A House to Die For (A Darby Farr Mystery) (38 page)

Darby tried moving a finger. Nothing.

"I thought that you'd make some kind of connection if you saw
that ridiculous remembrance wall. They don't waste any time getting names up there. But I had to be sure, so I phoned Neonatology. Tiffany was only too happy to tell me about your little conversation."

The rain was beating on the deck of What's in a Name, but
Laura seemed oblivious to the several inches already gathered.

"She told you about the charges, right? Wrongful death! Can
you imagine? In an infant-a preemie no bigger than my fistwith severe intraventricular hemorrhage."

She looked out at the gray sea, the wind whipping her short
blonde hair into little frosted spikes. "That's bleeding in the cavities of the brain. Believe me, it was a blessing to lose that baby. I'd
do it again in a heartbeat."

Her calm, lecture-like style of speaking chilled Darby to the
core. Laura is insane, she thought. Please let me escape ...

A moment later she was peering down at Darby's face, the rain
running in little rivulets off her cheeks. In the same flat voice she
asked, "You do understand that I'm the one on that wall, don't
you?"

Darby's mind raced with this bit of information. So this was
Linda, the neonatal nurse, who was her captor?

"Laura died on the table, waiting for Phipps, just like a few of
his other patients. He didn't have one ounce of consideration or
compassion, that man. Never even tried to keep appointments,
or speak to families, or start a surgery on time." She spat out the
words with a violence oddly in harmony with the weather. "That's
just not good medicine."

Darby listened, praying Laura-or Linda-would keep talking
and forget that the effects of the stun gun were bound to wear off.

"I chose to forgive it all, though, because Laura was so injured
that he wouldn't have made a difference, even if he had shown up
on time. I mean, she was basically a lost cause. When she didn't
survive, I decided to use her life to get a fresh start. She had a new
job on this island that she was excited about. I asked myself: How
hard can it be to play pastor? I switched our driver's licenses and
said I was Laura. I read a few books, did research online, and in
no time I became the beloved associate minister" Linda Gefferelli
grinned, clearly proud of her deception. Moments later her smile
was a snarl.

"The day I saw him here on the island, I was-stunned. That's
a good word to be using right now, isn't it? The bastard actually
came to one of my church services. Of course, I never knew he had
a history here. I saw him and I froze. I said to myself, `Don't worry,
he'll never remember you. You were just an insignificant nurse.'
But that son of a bitch, he knew it was me.

"Oh, not right away of course. He gave me an odd look-that
was my first clue-and asked where I was from. I made up some
lie and thought I was safe. But he came back to my office that afternoon and said I had the same name as someone he knew in
Boston. `She had a sister,' he said ...

"Again I lied, but this time I knew it was pointless. Phipps was
too smart, too persistent. He was going to destroy everything I'd
created on Hurricane Harbor, all the good work I was doing for
everyone on the island. He'd take it all away-my position, my
projects, my new life-and I would be left with nothing."

The sailboat was pitching helplessly in the storm, the exhausted
motor droning uselessly like a fly caught in a fan. Darby sensed
that she hadn't much time before Linda tired of talking. She tried
clenching a fist, concentrating as hard as she could. She felt her
fingers touch her palm and nearly cried out in relief. Instead, she
remained as motionless as she could.

"Now this is my plan," Linda Gefferelli announced, raising her
voice against the howling wind. "I will dump you into the water
and watch as you sink, then turn the boat around and head for
shore. I'll need to get you out of that sail bag in case they find your
body, but let's face it, sometimes people are never found. You know
that better than anyone, don't you, Darby?" She gave a smile that
was a sickening blend of sympathy and hatred. "I don't think I'll
be stunning you again, not with this weather. I wouldn't want to
shock myself and kill us both, now would I?" She scanned the horizon, most likely to assure herself that there were no other boats
in sight, but visibility was so poor she could not have seen ten feet
away. "I'll have to dispose of the stun gun, I guess, although I've
become somewhat attached to it." She warmed to the topic of her
weapon. "They sell these things online, you know. Three hundred
and fifty dollars for 900,000 volts, and I didn't even have to pay for
shipping." A wave crashed against the bow again and Darby was
sure they'd be swamped. Linda, oblivious, talked on.

"They call these guns `non-lethal' but Soames, I swear to God,
actually died right then and there. His health was compromised,
probably because of all the drugs he consumed. Lifestyle choices
can really weaken someone considerably.

"And Emerson Phipps-you'd think that he would have put up
more of a fight! Then again, I did come out of nowhere. I stunned him; he dropped to his knees, I zapped him again, then I smashed
in his skull."

Darby stayed as still as she could, trying to form a plan while
she listened to Linda Gefferelli's rants. She wondered whether there
was anything she could grasp and use as a weapon, but dared not
move her eyes to see. The only thing she could do, she reasoned,
was surprise the woman with an unexpected surge of movement.
She had a chance to overpower her, as long as Linda did not realize
how much time had elapsed since she'd last stunned her victim.

Linda took one of the sailboat's sheets and stretched it around
the tiller and from cleat to cleat so that the tiller stayed on course.

"Automatic pilot." Turning toward Darby, she asked, "Ready for
a swim?"

Darby's heart sank. Had she regained enough movement to
even put up a fight? She willed herself to stay still as the grim-faced
woman approached. Another crack of thunder boomed as Linda
yanked down the sail bag's sides. Darby remained motionless, biding her time.

"Ugh," Linda said, noticing the puddle of liquid at the bottom
of the bag, "what did you-"

Just then Darby pushed her coiled legs at her captor, using all
the strength she could muster and praying it would be enough.
The force of the kick caught Linda Gefferelli totally off guard and
she slammed backward against the tiller. Darby tried to get up, not
sure of her next move, but knowing she had to stand up and fight.
Her tottering efforts were met with a powerful punch that caught
her in the lower lip, leaving her head buzzing with pain.

She tasted blood and saw Linda about to hit her again. She
ducked but Linda's fist managed to connect anyway, propelling
Darby down the ladder into the cabin.

"I should have dumped you overboard when you were in the
stupid sailbag," Linda fumed. "Now you're going to bleed on my
boat cushions." She jumped down the stairs and lunged at Darby,
her face a wild mix of fury and hatred. Darby fell back against a
berth with Linda on top of her. The crazed woman grabbed at her
throat and began squeezing. Tighter and tighter until Darby, still
weak from the electrical shocks, felt darkness closing in.

Her father's voice filled her weakening brain. "Clenched fist,"
he commanded. "Clenched fist, Darby!"

Although it seemed every ounce of energy had ebbed from her
body, Darby drew strength from the words echoing in her head.
Forming the fist as she had practiced so long ago, she aimed for a
pressure point and thrust out at her attacker. At the same time, she
drew both her knees up and into Linda's groin area with as much
force as she could muster. Knowing she would die if she did not
escape momentarily, she put every last ounce of energy she possessed-plus a hidden strength she never knew existed-into her
movements, praying they would work.

Linda gave a grunt as the offensive blows struck, and, for a fleeting second, loosened her hold on Darby's windpipe, letting some
much-needed oxygen into Darby's depleted lungs. Darby gasped,
and then slammed her knees into Linda's midsection. The other
woman let out a yelp of pain as Darby continued with her offense.
Linda was now up against the companionway, slumped in pain,
but Darby was taking no chances. She grabbed a loose jib sheet and, despite the other woman's flailing arms, tied Linda's hands
and feet, using knots she'd learned back in her days as a young
sailor. She pushed Linda onto the deck of the boat, hearing a solid
whack as Linda's skull hit the deck. Oops, she thought grimly. I
hope I haven't killed her...

But the injured Linda Gefferelli was of no concern to Darby
now. She climbed the ladder and nearly cried out in anguish at the
scene before her.

While she had been below deck fighting off Linda, the storm
had reached its violent worst. Foaming waves crashed relentlessly
over the sides of the small sailboat, threatening to swamp it with
each blow. The tiller, now a jagged mess of splintered wood, was
jerking uselessly back and forth in savage rhythm. Worse though,
was what lay directly in the small craft's path: the hulking mass of
rocks known as the Graves. Rising up from the surging ocean like
a mound of rocky icicles, the Graves were to blame for countless
maritime tragedies and deaths. Within minutes, Darby was sure
What's in a Name would be among the wrecked vessels destroyed
by these rocks, with she and Linda two of its casualties.

Darby knew that she had to act fast. What's in a Name's tiny
motor had died, and perhaps it was useless against the storm anyway. Nevertheless, Darby recognized instantly that it was her only
hope. Quickly she pulled the start cord. No sound came from the
motor. She tried again. Nothing. She saw the choke button and
pressed it a few times, remembering the small crafts she had driven
at the Yacht Club as a child. This time the engine made a soft sputter. Again Darby pressed the choke and pulled the cord. Finally, the
engine caught and came to life.

Almost mechanically Darby pushed the motor into forward
and gunned it. The burst of speed nearly tossed her off the stern of
the boat. But she was gratified to see that despite the surging waves
and raging wind, she had moved, if only inches. The rocks were
only two feet away, close enough that Darby could see a cluster of
mussels clinging to the rocks and see the sheen left on their shells
after each wave. She swallowed her fear and prayed for the wind to
subside, if only for an instant.

It was as if her prayer had been heard and granted. The wind
suddenly slowed, and even the rain seemed to slacken. Was the
deathly calm the eye of the storm, or the lull before even more
violence began?

The little motor revved in a dangerously high whine but Darby
resisted the urge to slow it until she was several more feet from the
Graves. As soon as she felt she was not in danger of crashing on
the rocks, she slowed the motor and surveyed the horizon. She did
not know when the storm would intensify, but she was convinced
the damaged boat could not weather it. The shore looked hopelessly far away, and Darby knew that swimming in the still frigid
water was not an option.

A grunt from her captive brought her back to her immediate
surroundings. Linda Gefferelli was alive, although she seemed to
be in a state between consciousnesses. Darby resisted the impulse
to check her knots. They'll hold, she convinced herself. Although
she had worked in a hurry, her captive appeared to be secure and
taut.

Linda Gefferelli moaned, but Darby forced her brain to think
of solutions to the predicament of being in a tiny weakened boat
in the middle of a storm. She knew Linda did not have a radio to call the coast guard or other help. Her own cell phone was somewhere in the rental car, dead and useless.

Darby pictured the chart of these waters in her mind as she
had seen it so many times. She remembered the Graves marked
as a clear danger to mariners, remembered the distance from the
Graves to the coastline, and racked her brain for other details.
There was a bell buoy marking another rocky spot, and behind it,
a small island called Sheepscot.

Quickly Darby searched the tossing waves. If her memory was
correct, Sheepscot should be in line with the Graves. It was a twoacre or so patch of rocky land, home to spruce trees, bayberry
bushes, and an old cabin no bigger than Aunt Jane's tiny cottage.
The structure was miniscule, but it represented shelter.

The wind was starting to pick up again and Darby felt her
heartbeat quicken. The motor was still struggling valiantly to keep
the boat moving, but as the storm once again gathered strength,
she knew its efforts would be useless. Darby thought fast. There
were binoculars below deck: she remembered seeing them on a
small shelf. Quickly she scampered down the ladder. While she
was there she looked for a life jacket, finding one in a compartment under a cushion. With the weather turning more and more
ominous, personal flotation was a wise idea.

She shoved her arms inside the armholes and buckled the clasps.
If I did fall in, the temperature of the water would induce hypothermia
and kill me anyway, she thought. She pushed the fact from her brain.
She had no time for negative thoughts. This was one of those times
when her father would have told her to "keep it positive."

The memory of her father describing a particularly grueling
sailing race entered her mind. "It was the closest race I'd ever been in," he'd said. "The other guy was a German named Anton Vasser,
and he was an incredible sailor. He had me pretty much the whole
way, and I was working like a dog to catch up. The other boats were
so far behind that it was truly only he and I in the race." Darby remembered him pausing as he recalled that day years before. "Suddenly I tried a new tack and it worked, and I started gaining on
him. I was nearly neck and neck when the thought came to me,
`You can't beat this guy. Give it up and settle for second' I was so
tired that I didn't have the strength to fight back the negativity.
It seeped into me like water in a leaky dinghy. Before I knew it,
Vasser was too far for me to ever catch and he had won the race."
Her father had turned a sober face to her and concluded. "Don't
let negativity ever take control, Little Loon. If I had pushed that
thought out of my mind, I believe I would have won that race."