Lost and Found (17 page)

"Well, not completely. He wasn't real enthused with her choice. Uncle Clarence was supposedly a Chicago gangster with all kinds of unsavory connections. If it had been any of the other children, I'm sure the old man would have thrown them out of the family—lock, stock and rumble seat—but he couldn't bring himself to cast aside his pet so he set about covering up Uncle Clarence's past."

"A gangster?" Sam smiled but there was an arrested look in his eyes. Babs caught it and shook her head.

"Don't get any ideas. If Uncle Clarence really was a gangster, it was fifty years ago. I don't even know if the story is true. Naturally, no one will talk about it but that's what I pieced together over the years. Anyway, it was all a long time ago and Uncle Clarence has floated through life ever since."

"I suppose you're right." He leaned over to toss another small log on the fire. "So it sounds like our top suspect has to be your cousin."

"I guess. I don't know." Babs stirred restlessly, watching the flames lick hungrily at the new log. "I guess if it has to be one of them, I'd say Aunt Dodie is the only one capable of murder. She might even be able to justify it to herself. She's got a firm belief in her own infallibility. Uncle Lionel might arrange it if she told him to. He does everything else she tells him." She shuddered, looking away from the fire.

"I just can't really believe that any of them wants me dead. There may be no real love lost between us but there's still quite a gap between that and actually killing a person."

The fire found a pocket of moisture in the log, exploding it with a loud pop that punctuated her words. A small lamp that stood on a table next to the sofa exploded at the same moment, showering them with bits of porcelain.

Babs lifted a hand to her hair to brush the glass out of it. Her only thought was that the fire popping couldn't possibly have caused the lamp to explode. Everything seemed to happen in slow motion, like a film slowed down to view frame by frame.

She looked at Sam, her eyes widening as she noticed the look of deadly intent in his eyes as he lunged across the short distance between them. She felt his hands grab her shoulders but it didn't feel real, none of it felt real. She went over backward, feeling the scrape of the braided rug through her shirt, feeling Sam's large frame cover her.

It couldn't have been more than a few seconds that she lay there, counting every heartbeat, her mind refusing to function. Sam's chest crushed her breasts and, after a moment, Babs realized that she wasn't sure which was his heartbeat and which was hers. She drew a rough breath, trying to shake the fog out of her mind.

"What happened?"

"Someone took a shot at us."

A shot. Of course. It wasn't the fire popping that broke the lamp, it was a bullet. And Sam had pushed her down out of the line of fire and covered her, protecting her with his own body. The thought was enough to penetrate the vagueness in her mind. She didn't want anyone taking a bullet meant for her. She moved, trying to shift his weight off her.

"Hold still." Sam hissed the command in her ear.

"Get off me. If somebody is going to get shot, it's going to be me."

"Nobody is going to get shot." He shifted but kept his arm across her shoulders, holding her to the floor. "Stay down and don't move until I tell you to."

Staying close to the floor, he crawled over to the table where he'd set the oil lamp. Babs rolled onto her stomach, watching as he carefully reached up, fumbling a moment before finding the key and turning down the wick. The light dimmed and then went out and the old house was suddenly dark, lit only by the fire in the fireplace.

The flickering light only added to the surrealistic feeling of the scene. It was as if they were playing some silly game where the object was to stay low. Only the consequences of losing this game could be deadly.

Sam disappeared into the bedroom, pulling himself along on his elbows. Babs waited, hardly daring to breathe. She was lying too close to the fire and her right side felt sizzling hot but she didn't move. After what seemed an interminable time, Sam reappeared, still on his belly, dragging his pack behind him.

Glass shattered and there was a dull thud as a bullet buried itself in the wall. Babs caught her breath on a sob and pressed her face against the rug. A light touch on her shoulder made her jump but it was only Sam. She raised her head cautiously.

"It's okay. I didn't bring you this far to let you get killed." Another shot punctuated the sentence. Babs winced but she didn't look away from him. Sam grinned and wrapped his hand in her hair, tugging her forward a few inches to kiss her. It was only a brief touch of the lips but it was enough to make the fear recede a little.

"We're going to get out of this. They're not really trying to kill us."

"They're not?"

"Nope. They just want to keep us pinned down while they work their way closer to the house. They may hope a lucky shot gets one of us but they're not counting on it."

"Lucky for whom?" she muttered.

"Come on, help me pull this rug back." He was tugging at the old braided rug that lay in front of the hearth.

"What for? Is it a magic carpet that will waft us out a window and fly us away?" She rolled off the rug and helped him pull it away from the fireplace. Another bullet zinged overhead and she winced but she didn't stop tugging.

"Good girl." Sam's smile gleamed in the firelight and, illogically, Babs felt better. If he could smile, then maybe things weren't so bad after all. Moving the heavy rug wasn't easy when they didn't dare lift their heads much above knee level but at last it was rolled away, revealing more wood flooring, a great deal of dirt and... a door.

"What's that?"

"It's a trapdoor. There's a tunnel under it that leads to a root cellar in back of the house. When Dad bought the place, the tunnel was collapsed but we restored it. I guess the people who built this place wanted a way to get to the root cellar without going outside. It looks like it used to be big enough to walk through but it's more of a crawl space now."

He was shining the flashlight into the opening as he spoke. The empty black space seemed to swallow the light like a greedy animal. Babs stared into the blackness and swallowed. Then she swallowed again.

"You want me to go in there!"

"Sure. We'll come out in the root cellar and hike across the old fields to the road. We can find someplace to sleep for tonight and then tomorrow we'll be able to hitch a ride to the nearest phone."

Another bullet shattered a window. Babs looked over her shoulder at the front of the house where killers waited. Then she looked at the yawning black hole, which looked bigger than it had a second ago, as if it were a mouth opening, waiting to be fed. Until this moment she'd never appreciated the true meaning of being between a rock and a hard place.

B
abs had never realized just how dark dark could get. This was real dark, as in no light, as in pitch black. Ahead of her the beam of Sam's flashlight was swallowed up by the darkness, its pathetic attempt at lighting the way nullified by the all-consuming black.

The tunnel had settled since Sam had last been through it. His broad shoulders brushed the dirt walls on either side, creating tiny avalanches of soil and pebbles. His bulk blocked any light that might have filtered back to her, leaving her to feel her way along. At least if there were any rats, Sam would encounter them first. She immediately regretted the thought.

Rats did not bear thinking about. On the heels of that thought came another, equally unwelcome. Spiders. She shuddered and inched her hand forward. If she touched something that moved, she would probably pass out and die, stuck in this stupid tunnel. Really, when you thought about it, guns weren't so bad.

"You okay?" Sam's voice sounded muffled.

"Fine." Babs gritted out the word. She wasn't fine at all. She was suffering from an advanced case of claustrophobia, along with acute anxiety regarding any wildlife that might inhabit this awful place. But there was nothing either of them could do about it.

She closed her eyes and then opened them again. It made little difference but, at least with them open, she could just make out Sam's silhouette. There was a scuffling noise ahead and her heart stopped, picturing all the horrid possibilities. Sam was grappling with a rat the size of a small pony, struggling for his life. There was a spider the size of a Great Dane and he was trying to kill it before it could devour them both. He'd had a heart attack and they were both going to die in this damn tunnel.

Before her imagination could present any more scenarios, there was a thud and she realized that Sam's silhouette had disappeared. She stopped, staring into the blackness. He'd fallen into an old mine shaft that went hundreds of feet down.

"Come on." His voice sounded reassuringly close. If he were lying at the bottom of a mine shaft, he wouldn't be urging her to join him. She edged forward again, aware that she could see light up ahead. It was faint but, after the darkness of the tunnel, it looked like heaven. She crawled to the edge of the tunnel and found herself at eye level with Sam. He'd set the flashlight on a shelf and it cast just enough light to give a vague impression of the old root cellar.

"Put your hands on my shoulders and I'll lift you down. I guess the original owners must have had some steps here but there's no sign of them now."

She set her hands on his shoulders and he reached up to grasp her waist, lifting her easily out of the tunnel and setting her on the dirt floor. Babs looked around uneasily. Cobwebs hung from every corner, dust was thick on every surface. In some places there were vague marks that might or might not have been tracks. She didn't want to know.

"Do you think there are rats or spiders or anything in here?" Her voice was hushed as if she were afraid she might wake some of the residents.

"I'm sure there are spiders. I don't know about rats but there might be frogs." Sam was moving away as he spoke.

"Frogs?" Babs took a quick step to catch up with Him. "Frogs that jump?"

"Most frogs do." He picked up the flashlight and shone it around the cellar, giving a pleased exclamation when it illuminated a warped wooden door.

Babs stayed right on his heels as he moved toward the door. It was impossible to look in four different directions at once but she was giving it her best shot. Spiders and rats were bad enough but something that might actually jump out of nowhere at you was more than she could take. She had a vague image of large green slimy creatures with big teeth, lunging out of the darkness to attack her. Logically, she knew that wasn't a very accurate picture but she'd left logic behind somewhere in that awful length of tunnel.

"Now, when I open the door, I'm going to go out slowly. Since we don't know exactly where the bad guys are, I don't want to walk into a bullet. You wait here until I signal you. Try to be as quiet as possible. Got it?"

"I got it."

"Good." He wrapped his hand around the back of her neck and tilted her face up to drop a quick but thorough kiss on her mouth. "We're going to be okay. Just wait for my signal."

Sam eased the door open, hesitating as it creaked. He braced himself and then opened it quickly, wincing at the noise it made. Cool night air flooded the root cellar, banishing years of mustiness. Babs lifted her face, drinking in the fresh air, feeling it banish some of the fear. Overhead she could catch a glimpse of stars. The sight reassured her further.

Sam crouched on the steps, a dark shadow against the night sky. He lifted his hand and she saw starlight glint off steel, silent and ominous. He waited without moving until Babs began to wonder how he could hold one position for so long, and then suddenly he was gone, disappearing so quickly and silently it was as if he'd never been there at all.

Wait, he'd said. She would wait. She would give him thirty seconds and then she was getting out of this place. Bullets or no, she couldn't stand it much longer than that. The skin on her back was threatening to crawl right off at the thought of the creepy crawlies that might be lurking in the darkness behind her.

"Okay." Sam's whisper came just as she was sure she couldn't stand to stay where she was for another moment. "Watch your step. The stairs are rickety."

He reached down a hand and Babs took it, picking her way up the stairs, feeling them creak and moan under her weight. In a matter of seconds, she was standing on firm ground with nothing but sky around her. She could have stood there for hours, just savoring the space but Sam had other ideas.

"Come on." He took her right hand in his left, keeping the gun in his other hand. Babs curled her fingers around his, feeling immediately reassured by the firm strength of his palm.

The old farmhouse was a dark bulk to their right. Sam circled around it, heading toward the road. Babs looked over her shoulder at the house. It was silent now. If the killers were still there, they were no longer making any noise. Sam kept the pace at something just under a run, his hand tugging her along, keeping her with him.

"Hot damn! We're in luck." Babs had turned to look over her shoulder. When Sam came to an abrupt halt, she collided with his back with enough force to rock her back on her toes. Sam barely noticed. He was staring at a small brown car that hardly seemed worthy of such excitement.

"Look at this. Maybe they even left the keys in it." He strode around the front of the car, with Babs trotting along behind him. The driver's door opened to his touch and he reached in, feeling for the ignition switch.

"Damn. No keys." He pulled his handout of the car and looked around before turning his attention to Babs. In the moonlight, his face was all hard angles and shadows.

"A car could mean the difference between living and dying. I think I can hot-wire this thing but I can't do that and keep an eye out for our friendly neighborhood hit men." He handed her his gun. It was warm from his hand. Her fingers curled around it, testing the weight and grip. "If you have to use it, shoot to kill. It's them or us."

"I know."

Sam's fingers brushed lightly over her cheek and then he bent down to slide into the car, fumbling under the dashboard. Babs kept her eyes skimming over the night dark countryside. It seemed like forever, but could only have been a few minutes, before she heard Sam's triumphant whisper an instant before the engine sprang to life. There was a shout from the direction of the house as the killers heard the sound of the motor.

"Get in!" She didn't need Sam's command to scurry around the hood. He had the passenger door open and she was barely in the seat when he put the car in reverse and stomped on the gas. The tires spun in the loose dirt for an instant before catching. Babs's door slammed shut of its own volition as the car rocketed back up the long drive. There was a sharp popping noise. She ducked automatically, expecting to see a bullet come through the windshield.

The tires bumped from dirt onto pavement and they were out of range. Sam threw the gear into drive and they were roaring down the highway. Within seconds the old farmhouse was several miles behind them. Sam slowed the car to a more sedate speed. To anyone who passed them, they would look like an average couple, driving down a country road late in the evening.

"Where are we going?" Babs reached for her seat belt.

"I think it's time we headed back to Santa Barbara. I can take you to my mom's place and you can stay there. You okay?"

"Sure. I'm fine. I've just been shot at, crawled through a tunnel that was built for munchkins, stood in a cellar full of killer frogs and helped steal a car. I can't wait to see what will happen tomorrow."

"Killer frogs?" Sam threw her a quizzical look.

"You know what I mean." Babs stared out the windshield, her face set. Sam could see her expression in the light from the dashboard and he thought he'd never seen anyone look more mournful.

"What's wrong?"

"I guess someone really does want me dead." There was childlike hurt in the words and he realized how much she'd been counting on it all being a misunderstanding.

"There doesn't seem to be much room for doubt."

"If they just wanted to keep me out of the way for a while, they wouldn't have started shooting like that, would they?"

Babs's tone begged him to tell her she was wrong. Sam would have given anything to be able to give her the reassurance she wanted. It just wasn't possible.

"No, they wouldn't have."

She was silent for a long time. Glancing at her, he could see her teeth worrying at her lower lip, her eyes staring straight ahead, focused on nothing in particular. She looked hurt. She looked betrayed. He wanted to offer some comfort but there was nothing he could say to change the facts.

"Do you think they're all in on it? Do you think they all want me dead?"

"I don't think so. When I spoke to your aunts, neither of them sounded especially happy you were alive. I think it's one of them. We just have to figure out which one."

She was silent again and Sam wished he had some clue to what she was thinking. It couldn't be easy for her to go through this.

"How do you think they found us?"

"I've been giving it some thought," he said. "The only thing I can come up with is our friendly truck-stop waitress remembered where she'd seen you and called your family. Then, whoever it is who—" He paused, looking for a delicate way to phrase it.

"Wants me dead?" Babs's voice held a hard note that revealed her pain as clearly as tears would have.

Sam nodded. "Whoever wants you dead passed the information on to their hired killers. They've got my name. I suppose it wouldn't have been all that difficult to find out that my family used to own the old farmhouse. They must have figured we'd be looking for a place to hide for a while."

"But how could they have known it was us in there? It might have been someone else entirely."

"I'm not sure these people care that much if they get the wrong victim. I shut the curtains not too long before they started shooting. They may have been outside watching. Seeing me, they knew it was a sure bet you were with me."

"What would have happened to us if that awful tunnel hadn't been there?"

"We'd have gone out a back window. We'd have made it."

She didn't say anything. After a while Sam looked over and saw that her eyes were closed. He didn't think she was asleep but he respected her need for privacy. She had a lot to think about, a lot to try to work out. The road was empty and allowed plenty of time for thinking.

His hands tightened on the steering wheel. The force of his anger surprised him. He was never all that crazy about being shot at but it had happened a time or two before and he considered it an occasional part of the territory. But it was something else entirely for them to be shooting at Babs.

The clock on the dashboard said ten o'clock when he looked at Babs and found that she really was asleep. Highway 5 stretched wide open ahead of him, threatening a case of terminal highway hypnosis. Flipping on the radio, he found a station playing oldies but goodies. It was depressing to realize that some of the songs they were calling oldies were ones he remembered as top-ten hits.

Sometime after midnight Babs roused, stretching and yawning like a child waking from a nap. She looked out the windshield at the empty road and then looked at Sam.

"Where are we?"

"Somewhere between San Francisco and L.A."

"Sorry I went to sleep on you like that."

"No problem. How are you feeling?"

"Okay. You know, I keep thinking about it and thinking about it and it still doesn't make sense. I just can't believe that anyone in my family wants me dead. It's got to be a misunderstanding."

Sam could hear the lack of conviction in her voice but he wasn't going to be the one to make her look at reality. She'd come to terms with it in her own time. In the meantime, he'd be around to make sure she didn't get killed.

"Maybe. But misunderstanding or not, the end result is still people shooting at us."

"True." She stared at the dark countryside as the tires ate away the miles. "You want me to drive for a while? You must be tired."

"I'm okay. You're the one who needs to rest. Whatever is going on, I think we can pretty well bet that it's not going to be a lot of fun. Kidnapping, with or without murder, is hardly an acceptable pastime, even when you keep it in the family."