Charleston with a Clever Cougar: A Dance with Danger Mystery #6

by Barton, Sara M.

  “Cady, I’m scared. What if those guys come back? What if they break in and hurt me, Mom and Dylan?”

  “Honey, it’s hard to let go of the fear. But you have to make the effort. You make sure the doors and windows are locked. Sometimes it helps to leave on a light or two. You can call me, even if you just need to talk because you’re afraid. We’ll help you get through this. One day at a time.”

  “What if it’s three in the morning? Can I call you?”

  “Even if it’s three in the morning,” I assured her.

  Carole saw us to the door, thanking us. Doc saw the unspoken question in her worried eyes.

  “It will be okay,” he said firmly, as if he could will it. She responded with a tentative smile. She needed the support almost as much as her daughter did. “Make sure you lock up.”

  Once outside, Doc escorted me to my place. He waited while I dug out my keys and opened the front door.

  “Are you hungry? I could make us some eggs,” I offered.

  “I have a better idea.”

  “You do?”

  “Let me do the cooking.”

  “You can cook?” I gave him a grin, thinking what a handy guy he was to have around.

  “Sure. Omelets are my specialty.”

  Half an hour later, we had finished eating and were sitting on my sofa, watching a sitcom. I was in my sweats, my slipper socks keeping my toes warm. Doc took the afghan off the back of the sofa and tucked it around my legs without saying a word.

  “Thanks,” I replied, thinking it was sweet that he did that. I still didn’t have a handle on him. There was a lot of kindness in Doc, but he was still a tough nut to crack. It was as if he always held me at arm’s length.

  “You’re still healing,” he reminded me. “You don’t want to catch a chill.”

  “Where are you staying?” I asked. I assumed he was at one of the local motels.

  “My van.”

  “Your van? Isn’t it cold at night?” I responded. Doc started to laugh. I took umbridge. “Why is that funny?”

  “Cady, I’ve done three tours of duty in Iraq and Afghanistan. Between the blazing heat, the bitter cold, and everything in between, I’ve handled a lot worse than this.”

  “You’re welcome to use my spare room.” That came out before I realized what I was saying. It bothered me that Doc wasn’t sleeping in a bed in a nice, warm house.

  “That’s a great offer, but I’ll have to pass.”

  “Where will you go tonight?”

  “Where will I go? I’m not going anywhere. I’ll be right outside. I’m keeping an eye on Daisy and her family. And you, too,” he added.

  “Oh, that actually makes sense,” I replied. “You’ll be right there if we need you.”

  “Exactly.”

  “Come for breakfast. I won’t take no for an answer, Doc.”

  “I won’t give it. And I’ll use your shower. I’ve been staying at my buddy’s house over in Chalker Beach, and my stuff is over there, but I have a change of clothes in the van.”

  “So, does that mean you’re not homeless?” That slipped out before I could bite my tongue. Maybe it was seeing that sleeping bag and air mattress in the back of the van where seats should be. Doc’s eyebrows shot up and he shook his head.

  “Cady, not every vet is broken and in need of fixing. Some of us just need some time to get back into the swing of things. Trauma does that to you. It’s a matter of working it out.”

  “Of course. It’s just that I thought because of the air mattress....”

  Doc threw his head back and roared. Those thick glasses came off and he wiped his eyes. I felt like pummeling him with my good arm, but even my good arm still hurt. And forget about the one that was badly injured. I still couldn’t raise it above my chest.

  “Good Lord, woman! I have that there because I just went camping for two weeks in the White Mountains. A group of dedicated ice fishermen in the wilds of New Hampshire, roughing it.”

  “Well, I officially feel like an idiot,” I acknowledged.

  “As well you should,” Doc agreed. “You just earned the title.”

  At ten, I set Doc up with a pot of coffee. He poured it into one of my thermal carafes and went out into the cool night air with a smiley face mug.

  “See you,” he called over his shoulder. I watched him open the van and climb in the back. Once he set down the carafe and the mug, he slid the van door shut. What a shame it was that he seemed to need that emotional distance from his fellow man, I thought. It made me wonder what he had endured in war. That brusque manner seemed to come and go. As time went on, he seemed less inclined to snap, although I suspected that was just a part of his normal personality. Doc called it like he saw it, and there was no way he would tolerate foolishness. Such a difference from Stephen, who lived on his comfortable yacht with all the amenities. I couldn’t remember Stephen ever taking care of me. In the few short hours I had known Doc, he had done more than just attend to my bruises and contusions. He had also patched up my soul, helping me to put more perspective to my buried past.

  It was hard to sleep. I lay in bed in my sweats, my comforter on top of me, but my body just wouldn’t relax. The muscles ached and my mind raced. Why would Doug hire thugs to hurt his own daughter, Daisy? Something didn’t make sense. And yet, I couldn’t deny what had happened to the teenager. First came the hit-and-run, and then came the assault in the parking lot. Why? It wasn’t like Daisy was particularly sullen or uncooperative. I knew that, despite the trouble her parents had with staying married, she did still want her father in her life, even now, even after his remarriage. Was Doug that cruel a man? I didn’t think so.

  What if Daisy was a target for another reason? Almost grown up, she would soon be making the rounds of colleges and universities before starting the admissions process. In another few years, Daisy would be off on her own. Would that have been a problem for someone?

  I thought I could rule out a teenage stalker. After all, those men were adults. But I still didn’t understand what they wanted with a teenage girl.

  The divorce itself had fraught with tension. Carole and Doug both wanted custody of the kids, and Doug pressed hard on the cancer card. But in the end, her oncologist provided her with the winning chip. The stress of the divorce and custody battle was taking a toll on Carole, and it was critical that she be relieved of this burden as quickly as possible. When the court mediator heard this, he called both parties to the table and set down the rules. Carole’s medical needs came first and losing her children would put too great a strain on her compromised health. As long as Carole could show that she had a support team that would help her meet the needs of Daisy and Dylan, the children would remain with their mother. Doug agreed about Dylan, by that time feeling guilty about having left his wife in the lurch in favor of his mistress. Mimi was down in Maryland, setting up her new political life, and away from her, Doug seemed more like his old pre-Mimi self. He suggested that Daisy be given a choice of where she wanted to live. When the teenager arrived at the custody session, she told the mediator she wanted to stay with her mother, not only because Carole needed the help, but also because Daisy had no desire to change schools so close to her graduation. She didn’t want to leave her friends. At last, said the mediator, a voice of reason. The rest of the settlement was fairly standard, and Doug was soon able to return to his new life, albeit without his kids. As I recalled, he seemed to accept the custody arrangement willingly once the mediation was over. But Daisy had said he called recently to tell her he wanted to get custody of Dylan. Something had happened. Did he have a change of heart?

  As an assistant school superintendent, Doug was supposed to be an educator. Shouldn’t he of all people understand that the protracted tug-of-war between parents was harmful to the kids? I just couldn’t buy that Doug planned to go back on his word to let Daisy stay in Old Saybrook. He was never a mean man, in my experience, even though I still hated him for what he did to my friend. And I couldn’t see him
hiring a couple of goons to menace his daughter in some wacky plot to get her to move down to Maryland.

  So far, it didn’t look like Dylan was a target, any more than it looked like Carole was. Maybe we were missing the whole point of the terrifying events. If Daisy was the target, there was something about her that was making someone angry. If it wasn’t something she did, could there be another reason why those men tried to harm her? And if it wasn’t Doug, who else had a motive?

  Chapter Eight --

  I thought about Mimi, the former member of the Board of Ed. She had been forced to resign after the affair became fodder for local gossip. The public backlash over the shabby treatment Carole received from her husband and his mistress didn’t die down as quickly as Mimi hoped. When she left for her new job as a corporate lawyer and town solicitor, it was clear she expected to re-launch her political career. Those triplets were almost ready to walk and talk. Maybe Mimi felt this was the time to put herself back into the public spotlight. What if this was her effort to somehow make Carole look like an unfit mother?

  “That doesn’t make any sense,” I said into the darkness, hearing my own voice break the stillness. “It has to be something else.”

  Between the constant, dull ache of my shoulder and the nagging worry that Daisy was in grave danger, I tossed and turned until three, when I got up, thinking I would watch something on TV downstairs. As I padded into the living room, I found myself wondering if Doc was still awake. Pulling the drapes apart a scant six inches or so, I peered out. Doc’s van was gone, and in its place was a dark pickup truck, not unlike the one that carted away Daisy’s fleeing assailant. For a moment, my heart stopped. I saw a slight movement in the front seat, and then a man got out. I clung to the shadows, glad that I hadn’t turned on the lamp. I watched as he headed towards the Walchuk unit.

  The rush up to the bedroom to retrieve my cell phone took a lot out of me. I was moaning and groaning by the time I finally wrapped my trembling fingers around the case and went through my contacts list to find Doc’s number. I hit “call” and waited. Seconds later, it went to voicemail. When it beeped, I left a breathy message.

  “Doc, there’s a guy heading for Carole’s condo. He got out of a dark pickup truck. I think it might be the guy from the other night.” As soon as I hung up, I dialed Carole’s cell. She answered on the third ring. “There’s a man heading to your house and Doc’s gone!”

  “It’s okay, Cady,” she told me, her voice calm. “Doc took us to a safe place. He and his friends are waiting inside the house.”

  “Oh.” Relief flooded over me, knowing that Carole and the kids were elsewhere. I was glad Doc was careful enough to remove them, but I wished he had shared that with me. I wondered what would happen next. When I asked, Carole told me Doc had been rather vague about the plan.

  “Call me when it’s over,” I told her, before I terminated the call and stumbled back to the window. The truck was still parked in its spot, but its driver was nowhere to be seen. I pulled the ottoman over to the window and sat down, wondering, waiting. Listening. The minutes ticked on. A glance at the living room clock told me it was quarter past three. Another fifteen minutes crawled by before I saw a giant black spider sprint across the sidewalk, like something out of a horror film. As I looked closer, I saw it was really four men, all dressed in black, restraining a fifth man. The man from the pickup truck. The man who assaulted Daisy. He was tossed in the bed of the truck, accompanied by two of his guards, while a third got behind the wheel. The fourth man passed in front of my living room window before disappearing. It was Doc. A minute later, Doc’s van pulled beside the pickup truck. In the faint light, I observed the pickup truck driver sliding over on the front seat. Suddenly his head was out the window. There seemed to be a conversation going on between Doc and the driver. It ended quickly. Doc backed his van out of the space and rolled about fifty feet forward. The lights on the truck went on, the engine started up, and the truck slowly backed out of the parking spot. Taking its place behind Doc’s van, the pickup truck followed dutifully, and the two vehicles left the parking lot of the Soundings. The tail lights glowed deep red as they wound their way out to Sandy Point Road.

  Ten minutes later, I was back in bed, propped up on a pile of pillows in the hope of getting comfortable. No longer worried about Daisy’s fate, I drifted off to a dreamless sleep.

  Just after seven, I awoke to a banging on my front door. Hurrying down the stairs, I wrapped my robe around my sore shoulder, peeked out the sidelight, and recognized the medic on my doorstep.

  “Doc!”

  “Cady,” he nodded noncommittally.

  “Come on in,” I urged him, throwing open the door. Doc seemed secretive, almost guarded. “How did it go last night?”

  “Fine.” No explanation.

  “So, you got the guy?” I had to know.

  “Yup.”

  “What did you do with him?” Doc’s eyes seemed guarded, unwilling to meet mine. He brushed past me as I stood in the doorway, his overnight bag in hand.

  “We took care of the problem. He won’t be bothering Daisy or anyone else anymore.”

  “Was he arrested?” Persistent, I couldn’t let it go.

  “Hey, if we don’t get a move on, we’re going to be late, and you’ve got to get that cake to the wedding on time,” he reminded me. “I’ll take a quick shower and then make some breakfast for us.”

  With that, Doc disappeared up the stairs, and a few moments later, I heard the shower running. I hauled my aching body back up the stairs, made my bed using my good arm, and laid out my clothes for the day. I picked a big shirt with buttons, a colorful scarf to use as a belt, and another pair of leggings that were easy to put on, easy to take off. I would look like a hippie who escaped from a seventies love-in, but at least I would be comfortable.

  Doc paused at my bedroom door on his way downstairs.

  “One egg or two?” he asked.

  “One, please.”

  “One piece of toast or two?”

  “One, please.”

  “Juice?”

  “Please. Doc, what did you do with the guy?”

  “Nothing you have to worry about, Cady.”

  “But I do. I saw you and your friends last night.”

  “Did you?” Doc’s eyes got narrow. I nodded. “And now you want to know where we buried the body?”

  I gasped as Doc uttered those words and they made their way into my brain. It hadn’t occurred to me that they murdered the man who assaulted Daisy.

  “You killed him?” My heart was pounding as I stood in my bedroom, feeling very vulnerable. I was facing a dangerous man. Would I be his next victim now that he had confessed his crime to me? Those green eyes bore a hole right through my forehead.

  “Well, isn’t that what you’re afraid of, Cady? That we offed the guy, all because we didn’t haul his bad ass self to the police department?”

  I stood there, stunned, not really sure how to answer. All I knew was that there was a stranger in my bedroom. Glancing around, I wondered where I would go to escape him. Had he wormed his way into my life because he was a cold-blooded killer or because he’d had some kind of psychological breakdown? What had I let myself in for when I let down my guard?

  “Relax, Cady. The guy’s alive and well and kicking up his heels far, far away by now. Yes, we snatched him. Yes, we took him to what we in the Army like to call an undisclosed location. We questioned him, scared the hell out of him, and then a couple of the guys drove his lowlife ass up to the Canadian border, warned him not to come back to Old Saybrook anytime soon, and then left him there. He was alive and well.”

  “Really?” I hadn’t realized I was holding my breath until I heard those words and the air escaped from my lips in a whoosh. Doc was shaking his head, but his lips curled up into a slight smile.

  “You sure do have trust issues, don’t you?” he chuckled. “It’s a wonder you ever had a boyfriend.”

  “I’m not that bad,” I respon
ded defensively.

  “Not that bad? Good God, woman! Every time I do something, you assume the worst. It’s like you can’t help yourself.” Doc paused on his way out of the bedroom. “Shake a leg. That wedding cake isn’t going to bake itself, Fanny Farmer.”

  When I came down, dressed and ready for work, Doc was at the fry pan.

  “Over easy or sunny side up?”

  “Put a little sunshine in my life, Doc,” I found myself saying. He glanced at me with a look of surprise before giving me a grin.

  “You’ve got it.” As he set down the plate in front of me, I realized that something had changed between us. I had never realized how much I mistrusted men. Not just some men. All men. Doc was the only man who ever called me on it. And he wasn’t afraid to poke at the scab.

  We got to the shop a little before nine. Carole was sitting at the cash register, talking to Karl Schindler about the upcoming book talk at the library, featuring Mona Dubiel, author of Thunder in the Valley. If I didn’t know better, I’d think he had the hots for my friend. And judging from the rosy cheeks on Carole, it might be mutual. Darlene was icing pastries at the counter behind her and she gave me a little smirk as she nodded at the pair of them. I hid my own mirth as I passed by on my way to my tiny cubicle of an office. Tossing down my pocketbook, I slipped my coat off my shoulders and went through the mail. Walter was busy in the kitchen and Doc went to help him. I could hear them talking as they worked. I noticed that Doc treated Walter with respect, asking questions about why he did certain things that way. The experienced baker explained the processes to the novice, and even as I listened, I found myself learning a thing or two. There was more to Walter than just a reliable employee who always showed up for his shift.

  “What branch?” I heard Doc ask.

  “Air Force. I was stationed at Phan Rang for a while, later Korat in Thailand. Air traffic controller.” They chatted about how stressful the job was of monitoring the comings and goings of the larger aircraft on the base, and how there were many close calls back during the Vietnam War. “You?”