Murder by the Seaside (23 page)

He knew me, and even if he didn’t like me, he might have been reluctant to hurt me. He was close enough to stop by and threaten me, then make his protective rounds. The fishy-scented pillowcase probably came from the cell where Adrian sat. Argh. Of course. I hopped to my feet, not sure where to go first. I’d announced to the sheriff his jail smelled like my abductor. Last night Sebastian and I stopped to tell him about the guns. Why did I have such a big mouth?

His car was gone from the station when I left there an hour before. He could be anywhere.

My heart raced in my chest. How soon could Sebastian get here and bring Sheriff Murray in? Adrian could be free in time for the fireworks. We’d be safe. I tapped my nails against the desktop and checked my phone. Nothing. I looked to be sure all the texts had gone.

The phone showed no signal. “Oh come on!” I stood and waved my phone overhead. I’d just gotten the message from the insurance company. Did I have trouble getting reception in the office before? Surely I’d remember. I walked from room to room, thinking of the silly commercial for better reception. What on earth? I couldn’t work at an office where I had faulty reception. I refused to get a landline. Maybe a new cell plan...

I grabbed my bag and headed for the front door. If I had to text from the lawn, I would. My hands began to sweat as the ideas became more cemented in my mind. Sheriff Murray was in on it the whole time. He knew exactly what happened and he’d covered for it. He’d killed...and he threatened me. I teetered between the thrill of figuring it out and the terror that Sheriff Murray could be so dangerous. Everyone in town believed he protected them. He was a killer.

Eye on the failed texts, I swung open the front door. Sheriff Murray stood looking back at me. “Ah!” I grabbed my chest. Behind him the streets were empty. Everyone had moved to the marsh side of the island for all the fun. His expression worried me. The crease between his brows looked almost apologetic, which confused me.

“Sheriff Murray, hi!” I pulled my phone behind my back.

“I’m afraid we need to talk, Patience.” Not Miss Price? Uh-oh. Things were worse than I thought.

“Oh, well,” I stepped to my left. He mirrored my move. “I—am—meeting my parents—and Sebastian. I’m late.”

He stepped forward, forcing me back. “I spoke to your parents on my way over here. They said they’re meeting you tonight for drinks. Late tonight. Hours from now. After Sebastian gets back from the mainland.” He tsked his tongue. “It’s not nice to lie.”

“You should know.” I fumbled my fingers over the keyboard of my phone, hoping a text might send. Enough gibberish should alert Sebastian to my trouble, assuming the text went and also that I didn’t accidently navigate away from his number.

He tilted his head over one shoulder and lifted his hand into the air, waving a small black device. “Cell blocker. Radio Shack.”

“You planned this?” A shiver ran over me. Had I underestimated him all this time?

“I planned to retire early and leave this hellhole.”

Despite the ominous circumstances, it irritated me to hear him speak ill of my home, my people. “Rude.” I stepped back another inch as he moved forward, invading my personal space. He underestimated me, too. I remembered one thing clearly about the phone in my hand, one I purchased for the agents.

Sheriff Murray’s breath reeked of coffee. My stomach churned. The cologne and coffee stirred memories of the night in my apartment. “You broke into my apartment.”

“And warned you. But you didn’t listen. You should consider yourself lucky. The others didn’t get a warning.”

Others. Oh for the love of creation! “You killed them all?” I’d assumed he was a lackey, handling things on the island as peacefully as possible, while the true bad guys went on being psychotic elsewhere.

“Everyone wanted a cut. It was my idea. My arrangement. Then Brady started complaining about Perkins wanting more money. Their relationship was falling apart. Brady’s ridiculous wife was spearheading protests about the fishermen coming too far inshore. She pressed him about doing the right thing and going back out where he belonged. I risked him giving in to her or telling her too much or reneging on our agreement. I had a lot to lose, Patience.”

“So you killed him?”

He nodded. “You couldn’t leave it alone for some reason. None of this had anything to do with you, but you kept on pushing. Then, you came to the station to visit your boyfriend. You knew the pillowcase came from the jail, and I thought you put it together right then, but you didn’t say a thing. Lucky for me, you’re slow on the uptake. Now the entire island’s busy by the marsh and my alibi is airtight. I’m out doing my rounds right now.”

“Are you going to kill me?”

“I didn’t want to kill you. Please don’t misunderstand. I never liked you, but I do like your parents. They’re so innocent and humble with their old cars and homemade clothes. It’s sweet, really.”

My calves bumped against a waiting room chair, and I sat. I forgot the place had been outfitted. I hoped to reach the wall and turn the light out to buy me some time. Sheriff Murray pulled something from his belt and waved it between us. A little flicker of light jumped from left to right on the stun gun.

Crap.

A jolt ripped through my chest and the world went dark.

Chapter Twenty-Three

Snaps and pops drew me back to the world. My hands burned. I couldn’t swallow. Tendrils of smoke billowed from beneath the storeroom door. Sheriff Murray sat texting a few feet away. I tried to speak and recognized the reason my throat was so dry. He’d literally stuffed a sock in me, or some other disgusting cottony article.

“Oh.” He looked disappointed. “I’d hoped you’d sleep through it. I don’t want to shoot you. Too messy. Very amateur.” His phone rang, and he took the call.

Unbelievable. I remembered my phone, but my hands were empty. And tied. I couldn’t move them more than a couple of inches behind my back. I probably dropped the phone when he zapped me with the stun gun. Jerk.

Smoke caught my eye. Did he know the place was on fire?

“Everything’s quiet on this end. I’m headed out to the harbor, then down to the dock. I’ll meet you at the counter. What do you have going on over there?”

I rocked in my chair, which was unreasonably comfortable and impossible to tip. I worked my wrists, hoping to loosen the binds. At least they weren’t cuffs. As long as he didn’t shoot me, I had a chance. Maybe even then. The idea of letting him get away with everything he’d done and seeing him go back to posing as the friendly, law-abiding sheriff was too much.

“Alrighty. Meet you over there in fifteen. See you then.” He disconnected with a smirk. “Mrs. Tucker wants to treat me to some ice cream for my part in making this annual event so successful. She’s such a nice lady.”

I thrust my head in the direction of the smoke. Someone needed to call the fire department. The place cleaned up nice, but it had to be a little outdated on the fire safety measures. For example, no smoke detectors. Little gray curls rolled along the floor and drifted up, filling the ceiling over our heads with a cloud of toxins. He dipped his head, resting his forearms on his elbows, staying clear of the smoke.

He ran his tongue over his teeth. “You’ve got a fire. It’s small now, but it’ll take off in a bit. I blew out the flame in your stove and cranked the gas. For good measure, I tossed a couple of bags of fireworks in here. You’d be shocked at the number of accidents caused by careless fireworks owners every year.”

I tried to shove my mouth clear of whatever he stuffed in it, but it wouldn’t budge. My mouth had dried around it like paste on paper. I scrunched low in my seat, suppressing a gag when the smoke caused a cough that couldn’t escape. I hated him for ruining all my family and friends had done for me. Taking my dream. Making me feel helpless. I’d never see a patient seated in my new waiting room, recently renovated with love.

“Well...” He dragged the word into three syllables and slapped his thighs. “I’m going to get going. I can’t leave Mrs. Tucker waiting, and I’d never miss a chance for her ice cream.” He stretched tall. Arching his back, he pressed his palms into his lower lumbar and sighed. A heavy cough choked through him. He laughed and coughed all the way to the door, pulling his shirt over his mouth and nose. “It’s not as clever as condoms and whipped cream, but you’ll still go out with a bang.” Chuckling, he pulled the front door shut behind him.

Yelling for help was impossible. Desperation threatened to crush my hope. Unable to loosen my binds or tip the chair, I struggled onto my feet, straddling the seat. Coughing through the smoke at a higher altitude, I wriggled my shoulders and climbed onto the chair. One side of my binds caught against the fabric behind me. I pulled in another panic-filled gasp of smoky air and vomit arrived over my tongue, wetting the fabric, loosening it from my lips and gums. When yanking against the chair didn’t serve to free my wrists, I fell from exhaustion and lack of oxygen.

As I crashed against the floor, a screaming pain ripped through one shoulder. My left arm hung limp at my side. Smoke filled the room to meet me on the floor.

Whizzzz!
The distinct zip of a bottle rocket soared somewhere close by in the darkening room. How long before the fireworks and gas set the building ablaze around me? Soon the smoke would be second to the fire. I struggled onto my knees and crawled toward the door, staying low, moving slow but steady toward much-needed air.

Zzzzzip!
Whizzz!
Zing!
Pop!
Pop!
Pop!

Of all the ways to die! I’d go out with a bang, he said. My heart leapt in my chest as the words grew roots. I motored over the floor, lifted to my feet, turned around and tried the door. Locked. “Ahh!” I screeched into my barfy sock. How could I contend with the stupid lock when my fingers were still behind me and one lifeless arm screamed with every movement and jostle? I concentrated on my good hand, pinching the tiny knob on the handle and turning.

Zzzzzip!
Whizzz!
Zing!
Pop!
Pop!
Pop!

I ducked. Fireworks exploded from the storeroom, showering the waiting area in colored sparks. Tiny fires began on the new carpet and upholstery. Flames licked up the curtains to the ceiling above. The doorknob turned. I stood clear, keeping an eye on the display of fireworks a few feet away and stumbled out onto the tiny lawn.

The grass smelled better than anything I’d ever smelled in my life. I inhaled deep and rammed my face against the earth, using the ground to wrench the material free of my mouth. Tears burned over my eyes. Surely someone saw the fireworks. Through the open door, I watched my dream go literally up in smoke.

Zzzzzip!
Whizzz!
Zing!
Pop!
Pop!
Pop!

BOOM!

The windows burst loose without warning. Glass rained down on me as I buried my face in the grass for protection, my arms held captive at my back. In the distance, a siren hummed low and steady. Help was on the way. I did it. I’d made it. My chest heaved with adrenaline. I was safe.

BOOM!

My ears rang and the ground shook. Daring a peek over one shoulder, the roof erupted like a volcano behind me. Shards of wood blew over my head and into the street. Clumps of furniture and shingles crashed into the lawn around me. Embers and debris landed on my horrendous sunburn and injured shoulder. So help me, if I had my way, I’d be sure our town’s beloved sheriff was stoned in the town square.

Pow!
A lesser racket blew some printer paper and a desk drawer onto the sidewalk. The roaring in my ears blocked quieter sounds. For the first time in days, I no longer heard the bleating tugboats or singing birds.

Firemen jogged up the sidewalk past me. A paramedic crouched at my side. He pressed something cold against my back. Shiny black shoes arrived at my face. Murmured voices spoke over me. Sheriff Murray’s face came into view. I screamed at the burst of pain through my shoulder when the paramedic rolled me onto my back.

The look on the sheriff’s face frightened me. His chest rose and fell at a runner’s pace. My body was rolled again and my wrists released. “Ah!” I gasped and vomited a river onto the sheriff’s perfect shoes. Paramedics moved me away from him and onto a gurney, rolling toward the ambulance. My arm was placed carefully at my side. People streamed down the street toward us, snapping pictures and taking videos on their cell phones. My phone! I’d had the evidence I needed but dropped it. The odds of its survival weren’t good.

A paramedic climbed inside with me and began to set my arm and clean my wounds. Everything hurt. I cried out, but I still couldn’t hear through the steady roar in my ears. The words he spoke were lost. His lips stopped moving after a while, replaced with a nod and careful smile.

The world shook and I cried out. He placed a hand on my arm and motioned to the open doors at my feet. Thunder? The storm had returned. Maybe the drops would help the firemen staunch the fire. I nodded, feeling weary. An IV port was set into my good hand. To my dismay, he gripped my other arm tightly. Moving it slowly, he watched my expression. In full understanding, he secured his grip on my arm and pulled it straight toward him, away from my body.

“Yeeow!” I screamed. Then there was release. The excruciating pain with every breath subsided. My arm was back where it belonged and the paramedic placed it in a sling before he pointed to the IV. I hoped he meant there was something in there for pain. I closed my eyes and pretended the rain beyond the doors would wash away the day.

Before I fell under the spell of whatever was in the IV bag, I reached for him with my good hand. “Sherriff Murray.” The vibration in my throat felt strange and raw. “Did this.”

He frowned and looked beyond the doors. I followed his gaze. Sheriff Murray spoke. Sounds filtered in bit by bit, like trying to comprehend the words of my swim instructor when my head was underwater. The paramedic climbed out.

“No!”

Sheriff Murray climbed in. He shook his head and closed the doors behind him. He had nothing to lose now by killing me. If he didn’t, I’d tell all, and he’d spend his life in jail. If he got rid of me, and managed to get off the hook, he’d escape with all the money he’d taken for facilitating the gun trafficking. I figured he’d kill me and take his chances with the court system.

Garbled words flowed over his lips. A creepy serenity relaxed his brow. He removed a syringe from the red bag on the floor beside us. He shrugged and leaned over me, burbling incoherent words at me and tilting his head side to side. Then he squeezed the syringe, accidentally shooting liquid from its tip onto my face. I tossed my head and fought to keep my eyes open. Whatever the paramedic had added to my IV was pulling me under.

Sheriff Murray scowled, raising the weapon as if he might jam it into my heart. He pressed his mouth to my ear. His hot breath sickened me.

I rammed my forehead into him as hard as I could.

He grabbed his head and yelled a slew of jumbled profanity.

Scowling, he leaned toward me once more, and I bashed him again. The pain medication was handy after all. I could cream him with my forehead all day. I didn’t feel a thing.

His hands shot out this time. Wising up, he kept his distance and wrapped his stinky fingers around my throat. They smelled like matches from lighting the fireworks and natural gas from my stove. I kicked and thrashed, making it as difficult as possible for him to hold on to me, but the fight in me gave out. He was too strong. I was too tired. And the medication. My lids blinked, heavy and numb.

When things grew darkest, all at once light shone over us anew and the sheriff flew away. Voices barked and yelped close by. My ears worked hard to make sense of the sounds as the roaring died down in my head. I tried to swallow and gagged. I turned my head in case I threw up again.

Lifting my head, I blinked back exhaustion. Sebastian stood outside the open ambulance doors, screwing Sheriff Murray’s arms up behind him. He slammed cuffs over the sheriff’s wrists and shoved him forward. The man struggled uselessly under Sebastian’s iron grip.

So, that was where Sheriff Murray had flown off to.

Dressed all in black, sidearm in place, and a blue tooth lodged in one ear, Sebastian looked every inch of his title. No one escaped Special Agent Sebastian Clark. With another rough push, the sheriff fell into the waiting hands of his deputy. A pair of men in FBI jackets escorted them out of sight.

Someone climbed into the front of the ambulance. It rattled to life and the door shut. Sebastian turned immediately toward me and mounted the step to my side. Slamming the doors shut behind him, he barked something low and deep. The ambulance rolled away, and Sebastian turned his deep brown eyes on me. The set of his jaw said he was in a dark place emotionally. Ferocity oozed from him, zinging across the space between us. The vein in his neck kept time with the clench of his jaw. He stared into my eyes and squeezed my hands all the way to the hospital.

* * *

I opened weary eyes to the sound of more explosions and the assaulting scent of alcohol and bleach. The bright light coming at me arrived by way of fluorescent bulbs, not fire as I feared. A steady chorus of
whoosh
,
whoosh
,
beep
, settled my heart rate. Beyond the window, fireworks sailed into the night and ignited the sky. Chills ran over my skin. I concentrated on the song playing on the machines at my head.
Whoosh
,
whoosh
,
beep
. I could hear it.

“You are one tough therapist.” Sebastian stood from the chair in the corner, placed a tattered magazine on the stand beside him and sauntered to my side. “I still think you should consider working as an agent. The position as my sidekick is still available.”

I crinkled my nose. For the first time in my life, words escaped me. Memories filtered back like a movie seen years ago. Brilliant colors continued to explode beyond the window, casting tiny, blinking rainbows over the white marble floor.

“Sheriff.” I coughed until my eyes blurred. My throat felt like fire.

He handed me a tiny plastic cup of ice chips. “You got him.”

I sucked on a chip and mulled that over. Unless he counted being choked into oblivion as me getting him, I disagreed. I shook my head, afraid to talk again too soon. Sebastian evaluated me.

“Would you rather have something hot? Tea? Your parents left a thermos. They’re in the cafeteria right now.”

I leaned forward and whimpered as my shoulder refused to hold my weight. Sebastian set a cup of tea on the rolling tray in front of me and handed me the bed controls. Inch by inch I crunched upright. Being a mute sucked eggs. I had a million things to tell him and ten times as many questions. I sipped the tea and immediately breathed easier. Dad’s sassafras tea. I detected a touch of whiskey, which was perfect.

I tried again. “Sheriff.” The word would have to be enough to get him going. I didn’t want to risk another coughing jag.

“He’s in jail and no longer the sheriff. Thanks to your quick thinking, I not only got those texts but found the phone in his cruiser’s glove box along with his taped confession.” He smiled and poured some tea for himself. “Three counts of murder. Attempted murder. Arson. Gun trafficking. Who knows what else will be piled on. He won’t be out anytime soon. Like I said, all thanks to you. Good thinking to use the phone’s recorder.”