Sequestered with the Murderers

by Dr. Sandra Tanner

  SEQUESTERED

  with the

  MURDERERS

  A Vett Brayborn Murder Mystery

  DR. SANDRA TANNER

  Sequestered with the Murderers

  Copyright © 2021 by Dr. Sandra Tanner

  Library of Congress Control Number: 2021906472

  ISBN: Softcover 9798729732654

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without written permission from the author except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to any actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  Printed in the United States

  Book can be purchased on Amazon.com.

  Trust in the Lord with all your heart and lean not on your own understanding; in all your ways submit to him, and he will make your path straight (NIV, Proverbs 3: 5-6).

  ALSO BY DR. SANDRA TANNER

  STANDALONES

  Secrets of Salmer Tawgg (So Now They Know)

  Sundrenched Water

  VETT BRAYBORN SERIES

  Six Good Ones

  Stolen Four Minutes

  Sacks of Murder

  SHORT STORIES

  Oh, My Dear God!

  Inconceivable

  SEQUESTERED

  with the

  MURDERERS

  CHAPTER 1

  At 9:01 pm, we huddled alongside the bus, cold, shivering, and damp, waiting for our tour driver to return. Cold, shivering, and dampness should have been the least of our worries. While we huddled in misery, murder raised its ugly head and left us stranded.

  After five minutes of huddling, Lemmonee Ames, the tour guide, gave in and unlocked the bus door with her key. She, the other thirty-four passengers, and I swiftly boarded the bus. The responsibility of the bus belonged to Duffton “Duffy” Radley, our driver, and I sensed that Lemmonee was reluctant to put that responsibility on her shoulders. Her duty was to take care of the passengers.

  As we settled into the comfort of the bus, another five minutes slipped by. Duffy still had not made an appearance. Joe McClain, a passenger, sitting in a seat in the middle of the bus, spoke up.

  “I’ll go look for him.”

  “I’ll go with you,” Holt Pruitt, Jr. said. Joe, Holt Junior, and their wives were traveling together. I had gathered from their interactions during the trip that Joe and Holt Junior were best friends. They were not motor coach tour bus first-timers. Their bag of snacks, fruits, drinks, and several selections of reading material gave them away. They had all the staples that frequent bus tourists have learned to bring with them.

  Now that the bus, in addition to the passengers, were Lemmonee’s responsibility, she couldn’t leave the bus.

  “Okay, thank you both. Please hurry,” Lemmonee said, reluctantly accepting their offer. It was not an ideal situation to have any of the passengers roaming around on a night like tonight looking for the bus driver, but what else could she do. She had a busload of people under her care.

  Joe and Holt Junior quickly put on their heavy coat, gloves and just as promptly walked off the bus into the misty, foggy, and cold night. Lemmonee, without haste, closed the bus door behind them. It wasn’t fast enough. The uninvited cold, damp air trickled in, making its way to the middle of the bus where I was seated.

  Seven minutes later, Joe and Holt Junior returned. Joe spoke first, “He isn’t in the restroom.”

  “We walked around the rest area building and didn’t see him anywhere,” Holt Junior added.

  “Thank you both,” Lemmonee responded. The passengers and I could hear her conversation with Joe and Holt Junior, yet she chose to use the microphone to say what she had to say next. As soon as they were seated—two rows behind me on the opposite side—Lemmonee began speaking into the microphone.

  She stood motionless, and the microphone almost touched her lips. “Joe and Holt Junior couldn’t find Duffy,” she announced hastily. “Please stay seated in your seats. I’m going to call the home office.”

  “His day of reckoning has arrived,” Marjorie Brown, sitting directly behind me, whispered to her traveling companion, Rebbie Shields.

  “Shhh, someone will hear you,” Rebbie whispered back.

  Too late, I thought while eagerly awaiting Marjorie’s response to Rebbie. She chose to remain quiet. Nevertheless, I had heard her remark about Duffy, and it piqued my interest. Other passengers around me were grumbling about getting home late and their readiness to get back on the road. Duffy had been missing for fifteen to twenty minutes, but none of the other passengers expressed concern about this outwardly.

  “Surely Brightness Bus Tours checked out his background thoroughly before hiring him. He wouldn’t leave us stranded?” I whispered to my traveling companion and best friend, Dimma Kirkland.

  “I’m sure they followed all Federal regulations, including background checks. This isn’t his first bus tour, Vett,” Dimma whispered back to me.

  Earlier in the evening, we had carried our stuffed suitcases, now much fuller than when we first arrived, to the bus for departure home and a stop along the way for dinner. We loaded the bus for an enchanting ride home in anticipation of sharing unforgettable memories of the previous five days in Pigeon Forge and Gatlinburg, Tennessee.

  On interstate 81, an hour after crossing over the Tennessee line into Virginia, Duffy drove onto the parking lot of the rest area near the Jefferson Springtop exit. The time was 8:16 pm. He parked the bus on the north side of the building in the bus and truck area. All thirty-five passengers and Lemmonee walked off the bus to use the restrooms. Duffy was the last to walk off as he always waited for the last passenger to exit before locking the bus door behind him. The weather was horrible, cold, foggy, and with a rainy mist so thick you could barely see anything in front of you. Approximately forty-five minutes later, all thirty-five passengers and Lemmonee were back beside the bus waiting for Duffy to return.

  Though we were now out of the cold and in the comfort of the bus, my blood ran cold. Something sinister was going on. I needed to find out if Lemmonee had any idea of what was happening. I could hear her chattering on the phone, but I couldn’t make out what she was saying.

  After Lemmonee closed her flip-top cell phone, I asked, “Lemmonee, is there anything I can do to help.” Lemmonee knew who I was and my background.

  “Yes, Vett. Come sit by me. I’ll be with you in a minute.” I immediately walked to the front of the bus and sat in the vacant seat next to her.

  Lemmonee then stood by the driver’s seat and announced via the microphone, “Everyone, I’ve called the home office. Our president and the director of bus services will be here as soon as they can. You all know that the home office is in Attribute, just up the road; however, it may take them longer than it normally would to get here in this weather. The state police has been called and should be here any moment now. For now, we have to sequester ourselves on the bus until the state police arrive. I am so sorry about this. Most of you have traveled with us before and know this is not how our trips normally end. We normally get you to your drop off locations per the scheduled time frame. Please be patient and stay in your seats.”

  “Joe, did you and Holt Junior go completely around the building?” Marjorie asked, quite irr
itated.

  “Yes, we did. Completely around the building. It’s pretty dark and misty out there, so we didn’t walk too far from the building. I guess we will just have to be patient and wait for the police like Lemmonee said,” Joe replied.

  “Did anyone ever see him go into the restroom?” a male voice from the back of the bus shouted out.

  “I don’t remember seeing him,” a male voice answered. Another male voice said the same thing.

  “Lemmonee, who’s going to drive us home?” Rebbie asked, clearly frustrated.

  “Our director of bus services, Carter Richardson, who is a driver and knows the route, will most likely take over and drive you to your drop-off locations if we can’t find Duffy. We just have to wait on directions from the police. It shouldn’t take long now. If someone is waiting at your drop-off to pick you up, you may want to call them and tell them you will be delayed. I don’t know how long, but I would estimate at least two hours. I’ll have a better timeframe once I talk with the police. Uh, by now, I’m sure all of you know Vett Brayborn. She is a well-known investigator in Southwestern Virginia and has solved many mysteries and criminal cases. I’m going to get her to assist me. You all make your phone calls while I talk to Vett for a moment.”

  During our tour, I had interactions with every one of the other twenty passengers, and most knew who I was. I was a little surprised and pleased to hear from this group that I was renowned in so many cities outside of my home city, Danville, Virginia. The passengers were from Danville, Martinsville, and Christiansburg areas. The first bus pickup location was in Danville, then in Martinsville, with Christiansburg being the last pickup location. Sixteen of the passengers were from Martinsville, Christiansburg, and the surrounding areas. The fifteen members of the Purple Calla Lily Investment Group (including Dimma and me) and four other passengers were from Danville and the surrounding area.

  “Vett, this has never happened before. I can’t imagine where Duffy is,” Lemmonee said, clearly frightened, though she had spoken to the passengers via the bus microphone in a clear, professional, and take-charge manner.

  “You’re doing a good job, Lemmonee. Just breathe. We will have some help soon.”

  Just then, a state trooper patrol car pulled up beside the bus. The passengers saw the trooper, too, and I could hear grumblings of the “the state police is here.”

  Lemmonee opened the bus door. She and I stepped outside to address the trooper. Now the weather had gotten worst, and the cold mist hit me in the face like a block of ice. Lemmonee explained to the trooper who we were and what was going on. He introduced himself as Trooper Malcolm Dryden.

  “We need to keep the passengers sequestered. Someone will come onto the bus to talk to them shortly. More troopers are on the way. You can go back inside while I make a call,” explained Trooper Dryden.

  In less than five minutes after Trooper Dryden’s arrival, five other trooper cars surrounded the bus. The misty weather made it impossible to see the cars completely, but the flashing lights were unmistakable. The troopers gathered around Trooper Dryden for about ten minutes, then abruptly dispersed. As far as I could see, they went in several directions around the rest area building to the south.

  Trooper Dryden knocked on the door. Lemmonee quickly opened the door, and he walked in with a blank look on his face.

  “Ma’am, I want . . .,” Trooper Dryden said in a low voice before Lemmonee interrupted him.

  “Would you mind saying what you have to say via the microphone to all of us?” Lemmonee asked, handing him the microphone. As Lemmonee gave him the microphone, I got a good look at him. He was White, tall, six feet three inches, I guessed. He was very slender. His gray trooper uniform was too big for him. I thought his age to be in the early thirties. His face contained scaring, I assumed was from a bad case of acne. Overall, he had a professional look about him.

  “Good evening. My name is Trooper Malcolm Dryden. My Sergeant will be here shortly to help you. Five troopers are currently searching the building and the grounds for your driver. I can’t tell you much more than that for now. I know you are all eager to get home. I do need for all of you to remain sequestered on the bus until further notice. My Sergeant will probably be the next person to speak to you. In any case, we will update you as soon as we know more. Thank you for your patience and cooperation,” explained Trooper Dryden. He handed the microphone back to Lemmonee, then turned toward the door.

  “Thank you, Trooper Dryden,” Lemmonee said.

  “My pleasure, ma’am,” Trooper Dryden replied, then swiftly walked off the bus.

  As soon as Lemmonee closed the door, the grumblings started up again.

  “We are stuck on this bus at a rest area of all places. I’m cold, and it’s so misty outside I can barely see anything. Why are we stuck here! All because Sybil Lloyd chose this night to get even with that snake,” Marjorie said in frustration, loud enough for everyone to hear.

  “You don’t know that Sybil had anything to do with this. You need to keep your voice down,” Rebbie responded, barely audible.

  “That snake of a bus driver is missing, isn’t he? How long does it take to go into the men’s room to take a piss?” Marjorie said so forcefully that I and several people in the seats behind me turned around and glared her way. Her outbursts were clearly upsetting some of the passengers.

  Marjorie had been a busybody the entire trip. She knew something about everybody and something about everything. Marjorie was White, sixty-five years old, five feet eight inches tall, I guessed, and physically fit. Her hair was dyed auburn, and she had small facial features. The heavy makeup she wore was unbecoming. Her Southern drawl was understandable, but she talked so fast that she sometimes ran words together. I found myself paying close attention when she spoke to understand her. There was a harshness to her face, and it magnified every time she said anything. I don’t think she realized how harsh she came across to people.

  Her traveling companion, Rebbie, was the same in age and stature as Marjorie. I assumed they were workout buddies since they wore workout outfits each day of the trip. Rebbie was White, too, and her facial features were slightly larger than Marjorie’s. Rebbie’s natural salt and pepper hair was cut into a short pixie style, the same way I wore mine. She had a softness and likeability about her that Marjorie didn’t have.

  After the grumblings on the bus had continued for approximately fifteen minutes, Lemmonee and I noticed at the same time another state trooper car and a white van park near the bus.

  “That’s our van. Jackson Stevens, the president, is here, and Carter. That’s Carter in the white cap,” Lemmonee said to me, then announced to everyone that they had arrived.

  “Everyone, Brightness’s president, Jackson Stevens, and our director of bus services, Carter Richardson, are here. They’ve arrived in a white van. We should have some information soon. So please be patient and stay in your seats. I’ll update you as soon as I know more. Thank you for your patience.”

  I assumed the trooper in the trooper car was Trooper Dryden’s Sergeant. The three men walked hurriedly toward Trooper Dryden, and it appeared that introductions were being made. Less than a minute later, a flurry of activity began. Trooper Dryden started talking into his two-way shoulder radio, and his Sergeant did the same to his radio. They both stop talking. Then the Sergeant said a few words to Jackson and Carter. Trooper Dryden pointed south as Jackson, Trooper Dryden, and his Sergeant began running south toward the front of the building.

  Carter began running toward the bus door. Lemmonee quickly opened the door, and Carter rushed in bringing cold air with him, much colder than the air that had flowed in earlier after Troop Dryden entered the bus.

  He whispered, “Hey, Lemmonee. They’ve found Duffy’s body inside the maintenance’s room, and he is dead. They know it is him by his name tag and wallet. He has been shot several times. That’s all I know now. You are to keep the pa
ssengers sequestered. The troopers will come onto the bus to talk to them as soon as they can. You can relay this information to everyone. Keep the door closed. I will be back as soon as I can.” Carter rushed off the bus, running toward the front of the building.

  Lemmonee then picked up the microphone and made another announcement to the passengers in such a solemn tone that I thought she was going to burst into tears. There was a combined loud gasp from the passengers, then a few moments of silence, and then discussions of what happened began. Lemmonee did not burst into tears, but it would have been understandable if she had.

  It was 9:55 pm. The investigator in me was on high alert. I had to get a close look at the crime scene. I needed to see the exact crime scene while the body was still there. Even if I didn’t get to work the case, I needed to see the scene. Investigating is in my blood; I can’t control it. As Lemmonee was making the announcement, I devised a plan in my head to see the scene.

  After her announcement concluded, I said, “Lemmonee, I’m going back to my seat to get my phone to call my husband.”

  “Okay, Vett. Come on back when you’re done.”

  Hurriedly reaching my seat, I asked Dimma to do me a favor. She agreed.

  After I made the call to Gam, Dimma said, “Lemmonee, I can’t hold it any longer. I need to go use the restroom. I don’t want to use the toilet on the bus. I don’t want to add “flavor” to the bus since we are going to be sequestered longer than anybody knows.”

  Lemmonee thought about it for a few seconds, then asked, “Does anyone else want to use the rest area restrooms?” Three hands went up, all women.

  “Lemmonee, I will take them. I know you can’t leave the other passengers,” I said, putting my cell phone in my coat pocket.

  “Okay, Vett, you take them, and please everyone stay together.”

  The five of us disembarked quickly and walked to the front of the building. As soon as we turned the corner, I spotted the yellow tape the troopers had put around the front of the building. The maintenance’s room entrance, which was in between the two restrooms, and the restroom entrances were under alcoves. I began covertly snapping pictures as we neared the yellow tape. I had no idea whether or not the photos would be any good due to the dismal weather. Neither the troopers nor the ladies seem to notice that I was snapping pictures.