A Treasure to Die For

by Radine Trees Nehring

  Or someone else had. Henry shook his head. Maybe Carrie could clear up that mystery too.

  Since there would be no escape for her through the trap door, she must have crawled out of the hole in the wall and found her way into the creek. She was a fighter, and, unless badly hurt or, or...dead...no, maybe not even hurt, she would be fighting to make her way out right now. She’d see the flow of the water and understand that following the flow was the most likely way to freedom, and...

  She would see? No, blast it, how could she see without any light? Again there was that stun gun feeling, turning his bones to cooked spaghetti.

  Carrie wouldn’t be able to see where she was, let alone see her way out.

  That meant he had to get into the creek and go through the tunnel. She was probably huddled someplace back there near the Fordyce, hiding. She’d be terrified, of course, hurt, maybe. She must have been unconscious when the FBI team was searching the mud-filled room, didn’t even know anyone had been down in that room looking for her. He had to get to her as quickly as possible.

  Henry looked around once more, saw no one, and forced his rubbery body to carry him to the edge of the slope. He sat more quickly than he’d planned when his feet slipped out from under him on the grass, then rolled over on his stomach and slid until he could grab the chain-link mesh. Down he went, holding onto the fencing all the way into the water. He was glad he had on his walking shoes after all. The rocks were going to be tricky.

  Switching on the flashlight again, he got to his feet and, picking his way over the rocks, headed into the tunnel. It was good to be doing something; he couldn’t have stood the wait in his hotel room, his room and Carrie’s.

  He began sloshing his way along the creek bed—hey, piece of cake. He’d find Carrie in minutes.

  The feeling this was going to be easy changed as soon as he was in the tunnel. The water, now confined between walls, was suddenly much deeper. He had to move each foot carefully, trying to avoid unseen hazards, big rocks, whatever else might be at the bottom of the creek. His shoulders jerked in frustration because the going was so slow. If he hurried he might slip and fall, and there could be two casualties lying in the tunnel. Given Bell’s mind-set when Henry last saw him, neither of them would be found until it was too late, unless Brooks spoke up, of course.

  Stop it! He was fantasizing in the worst possible way. He would find her and take her back to...

  Blast! Back to the hotel? How was he going to get both of them back there without being seen? They would be wet, she’d be dirty from the mud. They’d want to shower, change clothes. She’d probably need time to rest too and have something to eat. Where could he find food without attracting attention? It wouldn’t be fair or smart to subject her to aggressive questioning by Bell or anyone else before she’d had a chance to clean up, rest, and eat.

  There was also the terrifying possibility she wouldn’t be in any condition to answer questions. Henry shook his head violently at that idea, slipped on a rock, and almost fell. She had to be all right, had to.

  The water was getting steadily deeper. He tried to swish his legs and feet against the current more quickly until he almost fell again, so he slowed back down. A walking stick sure would help.

  The flashlight beam roamed ahead and then over the concrete walls on each side and above him. There was a large pipe running along the side of the tunnel now. He hadn’t noticed it before. Big enough for a small person to crawl on, but probably too high for Carrie to reach.

  He turned the flashlight straight ahead again and pulled his legs forward against the current. Dratted rocks, they... One foot slid sideways, and this time he couldn’t recover. Arms flailing, he splashed backwards and disappeared under the water. The light went out. Winnie the Pooh was gone.

  Henry came up into total darkness, sputtering, cussing even Winnie the Pooh, saying words he thought he’d put behind him forever. He certainly wouldn’t have used them if he thought anyone was around to hear. Carrie would be giving him the dickens if she...he choked and gagged, coughing up water and gasping for breath.

  He was blind, helpless. Helpless...couldn’t find her. How could he find her when everything was black?

  Had to find her. Oh, God, oh, my God.

  Was he crying? Shouting, choking, hot tears on his already wet face blinding him in the awful blindness of total darkness.

  “Carrie, Cara.” His words, his sobs, would be humiliating if anyone could hear him. “What am I going to do, oh, what, what...” No one else would hear him, no one!

  And it was his fault he was alone.

  He couldn’t get to her now. He had to find his way out of here, ask that pompous Bell for help...convince him to have a team search the tunnel. Plead, do anything so he’d act quickly enough... Hurry, hurry, follow the flow of water, get to Bell.

  Why had he been too proud to ask for help before? Why had he come here alone?He knew better. Law enforcement was about teamwork.

  He was still gasping, fighting for control, pushing deep, jerky breaths in and out. At last, breathing more smoothly, he heard the bubbling and shushing of the creek in the new silence.

  Then, “Henry?”

  It was a small sound. Hallucination?

  “Huh?”

  A light winked on somewhere behind him.

  “What you are going to do, Henry, is come back here and help me out. I think I’m stuck—like Pooh Bear in Rabbit’s hole.”

  Chapter XV

  Carrie

  She wasn’t stuck after all, because the minute Henry got to her she slid easily into his arms, and then they were in the water together, hugging and laughing and babbling, saying nothing sensible, just making noises, mingling tears and creek water and forgetting everything about them that was damaged.

  The first words she understood out of the babble of declared love and the repeats of “Thank God, thank God,” were “Cara, why were you in that hole?”

  “Because I thought you were Everett, of course, coming after me, and I was trying to hide. Henry, that man is crazy, and he is after money hidden in the Fordyce. He kept mumbling about his father hiding it there all the while he was taking me down the stairs to...to push me through that trap door. I guess he thought we knew about it and that I...we, were trying to get the money away from him...or something.”

  She stopped, remembering. “He called me a meddling witch, and...other stuff, and Henry, he had a knife. At the last, I remember trying to grab it. I don’t...don’t know what happened after that. Did he get away? Did you catch him?”

  “He didn’t get away. Little love, you’re safe.”

  Then he was hugging her again and thanking God, maybe crying just a little, and saying her name over and over.

  Suddenly she was too weary to react to all the emotion, so she listened in silence, holding tight to him, waiting, while he thanked and thanked and hugged and kept kissing the top of her head.

  She hadn’t heard Henry mention God this many times during the entire year since the two of them met. That alone could cancel out the swearing she’d heard, the wonderful swearing in Henry’s familiar voice. It was a good thing she hadn’t been able to see him—splashing around in the creek and spitting water as well as spouting those perfectly awful words. She’d probably have laughed at him, no matter what he was saying.

  Finally she began to wiggle, lifting her head away from his chest to say—interrupting yet another round of hugs and kisses—“Henry, can we go? I’d like to get out of the water. I’ve had enough being wet and being underground. Is it far to the end of this tunnel?”

  He laughed and with one more hug released her. Hooking arms to help keep each other upright in the uneven creek bed, they walked with the flow of the water, moving so quickly now that it felt like running. In minutes they were out in the glow of street lamps under a huge, open night sky littered with stars that twinkled at her, even through city lights. The air smelled wonderful, and Carrie took huge breaths, remembering to do it quietly so Henry wouldn�
�t worry that she was gasping.

  Then she said, “The sky is beautiful, and I’m so grateful to be able to see it again.”

  The sudden blast of light was such a shock that she shrieked, and Henry swore. Movie-set bright, lights flashed on from everywhere, and Agent Bell’s voice shouted, “King, Ms. McCrite, wait right there, we’re coming for you.”

  Henry said, his voice low and urgent, “Carrie, I’m picking you up. You’ve been through a terrible ordeal. They won’t bother you now if you’re hurt or weak. We need time to talk and plan before they come at us. There are things you need to know.”

  It would be tempting to nestle in Henry’s arms, to act weaker than she felt, but then they’d probably end up shoving her in some emergency room and she wasn’t about to let that happen. She had to be strong.

  “No, I’m okay,” she said, but still he reached for her, bending to put his arm under her legs. She yanked away in an action that was more instinctive than reasoned, and, off balance, Henry stumbled past her and fell, landing with his shoulder wedged between two huge rocks in the now-shallow creek bed.

  Carrie watched in horror as he attempted to pull free, made an awful yelling sound that burned in her brain, and sank back into the water.

  She knelt, no longer conscious of wetness, unable to speak as two creatures in black wet suits sloshed toward them and bent over Henry. “Looks like his shoulder. Probably dislocated it,” one of them said.

  Then arms were tugging at her and, somehow, they were on the bank, and she was dimly aware that Henry had been carried up on a stretcher. She knelt beside him, and Agent Bell was there too, taking off his grey suit jacket, pushing it around her shoulders, fumbling to button it across her front without giving her a chance to put her arms in the sleeves.

  He was making her a prisoner inside his coat! She cried aloud, only an incoherent wail, and looked down to shove his hands away. Then she saw that her shirt was slit where Everett’s knife had pushed through it. Wet and clinging, the shirt had twisted around to catch on flesh and expose... Oh! Bell’s move was one of chivalry, not imprisonment. She knew her bra had been cut open when she used it to pad her hands against the sharp pipe brackets, but now the only thing left, exposed to the world, was her own rounded flesh, pinkish and wet in the glare of light.

  She put on his jacket and rolled up the sleeves.

  Everything whirled, there were sirens, the lights were too bright...so many people. She remained on her knees by Henry’s side, even pushing away someone in uniform who tried to lift her as a female voice murmured soothing words. She wanted to shove everyone away, wanted peace somewhere else, wanted to somehow take this all back. “Oh, I’m so sorry, all my fault,” she whispered and tried to pray.

  Henry finally opened his eyes, and though his face was twisted with pain, he attempted a smile as he spoke to her. She noticed he stopped for a breath between every few words.

  “Cara, car keys in right pocket. Get them. Need my billfold. In the trunk. You know where. I put it away before coming, didn’t want it wet.

  “Going to hospital now. Shoulder. Sorry, can’t help it. Could you drive my car and come? Are you okay? Can you do that?”

  She nodded. “Of course I will, don’t worry.” She bent to kiss him on the cheek, dripping tears there too. She felt in his pocket for the keys, moving her hand slowly and carefully, and was warmed by even that small, intimate contact. Then she became unimportant, feeling invisible as ambulance attendants hurried up and attention focused on Henry.

  She must get to the car quickly. But she stood there, alone in the crowd, stuck to her spot on the pavement, frozen by panic and despair.

  Hurry, she thought, hurry, and still couldn’t seem to move. She must follow the ambulance. She had no idea where they were taking him, didn’t know where the hospital was, and at night, even with a city map, how could she find it? As she pondered this, the ambulance pulled away, going she knew not where. She was alone and had never felt so completely lost.

  Maybe Jason and Eleanor...but they would be asleep, she couldn’t...

  She deserved this agony. What had happened to Henry was her fault: she’d jerked away, causing him to fall. Why, Carrie, oh, why?

  She bowed her head, drowning in a self-focused remorse, asking God to give her the words for a prayer. Her reaction to Henry’s attempt to pick her up hadn’t been a conscious one. She’d simply pulled back, resisting him, resisting his idea of help. What was wrong with her?

  That’s when the police officer touched her arm, a woman. She must have been close by all along, must have been the one murmuring words of comfort earlier. Carrie hadn’t heard or felt anyone walking toward her now, there had been no sound of steps on concrete.

  The officer said, her voice soft, gentled by sympathy, “Hey, there, you okay? We’ll go to the hospital now. You need to be with him and have someone check you over too. I can drive his car if you like.” So the woman had been there, had heard their conversation.

  Carrie caught herself before the automatic words shot out of her mouth: “No need, I’m fine.” After a pause she said only “thank you,” and the two of them turned toward the car.

  Under a street lamp Carrie looked down and began to laugh hysterically, alarming her companion, who took her arm, shook her lightly, and said, “Hey, now, it’s gonna be okay.”

  “No,” Carrie said, “no, it’s not that, not hysterics, or maybe not, but look at me, just look at me!”

  They both looked. From mud-stained shoes, up the legs of once pristine khaki slacks that now looked like baggy camouflage pajama bottoms, and above those, Agent Bell’s rumpled jacket with the sleeves rolled up. The police officer made a muffled whooshing sound, then she was laughing too as her eyes went higher, up to Carrie’s face and hair. “I have a comb in my shoulder bag,” she said, “and damp towelettes. Those will help...some.”

  Carrie retrieved Henry’s wallet and also pulled out his insulated food carrier. She handed the car keys to the officer and, when the doors were open, put the soft-sided bag on the passenger seat before she got in the car. No need to mess up Henry’s upholstery in addition to messing up everything else in his life.

  And she was crying again. There had been many years in her life when she hadn’t cried at all, hadn’t been able to. She’d lived inside herself, as insulated against the outside world as this food bag insulated ice cream from the heat. Then she met Henry, and when JoAnne was killed,* Henry brought comfort by putting his arms around her, hugging her until the tears came easily. Too easily, as if a dam had broken. Now crying was more a problem of too much than not enough. Stop, stop it!

  She snuffled, hiccuped, fastened her seat belt, and said, “Sorry. I’m ready now and I really do appreciate this. I don’t know where the hospital is.”

  “No problem. Actually you’re my assignment tonight anyway. I’m Officer Gwen Talbot; you can call me Gwen.”

  Gwen reached into her shoulder bag before she fastened her own seat belt, then held her hand out toward Carrie. “Here’s a package of fairly fresh peanut butter crackers and my comb and the wipes. I’d bet you’re hungry, and you sure do need the comb and something to scrub the dirt off your face. You might wipe one of those things over your hair too. Is there a mirror on the back of that visor? Probably you can see enough in the city lights to clean up a bit and comb your hair.”

  She faced front, clicked the seat belt, and turned the car key. “We’re on our way.”

  After a pause Gwen continued. “Everyone sort of overlooked you after your friend got hurt, but seems to me you’ve had a pretty awful night yourself. Weren’t you in that tunnel for several hours? I went all the way through there as part of my training when I joined the department. Very wet, very dark.”

  “Yes, but I’m okay, really...it’s Henry...”

  “All right, but here’s how it is. Though the National Park itself is under FBI jurisdiction, Hot Springs Creek and the tunnel is ours, so that’s one reason we were at the tunnel exit with the FB
I agents when you came out. I’m sure you had quite a time in that creek, not to mention being abducted by a man with a knife. I’m not clear on all the details, you know more than I do about it, but I want you to realize that no one really blames you for what happened. In fact, I think it’s good work you got the knife away from him before he stabbed you. I always say we women have to protect ourselves with every tool at hand.”

  Her words came slowly into Carrie’s head and fizzed around. “Everett?”

  “Well, yes, him of course, though everyone understands you killed him in self-defense, so they aren’t going to arrest you, not exactly. We’re all sympathetic, even Agent Bell, who seems a cold sort, but he’s okay, really. After all, he sees that you’re a tiny woman.

  “There will be some court stuff though. You’ll need legal advice—after you’ve seen to your friend, that is.”

  Carrie’s voice wavered as she grabbed at Officer Talbot’s words. “Everett is dead?”

  Gwen Talbot looked away from the traffic to stare at her for a long second. “Oh, golly, didn’t you know? You stabbed him to get away, and, uh...” Finally, eyes back on the traffic, she said, very softly, “Didn’t you?”

  Carrie slumped back in her seat, and a huge “Ohhhh” wavered out. “I don’t know,” she said, “I just don’t know. Surely I couldn’t have.” There was a long pause. “But right now I don’t, I can’t remember.”

  “You poor thing,” Gwen said, as she pulled up by the hospital’s emergency entrance.

  More bright lights, more bustling people; Henry, lying on a gurney in an exam room; attendants waiting to take him away somewhere.

  “I’ll be right back,” Officer Talbot said. “I need to check in with my captain.”

  Carrie bent close to Henry, brushing her lips against his forehead, touching his right hand, getting no response from him. He was frighteningly quiet, eyes tightly shut, wrinkled into slits. She didn’t say “I’m sorry.” It wasn’t the time for that. It was, over and over, time for murmurs of assurance, and love, and still—no response. Oh, God, oh, why, why? There was more guilt throbbing inside her than she could take in or process.