37
Maggie lay back, trying to still her pounding head. If she could rest it on something that didn’t jar it every time the car hit a bump, maybe she could think. She leaned against the golf bag, trying to find a soft spot. Twisting her head, she saw the perfect thing. Club head covers. Esther had fuzzy club head covers; so was she in Esther’s trunk? She maneuvered her hands up and around the driver cover and pulled. After a few tries, she dislodged it and dragged it under her head.
Ah, so much better. It wasn’t thick enough, but it kept her head from smacking the bottom of the trunk at every pothole. Once the pounding settled to a dull ache, she was able to concentrate. There had to be a way out of here. Edward wouldn’t drive forever, and she didn’t want to face him trussed up like a pig ready for the spit. Once he stopped the car in some lonely spot, he’d have all the advantages. She had to get the tape off her wrists.
Maybe she could use the prongs of her ring to tear at the tape. She put the diamond in her mouth and eased it off her finger, then positioned it to where the diamond faced out. She scraped the ring repeatedly over the tape without catching, until it slipped out of her mouth and landed somewhere beneath her. She wanted to scream.
Laying her head back down, she surveyed the trunk and faced the golf bag again. Was there something in there she could use? She brought her hands up and worked at unzipping one of the pockets. Only golf balls in there, nothing to pry the sticky tape from her wrists. She unzipped another pocket, finding tees inside and what Esther had called a divot repair tool.
The U-shaped tool had a round logo at one end and two prongs at the other, which Esther told her were used to pry up indented earth in the green. She clamped the logo in her mouth and tried to pierce the tape with the prongs. Either the tape was too strong or the prongs were too dull, but the tool swiveled in her mouth without doing any damage to the tape.
Spitting out the tool, she reached back into the bag and retrieved a tee. She bit down on the wooden stem and pushed hard against the tape. The resistance was strong, and just when she thought her teeth would break off, the tee pierced the tape. She moved it to another area and tried again, this time using the bottom of the trunk as leverage instead of her mouth. A few holes later, she ripped the tape and freed her hands. Now for her feet.
Unable to sit up, she raised her knees to her chest, stabbing and pushing at the tape with the tee until she’d made enough holes to free her feet. Now, at least if she got out of the trunk, she could run instead of hopping around helpless. Reaching under her, she felt around for her ring and slipped it back on her finger. If she died today, she wanted Greg to know she’d been wearing it.
38
At the station, Mark, along with David and Chief Donovan, watched two officers bring in Jonathan Blake. He’d been apprehended leaving the club. The officers held him lightly between them in handcuffs, so he must have resisted.
Officer Daniels steered him toward the trio. “He says he doesn’t know where his dad is.”
Jonathan saw the chief and tensed, pulling away from the hand on his arm. “I don’t know what this is about,” he jerked his chin up, “but I’m not staying here.”
“Take him to a room,” Donovan spoke to the officers. “We’ll be there in a minute.”
They led him away, and David rubbed his hands together. “Let me at the little puke. I’ll wipe the arrogant smirk off his face.”
Donovan nodded. “You and Mark question him, but, Mark, you take the lead. I don’t want him to clam up.”
Mark agreed.
David’s hands dropped to his sides.
Donovan turned to him. “Don’t worry. You’ll get your chance if he doesn’t cooperate.”
David grinned. “Let’s go.”
Jonathan slumped in his chair, his hands on the table picking at the handcuffs.
Mark would have loved to let him stew awhile, but they needed an address fast. He moved into the room and pulled out the chair in front of Jonathan.
David eased into the seat next to him.
Mark glanced up at Daniels, leaning against the wall behind Jonathan. “Do we need the handcuffs?”
“He took a swing at me.”
Mark shook his head. “Jonathan, assaulting an officer won’t help you.”
He didn’t say anything, but his gaze darted to David and back to Mark.
“If I tell Officer Daniels to take off the cuffs, will you behave yourself?”
He nodded.
“Bert, will you, please?”
Daniels unlocked the cuffs and stood against the wall again.
Jonathan rubbed his wrists and stayed silent.
Mark kept picturing Maggie’s face. Remaining calm demanded all his focus. “I need you to tell me the truth. Does your family have a cabin somewhere near Canyon Road?”
Jonathan raised his eyebrows. “Why?”
David sprang out of his seat. “Just answer the man!”
Jonathan jumped at David’s intensity, and so did Mark.
David lowered himself into his chair, never shifting his gaze.
Mark couldn’t blame him for the outburst. He wanted to slap the information out of the kid. Instead, he tried to keep his voice steady. “We need to know. It’s important.”
Jonathan leaned back in his chair. “Not until I get a phone call. My father won’t appreciate the way I’m being treated.”
Mark felt David tense next to him, and he nudged him with an elbow. “We believe your father has taken Maggie Schreiber hostage, and he’s headed up Canyon Road. As of now, you’re an accessory to kidnaping.”
Jonathan’s eyebrows popped up and he formed an O with his mouth.
Mark wanted to laugh. For the first time Daddy wouldn’t be able to bail him out.
“Dad has Maggie?”
“We believe so, yes. And if you cooperate, we’ll take kidnaping off the table.”
It didn’t even take a minute for Jonathan to respond. “He asked me to meet him at the cabin. Said he needed a ride.”
“What cabin? We looked, and it doesn’t appear your family owns one in the area.”
“You wouldn’t find it. It’s under Blaszcyzyk—B-l-a-s-z-c-y-z-y-k.” He gave the address, and David scribbled it down, then jumped from the table, and ran from the room.
“The cabin came from my grandfather on my dad’s side. I never knew him, but Dad was ashamed of him or something. He said the man was nobody from nowhere, going no place. That’s how he put it. Once he was old enough, Dad moved away and changed his name to Blake. Said he wanted a fresh start.”
39
Maggie tensed when the car rolled to a stop and the engine shut off. She threaded the golf club back through the taillight, trying to make as little noise as possible. When he came to get her, he’d get a surprise. The car door slammed, and she grasped the club in both hands, ready to use it as a poker rather than swinging it like a bat. She squeezed the club and waited, listening hard.
Footsteps crunched away from the car. Soon another door slammed, and all went quiet. Could he have left her here? If so, now was her chance. Maybe the golf club would come in handy again. She moved to the rear of the trunk, as close to the seat as she could get with the golf bag blocking her way, and wedged the club head between the seat and the car frame, just above the latch. If she could get into the backseat, she had a chance of escaping before he returned. She forced the club sideways, not easy in the cramped space, and tugged. It slipped off. She tried again, and the latch bent slightly before the club head slipped out. On the third try the latch released and the left seat popped forward. Light streamed into the trunk. She could see into the car, and cool air touched her face.
Ignoring the thumping in her head, she pushed until the seat tilted forward. She scrambled over the golf clubs and onto the platform it made, feeling exposed. Slithering down onto the right seat, she exhaled and heaved the left one up again. The twisted fastener prevented it from locking into place, but it would appear normal from a distance.
Her legs would hardly straighten after being bent so long, and pins and needles raced along her nerve endings. Stretching as much as she could in the confined space, she flexed first one leg then another, hoping she’d be able to stand.
Keeping her head low, Maggie peered between the front seats. The car was parked in the middle of some aspen trees behind a two-story log cabin. Edward must have gone in there.
She ducked instinctively when he passed by a first-floor window. He didn’t stop, so lying on her stomach, she eased open the door on the side farthest from the house. She peeked at the window again.
Being out of the car felt good, and fresh, pine-scented air renewed her lungs. Maggie stumbled behind the nearest aspen and evaluated her situation. A large deck with French doors led into the house on the lower level. A small balcony jutted from the second floor.
Hobbling to the safety of more aspens, she focused on the pinon pines beside the house. There was a section of open space, and she would have to run, but the pines afforded the best coverage. Her legs trembled, struggling to hold her weight.
She stretched her limbs and examined the house windows again. The upper ones reflected the sun, showing no sign whether anyone was behind them. Her mind screamed at her to stay put, but common sense argued she couldn’t hide forever. When her legs seemed steady, she dashed to the shelter of the pines.
An explosion rang out. Something hit behind her, dirt spraying her jeans. She slid behind a large pinion and peered out.
Edward stood at the balcony edge, a rifle on his shoulder aimed straight at her.
Breath caught in her throat, everything inside begging her to run. She held her ground. The branches sheltered her, preventing him from getting a good shot.
The balcony ended at the edge of the house, and without outside stairs in the back, Edward would have to go through the house in order to get to her. She waited until he left the balcony and ran.
The cabin faced downhill, and the road wound below. The land had been cleared for several yards all around, probably to stop the spread of fire, but to reach her objective, she would have to leave the safety of the trees. That wouldn’t work; she’d have to go around. Her feet slid on a patch of pine needles, and she nearly fell. Movies, where the poor little woman trips and the bad guy gets her, flashed through her mind. She couldn’t allow herself to become the poor little woman. She slowed to regain her balance and continued to make her way forward.
Footsteps pounded on the front steps and paused. She stopped and held her breath. The wind whistled in the trees. He must be listening for her, so he didn’t know which way she’d gone. Huddling behind a lodge pole pine, she waited for him to make the first move. The thin trunk with sparse branches didn’t offer the best of hiding places. When she glanced down, she realized her white over shirt screamed her presence against the dark trees. She slipped it off as quietly as possible, appreciating Robin’s choice of the dark green tank top underneath.
She paused again to listen. Where was he? Did he know which way she would go? Was he moving straight at her? She scanned the area for any indication of the direction he had taken. His boots crunched on gravel. He was in the cleared area. She couldn’t see him, but she could hear him now, his feet sliding. He was going for the road. She rolled the shirt up, brushed dirt, leaves, and needles over it, and then, fighting her every instinct, she turned her back on him and started up the mountain.
40
Greg drove slowly, following each small road to a driveway where he could see the cars. What if it was parked in a garage? The mountain was huge. There had to be a hundred houses up here. They needed an army, not two guys driving around. They’d been at it for half an hour and hadn’t seen a thing. Finding her would be a miracle.
There. Up ahead a white car sat in front of a log home. He slowed for a better look. Nope, it was a the wrong model. On to the next house. The longer it took, the more frustrated he became, but it was better than doing nothing, waiting for backup. Maybe Peter was having more luck. Even knowing he would have heard if there was anything to report, Greg couldn’t help himself. He picked up the mic. “Peter, you see anything?”
“Nothing yet. You?”
“No, and if it’s in a garage, we may miss it.”
“I know, but I didn’t want to be the first to say it.”
He clicked off the mic, frantic to race to her, not this crawl. The trouble was, he didn’t know where to race. The radio buzzed alive again.
“Peter, Greg, you there?”
Greg grabbed the mic. “We’re here, David.”
“We’ve got Jonathan, and he’s given us the address.”
Finally, they were getting somewhere. “Let’s have it.”
The address crackled over the radio, and Greg didn’t stop to answer. It was closer to Peter’s location than his. He threw the mic in place and raced to catch up. A few minutes later, he rounded a curve and the house came into view. He flew up the driveway and skidded to a stop in front, right behind Peter’s SUV. Peter jumped out. “You look for the car. I’ll check the house.”
Greg circled the house. The car waited semi-hidden in some trees. The doors were unlocked, and the backseat wasn’t latched. He pulled it down and peered into the trunk. Nothing there. Where could Edward have taken her?
He raced to the front of the house, calling her name. Peter was already inside, and he hadn’t called out, so he hadn’t found them. Greg raced up the porch steps and into an open room. “Maggie!” he called. “Peter?”
“Up here!” Peter’s voice. “He’s not here now, but when he was, he discharged a weapon.”
Greg flew up the stairs, through a bedroom, and out onto a deck, which gave the feeling of floating in space. Dizzy, he grasped the railing and focused on Peter. A spent shell casing teetered on the end of his pen.
“It’s still warm.”
“Do you think he shot her?” Greg’s voice shook.
“Don’t get too upset. I don’t see any blood out there. Maybe she got away.”
Greg surveyed the panorama. A cleared space surrounded them, and then a forest of aspens and pines closed in. Peter was trying to be reassuring, but a lack of visible blood in the clearing didn’t mean Edward hadn’t hit her.
Greg’s stomach writhed. She could be lying out there, hidden in the trees, suffering. Or worse. The land climbed vertically and flattened out at a lake shimmering in the sunlight. He searched between the trees to catch a glimpse of either Maggie or Edward.
“Maggie!” His voice echoed through the canyon.
Silence was his answer.
41
Edward froze as two vehicles sped into his driveway. The cops? The fiancé, Greg. He shouldn’t have brought her here. He should have killed her and left her at Esther’s. Now he’d have to escape down the mountain unseen, and he couldn’t use the road. Cops were never alone—they traveled in packs. Soon the mountain would be crawling with them.
He turned back. If he could reach the car while they searched for Maggie…but they knew the license number. He wouldn’t get far. What about using her as a hostage? He’d have to find her first. How had they found the cabin? He winced and wanted to push the thought aside, but he couldn’t. Jonathan. He must have given them the address. No one else knew about it—not even Monica. She knew he had a cabin, but had no idea where. Leaving it under Blaszcyzyk should have kept him safe. He tightened his grip on the rifle. After everything he’d done for the kid, this is how he repaid him? Betraying him to the police?
A voice echoed through the canyon, calling Maggie’s name. So they hadn’t picked her up yet. He listened for her response. Why didn’t she answer? Afraid he’d find her first. And she should be.
~*~
Maggie heard the voice, and her heart leapt. Greg! He’d found her. Relief washed through her, and she almost called out. But wait, where was Edward? He’d started for the road, but wasn’t far away. If he heard her, he might shoot just for spite.
She wiped a hand over her
forehead. What if he got away? She and Allie would still be a threat. They were the only people who could send him to jail. Allie would be going away to college or traveling around playing in tournaments. She wouldn’t be safe. The thought of him stalking her little sister brought the blood to Maggie’s face. She couldn’t allow it. He couldn’t get away. She froze, straining to hear over her heartbeat.
The trees rustled in the wind. Wait. What was that crackle? Was it Edward or an animal? More sounds. Footsteps. Heading in the same direction she was, but off to the right. He must have decided the road was too dangerous. She peered into the trees, but they shielded him. How could she find him without being seen? A strategy formed in her mind. She would get him to betray his location to the police. She pivoted on her toes and started back the way she had come, moving as silently as she could. A few yards away lay the buried white shirt.
Lifting it from the ground, she shook the dirt and leaves from it, making as little noise as possible. She searched for some small rocks and slipped them into her pockets. Finding an aspen with limbs at the right position, she hung the shirt at the end of a shoulder-height branch and edged away, avoiding twigs and underbrush. This was the most dangerous part of her plan. If he saw it before she was ready…
She gazed around the forest as she tiptoed, and despite her caution, twigs snapped under her feet. She needed to find him without him seeing her. She gazed up at a tall pine. This would work. She left her trusty golf club at the bottom and climbed. Rough bark scraped her palms, and sap coated her hands with a sticky film. Pine needles poked at her, and a twig nearly stabbed her in the eye. A few feet farther, she’d lifted herself high enough to see, and there he was. The sight startled her, and she almost lost her balance. He must have heard the noise she made, because he changed direction.
She gauged the trajectory of his new course. He would pass too far away to see the shirt. She took a rock from her pocket and threw it toward an aspen near the one holding the shirt. It connected with a satisfying crack. He stopped. She tossed another one, and he turned to the clamor, lifting his rifle.
Deadly Diaries Page 22