Serenity Engulfed

by Craig A. Hart

  Shelby shook his head. It was crazy—all of it. He checked the time. It was time to get back to the business of finding Leslie. He turned to Mack.

  “You ready?”

  Mack raised an eyebrow. “For what?”

  “The next round at the Ellis place.”

  “I figured you’d want to wait until dark.”

  “It will be, by the time we get there.”

  Mack groaned. “I don’t like the sound of this. This calls for physical exertion, doesn’t it?”

  “Only a small hike. I want to come up from the side and flank the bastards. That way, we don’t have a vehicle to give us away, either to the Ellises or any nosy patrol cars that might happen by. Besides, a little exercise will do you good.”

  “It’s not the exercise I’m worried about.”

  “Oh?”

  “Nope. You see, my doctor’s been telling me for years I need to get in shape. Finally, I got tired of the nagging and decided to do something about it.”

  “You’ve been exercising?”

  “No, I quit going to my doctor.”

  Shelby groaned. “I knew that was headed for a terrible joke, but I didn’t know it would be that bad.”

  “No joke, Shel. It’s true. But seriously, it’s not the hike there that worries me. I’m afraid I’ll be so tired at the end that I won’t have the strength to run away.”

  Shelby moved to a gun safe that stood against the wall, opened it, and removed a shotgun, into which he began thumbing shells. Following the lead, Mack checked over his pistol, then snapped the magazine back into place and nestled it into the shoulder holster.

  “I’ve got a spare mag in my car and a Maglite,” Mack said. “Could come in handy. I was pretty good at wielding it while on the force.”

  “Good. We’ll grab it on the way out. Speaking of which, I’m ready if you are.”

  Mack nodded and the two men headed for the door.

  Once out on the porch, Shelby turned to lock the door. He glanced down at the ground to check for the cat, amused at how quickly he’d gotten used to seeing it. And there it was, curled up in the grass next to the outside wall, the wood above its head well-marked by long, vertical scratches.

  “I think your cat might be trying to knock over your house,” Mack said. “Why doesn’t he focus his energies on something more productive, like chasing birds or getting hairballs?”

  They got into the Jeep and Shelby pulled onto the main road but hadn’t gone more than a mile before his phone buzzed loudly—Carly. He took a deep breath and then answered.

  “Hey, Carly.”

  “Hi, Shel. How are you?”

  “Been better. And you?”

  Carly let out a rush of air. “Stressed. I have an important social tonight and I’m pretty nervous about it.”

  “What’s there to be nervous about?”

  “Oh, you know how it is. I try to fit in, but every time I start feeling I belong, someone goes out of their way to remind me where I come from.”

  “Bunch of snobs, huh?”

  “They can be. But I didn’t call about that. You didn’t return my last phone call and it was important, so I wanted to follow up.”

  “About Angel?”

  There was a brief pause. “Oh, so you talked to her?”

  “She came to the cabin and we chatted briefly.”

  “And?”

  “And I went to see the man who beat her.” The conversation felt strained and the feeling of discomfort was unexpected and unwelcome. It wasn’t that long ago Shelby was contriving excuses to call Carly, for the sole purpose of hearing her voice. But now he could feel the growing divide between them and was keenly aware that, while painful, it was probably for the best.

  “Was it a productive meeting?”

  “I think so. If nothing else, he’ll be in too much pain to beat up anyone for a good while.”

  “Well, that’s something. Who is the son of a bitch?”

  “Grant Bachmann.”

  “That shit.”

  “You know him?”

  “He has a thing for hookers. I stayed away from him as much as I could, even feigning food poisoning once to skip out on him. He’s a real creep.”

  “Not surprising, given his family tree.”

  “You mean his grandfather? Yeah, I heard there was some sort of scandal, but never knew exactly what.”

  “Let’s just say Grant Bachmann came by his twisted ways as honestly as one can.”

  There was a beat of silence, and then Carly said haltingly, “Listen, Shel…I hate to ask this, but—”

  “You want me to check on her, don’t you?”

  “Only once. Just to make sure she’s okay.”

  “Now’s not really a good time—”

  “Please? Grant Bachmann can be dangerous, in an underhanded, cowardly way. I wouldn’t put it past him to send someone after her.”

  Shelby sighed. “Okay, fine. Just a quick check. Do you happen to have her address?”

  “I don’t know it by memory, but I’m sure it’s in my address book or phone contact list, assuming she hasn’t moved recently. Hold on a minute.” A moment later, Carly was back on the line. “Hello, Shel? I have it here.”

  She read it to him and he repeated it back twice before feeling confident it wouldn’t fall through a hole in his memory.

  “Got it,” Shelby said. “And don’t worry; I’m sure she’s fine.”

  “I know, but I’ll feel better knowing you checked. Thanks, Shel. Anyway, not to rush, but I have to get ready for that social. Hey, if you wouldn’t mind sending me a quick text once you speak with Angel, I’d appreciate it.”

  “Sure.”

  “Okay. Thanks, Shel. Bye!”

  And she was gone. Shelby dropped the phone on the passenger seat with a deep sigh. He felt so many emotions at once, it was difficult to tell them apart. Relief and annoyance were there: relief that she hadn’t acted too weird or cold, and annoyance that she’d abruptly ended the call to attend a fancy New York function. He realized her voice, her style of speaking, had changed ever so slightly. It was more reserved and refined and contained less of the devil-may-care liveliness he’d always admired. Of course, she could simply be growing up—really coming into her own. He smiled at that thought, knowing she would protest the idea that she had some growing up to do. But at sixty, Shelby remembered how formative the decade between twenty-five and thirty-five had been for him. Carly was right in the middle of that range, which meant she had the potential to change much more over the next few years as her worldview, personality, and lifestyle preferences solidified.

  “Change of plans?”

  Shelby glanced up, realizing he’d momentarily forgotten he wasn’t alone in the vehicle. He nodded in answer to the question, and then also realized he was on the verge of running a stop sign. He slammed on the brakes and waited while a Buick crept through the intersection. The massive car was driven by an old woman so tiny that she was looking through the steering wheel, rather than over it.

  “Terrifying,” Shelby muttered. “Utterly terrifying.”

  Unexpectedly, the sight of the old woman reminded him of his own mother. Had she lived, she and the Buick’s driver would be around the same age. Not that Shelby wished his mother was still living—she hadn’t exactly been a cheerleader for her son and, in fact, had done irreparable damage.

  “That’s you by this time next year,” Mack said, grinning.

  The barb pushed the unpleasant thoughts from Shelby’s mind and so he let it slide out of gratitude.

  Their turn was just two intersections ahead, and as the Jeep entered the new street, he saw a row of duplexes. Squinting, Shelby tracked the street numbers as they ticked upward. He saw the one he was looking for and stopped the Jeep along the curb.

  “If Carly’s info is correct, this is the one,” Shelby said, taking a quick look up and down the street.

  They exited the Jeep and made their way toward the door of the house. As they walked up
the driveway, Shelby noticed a flicker of movement in the window blind of the adjoining duplex but pretended not to notice.

  “Don’t look, but I think we have a neighborhood watch lady on duty,” he muttered.

  Mack nodded. “Thought I saw something.”

  Once at the front door, Shelby rang the doorbell and they waited. Nothing. He knocked and waited some more, and then rang the bell again. Nothing. He tried the handle—it was locked.

  “It just can’t be easy, can it?” he groused.

  They exited the porch and began walking around the duplex.

  The two side windows were too high for inspection, but there was one at the back that looked promising. A curtain had once graced the window, but that hung precariously from one bracket. Several of the rings had torn free, making it obvious the curtain had been ripped down with some force. As Shelby put his face to the glass and peered inside, carnage unfolded before his eyes. The room appeared to have been a storage room, with boxes and bags galore. And while there may have once been some organization to the place, it was impossible to imagine. Boxes were torn open, their contents spilling out. Bag were ripped and miscellaneous items littered the floor. In fact, Shelby was hard-pressed to even see the floor under the mess.

  “Looks like something from an episode of Hoarders,” Mack said. “Although I’d lay my money on the place being ransacked.”

  “It does have that feel, doesn’t it?”

  Shelby wasn’t at all sure they weren’t overreacting. But if his growing sense of unease was correct, he couldn’t afford to wait around for a lucky break. Shelby had been bitten in the ass too many times for assuming the best, and had since decided that expecting the worst was the only way to prepare for it. Or, at least, minimize its impact.

  And, so, Shelby broke into Angel’s house.

  First, he tried the window, but it was locked. After a quick glance from one side to the other revealed no obvious watchers, Shelby reached into his jacket, pulled out his sidearm, and gave the window a solid rap with the butt. It cracked but didn’t break, and it took a couple more strategically placed blows to make an opening large enough to reach the latch without slitting his wrist.

  “So much for turning over a new leaf on Hammer’s behalf,” Mack said. “How are you going to explain this one?”

  “I’m hoping I won’t have to.” Shelby raised the window and gingerly climbed over the sill, trying to be careful where he placed his booted feet. Even so, he felt his foot crunch something into the carpet.

  “Damn it!” He raised his foot and discovered the broken remains of a ceramic figurine. “I hope that wasn’t expensive.”

  Shelby inched his way across the floor to a light switch on the wall. He flicked it on and took another look around. In full view and under properly lighted conditions, it was clear Angel’s storage room hadn’t been merely a place to put unwanted junk. In one corner was a stack of highly expensive shoes—Shelby knew little about shoes, but recognized the brand names, not to mention the red soles on a couple of pairs that lay scattered on the floor. He was certain Angel wouldn’t have treated those items so carelessly, unless they were knockoffs. Again, his knowledge of such things was minimal, but upon inspection, it was clear that, if the merchandise was fake, they were very good fakes.

  Mack was sifting through some of the strewn belongings and shaking his head. “I never would have guessed a whore in Serenity would make this kind of money.”

  “I don’t think she did. I’m guessing this was being stored for somebody else.”

  “Grant Bachmann?”

  “More likely a pimp.”

  “Serenity has pimps?”

  Shelby leaned over and picked up a jewelry box, only one of many that lay on the floor, thrown haphazardly. Some still held their contents, even though the remaining jewelry appeared inexpensive, much of it of the costume variety. That, however, only raised the question of the missing items. Clearly, someone had searched the storage room and picked out the items of value, leaving the rest.

  The voice cracked through the room like a whip. “Police! Get your hands up. Hands behind your head. Now!”

  18

  Recognizing Hammer’s voice, Shelby did as he was told. Mack followed suit, groaning and mumbling something about his pension.

  Shelby heard scuffling sounds and muttered curses as Hammer struggled through the window.

  “Damn it, this was a lot easier when I was a young rookie,” she said. “Both of you get up against the wall. Hands on the wall. Spread the legs.” She frisked them both, fast and efficient. “Give me your hands.”

  Shelby did so and felt the cold metal of handcuffs slip over his wrists and emit that familiar whirring click as they locked into place.

  “Now let’s get a look at you.” Hammer grabbed Shelby’s shoulders and spun him around. She sighed. “How did I know?” She pointed at Mack, who was still in the assumed position. “That your little friend?”

  “That’s Mack, yes.”

  “Two little detectives, aren’t you? What’s the big idea?”

  “Playing out a hunch.”

  “A hunch? What does that mean? And what the hell were you searching for in here? You’ve torn the place all to shit.”

  “I didn’t do any of that. I just got here.”

  “Then what the hell are you doing?”

  “I told you.”

  “A hunch, right. I’m about two seconds from running your ass to the station, so you’d better start talking.”

  Shelby took a deep breath and explained about Angel, including Carly’s request that he check on her.

  Hammer frowned. “And she didn’t answer the door?”

  “No. I knocked first and everything.”

  “How law-abiding of you,” Hammer said dryly. She thought a moment, then sighed. “Well, we’re here now and might as well take a look around. But first, I have a couple of questions.”

  “So do I,” Shelby said. “First of all, how did you know we were here?”

  “The old buzzard who lives next door. She watches everything and reports almost everything. Mostly we ignore her, but when this call came through, I had a suspicion it was you.”

  “I’m hurt you jumped to that conclusion.”

  “Don’t be. First of all, it wasn’t much of a stretch when I pieced it together from a call I got earlier. Second, you weren’t the only visitors here today.”

  “I don’t follow you.”

  “I suppose you’re going to say you didn’t go see Grant Bachmann?”

  “Well, I—”

  “And I suppose you’re going to say you didn’t shoot him in the chest with a shotgun.”

  Shelby almost visibly started. “Now that, Sheriff, I most certainly did not do.”

  Hammer stood observing him for several long seconds. Then she said, “Yeah, I didn’t think it was you. Witnesses reported two sets of people going into the Bachmann place. You and your friend were the first, and the second was when the blast was heard and someone called us.”

  “And what about Bachmann?”

  “Dead.”

  Shelby took a moment to process the information. “Any idea who the second set of visitors were?”

  “Maybe.”

  “Any interest in sharing?”

  Hammer’s eyes speared right through Shelby. “Any interest in telling me where you’re going tonight?”

  Shelby bit back a flippant reply. This moment felt momentous, as if the decision he made here could change everything. Should he trust her? If Leslie was really being held at the Ellis place, tonight was the best time to go for her. Their visit earlier could very well have spooked Leslie’s captors, prompting them to move her location. Shelby’s heart chilled as he realized that could have already happened. If he trusted Hammer and revealed the plan, she could easily stand in the way of his mission. On the other hand, if she had any inclination to help, lying would be a good way to ensure she changed her mind and never believed him again. And there was the sligh
test chance she might offer some assistance.

  Then Hammer spared him the decision. “You’re going to the Ellis place later, aren’t you?”

  Shelby took a deep breath. “I believe my daughter is being held at the Ellis place. Mack and I are going to check it out and, if we see any sign of her, go in and get her.”

  Hammer stood there for a moment, looking at him. Half her face was in shadow, a product of the lengthening twilight. Her face hardened and, as it did so, Shelby’s heart sank. If she tried to stop them, he had no idea how he would react. But it wouldn’t be good.

  Then she surprised him by nodding in the affirmative.

  “Okay,” she said. “Let’s do this.”

  Shelby stared, almost unable to believe his gamble had worked. “Sheriff Hammer…please don’t think I’m ungrateful, but…what brought you to this decision?”

  “A last-minute piece of evidence. Namely, the dying words of Grant Bachmann. I was the first on the scene and he kept trying to tell me something while I performed first aid. I didn’t get everything, but picked out the words ‘Ellis,’ ‘Shelby,’ and something about his grandfather, I think.”

  Shelby’s mind raced. So Grant had known about him and, it sounded, about…what had happened. But what did the Ellises have to do with—?

  “That’s not the most interesting thing,” Hammer was saying. “During my search about the Ellises, I came across a report informing the sheriff’s department that Scott Ellis had recently been released from prison on good behavior—although I suspect that actually means overcrowding. The report had gotten lost in the shuffle between sheriffs, which means I knew nothing about him. Anyway, based on the descriptions I received about the incident at the Bachmann place and here, I’d say Scott Ellis was at both places. He just missed you at the Bachmann place, and you just missed him here.”

  “You think he could have Leslie?”

  “It’s possible. I tried to get a warrant so I could go back and search the house, but was flatly denied, even though I tried to make the case that a young woman’s life may in danger. In fact, I’m concerned the earlier visit might have prompted action on their part.”