Blood Orange

by Karen Keskinen

  A minute of silence crept past.

  “Hurley. You start down that end,” Ken ordered. “I’m telling you, the bitch is in here somewhere.”

  I listened to Mountain Man stumble through the furniture, grunting a little. “Fuck!” Then there was a crash.

  “What the hell happened?” Ken snarled.

  “Stepped on a fuckin’ rake.”

  Ken laughed. “Maybe it’ll knock some sense into ya.”

  My heart was beating so loudly I was afraid they’d hear it. But Ken and the dog were making too much noise of their own, shoving over boxes and equipment, upending small pieces of furniture. As they moved through the room like twin bulldozers, their frustration seemed to mount.

  “Set off a smoke bomb,” Hurley suggested. “Smoke ’er out.”

  “Frayne wants to talk to her, didn’t you hear?” Ken snapped. “He doesn’t want her half-dead.”

  Ken stood very close to me now. The beam of his flashlight crept over the sofa. Would he think to shine it into the crevice? I shut my eyes so they wouldn’t reflect the light.

  When the beam crossed my face, I saw the light through my eyelids. I was shivering with fear, like a small animal run to ground.

  But somehow, he didn’t see me. They searched on for another four or five minutes before Ken called a halt. “Fuck. She musta gone upstairs.”

  “Hell, that’s what I said in the first place,” Hurley groused. “But you said—”

  “Shut the fuck up, will you?”

  They crashed through the shattered door on their way out.

  * * *

  I remained hidden in my upholstered cave for five minutes or more. I thought about old houses I’d visited in my childhood—houses with cellars. Those cellars had all had a hatch opening onto a farmyard or garden bright with sunshine. I fervently prayed that this hatch would not let me down.

  When I crawled out from the sofa, the house was quiet. Ken and Hurley must have been searching two floors above. I moved carefully through the jumble, now even more chaotic thanks to my pursuers’ search, and made my way to the hatch.

  The golden light edging the small double doors was soft and bright as a monk’s illumination.

  I picked up a crate and set it below the hatch. Then I stepped up and gave one of the flaps a two-handed push. It budged a little, but something outside held it firm.

  Of course something held it shut—most likely a hasp. If I was lucky, the hasp wasn’t padlocked. I hopped off the crate and began rummaging through the chaos: there had to be something, some tool I could use.

  It took me another three or four minutes to locate just the thing: a heavy file, probably used to sharpen garden tools.

  First I had to widen the gap with the file, and that made some noise. But it wasn’t long before the file slipped all the way through. I worked it along the gap.

  Sure enough, some sort of narrow bar crossed the gap at midpoint and held the doors firm. Another few minutes of poking and prodding, and sweet success was mine. Apparently there was no lock, because I heard the hasp fall away.

  Carefully, I lifted one of the flaps and shoved. It banged as it fell back against the wall of the house, possibly loud enough for someone upstairs to hear. I had no time to waste.

  I hoisted myself up and over the hatch sill, and tumbled no more than a foot down to the cushiony lawn. I was tempted to lie there for a minute, breathing in the sweet smell of fresh grass and crushed clover, the warm sun on my—

  “Up, bitch!”

  I raised my head and found myself looking into the snub nose of a gun.

  Chapter Twenty

  “Hurley, I’ve got her. Get over here,” Ken grunted into the mic attached to his collar.

  “I see you kept a few little toys when you got kicked out of the force,” I said cheerfully. I didn’t want Utman to know how frightened I was. “That was forward-thinking of you.”

  “Open your smart mouth again, Zarlin, and I’ll hurt you and like it. Now turn around and start walking.”

  “It wouldn’t be wise to mess with me, Ken. Frayne likes to do his own hurting, you know.”

  I crumpled to my knees and gasped for air. He’d whacked me hard between the shoulder blades with the gun.

  “I said shut the fuck up!”

  Hurley appeared around the corner of the house, moving at a slow trot. “Where was she?”

  “Creeping outta the cellar like a mutt. Now tie her hands. Then gag that smart mouth of hers. I don’t want to listen to the shit that comes outta it.”

  Hurley bent over and cuffed me with zip-ties. He yanked me up by my wrists, and in spite of myself, I cried out in pain as the plastic cut into my skin. A filthy cloth was wrapped around my mouth and knotted at the back of my head.

  “Step aside. I’ll take over now.” Ken prodded me in the small of the back with the gun. “Move it.”

  I thought about running. But as if he’d read my thoughts, Ken’s hand gripped the back of my neck like a vise. “Don’t try anything, I’m warning you.” My arms felt as if they were about to pop out of their sockets.

  He goaded me forward with the gun, around the corner of the house to an old Suburban parked under a cypress. I looked over at the house and glimpsed Janet watching our little parade through an upstairs window. I tried to plead to her with my eyes. But she put one hand over her mouth and melted back into the room.

  Ken picked me up like a log and tossed me into the backseat. My head hit the opposite door, and my vision dimmed.

  “Hold the gun on her,” I heard him order. “And pay attention for once. She’s a helluva lot smarter than you.”

  The two thugs sat in the front. Hurley was wedged sideways in the passenger seat so he could train the gun on me. We screeched out of the drive and headed uphill.

  “So what does Frayne want us to—”

  “Shut up, stupido. Not in front of her,” Utman barked.

  The trip was short. For no more than three or four minutes, the Suburban ground up an unpaved road. Dust choked my nostrils. Then we were off road for another few minutes, bouncing wildly before the vehicle jolted to a halt.

  The two men jumped out. Hurley opened the door and dragged me out feetfirst. My head hit the ground hard. He yanked me upright and gave me a shove. Again I fell, and again he yanked me to a vertical position. My cheek was gouged, and I tasted blood.

  “Hurley, quit screwing around,” Utman snarled. “Let’s get the job done. He’ll be here in thirty minutes, and he wants us long gone.”

  “Wonder what he’s gonna do,” Hurley snickered.

  “Quit wondering, bright boy.”

  Each of the men grasped one of my arms, and between them they hauled me forward, into a clearing surrounded by a circular stone wall. I was fading in and out, struggling to take in my surroundings.

  I could see that the wall was open at four equally spaced points. Each of the four curved sections bore a stone mask of a lion with a spigot protruding from its open mouth. If circumstances had been different, I might have thought how entrancing the space was, a kind of Greek ceremonial garden. But as the men dragged me toward a big four-by-four post set in the center, I began to fear I was part of the ceremony.

  Hurley held me against the post while Ken produced a wheel of plastic clothesline. He proceeded to lash me to the stake, round and round. He severed the line twice, and continued to wrap me until I looked like a mummy. The lashings were so tight across my chest I had trouble expanding my lungs.

  “He’s gonna have fun with her,” Hurley leered. “Think he’ll let us watch?”

  “I said shut up, didn’t I?” Ken turned on him with a growl. “You forget all this, ’cause if you don’t, you’ll pay a big price.”

  “Hey, I was just saying.” Hurley fell silent, but the lewd smile lingered.

  “Keep your trap shut and get the gas can outta the back. He wants it left by the wall over there, in the shade.”

  Gas can. Dear God, I hadn’t expected this. A wing of panic
brushed me.

  Utman waited for Hurley to do as he was told. Meanwhile he stared at me, a smirk playing on his thin lips. “Guess this is it, huh?”

  I didn’t want Utman to know how frightened I was. I focused on the large mole, ugly as a tick, growing on Utman’s chin.

  “Don’t worry, Zarlin.” Ken lifted a corner of his lip, exposing a yellow canine. “I’ll tell the deputy you said good-bye.”

  I heard the doors slam. The engine revved, and the Suburban roared back down the hill.

  * * *

  Gradually, the delicate sounds of nature returned to the clearing: bird chatter, lizards scuttering in the dry grass. And another natural sound: the whoosh of a hot summer wind.

  Tinder-dry grass. Gasoline. Hot wind, which would morph into a sundowner in an hour or so, roaring down the canyons, through the city to the sea.

  Fire. I wasn’t the only one in danger now.

  But at the moment, it was my own personal danger I was worried about. Utman had said Frayne was thirty minutes away. That was ten minutes ago.

  I struggled against the clothesline, but Utman had a talent for bondage. I fought down the panic crowding up in my throat. Panic wouldn’t help, and precious minutes were ticking by.

  I forced myself to breath slowly, even and deep. Breathe in, breathe out, breathe in.… A scrub jay, blue as a flake of sky, hopped down from an oak and proceeded to scratch at the duff near my feet.

  There had to be a way out, had to be! Again, panic crept up on me. I made a sound in my throat, a garbled choking sound. The blue jay halted and looked at me, tipping his head. My eyes brimmed with tears.

  Then I heard something. I held my breath and listened hard. There it was again, a murmur of voices. Not on the road, but below in the chaparral, to my left.

  A minute later, two silver-haired, red-faced women entered the enclosure. They were linked arm in arm, breathing hard. I let out a muffled cry.

  Caroline stopped and leaned against the stone wall. Janet raised her hand in greeting, then bent forward. The two of them didn’t move for a time.

  When they finally approached me, I saw their expressions. Fear was written there, yes. But there was a kind of triumph too, and I knew I was witnessing a true rebellion. I just hoped their hearts and lungs allowed them to survive the revolt.

  “Try—to—hold—very—still—my—dear,” Janet said, still breathless. She lifted a pair of sewing scissors from her apron pocket, inserted the blade under my gag, and cut. Meanwhile, Caroline silently patted me on the shoulder. At last the filthy rag fell away.

  “Thank God,” I gasped. “How did you know where to find me?”

  “We overheard those horrible men talking. But we haven’t much time,” Janet cautioned. “Sutton will be here soon.” She fished about in her magic pocket and this time removed a Swiss army knife. “Now those plastic thingamabobs on your wrists.”

  “Janet will have you free in no time,” Caroline encouraged me. “She has very strong hands because she’s had to work so hard all her life.”

  I gave out a grunt from the pain as the blood rushed into my hands. “Give me the knife, Janet, and I’ll cut the rest.” Within seconds, the snaking clothesline lay in a heap at my feet.

  “Now you must come with us,” Caroline said urgently. “The path is actually quite short, compared to the road. And it’s all downhill!”

  “Jaymie must run on ahead, Caroline. She’s much quicker than we are.”

  “I’m in your debt,” I said to both women. Then I turned to Caroline. “This must be especially hard for you—Sutton’s your son.”

  Her face collapsed. I’d said the wrong thing.

  “Caroline has been hurt by Sutton, in ways we can’t even talk about. It’s why I’ve always stayed, you see. To protect her.” Janet patted my arm. “We couldn’t bear seeing him hurt you as well.”

  Caroline took my hand in her own. “Run, Jaymie. Fast as you can.”

  “Do you have a car I could use?”

  “We only have the Suburban,” Janet replied. “Those men will probably leave it behind at the house when they take Celeste away in the limo. But I don’t drive anymore, and Caroline never did—I’m afraid they have the only key.”

  “If I’m lucky, they’ll leave it in the ignition. Will the two of you be OK?”

  “Oh, yes. I told Celeste that Caroline felt unwell, and that I needed to take her upstairs for a lie-down. Celeste can’t climb the stairs.” She broke into a smile. “When Caroline and I get back, we’ll have tea and cookies to celebrate. No one will ever suspect that we’ve—well, rescued you!”

  * * *

  A red-hot needle jabbed my knee as I set off down the path. Damn—I’d injured it, probably when Ken knocked me to the ground. But I blocked the pain from my mind and pushed on: there was no time to lose.

  Within minutes, I’d arrived at Stonecroft. I halted on the edge of the vast lawn.

  A spider-like Celeste Delaney inched from the house, leaning heavily on her cane. Utman waited beside the limo, holding open the door. Hurley stood apart, smoking.

  “Come on, come on. Hurry up and get out of here,” I muttered under my breath.

  I circled the lawn, staying at the margins, inside the shrubbery. I was looking for the Suburban. Then I spotted it, pulled up near the garage.

  Time was short: Frayne would arrive very soon. And once he continued on up the hill and discovered my escape, he had two options: he could try to find me and kill me, or he could run.

  Neither of those options was acceptable, not to me.

  Celeste took her sweet time getting to the limo. Once she was in, Utman shut the door and hurried around to the driver’s side. I wasn’t the only one who wanted to keep out of Frayne’s sight.

  Utman barked something at Hurley, who tossed his butt, then slouched over to the front passenger side. The limo was moving before Hurley’s door closed.

  The dust hadn’t yet settled in the drive as I hobbled across the lawn. The Suburban was unlocked, but there was no sign of a key. I looked everywhere: in the glove box, under the seats and the floor mats. Nothing. Had Utman stuffed the damn thing in his pocket? I slammed the door in frustration.

  Unable to accept defeat, I was down on all fours checking under the chassis when I heard a powerful engine roar up the drive. Thank God I was hidden by the Suburban. I backed out and slipped into the shrubbery.

  Sutton Frayne opened the door of his sleek black Maserati, stepped out, and surveyed the grounds. The strong Santa Ana wind ruffled his strawberry blond hair. He wore beige slacks and a blue chambray shirt, and looked ready for a garden party. The only detail that didn’t jibe with a summer fruit salad was the ugly gun in his hand.

  He stood there for a moment, studying the big house. Then he turned and looked over at the Suburban. I froze: Frayne seemed to be staring straight through the vehicle and the bushes and meeting my gaze.

  He placed the gun on the roof of the Maserati and pulled a cell phone from his pocket, then punched in a number. I could hear him talking, but I couldn’t make out the words. He ended the call, returned the cell to his pocket, and locked his car. I heard two musical clicks.

  Then Sutton Frayne picked up the gun and headed straight for me.

  At least, it seemed like that for an instant. Thank God, he was actually heading for the Suburban, eight or ten feet from my hiding place. I willed myself not to cough or move. I barely breathed, and if I could have stopped the beating of my heart, I’d have done that too.

  When he reached the vehicle, I caught a whiff of Frayne’s cologne. That scent—I’d smelled it before … in the dressing room. Where Lili was raped and murdered.

  But Frayne wasn’t thinking about Lili Molina now. I’d little doubt he was intent on his next project: me.

  He opened the driver’s door, reached down, and popped the hood. Then he walked to the front of the vehicle, lifted the hood, and leaned into the engine. A moment later, he stepped back with the prize: a key on a ring. Under the
hood—I should have thought of that!

  I got a good look at Frayne as he tooled off in the Suburban. Old Sutz was smiling. He was smiling at the prospect of burning me at the stake.

  * * *

  I jogged down the mountainside as fast as my injured knee would allow. I kept out of sight as best I could, hugging the bushes and staying off the road.

  By now Frayne would have discovered my escape. Was he racing up and down the back roads of Montecito, hunting for me? Maybe, but I feared he’d first go back to Stonecroft, and that had me worried. Brave women though they were, Janet and Caroline would not withstand Frayne’s interrogation. And once he’d forced the truth out of them, what would he then do to the two good souls?

  I was certain of one thing: Frayne would go into hiding if he couldn’t eliminate me. After all, I knew everything now. And an organized killer like Frayne would already have his exit plan firmly in place.

  Above all, I couldn’t allow the man to escape. Four pieces of jewelry, signifying four brutally raped women: I was sure of it now. Lili Molina was dead. Were the others alive?

  And I was sure of something else: if Frayne was not caught, there would be other victims to come.

  After ten minutes, I came to a crossroad. I slipped back into the bushes and sat down to massage my knee.

  When I stood once more and stepped out on the road, I glanced back up the hill. My overheated blood turned to ice.

  Above Stonecroft, a plume of smoke unfurled on the mountainside. Fire.

  Fire in the dry season. Fire and a powerful Santa Ana wind. Sutton Frayne had literally set up a smoke screen to cover his escape.

  I studied the billowing smoke cloud. Soon the fire would arrive at Stonecroft, where two elderly ladies were sharing a celebratory cup of tea.

  I looked frantically around me. Every goddamn house in Montecito was surrounded by high gates topped with spikes. A steel-gray Jag approached and I waved frantically. The woman driving scowled at me with disapproval.

  I jogged on, hardly caring now about the pain. A house without a gate, I prayed. One trusting household, just one.

  And then, there it was: a pretty house with a crunchy gravel drive, a hedge of purple bougainvillea—and no gate. I ran up to the door and banged on it. Meanwhile a large brindle dog with yellow eyes bounded silently around the corner. I had no time for pleasantries, and ignored him. He touched my bare calf with his cold wet nose and turned away.