by Kate Young
“This place is what nightmares are made from,” Betsy said as I shut off the engine.
She was right. The moss-covered wreckage, broken pieces of old vessels, and destroyed docks looked like a scene out of a horror movie at this time of night.
“We should probably tuck our guns in the back of our shorts, like they do in the movies. Hauling around a purse would be mighty inconvenient if we have to make a run for it.”
I swallowed hard as we got out of the car and placed the gun against my lower back. The more I considered the location, the colder I became. It was one thing to investigate when you didn’t have any idea if you would stumble on any perpetrators. It was a completely different scenario altogether when you might have a confrontation with a hardened criminal. Most people wouldn’t have any reason to venture out to the deserted marina, and those who did wouldn’t at this time of night. I wanted to face-palm. I’d searched all the properties belonging to Joseph Ledbetter except for his boats and fisherman shack.
“Where should we check first?” Betsy whispered.
Even though no one was around, that we knew of, I whispered back, “That old boathouse.” I pointed to the only floating boat on the water. It certainly was worse for wear, and, by the sight of it, it was surprising it hadn’t sunk like all the others. It certainly didn’t look seaworthy.
Betsy swallowed hard. “Roger that.”
We moved quietly through the dark marina. All the old broken-down boats added to the eeriness. I had to hop onto the only poor excuse for a dock that remained. I held out my hand to Betsy. We clasped hands, and she jumped. We lost our balance and both nearly tumbled into the murky water. I grabbed onto her diner-issued polo shirt, and we somehow managed to remain upright. More surprisingly, we managed that without a peep.
Betsy’s sweaty palm gave my hand a squeeze of thanks, and we continued to move as silently as possible past all the skeleton fishing boats that had once been the pride and joy of all the old fishermen.
Laboriously, I climbed over a pile of roping covered with seaweed and barnacles next to the barely floating vessel that now belonged to Carl Ledbetter. I gave Betsy a wait sign. My heart was fluttering in an odd rhythm, and I needed a second to right myself. I had a light-headed, almost-dizzy feeling.
“You okay?” Betsy asked.
I nodded and bent over, placing my hands on my knees. Something hit against the side of the boat, and the two of us shrieked. My hand went over my mouth.
Vacillating momentarily, I searched around for some sort of a weapon that wouldn’t be quite as dangerous as my gun. I didn’t quite trust myself to not blow holes in some innocent bystander. You never knew if kids were lurking around somewhere and, as much as I doubted it, I’d rather be safe than sorry. I found an old gaffing hook and gripped it in my hands before slowly hoisting myself up on wobbly legs to peer into the window. It was too dark to make anything out.
Another thud against the wall nearly caused me to lose my nerve. A couple of deep breaths, or wheezes, later, I steeled myself for the unknown. Slowly and cautiously we moved down the side of the boat.
Betsy extracted her phone from her pocket, and we peered inside. The light reflected over the top of a large ice chest. There was ice scattered all over the floor, along with a sleeping bag and what appeared to be Coke cans.
“You think someone is living out here?” she asked in a shaky tone.
“I don’t know about living, but someone has definitely been here. I just hope they’re gone.”
“Me too.”
We moved inside and, after a quick recon, let out a sigh of relief that, at this moment, we were alone.
“Probably kids,” I said.
“You think they’ve been fishin’?” Betsy lifted the lid of the chest and screamed.
What I saw next I would never ever be able to erase from my memory. After a quick intake of air, a part gasp and part sob left my lips. I swayed on my feet, gripping tightly to Betsy. The two of us were horrified. It was confirmed. I was on the precipice of something dark and deadly. Carl Ledbetter lay in the ice, his eyes frozen in widened shock. No one had even attempted to cover him. Blood had crystallized against his face from a little round hole in his forehead, and a few tears had frozen against his cheeks.
Bile began to rise in my throat. I clamped my hand over my mouth. We hightailed it out of there. I managed to hold back until I made it to the water. When I’d finished, I wiped my mouth with the back of my hand. Betsy took the hook from my hand and tossed in in the water, then she went back inside. To wipe down the lid of the chest, I guessed. Betsy was no fool. We didn’t want our prints or DNA anywhere in that boat.
Chapter 39
The night was quiet. The sounds of waves lightly rocking the boat remnants and the wind were all that we heard. The moon was high in the sky over the water. Betsy and I stood in stunned silence against the car. I had to call this in and, as bad as it looked for the two of us, there was no way around it. My thoughts drifted to Rainey Lane and how devastated she would be. I wished I could help somehow.
“Do you think Tally killed him?” Betsy asked.
“I don’t see what she would gain by that,” I said. Tally alerted me of his disappearance and had even sounded concerned. But what did I really know? Here I stood. Another dead body to add to the body count. I closed my eyes. Did Carl want me to find his killer? Was he somewhere lurking around waiting for me to do something?
“Give me a sign, something, Carl? Help me!” I whispered.
Betsy wrapped her arms around me. “I think you’re cracking up. Carl is the dead one. He ain’t gonna help nobody.”
“No, Bets.” I gave a hoarse laugh and relayed everything that Mama told me about the dead and my aura. She freaked out a little and said something about getting her a cross and some holy water to keep with her.
Time passed slowly while Betsy and I managed to get our story straight. We needed to be on the same page. I was about to tell Betsy we should leave, my hand on the door handle, when we heard the sound of a car slowly rolling toward the marina to my left. Betsy and I locked gazes and, as if we were able to read each other’s minds, both of us darted toward an old barge. The mammoth wreckage had been thrown on its side, burrowing into the shells and sand. Hidden from sight, we heard the vehicle come to a stop.
My leg muscles tightened. Adrenaline thrummed through my veins as I crept to the edge of the barge. Every single ounce of me was ready to run. I peeked around the side. It was too dark to make out the vehicle. My stomach clenched. I took a couple of deep breaths. A man, or I thought it was a man, was heading for the old fisherman’s shack. Betsy’s lips and chin were trembling in the moonlight.
“It’s okay, Bets. We’re going to be fine.” I reached for my phone. It wasn’t in my pocket. I’d left it in the car. Slinking back, I instructed Betsy to call Alex.
Betsy patted her shorts pockets, front and back. She didn’t have her phone either. “I must have dropped it in the boathouse!” Betsy’s eyes bulged as she wrapped her arms around herself. “What are we going to do?” She stumbled and bumped into the barge.
A loud thud echoed across the marina. We both held our breaths.
“We should have driven away the minute we found Carl. We are so stupid!” Betsy whisper-shouted.
“Stay calm.” I put a finger to my lips. The last thing we needed was to be discovered skulking around this godforsaken marina. I pointed toward the car. “On three we make a run for it.”
Betsy nodded eagerly. I began the countdown. Before I could get to three, Betsy took off around the barge, her arms flailing wildly as she ran. I followed.
Before I made it a few feet, pain radiated from the back of my head, and I fell to the ground hard.
* * *
I came to on a splintered floor. Slowly, my eyelids obeyed my command and opened to slits. My view was darker and cloudier than it should have been. When I attempted to swallow, I found the process difficult. The drumming going on inside my head was
a majorly painful distraction. Where was I? The air was musty and thick. Sweat poured down my face, stinging my eyes.
My hand went to the back of my head. It was wet. When I brought my hand to my face, squinting through the pain, I saw blood. Noises. Breathing. Someone else was here. I attempted to focus on the face looming above me. A bottle was placed to my lips. The room-temperature liquid quenched my parched mouth and throat.
“Thank you,” I managed before I lost consciousness again.
* * *
“Wake up!” Mama was patting my face. “You can’t sleep! You have a serious head injury.” Her high-pitched tone, intense with emotion, demanded my attention. When I was finally able to focus clearly, or clearer, Mama was gone. Had I dreamed that she was here?
This time I could sit up when I lifted my lids. The room spun and, a second later, my stomach revolted. An old bucket was beside me, and I vomited in it repeatedly. My head was pounding. Nausea, vomiting, and double vision. It didn’t take a brain surgeon to diagnose I had a concussion. I shoved the bucket away and managed to scoot over to lean against the shabby wooden walls. Smoke, I smelled smoke.
Weathered walls with cracks of light shone through. A small folding table and chair were nestled against the wall on the other side of the room. The floor was broken in several places, the ground beneath visible. Seagulls were calling to one another. It was morning then. They were diving for their breakfast. There was a flicker of light against the door.
Slowly, I began to recall what had happened. Someone had hit me. Hard. This was the bait shack I’d spied from the barge. Oh God, Betsy! Where was she? Had she made it? Driven away? Called Alex? Left me here? I shivered convulsively.
I had to get out of here. Somehow, I managed to half-crawl, half-scoot across the floor toward the door. I focused on the peeling red paint. My knees and shins were picking up splinters. Some were painful. I can do this. I had no idea what I was going to do when I made it outside. I just knew I had to get out of here. I was forced to stop several times and catch my breath, nearly losing whatever bile was left in my stomach with each advancement.
“You’re awake,” a man said. I recognized that voice.
I sighed with relief and turned. He was wearing a baseball cap. I found that odd. I’d never seen him in one.
My lungs burned. “Felton, help me,” I croaked. “I’ve been hurt.”
He smiled at me, a sinister smile that chilled the blood in my veins. He was in the doorway between this room and the next. A filing cabinet was to his left. Documents were burning in a barrel. He held a file.
Pieces began to fall into place.
“I wasn’t sure if you’d come to anytime soon. I didn’t mean to swing that hard.”
That day at the diner. The day my car was repossessed. He was out front with Mr. Ledbetter. The old man had said, “I’ve had just about enough of this.” Naturally, I assumed he was talking about my display. But then there was Bonnie’s account. She said they were arguing . . . Oh God . . .
I blinked several times. He’s the one who hit me. The room began to spin. I nearly vomited again while Felton watched me with interest. Mr. Ledbetter must have suspected Felton would take revenge. He had the file number on him that day. It made sense now. The A wasn’t an A. It was an H, written in a hurry. HP 08/15/87. F. Helen Powell had given birth on August 15, 1987, to a son, Felton Powell. He was the illegitimate son of Joseph Ledbetter.
My skin crawled. Where is my gun?
Felton tossed another file into the flames. “I see you’re figuring things out.”
I didn’t say anything, shocked that the man before me had been capable of such horrific acts.
“I never wanted to hurt you.” He closed the distance between us with two long strides. His hands shoved underneath my arms and hauled me away from the door. Sweat dripped off his face onto mine.
My teeth chattered. No! I am never going to be a victim again! I fought against him, my nails digging into his forearms. I let out a scream.
Felton shook me once. “Stop that!”
That was all it took. I ceased fighting. He propped me up against the wall near the doorway between the rooms. Jerking several boards from the front window, he let some light and air in. A waft of salty air made its way to me. I could taste it on my tongue. I was exhausted—Lord help me, I was completely exhausted. As much as I tried, I couldn’t force my teeth to stop chattering.
Felton sat down on the floor and put his Glock on his leg. He removed his cap and dumped a bit of water from the bottle on his bald head. He put the bottle to my lips. I wanted to refuse. To spit it in his face. Instead, I drank it down.
The malevolence wafting off him made my stomach churn. I feared I might vomit again. How had I missed the crazy glint in this man’s eyes? The pleasure he derived from inflicting pain? “You look like a scared little bunny. It didn’t have to be this way. I always thought we were alike.”
He and I are nothing alike.
“Both of us are bastards. At least Eddie claims you. Joseph never claimed me.” Felton’s lip curled when he said his father’s name. “You know, he’s the reason Mama left the island. He used her up and threw her away for the next woman that got him hard.”
“That’s awful, Felton.” I swallowed. “I’m sorry.”
“I don’t want your pity,” he snapped, and I flinched. That gave him a laugh.
I dredged up the courage to ask, “You didn’t hurt Betsy, did you?”
“She’s in the trunk of your car. I put a couple of air holes in it for her. She never did anything to me.” It came out as an absentminded answer. He used the barrel of his gun to scratch his cheek.
At least she was alive. But, in this heat, for how long?
“And you know, that asshole who raised me . . .” he continued down his memory lane.
He must have believed we were alike to confide in me the way he was. I could use that. I focused intently on him.
“. . . my dad, he knew I didn’t belong to him. He made me pay for it every day of my life.” He turned his head away from me.
For a split second, I debated trying to get the jump on him. Maybe even wrestle the gun away. Reality set in. I was in no condition to fight him one on one.
His head whirled back around. His voice raised. “You know, I was doing okay in Savannah. Sure, I’d not been killing it financially or anything, but I was working. Then one day I saw Carl. I spoke to him.” His face contorted with rage. “He glared at me as if I was lower than shit dust. I saw red. After that, he found out about me. Joseph had to tell him. He had a choice, drop the charges or I would have blown up his entire life. I hated Joseph. He never accepted me. I gave him a chance. Told him the day he died that all he had to do was keep his word and add me to the will.”
My scalp crawled. I was dangerously close to crying. I swallowed the lump that was in my throat. “You poisoned him.”
“Yeah, but it didn’t go exactly as I planned. I paid a teen to call and cancel that order. That was a breeze. But, I wasn’t sure how much Jena Lynn would use for his cake. Charlie let me in the night before. Joseph said something to Heather about Rainey Lane’s intention to order a cake. I took the risk she would order a freshly baked one. You know her.” He’d made a good bet. “Heather said she always did that. He was supposed to eat it at home. They all were.” Felton wanted all three of them dead. “Charlie had a heart attack, so I didn’t have to bother with him.” At least he hadn’t killed Charlie.
“What if Rainey Lane had changed her mind? Someone else could have been killed or several people.” I rested my head against the wall. My head throbbed.
He spat on the floor.
“But what about Heather? She was so glad to see you the day she was attacked.”
His face contorted in outrage. “I didn’t hurt her. I’m not a monster.”
I begged to differ.
“That half-brother of mine, Carl. He sent someone to rough her up. Lowlife piece of shit. He knew I had the proof to conte
st Joseph’s will. He was sending me a message. He paid for it. The prick.” He sure did. With a hole in the head.
“What about Judy?” I was unable to hide the pain in my tone.
His eyes hardened and he stood. “I told her to stay out of it. Stupid woman pined after Carl like he was something wonderful. Her life was on Carl.” He leaned down and poked the barrel of the gun to his chest and shouted, “Not me!” Spittle sprayed my arms. This man was a raving lunatic.
“She fought?” My tone was shaky by the realization that was why her nails were torn. She had fought Felton, while he made the murder look like a suicide. That’s why he had been first on the scene.
“I volunteered to be the lead on everything Eddie would let me.” He snorted. “He didn’t see what was right in front of him. Neither did your lover boy Alex. Idiots.” He began pacing. “That nosy reporter.” His eyes flamed with rage. “You almost cost him his life, baiting him the way you were, while you coaxed him to stay around by flaunting yourself.”
A defiant scream welled up within me, but I clamped my mouth shut. He was waiting for me to provoke his rage. That was evident.
Wild eyes searched my face. “You see? If you had stayed out of this, you would have been spared!” He grabbed my face and squeezed until I feared my eyes might burst from the sockets.
“I’m sorry,” I said softly when he released me.
Fueling his anger would only prevent me from getting to my friend, and I had to get to Betsy. She needed water.
“Me too.” He raised his gun and pointed it at my head. “I’ll toss you in with Carl. Guess I’ll have to do Betsy too. Then I’ll torch this place, and no one will suspect me. There will be no evidence of the kind of woman my mother had been. No evidence I was the product of her lascivious behavior.”
“But what about the property? Isn’t that what you were after in the first place? Your rightful inheritance?” I wanted to get his mind back to Carl and his dad. Let his anger burn for them, instead of me.
He lowered his gun and began to pace. The sun was rising higher in the sky, and I could see the uncertainty in Felton’s eyes. Anger and bitterness had been eating him from the inside out his entire life. If pure evil hadn’t been emanating off his body, I could possibly feel sorry for him. No. He killed people. Innocent people.