Hidden in Shadow Pines (2 page)

CHAPTER THREE

Monday, August 5, 2013, 3:30 p.m.
(later that afternoon—at the county fair)

Inside the 4-H building at the fairgrounds, head judge Emily Decker walked behind two banquet tables displaying fifteen half-eaten pies, identified only by their numbers and arranged in no particular order. A panel of five judges had evaluated each pie on presentation and taste.

On the other side of the banquet table, three rows of folding chairs had been set up, enough to accommodate thirty people. Eighteen women, I among them, watched Emily take her place behind the podium and unfold a piece of paper.

“First place. For the fifth year in a row. Isabella Retsul,” Emily proclaimed.

The crowd clapped as I walked to the podium.

“Thank you, Emily. Thank you, judges. We had many tough competitors this year. I’m so happy that my apple pie made it to the top. Thank you,” I said.

Talking in front of a group of people never came easy. My legs felt like Jell-O and my hands clammy. I preferred to type emotions for my characters, rather than to express my own feelings.

Kate Gentry gave me a hug. “Oh, I thought for sure my lemon meringue pie was going to win this year.”

“Sorry, Kate. There’s always next year.”

“Maybe. If I’m still kicking.”

Kate Gentry was eighty-two and spry. Treating me like a granddaughter, Kate was one of the few friends I had. Besides Ed, Kate was always there for me. She told me jokes even when I never laughed at them, and we had a standing dinner date at Kate’s home every Sunday. Because of Kate’s encouragement, I’d started baking pies and entering them at the fair.

“You’ve got plenty of years left in you,” I said.

“Ok, settled. I’ll beat you next year.” Kate smiled. Her full checks made her glasses rise a little.

“Hey, I didn’t say you’d beat me,” I told her with a laugh. “Just that you’ll be here next year.”

“Keep up that positive thinking.” Kate winked. “How goes that book you’re writing now?”

I shrugged. “Jack keeps getting into trouble. I keep digging him out.”

“You need to write your own book, you know. I’d buy a copy.”

I smiled at her. “Have you been talking to Ed? He said the exact same thing to me this morning.”

“Great minds think alike, I guess.”

I pictured Kate and Ed sitting at his kitchen table discussing my future. “Yeah, if you say so.”

Past Kate, through the window, I caught a glimpse of a white van with a blue stripe driving slowly by the 4-H building. What were the odds I’d seen this vehicle twice today?

“Kate, do you know who owns a white van with a blue stripe?”

“I know a lot of things, but don’t know anybody with a white van. Why?”

“Oh.” I paused, trying not to sound paranoid. “Research. Wondered if it was a popular vehicle.”

“White vans usually mean trouble. They do in crime shows on TV.” Kate leaned in and whispered, “You going to have masked gunmen in a white van abduct Jack?”

I whispered to Kate in return. “I can’t give away any story lines.” I stood back and pretended to lock my mouth and throw away the key.

“Very funny.” Kate shook her head. “Well, you take it easy. I’ll see you in a couple of weeks. I’m off to visit my son in Chicago.”

Giving Kate a big hug, I said, “I’ll miss you. Have fun.”

The pale-blue sky and a scattering of puffy white clouds along with a slight breeze made it a perfect day for a walk. I took an alternate route home so I could stop at Gibson Park. I wanted to sit on a bench and enjoy the beautiful weather. When I was younger, I’d played in the same park with the neighborhood kids—Brian, Stacey, Kevin, Sheryl, Vicky. We’d play in Gibson Park for hours at a time.

A Frisbee flew past my head. Someone yelled, “
S
orry.” I turned to see where the plastic toy had landed and spotted a white van in the parking lot. The teenager who threw the Frisbee picked it up and apologized again. Then I looked once more for the vehicle I’d seen. In the few seconds that I’d spent speaking to the Frisbee owner, the white van had disappeared. I wondered if I’d actually seen it in the first place.

CHAPTER FOUR

Monday, August 5, 2013, 6 p.m.
(later than evening—on my way home)

I enjoyed the long walk home, savoring my pie-baking victory, even stopping a few times along the way to write down a few ideas for the novel ending. But my happy mood disappeared as soon as I turned the corner onto my street and saw flashing blue lights in front of my house. I instantly went back to May 31, 1997—my eighteenth birthday.

I’d met my boyfriend at his parent’s small rustic cabin tucked away in the middle of twenty acres of wooded land they owned eight miles south of town. Roger and I had spent our whole lives in Darden, dating throughout high school. Roger was the tall, handsome quarterback, going to Penn State. I’d been homecoming queen and senior class president, accepted at Princeton. Our senior class labeled us the perfect couple.

Roger had spoiled me with a birthday lunch of all my favorite foods—strawberries, Cheetos, Oreos, peanut butter sandwiches without the crust, and red velvet cake. Even though we both knew I had to leave by five so I wouldn’t ruin the birthday dinner my parents had planned for weeks, it didn’t stop us from snuggling under the covers.

If only I’d paid more attention to the time. My delay in leaving the cabin caught me driving in a torrential downpour. The wiper blades caused streaks, making seeing clearly out the windshield difficult. White bolts danced on the horizon, accompanied by drum rolls of thunder. The blue and gray sky lit up in flashes. Never before had I seen such a breathtaking display.

Paying more attention to the lightning show than the road, I hadn’t noticed that the traffic light had turned red. I was in the middle of the intersection when bright headlights raced toward the passenger side of the car. A blaring horn sounded, followed by screeching tires.

I leaned into the door, made a sharp left turn, then stepped on the gas. My arms shook as my hands clenched the steering wheel. I’d been inches away from a disastrous collision. My eyes focused on the road ahead, not bothering to look in the rearview mirror to make sure the other vehicle was okay.

Still shaking a minute later, I pulled into the driveway and noticed that the house was dark except for the light above the side door. Dad’s car should have been in the driveway.
They wouldn’t leave without me, would they
, I thought. I ran for the side door, sidestepping puddles. Turning on the kitchen light, I saw a note on the counter.
Isabella, Dad and I went to Dairy Queen to pick up your ice cream cake. Be back soon. Love, Mom.

I headed up the back stairs for a quick shower to calm my nerves. Afterward, I pulled my brunette hair into a ponytail, then put blush on my checks and a little mascara on my lashes.

We were celebrating my birthday at the classiest restaurant in southern Iowa. Mom and I had found the perfect outfit for me to wear three days before—a shimmering purple sleeveless dress with a velvet long-sleeved jacket. I stood in front of the full-length mirror, looking to the right, then left. A twirl, just for fun.

I bounded down the front stairs, shouting, “Mom? Dad? You ready to go?” No answer.

A flash of lightning brightened the dark living room. Thunder rumbled in the distance. Flipping on the living room light, I noticed the blinking red light on the answering machine. I walked over and pressed
play
.

Message one. Recorded at six-ten p.m.
Hi, sweetie. We picked up your cake, but had to stop by the office for some papers. We should be home in fifteen minutes. Sorry we’ll be late. Love you.

I turned on the television and sat in Dad’s recliner, careful not to wrinkle my outfit.

Ding-dong, ding-dong. Someone knocked on the front door, then shouted, “Hello. Is anyone home?”

“Coming!” I yelled. I’d fallen asleep in the recliner. Why hadn’t Mom or Dad woken me up? I looked around the room. Where were they?

I ran to the door and opened it wide. A police officer stood on the welcome mat, his hat in his right hand. He didn’t look much older than I was. Blue lights flashed from the squad car parked in the driveway. I stared at the man in front of me, my heart pounding. Had someone seen me run the red light and reported it to the police?

The young officer cleared his throat as he showed me his badge. “I’m Officer Beckman. Are you Isabella Retsul?”

My mind went blank. I couldn’t speak. Instead, I nodded.

The policeman asked, “May I come in?”

Taking two steps back so he could enter, I finally spoke. “Sure.”

He walked inside, looking to his left and right before standing on the rug in the middle of the foyer. Tiny water droplets fell from his hat onto the rug. “Are your parents Nicholas and Marlena Retsul?”

I stood motionless, staring at his hazel eyes. In a hushed voice, I answered, “Yes.”

“I’m afraid I have bad news. There’s been an accident.”

I must have stood at the corner of my block for a full ten minutes, watching. Then I spotted Ed standing in my driveway next to a man in a black suit. I walked briskly past three houses to reach them.

“Thank you, sir. I’ll be in touch if I have more questions. Here’s my card if you think of anything else.”

I stared at the man in the suit. I couldn’t believe it. “Officer Beckman?”

“Detective Beckman. And you are?”

“You don’t remember me? It has been sixteen years.” I cleared my throat. “You delivered the news that my parents died in a car accident.”

Detective Beckman looked at me, then at my house. “I was a rookie cop back then. I can’t believe you remembered my name. You took the news quite hard.”

For a moment, I was eighteen in my purple dress. “I’ll never forget looking at your name on your uniform when I first opened the door.”

“I’m sorry to inform you I have more bad news. Your neighbor, Tish Minter, has been murdered.”

Ed wrapped his arm around me. “Someone strangled her. Harriet Stimler stopped to pick up Tish for their Monday night movie outing. The front door was open, and when Harriet went inside, she found Tish lying on the living room floor and called the police.”

“Poor Harriet,” I exclaimed, deeply shocked. “But why would anyone want to hurt dear Tish? She was the most likable person in the world.” My bottom lip quivered. I could feel tears welling up in my eyes.

Detective Beckman spoke. “Her purse is missing and so is her car. At this point, we’re calling it a random robbery.”

I pulled a tissue out of my purse and wiped my eyes. At Tish’s house, two EMTs carried the gurney down the front steps and into the ambulance.

“Did you see anything unusual today?” Detective Beckman asked.

“A white van with a blue stripe was parked in front of her house around eleven this morning. I assumed Tish was doing more remodeling,” I said.

“I’ll make a note. Call me if you think of anything else.” Detective Beckman handed me his business card then walked across the street to the crime scene.

I put my head on Ed’s shoulder. “Why would anyone want to hurt Tish?” I took a deep breath. “She was the nicest person.”

“Until they catch whoever did this, I want you to be extra careful,” Ed told me.

“I will. I’ve got the alarm system and my gun,” I said.

As the ambulance drove past, my mind filled with images of Tish. Mostly, I’d miss her infectious laugh. Tish made me smile, even if I was having a bad time of it.

Wiping away a tear, I lifted my head. “I’ve had a long day. I’ll see you in the morning. Goodnight, Ed.”

“Goodnight, Isabella. Call me if you need anything.”

I unlocked the door, turned off the alarm, and walked to the kitchen. The house still smelled like apple pie. My blue ribbon didn’t mean much to me now. Tish had called my cranberry ceramic pie dish my secret weapon. I brushed my fingers over the etched letters on the bottom—
sp.

The computer screen glared back at me. If it could talk it would say,
Come on now, type away, fill me with words.
I had five more pages to write before I could send it to Christopher for a first review. Taking the notes out of my purse from earlier this afternoon, I knew at once how to get Jack out of another dangerous situation.

I finished the pages, composed an email to Christopher, attached the document, and hit
SEND
. Now I had a few weeks to paint the living room while Jack Deveraux went on hiatus.

Stretching out on the couch, I picked up the book
Secrets Can Be Deadly
. Slightly chilled, I covered myself with the crocheted afghan draped over the back of the couch. Fifty pages left to read. I wanted to finish the book before bed.

CHAPTER FIVE

Tuesday, August 6, 2013, 3 a.m.
(the next morning—not sure where)

My eyelids were heavy and my arms felt like lead. I tried lifting my right arm, but it fell onto my lap. I touched something strange. My fingers walked across the strap until they reached a buckle. It was a seat belt. How could I be in car?

My head bobbed. Looking to my left, I saw the driver, who had on a ski mask and black hoodie. A wadded-up Snickers wrapper lay on the dash.

Where am I? Who are you? What happened to me?
That’s what I wanted to say, but my mouth and brain weren’t working together. I moaned, “Who...you?”

The driver turned slightly toward me and in a deep voice said, “You don’t need to know who I am. Go back to sleep.”

“Can’t…be…here.” I tried to scream. All that came out was a whimpering “noooo.”

Every morning I woke between seven and seven-thirty. I only used an alarm clock if I needed to wake up earlier. Now, I opened my eyes long enough to see bright sunlight entering through the window. Today, I simply didn’t want to get up. I pulled the covers over my head and caught a whiff of lavender. The scent was coming from the sheets, and I didn’t use any type of perfumed laundry detergent. I pushed off the covers and sat up.

I quickly glanced around the room. This wasn’t my bedroom. I saw pink walls, the color of Pepto-Bismol, and oak hardwood floors. Stuffed animals sat on the dresser, on the shelf, and on top of the hope chest—cute, furry bunny rabbits of all shapes, colors, and sizes.

At first, I thought I was having a dream, one of those dreams that seem all too real. I whispered, “This is just a dream.” I could talk. In my dreams, I could never talk. This was real. I was in my own pajamas—the pink-and-white-striped flannel top and bottom matching set I’d bought on sale at Target the year before.

Think. Think
. What was the last thing I remembered? I was almost finished reading a book, and then in a car.

Getting out of bed, I walked over to the window. The room was on a second floor. A chain-link fence surrounded the backyard. I could see another house off to the right. I tried opening the window, but it wouldn’t budge.

My heart pounded. I didn’t know where I was or who’d brought me here. All I could see were those stupid stuffed bunnies. How could something so cute at the same time be so terrifying? I now understood how people might be afraid of clowns.

I envisioned myself walking out of the room and confronting the person who’d brought me here, demanding to know why I was taken and where I was. However, I wasn’t that strong emotionally. Instead, I stood staring out the window, my hands trembling.

After taking several deep breaths to calm myself, I took two steps to the right and opened the closet door. Several items hung on pink plastic hangers, and two pair of shoes sat on a shelf. Upon closer inspection, I realized all this was actually mine.

A new fear chilled my skin. I took a step back and closed the door, leaving my hand on the knob. Then I opened the door again, thinking I might see something different. Nope. My clothes still hung from a row of pink hangers.

I moved in front of the dresser, the bunnies following my every move with their eyes. I felt as if they were laughing at a joke, and I was the punch line. Opening a dresser drawer, I found my underwear, socks, and t-shirts, all neatly arranged.

Someone had done a lot of planning and had gone to a lot of trouble to get me here. Why? I was no one special, just a ghostwriter living in Darden, Iowa.

I heard a click. My head jerked toward the door. I stood motionless as the doorknob began to turn.