Steeped in Evil (A Tea Shop Mystery) (20 page)

Theodosia raced down
the highway, desperate to reach the hapless car that had been sideswiped and run into the swamp. Drayton was chattering away in the seat next to her, but she was barely paying attention to him. She was totally focused on reaching the scene of the accident as fast as humanly possible.

She wondered if the driver was dead, immobilized, or struggling to get out before his car was swallowed up by the dank water. Could it be Van Deusen who’d been driving that car? And if so, were there any passengers?

Ten seconds later Theodosia rocked to a stop. Skid marks on the pavement told part of the story of the collision, but there was no sign of the car that had been hit. It had vanished like a specter in a fevered dream.

“Where’s the car?” Drayton screamed. “The one that got hit and bounced all over the place?”

Theodosia flipped her hazard lights on and flung open her door. “It’s in the water,” she said. “I’m pretty sure it landed in the swamp.”

“So . . . what are we going to do?” cried Drayton. He stared at her in horror. “Oh no, you’re not going in after it, are you?”

“Do you see anybody else around here?” asked Theodosia. She paused long enough to rummage in her handbag. “Here.” She grabbed her cell phone and pitched it to Drayton. “Get busy and call Sheriff Anson.”

Drayton fumbled the phone in sudden panic. “I don’t know how! I don’t know the number.”

“Just hit 911.”

“Oh.”

“And tell ’em to send help! Lots of help! And an ambulance!”

Theodosia didn’t stick around to see if Drayton could manage. There simply wasn’t a moment to waste. She jumped from her car and stumbled down the slippery bank. Standing in a sea of reeds, up to her ankles in mud, she gazed out across the dark swamp and quickly located the car. It was some fifteen feet out, sitting low in the water. She couldn’t see any lights or movement, but she was fairly sure it was the red Porsche that she’d seen earlier.

Had Carl Van Deusen been driving it? She was about to find out! If only she could . . .

Above the swamp racket of frogs and crickets, there rose a terrible sucking, gurgling sound. As Theodosia scanned the boggy landscape again, she was stunned to see that the car was starting to settle.

Oh no!

Stepping into the water, thinking she might call out to the driver, Theodosia immediately sank to her waist in dark and brackish water. And as awful as that was, the cold was even worse. It chilled her to the bone, causing her breath to come out in ragged gasps. Because despite the omnipresent Carolina heat, the icy aquifers deep below these swamps kept them glacially cold all year round.

Theodosia took a single step forward as the cold water began to insidiously suck at her energy. She felt her muscles contract and tighten in protest.

“Hello!” she cried out. “Is anyone there? Can you hear me?”

There was no answer, save the sound of a soft wind easing its way through the cattails and rushes.

“Carl?” she called again. “Try to hang on! We’ve called for help!”

She was about to turn back, to make sure that Drayton had called for a rescue squad, when the strange burbling sound erupted again. She peered through the dark and saw the car beginning to go nose down.

Oh no! Now what do I do? What if it slides all the way under the water? Then . . .

Theodosia took about one second to make up her mind, and then plunged headfirst into the water. Summers spent at Folly Beach had made her a strong swimmer and honed her freestyle crawl. She pulled hard and straight as her arms flew through the air then dug deep into the brackish water. Her legs moved rhythmically in a hard flutter kick. She swam as hard and fast as she could until she reached a tangled mass of roots and cattails that blocked her route to the half-submerged car. Gathering all her strength, she pulled herself over the top of the brush and then slid down the other side. From now on, she would have to walk or crawl.

The mucky bottom sucked off both her shoes as she struggled to find some sort of foothold below the water. A root, a submerged tree stump, anything to help propel her forward. Green duckweed clung to her clothing and the water reeked of rotten eggs. And every step, every few inches forward through the swamp, sapped more and more of her energy.

She caught her foot on a hidden root and pitched forward, catching herself on the upright trunk of a half-rotted cypress. She tried very hard not to think about alligators or snakes or anything else that could be lurking in this dark water.

But she knew how alone she was out here.

Drayton was back on the bank, of course, but he was so far away he’d never reach her in time if she foundered and went under. And did he even have the strength to save her? To swim out here? Probably not.

That thought triggered another jolt of fear inside her.

No, I can’t think that way! I can’t let the fear take over!

Theodosia ground her teeth together and fought hard to fight her rising tide of panic.

I can do this! I have to do this! There’s nobody else.

A few more stumbled steps and half-swimming strokes brought her eye to eye with the half-submerged car. She rapped her knuckles against the driver’s side window and peered in.

She was pretty sure it was Carl Van Deusen who was sitting in the driver’s seat. But he was slumped over the steering wheel like a rag doll—not moving or twitching a single muscle.

Knocked out cold? Has to be.

Theodosia batted her fists against the window, trying to rouse him. But Van Deusen remained unmoving and unhearing, collapsed over the wheel.

“Carl!” she shouted. “Carl!”

There was no response. More bubbles broke the surface as the nose of the car dipped farther and farther down. Now the water level was right at the bottom of the driver’s side window. It would only be a matter of minutes before the dank water seeped inside, flooding the car and drowning poor Van Deusen.

“Carl!” Theodosia called out. “Wake up! Try to wake up, Carl! We have to get you out of there! This car’s going to sink!”

She pawed at the side of the car, fighting to find the door handle, which was well below the water line. Her fingers flailed at the side of the door helplessly.

Where is it? I can’t . . . ah, here it is.

But the minute her fingers touched the door handle, the entire vehicle seemed to shift again and settle dangerously lower into the murky water.

Theodosia flipped up the handle and fought to wrench the door open against the press of water. No luck. It wouldn’t budge!

She placed one foot against the side of the car, grasped the handle again, and put her full weight behind it. “Come on!” she groaned as she pulled on the door, feeling the strain between her shoulder blades.

With agonizing slowness, the door began to creak open. Theodosia grasped the door handle with both hands and gave a final heave. The door released suddenly and she splashed backward into the water. The world went silent and dark as she sank below the surface. Thrashing around, feeling frightened and helpless, her lungs starting to burn, she struggled to right herself. Then her head popped above the surface of the water and she breathed in blessed air.

Without a moment’s hesitation, she was back at the car, crawling halfway inside.

“Carl, come on!” She tugged at his shoulder, trying to rouse him. “We have to get you out of here!”

But all Theodosia’s pushing and wrenching was upsetting the exquisite balance of the car. The continuous, ominous bubbling sound meant the car continued to settle even lower!

She’d heard horror stories about quagmires like this that had no bottom, or were composed only of mushy mud or quicksand. She’d heard tales about how people and animals had fallen in, foundered, and been sucked down to their deaths.

She knew she had to pull him out—now!

Theodosia grabbed his collar and tried to pull him, but he was stuck tight.

“Come on!” she yelled again, and now it felt like the car was free-floating, bobbing like a cork. How long would it stay just barely above the surface?

She reached a hand down and cupped Van Deusen’s chin. If she could just keep his head above the water. Then she could at least save him from drowning!

“Theodosia!” came Drayton’s voice, calling from the road. It sounded faint and filled with worry.

“I’m here!” she called back. “I’m okay!”

“How’s the boy?” called Drayton.

Theodosia looked at Carl. His face was pale, his lips were practically blue, and he was barely breathing. “Not good,” she called back as she gave a mighty shiver. “Not good at all.”

• • •

It felt like
an eternity, but was probably only five or six minutes before sirens erupted down the road.

“Someone’s coming,” Theodosia whispered to herself. She was cold and exhausted. It was taking her full concentration to keep her shaking hand from letting Carl’s head drop down into the icy water.

She couldn’t hear any voices or much of anything else beyond the blood hammering in her head. Her heartbeat felt like it had slowed to a crawl and she felt herself growing drowsy. Somehow, in her subconscious mind, she knew she might be descending into hypothermia. But she couldn’t do anything about it.

So tired . . .

A loud splashing suddenly sounded in her ears.

What?

Something pinged inside her brain.
Help?

“Help!” she called out, suddenly rousing herself. “We’re over here!”

There was more splashing and then a man’s voice called out, “We’re coming, almost there.” His words floated toward her, sounding calm and reassuring.

Another loud splash sounded behind her. Now something was coming up under the water for her.

What is it?

Theodosia felt a large object bump heavily against her legs. Then something black and shiny erupted from the water. Suddenly, two divers in wet suits were staring at her, concern etched on both their faces. One grabbed her under the arms and gently pulled her out of the car. A second one slithered in and grabbed Carl.

Gratefully, Theodosia allowed herself to be towed back to shore.

• • •

Theodosia accepted a
blanket that was put around her shoulders by a kindly EMT, but she refused any other medical treatment.

“Are you sure?” said Drayton. He was anxious beyond belief.

“Really,” she said, “I’m just a little damp.”

“You were soaked and shivering like crazy when they brought you out.”

“Yes, and now I’m starting to warm up.”

She and Drayton were huddled next to her Jeep, sipping hot coffee and watching in amazement at the circus that was going on around them. Van Deusen was hauled out and laid flat on a gurney. Oxygen was administered. Sheriff Anson strode back and forth, barking directions. And once a tow truck arrived, a cable was stretched out to the Porsche and attached. Then it was reeled in like a fish hooked on a Rapala.

“That baby’s trashed,” said Theodosia, once the Porsche was hauled back up on dry land.

“You never know,” said the EMT who’d given her the blanket and cup of coffee. “Sometimes all you have to do is drain the gas tank and change the distributor cap.”

“Still,” said Drayton. “You wouldn’t want to buy it secondhand, not knowing its history.”

“It’s a lemon now,” said Theodosia.

Sheriff Anson moved in on the Porsche like a hunter stalking its prey, directing his deputies to conduct a complete search of the car.

“The trunk, too?” asked one of the deputies.

The sheriff nodded. “Absolutely.”

The deputy grabbed a crowbar and stuck it under the edge of the trunk. Two seconds later it popped wide open.

“Now it’s going to need bodywork, too,” said the EMT. He seemed saddened by the Porsche’s damaged condition.

“Got something here, Sheriff,” said one of the deputies. He reached in with one latex-gloved hand and pulled out a pistol.

“Let me see that,” said Sheriff Anson. He pulled on a pair of gloves and gingerly accepted the gun. When he checked the chamber, he nodded and said, “Yup, it’s loaded.” He rocked the mechanism back and released the bullet from the chamber before removing the clip. Turning it over in his hands, he said, “Same caliber as the gun that killed Drew Knight.”