Dead for the Money (23 page)

“How would Bud find one boat among the others at night with all the commotion up there?”

“I don’t know, but the cops are looking to the south. They got a text message sent from the girl’s phone that said she was going to Chicago with her father.”

“He took her phone and I haven’t seen it since. He probably sent that message and then tossed it.” Mildred paused as Brodie moaned softly in her sleep. “He thought this out carefully. Do you think Bud is up to stopping him, with a concussion and all?”

“I don’t know.”

“But he’s the only chance we have of getting Brodie back to her family.”

“Yeah,” Seamus said reluctantly, “It was not supposed to be part of the job, but I think that’s what our client would want us to do.”

W
HEN
B
RODIE
WOKE
, for a few seconds she could not remember where she was. The unfamiliar, thin cushion with a hard surface under it. Someone snoring. The boat bobbing gently at anchor.

Her mind kicked in and she remembered. Gramps was dead, and she was the prisoner of a crazy guy who claimed he was saving her from the people she called her family.

Muffled noises came from the back of the boat. The woman in the bunk opposite Brodie moaned softly in her sleep but did not wake. The noises came closer, and Brodie saw a dark shape enter the cabin. She froze, all her fears about child molesters returning, but the man ignored her, climbed the steps, and unlocked the hatch.

The beers he’d drunk that afternoon had caught up with the bird watcher. Brodie lay very still, waiting to see if he left the hatch open. If she could get to the island, she might be able to find a place to hide. Even if he caught her, she couldn’t be any worse off than she was now.

When she heard water hitting water, she climbed noiselessly from the bunk and crept up the steps, praying they would not squeak.

Once on deck, she could see better. The sky had cleared to the northwest and a tiny slit of moon shone above them. The man’s back was to her as he emptied his bladder into the water below. He stood on the bow, so Brodie moved aft, staying in the center so the boat did not tilt. Reaching the ladder, she climbed nimbly over the side, hoping the bird watcher would not finish too soon. If it was too dark for her to see him, she hoped the opposite was true.

The snap of elastic signaled his imminent return to the cabin. As soon as she heard his feet on the steps, Brodie lowered herself into the water and let go of the ladder. The lake was cold, but she’d expected that. Worse was the darkness, the feeling of being in unknown territory without a clear idea of what to do next. She felt the urge to return to the safety of the boat but forced herself to resist.

Directly before her was the boat. Behind it, the island was a dark spot against the sky. The crazy voice kicked in. “Swim!” it said. “Swim!”

Like I’ve got another choice!
she would have answered if it wasn’t her own head talking
. They say you aren’t crazy if you talk to yourself. You’re only crazy if you answer.

Leaning back in the water, Brodie pulled herself away from the boat, watching and listening for a reaction on board. It wasn’t long in coming. She heard the bird watcher swear as he came back up on deck, ran fore and aft several times, and finally called out to her. “Brodie? Brodie, honey, you have to come back. There’s no place for you to go.”

A powerful flashlight came on, pointed in the opposite direction, toward the land. The beam moved across the water, rising and falling as the man tried to gauge how far away she had gotten. He was on the port side. Soon he would move starboard. Where could she hide?

“Brodie. That island? There’s no one there. It’s a little hunk of nothing.” She guessed he was telling the truth. The island was merely a lump in the lake. It had provided protection from the storm, but it was unpopulated, overgrown and, if others she’d seen were any indication, swampy. “You might as well come back to the boat. Where can you go?”

The light moved toward her. She ducked underwater, but fear shortened her breath and she was only able to stay under for a few seconds. When she came up, she could not silence her gasp for air. The light turned toward her. Pinned in its beam, she found a new sense of determination. She would not climb meekly back into this guy’s boat and sail off to Canada!

Grabbing a huge breath of air, she dived and swam straight forward, under the boat. Using reeds and other vegetation as a guide, she swam toward the island. When she emerged on the other side of the boat, she could hear him moving around above her, trying to see where she had gone. As quietly as possible, she waded toward the shore, hoping to disappear into the trees before he saw her again. Once there, she would hide in the trees until he gave up looking for her. Maybe she could swim to one of the other islands, one with more places to hide.

Cher’s muffled voice echoed off the water, her tone questioning. “She took off,” the man called back. Brodie could not hear Cher’s response, but the tone was definitely accusing. “I thought she was asleep.” His voice carried easily across the water. “I will. It won’t take long.”

“Brodie,” he called again. “Listen, honey, I’m doing this for you.” There was a pause, and when she did not answer, he added, “Brodie, I’m your dad.”

That stopped her, being about as unexpected as anything he might have said. The guy was nuts, maybe worse than she was herself. If he
was
her father, why hadn’t he knocked on the front door of Gramps’ house and said so? If he was not her father, then why did he think he was, and what did he have planned for her?

The shore loomed before her, a black spot in the graying darkness. She dragged herself through the mucky shallows, feeling the rotting vegetation sliding beneath her shoes. At the waterline there was a lip she had to climb, and she reached for nearby plants to pull herself up. One foot found solid purchase, and she reached farther in to get a better handhold. Either the plants she grasped were not firmly embedded or her grip was too far from the roots. They came out of the earth as she transferred her full weight to them. Brodie fell back into the lake with a splash.

That was not the end of it. Scrabbling desperately, she made it over the lip on the second try, but the noise alerted her captors. Cher came on deck with a second flashlight, which she focused on Brodie. “Keep it on her!” the man called, jumping into the water and wading ashore.

Throwing herself into the underbrush in a frantic attempt to hide, Brodie ignored the scratches inflicted by sharp branches as she burrowed as far down as possible. She crouched in the darkness, trying to make herself smaller, struggling to quiet her breathing, and hoping her pursuer would pass by. She dared not look up, dared not move. It was hardly any time at all before his voice came from above her.

“Come out of there before I drag you out.”

Would he kill her now? Something told her he would not. Whatever he planned required that she remain alive. It did not lessen her fears one iota, because he could hurt her in a hundred ways without killing her. Resigned, she stood, facing him as defiantly as she could manage. “Let’s go.” He sounded more frustrated than angry.

They boarded the boat again, and Brodie descended, dripping, to the cabin with her tormenters right behind her. “Okay,” the man said, securing the padlock. “I thought our talk could wait till later, but I guess not.” He seated himself on the bunk Cher had occupied, indicating that Brodie should sit on her own bunk. She did, feeling her wet shorts spread their moisture onto the sleeping bag. Cher leaned against the countertop, arms folded in disapproval.

“You want to know what’s going on,” he began.

Brodie had already figured out that he did not need the encouragement of a verbal response. She met his gaze expectantly, and he went on. “I am your dad. You probably don’t believe that, but I can prove it.” He shifted his feet, kicking her without realizing it. Brodie pulled her feet back till they were up against the wooden bin under the bench.

“Your mother was Jeannie Brooks. She was a real—” He glanced at Cher. “She was pretty. I knew you were her kid as soon as I saw you. You look just like her, wild hair and all.” He seemed to drift into the past. “We had some good times, Jeannie and me.”

Cher shifted impatiently, and he pulled himself back to the present, leaning toward Brodie. “You gotta believe this. I did not know you existed. Mom said Gramps had taken in another kid, but I guess he never told her why. I’ll say one thing for the old man. He knew how to keep his mouth shut. I don’t think he even told Ma that I stole this boat. Didn’t tell the police, either.”

Brodie was beginning to comprehend, although the explanation was, so far, anything but clear. Her possible father chuckled, rubbing his bare chest absently. “My mother tells me all the time, ‘Leland, you’re every bit as close to him in blood as Bud is. You should get consideration when it comes time to divide things up.’ But Uncle Will didn’t see it that way.”

Brodie sat stunned, looking at the bird watcher/ kidnapper/sailor. This man was the guy Bud jokingly called Saint Leland, Arlis’ wayward son. And he claimed to be her father.

Leland leaned back, resting his arm along the bench and crossing one hairy leg over the other. “Now that you’re here, I guess I’ll get consideration, after all.”

Chapter Sixteen

S
EAMUS
STARTED
as soon as Bud awoke, repeating, “Boat. Boat.” He whispered, since hosts were likely to regard a whisper as their own thoughts, whereas a fully voiced message seemed alien and frightening. He wished Mildred had taken that piece of information more to heart. She was probably scaring the kid to death with her “encouragement.”

Bud showered and changed into fresh clothes, having slept in the ones from yesterday. He’d rested uneasily, partly due to the conversation Mildred and Seamus held inside his head. He felt awful, tortured by thoughts of what might be happening to Brodie.
Is she dead? Has she been harmed? Molested? Abandoned somewhere in a dark basement or even a shallow grave?
The horrors heard over a lifetime passed through his mind, children who suffered terrible deaths.
I’m sorry, Gramps
, Seamus heard in Bud’s thoughts.
Not only was I not there when you needed me, but while I wasn’t paying attention, Brodie got grabbed by some lunatic.

He examined the cut on his head in the mirror. It didn’t look bad, but he had a fierce headache, which Seamus shared with him. Before leaving his room, Bud took a couple of the pills the doctor had given him, swallowing them with effort and hoping there would be coffee downstairs to speed them on their way.

Seamus felt a little guilty, knowing his presence made it harder for his host to recuperate from his injury. However, he was also able to be a little optimistic, knowing the girl was alive. He had to get Bud to remember what he’d seen from the ridge yesterday. “Boat.”

Bud shook his head in response to the word that seemed to buzz inside it like a fly. “Boat?” he finally said aloud to the mirror. “What boat?” With a shrug, he started downstairs.

Scarlet stood inside the dining room doorway, her eyes even darker than they had been the night before. She stared without interest at a breakfast table laden with food. Shelley apparently counted on the police continuing their search today and intended that no one should go away hungry. What was there could have fed the 101
st
Airborne Division.

None of it interested Bud. He poured two cups of coffee and handed one to Scarlet, who sipped it absently before starting as if they’d never left off yesterday’s conversation. “Brodie would not go off to Chicago with a man she doesn’t know.”

After considering the situation for most of the night, Bud was inclined to agree. Brodie was standoffish with everyone, including him. More and more, he doubted she would leave home with a stranger, no matter what story the guy told her.

“Boat,” his mind prompted, and he shook his head slightly, hoping the pills would kick in soon.

“Maybe the man had something that convinced her he really was her dad.” Scarlet was at the window again, as if hoping Brodie might walk up the drive.

“Yeah.” He stopped. Kid or not, Brodie was not stupid. “No. I think she would have brought whatever proof he offered to you.”

“If we knew who her father was, it might help.” Scarlet turned away from the window to look at him. “Do you think Mr. Dunbar left that information somewhere?”

“We can look through his things and see. I haven’t—” Bud cleared his throat. “I haven’t done much in there yet.

“It might be important.” Her hands fluttered as she added, “It will give us something to do while we wait for word from the police.”

Bud led the way to the office, where the copy of his grandfather’s will he’d been given lay folded on the desktop. Together they perused the document, Bud tracing the sections with a finger and Scarlet following along.

“Small bequests to Shelley and Briggs, nothing to kill for, even if you could imagine them harming Gramps. You get the car you’ve been driving, and Arnold gets his. Brodie’s money is in trust until she’s eighteen, with me as trustee. Some bequests to charity. The rest comes to me.” He shook his head. “That’s why Reiner suspects that I—” He stopped, unable to finish the sentence. “Money seems like a motive, but I would never hurt Gramps.”

“I know that, Bud.” Scarlet put a hand on his arm. “Even when I tried to convince myself that you liked breaking the hearts of innocent Irish girls, I knew you loved your grandfather.”

There was a pause, an insignificant moment in time’s eons. To Seamus, however, it felt as if centuries passed.
There are crimes to solve, you two!

Bud finally got back to the subject at hand. “Someone, possibly Brodie’s father but not necessarily, hears that Gramps died and she inherits a lot of money. This person contacts Brodie and arranges to meet her, where he either convinces her to go with him or abducts her.”

“If that’s the case, he must either be her father or have convincing evidence that he is. Even if he got Brodie to accept him, he’d have to get legal custody to access her money.”