergency somewhere. She won’t be happy until everything is perfect.” Grayson turned his attention to his daughter. “So how about you and I let Pastor Adam do his thing and we go find ourselves a lantern?”

  “I’m singing, Daddy, in the angel choir. See?” Maribelle pointed to where the carolers had already lined up in front of the tall Christmas tree.

  “Sorry, Grayson, thought you knew. It was a last-minute thing to help Carrie out. She looked a bit overwhelmed with everything so I kinda created the opportunity to give her a little space.”

  “Nothing to be sorry for, Adam. Thank you, that was a very considerate gesture. I’m sure she’ll surface any second now. Go on then, little angel. Go sing your heart out.”

  Grayson waited until Maribelle joined the choir, excused himself, then dialed Carrie’s number from his mobile. It went straight to voicemail. He dialed it again. It made no difference. Something left him unsettled. It wasn’t like Carrie not to have her phone on. He dialed it once more. Still he got the same result. Being almost six foot five, Grayson towered over most people. So he stood in place and scanned his eyes over the crowd, turning slowly in a circle. But with the glow from the dozens of lanterns, it was hard to see anyone’s face clearly. He asked Adam, who was now in conversation with a member of his team, to keep an eye on Maribelle and to call him when Carrie got there—just in case he missed her.

  He moved through the crowd asking along the way if anyone might have seen his wife. No one had, except Al who told him she had left his store to go to Crafting Queen.

  “But that was ages ago, Mayor. Funny thing is, she never did get to speak to Betty. I happened to bump into her over at the games table and we got to work on the lanterns straight away,” Al reported.

  Grayson thanked Al and stood to one side. He checked the time—it was five minutes to midnight. In the background he heard the carolers singing. Perhaps he’d missed her. He dialed Adam’s cell.

  “No, she’s still not here, Grayson. This isn’t like her. She’s never late,
” Adam said.

  “I know. Something must be wrong. I’m going to pop in at the house. Maybe she’s there. Call me if you see her.”

  “Will do.”

  “And, Adam, please keep her in your prayers. I don’t want to assume the worst, but I can’t shake this feeling that she’s in trouble.”

  “Will do, but I’m trusting she’s around here somewhere. She has to be.”

  Chapter Ten

  As Grayson walked away from the crowd he heard the countdown to the switching on of the Christmas tree lights. In the nearly twelve years they had lived in Turtle Cove, Carrie had never once missed the opening of any of the town’s events. She took her role far too seriously for that. His long legs pushed faster across the park’s lawns and on to the road, frustrated that he didn’t have his car. He had walked the three blocks from his house to free up parking for the visitors. Now he wished he hadn’t. His body went cold at the thought that something might have happened to his wife. It left his insides roiling with fear. Fear not, for I am with you; be not dismayed, for I am your God… the words of one of his favorite verses in Isaiah dropped into his head. Instantly he felt convicted. He whispered a prayer for forgiveness and asked God to strengthen him, help him, let Carrie be safe.

  But when he eventually burst through their home’s front door, the house was quiet. He called for her. No answer. Upstairs their bedroom was empty, as was the office. There was nothing to indicate that she had been back there since that morning when they had both left home together. His stomach did a somersault. His heart pulsed out of control.

  He dialed her mobile again. Still no answer. This time he left a message on her voicemail. The Crafting Queen! He was reminded that Al had said she’d gone there to find Betty. But he’d seen Betty at the tree and she had confirmed that she never saw Carrie. His mind raced through possible scenarios, avoiding a few that made his blood run cold with fear. He dared not think the worst. He wouldn’t.