* * *
Having refused to change her surname to suit her daughter’s wishes, Francesca’s mother remained Tammy Wainer. She lived in a narrow townhouse located in the thick of tourist traffic on the southern tip of the island. A prime spot for people-watching, something Tammy enjoyed even if she wouldn’t admit it.
With some reluctance I parked along the small lane out back. It wasn’t far from where I’d last been snatched, nor did it seem any safer. So before exiting the car I slid open the face plate of the ring Reed had given me, my finger hovering over the button. If anyone so much as looked at me funny I’d press it.
There was no back entrance to Tammy’s house. Only a rickety fire escape that was useless in an emergency because it was covered top to bottom in potted plants. I jogged around the row homes, coming alongside the busy street as I rushed for the front door.
She was home and happy to see me. I didn’t flatter myself; I knew she was more interested in pumping me for information than the mere gift of my company. Don’t get me wrong—Tammy Wainer was a nice enough person. She was always warm and welcoming, but like all people, she wasn’t perfect, a weakness for gossip being her biggest foible. I’d heard her complain about the local ladies who took their tea together while idly chatting over the personal affairs of one local or another. ‘It’s disgusting,’ Tammy would say while slipping in outrageous tidbits concerning each woman. It was called projection, and it was a defense mechanism. It would be nice if everyone was as easy to understand.
“I can guess why you’re here,” she said, leading me to the living room. “Fannie told me all about it,” she confided, fluffing the throw pillows. She ushered me to sit. “Would you like some sweet tea, a lemonade?”
“Lemonade would be great,” I said. I hated lemonade, but talking over drinks was the perfect setting for the conversation I had planned, comfortable, casual. So I waited while she threw some refreshments together.
I’d never actually visited Tammy without Francesca, but we were well enough acquainted that it wasn’t totally weird.
“Fannie told me about Reed too,” Tammy called from the kitchen. Francesca abhorred the nickname Fannie as it undermined the sexy effect she’d been going for by changing her name in the first place. Originally her mother had agreed to call her Francesca. But Fannie sounded a lot like Katie, simple, sweet. And so it stuck.
As Tammy bustled in with a tray, I asked, “What do you think of Reed?” She settled into the recliner while I inspected the proffered tray. It included not only a pitcher of lemonade, but a small plate of Fig Newtons.
“I warned her she’d get her heart broken carrying on the way she does.” It was a criticism, but I felt the concern beneath it.
“He certainly did a number on her. I’ve never seen her lose her head for a man before.” Francesca would not only despise the fact that I’d dropped by to visit her mother, but this conversation, if repeated, would drive her over the edge.
“She’s convinced that you stole him away. You should have heard her going on about it, ranting in tears.” Her demeanor hadn’t changed, but I felt the small suspicion. Tammy liked me, wanted to keep liking me, but her daughter would always come first.
“I have no interest in Reed Wallace,” I said honestly. “And I’ve made that clear to Francesca on multiple occasions.”
She believed me.
Tammy sipped her drink, leaning back in her chair. “She must have lost her head then, like you said. When she came over crying I thought something seriously bad had happened. Nearly gave me a heart attack! And then she started babbling about how he talked about you, looked at you, as if you’d put a spell on him.” A quiet moment passed before Tammy murmured, “Nonsense.” She quickly looked at me, feeling embarrassed. “I don’t mean to say it’s nonsense that he could be attracted to you, you are a pretty girl, in your own way. I just meant that you aren’t like Francesca. You don’t play games with men. If you wanted him, you would have told her.”
“You’re right,” I agreed. “I only wish I knew how to convince Francesca.”
Tammy didn’t bother hiding her sympathy, it was there, swimming in her eyes as she leaned forward to pat my hand. “She thinks she’s in love, and that’s enough to make any woman crazy. Be patient, she’ll come ‘round.”
I nodded, feeling strange.
Another quiet moment passed. I couldn’t stand it so I segued to the point. “How’s your job?” I asked.
“It’s good,” she assured me. I didn’t really care, could hardly even remember what she did. I was just waiting for the polite rebuttal. And sure enough she asked, “And you? How’s your job doing?”
“It’s entertaining. There always seems to be a strange new character checking in.”
“I bet,” she agreed.
“In fact, we just had a group of women visiting the island, and I overheard the most interesting conversation.”
“Oh?”
I suppressed a smile. Oh indeed, she was hooked, hoping for a sordid story, preferring it be about someone she knew. My story was going to fall flat of her expectations. I almost felt bad.
Shrugging it off, I said, “They were talking about a man that used to live on the island. I only caught the last half of the story, so I’m not sure how long ago this was, but I got the impression it was some years before.
“Apparently he mysteriously disappeared one day, leaving behind a woman. I don’t recall if it was his mother or a girlfriend, but they said she cried a lot, mourned him.” I watched her for some sign of recognition, but there was none. I persisted, “Did you ever hear of a man from St. Simons disappearing?”
“A man that went missing, disappeared off the island? No, I’ve never heard of that. And I would have, too, if it’d ever happened, would have seen it in the news.” She smiled, but it held no real pleasure. “Plenty of men run off. They go for greener pastures and leave a tide of tears behind. How sure are you that he went missing? Maybe he just abandoned ship.”
“No,” I replied firmly. “He didn’t run off.” And though my voice sounded certain, I couldn’t help but wonder if it was the truth.
I’d assumed that Smith was a victim. That he went out one day and never returned, having met his tragic and sinister end. But what if Tammy was right? What if he ran off, left some poor woman behind, and then had an accident. Or maybe he never went anywhere, he simply drowned while swimming in the ocean and his body was rotting away somewhere in its depths. This simpler explanation made sense. Likely he was just an unlucky fool with a wrong place, wrong time, kind of deal.
I tested out this theory while examining his emotions in retrospect. They gave me no insight. He was often sad, dejected. But those feelings might have stemmed from guilt and regret, not the injustice of his situation. I’d painted Smith at best a hero in my mind, at worst a victim. Chances were he was victim to a blameless accident, and perhaps not as pristine as I liked to think. His lack of help supported this theory.
Having led me to the dry cleaner, that may or may not have led me to Wildwood Apartments, which most certainly didn’t pan out, he’d proven useless. And when I’d asked him about the weeping woman, did he communicate? No, he exploded ectoplasm all over my kitchen. And in case you were wondering, ectoplasm was what ghosts were made of according to the internet.
But I owed Smith. It was that simple, and I hated it, hated owing anyone, even a dead man. He’d helped me out, saved me from Beagban on more than one occasion, and I was bungling up his reward. Something he probably didn’t deserve in the first place. How Percival had ever managed to help anyone complete their unfinished business, I would never know. And I was expected to do better being an empath and all.
The rest of my visit with Tammy didn’t go well. I was hardly social at the best of times, but with this newest disappointment I was completely out of sorts.
My mind was churning, frustrated, and chaotic, not th
e temperament necessary for socializing. And after we’d said goodbye and I was left standing alone on her doorstep, I couldn’t remember half of what we’d been talking about. I knew I ate all the Fig Newtons, and I had a vague recollection of being questioned about Reed—Tammy looking for the inside scoop no doubt. And no doubt she found my one word rejoinders completely inadequate.
I sighed in defeat, discouraged by yet another lead that went nowhere. Maybe it was the frustration, the lack of control in my life that made me do it. I could hardly offer an excuse for my next actions, just a weak explanation. I was sure the ring played its part, lulling me into a false sense of security so that when I saw the black truck, recognized the telltale blue tarp that covered the back, I didn’t hesitate to run across the street and hide inside.
Chapter 36
Beagban’s truck was parked between the hair salon and a corner store I knew to be Handyman’s Hardware. I could easily guess his likely location. Lucky for me the store’s front window faced the crossroad, his truck tucked just out of sight.
I was imagining all the ways that this could go wrong, thinking that I should probably turn around and run away. But it made me feel safe to be the hunter and not the hunted, so I was stubborn and stayed.
With shaky, nervous fingers I tugged at the tarp trying to push it aside. But it wouldn’t budge, held in place by twine cords. I spared a nervous glance to the corner, making sure I hadn’t yet been discovered, before setting to work on the nearest knot.
I considered peeking into Handyman’s, stealthily of course, just to make sure Beagban was distracted. But any plans I might have been considering were instantly forgotten as the tarp slipped free.
I was consumed by grotesque fascination. I’ll admit, for a second there I thought I might find a slew of dead bodies heaped in the back. I was relieved, and maybe a little disappointed, to find only innocent items.
Pushing aside a duffle bag of clothes to make space, I spared one last look over my shoulder, checking for Beagban, before I hopped over the lip of his truck and slithered down inside.
I was instantly assailed by fear, and a panic attack ensued. I could do nothing, not even pull the tarp back in place to cover myself. My body shook with spasms while I did my best to lie still, imagining that any movement on my part would attract his attention. I pictured Beagban walking forward, finding me. I held my breath and strained my ears, waiting to hear the telltale footsteps of my impending doom. A few moments passed, and then a few moments more, and still nothing happened.
A person could only hold their breath for so long. Eventually I gave up and relaxed, even managed to pull the tarp closed, hiding myself beneath. The light shining through bathed everything in blue; it felt like being underwater. I was no longer preoccupied with fear, and it was only then that I noticed the uncomfortable position I was in.
My legs were scrunched up at an awkward angle and something was digging into my lower back. I rolled over slowly, extending my legs as I went. My feet came to rest against a smooth surface. It was a plastic container, transparent, so the ramen noodles and canned food inside were easily visible. Shifting around I was further surprised, finding a sleeping bag, blankets, and a supply of water. Beagban, the obvious villain, was going green, living like a hermit out of the back of his truck. Or maybe he was just a minimalist at heart. Who the hell knew? I did know that this lifestyle meant he could squat on St. Simons for as long as he liked, a most distasteful notion.
I settled myself down, sinking into the plastic grooves that lined the truck’s bed. My fingers brushed against something soft and when I saw what it was my terror returned.
The leather bundle sat harmlessly enough, but I knew what hid inside. I shuffled away, my heart pumping. Had I triggered Beagban’s gift? Was touching his weapons enough to alert him? Did he know I was hiding here?
I stayed as far from the leather wrapping as I could get, chanting in my mind that I had come in peace, that I wouldn’t lift a finger against him. But was it enough?
I waited to find out, tempted to run, but refusing to go. It wasn’t bravery. I was afraid that the moment I stood to leave Beagban would round the corner and see me violating his... house, and turn berserker. So I stayed where I was, terrified, petrified, every second seeming like hours, waiting, anticipating, and dreading the moment when he would come.
In reality, outside my paranoid perceptions, five minutes had passed, then five minutes more, and again my anxiety waned, my mind drifting to less dire thoughts. And though I don’t like to admit it, I might have fallen asleep.
* * *
The driver’s door slamming shut woke me, rattling the car with its force. There was no disorientation. I woke with a sour feeling in my gut, filled to the brim with trepidation. It had happened, was happening. Beagban was driving somewhere and I was stowed away, hoping for... what? What did I think was going to happen?
I suppose I was hoping to find something that would incriminate him. Dead bodies in the back would have been convenient, well not for the people he’d been killing, but at least then I would have some proof he was a murderer.
Proof. I needed proof.
I was swamped with fear throughout the entire ride. My mind circled around the things I should have thought much sooner. Things like: what happened if he needed something from the back? I berated myself over my own stupidity for a while. I was going to die. Beagban was going to stop at an isolated location, find me, and then chop off my arms.
The truck slowed, then rolled to a stop.
The front door opened and shut.
My muscles tensed, waiting for the worst. I could hear the gravel crunch under his heavy tread as he moved away. I could hardly believe it. Well, actually, I didn’t believe it. I waited for a while, unmoving, thinking it was a trap.
A few minutes passed, and as usual, I grew bored. But I was still too afraid to move. It wasn’t until another car pulled up nearby that I dared to peek out. I heard them; it was a family and they sounded happy. I army crawled to where I’d left the tarp untied, lifting my head just enough to see out. To my astonishment I recognized the locale.
I was in a parking lot, surrounded by ancient oak trees, and just beyond them was the Fort Frederica Visitor Center.
* * *
I’d been to Fort Frederica once shortly after arriving on the island. It had been uneventful, which for me was the appeal. I’d been surprisingly patient that day.
Usually I wouldn’t welcome a tedious narrative, but I’d been lonely, so I sat through a film which briefly detailed the fort’s history. I didn’t remember much, except thinking that Oglethorpe had made some poor decisions. And after that I’d bought a fridge magnet from the small gift shop, walked the museum in about seven seconds, and went outside to look at the crumbling remains of the colonial settlement.
This trip would be different. For starters, I arrived by popping out of Beagban’s truck, giving the nearby family a little shock. I ignored their spluttering and walked slowly to the entrance, approaching it as one might approach a cranky lion.
I opened the door just wide enough to stuff half my head inside. An employee manning the front desk began to ask if she could help me with something. I scowled at her, removing my head to let the door slam shut.
I hadn’t seen Beagban. And though it was a small center and I could see from one side to the other, that didn’t mean he wasn’t in there. He could be watching the film, though I couldn’t imagine him filling one of those narrow theater chairs with his excessive girth. But maybe he was into that kind of thing, war stuff. There had been a battle nearby, something to do with a marsh.
I moved aside, letting the family go in. I paced, trying to decide what I should do next. It all depended on Beagban’s motive. If he was here to brush up on his battle history then I would have little luck finding proof against him. But if there was another reason he had come, something I couldn’t fathom, th
en I should definitely look into it, stealthily of course.
In the end I just couldn’t picture Beagban enjoying his leisure time at Fort Frederica, the hardware store more like. So I removed myself to a secure location on fort grounds. I should skim over that bit as I didn’t go in and pay for the privilege, sneaking around the side rather.
The town had been made of tidy lots, organized into a grid. Many foundations remained outlined in stone. Plaques were scattered around, dotting the flat shock of green grass, as did a few remaining oaks. I quickly walked to a copse of trees on the right, hurrying to get my bearings where I wouldn’t be easily seen.
I considered moving further to the right and hiding behind the barracks. I felt conspicuous being so close to Broad Street, the main walkway. The town might have been long dead, but the tourists were not, and I couldn’t help but grimace at the clusters I saw all around me. Hopefully the bugs would drive them off.
I was halfheartedly looking around, confused about what I should do exactly, when I spotted him. It was too far away to see much detail, but I knew it was him. He made the fine hair on my body stick up, and not in a sexy way. Heading towards the river, he walked at a quick pace, disappearing from view when he rounded the fort’s magazine. The magazine was where the ammunition had once been stored. Fort Frederica’s was a still standing box of brick and tabby, and by far the biggest attraction. It sat right on the water’s edge with a replica cannon parked beside it. A good spot for picture taking. To some it was interesting, but no one would walk so fast or with such determination to see it. It just wasn’t that exciting.
Beagban was up to something.
A sense of urgency settled itself on my shoulders, and I wanted to go charging after him. But as much as I didn’t want to miss whatever he was up to, I didn’t want to get caught more. So I walked to the magazine in a rather roundabout way, sidling up from the north beneath a cover of drooping branches. It was the opposite end of where I believed Beagban to be.
My body was drumming with adrenaline as I huddled cowardly beside the craggy stone wall. Beagban could be on the opposite side, but he could also be just around the corner. I had to check.