Why hadn't I propped the door open with the rock I'd seen sitting by the shed? That was obviously what it was there for. I leaned my shoulder against the door and pushed as hard as I could. Still stuck. In fact, it seemed like the harder I pushed, the tighter it stuck. I pulled my shirt off and mopped my sweaty face again. I heard something crunch across the gravel. Sounded like footsteps.
"Zach, hey, Zach! Help! The door's stuck. I can't get it open."
No answer.
I pushed and shoved on the door again. More crunching and a loud thump.
"Zach! Help!"
Nothing.
Why wasn't he answering?
Crunch, crunch, crunch. Someone -- or something -- was out there. A bizarre thought occurred to me. Maybe Tim, for once in his life, was right.
"Zach? Zach, are you playing a trick on me? If you are, this isn't funny!" I pounded on the door and hollered as loud as I could. "Zach, open this door! This isn’t funny!“
A shuffling sound, more crunching, two more thumps. My heart was in my throat, my mind racing. Maybe Zach was the killer. Or maybe the killer had followed us and had killed Zach. Oh God! That meant I was next!
I looked around. The shed wasn't insulated. Maybe I could knock a hole in the wall. An ax. I needed an ax. Or something. Nothing but skis. The truck. I could start it up and drive it through the wall. No keys.
I mopped my face with the shirt again. Think, Marty. Gotta think. I stared at the door, willing it to open. Wondering what I'd do if it did. Why, oh why, hadn't I listened to Tim?
The door rattled and shook. “Stupid door."
Zach. So Tim was right. He was the killer. And now, he'd come to finish me off.
I jumped up and looked for a place to hide. No. Wrong thing to do. Calm down. Gotta calm down. More rattling.
The ski. I'll hit him with the ski. Then, I'll run. Yeah. That'll work. I stood to the side of the door, up against the wall.
The door jerked open and he came in. "Marty? Are you in here? Where the heck.... OOOF!" I brought the ski down hard on his left arm.
I swung the ski back up to get leverage for another shot. This time, I leveled it out and brought it around like a baseball bat. He turned his body toward me and it caught him in the stomach. He let out a loud gasping sound and went down. He managed to get hold of the ski on his way down, and jerked hard on it, knocking me off balance. As I stumbled, he twisted the ski and wrenched it out of my hands.
No! Can't let him get the ski! I regained my balance and scrambled after it. I had to get my hands back on it. It was my only hope. Zach moaned and hollered something. I couldn't understand him, mainly because I was screaming my head off.
He grabbed my legs and yanked them out from under me. I fell on top of him. He wrestled me onto my back, grasped my wrists, and pinned my arms on the floor above my head. I bucked and tried to roll, but he was too strong for me. He perched on his knees, one leg on each side of me, his rear-end pressing my stomach to the ground.
I whimpered. "Please don't kill me. Please! I promise, I won't tell anybody about the truck. I promise. Please, please, just let me go. I don't want to die!"
"Marty! Stop! What are you talking about? Why did you hit me? Marty, please stop crying! I promise, I'm not going to hurt you."
He leaned his face down close to mine. "Marty, honey. Don't be afraid." He kissed me gently on first one cheek, then the other. "Baby, please stop crying."
I had the snuffles. "You aren't going to kill me?"
"Why on earth would you think something like that? I'd never do anything to hurt you. I care about you. A lot."
He kissed my forehead and whispered. "I think I could fall in love with you real easy, you know."
"Then why'd you lock me in here?" I really wanted to wipe my nose, but he still had hold of my arms.
"I didn't lock you in here. The door sticks. It happens all the time."
"But I didn't close it when I came in. It just slammed shut."
"It's a heavy door. It does that sometimes. See, it's closed right now."
"Then how do you explain Warren's truck?"
"Wart's truck? What? What are you talking about?"
"You know! The one that's missing. It's sitting right behind you. You didn't know it was in here?"
He let go of my arms and sat up, staring at the truck. “What the —? You thought I knew that was in here? And that I locked you in here? And that I was going to kill you?"
"Yes. When I couldn't get the door open and I heard you walking around outside the shed, I thought maybe you had something to do with the murder and you were trying to get rid of me. I panicked. That's why I hit you with the ski."
He looked hurt. "You thought that? Oh Marty. I thought you knew me better than that."
He went to look at the truck. "We'd better get up to the house and call the Glenvar police. Then I'll take you home."
I hugged him. He didn't hug back. "I'm sorry," I said. "So sorry. Please don't be mad at me."
He didn't respond.
I looked down. "Did you mean what you said? Before. When we were on the ground."
He put his hand under my chin and tilted my head back. We had one of those intense eye-locked moments. "I meant it. I thought you felt that way, too."
"I do," I whispered. "I do."
He bent his head and kissed me hard on the mouth, pulling me tight against him. "Do you think the police can wait a little while?" he whispered back.
"What did you have in mind?" I was still whispering.
He let go of me and took my hand. "Let's go up to the house. It's cooler in there. And more comfortable."
"Okay. I can't wait to get out of here."
Zach pushed on the door. No luck.
"Marty," he said, "I hate to tell you this, but the door’s stuck again."
"Let's both push on it," I said, putting my arms around his waist and leaning into his back. He felt good. Real good. We shoved against the door.
"I swear," he said, "it's never been stuck like this."
"Listen!"
The crunching noise was back. Along with the thumping. But Zach was in here with me. That meant....oh, God!
"Somebody is out there," Zach said.
"That's the same noises I heard before, but I thought it was you. Did you see anybody or anything when you came up here?"
"No." He looked uneasy. "I had the boat motor running. It sounded rough, so I came up here to get my tools. I didn't see anything."
There was a loud click, followed by a rattle.
“What was that?” I asked.
He looked scared. “That was the padlock. I think we really have been locked in."
26
Zach beat on the door. "Hey! Let us out of here! It's hot, we're gonna suffocate. C'mon, we can talk it over and work something out."
I put my hand on his wrist. "Zach, I've got a real bad feeling about this. Whoever is out there probably killed Wart. I don't imagine they'll hesitate to kill us."
I turned around and looked at Warren's truck. I couldn't hot wire a car, but Zach was a mechanic. Maybe he could.
"What about the truck? The keys aren't in it, but maybe you can get it started anyway. Do you know how?" I wiped my face off with my t-shirt. "If we can start the truck we could just drive it through the wall."
He took my t-shirt and swiped it over his face. "Good idea. I'm sure I can. Well, I can try it, anyway."
He tossed the shirt back to me and looked at the truck. "You think it'll be okay? I don't want to mess up any evidence or anything."
"Well," I said, "the way I look at it, we don't exactly have much of a choice. If we stay in here, we might die. If I have to choose between being dead and being in trouble with the cops, I'll take my chances with the cops."
"I like the way your mind works." He smiled at me. "Let me grab some tools and we'll see if we can do it."
He got the tools and started working on the truck.
I was feeling light-headed. "Zach, we've gotta hurry.
I'm not feeling well. I'm burning up and that smell is getting to me big time."
He turned around. ”Fire! The shed's on fire!" He ran over and grabbed my arm, jerking me back against the tool bench.
Flames licked out from the door. Thick black smoke began to fill the shed. I coughed. The smoke boiled up and out toward us.
"Jump in the truck," Zach shouted, "I've almost got it started."
I ran over and jumped in the truck. The fire leapt from the door to the rafters. It was burning fast. I put my dirty, sweat drenched t-shirt over my face. I didn't realize it at the time, but the odd sounds I heard were my own screams.
Zach worked furiously and suddenly the truck roared to life. The dense smoke stung my eyes. I could hardly see.
Why weren't we moving?
"Drive!" I said.
Zach slumped over against me.
No time. No time. Gotta get out. I pushed him out of the way as best I could. Another rafter was burning. I jammed the truck into gear and it lurched forward. I floored it and rammed it into the wall. Too much smoke. I couldn't stop coughing.
I shifted the gears rapidly from forward to reverse, back and forth, back and forth, slamming into the wall over and over again. One of the rafters crashed down, landing on the bed of the pickup truck. I let out a huge screech.
The truck smacked into the wall again, splintering the wood. I backed up one last time and then flew forward, bursting through to the outside. I pressed hard on the accelerator and the truck flew down toward the lake. A glance in the rearview mirror. The debris in the bed was still burning. What if the truck blew up?
I slammed on the brakes as we got down near the dock and jumped out of the truck. Hooked my arms underneath Zach's shoulders and managed to pull him out. He thudded to the ground and I pulled him as far away from the truck as I could. Let's hear it for adrenaline. He was awake, but really groggy. He immediately started coughing.
"You okay?" I asked him.
He barely moved his head up and down. "I'm okay. What happened?" he said, between coughing spasms.
I heard a creaking sound and looked up in time to see the truck slowly rolling toward the lake. It picked up speed. I thought about chasing it down, but my energy was zapped.
I buried my head in my hands. "The cops are absolutely going to kill me," I said, just as the pickup rolled off the bank and landed in the water with a huge splash.
A cloud of steam rose from the lake as the fire hit it. Zach leaned up on his elbows and we watched in horror as the truck slowly sunk nose first into the lake. About the time I heard the sirens, it was almost completely under water.
I helped Zach stand up and we turned around to watch the firemen put the fire out. Surprisingly, the damage wasn't too bad. Lots more smoke than fire. But they say smoke is what kills. We were lucky to be alive. Zach put his arm around me and hugged me close.
"We made it! Thanks to you, we made it," he said. "I don't know what to say. Other than thank you. Thank you, for saving my life." He squeezed me hard.
I hugged him back. But my mind was elsewhere. All I could think about was finding whoever did this and making them pay for it.
The fire fighters were running and shouting, but it was orderly, not chaotic. Within a few minutes, the fire was completely under control. Zach and I were still standing there, our arms around one another, watching, when a sheriff's deputy came over to us.
He was about forty. GI Joe buzz cut, ruddy complexion, straining his uniform at the seams. He took out a notebook, switched a toothpick from one side of his mouth to the other, and leered at me.
"So, what ya got for me?" He had a real thick drawl.
Zach and I told the story, interrupting each other, trading lines back and forth. The deputy looked pretty skeptical right from the start and downright disbelieving by the time we got to the end.
"And you say you hot-wired a truck and drove it through the walls of the building?" He made an elaborate show of looking around. "And just where is this truck that somebody so conveniently left in the shed?"
I struggled to control my temper. I pointed down to the lake. "The truck's in there. I was afraid it was going to blow up. I thought we'd better get out. In my panic, I didn't set the brake. It rolled into the lake. We need to call Detective Theresa Luray at the Glenvar police department. She's been looking for that truck. It's evidence in a murder investigation."
The man held up his hands. "Whoa, there, sweetheart. You're telling me that this truck, which just happened to be in that shed, and now, just happens to be sitting in the lake, is part of a murder investigation? You can't be serious?" He made sort of a snorting sound.
"Yes, sir. Dead serious," I said, trying not to sound defensive. "Someone locked us in that building and set it on fire. And I suspect it was the person that killed the man in Glenvar. Find the arsonist, I'll bet you anything you've found the murderer."
He scoffed. "Well, Little Miss Detective, any more crimes you gonna help us solve today?"
He narrowed his eyes and furrowed his brow. "Wait a minute," he said. His face lit up in recognition. "I heard about that murder on TV. That cute little Giselle St. James was trying to interview some disc jockey. The one they think killed that guy over in Glenvar."
He looked at me hard. "You. You're the one! I thought you looked familiar. You wouldn't answer her questions."
"You misunderstood her. They don't think I--"
"Well, well, well," he interrupted. "Now, isn't that interesting. Looks like I got myself a wacko."
He made the snorting sound again. "I've heard about people like you. Call it a Hero Complex. You kill the guy, then find the body. Set the fire, then act like somebody is out to get you. You get off on that kind of thing. That's it. You have that look around the eyes."
I protested, but he just kept talking.
"Thought you was gonna get away with it, did ya? Well, you sure thought wrong. You didn't count on running into me, did ya?" He flipped the toothpick to the other side of his mouth. "All right, Little Missy, let's get you down to the station. We're fixing to put you away for a long time."
I stared at him, my mouth hanging open. Never in my wildest dreams had I expected anything like this to happen.
Zach shook his head vigorously. "Listen here! You are so far out of line, it's not funny. This woman is not a wacko. She's a fine, well-respected member of the community. She didn't — she couldn't — have done it. I should know. I was with her in there. No way she could have locked us in and set it on fire. Besides, somebody else was out there. I heard them."
The deputy shrugged. "How do I know you aren't a wacko, too. Maybe y'all are in this together. Some sort of kinky wacko game y'all play." He pulled his handcuffs out. "Guess this is my lucky day."
He roughly grabbed my arms and yanked them behind my back.
"Ouch! That hurts!"
The deputy laughed. Zach decked him.
The deputy blinked and stared at Zach. "Boy, you're fixing to regret that little move."
I have to give him credit, he was quick. He grabbed Zach and spun him around, putting him in a choke hold.
"Stop that! You're going to kill him. He's suffering from smoke inhalation." I tried to pull his hands away from Zach's neck.
Unfortunately, the next thing I knew, we were both handcuffed, tossed in the back seat of the deputy's car, and hauled off to the local jail. Talk about humiliation.
When we got to the tiny sheriff's office, they separated us. Accompanied by a female deputy -- evidently to make sure I didn't flush myself down the commode or something -- I was allowed to use the restroom. One look at myself in the mirror, and I figured out part of the problem.
My eyelashes were singed off. The knot on my head was greenish-yellow. My face was covered with streaks of black. My RUN! t-shirt, which we'd wiped our sweaty, dirty faces on, was just plain filthy. And, my eyes did have sort of a wild look to them. I'd probably have arrested me too.
I wet a paper towel and tried to scrub the worst
of the soot off my face. It just made it look worse. I gave up. When I came out of the ladies room, a bright light flashed in my face.
"Ms. Sheffield, is it true that you're under suspicion for the murder of Warren Turner, the man who was killed this past Monday and whose body you reported finding?"
Gee, who'd have guessed?
"Hi, Giselle," I said, "stolen any condoms lately? I heard you like colored ones. Red, scented ones. With ribs."
"Marty Sheffield, how dare you! I did not steal them!" She realized what she'd said and clapped her hand over her mouth. "I'll get you for this. You just wait!"
"Ms. St. James," the deputy said, "you know you aren't allowed back here."
Giselle and Rockin’ Robbie went to the lobby. He asked her what I was talking about. She told him to shut up.
"You can use the phone, now," the deputy told me.
I debated on who to call to come bail me out. First choice: Tim. After all, he is a Glenvar policeman, could vouch for the murder story, and also for my impeccable character. He didn’t answer. Of course not, he was working. I wished I was at work. Or, any place else, actually.
I called the Glenvar police station and asked the dispatcher to put me through to Tim.
Sorry, Officer Unser was out on patrol, but she'd be glad to relay a message and have him call me. No, she couldn't promise how long it would be. He was pretty busy. Detective Luray? No, she was out of the office. Couldn't say when she'd return. Would I like to leave a message for her? Okay, she'd leave both of them messages.
I tried Charli. No answer. I called Dad. He didn't answer his page. The station. Herb was out. Our priest. Out. My fourth grade teacher. Out. I gave in and called Mom. Chock another one up for those merciless Madams of Mischief.
27
They stuck me in a small room with a long wooden table, three uncomfortable wooden chairs, and a one-way mirror that served as a constant reminder of how awful I looked. I paced around and around, made faces at myself -- and whoever was on the other side -- in the mirror, sang 'nobody knows the trouble I've seen', and counted the ceiling tiles. I knew what they were up to. I watch all those cop shows, too.
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