Tropical Punch Killer

by Summer Prescott

  The cabin couldn’t be directly accessed by car, so Chas parked along a narrow dirt road, as close as he could to the site. He and Spencer would walk the rest of the way in. They made their way through a tree-filled lot, carefully skirting sharp palmettos, and making as little noise as possible. They could see the ramshackle little building through the trees when they heard a shrill, feminine voice. Both men halted to listen, and other voices rang out as well.

  “Athena?” Spencer whispered.

  Chas nodded. “Sounds like it. I’m willing to bet the other two are Chooch and Trevor.”

  “Think Athena and Trevor were involved?”

  “Trevor wasn’t,” Chas shook his head. “Ringo traced his cell phone activity and he was at home the whole time, until he came to see Athena the next morning.”

  “Maybe Athena and Chooch?” Spencer guessed.

  “Maybe,” Chas repeated. “Let’s go find out.”

  The two men approached the cabin, weapons drawn, and stood on either side of the front door. At Spencer’s signal, Chas shoved the door open and both of them blazed into the cabin, weapons raised.

  “Freeze! Hands up!” Chas shouted.

  “Uh, that would be rather difficult,” Athena commented dryly.

  She and Trevor were both bound with duct tape and were seated at opposite sides of the room. Chooch stood in the middle, hands at his sides, stunned.

  “He’s got a machete,” Trevor warned them.

  “On the ground, now!” Spencer sprang into action, heading directly for the murderer, and swiping his legs out from under him with one kick before he knew what was happening. He secured Chooch’s wrists behind his back and held him there until Chas cuffed him.

  “Wow, that was like, ninja stuff,” Athena seemed mildly impressed by Spencer’s control of the situation.

  After securing Chooch on the lone hardwood bunk in the room, Chas went to work on Athena’s bonds, while Spencer freed Trevor.

  “He killed them, you know,” Athena told Chas as he cut through the layers of duct tape. “He bragged about it. I hope he rots in jail,” she snarled.

  “There’s a good possibility of that,” Chas replied mildly. “You two don’t seem to be terribly traumatized by being kidnapped,” he observed.

  “Well, I mean, it’s Chooch. He brought a bottle of rum back with him, so we were just waiting until he got drunk and passed out, then we were going to use the machete to cut the tape and get out of here. Not gonna lie, we thought about doing something terrible to him before we left. He deserves it.”

  “Well, I’m going to pretend that I didn’t hear that. You’re too young to throw your life away,” the detective sliced through the final layers of tape with his pocketknife.

  “So are you finally convinced that we didn’t do anything?” Trevor demanded sourly.

  “The evidence would indicate that that’s the case,” Chas stared him down.

  “Good,” the youth muttered, rubbing his raw wrists. “Can we just go home now?”

  “Actually, you two are going to have to stay here for a bit with Spencer, while I take Chooch to jail. Backup should be on its way, so you’ll get a ride in a patrol car. You’ll need to come to the station to give us a statement about the events of the past couple of days, and then you can go home,” Chas explained. “Your brother Warren has been worried sick about you,” he told Athena, who looked up in surprise.

  “He has?” her look was skeptical.

  “Yeah, you’re all that he has left now.”

  “Yeah, I guess I am,” she said softly, her gaze on the floor.

  Chas grabbed Chooch by the arm and pulled him to his feet. The man seemed to be in a half-drunken stupor already. It would be a challenging trek through the wooded area, to say the least.

  “You good here?” he asked Spencer.

  “Yeah, we’re good,” he nodded.

  Chapter Eighteen

  * * *

  Fiona had made a point of not looking at the election results all day. Even now, while she sat at home, feet curled beneath her on the couch, sipping her wine, she tried to lose herself in the story of a pay-per-view movie rather than checking the news. The ride home with Tim had been silent. She had no idea whether or not Tim had called the Election Commission back or not, and she was trying to force herself not to care. She hadn’t eaten, she hadn’t even bothered to change out of her work clothes, and she felt quite certain that sleep would elude her tonight. Missy’s good advice would be for naught if Tim had jeopardized his future with his inaction, and planned to move away. When her doorbell rang, she sighed deeply, contemplating whether or not to answer it. When it rang again, she set down her wine and rose slowly from the couch, padding barefoot to the front door. It rang yet again before she got there.

  “I’m coming, geez! Keep your shorts on,” she muttered.

  “What?” she sighed, opening the door.

  Fiona’s irritation turned to shock when she saw Timothy Eckels on her doorstep, looking extremely uncomfortable.

  “Hello,” she tried to switch on her cool, professional personality, but her voice quavered the tiniest bit, betraying her.

  Tim stood, blinking at her from behind his coke bottle lensed glasses for a rather uncomfortable length of time.

  “Is there something you need?” Fiona asked finally, wishing she’d brought her wine with her.

  “I…uh,” he started, then stopped.

  Fiona waited.

  “I…won,” he revealed, seeming baffled.

  Fiona’s heart leaped a bit at that, but she didn’t let it show. The fact that he’d won didn’t mean that he’d accept the position or that he’d even be staying in Calgon.

  “Okay,” she replied, without expression.

  “Thank you,” Tim said softly, color rising in his neck.

  Fiona’s eyes filled with tears, which she blinked back quickly. She swallowed and steadied her voice before responding. “You’re welcome. Congratulations.”

  “I didn’t do it. I didn’t do anything. It was all you. You did this for me,” he admitted.

  “You deserved it,” Fiona moved to shut the door, trying to get away before she broke down.

  “Uh, hey,” Tim stuck his foot awkwardly in the door so that she couldn’t shut it. “I…I don’t know if you’re hungry, but…I made some chili. And…there’s pie,” this time he blushed to the roots of his thinning hair.

  “Your grandmother’s recipe?” Fiona choked out, the tears rolling down her cheeks unhindered now.

  “Yeah, I think you’ll like it,” he shrugged one shoulder shyly. “I can walk you over,” he offered his arm.

  Remembering Missy’s advice, Fiona played it as cool as she could possibly manage.

  “That would be nice,” she smiled through her tears and took his arm, walking barefoot and not caring a bit.

  **

  Spencer slide into his seat beside Mattie just as the previews were ending.

  “You missed dinner,” she whispered.

  “How did Janssen do?” he whispered back. His buddy was on the other side of Mattie, seemingly engrossed in both his popcorn and the previews.

  “He lived through it,” Mattie chuckled. “That man is more skilled with chopsticks than anyone I’ve ever seen,” she marveled.

  “Yeah, we’ve been to some interesting places,” Spencer nodded.

  “Hey, you two need to be quiet. This is the first movie I’ve been to in years and I don’t want to miss anything,” he shushed them.

  Spencer and Mattie exchanged an amused glance and any chance at further conversation was prohibited by the beginning of the movie. Each of the three of them was content in their own way, comfortable in the warm circle of friends.

  **

  “I’m so glad that the daughter didn’t do it,” Missy murmured, snuggled in the crook of Chas’ arm in front of the television.

  “Yeah, me too. She’ll have enough challenges to deal with,” Chas commented.

  “I wonder if she
needs a job,” Missy mused.

  “Sweetheart, you can’t save everyone and collect people like strays,” he smiled fondly at his tender-hearted wife. “Besides, she’s a handful.”

  “You probably said that about me once,” she giggled.

  “I say that about you now, Love,” Chas teased.

  Missy started to laugh, but immediately cried out in pain. “Oh!”

  “What is it? What’s wrong?” her husband worried.

  “Oh, I’m sure it’s nothing,” Missy breathed and seemed to relax, then cried out again.

  “Pain? Where do you hurt?” Chas demanded.

  Missy wrapped her arms around her belly and groaned.

  “That’s it, we’re going to the hospital,” Chas said calmly. “It’s too early for this. You stay right here and I’ll bring the car around,” he jumped up and shoved his feet into his shoes, trying to seem steady so as not to alarm his wife. “Breathe through it and I’ll be right back, sweetie,” he promised, dashing from the room.

  When he came back in, Missy was leaning back against the sofa cushions, looking pale and drawn. Chas scooped her up and carried her to the car, placing her gently inside.

  “Okay?” he asked, buckling her in.

  She looked up and grabbed his arm. “Chas…” she said weakly. “Hurry…”

  Copyright 2018 Summer Prescott

  All Rights Reserved.