Hit and Run Page 9

  She squirmed to free her left arm and hand. Pins and needles enveloped the limb, and she moved it erratically, trying to regain the feeling. Her arm brushed and engaged the wipers, thanks to the key still on in the ignition.

  Charlie gritted her teeth at the grating noise until she saw the icy blades clear away some of the damaged glass. She wanted to shout with success, but held back, conserving energy. Even out of gas the battery would last for a while. A car from the road would need to be traveling one direction to see the glint off the glass windshield. Still, she’d improved her odds exponentially. But she could do better.

  The car looked like an abandoned wreck. People needed a clue she was inside. Charlie’s movements had re-opened her head wound. She wiped her bleeding face and stared at her stained palm, then methodically painted the inside of the windshield bright red as far as she could reach. And every few minutes, Charlie switched the key on to engage the wipers and keep the red beacon free of snow.

  That’s when a black and white creature forced its broad head and snuffling maw into the open window.

  Chapter 19

  AS SEPTEMBER RETURNED to Angela’s house, Shadow made concentric nose prints on the rear window. He pawed at the door and woofed softly.

  She knew he wanted the window rolled down. Shadow relished cold more than she did. “Okay, just a crack. I’m still cold and don’t have fur like you.”

  He eagerly stuck his nose out the two-inch opening, drinking fresh air like a parched runner gulping Gatorade. He needed another run at the dog park, too, and she debated stopping now. Maybe after she met with Angela. And took a closer look at Chris’s investigation before she picked up Tee from the train platform at South Bend Airport.

  The bag of research on the front seat begged for attention. She’d agreed to turn over the material to the police, but wanted to read through Chris’s research before Tee arrived this afternoon. Despite the continued snow, the roads weren’t terrible. Indiana road crews knew how to manage the weather, but Tee planned to catch the 12:20 South Shore train and arrive at the South Bend airport about 4:00.

  September took the same parking spot in front of Angela’s house. She didn’t see any fresh tracks in the drive. Where the hell was Angela? “She begged me to come visit, and now she’s a ghost on the phone.”

  Shadow whined and thumped his tail, agreeing with anything she said. “You’re just hungry for my breakfast sandwich.” He licked his lips at the word and September laughed. She’d stopped at a drive-through after leaving the bank and had already eaten one sausage and egg croissant, but had saved the second to share with Shadow and Macy when they got home. A giant steaming container of coffee balanced in the cup-holder.

  She dropped the take-out food and her phone into the bag with Chris’s research, and slung the bag over one shoulder, balancing the coffee in the other hand. Shadow leaped out as soon as his door opened and raced to the front door. September slowly followed, careful not to fall in the slick snow. She hesitated when she saw Shadow’s hackles bristling, and his stiff-legged posture. He tipped his head from side to side, eyes glued to the door.

  “Good dog, Shadow. Wait.” Angela must have returned after all. Instead of unlocking the door for him to check-it-out and search the premises, she knocked first, then rang the bell. It wouldn’t do for Shadow to scare her hostess before they’d reconnected. After waiting, and ringing a second time with no response, she called Angela’s cell.

  No answer. It again went to voice mail. “I don’t know where you are, Angela, but I’m back from the bank and waiting at your house. I also found out that Brad Detweiller, the man mentioned in Chris’s files, has killed himself.” She didn’t hide the exasperation in her voice, still shivering on the front steps in the icy temperatures. “I’ve had enough. I’m giving all the paperwork to the police this afternoon. So if you still want to meet up, call me back. Soon. Meanwhile, I’m packing to go home.”

  More than irked, September thrust the key in the lock and swung open the front door. Without being told, Shadow bounded into the first room and raced around the perimeter, his tail waving with excitement. He woofed as he returned to her, nose-touched her hand, then surged past into the next room.

  She heard his thumping paws gallop up the stairs, and listened to his progress from room to room. September quickly shut the front door behind her, and dropped the bag of research next to the coat closet. “Good boy, Shadow. Hey baby-dog, good check-it-out. Where are you, boy?” She sipped her coffee, grimacing at the scalding temperature, and hurried up the stairs. Shadow met her at the top, whining, fur still bristled, but having found nothing.

  The door to the guest bedroom stood open the width of a cat. “Macy?” Crap, he could be anywhere in the house. At least he’d come when called, if she used the right enticement. “Hey Macy, want treats? I’ve got treats for Macy.” She waited, listening for his eager meow and padding tread. Nothing.

  She turned to Shadow. “Where’s your cat? Find Macy.”

  He bounded past her back down the stairs and she followed more slowly to avoid spilling her coffee. Macy had already taken his heart medication this morning and acted fine. But his condition could blow up at any time. Stress could tip him over his threshold. She should have left him behind with Lia, safe and secure, rather than put him through the rigors of travel. She’d wanted to show him off to his breeder and alert her to HCM if she didn’t already know about it. It often affected entire lines of Maine Coon cats. “Macy-cat, where are you, buddy?” Please let him be safe!

  Shadow’s claws clicked on the floor in the nearby kitchen and she hurried to join him. He’d searched every other room in the house.

  Macy loved to open cupboard doors and lounge on top of refrigerators. The lever door handles proved irresistible and he had three to choose from in the small kitchen: a door to the garage, a walk-in pantry, and into the back yard. September held her breath as she scanned the room for evidence of the cat.

  The back door stood open. “Oh no!” She’d closed and locked the door last night. Hadn’t she? Had Angela’s housekeeper returned?

  Shadow pressed his nose to the base of the pantry door, paw-scratching the entry with a low bubbling growl deep in his throat. But September had already hurried to the open back door. A dark green ribbon of fabric the same color as the cat’s eyes nested in the blowing snow on the back steps. Macy’s collar.

  “Oh no! Shadow, find Macy, seek!” She prayed he’d find Macy crouched and shivering under one of the snow-covered lawn chairs. At least the tiny back yard’s tall fence would keep the cat safely confined.

  But Shadow still whined at the pantry, probably eager for his food bag she’d left inside. Impatiently, she repeated the command. “Shadow, seek!” Her voice cracked with authority, and he obediently bounded out the back door to sniff the discarded cat collar.

  A gloved hand reached past September, slammed shut the door, and trapped Shadow outside. He barked and snarled, throwing himself against the door.

  September reflexively ducked and whirled away. Her knee cried out in protest. She gritted her teeth, hoping the old injury wouldn’t betray her. A long, mournful meow sounded from the garage. Macy!

  The silent man before her wore a ski mask. He produced a gun, silencer attached, with the dexterity of a magician.

  “No!” September tore the lid from the coffee and threw the scalding liquid into his face.

  He screamed with pain, struggled to strip off the scalding wet fabric.

  September dodged towards the garage. Her foot kicked a jangle of keys as she pushed open the door and they spun through it. She slammed the garage door and leaned against it. Her mouth dropped open.

  Angela hung from the rafters. Macy yowled below.

  Chapter 20 (34 Years Ago)

  SHE SHOWED VERY LITTLE, but a client guessed Tana’s secret and told. When Kali found out, she smiled that scary way that never reached her eyes. She paid a man to load Tana and another blond pregnant girl into the back of a camper.
In the hours-long bumpy ride strangers became allies in shared misery. She and Rosalee whispered gruesome recaps of their lives and dire predictions of their fate to come. Each feared for her baby’s safety.

  When the camper stopped, the girls clung together until the door creaked open. The driver, a tall balding man in his early twenties, ordered them out. They blinked and squinted against the morning sun, shivering in the cold winter air. Neither had been allowed to bring extras with them, although Tana had managed to secrete her small stash of funds inside her bra.

  A dumpling-soft woman appeared on the front porch of a rambling farmhouse, grinning and waving them near. The girls moved together, arms linked as if joined in some weird choreography. Tana stumbled, but the driver caught her other arm and kept her from falling. The kindness, so unexpected, brought her to tears. She managed the last several yards through blurred vision. Inside the house Tana discovered a commune-like atmosphere in which half a dozen pregnant women lived and worked.

  In the weeks that followed, the dumpling-woman made sure they had plenty to eat and clean beds—with no visitors!—in which to sleep. Tana wondered how she’d ever taken such luxuries for granted. But she never let down her guard the way Rosalee and the other women did. She didn’t trust this hell-to-heaven transformation. Kali had something more than altruism in mind.

  Expectant mothers—some even younger than Tana—came, had their babies, and disappeared so quickly they became interchangeable. Even so, the nursery rarely had more than one or two infants at a time, and never for more than a week. The exception were tow-headed twins, about a year old, who didn’t seem to belong to anyone. Had their mother abandoned them? What would become of the babies? In her motherly voice, the dumpling-woman sweetly suggested Tana keep questions to herself, or find another place to stay. So Tana bit her lip, but spent every spare moment with the twins, playing with them, feeding them, even changing their diapers.

  She wondered about her own situation, but was afraid to ask. So she took every opportunity to eavesdrop conversations between the dumpling-woman and the nameless driver. The woman’s tongue loosened after her nightly bottle of wine—a whole bottle!—and Tana finally learned what Kali expected in return for her generosity.

  They’d already sold Rosalee and Tana’s newborns, betting on the babies being as blond and blue-eyed as their mothers. Blond newborns brought the most money, older kids not so much.

  Aghast, Tana confided in Rosalee, who confessed she’d been offered money and had no choice but to cooperate. She sounded guilty, but also relieved. Rosalee had no family or resources to help. Her baby would come any day now.

  Tana wondered what would happen if she refused? Had that happened to the twins’ mother? Would Tana disappear, too? Tana crossed her arms protectively over her stomach, and her baby kicked as if also rejecting the notion.

  She couldn’t risk staying here. She had to get away. She’d leave, change her name and appearance, start somewhere else. Somewhere far away, where nobody knew what she’d become, what she’d had to do to survive. She still had the funds gifted to her from former clients. Her baby could never know. Their future together would make up for all the pain and horror of Tana’s past.

  The driver controlled the ramshackle camper’s keys. But it couldn’t be too different than the delivery truck her father had taught her to drive for her parents’ restaurant. She’d steal the keys while the pair slept off their nightly wine. Tana stole a knife from the kitchen and added that to her stash. And she’d wait for the perfect opportunity. Tana had time; her baby wasn’t due for three weeks.

  But her baby didn’t know about Tana’s plan. Two days later, Tana’s water broke. The dumpling-woman hustled her into the birthing room in time to see the driver pull a sheet over Rosalee’s gray face, her deflated belly testament to a recent birth.

  Tana screamed. She struggled to leave. They explained that Rosalee only slept deeply, an after-effect of the anesthesia. But Tana redoubled her screams when approached with a syringe filled with light yellow fluid.

  The shot made the room go black. When Tana awoke many hours later, nauseated and groggy, her baby was gone.

  Chapter 21 (Present Day)

  SEPTEMBER BRACED HERSELF against the door behind her. She squeezed her eyes shut against the spectacle of Angela—dead, how could she be dead?—and concentrated on her escape. The man with the gun, his identity, the reasons for the attack, nothing mattered but protecting herself.

  Shadow barked nonstop from the back yard. His frustrated yelps alternated with the thud, thud, thud rhythm of his body’s impact against the closed kitchen door.

  The scalding coffee wouldn’t slow the intruder for long. Soon he’d burst through the door, gun blazing, and she’d be helpless.

  She turned around, scrabbled at the door latch, saw no way to lock it, and backed away in quick, jerky steps until she bumped into the car. Nowhere to hide in the jumbled mess. He could simply shoot through the door.

  At the thought, she dodged out of the potential line of fire. Her shoulders hunched, eyes wide as she frantically scanned the dim garage. Out, she needed out. She needed her keys, but if she could reach her car, she’d be safe.

  She spied the garage door opener mounted on the wall; salvation! She scurried to the opener and pressed it, but nothing happened. September punched it again and again, whimpering under her breath when it wouldn’t open. She flicked the nearby light switch. Nothing happened. He’d cut the power. Only the tiny skylight overhead offered dim illumination.

  Another door on the back wall probably led into the back yard where Shadow barked. Stacks of gardening supplies blocked the exit. She scurried to the mountain of material, grabbed the nearest item and toppled it to one side. She couldn’t even reach the doorknob. Seconds had passed—but felt like hours—he’d be upon her before she could uncover the exit.

  Nostrils flaring, skin clammy, she wrestled the ladder away from Angela’s dangling form. She grabbed it. Metal screeched against the cement floor, clanged when it crunched the side of the car. The dead woman’s feet swayed overhead. September dodged them, biting her lip to contain whimpers threatening to grow into screams. She wedged the top of the ladder at an angle against the kitchen door and braced the ladder feet flush with the car’s rear tire.

  Just in time. He twisted the lever handle. When it wouldn’t open, he bumped it. The ladder jarred and jangled. He bumped harder, it shifted still more, but held.

  September whirled and raced back to the other exit. The ladder bought time for her to get through, to rejoin Shadow in the back yard. With him by her side, she could do anything. She’d puzzle out the whys later.

  Shadow’s barks grew more frantic. At September’s feet, Macy mewed and wound about her ankles, wanting solace, but only managing to trip her.

  The door pounding grew louder, more determined. The ladder jittered in place, shifting in increments as September clawed free and dragged aside bags of mulch, rakes, shovels. Finally uncovering the doorknob, she silently cheered as she grabbed and twisted.

  Locked. No key in sight. She screamed, breathing in gulps, twisting to look everywhere for any other options.

  He hit the door with a mighty crash. The ladder fell sideways.

  Catching up a rake, September dashed to brace it alongside the falling ladder. She yelled, lying and praying he’d believe her. “I have a gun, too! Keep back, stay away from the door.”

  His pounding stopped, for the moment. Her gun, nested in the glove box of her distant car, offered no protection. And she couldn’t call for help, with her phone in the bag of research by the front closet. She couldn’t escape the garage. Maybe distract him, find out what he wanted, buy some time. Make enough noise to rouse the neighbors for help. She couldn’t, she wouldn’t give up!

  September choked back a sob. “I just talked to her last night, she sent me a text. Why would Angela invite me here then kill herself? You killed her!”

  Long pause, his voice flat. “I’m not that sloppy.
I honestly don’t care. I’m just the cleanup man.” He rattled the door’s handle. “So help me out. Give me what I came for and we part as friends.” He paused again, nonchalant attitude in stark contrast to her racing pulse. She could hear his slow, steady breaths from the other side of the door. “I’ll get in there eventually, and you’ll tell me anyway. Then we won’t be friends anymore.” The words sounded practiced. He’d done this before. Many times.

  The damn safety deposit box! Oh my God—Chris, too? But Victor killed Chris. It couldn’t be connected. Could it?

  He rattled the doorknob again, whispering against the door, voice measured and calm, but deadly steel beneath the words. “You’ve got nowhere to go. I’ll turn the garage door and light back on long before the authorities finally come. Nothing personal.”

  Shadow’s barks had stilled, as if he listened to their voices. Macy trilled, leaped onto the hood of the car, and from there hopped up to drape himself around September’s shoulders. Her fingers dug deep into the cat’s fur and he squeaked. She had to get them out of here. Keep him talking.

  “Why are you doing this? Who are you? What’s so important in those files?” Anything to delay the inevitable. He spouted empty promises. She wouldn’t be allowed to walk away.

  “Don’t know. Don’t care.” Another of those long, deadly pauses before he continued. Had he yawned? “I suppose you could call me Mr. Bleak, because those are your chances. Give me what I need and I’ll go away. Make me come after you and here’s how my employer suggests it plays out.” He cleared his throat and recited as if reading. “Angela Day blamed September for her son’s death, so baited a trap to get her to South Bend. She killed September, then hanged herself out of remorse.” He wiggled the doorknob again and waited.