Chapter Twenty-Five
Okay, I'll admit it: I panicked. But only for a split second. Once I got my heart started again, I went over to open the door. The damn thing was stuck again. I rattled it. I kicked it. I said a few words that would cause me to get my mouth washed out with soap if Mom heard them. I kicked some more. I tried the other door. It was stuck, too. Sweat trickled down my face and into my eyes. I pulled the end of my shirt up and wiped it across my face and neck.
Why hadn't I propped the damn door open with the rock I'd seen sitting by the shed? That was obviously what it was there for. I leaned my shoulder against the door and pushed as hard as I could. Still stuck. In fact, it seemed like the harder I pushed, the tighter it stuck. I pulled my shirt off and mopped my sweaty face again. I heard something crunch across the gravel. Sounded like footsteps.
"Zach, hey, Zach! Help! The door's stuck. I can't get it open."
No answer.
I pushed and shoved on the door again. More crunching and a loud thump.
"Zach! Help!"
Nothing.
Why wasn't he answering?
Crunch, crunch, crunch. Someone -- or something -- was out there. A bizarre thought occurred to me. Maybe Tim, for once in his life, was right.
"Zach? Zach, are you playing a trick on me? If you are, this isn't funny!" I pounded on the door and hollered as loud as I could. "Zach, open this door, damn it!"
A shuffling sound, more crunching, two more thumps. My heart was in my throat, my mind racing. Maybe Zach was the killer. Or maybe the killer had followed us and had killed Zach. Oh God! That meant I was next!
I looked around. The shed wasn't insulated. Maybe I could knock a hole in the wall. An ax. I needed an ax. Or something. Nothing but skis. The truck. I could start it up and drive it through the wall. No keys. Damn! Why didn't I get somebody to teach me how to hot-wire a vehicle when I had the chance?
I mopped my face with the shirt again. Think, Marty. Gotta think. I stared at the door, willing it to open. Wondering what I'd do if it did. Why, oh why, hadn't I listened to Tim?
The door rattled and shook. "Damn door."
Zach. So Tim was right. He was the killer. And now, he'd come to finish me off.
I jumped up and looked for a place to hide. No. Wrong thing to do. Calm down. Gotta calm down. More rattling.
The ski. I'll hit him with the ski. Then, I'll run. Yeah. That'll work. I stood to the side of the door, up against the wall.
The door jerked open and he came in. "Marty? Are you in here? Where the heck.... OOOF!" I brought the ski down hard on his left arm.
I swung the ski back up to get leverage for another shot. This time, I leveled it out and brought it around like a baseball bat. He turned his body toward me and it caught him in the stomach. He let out a loud gasping sound and went down. He managed to get hold of the ski on his way down, and jerked hard on it, knocking me off balance. As I stumbled, he twisted the ski and wrenched it out of my hands.
No! Can't let him get the ski! I regained my balance and scrambled after it. I had to get my hands back on it. It was my only hope. Zach moaned and hollered something. I couldn't understand him, mainly because I was screaming my head off.
He grabbed my legs and yanked them out from under me. I fell on top of him. He wrestled me onto my back, grasped my wrists, and pinned my arms on the floor above my head. I bucked and tried to roll, but he was too strong for me. He perched on his knees, one leg on each side of me, his rear-end pressing my stomach to the ground.
I whimpered. "Please don't kill me. Please! I promise, I won't tell anybody about the truck. I promise. Please, please, just let me go. I don't want to die!"
"Marty! Stop! What the hell are you talking about? Why did you hit me? For Christ sakes, Marty, please stop crying! I promise, I'm not going to hurt you."
He leaned his face down close to mine. "Marty, honey. Don't be afraid." He kissed me gently on first one cheek, then the other. "Baby, please stop crying."
I had the snuffles. "You aren't going to kill me?"
"Why on earth would you think something like that? I'd never do anything to hurt you. I care about you. A lot."
He kissed my forehead and whispered. "I think I could fall in love with you real easy, you know."
"Then why'd you lock me in here?" I really wanted to wipe my nose, but he still had hold of my arms.
"I didn't lock you in here. The door sticks. It happens all the time."
"But I didn't close it when I came in. It just slammed shut."
"It's a heavy door. It does that sometimes. See, it's closed right now."
"Then how do you explain Warren's truck?"
"Wart's truck? What the hell are you talking about?"
"You know! The one that's missing. It's sitting right behind you. You didn't know it was in here?"
He looked back over his shoulder. "I'll be damned! What the hell is that doing here?"
He let go of my arms and sat up. "You thought I knew that was in here? And that I locked you in here? And that I was going to kill you?"
"Yes. When I couldn't get the door open and I heard you walking around outside the shed, I thought maybe you had something to do with the murder and you were trying to get rid of me. I panicked. That's why I hit you with the ski."
He looked hurt. "You thought that? Oh Marty. I thought you knew me better than that."
He went to look at the truck. "We'd better get up to the house and call the Glenvar police. Then I'll take you home."
I hugged him. He didn't hug back. "I'm sorry," I said. "So sorry. Please don't be mad at me."
He didn't respond.
I looked down. "Did you mean what you said? Before. When we were on the ground."
He put his hand under my chin and tilted my head back. We had one of those intense eye-locked moments. "I meant it. I thought you felt that way, too."
"I do," I whispered. "I do."
He bent his head and kissed me hard on the mouth, pulling me tight against him. "Do you think the police can wait a little while?" he whispered back.
"What did you have in mind?" I was still whispering.
He let go of me and took my hand. "Let's go up to the house. It's cooler in there. And more comfortable."
"Okay. I can't wait to get out of here."
Zach pushed on the door. No luck.
"Marty," he said, "I hate to tell you this, but the damn thing's stuck again."
"Let's both push on it," I said, putting my arms around his waist and leaning into his back. He felt good. Real good. We shoved against the door.
"I swear," he said, "it's never been stuck like this."
"Listen!"
The crunching noise was back. Along with the thumping. But Zach was in here with me. That meant....oh, God!
"Somebody is out there," Zach said.
"That's the same noises I heard before, but I thought it was you. Did you see anybody or anything when you came up here?"
"No." He looked uneasy. "I had the boat motor running. It sounded rough, so I came up here to get my tools. I didn't see anything."
There was a loud click, followed by a rattle.
"Damn!" I said. "That was the padlock. I think we really have been locked in."