Jones, Beverly R

by All Things Sacred (Lit) (Triskelion)

  “Come on. Time to go.”

  He led her through the dining room and out the back door of the house, still holding the pillow against her face, as she screamed and sobbed and gulped in pieces of foam stuffing. He stopped on the porch, leaned his face next to hers and spat at her threateningly, “I’m going to take this pillow off your face now, and you’re going to shut up and walk to the car, or I’ll shoot you right here.”

  He removed the pillow and placed it again in front of his pistol. He held the concealed .45 against her back, then shoved her with it. She nearly tripped on the porch steps, but maintained her balance as she fought desperately to stifle her sobs.

  They reached his car. He opened the driver’s side door. “Get in and slide across.” “There’s more,” she whispered. “What?” “It’s not all in the bank. I hid some of it. I’ll give it all to you if you promise to let me go.” “You’re lying. Stalling for time.” “No, it’s true. I wanted to keep some of it, just in case. Jimmy doesn’t even know about it.” “How much?” “Thirty thousand.” “Where?” “It’s here. I’ll get it for you.” “No you won’t. I’ll get it. Where is it?” “In the tool shed.” “If you’re lying to me…” “I’m not lying. Why would I lie to you now? Just promise you’ll let me go at the bank.” “Yeah. Sure.” He thrust her in the direction of the aluminum tool shed. He shoved her so hard, her purse fell

  from her shoulder and landed on the ground beside the car. They moved together across the grass to the rear of the yard. He held the .45 with the pillow over it at his side as they walked, not wanting to appear suspicious if there were any neighbors about.

  She removed the four-inch metal pin from the sleeves on the connecting doors, then slid them apart. She had meant to get a padlock, instead of merely sliding a pin through the holes, but it had been another one of those things she’d kept putting off. It wasn’t that she didn’t trust the neighbors, but there were some pretty expensive tools in there, and you never knew who might be lurking about in the yard. People like Ted Kendall.

  “I’ll get it.” She leaned her head down into the dark shed and started to move through the opening.

  He shoved her aside. “I’ll get it. Where is it?”

  She pointed to the back right corner. It was so dark in the shed, the tools hanging on the walls were barely visible. Plastic bags of lawn and garden supplements, stacked in the corner, appeared as nothing more than a large unidentifiable gray mass about four feet high. “Back there. Behind those bags of fertilizer.”

  “You’re screwing with me. Why would you hide them there? If Jim came out to fertilize the lawn, he’d see it there.”

  “We don’t fertilize again till the fall. I planned to move it before then.”

  His head and shoulders were leaning just inside the shed, his left hand braced against the doorframe. He still held the .45 in his right hand, but had dropped the pillow. He looked back at her, hesitated.

  She was afraid thirty-thousand dollars wasn’t enticing enough for him. He already had over a million and thought he was about to get five-hundred thousand more. She wished she had told him she’d hidden eighty or a hundred thousand in there, but she was afraid if she’d told him she’d hidden that much, he wouldn’t have believed her.

  Greedy as he was, though, he lifted a foot and put it through the opening. He paused and looked back at her again. “You move an inch, I’ll kill you.”

  When he turned his head back around, she plunged the metal pin into his shoulder with her right hand and pushed against his back with her left. She pulled the pin back out of his shoulder as he stumbled forward, screaming, into the tool shed. She slid the doors shut and shoved the bloody pin through the holed sleeves in each door. She dove sideways away from the front of the shed, hit the ground and rolled out of the way just as the first bullet burst through the metal door. She slithered as fast as she could across the grass, afraid to stand and run. He was firing through the sides of the shed now, screaming with rage. The bullets made pinging, screeching sounds as they tore through the metal walls. They careened around the yard, taking out a potted plant on the porch, then a window in the detached garage. Some bullets merely zinged through the air and disappeared, lodging themselves into destinations unknown.

  The blasting stopped and he began pounding on the tool-shed doors. The pin jounced and rattled, but remained in place. The thin metal doors bulged outward, misshapen from the thrusting weight of his body.

  She got to her feet and ran across the remainder of the back lawn. She scooped up her purse as she dashed past Ted’s car, then continued down the long circular drive that curved around the front yard. She practically dove head first into her own car, righted herself, then dumped the contents of her purse onto the front seat. Finding the keys, she shoved them into the ignition, put the car in gear and slammed her foot on the accelerator.

  The car jolted forward down the circular drive with such sudden velocity that she fought to keep it under control. She nearly sideswiped the mailbox as she veered out of the driveway onto the street.

  As she shot forward down Winston Avenue, she glanced back toward the house and caught a glimpse of Ted as he ran from the back yard. Their eyes met for only a second, but in that brief moment, just before she disappeared from his view, she caught the undeniable look of a thirst for blood in his eyes.

  ***

  That was the last time she’d seen him. Until today. She sat on the rock, still looking out across the pond, and she shivered from the cold remembrance of what he’d done. The horror of it chilled her skin and sunk through to her bones. How could she have repressed such a thing? It seemed almost impossible that she’d been here on this farm, unknowing, for as long as she had, living as though she were someone else entirely, falling in love with Jackson Coley, never imagining the nightmare she’d left behind, or the nightmare she was about to deliver to him. She’d give anything if she could spare Jackson the truth. But there was no other way.

  She wondered if Ted were still on the farm. Surely he realized by now that she’d slipped from his grasp once again and he’d given up and left. For now, anyway. At least she knew who to send the police in search of this time.

  But what if he were somehow able to find the trail and discover her here? What then? She tried to think of her next plan of action if that were to happen, but could come up with no solid ideas. She really thought it unlikely that he would be lucky enough to locate the trail. She would wait here as long as it took, hours if necessary, until she felt it was safe to return home. Surely he wouldn’t hang around the property very long, not knowing when the others might return.

  The others. It could be hours before they came home, if at all. She had no way of knowing how badly Casey might have been injured in the auto accident, and Tom and Jackson both might choose to stay at the hospital long into the night. Casey. Kendall prayed that she was all right, that her injuries were not severe.

  Then the thought struck her. Perhaps this was too much of a coincidence, Tom leaving the house when he did. She suddenly remembered the voice on the phone, delivering the bad news of Casey’s accident, how it had initially made her shudder. It was him. She was sure of it now.

  She began pacing, her mind consumed with thoughts of that morning’s events. She wondered if she were guessing correctly about Casey’s ‘accident.’ If she were correct in assuming it was all a ruse, how long would it take for Tom and Jackson to realize the deception and return home? Kendall lifted her wrist and looked at her watch. It was eleven o’clock. Jackson should be at the doctor’s office with Cynthia now. That is, if everything was all right with Casey, and Kendall was quickly beginning to believe there had been no accident at all. Tom would be returning home, then, and she would be safe again. But how long would it take for him to discover the ruse when he reached the hospital, then drive all the way back from Athens?

  The horrid thought struck her then. Casey. If there had been no accident, where was Casey? She could be returning home from the grocery
store any time now. And would he still be there on the property or was he out along the dirt road somewhere, searching for her? Even so, if she waited here and he gave up his search and drove back through the property toward the house, would his and Casey’s paths cross? Horrified at the disturbing thought, a chill ran up Kendall’s spine and crawled across the back of her neck like hungry worms digging into her flesh. He would surely harm Casey if he found her at the house. She couldn’t let that happen.

  She bounded from her perch on the rock and strode quickly to Sam. She gathered his reins and began to turn him away from the water. As she led him back to the forest, she lifted her head toward the trail opening. She stopped, frozen in place. A deep tremor ran through her as she came face to face with the last person she expected to see there.

  Chapter 20

  >After calling the police chief’s office and being assured by his secretary, Gail, that she would radio Chief Bullard with the message to head straight to the Coley Farm, Casey drove to his office to wait. Gail had explained that Chief Bullard was over in Riverdon and that it might take him at least a half-hour or more to reach the farm. Casey didn’t exactly know why, but she was fearful of returning home alone. Jackson had sounded adamant that she stay in town. She had called the house and gotten no answer. She had even dialed Jackson’s cell phone again, but had received some automated message that the customer she was calling was ‘unavailable,’ whatever that meant. Was he out of range? Had the cell phone battery died? She was anxious to talk to him and find out what was going on.

  She had no idea where Tom and Kendall were, and what was that Jackson had said to her when she’d spoken to him earlier? Something about whether she was still at the hospital? And to call Tom at Athens General and tell him to get back to the house. That made no sense to her. Why would he think either she or Tom would have gone to the hospital? He sounded positive that Tom had gone there, however. Had something happened to Kendall and Tom had driven her to Athens to the emergency room? But that didn’t explain why Jackson urgently wanted Chief Bullard at the farm. She supposed the only thing she could do was sit and wait at the Police Department office, as Jackson had asked. But she was frantic with worry and the wait would seem endless.

  Casey pulled into a parking space in front of the one-level cement building that housed the Logan City Police Department, which consisted of Chief Lanford Bullard and his secretary, Gail. She got out of her car and walked to the glass double doors, then looked up before entering. The American flag flapped and whipped violently against its metal pole. The sky was darkening to a cloudy gray, a suddenly cool wind blowing erratically and bending nearby treetops. All sure signs that a thunderstorm was approaching.

  ≈≈≈

  Jackson slowed his speed to eighty as his car whisked by the familiar pastures and fields that bordered the highway. As he approached the entrance to the Coley farm, he braked only enough to allow a secure turn onto the long gravel drive toward home, Tom close behind him. Bits of rock and sand spewed in all directions as the two cars fishtailed at the sharp turn before straightening and speeding the quarter mile to the house.

  Both Jackson and Tom brought their cars to an abrupt halt beneath the massive oak tree and leapt from their vehicles. Jackson ran toward the back porch, noting that the pickup truck still sat where he’d left it that morning. He raced into the house shouting Kendall’s name as he moved from room to room on the first floor. No sign of her. He dashed up the staircase at the end of the rear hallway, his long legs taking the steps four at a time. He quickly darted in and out of each room, still calling her name, hoping, yet not hoping, that he’d find her there. The thought of her not being anywhere in the house frightened him, but at the same time he was relieved she wasn’t there, for if after all of his shouting and calling for her, he had received no answer, he could only imagine that he’d find her injured. Or worse.

  Satisfied that she was nowhere in the house, Jackson ran back out to the side yard, where he met Tom hurrying toward him from the stable. Tom clutched a purse and a set of keys in his hand. Breathing heavily, he held out the objects and gasped, “I found her purse in the dirt over there. And these are the keys to the truck.”

  Jackson ran a hand distractedly through his hair, then swiped at the sweat dripping from his forehead as he whipped around, his eyes frantically searching across the yards and pastures for some sign of Kendall. “Where exactly did you find her purse and keys?” he asked as his breathing heightened with the panic he felt.

  “Over here,” Tom called as he sprinted back toward the stable, Jackson following quickly behind him.

  Standing at the spot Tom pointed to, Jackson bent and examined the surrounding area. He lifted his head, his eyes following the footprints left in the dirt. “There are a lot of footprints leading from here to the stable, unlike all the others, deep depressions, as if someone were running. Looks like they’re going to the side door of the stable. But the front doors are standing wide open. Were they open when you left?”

  “No,” Tom answered. “They should have still been shut and locked from last night. I didn’t take any of the horses out this morning. Used the side door myself to feed them.”

  “You searched the stable?” Jackson asked.

  “No sign of her. I even checked the tack room.”

  “This doesn’t make sense. Why would she go in through the side door, then leave through the front doors? If she were trying to run or hide from someone, it would have made a lot of noise and taken a lot more time for the front doors to slide open, especially since she would have had to enter the code to unlock them. Unless…” Jackson didn’t finish his sentence as he sprinted toward the front of the stable. “Did you check the horses?” he called over his shoulder as Tom ran behind him.

  “I didn’t pay that much attention to them. I was just looking for Kendall,” Tom answered as he came up behind Jackson, who had stopped briefly in the middle of the stable before running to the tack room.

  Jackson reemerged from the tack room and headed back toward the front of the stable. “There’s a saddle missing and Sam’s not here.” As he was hurrying from the stable, Jackson stopped abruptly, then turned sharply to the right and jogged over to the small exit door. He drew in a sharp breath as he stared at the gaping hole in the door. He ran a finger through the deep red splotches of blood that coated the splintered wood.. “This blood’s still wet,” he announced, almost too quietly for Tom to hear. Jackson stood mute for a moment, staring at the blood on his finger as he rubbed a thumb across it, his mind racing with panicked thoughts of her. What had happened? Where could she be? Was this her blood?

  He ran from the stable, his eyes desperately searching the ground outside for any evidence that might provide more clues to her whereabouts. He ran along the yard, his head bent, his eyes scanning every foot of dirt. He immediately noted hoof prints, then tire tracks, but they all seemed to crisscross in a jumble of disrupted dirt in the middle of the yard. There were so many tracks, it was impossible to tell how long they’d been there or where they led. They all drove their cars through here, parked here, rode the horses through here. He stopped and stood in the yard, turning his head and slowly gazing out at the empty landscape. Where had she gone? Would she have tried to ride Sam out of here and down the highway toward town? And if so, how far could she have possibly gotten if someone were pursuing her in a car? He studied the dirt that led away from the side yard toward the gravel drive. It was impossible to tell if hoof prints lay among the hodgepodge of countless tracks that shuffled the dirt. Rapidly growing more frustrated and desperate, Jackson turned and looked down the dirt road that ran for miles through his property. Could she have ridden Sam out that way, through acres and acres of farmland, trying to escape from someone, someone who had obviously left the gaping hole in the side door of the stable in his attempts to get at her?

  Jackson could almost feel his blood throbbing through every vein as it gushed from his aching heart and pounded into his head. He was
wasting precious seconds, he needed to act, not think, to go, just go somewhere, anywhere, until he found her. Until he found her. What if she had managed to escape and was hiding? He jerked his head toward the outlying woods, squinting his eyes against the late morning sun, then gazed briefly at the empty and desolate dirt road that meandered around pastures and fields until it seemed to disappear as it met the forest. He stared quietly in the direction of the woods, allowing only a second or two for the suggestive thought to settle in his mind, before the words escaped jaggedly from his throat. “I think I know where she is.”

  ≈≈≈

  Kendall stopped and stood facing the trail opening, still holding onto Sam’s reins, her eyes squinted in a look of confusion, her face clouded with suspicion. “Cynthia?” The question was one that required no answer, for it was more a statement of bewilderment.

  “Surprise!” Cynthia beamed as she moved toward Kendall. She stopped just short of where Kendall stood and placed a hand on her hip. “Oh-h-h,” she pouted, her bottom lip jutting out dramatically, “have I disappointed you? Were you expecting someone else? Jackson, perhaps, here to rescue you?” She clicked her tongue and shook her head, feigning sympathy. “I’m afraid he’s at the doctor’s office right about now.”

  “And why aren’t you there with him?” Kendall asked, though she realized she already knew the answer. “You’re not even pregnant, are you?”

  “Oh, I’m pregnant, all right. And I’ll be there in about another half hour or so for the examination to prove it. I’ll run in apologizing profusely to Jackson and the doctor for being so late. They both know how I am. Never can seem to get anywhere on time. Probably have to re-schedule. But this,” Cynthia smiled broadly, baring her teeth like a grinning burro, “this, I wouldn’t miss for the world.”