Sweet as Pie Crimes (3 page)

Chapter 4

Consciously, I backed further and further away from Marcus as the bottoms of my feet tingled with fear.  As the chilling word “murder” echoed in my thoughts, I schemed a way to escape my hellish situation and somehow arrive safely back in civilization.  But my mind was a blank slate with just one word, MURDER, etched in blood red so bright that I couldn’t see anything else.

“Becca, I can see you’re scared, but I’m being honest when I say that I’m a victim as much as the person who was murdered!” I heard Marcus say.  His voice sounded hollow and faraway, and I didn’t believe anything from the man’s mouth anymore.  Even his true blue eyes seemed like a lie.

“I believe you,” I whispered dishonestly, not wanting him to think I was afraid of him even though my fear was as clear as a shallow stream.

“Ah damn it, I shouldn’t have told you.  I should have just said I was accused of robbery or drug dealing.”

“Convicted,” I corrected him.  “You said you were convicted, not accused.  Those are two very different things.”

“Not when you’re innocent they’re not!” Marcus shouted as I immediately regretted my statements.  Better for me to stay mute than to wake whatever beast was dormant in this man.

“I’m sorry.  I didn’t know what I was saying,” I offered feebly, my eyes roaming desperately towards the horizon, looking for a possible escape.  But the countryside was harsh and unkind,
brutally inhospitable.

“It’s okay,” he said more softly, lunging forward in a way that made my heart freeze.  “What can I do to make you believe me?  Damn i
t, if we could only get on the internet, I could show you everything.”

Ignoring his last statement, I started to piece the puzzle together, finally realizing that he was an escaped convict.  The impact of the word “murder” had initially left me numb, perhaps even dumb, as I didn’t factor in why this man wasn’t in prison anymore. 

“How did you escape?” I dared to ask.

“Long story.  And a story that I can never tell anyone.  I’m not going to rat out the guys who helped me get my freedom back.  And I’m not going to relinquish my freedom ever again.  No one’s going to lock me in a cage.  I got my freedom, and I intend to keep it,” Marcus rambled on as a chill permeated the air, and leafy trees fanned a cold gust in my face.  Noticing my cold, Marcus blurted out, “Get used to the cooler weather, pie baby, because it’s going to be a lot colder in Canada.”

“Excuse me?” I squeaked, partially disgusted from his derogatory nickname for me and wholly incensed by his insinuation that I would be accompanying him to Canada.

“I can’t stay in the United States anymore.  They’re too hot on my trail now.  I’ve gotta get to Canada, and I’ll look a lot less conspicuous with a nice lady on my arm,” Marcus reasoned as I glared at him, my previous fear boiling into anger.

“You selfish ass, do you really think I’m going to go to Canada just so that you can look ‘less conspicuous?’  I have a life of my own back in Washington, not to mention a business to run.  As soon as the sun comes up, it will be easy for me to get out of Idaho and find my way back…” I trailed off, knowing I should have kept my fat trap clamped shut.  Now my enemy knew my plan, and he was not happy with it.

“I told you before, Becca.  I don’t want to force you to do anything, but it seems like you’re leaving me with no choice.  I don’t want to drag you to the Canadian border, but I will if that’s what it takes to get you there with me.” Marcus spoke levelly and matter-of-factly, defying the madness of his words with his calm demeanor.

I looked down at my still muddy feet.  My once clean white tennis shoes were dirty, but they were more than fit for running.  True, Marcus was half a foot taller than me and athletically built, but that didn’t account for my fear and adrenaline.  Not to mention my fury.  With all those emotions rising to the surface, I might be able to run like Jackie Joyner Kersey…if only just long enough to get away from this escaped convict. 

Before I knew what I was doing, my rubber soles had hit the concrete, and I was running faster than I knew myself capable of.  My 8
th
grade biology lesson about cheetahs, the fastest land animals on the planet, lit like a rocket in my mind, driving me to sprint even faster.  I imagined myself as a sleek, graceful cheetah with sunfire fur and raven spots becoming a blur as my speed climbed to inhuman levels.  Distantly, I heard Marcus yelling and cursing behind me, apparently caught off guard by my escape as well as by my wild speed. 

Nausea crested in my belly and saliva gathered in my mouth as I heard Marcus calling in a broken, breathless voice, “Damn it, Becca! If you knew the whole story, you would never run away! You would want to help me!”

***

Several pulse-pounding minutes had passed since I could hear Marcus’s footsteps pursuing me.  My throat was parched, and nausea persisted to stir around in my stomach like cake batter.  But still I ran, afraid that if I stopped  Marcus would catch up to me.  I kept my eyes peeled for a safe haven, someplace where I could hide without the threat of a rapist or murderer finding me before dawn finally broke. 

I looked up at the sky, wondering when I had ever been so desperate to see the sun shine.  Living south of Seattle, I was used to rainy days and longing for the sun, but never had I so passionately craved the sight of that beautiful starburst in the sky the way I did as I ran like a cheetah.  Without my phone or any timepiece, I could only guess the hour of the night.  The fluttering of birds in nearby trees told me that perhaps sunrise was approaching, but I didn’t want to invest in any false hopes.  So I ran.  And ran.  Over a craggy hill until I thought my lungs would explode.  Down an empty road that turned out to be a dead end.  Back in the other direction that could have been north or south or who really knows.  I just ran.

After perhaps half an hour, but what felt like beyond eternity, I stopped running because my legs simply wouldn’t take me any further.  My throat was begging for a huge gulp of cold water, but that was a luxury out of my reach.  My lips were chapped, and my breath swept into my lungs in painful spurts.  Lightheaded and disoriented, I looked around me, noting that I had stopped in what appeared to be a residential neighborhood.  Tidy houses in rows stared beckoningly at me, as I considered ringing a doorbell and explaining my crazy story to a stranger.  But that would make me even more vulnerable.  I wasn’t going to put myself at the mercy of another stranger after having just escaped Marcus.

Bizarrely, his blue eyes flashed in my mind as I recalled his handsome features.  Could he have been telling the truth?  How could such a handsome man be a murderer?  Then I almost slapped myself for being so naïve, thinking of the movie
American Psycho
in which a gorgeous business man is secretly a serial killer.  Beauty could easily disguise evil, and I silently congratulated myself for not letting Marcus’s rugged good looks fool me.

Banishing Marcus from my thoughts, I took a second inventory of my surroundings.  Perhaps I couldn’t knock on someone’s door and expect a kind soul to answer, but that didn’t mean I couldn’t hide in someone’s backyard.  Tiptoeing past a cluster of forest green shrubs, I found myself next to a metal
swing set.  Cringing as my arm hit one of the swings and it creaked loudly in the quiet darkness, I made a beeline for the next backyard, looking around desperately for a place to camouflage myself.  But the yard was empty except for a sprinkler hose and weird garden gnome.  I shivered, musing how anyone could find those ugly statues humorous or charming.  They scared the hell our of me for irrational reasons I couldn’t articulate.

The next yard I crept into looked slightly more promising.  An elaborate
tree house was situated a safe distance from the ranch style home.  Equipped with a wooden ladder and open doorway, the tree house looked like an ideal place for me to hide until morning.  Holding my breath, I stepped onto the ladder, trying not to make a peep as I climbed up.  Safely at the top, I crawled through the doorway and huddled in the back corner of the tree house, hoping to obscure myself if anyone looked in the backyard.  Crouching down felt miserably uncomfortable, and my left foot quickly fell asleep as I dreamed about being in my cozy bed at home.

I sighed, reflecting how I had just closed on the house of my dreams last month after a successful holiday season at the pie shoppe.  The thought that I wouldn’t see my bi-level paradise again, with its crackling fireplace and
chef’s kitchen, made tears form in my eyes.  Sticking my chin out stubbornly, I ignored the tingling pain that was traveling from my foot up the length of my leg and resolved to get myself back to Buttercup Valley.  I had endured years of meaningless jobs and the nastiest of divorces.  I could certainly endure a few hours in some kid’s cramped tree house.

Finally, the first rays of morning light streamed through the doorway of the
tree house.  I looked up gratefully at the sky and made my way carefully down the ladder.  I still didn’t know where I was going, but the daylight infused me with confidence that I would be able to somehow find my way.

A dog’s barks and growls instantly stripped me of any newfound sense of security.  I stopped dead in my tracks as a little boy’s voice marveled, “Look, Dad, there’s a lady coming out of my
tree house!”

“What the hell is going on here?” A man’s booming voice demanded as he spotted me trying to run out of his yard.

“Ouch!” I screamed as I tripped over my own feet, falling flat onto the ground.  Damn it, I thought, how was I able to avoid falling in the mud, but I couldn’t manage to keep my own two feet walking on solid ground?  Then I remembered.  Marcus.  He had helped me.  I looked up at the suspicious homeowner towering over me, looking far more frightening than Marcus ever had.

“What are you doing trespassing on my
land?” He asked accusingly as his son stared down at me with big, curious eyes.

I touched a hand to my forehead, willing myself not to pass out from fear and exhaustion.  The man looked ready to kill me, and I shrank back as he pointe
d a hunting rifle directly at my heart.

Chapter 5

“Um, I’m sorry…I…” I stammered, before realizing this was my opportunity to finally get help and the hunting rifle was only a figment of my overworked imagination.  And the dog that had sounded so intimidating was a little Cairn Terrier fluffball like Toto from
The Wizard of Oz
.  My brain apparently wasn’t functioning properly after a full night spent awake and huddled inside a tree.  “Please call the police,” I managed hoarsely.  “I was kidnapped and held at knifepoint by an escaped convict.  I was hiding from him.”

The man peered down at me with something resembling sympathy as he instructed his son, “Go inside, Mikey, and get my cell phone.” As the boy scurried to the house with the chocolate colored terrier following at his heels, the man refocused his attention on me.  “What exactly happened to you, miss?”

“I was kidnapped back in Washington, where I’m from.  He drove me across the state border, and we ended up in Idaho…I am still in Idaho, right?” The man nodded fervently.  “Okay, so I somehow managed to outrun him and I was looking for a place to hide.  Your tree house seemed like the best place I could find.  I didn’t mean to trespass…”

“No need to explain, miss.  We’ll get the police on the phone and you can tell the whole story to them.  The important thing is that you’re okay…but there’s a criminal on the loose.  Kidnapping women at knifepoint.  I’ve got a 14 year old daughter, and I’ll be damned if I let some bastard take her away from me.”
He rubbed an angry hand across his mustard hued beard and exhaled roughly.

Brutality lined the father’s features, and I averted my gaze, hoping Mikey would return soon so I could call the police and finally get back to Washington.  The energetic boy appeared a moment later, running towards us with
a cell phone.

“Here you go, Daddy!” He said proudly.

“Give the phone to the lady,” he ordered impatiently as the boy sheepishly handed me the phone.

I pondered what to say to the dispatcher as I dialed 911. My whole story seemed too complicated to tell over the phone, so I simply said, “There’s an emergency.  Please come quickly.  What’s the address here?” I turned to the father who grabbed the phone from me and barked his address into the receiver. 
Not a morning person?
I wanted to tease, but thought better of it and stayed quiet until a patrol car pulled up to the residence about ten minutes later.

The pair of officers immediately separated Mikey’s father and me, making impromptu interview settings out of the front garden.  I was half surprised and half relieved to see that the officer interviewing me was a woman.  Somewhere in her late thirties with a smooth blond ponytail and shiny eyes, she spoke with a big sisterly authority.

“Please state your name for the record.”

“Becca Raymond.”

“I’m Officer Barrow.  And what happened to you Ms. Raymond to make you call the police this morning?  Domestic disturbance?” She guessed blindly.

“Domestic disturbance?  No, I don’t live here!” I clarified on a heavy sigh, sensing that I had a lot of explaining to do.

“Then what are you doing on this property at 6:30 in the morning if you don’t live here?” Officer Barrow asked suspiciously.

“I camped out in the backyard
tree house…and yes I know that was unlawful trespassing…but I had nowhere else to go.  I was kidnapped yesterday and didn’t have my cell phone or even my purse and wallet.”

“You say you were kidnapped?” The cop narrowed her eyes, listening intently.

“Yes, at knifepoint from my pie shoppe in Buttercup Valley, Washington,” I informed, shivering at the memory of the silver blade poking my neck.  Another tremor coursed through me at the contrasting feeling of Marcus’s warm hand on the tombstone cold blade.  I shook my head disgustedly, unable to comprehend why I would even remember the man’s touch.  Was I some kind of masochist, or did a part of me believe that Marcus was telling the truth when he claimed to be innocent?

“Okay, Ms. Raymond, so you were abducted and taken across state borders, is that correct?”

“Yes,” I affirmed softly.

“Were you sexually assaulted?”

“No, he didn’t hurt me at all.  Just threatened me several times and told me not to run away.  But I did.”

“And could you give me a description of your abductor?”

Gorgeous hunk
. 
Ocean blue eyes.  Broad shoulders.  Deliciously handsome
.  I bit my lower lip to prevent myself from uttering those foolish words.  The officer probably already thought I was a lunatic for spending the night in a little boy’s tree house.

“He’s about 6 feet tall, I would say.  White male.  He has dark hair and blue eyes,” I said as dispassionately as I could.

“Any distinguishing marks like a tattoo or piercing that were visible?”

I scanned my memory, recalling how clean cut Marcus was and how under other circumstances he would be the kind of man, physically at least, who I would want to date.  But his insolent attitude clashed with my own Type A personality, and we would
never get along except between the sheets.  I shook my head again, confused about where these scandalous thoughts were coming from.  Maybe I really was delirious from lack of sleep.

“None that I can remember,” I finally answered.

“And what kind of vehicle was he driving?”

“A black Audi…but we had to ditch that somewhere around the time we crossed into Idaho.  He accidentally swerved off the road, and the car fell into a ditch.”

“But you don’t appear injured at all,” Officer Barrow pointed out as I wondered if she was questioning the validity of my story.  I guess it did sound a little sketchy.  But then again, truth is stranger than fiction.

“It wasn’t a very steep drop, but my neck does hurt a little from the impact,” I explained as she nodded
thoughtfully.

“Do you remember what he was wearing?” She continued her stream of questions as I tried to keep up.

“A pair of blue jeans with a dark colored shirt and black jacket.”

“
Sounds like he was trying to keep a low profile.  Must be a career criminal as we call them,” Officer Barrow commented, curiously wrinkling her nose like Samantha Stevens on the old TV show,
Bewitched.

“Well, he did say he had escaped from prison…”

“Hold it, hold it! That’s a vital piece of information you just gave me.  Please.  Elaborate.”

I inhaled hesitatingly, s
trangely feeling as though I were betraying Marcus as his last words rang in my ears:
Damn it, Becca! If you knew the whole story, you would never run away! You would want to help me! 
Now that I was away from him, completely unharmed, I believed with every fiber of my being that somehow those words were sincere.  But as the police officer wrinkled her nose a second time and tapped her toes impatiently on the tulip garden bed, I knew I couldn’t hold anything back.  My instincts about men had always proven to be way out in left field, from my cheating ex-husband to the married moron who had recently waltzed into my shoppe and asked for a date while his wedding band gleamed in my face.  No, Marcus was probably a jerk like all the rest, and there was no point trying to save his ass.  As tight and cute an ass as it was…

“He told me he had escaped from prison after being wrongly convicted on murder charges,” I revealed as Officer Barrow sucked in a shocked breath. 
Immediately, she switched on her walkie talkie and told her partner to join her. 

The other officer rounded the bend as Mikey and
the ridiculously cute Cairn Terrier trailed them.  Mikey’s stern father placed a hand over his son’s shoulder and led him back into the house.

“Let’s go wake Mommy up and make breakfast.  This isn’t our problem,” he said harshly, throwing a glare at me as he stormed inside.  “
Of all the tree houses in Idaho, you had to end up in mine…”

Ignoring him, I faced my inquisitors and waited as Officer Barrow caught her partner up to speed.  The twenty something rookie
, with childlike dimples and eyelashes so long I could swear he was wearing mascara, perked up quickly.

“Tell us everything you know,” he coaxed before adding ominously, “down at the station.  We’re going to take a little ride now.”

The officers escorted me to the backseat of their vehicle as I climbed in, imagining with a shudder what it would feel like to be handcuffed and carted off to jail.  Fortunately, I was only going in for a statement, but I still felt like a prisoner.

“When can I go back to Washington?” I asked hopefully, wondering how weak my voice sounded from behind the bullet proof barrier separating the front and back seats.

“As soon as possible, Ms. Raymond,” Officer Barrow assured vaguely.

The police car wound through mountainous terrain en route to the station, and I
admired the stark beauty of Idaho in the early light.  Summits glistened over the horizon as we cruised through mile after mile of farmland and small residential patches with the houses a comfortable distance apart.  The view reminded me of Buttercup Valley, except Idaho was much rougher and wilder than my hometown.

I felt mildly nauseous when we arrived at the station.  Even though my belly was grumbling with hunger, I couldn’t imagine eating anything.  All I wanted was a tall glass of water.  Thankfully, Officer Barrow poured me one as soon as we sat down in the interrogation room.

“Just so you know, this interview is being recorded,” she informed, taking a seat across from me.

“Okay,” I replied
, feeling more like a prisoner with every second that passed.  Gratefully, I grabbed the glass of water and drank it half empty.

I strained my eyes to read the male officer’s badge. 
Tim Melkin
.  Officer Melkin darted out of the room and returned momentarily with a thick, plastic-bound book.

“This book contains photos of wanted criminals nationwide.  It includes those who have never been caught as well as those like your abductor, who have escaped from prison,” he explained as Officer Barrow shot him a condescending look.

“She still needs to tell us the rest of her story before we can flip through the book, Melkin.”

Officer Melkin nodded curtly, pinching his cheeks inward with the muscles of his face so his dimples became more prominent.  “Of course.  What other information do you have for us?”

“Well, he said he escaped from northern California, but he didn’t say exactly where.  And he also said his name was Marcus McCoy,” I unveiled, feeling every ounce the traitor.

“Marcus? Northern California?!” Officer Barrow
echoed in amazement as she exchanged glances with an equally incredulous Melkin.  “Now you can open the book, Melkin.”

The young man flipped to a page with mug shots of surly looking men and a few wild-eyed women.  He turned the book in my direction and asked, “Does anyone on this page look familiar?”

I ran my eyes up and down the page, not recognizing anyone at first glance.  Then, those eyes jumped out at me.  Electrifying and hauntingly turquoise.  Those were definitely Marcus’s eyes, even though the rest of his face, bearded and weather-worn, was virtually unrecognizable.  I gasped as I looked at the name under his face:
Marcus Briton.
  Inexplicably, he had lied about his last name yet been honest about his first name. 

“That’s the one, isn’t it?” Officer Melkin asked knowingly as I nodded reluctantly.  “That’s your captor?  That slimeball, Marcus Briton.”

“Easy tiger,” Officer Barrow scolded.  “Federal police have been on his tail for months.  He escaped from San Quentin in the winter, and they haven’t been able to pinpoint him since, although they’ve come very close.”

“San Quentin?” I
repeated disbelievingly.  “Isn’t that a maximum security prison? How did he escape from there?  Is he Houdini?”

“No, he’s a criminal mastermind,” Officer Melkin said bitterly, as though he took the case personally.  His overzealousness erased the boyish charm of his dimples.

“Criminal mastermind, indeed,” Officer Barrow confirmed.  “Serving life for stabbing his wife to death.  You’ve got to help us get him, Ms. Raymond.”