Hurricane House

by Sandy Semerad

“Would you recognize him if you saw him again?”

  “I definitely would.”

  “I’m sure that will prove to be helpful. Do you think your attacker might be linked to what happened to Tara Baxter and Roxanne Trawler?” I asked after Ellen swallowed the last bite of her turkey wrap.

  Ellen pushed away from the table, registering her shock. “Good God, I hope not.”

  I grabbed the bill to pay. “There’s another lady missing on Paradise Isle. She left her toddler behind, which is something she’d never do, and I hope her disappearance isn’t linked to the other women and Geneva...” Uh oh, open mouth, insert foot.

  Ellen positioned the strap of her duffle on her shoulder. “I know everyone thinks Geneva is missing, but she’s not missing, right? You know where she is. She said you did, and you’re going to take me to see her, right?”

  “We need to talk about that, Ellen. Did you bring the map?”

  Ellen reached inside her duffle and withdrew a computer printout. It was a map to Red River, an hour’s drive away, far from Paradise Isle. The location didn’t make sense. Onyx had found Geneva’s note on Paradise Isle. “I need to explain some things before we go,” I said. I began with the night I found Tara’s body floating in the gulf. I talked about the day I first met Tara at Geneva’s. “I read the article she wrote about you, Ellen. It was wonderful. She won an award for writing that article.”

  Ellen sat stone still, her eyes like saucers, as I talked about Roxanne and Tara’s deaths. “In many ways both deaths appear to be accidental until you consider the unlikely coincidence of the missing feet.”

  Ellen’s mouth trembled and I thought she might bolt from the restaurant. “Where’s Geneva? You’ve talked to her haven’t you? We’re going to see her, right?”

  “Ellen, listen, you’ve got to trust me. What I think is this: Geneva is being held captive, and the person who’s holding her captive is playing a game. I also think the person who has Geneva, might be the same man who attacked you. It makes sense, doesn’t it? He knows you’ve seen him and can identify him, and he’s using Geneva to bait you.”

  “Are you a cop?”

  “No, but along with being a catastrophe investigator, I hold a private investigator license.” I added the private eye thing because I wanted to make Ellen feel more secure and trust me.

  “Who hired you?”

  “No one is paying me to do this. I make my money as a claims investigator.”

  Ellen nodded as if she understood. “Do the cops know?” “Not everything.”

  “You need to call the cops now. Tell them what you’ve just told me.” Ellen slapped her duffle as an exclamation point. “I agree we need to call someone and report this, and there’s an FBI guy I know, who I think will cooperate with us, but at the same time, I don’t want to jeopardize Geneva’s safety, assuming she’s still alive.”

  “You think she might be dead?” Ellen started to cry.

  I came around to Ellen’s booth, sat beside her and patted her right hand. “No I think she’s still alive.” I decided not to mention the note Onyx found. It might be a ruse to knock me off-course. According to Ellen’s map, Geneva wasn’t on Paradise Isle. “If you don’t feel like going to Red River, I understand.”

  Ellen wiped her eyes and looked at me. “No, I want to go. We need to help Geneva.”

  “Okay, Ellen, I agree, but let’s wait until we get to Red River. Then we’ll make our decision about what to do, okay?” I saw the distrust in her eyes. “I’m telling you the truth Ellen. You must believe me. I don’t want anything to happen to you or Geneva.” I stabbed a finger at the map Ellen had given me. “I’m familiar with the Red River mansion. I know the back roads. I think we’ll be okay.” What I told Ellen was true. I had worked a claim at Red River a few years ago for Bailey Harrison, a boat-maker. At one time Harrison owned a hundred acres of land and what looked like a southern mansion in the movie Gone with the Wind.

  A few months after I did the claim, the government confiscated Harrison’s property to pay the mortgage and back taxes. The last I heard, Harrison had fled to Mexico. The land and mansion were sold at auction. I didn’t know who’d bought it, quite a spread, surrounded by water.

  Chapter Fifty-one

  After I paid for our lunch, Ellen and I jumped back inside my truck and headed for Red River. I had plenty of time to think on the drive over because Ellen refused to talk. She clutched the door handle on her side. I thought she might be in shock. She sat like a statue.

  We made good time. In under an hour, I turned onto the dirt road leading to the mansion. By then, I had decided to call Keith for backup. I felt certain, we’d need help. From the way Ellen looked, I doubted she’d hold up under the strain.

  I punched in Keith’s number, but he didn’t answer, and his outgoing message disturbed me: “I’m having problems with my cell. It’s dropping calls. Go ahead and leave a message anyway. If it’s an emergency, leave a message at the sheriff’s department.” Keith recited the sheriff’s department number twice.

  I didn’t feel comfortable calling the sheriff’s department. They might send squad cars with strobe lights and sirens. I left a message on Keith’s cell. “Keith, meet me at the Red River Mansion, Bailey Harrison’s old place. Call my cell phone to get directions. This is an emergency. I repeat: this is an emergency. And be discreet. Don’t send police cars. Come unmarked and hurry.”

  Then I dialed Paula’s cell phone. I figured she’d find a way to contact Keith.

  Paula didn’t answer either. “Paula, please tell Keith to meet me at the Red River Mansion at Bailey Harrison’s old place. Call me on my cell phone to get directions. This is an emergency. Hurry please, and tell Keith to be discreet, come in an unmarked car. Geneva’s life depends on it.” After I left Paula the message, I parked the truck behind a crop of tall trees surrounding the mansion.

  “Are we here?” Ellen asked.

  “Yes, we’re hidden, though, which is good.” I grabbed Paula’s binoculars and slipped the strap over my head. “I need to check out some things. Be right back. Please stay in the truck, Ellen.”

  She nodded.

  I crept through the woods to get a better view of the old house. I noticed, the old oaks had survived the hurricane. All of the trees were draped in kudzu, a vine of large green leaves originally imported from Japan to stop erosion. The kudzu’s thick coverage allowed me to spy on the mansion without being seen. The old house looked deserted, an antebellum Dolphin mansion without the wall. The sand had eroded under the support slab, creating a gapping hole. The front porch sagged. The once-white columns had turned ashen grey. No more bougainvilleas and azaleas. The hurricane had replaced them with broken boards, trash and tree limbs. While glancing through the binoculars, I studied the moat surrounding the house. Someone had left a rowboat with paddles, twenty feet from where the dirt road ended.

  I remembered there was a boat shed somewhere. Sure enough, fifty feet away from where I stood, I spotted a large assortment of canoes and kayaks. No cars, no sign of anyone.

  After surveying the area, I devised a strategy. I had no way of knowing if the strategy would work. There were too many unpredictable variables.

  Back at the truck, I found Ellen gripping the handle on the passenger door. The Silverado clock registered 2:00 p.m. So far, so good, we had an hour, plenty of time to wait and watch.

  As we waited, I tried to engage Ellen in conversation. Rather than answer me, she’d shrugged her shoulders or used her head to answer yes or no.

  By the time 2:50 p.m. rolled around, I said, “What do you want to do, Ellen? Personally, I think it’s too dangerous for you to go over there. We should wait for Keith.”

  She glanced at her Mickey Mouse watch and finally spoke in a hoarse voice. “You called him an hour ago. I can’t let Geneva down. If she’s in that house I need to help her.” Ellen’s blue eyes filled with tears. “Do you really think that FBI guy is coming? Why hasn’t he called?”

  I wondered the
same thing. Even if he couldn’t pick up his messages, Paula should have alerted him in plenty of time. “I don’t know.”

  Ellen rummaged through her duffle and came up with a canister of pepper spray. In her e-mail to Geneva, she’d used the pepper spray on her attacker, I remembered as I watched her open the door.

  I grabbed her arm. “Ellen, wait.”

  Ellen brushed my hand away. “No, it’s that time.” She set her jaw.

  “I’m going with you.”

  “No, if he sees you, he may kill Geneva,” she said, with a look of determination on her face.

  I knew I couldn’t stop Ellen , but I could give her a better way to protect herself. “Do you know how to use a gun?” I withdrew the Magnum from my waist pouch.

  Ellen slapped at the Magnum. “I hate guns. Put that thing away.”

  “If you insist on going in there, Ellen, and you won’t take the gun, at least alert me when you get inside the house.” I reached inside my backpack for Geneva’s cell phone. I punched in my cell number. “All you have to do is hit this call button.” I pointed to it, but didn’t tell her I would be following close behind.

  Ellen slipped the phone inside the pocket of her shirt. “I don’t see what good that’ll do me.”

  “You don’t have to say anything, but it will allow me to listen, okay?”

  Ellen glanced at the gun. “Are you planning to use that thing?”

  “If I have to.” I felt awful about letting her go. She was a sitting duck once she got inside that boat. “Ellen, listen, I think we should wait a few more minutes, okay? ”Ellen shook her head and turned away.

  I felt powerless, watching her. She clutched the pepper spray, slammed the truck door and walked through the kudzu-draped trees in the direction of the rowboat.

  I studied her through the binoculars. She moved with the grace of an athlete, jumping inside the canoe. As she pushed herself off, I ran through the woods to the boat shed. All of the boats were tied to launches. Rather than take the time to untie one, I cut the rope using the pocketknife on my keychain then pulled the boat into the canal.

  By the time I reached the other side, Ellen stood at the front door of the mansion, and I heard my cell phone ring. Ellen was calling, as instructed.

  I touched the answer button and heard her echoing footsteps on the floor as I ran up to the front door. The crystal became warm and turned from red to black as Ellen screamed.

  The phone went dead.

  I spotted a motorboat, a hundred yards away, roaring away from the mansion. I looked through the binoculars and saw the boat heading up the mouth of Red River. I couldn’t see the driver for the spiraling waves. Is that the murderer?

  Holding the Magnum, ready to fire, I kicked open the front door of the mansion and entered the large foyer. To my right, I saw a stairwell leading to the second floor. On that same side, was a closed door. I opened it and found a large dark room.

  I walked through the room, cautiously. Nothing. I looked inside the closet, bare.

  With my back against wall, I sidestepped out of that room to the door on the left side of the foyer. It opened into another dark space. I smelled vomit and saw someone attached to the room’s center column.

  I walked closer. It looked like a woman, with her chin slumped on her chest. I couldn’t see her face, only a mass of black hair. Geneva.

  I crammed the gun inside the pocket of my jeans. She was wearing a gag and a blindfold. I untied them, then cut the rope from her hands and legs, using the keychain pocket knife. In the process, I sliced my own fingers.

  When I freed Geneva of her bondage, she folded on the floor in a fetal position. I checked for a pulse, but my own racing heartbeat made that difficult. I thought I felt a faint, slow beat in her right wrist. I couldn’t be sure.

  I then spotted a figure lying in the corner of the room. I grabbed my gun and pointed it, ready to fire, but as I drew closer, I realized it was Ellen, lying peacefully, as if she’d decided to sleep that way. Her pulse felt stronger than Geneva’s.

  Now what? This didn’t make sense. Up until then, I had assumed the driver of the motorboat was the murderer, but if not...he might be hiding inside the house. My whole body trembled at that thought, but I tried to keep my head, wondering why Geneva was here at Red River when Onyx had found her note on Paradise Isle? It didn’t add up.

  Chapter Fifty-two

  I searched the downstairs of the mansion, walking with my back against the wall to avoid surprises. Nothing. I climbed the stairs sideways, keeping my back to the wall. The stairs creaked with every step.

  At the upstairs landing, a circular hallway connected five bedrooms. I searched each one, though I felt a strange sensation in my gut, telling me to get the hell out of there.

  In the last bedroom, I found a briefcase chained to a clothing rod inside the closet. What’s that clicking sound? A bomb? Thinking the worst, I tried to break the rod with my weight to free the case, but I couldn’t.

  Knowing time was running out, I raced downstairs and slapped Geneva’s cheeks, trying to rouse her. When she didn’t respond, I dragged her by placing my hands beneath her underarms. Lugging an unconscious Geneva was like pulling dead weight. As soon as I got her outside, I ran back for Ellen. “Ellen, stand up,” I yelled. “Come on, I’ll help you.”

  She didn’t budge. So I put my arms around her and tried to pull her to her feet, but her legs collapsed like flimsy rubber.

  “I’m no Superwoman,” I whispered as I slipped my arms around Ellen’s chest and began dragging her toward the front door. Once I got her outside with Geneva, I flipped the canoe on top of us and said a prayer.

  Chapter Fifty-three

  He’d cut the motor to wait under the bridge before he looked through the binoculars. He had a clear view of the Red River mansion, a house he’d purchased and donated to a charity called Safety for Women.

  He could imagine one of these late night comedians saying, “He gave the Red River Mansion to a group of feminists, who planned to turn it into a safe house for abused women, and he thought he was doing Safety for Women another favor by blowing the house to smithereens with two women inside.”

  The SFW woman in charge, a man hater, wouldn’t see the humor. She wanted to “restore the mansion and preserve the history.”

  Anyone with any gumption knows it takes more money, effort and time to renovate than tear down and rebuild. I’m actually doing these women a favor by blowing up this mansion. If the bomb doesn’t work, I’ll go to Plan B: Rambo with an AK.

  Plan B was risky, but he couldn’t allow a hitchhiker to outsmart him. Her fault he had to harm Geneva who was hallucinating with reddish-blue bumps on her feet and the backs of her hands. Chilblain. He regretted having to tie her to that post, but it couldn’t be helped. Won’t have to suffer long, dear.

  He glanced at his watch and began the countdown. “Ten…nine…eight…seven…six…five…four…three… two…one…” With the explosion came a colossal fireball billowing upward, rocking his motorboat from a mile away.

  Chapter Fifty-four

  “Some days it doesn’t pay to get out of bed,” Paula said. After the explosion, the helicopter whipped the air into a smoky pudding while taking Geneva and Ellen to the hospital. “I can’t believe this is all that’s left,” Paula said, pointing to one of the antebellum pillars, floating in the moat.

  I hopped inside my truck, feeling imprisoned by Paula, but mostly by Keith, who stood beside Paula and frowned at his notes. What else did he want?

  After his lengthy interrogation, I didn’t have another answer left. I’d given him the items I’d taken from Geneva’s beach house.

  “You’ve hindered our investigation.” he snapped. “And you’re a pulse away from getting arrested. You realize that?”

  I studied the crew of arson investigators and bomb experts picking through the wreckage. “You know damned well and good, according to your rules and regs, you didn’t even consider Geneva missing, and you’d have to g
et a court order to check out her computer. Also, I tried to call you today before all of this happened and couldn’t reach you.”

  Keith faced flushed. His jaw flexed like a pit bull ready to strike. “Say what makes you feel better, Maeva. I’m building a case here. I can’t afford not to be methodical. Too many times I’ve arrested murderers and rapists and had their fucking lawyers walk them on a technicality.”

  True, probably, but Adam’s words made more sense, “Slow-as-molasses justice system.” Whereas Keith’s words made me angry and I needed to vent.

  “Who are your suspects, Keith? Who murdered Tara and Roxanne? What about Sandra Eddelman? Or maybe you don’t consider her missing yet.”

  Keith exhaled a coffee breath in response, then called Geneva’s mother to let her know her daughter was alive. When he hung up from talking with the mother, he called Loughton VanSant.

  Paula reached inside the window of the Silverado and stroked my head. “Time out, okay? Listen, Hon, why don’t you let me take you back to Huberta’s? You can soak in a hot tub. Have a glass of wine and rest. Sound good?”

  It did. I had a painful muscle spasm in my neck. “Yes, but I still have Onyx. I haven’t been able to reach his owner yet.”

  Paula chewed on a thumb nail and said, “Hey, I bet Sean Redmond would help us out. He’s around, isn’t he? He’ll look after Onyx for one night, don’t you think? Do you have a way of getting in touch with him?” Paula smiled as though she knew about my encounters with Sean.

  “He can’t get inside my place. The door’s locked.” Keith made his cheeks puff out like a balloon; then released another stream of coffee breath. “Okay, listen, I know I’m the bastard of the day, but I’ve got a fenced-in yard. Why don’t you pick up the dog and meet me at Huberta’s? Just let me know when.”

  “That’s very nice of you,” Paula said and kissed Keith’s cheek. “You’re a sweetie, even though you try not to be.”

  “I’ll be in touch,” I said, hating the thought of driving back to Paradise Isle. “Thanks for the offer, Keith.”