Stutter Creek (18 page)

He checked his pocket for the tape, took it out, tore off several six-inch lengths and stuck them on the sleeve of his jacket as he walked. The nylon cord would have to be cut with a kitchen knife after he’d bound her hands behind her back. He’d used the shorter one on Allie. Now, it was lost.

Kurt’s new plan was already taking shape in his twisted mind: retrieve Allie’s car—in his excitement, he’d almost forgotten about it—drive it to the old broad’s cabin, and ask her nicely to accompany him to his “campsite” to check on the boy. If she refused, he would simply force his way in, slap the duct tape over her mouth, tie her hands, and then march her up the mountain to the cave where he could have his fun—if he was even still able after what the blonde had done. Then, he would let her join Allie in the pit. He still wanted to use Danny to lure the prosecutor to her doom, but that was looking like a pipe dream now. On the other hand, there were many, many children out there, unattended. What worked once would probably work again.

But … first things first. When the albatross was gone, he would carry or drag Danny’s body back to the girl’s old Chevy. Somewhere down the road, in another state, the car would have to burn. That should take care of the boy and the evidence. Tossing him into the pit with the women was too risky. The two women probably wouldn’t be found for weeks, maybe even months. Maybe never. But when they were, if his boy was with them, he knew the Feds wouldn’t stop until they caught him.

He just hoped no one had noticed Allie’s car. Since she was a local, he needed to get it off the road, fast.

Slipping and sliding, he hurried back down the mountain, eyes roving from side to side, watching for the spot where he had chased Allie into the trees.

When he saw it, he began to whistle Brahms Lullaby again. Her car was almost as well hidden as if he’d planned it. Jammed in between two trees some distance off the road, only the tire marks looked suspicious. But apparently no one had been suspicious enough to check. Things were going to work out after all. He pulled his work gloves back on and tried to ignore the fiery pain between his legs. Sweat from his slip-sliding trek back down the mountain was stinging the deep gouges in his groin.

He extracted one of the mementos from his pocket and licked it. The simple act helped him refocus. He was still furious at Allie for scratching him and then committing suicide, depriving him of his fun and messing up his plan, but it was going to be okay. The old woman in the cabin was going to take her place.

Making certain no cars were coming from either direction, Kurt stepped into the Chevy Lumina as if he owned it. The engine had died, but the keys on the pewter angel key ring, which read
Never drive faster than your guardian angel can fly,
were still in the ignition. It turned over sluggishly when Kurt tried it. It seemed as if he’d been gone for hours, but it had actually been only minutes. Dust that had been churned up when he plowed off-road still floated through the slanted rays of late afternoon light. The old car appeared to be coated with a fine layer of 14-carat dust.

He backed carefully out of the trees and executed a sloppy three-point turnabout on the narrow country road. Deep pools of pine-shadow leaked across the road at every turn trying their best to drown the single-lane in darkness.

Soon, he would be at the old broad’s cabin. He began to whistle again. The thought of her on her knees made him smile. It made him feel powerful.

***

Beth stood on the front porch watching the sun set over the creek. It looked like a painting the way the last rays of light lay like a wrinkled swath of gold down the middle of the stuttering creek. Hummingbirds flitted in and out of the porch overhang, gathering sustenance from the two feeders she had hung only yesterday. The little birds acted as if they’d just been waiting for her to return and feed them.

The way they buzzed around her head reminded her of her father’s colored lights. A trio of the flying jewels buzzed past her face, close enough to make her flinch. The twilight was very quiet. Beth felt her flesh prickle, as if someone had caressed her with a feather. She clasped her elbows and rubbed at the skin until the feeling returned to normal. A gentle breeze brought her the tang of damp pine. She thought of John and Turk preparing a picnic for tomorrow, and the thought made her feel hopeful for the first time in a long time.

She wanted to stay on the porch a while longer, the air was as silky as a set of good sheets, but a mosquito broke the silence directly beside her ear and she swatted at it, remembering that her can of bug repellent was inside on the kitchen counter. As she turned to pull open the screen door, she heard a car pull into the circle drive.

John, she thought, one hand going automatically to her hair to smooth and pat. He must’ve come back in his car. Maybe he was thinking of her, too. She took a deep breath, preparing her face to be pleasant but not elated. Inside, she was actually thrilled that he hadn’t been able to stay away.

She began to turn around, the careful smile on her face, and that’s when she was hit.

He plowed into her without a word. Beth had a brief glimpse of filthy brown hair and some kind of hunter’s jacket with lots of pockets, and then she was on her knees inside the cabin, duct tape covering her mouth and a terrifying maniac smashing her to the floor from behind.

The fiend had crashed into her, without slowing, knocking her over the threshold. She tried to scream, to cry out for John or Turk, or even her father, but the tape was snug against her skin. She tried rubbing saliva around with her tongue to loosen the adhesive, but it didn’t work.

Suddenly, she had no more time to worry about her mouth; now he was dragging her arms behind her, one knee in the small of her back, holding her down, wrapping her wrists with cord.
How could this happen right inside my own front door?
“Dad!” she screamed soundlessly. “Help me!”

Kurt was taking no chances. When he’d seen her standing there, alone, he’d forgotten all about his plan to ask her to accompany him. The urge to overpower her was irresistible.

“Stop struggling!” he hissed, jerking her up by her elbows. “That kid you saw was mine.” He knew she would understand what he was talking about. “Come with me, or he dies!” Pulling her along by her “leash,” Kurt rummaged through the drawer holding the kitchen flatware, searching for something.

Beth tried to twist her head around to look at him. He was looking for a knife to kill her; she knew that’s what he was doing. She thought of the kitchen scissors tucked into the “catch-all” drawer opposite the sink. Could she reach them, like this, with her hands tied together? She had to try. She was not going anywhere without a fight. If only John and Turk were still around—John was twice the size of this creep. Suddenly, the image of the girl on the Missing Poster flashed through her mind and she understood that this monster was probably the kidnapper.

What she didn’t understand was why he said the boy was his, or why he wanted her. She thought killers and kidnappers usually stuck with a type of victim. I’m not young or blonde, she thought. Why me? But clarity wasn’t forthcoming because he had finally found a knife and was sawing away at the nylon cord that he’d used to tie her hands. Apparently, it was much too long. He cut off several feet of the cord and stuck it in one of his many pockets.

Beth worried about his plans for that extra cord. I’ve got to watch for a chance to run. I’ve got to be ready. Then he was pushing her from behind, and it was all she could do to scramble out the back door and off the porch without losing her footing and going down on her knees again.

“Move!” He shoved her again, prodding her with the point of one of her very own steak knives.

The fact that he wasn’t taking her to the car really worried her. She was certain he was going to kill her in the forest and bury her in a shallow grave—one he had probably already dug. What about the boy?

Feet slipping on the tricky carpet of pine needles, tripping over exposed roots and downed branches, Beth tried to think of a way out, a way to get loose. But with him pushing her, and her only source of air coming through her nose, the going was rough and getting rougher. She was in fairly good shape, but she was no teenager. Fortunately, the trail was slightly luminescent in the good light of the rising moon. Oh Dad, she thought again, where are you—please help me—please!

Halfway up the mountain, Beth felt her captor turn loose of her right elbow to swat at something buzzing around his face. She thought she caught a glimpse of color from the corner of her eye, but it was hard to tell. Droplets of sweat were collecting in her hairline, plastering her hair to her forehead. It was all she could do to stay on her feet; she didn’t dare glance up for more than a second for fear of falling over something. The woods she loved so much had suddenly turned traitor. Nothing was familiar and everything seemed like a prop from a slasher flick. The higher they went, the darker it got. Once, Beth was positive she saw an old white car camouflaged by pine braches. It was at the very end of an unused trail. Whoever had driven a car up that trail was asking for trouble, she thought. Then she realized it probably belonged to the monster behind her—or even to his victim.

She kept thinking she might wake up. This scenario would certainly fall right in line with one of her nightmares . . . but then the madman would poke her between the shoulder blades or in the small of her back and she would realize she’d begun to lag. She would try to pick up the pace for a few steps, but in the darkening woods, it was like being blind—or at least playing blind the way she and her friends had done as kids—close your eyes and try to walk through the house or across the yard without killing yourself. She used to love that game. But this was no game, and no dream, either.

Suddenly he stumbled and fell into her. “Pick up your fucking feet!” he demanded, pushing her so hard she fell to one knee.

And then they were there. The new moonlight showed a slice of blacker darkness that Beth realized must be the opening to Blue Cave. She’d forgotten all about it. She hadn’t been near it since she was a teen up here with her dad.

Dodging a face-height tree branch, she tried to remember how large the opening was. But Kurt pushed her when she balked, and then the branch was the least of her worries for suddenly she was falling with no hands to catch herself.

Beth didn’t see what she’d tripped over, but she was pretty sure it was human, it was warm and the surface gave to the pressure of her Reebok’s when she inadvertently kicked it as she stumbled. Even terrified as she was, Beth wondered why the form didn’t grunt or cry out when she’d kicked it. In her gut, she was certain it was the boy. Was he dead?

She felt her fear ratchet up another notch. Her breath tore at her throat, and the air coming in through her nostrils was damp and fetid. She tried to be as quiet as possible, hoping the killer was as blind as she was inside this horrible blackness.

Chapter Twenty-One

Ginger was embarrassed when the waitress came by for the third time and asked if she was ready to order yet. She’d tried Allie’s cell phone, but not surprisingly, there was no signal. The mountains were notorious for blocking reception. In fact, it was more unusual to get a signal than not get one.

Finally, after half an hour, she gave up and ordered a Personal Pan Pizza, pepperoni with mushrooms. She requested another Diet Coke in a to-go cup she could take with her. A couple of rhinestone cowboys were giving her the eye. One had already offered to fill in for whoever had stood her up.

The fun had gone out of the evening. She was just ready to get out of there and find out why Allie really had stood her up. Probably that Jurassic Chevy she insists on driving, Ginger thought. Maybe I’ll just head toward Stutter Creek and see if she is stranded somewhere. Better call her aunt first, though.

She begged an area-wide phone book from the greasy kid behind the counter and looked up Martha and Joe’s home number. She knew they closed the drugstore around five or six depending on the number of customers, but she seldom had reason to call them on their home phone.

When the phone rang, Martha and Joe were sitting in their easy chairs in front of the TV. They had just eaten the soup which she’d brought home from the drugstore, and she had taken her shoes off and propped her chronically aching feet on the embroidered hassock.

Heaving her tired body up from the chair, wondering who could possibly be calling that she hadn’t just talked to at the drugstore, Martha’s intuition kicked into overdrive and she began to mentally list the whereabouts of her closest friends and relatives. Allie was the only one out of pocket. She cursed her creaky old legs and tingling toes, but she made it to the phone on the fifth ring.

“Never got there you say?” Martha repeated after Ginger told her why she was calling. Then she clutched the clunky old-fashioned receiver to her chest and fainted dead away onto the braided country-blue rug.

As she came around, she saw Joe struggling to get up from his recliner dragging his oxygen canister behind him like one of Little Bo Peep’s sheep. “Don’t look at me like that,” she said. “I’m all right. Just talk to Ginger on the phone.” She sat up on the rug and held out the receiver that she still clutched to her chest.

As soon as Ginger repeated her reason for calling, Joe realized why his wife had fainted; she’d brought home one of the Missing Girl posters in order to show him the resemblance to their beloved Allie.

Jose wasted no time in calling the Stutter Creek Police chief at home. The chief was one of his and Martha’s oldest friends. Not only had they graduated from the same high school together back in ’56 (along with the twelve other students that had made up their senior class), but Chief Brown also ate breakfast, lunch, and dinner at the drugstore almost every day. He’d lost his own wife of forty-five years to heart disease just last year. He said he was too old to learn how to cook.