Murder With Ganache: A Key West Food Critic Mystery (21 page)

Seize the moment. Remember all those women on the
Titanic
who waved off the dessert cart.

—Erma Bombeck

I gunned my scooter to its maximum speed—if I caught up to them, I could tell Torrence which way they’d gone. High-decibel happy-hour crowds surged along the sidewalks, spilling into the streets. This felt eerily like the night of Connie’s shower when I’d combed the downtown looking for Rory. I lurched around two pedicabs loaded with tourists, but then caught the red light at the corner of Truman.

Another text came in from Torrence.
Three patrols looking. We’ll find her.

Which made me feel a little better.

I took a left, then circled back around on Simonton, looking both ways up and down the cross streets. I thought I saw the motorcycle duck into a parking lot on Angela Street. I hooked an illegal left and raced up the block. The motorcycle was no longer in sight. I puttered along the street looking right and left, and finally spotted it parked behind the abandoned building that formerly housed the police department. Number 525.

I texted that to Torrence.

Stay OUT,
he fired back.

I hopped off the bike, left it by the curb, and circled around to the rear of the building, where the back door had been wedged open with a beer can. Peering in, I could see nothing. I retreated ten yards and waited in the parking lot near a battered silver minivan. I paced past the van, noticing the mattress in back, the cracked windshield, the open windows rimmed in duct tape.

Daisy would be freaking out—and she’d freak out even more at the sight of a bunch of police officers. Like many of the kids on the street, she was wired to think police equaled trouble. Sirens wailed in the distance—four or five blocks away? Hard to judge. My heart was pounding double-time. I hummed a riff from the Rolling Stones to keep my mind calm, listening for sounds coming from the building with one ear, and the approaching cops with the other.

Then I heard an anguished scream from inside. A girl yelled, “She said they were here!” She screamed again, a horrible glass-shattering cry like an animal in pain.

I couldn’t wait. This girl was in danger. Even minutes might make a difference between whether she lived or died. A dozen yards from this building, I could see people milling around the parking lot where they’d left their cars while they enjoyed various Duval Street eateries. It would take too much time to run over, flag them down, and explain that they should tell the cops that I’d gone inside. My eye caught on an aluminum baseball bat inside the old minivan.

I dialed 911, gave them the address again, hung up, and grabbed the bat, which was almost as battered as the van it came from. Then I took a deep, deep breath, snapped a quick photo of me standing by the door, and texted that to Torrence, for insurance. The girl screamed again, the sound even more desperate this time. I edged in, flattening myself against the wall and listening with every cell.

The hallway was dim, just light enough to see the trash pushed to the corners. The place reeked of mold and urine. In the background, a smoke alarm cheeped every few seconds: enough time in between to let my nervous system settle, then spike with the next cheep. My feet crunched on a carpet of broken glass. I switched on the flashlight app installed on my iPhone and almost shrieked when I saw a rat scurry up a pole and slip into a hole in the ceiling. I closed my eyes and clutched the baseball bat, then forced myself to move forward. Every surface inside was covered with a dull green substance. From a fire extinguisher? I hoped so—couldn’t let myself think what else it might be.

“You can do it, Hayley,” I said aloud, and crept from the hall into a bigger room.

“Shut your trap, drop the phone and the bat, and put your hands up,” said a gruff male voice. I felt the barrel of a gun in the small of my back. I pitched everything to the floor and raised my hands.

“Move,” he said, poking me again and kicking the phone ahead of us down the hallway. I stumbled after it, praying that the sirens I’d heard were on the way here. And fast. Hoping Torrence would recognize the door I’d entered from my texted photo. And wondering why I couldn’t stay out of situations that could turn lethal. My mouth felt dry, almost sandy, and I could smell the rank scent of my own fear.

When we reached the end of the hall, the man poked me to the right into the dark recesses of a labyrinth of abandoned rooms. From ten or so yards away in the dark, I could hear the muffled sounds of a girl weeping. Which filled me with relief—at least he hadn’t killed her. Not yet.

“Who are you?” I asked, though I had some idea. In response, I got another jab in the ribs. I stumbled into another dark room, tripped over something soft, and went sprawling to the floor.

A girl whimpered.

“Daisy?”

“Shut up, both of you,” the man said. “Or I take you both out.”

I pushed myself upright, and scooted noiselessly across the floor, feeling for Daisy’s hand. I grabbed it and squeezed, wanting her to know we were in this together.

“Is there some way I can help?” I asked in a shaky voice.

“Unless you know where your stinking brother and that dumb girl hid my stuff, just keep your trap shut,” he said.

“They stole something belonging to you?”

“His emeralds,” Daisy whimpered. “Mariah told me she’d stashed them here.”

A loud bang echoed from outside the building.

“Shit!” said the man with the gun.

“This is the Key West police. Come out with your hands up,” shouted a fierce voice, its volume magnified by a megaphone. “Trained police dog here. Put down your weapon and come out or we let him run.”

The man with us fired his gun through the door and both Daisy and I screamed.

“Back off or I kill them both!” he yelled. Over the dull roar in my ears, I could hear the scrabbling noises of men retreating.

I pressed Daisy to the ground, my body shielding hers, my ears still ringing painfully in the silence that followed the blast. I snuggled closer to Daisy and tried to croon something soothing—not so easy when I had never been so scared in my life. The other times I’d been in serious trouble, the bad guys had been amateurs. Even though I’d been terrified, a small voice inside urged me to fight back. This man, I was certain, absolutely meant it when he said he would kill us. We could have been mosquitos, for all we mattered to him.

Suddenly my phone rang, singing its distinctive song from the show
Oliver!
Food, glorious food
, the notes sounded.

“Shit,” the man said. “What the hell?”

“It’s my phone,” I said. “Outside in the hall where you told me to drop it.”

He swore again, but then cracked the door open, dashed out to retrieve the phone, and slammed the door shut. He peered at the dim light of the screen. In that instant, I recognized James, the man who’d been so solicitous of my family when offering to park their car or recommend restaurants. The same man who’d been photographed on the Courthouse Deli bench with Rory and Mariah. And Daisy. The man with the treasure hunter’s ring.

“It says
Torrence
,” he said, glaring at me and holding up the phone.

“Lieutenant Torrence,” I said, my voice all wobbly with relief. “From the Key West Police Department. He knows you have us in here. I told him exactly where I was going.”

“You’re a fool. You have no idea what you’ve gotten yourself into.” Then he answered my phone. “Look,” he said to Torrence. “I have nothing to offer you. Clear out of the area or the girls die.” He ended the call and stuffed the phone into his pocket.

We waited what seemed like a very long time in the darkness. Daisy had begun to shiver uncontrollably and the sound of her weeping swooped and faded in the small room. Every few minutes James would yell “Shut up!” and she’d cry harder. The smell of his body odor grew stronger, making me worry that he’d snap and do something vicious or crazy.

The
Oliver!
song rang out again. “What?” James barked into the phone.

“This is Detective Thomas,” said a deep voice that I didn’t recognize. “From the Key West Police Department. We’d love to make this situation into a win-win. We’d like to get you out of there and on your way, and get the girls out safely too.”

“There’s not a chance in hell that’s going to happen,” James said.

“Are you and the girls comfortable?” the other man asked. “Do you need anything?”

A silly question, as it felt like the temperature had climbed to a hundred degrees. The Red Stripe beer I’d consumed at the BottleCap Lounge was pressing on my bladder. And my throat felt parched. But then he wasn’t asking me.

“Can we get you something to eat? Or a cool drink?”

“We’re fine,” James said. Still brusque, but had his voice softened a little?

“What’s the best-case scenario for you today?” Detective Thomas asked.

James paused. “I need a car,” he said. “With a full gas tank. And no freaking cops interfering on the way up the Keys.” He grunted, then lapsed into silence.

“So you’d like a car to drive off the Keys. With gas. We can do that,” said the other man. “I take it you’ll be heading north.”

A lame joke, as there was no other way off the island.

“Screw the car,” said James. “Make it a helicopter. And not a police chopper either.”

“How about you let the girls go while we make arrangements?”

James laughed. “You think I’m that stupid?”

“Give me a couple of minutes to talk with the chief, okay? Are you a pilot or will you need someone to fly you out?”

“No, I’m not a damn pilot,” James snapped.

“Okay. No problem, let me see what we can do. Could you put Hayley on the line?” asked the detective. “I’d like to hear that they’re okay before we go any further.”

I felt the barrel of James’s gun press into my temple. “Say hello, and that’s it. This isn’t a cocktail party.” He held the phone closer to my face.

“It’s me.” My voice shook so hard it sounded nothing like me. I cleared my throat and tried again. “Hayley Snow. Daisy’s here too.”

James snatched the phone back. “Fifteen minutes and I’d better hear the sound of rotors or I shoot one of them while the other one watches.” He gave me a hard shove with his gun and I toppled over onto the sobbing Daisy, feeling a whole lot like sobbing myself. Instead, I tried to whisper reassurances to the girl that help was on the way.

James stuffed my phone back in his pocket and began to pace back and forth across the room, muttering to himself. He stopped to look at his own phone, whisking through several screens. In the bluish light, his face looked sweaty, his eyes haunted and desperate. I strained to hear signs of progress outside, while he resumed pacing.

About ten minutes later, the detective called back again. “It’s going to be impossible to land the bird right here in town. Okay if we give you a ride over to the airstrip?”

James pulled his gun out of his belt and fired it off again. “Does that answer your question?” he shouted into the phone before hurling it into the far corner.

I hugged Daisy closer and began to think about the people I loved and the food I would make for them, if we ever got loose from this crazy man. I started with dessert—picturing a caramel cake that I’d always thought seemed a little too complicated and calorie-laden to be worth the trouble. Now I realized it would be worth every amazing bite. And then I thought of chocolate bar cookies, the consistency somewhere between fudge and brownie, with a thick layer of ganache frosted on top. And I’d perfect that yellow cake with coconut frosting that Eric made, which I’d never gotten quite right—

Suddenly there was a flash of light and several loud bangs, followed by shouting and gunshots and barking and an acrid smell that I didn’t recognize. The hall swarmed with oversized figures in black uniforms and helmets,
POLICE
written across their chests in white.

“Hands above your heads!” they shouted.

I scrambled to my feet, dragging Daisy with me. “Hands up!” I squeaked, yanking her wrist skyward.

But James snatched Daisy away from me, clutching her one-handed in front of him. “You shoot me and the girl dies, too,” he hollered, and force-marched her toward the door.

Without thinking more than a nanosecond, I flung myself to the floor in front of them. James stumbled and tripped over me. I heard his gun clatter to the floor and skitter out to the hallway. Hands reached for me and I was half carried, half dragged down the dark, smelly passageway and back into the Key West twilight.

Outside, Lieutenant Torrence pulled me into a hug. “Good god, woman. Didn’t I tell you to stay out of that place?”

“I thought he was going to kill her,” I said, sniffling into his shoulder as I watched EMTs load Daisy into the back of an ambulance. “He wanted her to say where Mariah hid his stuff and she simply didn’t know. You should have heard her screaming. I couldn’t stand by. I just couldn’t.”

“What stuff?” he asked.

“I think Mariah and Daisy believed it was emeralds. I really have no idea if that’s true.”

He hugged me again. “Let’s get you out of here.”