Putting down the phone, Gibbs sighed. “We found her car parked at a McLean fast-food mart, keys in the ignition and driver’s side window rolled down. Did anyone use that car other than Tina?”
“No, it’s just the two of us at home. We each have our own car,” Denise responded, worry lines deepening in her face. “Maybe you’ll find her friends’ fingerprints, like Becca’s for instance, but Tina hadn’t too many friends. I rode as a passenger in her car sometimes.”
“All right, then I’d like to get your prints tonight for elimination from whatever others we may find. Can you do that right now?”
“Of course, I’ll do anything to find Tina faster,” Denise said as Gibbs took her to another area to record her prints.
Returning to the Shannons, he said, “If Tina hasn’t turned up by morning, send your daughter in ASAP to add her input. We’ll also need her fingerprints for elimination.”
When Denise rejoined them, Gibbs asked if anyone had questions. “No? Okay, then go home and get some sleep. We may need you alert and on your feet tomorrow. Thanks for giving us this important information. Mrs. MacKenzie, looks like you have some mighty good friends here.”
Giving Denise a comforting hug as they wandered out to the car beneath a starry sky, Jennifer wondered how terrible things could unfold on so beautiful a summer night.
Inside the station, Gibbs sighed to himself. No reason to further alarm these already anxious folks but he knew something else, something he deliberately didn’t mention. Two women had disappeared without a trace in the last five months in this very part of Fairfax County and Tina might well be the third, perhaps confirming a pattern dreaded by law enforcement personnel. If the girl didn’t surface by tomorrow, he’d pass this info directly to the Fairfax County Homicide Division.
As a veteran police detective, he didn’t like the way this case felt. He didn’t like it at all!
CHAPTER 23
A pall settled over the Shannon house as days passed with Tina still missing. They all ached to solve this puzzle, but nothing made sense. What had happened to her?
Poor Denise was an understandable wreck trying to cope with her daughter’s senseless disappearance and Becca felt devastated with worry over her best friend. Besides sharing their anxiety, Jennifer could think of nothing to do or say to relieve their misery. No progress on the case fueled additional community apprehension about the missing women, producing growing unease and even fear.
Helpless to positively affect the situation, Jennifer sighed. Short of finding Tina herself, she couldn’t ease the grieving of those she cared about so much.
Late that Saturday morning this unsolvable dilemma exasperated Jennifer to the point she decided to get out of the house. Driving often cleared her head. Perhaps she’d think of some new angle nobody considered. Problems often cooked to solution in the back of her mind while she was distracted with unrelated tasks.
The kitchen clock read 11 a.m.—later than her usual start to garage sales, but she consulted the newspaper classifieds anyway. At home she felt useless, contrasted with the productive alternative of many upscale addresses. Might she balance the negative with something positive at this morning’s sales?
She told those at home her dilemma and, reinforced by their encouragement, started off. Once launched, she skipped lunch to avoid missing the exceptional opportunities advertised on this sunny mid-July day.
She visited sales for nearly five hours, making many stops and several significant purchases. A box of Star Wars figures was a guaranteed thrilling under-the-pillow gift for a grandson, as was the shoulder-high shiny brass spyglass atop an adjustable brass tripod (original tags still attached). Now Jason and the family could get close views of the deer in the wooded parkland behind their house; an amazing value at $45 when she’d priced them in retail stores at $150 and up! At least the telescope might distract them briefly from what was really on all their minds.
Tina’s plight assailed her thoughts over and over as she drove, but no light bulb popped on to suggest what might have befallen her.
Finishing McLean, Jennifer went to a few sales in Vienna, then crossed to Route 7 for more in the Springvale area and doubled back through Great Falls for two more at big estates. Under other circumstances, this would have been a rewarding garage sale day! Under these circumstances, it was at least motion.
Losing track of time, she arched her eyebrows in surprise as she checked her watch: after four o’clock. Where had the time gone? Tired and preoccupied with painful thoughts about Tina, she attempted an impromptu shortcut home, in the right general direction but not a route tried before. If she saw just one street sign, she could pull over, consult her book map and pinpoint her location. Dinnertime approached and her family awaited their cook. She must get her bearings soon or retrace her path to familiar roads.
Driving the winding country roads and wooded rolling hills between Great Falls and home in McLean, she knew these back roads could become confusing. Clusters of huge, beautiful homes interspersed with modest houses or even farmland. A couple of landscape nurseries still survived, their owners doggedly resisting developers’ staggering sums offered for their land.
Noting this particular winding road was too narrow for a u-turn attempt, she needed a driveway where she could pull in and back out. And soon, because she hated to admit it, but she was pretty much lost. Why had she resisted Jason’s offer to install a GPS navigator in her SUV?
Abruptly, the perfect solution came suddenly into focus. “Yes, yes!” she chortled aloud, for rounding a tight curve, she spied an Unadvertised Special. “YARD SALE” read a sign painted on a large piece of plywood. Beneath the words an arrow pointed up the driveway. What extraordinary luck! A last sale for the day, a place to around and to get directions home!
Braking hard, she negotiated a last minute swerve into the graveled driveway. Only in the closing seconds of this maneuver did she notice in her rearview mirror another car materializing directly behind. This little traveled country road had been deserted for miles! She accelerated into the driveway to get out of its way, giving the driver time to brake safely. Instead he over-reacted, forcing his car into a noisy skid. Just shy of plunging into an unforgiving storm water ditch, he careened in a half circle and finally halted his car cross-ways in the road, pointing directly toward the driveway where her car sat.
Years ago, she learned the hard way that law requires following vehicles to be kept under control at all times, thus eliminating excuses for rear- ending a car in front of you. Still, she felt apologetic for braking so suddenly and without a warning turn signal.
She idled her car in the mouth of the driveway to assure herself the other driver was okay. Her rear view mirror showed that his vehicle hadn’t moved and the driver seemed to be writing something down. A couple of minutes passed when she reached for the door handle to get out to apologize, but by then the driver had recovered sufficiently to correct direction, pass the driveway entrance where she sat and move slowly up the road. Fortunately, no damage, except perhaps to someone’s equilibrium. She sighed, vowing to be more careful and considerate.
She drove ahead up the driveway’s long incline. The neglected tangle of overgrown bushes, vines and shrubs along both sides created an abandoned appearance, contrasting sharply with the pristine, cultivated entry ways of most properties nearby. She’d noticed similar neglect at some other sales where owners couldn’t maintain their properties as they got sick or old.
At the top of the driveway, gravel covered the expanse between the old house and nearby out-buildings: a large barn and sprinkling of sheds, one looking like a little church or old-fashioned school house. A primitive cross on a small mound beside the house caught her eye; most likely the grave of a cherished pet. If the cross were removed, the mound would blend invisibly with surrounding terrain. Behind the barn, unkempt fields stretched into the distance, though none of this was visible from the road. This small farm, like most of the original land in McLean and Great Falls,
doubtless remained from a much larger original tract. After subdividing his acreage, a farmer typically kept the portion with the homestead and surrounding buildings for himself.
Expecting sale items gathered in the driveway or behind the house, she saw none. Maybe the sale was in the barn. The next logical step was getting out of the car to knock on the house door, but she knew canine caution! Farmers usually owned dogs and after her childhood fright, even the he-loves-everybody type scared her. Instead she rolled down the car window.
“Hello,” she called. After a moment, she called again louder, “HELLO!”
She knew farm sales and auctions might yield remarkable antiques, quilts, churns, primitive tools, hand-made furniture and vintage household items, so she didn’t want to give up too soon. The sign at the driveway entrance hadn’t indicated the sale’s hours. Perhaps it already ended but they hadn’t yet removed the sign. She glanced again at her watch: 4:15 meant she must arrive home soon to start dinner so she wouldn’t linger. At least, she hoped for some directions.
If nobody showed soon, she’d turn around and leave. Motor running, window down, Jennifer studied her map. Just as her finger traced the known road she traveled before turning onto this shortcut, a voice at her elbow startled her.
“Here for the sale?” asked the farmer, looking down so his straw hat shielded his face.
“Yes, indeed, but where is it?”
“Inside,” he said, walking toward the house. “Come around to the front door.”
“Do you have a dog? I’m afraid of dogs,” she shouted after him.
“No,” he called over his shoulder before turning the corner.
Normally at sales she jumped eagerly from her car, but an unusual hesitation swept over her. She’d come here alone, up a remote driveway to a hidden house for an unadvertised sale. Absolutely no one knew where she was. She picked up her cell phone to call Jason but it wouldn’t work. She could press the van’s OnStar button to call their operator, but this was no emergency and since she owned a cell phone, she hadn’t bought their hands-free phone feature for routine calls.
Still in the car, she vacillated. Pushing the gear shift into “drive,” she inched forward to leave, but then pressed the brake hard. This is ridiculous, she admonished herself, on a sunny summer day at a sale in McLean, Virginia. She’d been to hundreds of similar sales, so why would this be any different? Of course she would check out this sale! Something wonderful inside might just be calling her name. Shifting into “park,” she grabbed her keys, got out of her car and crunched across the gravel parking area to the sidewalk leading toward the front of the house.
The farm house front door stood slightly ajar. She paused, pushed it open and called, “Hello.” No answer… “Hello!” Silence…
Empowered by the farmer’s direction to use this door, she stepped through the foyer and walked ten feet into the living room before a sickening realization gripped her. She froze!
Over the fireplace hung New Husband’s painting of the seated nude from the sale a few months ago, and yes, his bachelor furnishings filled this room. She took a step backward, left hand at her throat. That scary man! She must get out quickly, dash for the front door, run for her life…
She spun full circle, fingers tightening on her car keys until the metal edges bit into her skin, only to confront a human obstacle, a person who’d waited in the entryway closet until she walked inside before emerging to block her path to the door. She didn’t recognize him at all outside, but now she looked up into the unmistakable hard face of Wrestler.
Desperately eyeing the door behind him, she gasped, “I must go…”
He didn’t speak but his eyes narrowed and a cruel smile crossed his mouth.
“I’m late… my family’s waiting,” she managed. “You don’t understand.”
His smile vanished. “No, you don’t understand!” he growled.
Terror fueled her flight response as she tried rushing past him to the front door, but the tall, stocky man blocked her path. Instinct told her to fight for her life, but he grabbed her wrists and held her at a distance, evading her attempts to kick him in the shins and groin. When she bit his hands holding her wrists, his shrill whistle pierced the air followed by an inhuman scrambling somewhere behind her and the ominous snarl of a large animal as he released her.
She turned her head to see an enormous dog hurtle into the room toward her. Lifting her arms in futile defense against fangs and claws, she felt the heavy animal crash into her, knocking her backward. And then she was falling… falling with no place for her frantically clutching fingers to dig in and hang on!
And then nothing... nothing at all!
CHAPTER 24
How long had Jennifer sprawled unconscious in the blackness before a first pinpoint of awareness pricked her numb mind?
She lay perfectly still, eyes closed, neither asleep nor awake, floating between levels of consciousness. She sensed remote attachment to her body, though no muscle movement verified it.
Was this the passage from life to death, the transition into the spirit world? Was this how that final separation of body and spirit actually felt?
Her mind stirred again, more vigorously this time. Blurred images intruded, too fuzzy to clearly discern. Motionless, Jennifer perceived increasing connection with her fingers, her feet, her eyelids, wondering if her brain could still direct their function from the unworldly dimension she’d already entered. Did a lingering bond remain with the body she left behind, like the amputee detecting sensations in the empty space where his missing limb once grew?
Fear flashed uninvited across her mind as her senses sharpened further, followed by a jolt of alarm… a house, a man, a dog. Why couldn’t she bring these vital images into focus? Unless…unless remembering would thrust her back to a place so frightening that she must hide inside amnesia’s protective cocoon.
Her eyes moved behind their closed lids but registered no hint of light beyond. Taking a shallow breath, she searched the inhaled air for meaningful odor. Nothing! She strained acutely to hear any sound. Silence!
Barely opening her eyes and finding only more darkness, she blinked wide open. Pitch-black! No sound, no smell, no light! Where was she? How did she get here? Was she alone? Was someone nearby who could help, or had someone put her here deliberately because… She extinguished that dangerous unfinished thought!
Moving her fingertips slightly, she felt cloth between her hands and her body. Was she dressed? Barely twitching her toes, she thought she felt shoes upon her feet. She placed her fingertips on the surface where she lay. Wood?
Even these tiny movements revealed a powerful ache toward the back of her head. No light, no sound, no smell. Sensory deprivation and wood beneath her and pain in her skull. What did it mean?
Then a lightning bolt of sheer dread slashed through her confusion. Was she buried alive? That would explain this. Was she inside a coffin?
The murky memory of a news story crossed her mind. A psychotic buried his victims with only a few hours of air to breathe and then left police obscure clues to find his prey before oxygen ran out in their ghastly underground tombs.
She winced at the undeniable facts confronting her; they pointed to her suffering that same grisly death. She stiffened as waves of terror clutched her mind and body. Reacting violently to the doom of suffocating in a coffin beneath six feet of leaden earth, she gasped as a full-blown panic attack overwhelmed her. Her pulse fluctuated wildly, causing her thumping heart to feel enormous inside her chest, its thunderous pounding reverberating in her ears. Sweat coated her skin and she trembled, unable to catch her breath. The headache throbbed violently as nausea twisted her stomach, forcing acidic bile upward to sear her throat and mouth. She swallowed frantically to avoid vomiting and drowning in that awful fluid.
Shaking in the unrelenting grip of acute claustrophobia for long minutes, at last her hysteria lessened. Gradually her ragged breathing evened and she lay in the dark, exhausted and terrified. She fo
ught to wrest control of her emotions so her mind could reason undistracted.
Wherever she was, what could she do about it? Had she the courage to explore her surroundings and face whatever fate that knowledge revealed?
She lifted her hands into the inky space above her, fearing what they might feel. Six inches, twelve inches and then even higher into the darkness, fully extending her arms and fingers but touching nothing. Dropping them back to her chest, she struggled to process this information.
A coffin needn’t take a funeral casket’s conventional shape. One could exhaust the oxygen and perish in any airtight enclosure like a refrigerator or a vault—coffins just the same.
Cautiously, she inched her fingertips down and across the wooden surface on which she lay, exploring away from her body to either side, one hand width, then another and then something unexpected and baffling.
CHAPTER 25
Though in denial, seventy-six-year-old Jeremy Whitehead had become just like the insufferable, tyrannical father he’d despised. Nor did he realize how his father’s relentless criticism produced the lifetime inferiority complex which crippled Jeremy emotionally and socially. Like that hated father, Jeremy viewed life through a highly judgmental, ever intolerant, always impatient prism.
Despite Ginger’s efforts to share her jollier outlook, whatever leveling balance his wife introduced evaporated with her untimely death five years earlier. Semi-reclusive now with Ginger gone, he thought of himself as a fine-looking, reasonable, intelligent older man who had high expectations and suffered no nonsense. That neighbors viewed him as a beak-nosed, sparse-haired, hunch-shouldered and obnoxious grumpy old man interested him not at all.
“Others” deserved responsibility for whatever diffculties befell him, never Jeremy’s own actions. To salve his inferiority complex, he needed to find and criticize someone even more inferior. And he’d created a dandy: incompetent drivers! They and the traffic snarls they dependably produced constituted a very personal affront to him. Of late, this “calling” bordered on obsession.
Garage Sale Stalker (Garage Sale Mysteries) Page 13