Peppermint Creek Inn

by Jan Springer

  “But what about Sara?” Justin whispered desperately.

  Whitey’s eyes narrowed into mere slits. “I’ve made a deal with Matt about her. You just get yourself back to town. Get an alibi. This is the end of our conversation.”

  Justin appeared to want to say something then thought better of it. His shoulders sagged in defeat as he climbed back into the cruiser. Wheels spinning, kicking up dirt, Justin Jeffries took off.

  Matt sighed with quiet relief.

  One down.

  Two to go.

  —

  Sara felt as if each step were her last. She had no idea how she kept going but something deep inside her urged her to put one foot in front of the other. To keep plodding along. To be ready. That Tom had a plan. That’s the only reason he’d been acting in this horrid way toward her.

  Justin had killed her husband and her children. And he wore the missing bullet around his neck. As if it were some sort of trophy.

  Tom had been right all along about Justin. And yet she’d still had doubts he’d been involved simply because Justin and Jack had been partners and seemingly such good friends. Now that she’d seen the missing bullet hanging around Justin’s neck, she burned with anger.

  She hadn’t noticed the disappearance of Jack’s journal until months after he’d been murdered, not until she’d been able to think clearly enough to remember the strange conversation they’d had on the morning of his death.

  They’d been lying in bed, listening to the cheerful chattering of the wild birds outside. Jack’s large hand had been cradling her slightly swollen stomach. His cornflower blue eyes had been so sober when he’d said, “If something ever happens to me, Sara, I want you to give my journal to Dad. He’ll know what to do with it.”

  Sara cuddled closer to him trying to dispel the cold shiver his words had caused.

  “Nothing’s going to happen to you, Jack,” she had soothed. “The men at the mill are uttering death threats because they’re upset about you helping the government. Things will calm down eventually.”

  He’d smiled at her in answer. But the smile hadn’t quite reached his dark eyes. He’d reached for her and they’d made love for the last time.

  Sara jolted as Whitey stumbled on the slippery trail in front of her. Her mouth went dry and her knees suddenly shook. Hopefully Whitey wouldn’t turn around and see what she was doing. Twisting her hands at an odd angle, Sara jammed the makeshift key into the hole and began working on the cuffs.

  —

  Matt eyed the brooding sky. Thunder crackled somewhere to the north. The plan he’d been formulating depended on the weather. Hopefully if the rain held off and the mist stayed thick, he might be able to get them out of this mess.

  When he’d awoken this morning, he’d discovered most of his memories intact. He remembered Whitey lifting the gun, pointing it at Robin’s face. Remembered how horribly helpless he’d felt as Whitey pulled the trigger. How Robin’s body had jerked wildly when the bullet ripped through his throat.

  He remembered his buddy murmur something about the nearby suitcase and other words he hadn’t been able to understand. He remembered Whitey, Pauline and Scout hovering around him like vultures, glass crunching wickedly beneath their feet as they’d watched him fervently try to stop the blood from spurting out of Robin. Yelling at them to call 911.

  “He’s practically dead,” Whitey had replied coldly. “And you are a murderer.”

  Then he’d heard Robin’s death rattle. A ghastly sound he’d never forget as long as he lived.

  Realizing Robin was beyond help, the full implications of Whitey’s words impacted Matt. Whitey was setting him up for Robin’s death. He’d grabbed the briefcase with the money and run.

  Their gunshots had miraculously missed him as he’d raced into Robin’s bathroom locked the door and crashed through the window. Heading over to where he’d stashed his bike, he’d hopped onto his vehicle and raced off.

  The trail veered sharply to the right bringing him out of his thoughts. He cast a quick glance at Sara. From the firm set of her lovely jaw and the somewhat shaky smile she cast his way, he allowed himself to hope that she was also working on a plan.

  He’d need all the help he could get.

  —

  Sara’s fingers tightened around the ballpoint pen she was using as a makeshift key to the handcuffs. She almost let out a whoop of joy when the handcuffs snapped open and teetered precariously on her wrists. With some quick fancy maneuvering, she was able to keep the cuffs from falling off.

  Keeping her eyes glued to Whitey’s back in front of her she had to remain alert. Waited for Tom’s sign.

  Sara tensed when Tom veered sharply to the right. He turned around and for a split second their gazes locked. She threw him what she hoped was a reassuring smile, to let him know she suddenly understood where they were going.

  She allowed the tip of the ballpoint to slip slightly out from between her fingers. Enough to become a miniature weapon and then she prepared herself for all hell to break loose.

  As if on cue, Tom came to a dead halt. Whitey cursed loudly as he almost crashed into the back of him.

  “Why are you stopping?” he hissed anxiously.

  “We’re here,” Tom said casually.

  Sara didn’t miss the cruel smile ripple across Whitey’s lips. God she hoped the plan worked.

  Tom pointed to the other side of the familiar meadow in front of a debilitated cabin.

  “It’s inside that log over there.”

  “You go ahead. Show me,” Whitey instructed.

  Sara’s blood ran icy cold. She hadn’t anticipated this problem. Her mind raced for an answer. Help came from an unexpected source.

  “Oh, for heaven’s sake, Dad. Just get it,” Pauline urged him.

  Whitey threw her a cold look. “Keep them covered.”

  Matt and Sara watched anxiously as Whitey struggled through the scraggly bushes claiming the meadow. Both poised to move at a split-second notice. But nothing happened. Whitey reached the log without a problem and Sara knew they were in trouble.

  Sara’s heart pounded frantically against her chest as she watched Whitey lean over and peek inside the hollow.

  He looked back at them. A horrible grin sliced his face.

  “Are you toying with us, Matt?”

  He raised his gun.

  Sara flinched as he pointed it at her. “I hope for her sake you aren’t.”

  “It’s the wrong log,” Sara said quickly, nodding to the other log. “It’s that one over there.”

  All eyes flew to another fallen log a few feet to the right of this one.

  Whitey grinned as he scrambled to his feet.

  “You’ve got a lovely lady there, Matthew. She’s smart.”

  He headed toward the other log. Suddenly a cry rang out and the earth swallowed Whitey.

  With lightning speed, Sara turned. Holding the pen tight she stabbed Pauline’s gun hand. The blonde screamed in pain. An instant later, Tom bowled into Pauline, knocking her and the weapon to the ground.

  Sara grabbed for the gun, but froze when dirt flew into the air mere inches from her fingertips.

  “My God,” she gasped.

  Her mind reeled in confusion as a red-haired man with a pockmarked face stepped out of the bushes. A horrible looking semi-automatic was gripped snugly in his hand.

  Beside her, Matt and Pauline stopped struggling.

  “What took you so long?” Pauline quipped as she scrambled away from Tom, stooped over and grabbed her gun.

  “I’m here,” the man retorted smoothly. “And not a moment too soon, Pauline. You can’t keep your own husband under control?”

  He turned to Tom, a fierce hatred in his eyes and a truly high-spirited smile on his ultra-thin lips.

  “Greetings, Matty.”

  “Scout,” Tom acknowledged stiffly.

  This sorry-looking character was Scout McMaster? The supposedly dead arms dealer?

  “I should put a b
ullet in you for deceiving all of us.”

  “Go ahead,” taunted Tom. “Right between the eyes. It seems to be in the air around here.”

  “If you shoot Tom, then you’re up a creek without a paddle so to speak, aren’t you?” Sara said in the sugariest voice she could gather. She needed to keep this horrible man’s attention off Tom.

  Scout swung his gaze on her and she shivered involuntarily at the crazy glint in his stormy blue eyes. He studied her for a long time before replying with obvious interest, “And who are you?”

  “She’s nobody,” Matt interjected quickly.

  “She looks like a somebody to me. Somebody I’d like to get to know,” Scout drawled.

  “Scout would you take a look see if Dad’s okay?” Pauline pointed to the gaping hole of the well Tom had fallen into the other evening. It was barely visible in the gray misty light.

  As he quickly headed toward the well Scout threw Sara a look, a heated look that made her shiver with revulsion.

  “Hey, Whitey? You okay down there?” he called down the hole.

  No answer.

  Sara’s frantic gaze flew to search the tall grass. She’d lost the pen somewhere on the ground nearby when she’d stabbed Pauline. And now she couldn’t find it.

  “You looking for this?”

  All the fight rushed out of her body as Pauline held the pen up.

  Her only weapon, her last hope was gone.

  “No answer,” Scout replied as he continued to peer down the hole. “I can’t even see him. It’s too dark. He’s probably knocked himself out.”

  “Leave him for now. We’ll get him later,” Pauline said sternly. She turned to Matthew but the gun in her hand never left Sara.

  “Please, no more games, Matt. Where is it?” she said wearily.

  “You’ll have to undo my cuffs,” he stated calmly. He sounded a hell of a lot more calm than he felt.

  “I don’t think so,” Pauline spat.

  “I can’t swim without my hands.”

  “Swim?” both Pauline and Sara asked in unison.

  Tom nodded. He nodded down the hill toward the fog-enshrouded Jackfish Bay.

  “It’s out there. On the island.”

  —

  A few minutes later, they stood on the sandy beach.

  Pauline had unlocked the handcuffs and Matt had stripped down to his underwear. He stood in the cool morning mist, shivering uncontrollably awaiting a decision as to who would accompany him.

  “You go with him, Scout,” Pauline instructed.

  “Can’t.”

  “Sure you can. Follow him out to the island. Make sure he doesn’t do anything stupid, like take off.”

  “Can’t swim. You go with him. I’ll stay here with the lady. I’m sure we can amuse ourselves.”

  Matt stiffened at the remark. He wanted to belt the scum, but he had to keep his cool. If Scout only knew how much he loved her. Matt shuddered to think what would happen to her. And Scout would make sure Matt watched the whole thing.

  Pauline rolled her eyes heavenward in disgust.

  “Forgot my bathing suit,” she said. “Just get the evidence, Matt. All of it. You don’t come back, she’s a goner. Is that clear?”

  “Crystal.”

  He took a step toward the giant black waves rolling onto the sandy beach.

  “No! Please.” Sara’s cry tore at his heart. “He can’t go in there! There’s a storm coming. The waves are too big. He’ll freeze to death. Maybe there’s a boat around here somewhere he can use.”

  Matthew tensed and anxiously waited as Pauline cast her gaze across the fog-shielded inlet and the white-capped waves rolling onto the beach as if pondering Sara’s plea then she replied icily, “Don’t worry. He’ll think warm thoughts of you. Go ahead, Matt.”

  Before Sara could protest again, Tom took a deep breath and with one fluid motion, he dove into the brooding black water.

  —

  Chilly rain pellets stung Sara’s face as she watched the swirling dark waves get higher with the oncoming wind. Thunder crunched overhead, making her jump involuntarily. Ice cold fear for Tom’s safety slithered through her like a cobra.

  He’d disappeared beneath the frothy waves quite a while ago. She’d searched the misty waters for one more sign of him. One more glance for her memory. But he’d never resurfaced, most likely opting to come up for air under cover of the veily mist.

  She hoped and prayed he wouldn’t come back. Any important information he’d accumulated and left on the island belonged to the authorities. Even if her life needed to be sacrificed. Knowing Tom would be safe gave her all the reassurance she required to endure just about anything.

  “What’s taking him so long?” Scout McMaster said.

  Sara spun around to face him as he stepped closer to her. His gun was pointed at her stomach. An ugly sneer gripped his pockmarked face and his grubby eyes raked over her body. Sara swallowed the horrible chunk of dryness threatening to clog her throat.

  “The island is a fair bit to swim to,” she replied trying to appear calm.

  “If it’s really there at all,” he whispered softly.

  He reached up with his free hand and Sara tried not to flinch as he ran his slimy fingers through her hair. His lips parted. Sara cringed inwardly at the sight of his yellow teeth. She smelled his nauseating breath grate over her face, yet she resisted the overwhelming urge to lift her knee and sock it to him where the sun doesn’t shine.

  Stall him, Sara. Stall. Tom needs more time.

  Her heart pounded fiercely against her rib cage at what she was about to do. She felt faint as the air tried to squeeze into her constricting lungs. The gun poked painfully into her rib cage and Sara forced a seductive smile to her lips.

  —

  It didn’t take long before Matthew’s arms and legs grew numb, but the fear of what would happen to Sara if he didn’t return propelled him into blanking out the numbness.

  Breaststroke. Kick. Sidestroke. Kick harder. Keep moving. The icy fingers of the water slithered along his cold body. God, he needed to get warm.

  Sara.

  He needed to think of Sara. An agonizing ache erupted deep inside his heart as he thought of last night. She’d moved in perfect rhythm beneath him. Her velvety body luscious and smooth. So beautiful.

  The woman of his dreams. A great mother for their children. A passionate, talented woman. Desirable, strong and independent.

  Fire breathed into lungs and he found himself gasping for air. His arms and legs began to slow, to grow heavy. Panic notched up a few degrees. Something hard cracked against his knees and arrows of pain shot way up into his hips. He cursed loudly. His hands grazed against rock. A large jagged rock. Then another.

  He lifted his weary head. Through the white mist, a wall of sheer gunmetal gray loomed like a giant in front of him. He’d hit the damn island. By golly, he’d made it. He would have let out a shout of success but he was too pooped to even gasp.

  Climbing out of the black waves, Matt shivered as the cool raindrops nailed into his naked skin. He sat down on one of the boulders catching his breath and looked around. Mist swirled everywhere, through each crack and crevice, across every boulder. His gut clenched. Nothing seemed familiar.

  Maybe he was wrong about this island. Maybe he’d put the evidence somewhere else? Maybe he’d only dreamed it was here?

  Swallowing hard, he fought the overwhelming panic threatening his sense of confidence and forced himself to stand and to start walking. He had to stay strong. He had to think. Think, man, think. Where could he have stashed the evidence?

  He was so deep in thought when a few moments later he realized walking had become easier. He’d stumbled off the stony beach onto sand. That’s when he saw the overturned kayak and that’s when he finally remembered where he’d put the evidence and how he could get back off the island and rescue Sara.

  —

  “Who killed Robin?” Sara asked the question the moment it popped into her head.
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  Thankfully, Scout’s dry lips stopped mere inches from hers. His eyes narrowed and he shook his head slowly. “You sure know how to ruin a party, gal.”

  The gun left her ribs and he savagely pushed her away from him.

  “He got in the way of a bullet,” he replied angrily. “What do you think? Whitey had to clean out the pest. Can’t work proper with varmints double-crossing you.”

  “Then Tom didn’t do it?”

  “Why the hell do you call him Tom anyway? His name’s Matthew Brown. Least ways that’s the name the rat went by in New York.” He stroked the barrel of his gun with apparent affection. “And I can’t wait to kill him.”

  Lifting his head, his piercing dark blue gaze fastened onto Sara, his eyes roving over her breasts and settling between her legs.

  “But first I’ll let him watch while I take pleasure in fucking you. I’ll enjoy your screams as I come inside that sweet little pussy of yours. Alas in the end we’ll have to part so to speak and you’ll join your boyfriend in the truck where you’ll both meet an unfortunate accident as your truck stalls on the train tracks.”

  Sara shivered at Scout’s horrible words. She’d been wondering how they’d do it without causing too much attention. What better way than to make it look like a train accident.

  Scout continued to pet his pistol and his eyes glazed wide with wonder. “Don’t you see how easy it was to frame Matty? All the chief had to do was say the man was guilty and everyone believed it. Brownie’s just another chump, a sucker, who thinks he can sweep the streets clean. He can’t do it himself. There’s too many of us out there.”

  McMaster laughed harshly. “Now c’mere, I want to party with you.”

  She shrieked with disgust as he grabbed for her again, his slimy hands circling around her waist with an iron steel grip. He pulled her close. Too close.

  She could feel the hard bulge of his small cock rub against her thigh, and squelched the need to scream her head off. His face lowered again and he nuzzled his clammy lips against the base of her neck.

  God help her, she was going to start fighting him any moment. She almost did a double take when she spotted movement in the misty waves. Before she could pinpoint the location or attest to what had captured her attention, it was gone.