Escape Route (Murder Off-Screen Book 1)

by GA VanDruff

  Dianne’s mother was still out cold, but Mrs. Flynn was relatively young for a soon-to-be grandmother. She’d be fine. I’d call Aunt B on the way to the hospital to come out and check on her.

  Call.

  I had to get my phone. No problem. I also had to off-load Dianne from the boat, and give Doofus his instructions. José was on his own.

  “Give me your hand.”

  “I won’t.”

  “Dianne, give me your hand.”

  “No.”

  “Gimme.” I grabbed her hand and her elbow and stepped her through the tidal pool sloshing around her feet and got her to the dock. “Don’t move.” I put her hand on a piling.

  I jumped from the dock to the deck to the cabin, barely missing Doofus, who was dying to know what was going on. I grabbed my phone and patted the mattress. “Up. Come on. Up you go.”

  He did that. I grabbed a handful of kibble and put it in front of him. “You stay. Mommy will be back. Stay.”

  “The babies are coming! Mommeee! Babieeees!”

  “Oh, no they’re not!” I clambered up the steps. Dianne was where I’d left her, trying to squat.

  “Don’t you push! Don’t you do it! Breathe.” I huffed and puffed. “Like you’re trying to whistle.”

  She grabbed onto my arm and let me lead her the ten-feet to the Jeep. I flopped the passenger seat as far back as it would go and inserted her in the car. From the corner of my eye, I saw her mother’s foot move. She was a trooper.

  I got behind the steering wheel and did some breathing of my own. No clutch grinding. No jerking. A nice smooth pull away. I did not want babies landing on the filthy floorboards.

  “Breathe, Dianne. Breathe!”

  “Mommeeee!”

  CHAPTER 32

  Four nurses stood waiting on us outside the ER, wheelchair at the ready.

  “Patient’s name?”

  “Dianne Mabry.”

  “Friend or family.”

  “No.”

  “You found her?” This nurse was obviously new in town.

  We were through both sets of sliding doors. Three of the nurses continued on with Dianne, shouting at her not to push. The new nurse and I stopped at the check-in desk.

  “Her husband is down there,” I said. “Behind curtain number three.”

  “Hello, dear.” Mrs. Dross passed by, carrying a cup of coffee and a danish on a tray.

  “What do you mean, curtain number three?”

  Perhaps this girl was a temp. Clearly, she was not seeing the big picture. “Dianne Mabry’s husband—my ex-husband, by the way—is down the hall with a broken nose. Her mother is stretched across the front seat of a car at Dell Dumford’s marina. My Aunt B took her some smelling salts.

  “My dog, Doofus, and his best friend, José, the gecko, are alone on my boat—actually, my uncle’s boat, hiding out because some truly bad men had a truly bad day. And I really need to leave. Mrs. Dross can fill in any missing pieces.”

  Mrs. Dross lifted her danish high. “Brava, dear. Brava.”

  “Thank you, and good-night.”

  ~~^~~

  “Hey, lady!”

  Rats.

  CHAPTER 33

  “How’s Rex?”

  I knew it was Jimmy, but the voice wasn’t the happy, care-free voice I’d heard at the gas station. I turned around and saw him alone at the vending machine.

  “Hey, Jimmy. What are you doing here? Where’s your dad?” I really wanted Joe’s permission to tell Jimmy the dog was good to go. Maybe that’s why he hadn’t called the Cuthbarts. He’d already decided the dog had a new home.

  “How’s Rex?”

  “He’s fine. Been asking about you.”

  His face lit up. “Really?”

  “Well, sure. You know how much he likes you.”

  There was a shallow counter bolted to the wall next to the machine with a half-dozen stools for worried family members to pass the time, eating corn chips and drinking diet this or regular that.

  “Come sit with me.” I pulled out two stools. I couldn’t wait to tell him he was about to become the proud owner of one slap-happy dog. We’d also have the “responsibility talk.” But I’d have to clear it with Joe. There was no getting around that.

  “You want a bag o’ chips, lady? Hey, what’s your name, anyway?”

  “Jaqie. Jaqster. Jaq. You pick one.”

  “Cool. I pick Jaq.” He pushed a dollar into the slot, pressed a button and fished a bag out of the dispenser. “We’ll share.”

  We ate a couple of chips and stared out the window. It was late. I knew he was thinking about Doofus. So was I. But a boy and his dog—I could live with that.

  “Jimmy … ”

  “Jaq … ”

  I said, “You first.”

  He rubbed his nose on the sleeve of his jacket and turned sideways on the stool, studying the floor tile. “Can you keep Rex for me? For a while?”

  “Uh— Well— Sure. Is that what you want me to do, Jimmy?”

  He nodded, but didn’t try to speak.

  “I can do that. What does your dad say?”

  Jimmy pointed to the swinging doors that led to the patient care side of the ER, with the corridor of blue-curtained cubicles. “Dad’s in there with a broken arm. My uncle’s here to drive us home, and Dad says Rex can’t come. Says that black spot on his ear makes him no good. Dumb dog, anyways. Dad says someday he’ll get me a pup. Like that will ever happen.” One miserable tear fell and hit the toe of his sneaker.

  I was about to shed some miserable tears of my own. “He might change his mind. Don’t you think? It’s a possibility.” I pulled out my cell and opened the memo app. “Can you type?”

  He nodded and blinked hard before he looked up. “Why?”

  “I want you to type your name and address for me. That way Rex can send you pictures.” I set the phone on the table. “Just tap the buttons on the keyboard, and we’ll put some in the mail tomorrow. How’s that?”

  “That’s good.” He rubbed his eyes, then began typing while I sat there and tried to swallow potato chips. I knew how it felt to lose your best friend.

  “How did your dad break his arm?”

  Jimmy stopped typing and gazed out the window at nothing in particular. He shrugged and looked up at me with very old eyes. “I don’t know. Said he got mugged, but I don’t know. They usually call the cops when you get mugged, but he wouldn’t.” He pressed a few more buttons on the keyboard. “Here.” He slid the phone to me.

  “Oh, and I’ve got good news for you,” I said. This boy was breaking my heart. “Your gecko is fine, and guess who his best bud is?”

  Finally, a gleam in his eye. “Rex?”

  “They are the best. But, Jimmy, if you want to take your gecko home, I can be back here in a jiff.”

  He lifted his chin and squared his jaw. “Nope. Rex needs a best friend.”

  “Guess what Rex calls him.”

  “What? That dumb ol’ dog gave a lizard a name?” He laughed.

  “Wait for it.” I did a drum roll on the edge of the counter. “José Gecko.” I shook jazz hands.

  “José. I like it.”

  Well, it was before his time, and mine, but I appreciated the joke, even if it was Ed’s idea.

  The ER door swung open. It was the new nurse. “Jimmy, your dad’s asking for you.” She leaned against the door to hold it open and gave me the hairy eyeball.

  He slid me the bag of chips. “Give some to Rex?”

  “I’ll give him one every day and tell him because you said. Deal?”

  I stood up to walk him to Nurse Ratchet when he threw his arms around me.

  “Thanks, lady.”

  He let go just as fast, ran to the door and through it, without looking back.

  I wished he’d looked back.

  ~~^~~

  Aunt B held Dianne’s mother upright by the arm, helping her across the parking lot. Uncle Frank pulled in the slot next to Mrs. Flynn’s car, to drive Aunt B home,
but didn’t get out. “Women things” of any nature was strictly need-to-know with him.

  “You broke her water?” Aunt B’s tone was cross, but she rolled her eyes so that I knew she knew better.

  “Congratulations, Mrs. Flynn. Any minute now,” I said, but she refused to look at me.

  “I put your dinner on the boat. It’s in the microwave so you-know-who wouldn’t eat it.” She pulled her earlobe. “Utensils in the sink.”

  “What do you think of him?” I toggled my ear like Carol Burnett. I guess this was our new code for Doofus.

  “He looks taller in person. Doesn’t bark. Your uncle says it’s the right thing to do. He slobbers.”

  I got that she meant the dog, not my uncle. “Didn’t happen to bring the phone charger … ?”

  “Ham. I brought you ham. Go eat.” The two former mothers-in-law toddled toward the main door of the ER.

  Uncle Frank zipped down the window. “How’s Brother? Comfy? Do you remember where the hidey-holes are?”

  “The Easter bunny doesn’t come until next month.”

  The four, magic hidey-holes. He built them into Brother’s design to stash valuables when we docked in a new port. At Easter, eggs and peeps were the valuables.

  “How could I forget the hidey-holes?”

  Uncle Frank. Unsentimental, gruff Uncle Frank. His eyes misted over for a millisecond.

  “Brother’s perfect.” I puckered my lips through the window and kissed his cheek. “Dianne’s due any second if you—”

  “No no no no no. Nope.” He shook his head, waggled his index finger, zipped up the window, then pretended to read his newspaper in the dark, so I went straight to the Jeep.

  I’d just snapped the seat belt when the phone rang. Stubby’s name lit up the screen.

  “Detective. How’s it going?”

  “You know interesting people on both coasts,” he said. “I like your LA connections better.”

  Stubby never minced his words.

  “Tell me.”

  “Your pals, the Cuthbarts, are an odd mix. The mister was a pretty boy fundraiser for one of Francine’s charities. She liked the looks of him, married him, and started his political career before the rose petals hit the ground.”

  “Interesting.” He was an attractive man, no doubt. A plus for politicians. “There’s more to this, isn’t there?”

  “She has the money. Generations of it that bleed out from dozens of sources, but—and this is just quick research—some are less than legit. A few might be downright nefarious, to use your Hollywood lingo. Francine Pelley Cuthbart has some shady connections. The lady has her eye on the White House.

  “She’s a bulldozer, Jaqie. I’d stay out of her way.”

  “Thanks, Stubby. You know me—sometimes I jump to conclusions.”

  “Hey, you were right about Baltimore. She grew up there.”

  “Had a feeling.” Exhaustion was winning over starvation. “You’re such a good friend. Now, go home and eat dinner. It’s nine o’clock out there, right?”

  “Almost. I still have some calls out. One of my drinking buddies from the old days is with the Baltimore PD. One year from retiring. Said he’d get back to me. I’ll let you know if anything else turns up. You going to be okay?”

  “Eight hours of sleep and one ham dinner from now, I’ll be fine.”

  CHAPTER 34

  There are perks to having a Lab. You don’t have to eat alone, and you don’t have to do the dishes.

  I collapsed back onto the pyramid of pillows, a fork in one hand, a steak knife in the other—which was silly. The ham fell apart with the slightest touch. Aunt B knew her way around a pig. Seventeen hours since my early morning cuppa with Francine and nothing to eat except a few of Jimmy’s chips.

  As promised, I fished one out of the bag and showed it to Doofus.

  “Jimmy says you’re to have one a day. Shake on it?”

  Doofus grinned, slobbered and shook and ate the chip. “Jimmy misses you very much.”

  I stroked his head, slid the silk of his thick ears between my fingers. “You’re home now. No more shelters or crazy politicians or bad men. This is it.” I kissed him right between the eyes, square on Jimmy’s spot.

  I snuggled into my cocoon and dug in. “My turn.” Ham, peas, baked potato and one of her biscuits, pre-buttered. Heaven on a plate. She’d also wrapped a hotel mini-fridge bottle of wine in the napkin.

  Every April, at the Toronto Bead Festival, she raided the hotel room’s fridge, and brought home a minuscule, twenty-dollar bottle of wine as a memento. “2011. A very good year for screw top wines.” Which I proceeded to unscrew. “White. Does white go with ham?”

  I toasted Doofus. “It’s also official, my new dinner companion, you’ve earned the Frank and Betty Shanahan seal of approval. You’re one of us now. Family.” I gave him a ham bit in honor of the event, while I polished off the wine.

  Somewhere between the ham and peas, I dozed off. The clatter of the plate spinning on the wood floor woke me, but only long enough to shove the knife and fork in the bookshelf next to my probably dead phone so I wouldn’t fillet myself, and it was lights out.

  Until—I was introduced to what it is geckoes do when it’s dark out. José fancied himself a tenor. In my REM daze, I thought I was in a cave full of bats. New priority—buy a gecko how-to book. I was sure this screeching was his celebratory rendition of It’s Great to be Not Fish Bait.

  I stumbled out of bed, picked up the spotless dinner dish, put it in the sink and made a mental note not to be fooled in the morning and sterilize it after a thorough washing. There was not a gecko supply store nearby, so I pinched up a few tissues for a bed, put a dozen mealworms in a lid and tucked José inside his jar.

  “Sorry, little guy. Until you get a voice coach, you have to sleep in the marina.” I trudged across the parking lot, again, and set his jar on the counter. He wailed another chorus as I left.

  “Buenos noches, José.”

  CHAPTER 35

  Exhausted, I sleep-walked back to the boat, and climbed back down to the salon where my puffy mound of pillows and yellow dog awaited.

  The man with the bolt cutters was new.

  Doofus was sniffing the bolt cutters, wagging his tail.

  “Who are you? What do you want? Get off my boat.”

  There was no fear in my voice because I was just too tired and annoyed. A crazy thought zoomed past that maybe he was the pizza guy, and had returned with dinner. Which did not explain why he thought he might need to cut a bolt.

  I raised my arms to Doofus. What were you thinking? Most definitely, the dog and I needed to have the Stranger Danger talk.

  The trespasser petted the dog while he mimicked me in a squeaky voice. “‘Who are you? What do you want? Please don’t hurt me.’ You all say the same things.” He stood and opened and closed the cutters. “I need your ponytail. Hold it up.”

  I pinned my back to the steps. “Well, that’s not happening.”

  He sighed. “Your ponytail or the dog’s ponytail. Pick.”

  I yanked my ponytail to the cabin roof, marched right over and turned my back to him.

  “Pull that pink thing away from your skull a couple ‘o inches.”

  I moved the scrunchie like he asked and, snap, off with my do. Just like that. Gone. I’d been meaning to go short for summer, anyway, but no way he was getting a tip.

  “Hat.”

  “Hat? Oh, hat.” Dell’s ball cap was on the navigator’s table. “There.”

  I pointed, then patted my scalp to check for blood loss. I was thankful he’d cut off a body part that didn’t require a tourniquet.

  He picked the cap up and put it on. It was too small and sat on the top of his shaved head like Humpty Dumpty’s hat. “Future reference,” he said, “when you’re hiding out, don’t wear a billboard.”

  Mental note. I’d strolled right into Francine’s mansion, cap on head. I’d driven past the security cameras, cap on head, in case she’d forgotten th
at Dumford’s Marina was stitched across the front.

  He took the ball hat off, stuffed my hair, still wrapped with the scrunchie, inside the hat, and shoved both in his jacket pocket.

  “So you’ll be off then? Ridding the general populace of offensive ponytails?”

  “Great. You’re a talker.” He rubbed his eyes. The arm gesture lifted the jacket enough for me to see the revolver holstered to his belt.

  “For both our benefits, I’ll say this once so I don’t have to keep repeating myself.” He took a deep breath. “The dog and I are getting on my boat.”

  “What boat?”

  He tipped his head toward the V-berth at Brother’s bow.

  I scrambled across the mattress and looked out the porthole. He wasn’t lying. An enormous, white-and-blue cabin cruiser shimmered under Dell’s security lights. He’d parked it straight across our slip, blocking us in. A heavy mist had crept across the inlet, but that didn’t excuse my not noticing a boat that size when I came back from tucking José in for the night.

  “You,” he pointed at me, “will be towed in the dinghy behind us. It’ll be a rough ride, so you’ll have to hold on.”

  “That’s not fair,” I said. “I’ve had a very long day.”

  “Then, when we get to our spot, I shoot the dog, clip off his marked ear, tie an anchor around his neck and over he goes.”

  This guy wasn’t kidding. No bravado or threatening dares. Just a laundry list of who was going to get whacked and how. Nothing personal.

  “Doofus. His name is Doofus.” I’d seen that on one of Gertie’s cop shows. Use names to make the bad guy feel—bad. “I’m Jaqie, and, hello, you’ll hurt that dog over my dead body.”

  “I was just coming to that.” He studied the ceiling, probably counting to ten. “Then you, in your unlit dinghy, bob around the foggy shipping channel until one of the tankers rolls over it turning you into chum.”

  Nowhere in my yearbook was it written girl most likely to be turned into chum. But this guy was pretty certain of my future.