Perhaps Saunders had brought me to this place and was waiting until she had secured me sufficiently before she would bring Rosey to the party. If she had each of us at different spots in the mountains here, it meant that she had planned this little caper carefully. Or at least had some strategy in her madness.
The other thing which kept bothering me was whether she was in this alone. If she had a helper, was he or she guarding Rosey? Or was the accomplice here and simply being quiet. Most likely another person would have been holding Rosey at some other spot, if there were in fact two of them. But what if there were more? That was too much for me to consider, so I discounted that one. Too much to deal with. I would handle that when the time came. Or not.
Still, it was possible that Saunders had placed Rosey somewhere else safely secured for her ultimate madness. She had left in the truck to retrieve him. Perhaps she would bring him back here in an effort to lure me out of my hiding place. I had to consider that. I also had to consider the possibility that if there were two of them, one of them could still be here in this cabin. Since I had no idea who had left, I needed to make my move now that the number of thugs had been reduced by one. Whatever the odds, they had to be better for me with this reduction. We sleuths enjoy thinking this way. It gives us an edge. It can also cause great confusion.
With the odds clearly now in my favor, or so I decided, it was time to act. Whoever had left would be returning shortly. Time was not an ally.
I moved from my warm corner and approached the door through which I had escaped hours ago. I have to admit that it did cross my mind that I was being stupid to return to my place of captivity. After two steps, my rain-soaked shoes made so much noise that I had to remove them. The cuffs of my pants bothered me enough that I rolled them up to gain some freedom from the heaviness. I must have looked as if I had just returned from fishing with Tom and Huck. I had only my trusty scissors to brandish against the unknown foes. A weapon for every occasion.
I tiptoed into the cabin, making my way through my former prison room to the doorway through which Saunders had come bringing my food. It opened to a stairway that led to the next floor of the cabin. The steps were wooden and I anticipated that they would likely squeak. Murphy’s Law.
I conquered two of them before the first squeak. I paused and waited for another sound to follow. I listened carefully for some human movement above me. No movement. All was quiet.
I ascended three more steps before another creak groaned under my weight. I held my breath as I waited. Silence.
The final several steps were accomplished without so much as a peep. I was proud of myself for being so light on my feet. Ginger Rogers. The stairs led me to a door which opened into a great room, cathedral ceiling and rustic paneled walls all around. A massive fireplace adorned the center of the room on the opposite side of the house from the garage. There were some stairs leading to a loft on the garage side of the house.
At the far left of the fireplace an archway led to a kitchen and dining area. I could easily see that no one was in those areas. The stairway leading up to the loft rooms was carpeted and allowed me to climb the steps quickly without fear of some squeaking noise alerting whoever might be in the loft.
There were two bedrooms on this level and both were empty, although one of them had clearly been used by someone. I guessed that was where Saunders had been staying. I searched through her belongings quickly and found nothing useful in supplying answers to my present situation. I was hoping to find a second handgun which might advance my arsenal beyond a pair of scissors. No such luck.
The other bedroom had not been used by anyone recently. In fact, there were some photographs of an older couple on the different pieces of furniture occupying the room. It made me wonder how Saunders had gained access to this cabin. There was a large closet filled with a few articles of winter clothing. I discovered nothing useful, not even a clue. Neither was there a handgun.
As I descended the carpeted stairway to the great room, I heard a vehicle come into the driveway. I returned to the unused bedroom in the loft, carefully looked out one of the windows to the drive below and saw two figures exit the truck and walk towards the house. Saunders was one of them. I hid inside the large closet, and waited for the two to enter the house.
I heard voices. One of them sounded like Saunders. The other voice didn’t say much. Being the shrewd detective that I was, I figured that Saunders was speaking with her accomplice. Brilliant deductions abound.
I remained in the closet and waited for an opportunity to do something. Of course I had no idea what that something was that I was going to do. Me and my trusty scissors waiting for whatever. Ever vigilant. Ever ready.
Where was that dog when I needed him?
Chapter 9
“You wants me to go and find her?” a grumpy, heavy voice asked.
“No. I want you to stay here. She will come to us. As long as we have Washington, we have the trump card.”
“What’s a trump card?”
“Never played Spades or Hearts or Rook?” Saunders asked.
“Never.”
“Card games. A specific card can trump or beat another card simply because it is more powerful within that game.”
“I’m strong. I can go and beat her up. I’m a trump.”
“You’re more chump than trump,” Saunders chided. “Just do what I tell you to do.”
“Hey, what does that mean?”
“It means as long as I pay you, you do as I say.”
“Oh, yeah. Okay. I get your drift.”
It was a male voice talking with Saunders. The voice sounded like one of those cartoon characters who were heavyset thugs. From what I could hear, her thug sounded as if he were a card or two shy of a full deck. Where did Saunders find these people? If I were going to be in the business of killing or kidnapping, I would want to be surrounded with folks who used a full deck. I wasn’t complaining, mind you. It was an advantage for me, the way I saw it. My hope anyway.
“You stay downstairs and sleep on the couch,” Saunders said. “Wake me if you hear anything. Clancy’s smart. Don’t try to outsmart her.”
“She’s a girl. I can outsmart her,” the grumpy partial deck said.
“I’m a girl, too, dimwit. You think you can outsmart me?”
“I didn’t mean that. I meant that I am smarter than this Clancy Evans person.”
“No. No, you are not smarter than her. You listen to me carefully. Do as I tell you to do, or we both will end up in trouble. Do I make myself clear, Dooley?”
“Yes. You are clear,” Dooley said.
“Good. Wake me if you hear anything.”
The conversation had ended but I could hear Mr. Grumpy mumbling to himself after Saunders had climbed the stairs and closed her bedroom door. Mr. Grumpy Dooley.
I used my cell phone to keep up with the time. I had no signal, so the idea of calling someone was futile. I was also down to one bar on the power monitor. I waited at least an hour or more before risking any movement outside of the closet hideaway. It was now after midnight according to my phone clock. I hoped that Mr. Partial Deck Dooley was fast asleep somewhere in the house and that Saunders was likewise sleeping in the adjacent bedroom.
I opened the closet door carefully. My eyes were sufficiently adjusted to the darkness of the room because of my time in the closet. I moved slowly towards the doorway of the room. I thought I heard someone breathing.
The lights of the room came on immediately, causing momentary blindness before my pupils could dilate. There was a sharp blow to the back of my legs and I went down hard.
“Ha, ha… you showed her Miss Saunders. You wants me to hit her, too?” Dooley spoke first.
“Leave her be. She’s not going anywhere for a while,” Saunders said. “Well, Clancy Evans, it seems you came back home. How thoughtful of you. I just knew we would see each other again. Call it destiny.”
I rolled over and sat up, leaning my back against the wall under the
light switch next to the doorway. The backs of both of my legs were hurting fiercely. Saunders was holding a rifle, the object she must have used to hit me. No wonder the pain was so severe. I rubbed my legs but the pain endured.
“I could have shot you, you know. But what fun would that have been? Too quick, too abrupt, over and done. I just don’t want our last days together over before I have enjoyed them to the fullest. I really do want you to suffer. A lot.”
I stared at her without speaking. I was afraid that my resident sarcasm would provoke her further.
“You have nothing witty to say to me? Are you wondering how I knew that you were in the closet? Oh, my sweetheart, that was easy. The carpet was damp. It’s raining outside and I always take off my shoes before entering a bedroom. My socks were soaked after only two steps. Imagine that. So, I simply followed the wetness of the carpet, and … well, bingo! There you were, hiding in the closet. What fun this is to track someone who is so careless.”
“I had no idea you had such skillful tracking acumen,” I answered.
“You have so much to learn about me, dearest. I just hope that we have enough time left for you to gain some thorough knowledge before the end.”
“What about this one-third of the Three Stooges you have working with you?”
“Oh, Dooley here. Well, he’s a real charmer. Does what I tell him, right Dooley?”
“What does she mean ‘one-third of the Three Stooges?” he asked.
“Just being cute, nothing more. She means no harm, Dooley. She simply thinks that you are stupid,” Saunders said.
Dooley crossed the room and kicked me in the side of my chest, just under my left arm. I rolled over and groaned. It hurt. Dooley’s foot probably weighed as much as I did.
“Hey, I didn’t tell you to do that. I would suggest that you listen to me before taking any further action on your own,” Saunders said.
“She can’t insult me like that.”
“Well, we will take care of Miss Evans, but we will do it my way. Now, if you can restrain yourself, I want you to take her downstairs and let’s secure her so she won’t get away again. We have lots to do. Hold onto her tightly while you escort her to the basement,” Saunders ordered.
Dooley was large enough that I decided not to offer any resistance. He could have picked me up and carried me over his head if he wanted. My legs were weak and hurting from Saunders’ rifle attack. The left side of my chest cavity only hurt when I inhaled. His foot was something close to a size thirteen and it made quite an impression on my body. His grip on my left arm was nothing to sneeze at either as he directed me forcefully down to the basement.
I limped down the stairs in front of Dooley while Saunders followed us at a safe distance. When we came to the stairs to the basement, Dooley grabbed my left arm with what felt like an ever-tightening vise as he thrust me down the stairs ahead of him without letting go of my arm.
“Put her in this room,” Saunders said as she pointed to a closet. “Here,” Saunders said as she handed Dooley some handcuffs, “use these and cuff her hands behind her back.”
Dooley obliged. Saunders left us momentarily. I stared at Dooley wondering what made this man obey someone like Saunders. It had to be money, I figured. Or blood kin? Nothing else imaginable came to mind.
While my feeble minded captor secured me, I remembered my scissors. They were gone. I must have dropped them upstairs in the loft when Saunders had accosted me with the rifle. Understandable, but regrettable. My singular, anemic weapon was now history. Some woe returned.
Saunders came back with some smallish clothesline rope and handed the cord to Dooley.
“Bind her feet. Make it tight. I do not want her getting away again.”
Dooley obeyed and tightened the clothesline cord tighter than he needed to. I thought better of complaining and suffered the pain in silence.
“You want I should gag her?” Dooley said.
“No, I want to hear her whine and moan. I like to hear suffering. Especially her suffering. Music to my ears, Mr. Dooley. Sheer music.”
“I don’t hear no music,” Dooley said.
Chapter 10
My prison cell turned out to be the size of a large broom closet. I had enough room to stretch out my bound legs in front of me and rest my back against a wall. The closet was dark except for a shaft of light entering underneath the door. It helped me to take a limited inventory of my new space.
The walls on either side of me ran about five or six feet in length and contained make-shift wooden shelves filled with a variety of containers. It was too dark for me to read labels. The shelving stopped some three feet from the basement floor. There were brooms and mops leaning in the corner next to the door hinges. I could barely make out a bulb overhead in the center of the ceiling.
My back was against an empty wall. I forced myself to stand. If you think that standing with your hands bound behind you and your feet tied together is an easy task, I suggest that you try it sometime when you have plenty of energy and hours to kill. It didn’t aid my cause to have my legs and my left side still in pain from the earlier attacks. It’s a more difficult task than standing with your hands tied around a pole as I had mastered in my other space. I also think that my present pain and discomfort added to the difficulty.
I pushed as hard as I could against the back wall and walked my body up to a standing position. Once there I had to rest for several minutes. It was exhausting.
Now that I was standing, I could see that the bulb in the ceiling had a pull-chain attached to it with a long, thin string attached to the pull-chain. It was all shadows but discernible. I hopped towards the dangling string with the idea of turning on the light. After the third hop, I lost my balance and tottered to the right. One of the wooden shelves helped me maintain my balance and break my fall. It also made an indention into my right shoulder. Ouch.
With considerable effort I righted myself and took another hop towards the dangling string. After chasing it with my mouth for what seemed like forever, I finally captured the illusive string and pulled the thin cord with my teeth. The light came on. I was pleased with my accomplishment.
I was hoping that the better light would help me to find some tool by which I could use to escape. Presto! There it was. The light revealed a large screwdriver on a shelf above my head to my left. Any detective worth her salt should be able to free herself with a screwdriver. If she could reach it. I judged the shelf and screwdriver to be about seven feet high. I decided to let the screwdriver be my plan C.
I continued my desperate search for other articles which might better assist me in freeing myself. Nothing came into view. Plan C soon became plan A. In order to implement my plan of escape, I needed to use a long-handled object, like a broom or mop, and dislodge the screwdriver from its perch. It all sounds so simple, so basic.
I hopped to the mops and brooms in the corner of the closet, then took very tiny steps to turn myself placing the handled objects behind me where my hands were cuffed. I grabbed the first handled apparatus I could safely and easily move without disrupting the rest of the group. It turned out to be a mop.
I hopped back to a spot just slightly beyond where the screwdriver was protruding out on the shelf. My goal was to dislodge the tool without knocking over any cans and jugs nearby. After several minutes of groans and muffled grunts, I succeeded in causing the screwdriver to fall to the floor. I also caused a metal can of paint thinner to fall to the floor.
The can made more noise than I thought it should have. It sounded like a ten car pileup on I-95. Who would have thought one small can could make so much noise? Another point for Murphy’s Law.
I figured that Saunders and the dimwit would scurry down to the basement and check on me forthwith. I turned around as quickly as I could in order to grab the long string with my mouth and turn off the light. It took me longer than I had hoped. I could hear footsteps running.
The light went out. I still had the mop handle in my hands behind my bac
k. I was facing the door, so I threw the mop towards a corner hoping to catch the walls. I heard the mop handle hit a wall just as the door to the closet opened. The hall light penetrated my closet cell and a hard object hit me across the bridge of my nose sending me backwards with brutal force against the mop handle which was crossways on the back wall. My back broke the mop handle, and whatever it was that hit me in the face, broke my nose.
I seriously considered passing out. I actually saw stars and some planets swirling around my head. This particularly headache was worse than the others I had suffered from Saunders. I decided then and there that I probably would need to consult a doctor if I made it out of this alive.
I wanted to grab my nose and comfort it, but the handcuffs prevented my doing so. I could feel the warm trickle of blood running over my lips and onto the front of my shirt. I put my head back to help abate the flow.
“Do I have to stay with you constantly?” Saunders asked.
I took it to be a rhetorical question and did not answer.
“Dooley, go get a chair and sit here in the doorway of the closet. Where’s your billy-club?”
“I dunno,” he said.
“Find it when you find a chair. Go. Hurry.”
Dooley left as rapidly as he could. He lumbered away.
I was now sitting on the floor with my back against the wall where I had originally been before all of this new pain had come upon me. Now, however, instead of having merely two places on my body that hurt like hell, I had four such spots, adding my nose and my back to the drama. Saunders was holding a rifle. I guessed that she hit me in the nose with the stock.
“What were you doing, Clancy?”
“Surveying the closet,” I said.
“Surveying the closet,” Saunders repeated. “Looking for anything in particular?”
“Not really,” I said with my nose still aimed at the ceiling to curtail the blood flow. “One of the downsides of my profession. When you look for something, you just look. When you see it, you know.”
Revenge: A Clancy Evans Mystery (Clancy Evans PI Book 4) Page 5