by Gayle Roper
Maureen hurried down the hall to the words of the Miranda warning being read in Chief Gordon’s voice: “You have the right to remain silent …” She unlocked the door and raced back, two uniforms rushing after her. All seemed as she’d left it, the chief putting his printed card with the full warning written on it back in his pocket.
Except Vinnie was gone.
“He just went out the door,” Chief Gordon said, pointing with his gun.
Maureen raced for the door and burst onto the patio, gun at the ready. She saw Vinnie picking himself up, one of the large terra-cotta planters lying on its side in several pieces.
“Stop right there!” she yelled, legs spread, gun held before her. Oh, Lord, please don’t make me have to shoot him!
Vinnie glanced back at her and ran, limping from his collision with the planter. She raced after him. She would catch him and tackle him and not have to shoot.
“Watch out!” she yelled, but it was too late. He was so busy looking back at her that he didn’t see the pool with its dark cover. He took two steps onto the cover, and the material gave way under his weight, plunging his leg through to his hip. His forward momentum caused him to topple forward onto his face, his other leg sprawled out behind him. Slowly, slowly the material of the cover began to tear further.
One of the uniforms joined her at the pool’s edge as they watched Vinnie struggle to free himself without other extremities going through.
“Stay on your stomach,” Maureen called. “Keep the weight distributed.”
Even as she spoke, the top gave way some more, and Vinnie slid into the water to his waist. His hands scrabbled desperately at the taut cover, seeking purchase so his whole body didn’t fall into the frigid water.
“Help me! I’m going to fall in!” He looked beseechingly at Maureen and the uniform who stood steady, their guns aimed at him. “The water’s freezing. I’m gonna get hypothermia! And I can’t swim!”
Maureen looked at the uniform who shrugged. “You might as well tell him,” the uniform said.
“Vinnie,” Maureen said, trying not to smile, “you’re in the shallow end.”
Vinnie looked momentarily disconcerted. Then he lowered his legs, found the bottom just as Maureen had said, and stood. He was shuddering with cold.
“Well, don’t just stand there,” she ordered. “Turn around and climb out.” She shook her head. He was worse than a kid.
When he stood dripping on the patio, Maureen cuffed him and read him his rights. She turned her back while the uniform helped him out of his wet pants and wrapped him in a towel.
“Whee-oo! That was great!” Ryan clambered over the dune, all smiles. “Better than TV any day!”
Phil followed, a huge grin on his face.
Maureen made believe she’d never seen either of them in her life.
Thirty-Six
DORI STEPPED ON THE GAS. The engine roared, but the car didn’t move. Not that she was surprised. She knew something strange had happened, and she was afraid she knew what. Ditch. Could life get worse?
Sure. Serials killers stalking snowy back roads came to mind.
Even as she told herself that possibility was highly unlikely—surely serial killers didn’t like getting cold and wet any more than regular people—she looked cautiously around, scanning what little she could see of the countryside through the falling snow.
It was all the suspense novels she read. They gave her too many ideas about the many things that could befall a woman alone and stuck in the middle of nowhere. A woman running.
She frowned as a thought crossed her mind. All those novels with the covers of fleeing women. Had she bought them because subconsciously she was that woman, a fugitive from her personal horror? Interesting possibility, but now certainly wasn’t the time to ponder it. Besides, she wasn’t a woman running anymore.
She’d forgotten how rural parts of New Jersey were. No help in sight, but no serial killers either. If one should happen to show up and do her in, would the police think to tell Trev that the car was turned toward Seaside? So he’d know she was coming back? That she planned to fight for their marriage? That she loved him with her whole heart?
She climbed out of the car and slipped and slid around to the far side. She had on the dress flats and good slacks she’d put on to go to the church and face down Jonathan Warrington. They were no protection against the weather. Snow seeped over the edges of the shoes whose soles skated on the snow like a figure skater’s blades on ice, forcing her to hang on to the car for stability.
She groaned when in the glow of the headlights she saw the right front wheel dangling in the air. It was just as she’d thought. It made no difference that the bottom of the ditch was only a matter of inches from the tire, and the road was only a matter of fewer inches. It might as well have been miles. She assumed the front axle or whatever it was called these days was resting on the road. She tried to peer under the car to see if she was right, but it was too dark.
Flashlight! She hurried back to the car and began rooting in the glove compartment. She found an expired insurance card, a booklet about the car that she’d never read, a map of southern California, another of San Diego, a packet of never-opened Kleenex tissues, another insurance card that expired in a month, and no flashlight.
She was sure she had one somewhere. Maybe the trunk. But the trunk was as unhelpful as the glove compartment.
While she was checking the trunk, she checked the exhaust pipe. She was getting very cold, but the last thing she wanted to do was turn on the heater and asphyxiate herself if the pipe was damaged somehow or blocked by snow. People died from blocked exhaust pipes all the time as fumes backed up into the car. Good. There was no danger. The rear of the car was elevated as usual, though the right rear tire was very close to the ditch. If everything stayed stable, she could probably keep the heat on at least in spurts, until help came.
A soft plop made her jump and scan the copse of trees clustered just past where she was stopped. Shivering with cold and fear, she told herself it was just snow falling from the branches, hitting the ground with a thud. Still, she climbed back into the car as fast as she could, pressed all the locks, and told herself she was safe.
Lord, I didn’t realize I was such a fraidy cat. Please keep me safe, and get me home to Trev. Please.
She turned on the motor to get some heat. Why, oh why hadn’t she joined AAA? Then she could call for help. Some poor serviceman would come rushing out into the storm and free her, and she could rush back to Trev and fall at his feet in supplication.
Trev. She could call him. She hesitated. What if he wasn’t home yet? What if he never wanted to speak to her again? What if he didn’t care if she froze to death in a snowstorm?
What if she had lost her mind? Even if he didn’t want to be married to her anymore, he would certainly be willing to help her. At the very least, he’d send Phil.
Phil. Her brother. He felt so much safer, so much more a known quantity than Trev at the moment. She picked up her cell phone and called 411 for his number. She ignored the niggling thought that she was being a coward again. She felt her shoulders slump as she got his machine.
“Phil, call me! It’s an emergency.”
She tried Maureen’s number. Again a machine. “Maureen, call me! It’s an emergency.”
In spite of the thin stream of heat flowing over her legs, she was getting colder by the moment. It was amazing how much less heat the car produced when you were stationary. And outside her windows the snow was getting deeper by the moment.
She sighed and knew that she had no choice unless she wanted to hike back the way she had come. She looked out at the black night. She looked down at her already-wet shoes and slacks. Trev it was. She took a deep breath, preparing herself for his anger, and dialed his home. Her home.
The phone was picked up on the second ring.
“Dori? Sweetheart? Is that you?”
Dori blinked. Trev sounded desperate, worried, not angry. “Yeah, it�
��s me.”
“Oh, thank God! I’ve been so worried! Are you all right?”
“I’m fine.” She started to cry. “But my car’s not. I’m stuck. I want to come home!”
There was a moment of silence.
“Trev, are you still there?”
“Home where, Dori? San Diego?”
She could hear the uncertainty in his voice, the pain, and her heart broke. “I’m sorry,” she blubbered. “I’m sorry! You were right. I was wrong.” By the end of her confession, she was crying so hard the words were barely understandable.
“Take a deep breath, Dor. Deep breath. Where are you?”
“I don’t know!” She sniffed and hit the button on the glove compartment. She tossed everything out until she found the tissues. She blew her nose. “I was going to go back to San Diego. I thought you hated me.”
“Never, love. Never in a million years.”
“But I got lost. I missed the Garden State Parkway entrance. I guess I’m on that road farther along. I turned around to come back home, back to Heron Lane, and I ran off the road. I’m stuck!”
“You were coming back to Heron Lane?” She heard the hope in his voice.
“If you want me back,” she managed to whisper. She was terrified of his answer.
“Oh, I want you back all right. And when you get here, I’m never letting you go!”
“Then come get me. I’m freezing, and I want to come home!”
“I’m on my way.”
Dori settled back to wait, warmed by the knowledge that Trev was on his way, that he was coming to get her and take her home. If only it wasn’t so dark and silent, so spooky out there, the wait wouldn’t seem so long. She hit the lock lever again, just to be certain. The snow fell harder, and she suddenly had a new fear. What if someone came up behind her and because of the weather didn’t see her rear end sticking out in the road? What if they hit her? She had her lights on, but they might not be visible in the weather.
Taking a deep breath and telling herself that all the ghosties and ghoulies were at home around their fireplaces instead of out in the snow, she unlocked her door and stepped out. She breathed a sigh of relief. She was off the road. She was safe.
A halo of light bathed her. A car from the direction of Seaside. She hadn’t seen it coming through the snow, and the suddenness of the lights made her jerk which in turn made her slip which caused her to fall. The inch of snow did nothing to cushion the shock of hitting the macadam with first her rear, then the back of her head. She lay, stunned.
She was dimly aware of the car skidding to a stop. Could it be Trev? Could he get here that fast? She didn’t think so. Well, if it was a serial killer, she was out of luck. The world was still spinning too wildly for her to make an escape attempt.
One door opened and closed, then another. Suddenly a giant with a bald head and a gold hoop earring loomed out of the snow. He was scowling fiercely as he stared down at her.
She knew it was the end.
Oh, Lord, I’m sorry I didn’t get a chance to live for You like I wanted. Forgive me for my sins. And thanks for that last conversation with Trev. At least he knows I meant to come home.
A blonde woman peered around the giant. “Oh, Barney, is she okay?” The woman looked nice, sort of angelic with the snow starting to coat her hair like a fluffy halo. She looked much too nice to hang out with serial killers who looked remarkably like Mr. Clean.
The giant knelt beside Dori. “Are you okay? Where did you hit?”
Dori just stared, waiting for the coup de grace.
“I think you’re scaring her, Barney.” The blonde gave the giant a little shove. “I know you’re a pushover, but she doesn’t. She just sees a big, bald guy scowling at her.”
“I am not scowling.”
“Yes, you are. Let me talk to her.”
The giant moved over a bit. The blonde knelt and took Dori’s hand. “Can you sit up? I don’t think you should be lying here in the snow.”
“Okay,” Dori said, finally realizing they were here to help. Messengers from the Lord? The giant slid an arm under her and helped her sit up, then assisted her to her feet, the blonde chattering the whole time.
“Can you believe this snow? I haven’t seen anything like this here at the shore for a long time. What are you doing out here? Are you going to Seaside? We just left there. Me and Barney are going to—”
“Jo-Ellen, honey, why don’t you go open her car door so I can help this nice lady inside?”
The blonde stared at him a minute, then with a wide grin sashayed to Dori’s car on stiletto-heeled boots that Dori knew would have given her cramps in her calves, to say nothing of bunions for life.
“That’s my wife, Jo-Ellen Barnhouse. I’m Tom,” said the giant.
Dori heard a gurgle of laughter from Jo-Ellen who stepped aside so Tom could lower her to her seat. Whatever was so humorous to Jo-Ellen was going right over her head. It was probably the thunk it had taken.
“Thanks for your help,” Dori said, holding out her hand. One thing the blonde was right about. The giant—Tom—was a nice man. “My husband’s on the way to get me.”
“Do you want us to wait with you?” Tom asked.
“Say,” Jo-Ellen said. “Do I know you?” She was squinting at Dori as she sat in the glow of the dome light.
Dori studied the woman. “I don’t think so. I’m—”
Headlights cut through the snow, distracting her. A car slowed and stopped behind the Barnhouses’. The driver’s door flew open, and Trev jumped out.
“I’m Dori Trevelyan,” she said, getting to her feet. “That’s my husband, Pastor Paul Trevelyan.”
Jo-Ellen and Tom looked at each other in amazement and laughed some more as they made their way back to their car, but Dori barely noticed. Her eyes were fixed on the man running to her.
“Dori, Dori!”
She moved toward him, all aches forgotten. She opened her arms. “Here, Trev. Here forever, my love.”
Epilogue
DORI ADJUSTED THE WHITE VEIL that hung down her back. She hadn’t planned to wear a lovely bridal gown, all peau de soie and seed pearls, but Trev had insisted.
“It’s a waste of money,” she’d protested. “I’ll just get a pretty dress I can wear afterward.”
“You were cheated of the fun and splendor of a wedding the first time around. This time we’re doing it up right. Get a gown. Let Pop walk you down the aisle to me. I want to see a vision of grace and beauty.”
She didn’t know about the grace and beauty, but she did feel like a princess. She fiddled with her veil again.
Maureen batted at her hands. “Uh-uh. I’m maid of honor. Fixing the veil is my job. You leave it alone. It looks great. You look great. A beautiful bride.”
Dori grinned. She stood in the narthex of Seaside Chapel, ready to walk down the aisle to her husband. Pop had wrung the promise from them that they would live together just six months ago, so today’s date was an anniversary of sorts. Pop stood beside her, ready to escort her to her husband, happily convinced that he was solely responsible for today’s event.
“I’ve looked forward to this day for years,” he said, handsome and healthy in his tux.
Dori reached up and adjusted a tie that didn’t need adjusting. She kissed his cheek. “Have I said thank you? For everything?”
“About a million times, but you can say it again.”
They grinned at each other.
Dori turned to Honey, ready to be escorted to her seat on Phil’s arm. “And to you, too, Honey. What would we have done without your none-too-gentle push?” The women embraced, both blinking back tears. The last thing either of them wanted were raccoon eyes from runny mascara.
“I love you, Dori. And I can’t tell you how wonderful it is to be the mother of both the bride and groom.” She kissed Dori, then Maureen, smiled a come-hither grin at Pop, and walked into the church on Phil’s arm. He seated her in the second row, right in front of the three Graces, wh
o kept peering over their shoulders for their first glimpse of the bride.
The music changed. Randy and Sam had driven down from New York City to play for the day, much to her delight. She couldn’t imagine where they had found an arrangement of “Jesu, Joy of Man’s Desiring” for keyboard and guitar, but it sounded amazingly good. And seated in the audience were Meg and Randy, Sr., who had flown in from San Diego a week ago. What a joy to spend time with them and let them come to love Trev too.
Maureen recognized her cue. Dressed in a royal blue that made her eyes brilliant and carrying a bouquet that was a floral rainbow of summer blooms, she started down the aisle. Dori watched her friend go, knowing that in a month she would be trading places with her. She would be matron of honor as Maureen and Phil married.
There were a satisfyingly large number of people in the pews, come to witness the renewal of vows of their pastor and his wife. Mae Harper was one of them, still walking with a cane, but back at Harbor Lights and delighted at the cosmetic changes Dori had made to the place.
They had reached an agreement that had Dori working part-time and responsible for the look of the place as well as the development of the fiction and music areas. Their business over early summer was strong, and Mae was a happy woman.
Dori surveyed their guests. She hoped that Trev understood that their presence was but one more proof that Seaside Chapel was delighted to have him as their pastor. The meeting in which all the secrets of their strange marriage were aired had been hard on Dori. She had felt so foolish and so responsible.
“Trev’s only mistakes were to love me and to love you,” she told the people that night. “He didn’t want to deny either. Don’t punish him for that. Our marriage is now stable and getting stronger each day. Our commitment to each other is total, as it has always been. Dr. Roger Quentin, Trev’s mentor from seminary, talks with us weekly for marriage coaching. I am growing daily in my walk with the Lord, and my primary model for the Christian life is my husband. He is a man who loves God with his whole heart. With your agreement, we would like the opportunity to remain here in Seaside and serve you.”