Nightingale's Nightmare (Cassadaga Book 4 (19 page)

“Take pictures,” he instructed
, wondering why he smelled shit.

As he was about to turn away, something gold caught h
is eye. The crucifix. What was that doing in the bushes?

“Take a picture of that, too,” he ordered.

Bill got on his phone to Martinez.

“Yeah, she’s missing,” he said to his superior. “I found a white candle and a crucifix below her bedroom window and the front door was wide open, just like reported. Something’s happened to her. Abduction, I
guess, I don’t know what else it could be.”

“Does Nightingale have any enemies?” Martinez asked.

“Not that I’m aware of. Latisha, maybe, but she’s in jail.”

“I’ll send out a forensic team
to dust the sills and scour the area.”

“Good. I just noticed some grass is worn down a little, about a two inch width
indentation,” he said, bending over to touch the ground. “It continues and goes back into the woods behind the house. Odd.”

Bill clicked off the phone, then followed the indentation leading to the woods. He stood gazing out into the heavily vegetated and treed area.

Was Nightingale out there?

Had someone kidnapped her?

Bill’s heart literally felt heavy inside his chest, like it was dangling by a thin thread of despair. 

~~

Manure. The pungent odor wafted into Nightingale’s nostrils. She couldn’t see anything because something had been tied over her eyes, but she could smell the noxious odor quite well. Struggling against the binding around her wrists, she winced beneath the blindfold. Whatever had her wrists bound behind her back, cut into her skin when she moved.

Wiggling around, she realize
d her ankles were secured with the same binding as her wrists. It was equally painful to move her ankles. It felt like she was being sliced by a wire.

Nightingale listened for any sounds that were familiar so she could determine where she was located. But everything was quiet, peaceful, except for the racing of her heart.

Someone had taken her from the house last night. The last recollection she had was feeling pain in the back of her head. Someone must have clubbed her then taken her to this location, wherever that was. A place with manure. Whoever it was must have drugged her because she couldn’t remember anything until an estimated hour ago. Chloroform, perhaps?

While she was restricted in many ways, her mouth was free. Nothing had been placed over her lips. Maybe she was
too far from people who might hear her if she were to scream?

“Hello? Anyone there? Hello?”
She called out in a loud voice, hoping for a response. She heard someone stirring around behind her, moving closer.

“Who’s there? Who are you?”

No answer.

“Why are you doing this to me?
What did I ever do to you?”

Nightingale thought she heard chuckling. Could someone actually find humor in this situation?

“These bindings hurt. Would you please cut them off? Can’t we talk about this?”

Whoever was there was close now, really close. Nerve wracking close
…

“Come on, play fair. Loosen the ties, they hurt.”

More movement, but no response. Was he, assuming this person was a he, going to rape her? That thought didn’t set well with Nightingale.

Or did he
plan to kill her? Because he couldn’t have kidnapped her hoping for a ransom. She didn’t have money. Everyone knew that. No money, no ransom.

So he
most likely wanted to kill her.

Or m
aybe rape her first and then kill her. None of the options that sprang into her fertile imagination were pleasant.

“I don’t know what you want from me. What do you want? Please, can’t we talk?”

“No.”

The voice was gruff and stern.

“Please—“

A cloth was forcibly placed over her mouth and nose, wreaking with ch
loroform. Nightingale fell silent, passing out.

Starting in the center of the room, a
man began to assemble objects in a circle. One after the other, he placed skulls on the sandy ground until they eventually formed a neat circle. Skulls of various sizes, but all human, created the border that would contain the ceremony. In the very center of the circle Nightingale sat hunched over, unconscious, her head hanging to her chest.

Carefully, so as not to disturb the skulls, he twisted black candles into the sand in between each head. This was going to be a festive night. Not only would the wise one be silenced,
the gods would be honored. Surely they would reign down upon him all good fortune and blessings for this sacrificial act.

And if not, at least Nightingale would no longer be a threat.

Twenty-nine

Bill was frustrated beyond any recollection in his life. Where was Nightingale? No one had called in to demand money for her return
. Not that that had surprised him. She made an average living. An heiress she was not.

So, who would want to abduct a medium? Had a client been dissatisfied and sought revenge? That didn’t make sense, either. Nightingale would not have charged someone who was unhappy with a reading
and she would have gone out of her way to find another medium for the person.

Why abduct someone who had no money? Had a psychopath come into the community, saw Nightingale and determi
ned he or she would kidnap her for the purpose of  later killing her? That seemed a bit farfetched as well. As crazy as the world sometimes appeared, Bill didn’t really think psychopaths frequented the streets of small communities with the intent of murdering one at random.

Martinez stepped up to Bill’s desk, breaking into his thoughts.

“They think the indentation in the grass came from a wheelbarrow. Nightingale might have been carried away in it,” he said.

Bill studied the other man’s face before he s
hared his thoughts. “Okay. So, the guy, assuming it’s a guy, surprises Nightingale, hits her over the head and totes her away in the wheelbarrow. Or, he stabs her, throws her into the wheelbarrow and totes her away. Why does he need a wheelbarrow? Who goes to a crime scene with a wheelbarrow?”

“Maybe it’s a woman
. She wouldn’t have the strength to haul Nightingale away by herself, so she uses a wheelbarrow,” Martinez suggested.

“Possible.”

“But why is she out there with a candle and a crucifix, presumably in the middle of the night?” Martinez asked.

“
I don’t know. And why Nightingale?”

“She’s a public figure. May
be somebody’s got it in for her,” Martinez speculated.

“She helps people. It’s not like she’s in politics.”

Martinez’s expression changed from inquiring to concerned. “Can you handle this?”

“Without a doubt. My emotions aren’t involved. But my determination to solve the puzzle is
acute.”

Martinez walked away without saying a word. He was satisfied that France would deal with the issue
using logic and not heart.

~~

Nightingale raised her head slowly and then listened.

“If you start up that chattering, I’ll just have to chloroform you again.”

The voice speaking was familiar. Her mind racing, she tried to place the person. A man, for sure. Who was it?

“You should have kept your yap shut. This is your fault.”

The voice was old, like that of…

“I hadn’t planned this, but it actually works out to have a double value. I get some practice in that honors the gods and you are silenced. Double good deal for me.”

“What are you talking about? Who are you?”

“You were getting too close to the truth about that Schmidt guy.”

“Joe Schmidt?” Nightingale’s heart thumped hard. “This is about Joe?”

“Yup.”

The manure smell! Joe had manure spilled over him. And this place wreaked with that stench. Nightingale recognized the voice. She knew who it was now.

“You killed Joe?”

“Yup.”

“Why? Why would you kill that
nice man?”

“He wasn’t so nice. Not when it came to money. He screwed me.”

“What are you talking about? How did he screw you?”

“Oh, it was a long time ago. The details wouldn’t interest you.”

“Yes, they would. I want to know.”

I want to live,
Nightingale thought.
Keep talking. Keep busy and maybe Bill will find me before you kill me.

“Tell me why you hate Joe so much. What did he do to you?”

“Well, you know he was an accountant. I invested in numerous stocks and a couple business ventures, as did other people. I trusted him, really believed in the guy, you know? He handled my money and made me more money. The more he made me, the more I invested.”

Nightingale could hear him shuffling around. What was he doing?

“I worked hard for my money. And I made good money, too. I was an engineer for the government. Had a wife, kids, all the stuff you’re supposed to acquire. I did it.” He cleared his throat during the pause in his discourse. “And then all hell broke loose. It was all gone. Just gone.”

“What happened, Ralph?” She used his name deliberately.

“Ah, you know my voice, huh? Doesn’t matter. You’re gonna die anyway.”

Nightingale ignored that searing comment, choosing to speak with him, anything to keep him from committing the act.

“What happened, Ralph? Tell me.”

“There was an accident, a car crash. The three kids and my wife were in the car when some lunatic, sleep deprived trucker crossed the median and plowed into them. My wife died instantly, along with my oldest boy. The other two kids, well, one by one they died in the hospital. All gone. Just like that.”

Silence. It was a painful silence for Ralph and equally for Nightingale. After all, her life was in the hands of a grief stricken nut case.

“I’m terribly sorry, Ralph. That had to be horrific for you to endure.”

A loud noise sounded, causing Nightingale to jump. Then other noises were heard as Ralph thrashed around, knocking over anything in his path. Nightingale cringed, half expecting something heavy to fall on top of her.

“
You don’t know anything! You can’t possibly know how I felt!”

“You’re right, Ralph, I have no clue what it felt like to lose your family. I’m so terribly sorry this happened to you. Ralph, I’m sorry.”

Silence. Nightingale sat in anticipation that something was about to happen. But what?

“You
know nothing. You only know what you’ve been taught. You don’t know about life, not really. You’re too young to know.”

“That’s right, Ralph, I don’t know anything. I really don’t know.”

Ralph sighed deeply and continued the story of his life.

“After everyone died, the funerals, all that shit was done, I had to decide what to do with my life. It wasn’t easy. It was not an easy time for me.”

“Of course not, Ralph, I do understand that.”

“Then I get this phone call from Joe Schmidt. He didn’t even have the decency to have me come to his office and tell me
, face to face, like a real man would, that the investments I had made just went south.
Kaput! Gone!
The businesses went sour that he had invested in for me and all that money was just gone. Gone…”

“Oh, Ralph, that’s terrible! You must have been…”

“Shut up. Just shut up. I know what you’re doing and it isn’t going to work.”

“Ralph…”

“Shut up! I didn’t believe him, frankly. I think he lied to me. Can you imagine, lying to a man who’s just lost his entire family? Huh? Can you?”

“No, that w
ould be cruel.”

“Damn straight it was cruel. I was robbed of my family and then Schmidt robs me of whatever was left in my life. Like I was a pile of manure.”

Manure.

“Ralph, why did Joe have manure all over him?”

“Seemed fitting. I brought over a sack at his request from this barn. He mentioned something about being sorry I lost my family all those years ago and now how I was alone in my elder years. Maybe he was feeling guilty, I don’t know, because we had never discussed that situation since I’ve been in Cassadaga.” Ralph shook his head as he looked down at Nightingale.

“Then he goes and suggests I invest with him again. Your ex was dead and left accounts which he was going to take over. He needed investors.”

“Brad?”

“Yeah, Brad. Seemed to be some opportunities for investments there. Can you believe the gall to ask
me
if I wanted to invest again? I don’t know, that just kinda triggered something, I’m not exactly sure what, but I’m not the least bit sorry it happened.” Ralph didn’t appear to have any remorse.