A Touch of Gold (24 page)

But, I reminded myself before I got lost in those pleasant visions, that didn’t mean the man who owned the boat hadn’t killed Max.

Stay focused. Be ready for the door to open. You have to be sharp if you want to stay alive. This may seem like a pleasure cruise, but you’re a prisoner.

I tried to imagine all the things Kevin would do in my position. Did FBI agents go to strategy sessions for coping with various scenarios? They were probably trained to use everything as a weapon. But try as I might, I couldn’t think of any way to use a pillow, a coffee mug or a box of paper towels as weapons. Would a pillow block a bullet if the pilot had a gun?

There was no one to ask.

I stood at the door for a long time, ready to fight my way out. After about thirty minutes of the door not opening, I gave up and sat down. But I kept the fire extinguisher and knives close at hand. I also confiscated a box of candles and a lighter that I thought might be useful. There were a few sandwiches and some pickles in the mini-fridge, but I wasn’t hungry.

The pleasant, happy, vacation feelings of the boat surrounded me, almost cocooning me from the reality of my situation. Like the terrible feelings I’d experienced while holding the African hand mirror, these were just as overwhelming. The only difference was being on the boat was like spending a warm summer day on the sound.

It would be easy to imagine Gramps being at the helm while we headed out to explore the shoreline going toward Kitty Hawk. We’d done it all the time when I was a kid. He’d tell me all the old pirate stories and show me the places where treasure was supposed to be buried. He knew all the legends and tall tales the Bankers could tell.

In the midst of thinking back on my childhood, part of my mind noticed that the engine had stopped. That tiny fraction of sanity kept pushing at the edges of my memories until all of me was duly alerted. I jumped up with my extinguisher in hand—knives in my pockets.

It occurred to me, as I waited nervously for my assailant to arrive, that I had never stabbed, shot or hit someone in the head with a metal cylinder in my life. I urged myself to be tough, remember what was at stake. There wasn’t anyone else here to fight for me. Either I’d get myself out of this spot or possibly end my days washing up on the shore like Sam Meacham.

I heard the pilot’s footsteps as he left the helm. I hadn’t heard the anchor splash into the water so I had to assume we were about to be tied up at a pier. There could be others waiting on shore. But first I had to get past the man who’d thrown me in here.

The dead bolt slid away from the door. My muscles tensed, and I felt a little like throwing up. What if I couldn’t hit him hard enough? What if I got away from him but someone else shot me as I ran off the boat?

The door began to open. I broke the seal on the extinguisher. I might not be a trained assassin, but Gramps had showed me how to use one of these when I was a child.
Would I ever see him again?

As the door swung open, I waited impatiently for the man to appear. I had to wait for just the right moment to spray him or he’d just back away from the foam. I went over and over it in my mind—shoot the foam in his eyes, hit him with the metal cylinder, get off the boat.

He helped me, actually, by leaning his head in the doorway before he walked down the stairs. “You okay down here, girlie? I ain’t heard a peep—”

I didn’t wait to hear any more. I held the nozzle out and pressed the lever, releasing a cloud of heavy white foam into his face. He put up his hands to try and shield his eyes, and I saw the strange green-blue stone—the same one I’d seen in the vision with Sam. I realized then that I really was fighting for my life.

As he moved to protect himself, I hit him with the cylinder. He yelled and fell down the stairs to land at my feet. With a cry of victory, I jumped on top of him and ran up into the sunlight.

I was thrilled to be free and that my plan had worked so well. Maybe I was better at this than I’d thought. Still, I had the presence of mind to close the doors and lock them before I went up on deck.

It occurred to me that getting off the boat might not be the smartest thing to do. I took a quick look around, assessing the dock where the boat was tied.

There were several young men on the dock next to the boat. None of them seemed to be paying much attention to what was going on. I kept my head down so they wouldn’t notice me. Obviously, I would be hard-pressed to get the boat started without one of them realizing there was a problem and jumping onboard.

On the other hand, I had no chance of getting past them to some sort of freedom—a place with a phone. Again, the men were bound to stop me.

The pilot I’d closed in downstairs wasn’t as quiet as he’d found me to be. He was already yelling and pounding on the door. It wouldn’t be long before they’d hear him. How was I going to get myself out of this situation?

There was only one answer. I had to swim away from the boat before anyone heard my captive or realized that I was here. I knew the water was cold, and I had no idea how far I’d have to go to find safety. I glanced at the horizon and saw nothing but ocean. It appeared I’d been right about the boat going to one of the outer islands. Not a great time to be right.

I grabbed a snorkel and mask from the equipment locker near the helm. I also took a wrist compass to keep track of where I was going. I had to stay close to shore and look for help. Swimming out into the Atlantic with no land or boat in sight could be suicide. I didn’t plan to help them kill me.

Taking a deep breath, I kicked off my shoes and jumped away from the boat. An instant before I hit the water, I heard a smashing sound and knew the pilot had found a way out of his prison that I hadn’t thought of. Lucky thing I was gone.

I was right about the water. It was freezing. Not that I hadn’t gone swimming in the sound many times when it was that cold. But I was a kid then—adult bodies are more sensitive. The cold water closed over me and almost took my breath away. Only years of swimming and my training as a lifeguard kept me focused on breathing through the snorkel and kicking my feet to get away from the boat.

I expected to hear bullets whiz by me (whatever that sounded like in the water—another experience I’d never had), but that didn’t happen. I took a good look at my compass location and kept swimming close to the shoreline. Even if this was a private island, which seemed likely, there had to be a spot I could get out of the water and not be noticed.

I had no idea what I was going to do after that. At that moment, getting out of the freezing water was the only thing on my mind.

I swam for a long time before I surfaced and looked around. I was still close to the island. My bearings were good on that. The boat was nowhere to be seen. Still terrified of what would happen if they found me, I wondered,
Did I do it? Did I manage to get away?

I was glad that I’d seen the pilot’s hand. I might not be able to explain my vision, but I knew that the pilot was the last person to see Sam alive. When I got back to Duck, I’d bring the police here with me and have the satisfaction of seeing him prosecuted for kidnapping me and killing Sam. He might have some questions to answer about Max’s death and burning down Agnes’s house too.

But first I had to get out of this freezing water.

I could see one large house and several smaller houses circling around it. I wanted to be as far away from that area as I could. Despite my chattering teeth, I put my head back in the water and kept swimming along the coastline. The water wasn’t so cold that the exercise didn’t make it bearable. I wanted to get out where I’d have a good chance of not running into anyone.

Another opportunity presented itself a little farther down. No boats. No piers. No houses. At least from my vantage point in the water, all I could see was pine trees. A little experience on these very outer edges of land told me that there could be other people living out here—many times without power or any other necessity. Gramps had a friend who’d lived like that for years. Tourists sometimes stopped off at these spots, never knowing that the island was private property.

Between these hopes and the fear still churning in my belly lay a whole world of possibilities, some not as good as others. I couldn’t stay in the water much longer, and I hadn’t been lucky enough to spot a Coast Guard vessel. At this point, that would be the only group with a boat I’d trust.

There were only trees, rocks and sand as far as I could see. My numb limbs told me I had to take my chances. I paddled carefully toward the shore, mindful of anyone spotting me. It was quiet when I reached the rocky beach and crept up, shivering. Water ran from my clothes in noisy fountains. Not wanting the sound to alert my captors, I sat down between some trees to dry off while I formulated my next move.

So far, so good.
Getting away from the man on the boat had been the hard part. I might be cold, but at least I was alive.

In the distance, I could hear people shouting and the sound of several boat engines starting up at the same time. They were bound to conclude that I had stayed close to shore. Only a fool would swim out to sea with no source of rescue close by.

I forced myself to my feet and moved further into the young stand of pine trees. They were barely taller than me but better than no cover at all. I figured if they didn’t see me from the boats, they might give up and believe I’d drowned. That was my best hope.

I didn’t want to think about how worried Gramps was going to be. I’d given up on this being a short-term adventure. It might be days before I got back to Duck. In the meantime, Chief Michaels and others would be looking for me. With any luck, they’d be able to track me to the docks. Maybe they’d send the Coast Guard out to look for me. But I wasn’t sure how long that would take.

I had to force myself to stop thinking that way. I tried to focus on what my plan for survival should be. My first concern was obviously dry clothes (if possible) and shelter. Then I needed to think about food and how I’d get back home.

I waited in the trees, surrounded by the piney aroma, letting the sun warm and dry me. At long last, I couldn’t hear anyone shouting and the sound of engines had faded into the distance.

I had no idea what time it was—I couldn’t recall how to tell time by the position of the sun. I’d learned one year in Girl Scouts, but that was a long time ago.
It’s not important anyway. Time to move to phase two of the plan.

Phase two meant getting up and moving my poor frozen body. Every part of me rebelled at the idea. Most of my clothes had dried, but I was still chilled to the bone. All my joints popped when I finally gritted my teeth and pushed to my feet. I really needed a latte and a nice almond biscotti. And a warm fire. I urged myself forward, farther into the pines. And a warm fuzzy robe.

I thought about all these things, promised myself those and more if I kept moving. Somewhere out here there was warmth, food, and a telephone. I could call Gramps and he’d come and get me. He’d be angry but relieved to hear from me. Kevin would say I told you so. My adventure, which was turning out to be a nightmare, would be over and I’d be home again.

“If I get home, I’m never investigating anything again,” I swore out loud for good measure. “I’m never leaving my room again except to go to the shop.”

I trudged through the pine trees, which seemed to stretch on forever. The sun was almost directly overhead. Even I knew that meant it was around noon. My stomach gurgled accordingly, letting me know that the rest of my body knew what time it was too.

My dried clothes were itchy and full of sand—my feet hurt from walking over pinecones and rocks. I was as miserable as I could ever recall being. But at least I was free.

The trees finally thinned and ended, leaving me in a huge open space with newly cut grass and a large fountain. In the center of the fountain was a large horse standing on its back legs, like the ones at the entrance to Brookgreen Gardens near Myrtle Beach. I wasn’t sure how clean the water was, but I was really thirsty. I reached in and took a handful. It was cool and clear—easing the ache in my throat.

“Ha! A water thief! I knew it would come to this!” An old man in a motorized wheelchair came at me full tilt with a pearl-headed cane. “Get your own water!”

I knew him at once. He was the man from the vision about the gold. I had managed to escape the boats and the men at the docks only to find myself in the garden with Max’s benefactor. He didn’t seem like much of a threat.

“What do you want?” he yelled again. “How did you get here?”

“Take it easy.” I tried to reassure him as I glanced around. No one else seemed to be with him. “I was thirsty. I’m lost.”

“You’re on my property,” he proclaimed. “Head that way.” He pointed with his cane. “Keep walking until you reach the ocean.”

“Thanks.” I swallowed another gulp of water and prepared to disappear back into the pines. I knew he could be the person behind Max’s death, but I’d run out of courage and options to continue. I just wanted to go home.

“Wait!” he called out. “If you’re really lost, you can come back to the house with me and I’ll have someone take you home.”

“No thanks. One of your men is the reason I’m lost. He kidnapped me and brought me here. I don’t need your help.”

“Nonsense. There’s no reason one of my men would bring anyone here—unless you were snooping. Is that the case? Where are you from?”

“I’m from Duck. And I wasn’t snooping—exactly. I was looking for a boat.”

“Duck! My dear young woman, I insist that you stay! What’s your name? I probably know someone in your family. Stay and have lunch with me. I’m sure we can find you a change of clothes. We’ll sort out this kidnapping thing. You’ll see.”

I’d already been here too long. I could see people coming out of the big house on the hill. They were still too far away to do anything, but I wasn’t about to wait around until they reached us.