Deadly Diaries

by C. E. Waterman

  Once inside, he retraced his steps. A smear of blood glistened on the floor by the front door, and his gun lay there with blood on the handle. He wiped the floor and his gun, then got another cloth and cleaned anywhere he might have touched. If he took the rags and the gun with him, he’d leave no trace of having been there. It was almost over. A couple of women were not ruining everything he’d taken his whole life to build.

  Edward backed Esther’s car out of the garage and searched for the right button on her sedan to close the overhead door. After three attempts, he found it and watched the door start down as he drove away. Once he got rid of Maggie, he’d be safe. But what about Allie. He pictured the pretty girl. At first, he thought she was upstairs while he killed Esther. But if she’d known anything, she would’ve told the police after her “accident.” And she wouldn’t have played tennis with his son.

  He remembered waiting for his doorbell to ring the day Esther died, but nobody came to arrest him. It took all he had to appear normal the first time he saw Maggie, but it was obvious she didn’t know anything. If only she would have left the diaries alone. Or if Jonathan had gotten them all the day of the funeral, none of this would have been necessary. But now they were destroyed, and Maggie was his last threat.

  He shook his head and turned onto Park Road heading up the mountain. Too late to rethink it. After Maggie was gone, he could relax. Maybe he should consider selling the company. Even as the thought entered his mind, he knew it wouldn’t happen. He didn’t build it for some stranger to enjoy. It was his legacy—something he could leave for his grandchildren. Jonathan would have to learn to love it as he did. All those stupid dreams of becoming a tennis star. Yes, he was good, but a star? The boy couldn’t even keep a job. He should have made him fend for himself when he got fired. Instead, he made allowances for him because his mother died. Well, so what? Lots of people die.

  ~*~

  Maggie opened her eyes, but it was still dark. She opened them wider, but with no effect. She was lying on her side in a cramped space. Her heartbeat elevated, and she couldn’t breathe. She tried to open her mouth, but something covered it, and the pain in her head pulsated with the rhythm of her heart. When she lifted her hand to investigate, the other came with it. Her eyes adjusted to the darkness, and she realized her wrists and ankles were taped together and tape covered her mouth. Terror surged through her, making her want to run. She struggled, fighting the tape on her wrists, the thought of suffocation making her dizzy.

  Oxygen, she had to have more oxygen. She clawed at the tape on her mouth, scratched an end loose, and tugged. It hurt, but she jerked harder. Every movement thundered like a blow to her head. After she yanked at it a few times, it broke free. She sucked in huge gulps of air to relax. Panic wouldn’t help. It made her head pound harder. She had to distract herself.

  So, what was it with duct tape anyway? Previously, when Robin had tangled with a felon, duct tape was involved. Did every criminal drive around with it in their car? Was it in their secret handbook or something?

  The floor rumbled beneath her, and the smell of exhaust permeated the confined space. A small amount of light filtered in, and she shifted to look around without jarring her pounding head. She was in the trunk of a moving car. Behind her a golf bag rested against the back of the seat. A latch held the seat in place. Must be like Esther’s car where the seats folded down to allow transport of long items. She could enter the backseat, but the last thing she wanted was to get any closer to Edward. She pictured him flying after her. He must have hit her on the head with something. Where was he taking her? Probably out where he could kill her and bury her in the woods.

  Something glimmered above her. The trunk release. She brought both hands up and pulled. Nothing happened. Great, he must have disabled it. The car hit a pothole, and she flew up, hit the trunk lid with her head, and slammed down, ramming her shoulder into something metal. She cried out, but no one would come to her rescue. The trunk was large as trunks go, but she struggled against the fear welling up and threatening to choke her.

  Maggie lay still until the cacophony of pain in her body subsided slightly and then released the breath she’d been holding. Bringing her hands up to her face, she tried to bite through the tape on her wrists. It was much stronger than it looked. After repeated tries, she frayed the edges a little, but nowhere near enough to make a difference.

  She hoisted herself on an elbow as far as she could and groped around the floor for the metal piece she’d landed on. A golf club—an iron. What could she do with a golf club? Could she wait until he opened the trunk and hit him with it? Her tied hands made the idea less than perfect. She was so clumsy she’d probably knock herself out instead.

  Could she somehow pry the trunk open? Where could she wedge it? Her eyes settled on the taillights. A metal grid covered them, but if the club shaft fit, maybe she could force it through the plastic on the outside. A golf club sticking through the taillight might at least get noticed. She manipulated the iron above her head, holding the club about halfway down the shaft with her tied hands, trying to get the grip near the light. No such luck. It circled around and went everywhere except where she wanted it to go, while the club head swung dangerously near her face. She choked up higher on the shaft and tried again. Better. At least, she had more control. It slid through the grid when Edward hit another bump. The club stayed in place.

  Pushing as hard as she could, she shoved the club into the outer plastic covering. Not enough leverage to force it through. Maybe if she used her knees. Should she take it out and put it in the other light? The thought of trying to get it into the small grid on the other side decided for her. She’d move her body around so her knees were in front of the light. Easier said than done. She got stuck and began to panic, the tightness of the trunk making her heart pound and her palms sweat.

  She maneuvered to where her bent knees were in front of the club, and relief surged through her. She jerked, hitting the end of the club with one knee. The grip hit metal instead, sending a shooting pain up into her thigh. She shifted the club and tried again, connecting with the club—pfft. The plastic cracked. Twice more she hit it, her knee now throbbing, and then it slipped through. She pushed it all the way out until the club head met with the metal grate. She lay back, exhausted. If somebody doesn’t see that, they weren’t paying attention.

  Maybe a policeman would pull him over. Then what would she do? If she could find another club, she could bang it against the trunk lid. The bag was behind her, but she could see no way to get a club out—the trunk was too small. She was lucky the first one was loose. It must be an extra. Not much hope of finding another one.

  34

  Esther’s house was ahead on the right, and Greg still hadn’t made up his mind what he should say beyond “Hey, here’s your dog.” The garage door was sliding up as he arrived out front. He passed Maggie’s car, coasted past the driveway, and parked on the street. He waited for someone to pull either in or out, but nothing happened.

  No sign of Maggie, so why was the garage door opening? The culprit became obvious when Greg got out and walked up the driveway. A leaf had blown in and disrupted the sensor, stopping the door from closing. He kicked it aside and entered the empty garage. Had Maggie taken Esther’s car somewhere? Or had she sold it already, and the new owner was picking it up? He’d been out of the loop for a couple days, but he was pretty sure she hadn’t sold anything yet. Instead of wasting more time, he jogged to his car, scooped Honey into his arms, and knocked on the back door. No answer. He twisted the knob and stuck his head in.

  “Maggie? Are you here?”

  He strained his ears. “Honey, where are you?” The dog squirmed in his arms until he put her down. She charged toward the swing door in the kitchen, barking nonstop. “I didn’t mean you, Honey. What’s the matter?”

  The dog pushed through the swing door into the dining room, and it swung shut after her.

  “Maggie?” He raised his voice to be heard over the c
onstant barking. “Are you here?” Maybe she’d taken Esther’s car after all. Queasiness settled in the pit of his stomach. Something wasn’t right. Clothes were scattered everywhere, but Robin said she’d helped Maggie pack them in. Maybe she had to leave before she started the first load.

  Calling her name again, he followed Honey. She jumped on the front door, barking. Maybe he should put her in a bedroom and leave Maggie a note. He bent to pick her up when he saw it. A smear of blood smudged the door.

  “Honey, hush! I can’t hear!” He scooped her in his arms, and she stopped barking. The whole house stood deadly quiet. He called Maggie’s name again, but as before, no response. Could she have somehow fallen and hit her head? There’d been no blood on the door when they’d processed the scene. Dread dropped into his stomach, and his palms began to sweat. His long strides thundered through the rest of the house, but she was gone.

  He shut the dog in a bedroom, and unclipping the phone from his belt, he dialed her cell again. The music of her ringtone sounded like it came from downstairs. The jingle increased down the stairs then stopped ringing and went to voicemail. He hit end and redialed, shoving through the kitchen door. It rang in her purse on the counter. No way she would have left without her purse, unless something was very wrong.

  He ran out to his truck, hitting the garage door opener as he went. He ducked under the lowering door, while jumping over the sensor light. He dialed Mark as he sped away from her house.

  “I think Maggie’s in trouble.”

  “What happened?”

  “Esther’s car is missing, and Maggie’s purse is on the counter. But she’s not here. And there’s blood on the inside of the front door. The garage door was obstructed, so it was coming back up when I got here. I must have just missed her.”

  He drove past a black Mercedes parked down the street. “Wait. There’s a car here like Edward’s.” He backed up, stopped beside it, and read off the license number. “Does it belong to Edward?”

  “Hold on a second. Let me check.”

  Greg continued down the street and around the corner, searching for Esther’s car. After what seemed like forever, Mark came back on the line. “It’s Edward’s car all right. Why would he park it on her street?”

  “Only if he didn’t want it noticed.”

  “I’m putting out an APB. Hang on a second.” Mark’s muffled voice gave instruction to someone with the make, model, and license number of Esther’s car. “Greg?” his voice came through strong. “Do you think he found out we’re looking for him?”

  “No. I think he tried to have her killed in a house fire, and now he’s decided to do it himself. Where’s Peter?”

  “Peter says Edward’s not at his office or at home. He’s heading for the jobsite now.”

  “Tell him I’ll meet him there.” Greg disconnected and drove, praying God would lead him to Edward, and if he was on the wrong track, he would show him the right direction. Nothing came to him, but a rising tide of fear caused him to push harder on the accelerator.

  He maneuvered through the traffic toward the construction site. Houses going up along the development’s far edge would make a good place to hide a body. Please let her be OK, Lord, he prayed for the hundredth time since he’d gotten in his truck.

  He took a sharp turn at the next corner and flew along the street toward the jobsite. As fast as he was going, he should have caught up with Edward by now if this was his destination. Based on the garage door, he must have just left. So he’d only had about a ten- or fifteen-minute head start while Greg searched the house. And he’d more than made up for that.

  An American flag heralding the new development appeared ahead but still no sign of Edward. Maybe he went in the back way. Greg flew through the newly paved streets to the rear of the development where the skeletons of three new houses stood in various stages of framing. A couple workers clung to the top of the second one, nailing the plywood for the roof in place. Two vehicles waited at the curb but not a white sedan. He edged past, scanning the area for either the man or the car. Nothing.

  Where could Edward have gone? He raced back to the trailer and skidded to a stop, barely getting it into park before jumping out of the truck. He flew up the stairs and yanked on the trailer door.

  Mike dropped the paper in his hand when he saw Greg’s face. “What’s wrong?”

  “Where’s Edward?”

  “He’s not here. I’m working today—”

  “I know he’s not here,” Greg interrupted. “I need to find him. Now.”

  “I don’t know.” Mike held his hands up, palms out. “I swear, I don’t know!”

  “I have to find him. He might have Maggie.”

  “Do you think he’s—?”

  “I don’t know. I can’t take the chance. Where does he go when he’s not here?”

  “He’s working on a house for himself. Sometimes he takes a crew over there.”

  “Where?” Greg backed toward the door.

  Mike yelled the cross streets at him.

  Greg slammed out the door.

  35

  Edward glared at the steering wheel. What, no Bluetooth? Why did Esther have such an antiquated car? She had the money for a newer model. He eased his phone out of its holder and dialed Jonathan. “Where are you?”

  The pause silencing the line meant he was about to lie.

  “Where do you think? I’m working.”

  Edward pictured him at the club with a drink in his hand. “Meet me at the cabin, but don’t tell anyone where you’re going.”

  “The cabin? Why?”

  “Don’t ask questions. Just get there. I need a ride.” He hung up, flipped the phone off, and slipped it into the cup holder. This road was hardly used during the day and deserted at night. He would have to wait several hours before it was safe to come back and finish the job. Had Maggie woken up yet? She must have by now. It would make getting her out of the trunk more difficult, unless he knocked her out again. At least, the trauma from the accident would cover any bruising. Amazing how easily his mind designed ways to kill now. It was true what they said—you do what you have to do.

  A red SUV appeared in his rearview mirror, holding to a steady speed. The lights blinked and it sped up. He pushed down harder on the accelerator and achieved some distance between them. No way could anyone know what was in the trunk, so why was he jumpy? Prying his clenched fingers one at a time off the wheel, he flexed each hand, trying to calm himself. Not going to happen. The other vehicle fell back. Probably just a tourist, but he wanted to be alone.

  He sped up a little more. Maybe the guy would pull off. He swerved onto Cliff Drive, watching the rearview mirror. The SUV followed. Great. His next street wasn’t far, and he didn’t want company. If he turned and the guy went straight, he could get him off his tail, but if not, he’d have nowhere to go but up the canyon. He didn’t want anyone to see where he was going. Sweat beaded his brow.

  At the last minute, he veered onto Canyon Road. The other vehicle shot past. He exhaled, and his whole body relaxed. Of course, the guy wasn’t chasing him. What a ridiculous idea. Wiping a hand over his forehead, he slowed onto a dirt road. All he wanted right now was to get this car out of sight. And a stiff drink, of course. Even though he rarely used the cabin, the liquor cabinet was stocked. He saw to it.

  36

  The radio chirped when Greg got in the truck, and he heard the chatter. Dispatch received a call about a white sedan with Esther’s license plates, with a golf club sticking out of the taillight. Greg hit the mic button. “This is Detective Greg Williams. That’s the car we’re looking for. What’s the location?”

  “Park and Cliff Drive.”

  Greg startled. The huge ravine led to a rushing river. What was Edward planning to do, throw her over? Make it look like she fell? Greg skidded at the light and sped west, calling in reinforcements. Peter, pulling into the site as Greg flew out, hooked a U-turn, and followed.

  A golf club through the taillight? It sounde
d like something Maggie would do.

  Greg dialed the station.

  Mark picked up. “Did you hear that?”

  “Yeah, we’re trying to get a location now. A man called in saying he tried to warn the driver, but then he started driving erratically. The man said he turned onto Canyon Road heading up the mountain.”

  Greg’s stomach twisted. Near the top, the canyon stretched for several miles, a thin guardrail the only separation between the road and death. He had no idea where Edward would go. He spoke into the phone. “Does Edward own any property up there?”

  “Not that we can see. We’re checking under Tate, too, in case it’s Monica’s. We’re also picking up Jonathan. He may be able to help.”

  Greg flipped the siren off and left his grill lights on as he approached Park Street. He didn’t want to spook Edward into doing something stupid. Although what was more stupid than kidnaping a policeman’s fiancée? Ex-fiancée, he reminded himself. But she had called him. It had to mean something, didn’t it? Unless she called to get her dog. He shook his head. Now was not the time to analyze their relationship. He had to ensure she was safe first.

  He reached the intersection of Cliff Drive and Canyon Road sooner than he expected. He slowed his truck around the corner, seeing a police car ahead. The cruiser waited on the side of the road, his engine running. Greg pulled alongside and rolled down the passenger window. “Stay here and block him in. If he tries to leave, stop him.”

  Peter parked his vehicle behind Greg’s and hurried up to his window. “Let’s split up and see if we can locate him.”

  Greg agreed and spoke to the other officer. “More backup should be here any minute. Whoever finds him first will radio it in, and we can build a net around this creep. He can’t be allowed to escape.”

  The officer unlocked his gun rack and slid a rifle across his lap. “He won’t get past me.”