Wild Card (Stone Barrington #49)(16)

She wasn’t sure which way the van had gone, but she made a U-turn and drove slowly around the house, stopping at a corner to take a look out front. The van was nowhere in sight.

She got back into the cart and drove, not too fast, toward the road to the main highway. Halfway there, she came to a hard stop. Ahead of her perhaps fifty yards, the van was parked at one side of the road. She heard the sound of a chain saw, then she saw Hurd come out of the woods and load some cut wood in the back of the van, then return to the woods.

She started to move again, but then she saw something she needed beside the road. She got out, picked it up, and placed it on the seat beside her. The chain saw started again; this was her opportunity. Hurd was wearing ear protection, so he wouldn’t hear her. She floored the golf cart and was disappointed when the speedometer registered only fifteen miles an hour, apparently the cart’s top speed. She thought for a few seconds about stealing the van, then thought better of it. As she drew close to the other vehicle, she could still hear the chain saw. She couldn’t see Hurd, but as she passed the van he stepped into the roadway, holding an armload of wood.

“Hey!” he yelled as she passed him, then he started to run after the cart. To her consternation, the cart began to slow down. She looked at the dashboard and saw the low-battery warning light flashing, then remembered that the cart had not been plugged into a charger in the shed.

She looked into the rearview mirror and saw Hurd running and gaining on her. She stopped the cart and grabbed the rock she had picked up from the road. It was the size of a softball but heavier. She got out of the cart, drew back, and threw it at his head. She hoped it would connect because she didn’t have another one.

The rock struck Hurd on the left side of his forehead, and he went down like a sack of beans, then lay still, blood trickling from his forehead. She picked up the rock and threw it into the woods, then moved her bag from the cart to the van, got it started, and drove on toward the highway.

She wanted to separate herself from the van as soon as possible, so when a service station with a Subway sandwich shop attached came into sight, she pulled off the road, drove behind the building, and got her bag out. She googled taxi services, found one, and asked to be picked up at the Subway, destination Lincolnville.

The taxi took fifteen minutes to arrive, and in her imagination she could see Hurd awakening, getting to his feet, and going back to the house to call the police. She got into the taxi. “Lincolnville Ferry, please,” she told the woman driving.

As they were driving through Rockland, a police car passed them going the other way, followed by an ambulance. Sherry made a quick decision. “Take me to the harbor in Camden,” she said. “I forgot I have to pick up something there.”

The driver drove into Camden, deposited her outside a row of shops, took her money, and pointed down an alley. “The harbor’s right down there,” she said.

Sherry trotted down the alley, pulling her case behind her, then came to a dock. She stood, staring at a sign that read: WAYFARER MARINA. It was on the other side of the harbor. It began to rain.





13


Sherry stood there. She was afraid to retrace her steps and walk to the north side of the harbor, so she looked around for a boat. As if in answer to a prayer, a small boat with an awning came out of the mist and stopped. “Taxi?” the driver asked.

She climbed aboard. “The Wayfarer Marina,” she said, pointing. “Over there.”

“Five bucks,” the man said.

Sherry took shelter as best she could, and raked the coming shore with her eyes. There were a number of motor yachts, but none named Breeze.

The water taxi pulled up to the dock, and the driver set her bag ashore for her. She paid him, then looked around for a dockmaster. What she saw instead was a police car pulling into the parking area fifty yards away and a cop getting out of one side and Hurd out the other, sporting a bandage on his forehead and looking angry.

She spotted a shed at one end of the marina and ran for that. A young man had taken shelter inside and was reading a Playboy. “Yes, ma’am?”

“I’m looking for a yacht named Breeze,” she said.

“Right over there,” he said, pointing at a huge shed, the bow of a yacht sticking out.

“And where would I find Captain Todd?” she asked.

“Aboard Breeze,” he replied.

Sherry looked out the window and saw Hurd making his way toward the dock, followed by the policeman. She got out her cell phone and dialed 9-1-1.

“Nine-one-one, what’s your emergency?” a woman said.

“There’s an abandoned green van behind a filling station and Subway south of here. I thought you should know.” She watched through the rain-spattered window and saw the cop reach to his belt for a radio and say something, then he shouted something at Hurd, who turned and followed him back to the car. They turned the car around and drove away.

“Thanks for your help,” Sherry said to the young man, then grabbed her bag and headed for the huge shed, which had a pair of rails out front that ran toward the docks. Near the stern, a half dozen men had taken shelter. “Captain Todd?” she asked. One of them turned around.

“That would be me,” he said.

“I’m Sherry.”

“I was told to watch out for you.” He led her to a platform, then up the ship’s stairs to the deck, then down below to a cabin.