Worked to Death (Working Stiff Mysteries Book 2) (12 page)

"See here, you've got me at a real disadvantage 'cause I only know that you're a cop. A very intense cop," I said, licking my fork clean.

He watched me in the mirror instead of turning to face me.

"And that you've recently moved here from Atlanta, leaving behind a shady past." I said the word
shady
in a sort of spooky tone.

He faced me. All serious business now. "Who told you about Atlanta?"

I returned my fork to my plate. This time, I held up my hands in surrender. "Whoa. You're not going to cuff me again, are you?" I smiled. This guy was so serious. He had like an itchy trigger mood situation going on. Intense.

He shrugged. "Sorry. I just—I'm not ready to talk about Atlanta, and I guess—I—"

"You're sensitive about it?"

He didn't answer, but that was answer enough.

"Let's talk about something else. Anything else other than our pasts. Please," I begged and then returned to my cake, which had been abandoned for way too long at this point.

"You like to eat." It wasn't a question when he said it so I didn't answer him. "Did you know that there is a dinner theatre thing coming up soon at Catfish Haven?"

This got my attention. "A dinner theatre?"

"Yep."

"At Catfish Haven?"

"Yep."

"That sounds like something I have to see to believe." I laughed, and it felt surprisingly good. "I wonder if it is about little fish dancing about while you eat your hushpuppies and navy beans?"

"Well, I don't know if I could go alone. I mean, I wouldn't want it to get back to the guys at the station that I was seen at something like that. But…I mean, if you were to go with me…"

"Then you could blame it on me." I grinned and finished off my cake with a final lip licking. He watched my face closely—expectantly.

He took another sip of beer and then turned his stool to face me. He reached over and tucked my hair back from my face and over my ear. He studied my bruised neck for a moment but didn't comment. I saw his lips press together for just a split second, as if he was holding back a comment.

"When is this dinner theatre?" I tried to keep on a light topic. I didn't want to talk about this morning any more.

"Saturday night? You in?" His voice was wistful. His tone hopeful.

Thoughts of Colin, my secret spy, raced by. I'd been thinking of him almost nonstop since the end of summer, and he'd been totally out of contact. He'd appeared today when I'd needed him the most, but could I count on him to stick around? And what did I mean to him anyway? We'd never defined anything between us.

"I'm in." I found myself saying only seconds later. And the smile that crossed his face was Hollywood brilliant.

Wowza.

*  *  *

He saw me to my car and then left in his Jeep. He'd said that he had to get back to the house and help Ms. Maimie with some stuff before he went on duty.

I didn't mention that she was having dinner with Ms. Lanier and me. Somehow I wanted tonight to be "guy free" so I could fill in my friends on the major events of my day without worry of looking good and not appearing like a pig when I ate.

I usually never worried about the latter. Of course, I had just wolfed down a huge piece of cake in record time, and he'd earned points for pretending not to notice.

I sat there in Stella and considered what I wanted to do with the rest of my afternoon. I needed to go by the station and sign that paperwork for Ms. Quick, but I wasn't sure I wanted to face her right then. I'd acted kind of rude when I'd seen her with Dr. C.

I could also pick up Paget early and take her home. We could go for a walk with Pickles. They'd both love that.

Making a decision, I cranked the car and started to back out. But when I turned to look over my shoulder, I saw Hank O'Hannigan behind my car.

It startled me, and I let out a little scream. He gave my trunk a fist pound. I think it was indicating for me to stop, but it startled me, and I let my foot off the brake. He jumped out of the way.

"What the hell?" He yelled at me. I stopped the car and put it back in park.

I rolled down the window. "Sorry—sorry," I said. "You scared me. What were you doing behind my car?"

"We need to talk. And…I need you to come with me." He motioned with his right hand, which was down by his side.

I looked down at his hand, and he was holding a gun. I should have backed over him when I'd had the chance.

"Don't let your mouth write a check that your butt can't cash." —Things We Say in the South

"Oh no. No. No. No. No. No. I've already been the victim of an attempted kidnapping today. Isn't once enough?" I begged Hank for mercy as my right hand slipped behind me in an attempt to get my phone out of my back pocket.

"Stop moving your hand and scoot over to the passenger seat."

I stopped moving my hand, but I didn't move. "Look, no one drives Stella but me."

I knew that I probably shouldn't argue and irritate the man holding the gun, but I was exhausted. My sleep deprivation had caught up with me. That and the emotional ups and downs that I'd been experiencing all day were just too much.

"Well, let's put it this way, Ms. Murrin. I'm holding a gun on you, and my associate is holding a similar gun on your sister and her caretaker. Does this give me permission to drive your car?" He waved the gun from side to side, indicating that I should move.

Paget? Oh my God.

"Please. Don't hurt her," my voice shook. She was probably terrified and poor Denise. What in the world did these people want with us?

I scooted over without further argument. He got into the car and then turned to tie my hands together with a thin, white rope that he'd pulled from his waistband. Then he extracted a handkerchief from his shirt pocket and covered my eyes with it.

"No one is going to get hurt. We just need to know some things and you always seem to be right in the middle of our business."

I blinked back tears. My emotions began to overtake my normally reasonable demeanor. "I don't know anything. I'm not in the middle of anything. I just want to go home. Please."

My lower lip trembled and tears fell down my cheeks getting caught up in the loosely tied handkerchief and only a few made it through to my neck and dripped onto my hands as I held them bound together and pressed against my chest.

"There's no need to get so emotional. My boss wants to meet you and that's what we are doing."

"But you aren't going to let me go. Not now that I can identify you," I said the words and knew the answer already. They never let you go.

He let out a soft chuckle. "You've been watching too much television. We'll let you go.
If
you cooperate."

I wasn't sure I believed him, but I had to keep the hope that he was telling the truth.

"What is it that you think I know?" My brain screamed at me for overhearing his conversation with Brady Blue last night. I should have just waited at the buffet bar for Penny and Sundae. If I hadn't been in such a hurry to stuff my mouth, I would have missed the whole thing.

"We'll chat about all that when we get there." He drove Stella onward. I tried to remember the turns and twists and figure out where we were going, but I closed my eyes and leaned my head back.

I was too tired and this day sucked too much. There was a small part of me that wanted to try to fight for my life. To escape. Keep him talking. Try to find out more details.

But I was just too tired, and I felt like giving up. After a few moments, I fell asleep.

When I awoke, I was no longer sitting in the car. I seemed to be sitting in a chair. My hands were still bound, and I still wore a blindfold, and my legs were tied to the chair legs.

The room smelled of…peanuts. Raw peanuts. The scent reached my nose, but that didn't really narrow anything down.

"Hello?" I tried. My throat dry. No response came.

I turned my neck and tried to remove the blindfold by rubbing my face on my shoulder, but all I managed to do was dislodge one of my contact lenses, causing a new burst of pain to splinter through my right cornea. Luckily it slid back into place, but the pain lingered.

Dammit.

I was so worried about Paget. She must be terrified. And when the former chief of police, Andy Owens, found out that his wife had been abducted, there wouldn't be a law enforcement officer in the state who wasn't out looking for us.

I just wondered if Paget and Denise were being held here at the same location.

"Paget?" I whispered loudly, hoping to get a response. "Denise?" I tried again in the opposite direction.

It had been a shot in the dark, but what else did I have to do?

A hard tug snapped my head forward, and a twinge of pain shot up the back of my neck. "Ow."

A moment later, I realized that the blindfold was off, and light flooded my eyes, making them start to water as they adjusted to the bright room.

"Ms. Murrin," a deep voice spoke from nearby. I focused on a large, dark-skinned man with long black hair. He and his hair were really quite breathtaking.

Oh, I must be losing it. Now I was attracted to my captor?

"Who are you, and why have you brought me here?" No sense in beating around the bush.

"My name is Tumpka Brown, and I'm afraid you've gotten inadvertently involved in my business dealings?"

"You're a Native American?"

His long eyelashes blinked at me. "Yes."

"And your business is…?" I tried to put the pieces together. What could I know about his business?

I studied the room around me. It was definitely the back room of some establishment. Just a guess, based on the peanut scent and something curiously like either stale beer or a men's locker room—they smelled the same in my opinion—assaulted my nose.

"Well, let's not get into specifics right now. Let's just say that your old friend Mick Thibault got into my business, and look where he ended up."

I swallowed, and it hurt. My heart rate sped up, and I was suddenly dying of thirst.

"Could I have some water, please?"

He considered my request for a moment and then motioned to someone standing behind me. Footsteps receded, and a cabinet door squeaked. Behind Mr. Brown was a large windowsill and a door that I guessed led outside. At least I thought it might. There was another door on my left, and I believed it led to the main room of the building. But I was feeling more than a little disoriented still. The one thing I did know was that I didn't recognize this place.

"So, you killed Mick?" I was suddenly certain that this glass of water would be the last thing I ever drank. Ms. Lanier's homemade lasagna never seemed so wonderful to me as it did right then. I could almost smell it.

"We won't be discussing that. But what we will be discussing is what else you found in that trunk?"

A glass of water was brought to my lips from behind my head. I leaned my head back and a hand with a black glove held the glass. I took a small sip, then another.

Gloves? How dramatic. I was almost certain that I was going to die now.

"Look. I never even looked in that trunk."

"Please, Ms. Murrin. A curious girl like you. One who listens in on conversations? You don't expect me to believe that, do you?" He perched on the windowsill.

"What conversation?" The migraine that I'd feared earlier had arrived, and I didn't think it was going to leave me be this time.

"Please. My associate, Mr. O'Hannigan, tells me that you were a very naughty girl last night. You heard him and Mr. Blue discussing one of my shipments."

"Yeah, I heard that conversation, but I didn't understand it, and I didn't repeat it." Well, that last part was a lie. I had told Ty most of it, but I didn't think he needed to know all that right now.

He smiled at me. His teeth were straight and brilliant white. His face was perfect except for a two-inch scar down the hairline above his left ear.

"Now, we both know that you told the police about our shipment and our potential bad batch."

Gulp.

"Look, I still don't know what any of that means. And regardless, I
didn't
look in that trunk neither before nor after the cops took possession of it." Might as well try to steer him back on target.

He studied me for a moment.

"I don't know. Do you think we can trust her?" Mr. Brown asked the person behind me.

I closed my eyes. I was imagining how they'd do it. Gunshot? Knife? I tried to keep the image of Mick's dead body on that morgue table out of my mind. How would they find me? How would Dr. C. take it when they called him in? Or would they ever find me?

Then, a knock on the door broke my current brain ramblings.

"Yoo hoo! Mr. Bro—own," a female voice drawled.

"What is
she
doing here?" Mr. Brown said with no lack of frustration. Still nothing from the man behind me. I wondered if it was Hank O'Hannigan and if he was holding that gun to my head?

"I'm here to drop off your new car," the shrill voice spoke from outside the door. Wait a second—I knew that voice.

And I couldn't believe that
she
was here. She might be the reason I wasn't dead at the moment, and that was a scary thought.

"I'll get rid of her. You see if you can get Ms. Murrin to tell us what happened to the box." Mr. Brown left the room, closing the inner door behind him.

What now? Torture?

I waited, squeezing my eyes closed. But the person behind me left as well. More footsteps behind me and the sound of a door clicking shut. I opened my eyes. I guessed I was alone now.

But why had the thug behind me left the room? Why hadn't he continued questioning me as he'd been instructed to by Mr. Brown?

Now was my only chance to call for help. I knew it was a risk, but it was my only shot.

I opened my mouth and drew in a deep breath to yell for help, but then the sound of laughter bubbled in from the next room, and I knew for sure to whom it belonged. My only chance at surviving was now in the hands of…Allyson Harlow.

*  *  *

Allyson Harlow and I had been enemies since the second grade when she'd stolen my boyfriend of exactly one day. Lloyd and I had been in love, as only seven-year-olds can be, and she'd sashayed in wearing her pink lip gloss and offered him a piece of her Hubba Bubba gum. Thusly, winning his heart. I'd been devastated, and we'd continued to hate each other from that point on.

She'd hung out with us sometimes. Matty had always been friends with her, and since Matty was in our group of friends along with Penny, Ty, and Mick, she'd kind of tagged along when we had group gatherings. She'd been after Ty for years, and although he and I had been together in high school, it seemed as if she finally had him interested now. Or maybe it was just another fling like they'd had while I'd been away at college.

She cackled again, sounding closer to my room now, and I saw her big boobs and glossy lips in my mind's eye as seen on Ty's phone.

I considered whether or not to call out. On one hand, she might be my only chance to get out of here. She could maybe run for help or get to her cell phone. On the other hand, she could be right next to me tied to a chair, and we could both be in peril.

I couldn't rule out that option. Despite the fact that seeing her captured would be a rather fun last wish, I couldn't risk her life to save my own. No matter how much I despised her.

I craned my neck around, but still couldn't see Mr. Brown's associate. Where had he gone? I thought he'd been told to interrogate me.

I used this moment to scoot my chair closer to the door. If I couldn't get loose, maybe I could at least hear something helpful.

Scoot. Silence. Scoot. Silence.

Gosh, my chair was making so much noise on this tile floor. With every scoot I was sure that he could hear me from the other room. So, I paused between each one to see if I could hear anyone coming for me.

Scoot. Silence. Scoot. Silence.

The sound of a far away door slammed. Then yelling filled the air.

"You will keep your mouth shut, or I will tell the police all about your part in all this." Mr. Brown was yelling at someone. Was Allyson still out there? Or had that been her leaving?

I strained to hear. But no one responded. Silence.

The sound of another door slamming made me jump. I looked around frantically. I was pretty far from where I'd started. What should I do? Mr. Brown would be returning at any moment.

Another door opening. Footsteps. A phone ringing.

What was going on out there? I wished I could have heard more of Mr. Brown's conversation with Allyson. I knew I heard her saying something about a car delivery. She worked at a used car lot in nearby Prattville. Big Hawg's Motors. She used to work at a high-end lot, but it went out of business, and she'd moved to the only other car dealership that would hire her.

Was Allyson involved in all this? It was possible. She had a history of getting involved with shady characters. She was big on hanging out with powerful men, and I got the feeling that Mr. Tumpka Brown was a big deal in the Indian community. There were several casinos and restaurants in the area owned by Native Americans, and they made big money.

But it sounded like Mr. Brown was involved in something much shadier.

No other sounds came from the main room. What was happening?