A House to Die For (A Darby Farr Mystery) (37 page)

Within the cool confines of the rented Chrysler, Darby attempted
to make sense of the information she'd just received. While the traffic raced by her on Interstate 95, she once again recited the
facts.

Laura's sister Linda worked in the same hospital as Emerson
Phipps. She was injured in a car accident and was supposed to be
operated on by him.

She couldn't stop thinking about the surprising connection,
and yet she didn't quite know what it implied. Was there a link
between Emerson Phipps and Laura Gefferelli? She chided herself.
There's a good chance the whole thing's coincidental. Linda Gefferelli had been a nurse in neonatology, and Laura, her look-alike
sister, had visited her department. If Laura knew Emerson Phipps
personally or by reputation on account of her occasional visits to
Boston Memorial Hospital, surely she would have mentioned it
at the time Phipps' body was discovered. It was the kind of thing
Darby could picture Laura saying in her thoughtful, calm, manner.
I've heard of Emerson Phipps. He worked at the same hospital as my
sister...

But Laura Gefferelli had never mentioned knowing Emerson
Phipps. That's because she never heard of him, Darby told herself.
It made perfect sense that Laura, a very occasional visitor to Boston Memorial Hospital, would not be acquainted with any of the
medical staff. And yet why hadn't Laura ever commented on the fact
that her sister and Phipps had worked at the same institution?

Darby put on her blinker and moved smoothly into the left
lane, passing a car whose driver was chatting away on a cell phone.
She thought of her dead battery and groaned. I wish that I could
call Miles or Tina.

She let a safe distance get between her and the car and glided
back into the right lane. You need to get back on the island, that's what you need to do. As if to add to her urgency, she could feel the
wind intensifying, the storm beginning its march northward, hot
on the heels of the rental car. With this bad weather coming I won't
even stop, she thought, passing a rest area with a twinge of regret. I
should have used the hospital's restroom when I had the chance.

The music on the radio was interrupted by a National Weather
Service warning for hurricane force winds along the coast within
the next twenty-four hours. Darby grimaced and stepped harder
on the gas.

Her determination to make good time while the weather remained stable paid off. Darby sped through New Hampshire and
straight up the coast, pulling onto the five P.M. ferry at Manatuck.
When she finally turned off the car's ignition, she breathed a sigh
of relief. Soon after, she felt the boat start to move away from the
Manatuck dock.

Darby got out of the car, needing to stretch her legs and find
the ferry's restroom.

The restrooms were located up a narrow set of metal stairs on
the top deck of the ferry. Darby climbed up, passing a few other
passengers who were doing the same thing. The art show was tomorrow and the tourists would descend in full force-that is, unless news of the storm had scared them off. Hurricane Harbor's
summer rush was officially underway, and Darby was pleased to
see a number of passengers who were clearly visitors to the island.

Once out of the restroom, Darby took her time on the upper
deck, pausing to take in the surrounding ocean and outcroppings.
Dark, low clouds to the southwest and the increasing chop of the
waves foretold the changing weather, and yet the little islands looked serene. Darby felt her mood begin to lighten, despite the
ominous skies.

The air was cool on Darby's face, the breeze gaining strength
seemingly by the minute. One of the ferry officials looked anxiously at the sky before motioning that it was time for car owners
to return to their vehicles. Darby glanced ahead. Sure enough, the
boat was fast approaching the Hurricane Harbor dock.

Darby climbed back down the metal stairs to the parking lot,
located the rental car, and climbed into the front seat. She reached
into the pocket of her jacket for the keys and pulled them out.

Just as she was about to put the keys into the ignition, she
heard a sharp crack, reminiscent of the sound of a sudden summer storm. Like a shove, she felt the jolt of 150,000 volts of electricity wham her in the back. Darby collapsed onto the seat of the
car, twitching uncontrollably.

The surprise of the sudden blow and the jumble of the electrical signals in her brain left Darby unfocused and uncomprehending. She saw a lithe figure climb over the seat and felt her body
pushed onto the passenger floor of the car. She heard the car start
and sensed that it was moving off the ferry and onto the island.

Some impulse told Darby to flee, and she tried getting up from
her fetal crouch on the floor, but movement of any kind was impossible. She tried lifting an arm, but that was futile as well. I'm
paralyzed, she realized. I can't move at all.

The car turned to the left and Darby rolled slightly. She was
stunned, too stunned to be frightened. She tried to form the words
to ask her attacker what the hell was going on, but found she could
not speak. The road grew bumpy. Darby's head bounced against the floor of the car, but she felt no pain, even as a red welt began to
rise on her cheek.

We're on a dirt road, she thought. There were more than fifty
unpaved fire roads that wove across the island's interior.

Abruptly the car stopped. Darby heard a door open and then the
sound of the trunk popping. A moment later the passenger door
opened and the face of Laura Gefferelli, normally so calm and kind,
looked down at her with disgust.

"Just couldn't leave it alone, could you," she sneered. She
clutched what Darby guessed was a large sail bag against her navy
striped shirt. She yanked at the bag's metal grommets and reached
for Darby's legs.

Helplessly Darby watched Laura stuff her feet into the sail
bag. Once her legs were enclosed, Laura grabbed both sides of the
sturdy nylon and yanked it upward, so that the sail bag covered her
entirely. The top was pulled over Darby's head, shutting out any
daylight.

Encased in the bag, Darby heard Laura's muffled grunt of approval. She heard the car door close and the engine start. From the
jostling, Darby knew they were driving down the dirt road once
more.

After a few more jolts, the road became smooth and Darby
sensed the car was back on pavement. Where is she taking me? Why?
Darby's thoughts were disordered and confused. Laura Gefferelli shot
me with a taser, and now she's stuffed me in a sail bag. Suddenly the
situation became crystal clear. She's going to kill me ...

Several minutes later, the car came to a stop. As horrified as she
was feeling, Darby forced herself to listen intently. Was that the
sound of waves? Were they at the harbor, where someone might notice something out of the ordinary? There's nothing strange about
a sailor and a sail bag, she thought, fear seeping into her pores.

The passenger side door opened. With a grunt, the sail bag
was heaved upwards. Darby heard a thumping sound as her body
landed on a surface, but still she felt nothing. It was as if her physical self was a separate entity from her mind. Her brain and senses
were functioning but they were disconnected from the rest of
her ...

The sound of something scraping caused Darby to think she
was being dragged. Suddenly the bag lifted again, only to thud
down moments later. Darby caught the strong scent of the sea at
low tide and guessed she was on a dock. She heard footsteps, and
then Laura's grunts of exertion as the bag was hefted up and onto
something else. She's getting tired, she thought. If only I could move!
Darby tried to wiggle a finger. Was it wishful thinking, or did it
seem to stir? The plaintive cry of a gull echoed Darby's despair.

Moments later, a motor started and Darby knew they were pulling away from land. It was not very powerful-maybe seven or eight
horsepower-the size typically used on small sailboats. It seemed
to whine in protest against the waves now slapping against the bow
of the boat with unusual force. We're on Laura's boat, she thought.
What's in a Name. Her heart sank: the farther they were from a dock,
the less likely anyone was to hear or see her.

Darby willed herself to stay hopeful. She knew the effects of the
taser were temporary: at some point her mobility would return.
She tried again to wiggle her fingers. Yes! She was regaining feeling, although she had no idea how long it would take before she
could move more than an index finger. As the motor droned on in the background, Darby forced her brain to keep trying to fire her
muscles. She knew it was her only chance.

Now her whole hand could move slightly. Darby felt her toes
wiggle. Progress was slow, but she was definitely regaining motor
function. She tried to lift her arm. Not yet, but perhaps soon ...

The sail bag opened with an abrupt tug and Darby tried to
blink. Through blurry eyes she saw Laura peering down at her, her
normally relaxed features brittle with rage.

Laura glanced quickly to either side, her hair blowing in the
breeze that was quickly becoming a gale. She gave a dismissive
glance toward Darby. This is my chance, thought Darby. With all the
strength she could muster, Darby lifted her arm toward Laura, praying that the stun gun's effects would disappear. Instead, she watched
in horror as Laura smiled and lifted a black rectangle, no bigger than
an iPod. She thrust it toward Darby, who heard a crack of electricity,
then collapsed once more like a deflated balloon.

INCAPACITATED FOR THE SECOND time, Darby Farr slumped in the
sail bag, her eyes level with the bag's upper edge. She heard movement around her and the low moan of the wind, but could not
summon the energy to care. A strong gust rocked the boat violently; her stomach clenched. At least part of me feels something,
she thought.

A few moments later she heard the voice of Laura.

"I was hoping we could go for a little sail, but the weather
doesn't seem to be cooperating. I think you would have liked that,
Darby. Just you and me, a nice little sail..."

The boat lurched and Laura hit the side of the boat. The wind
was so stiff that Darby knew whitecaps must be forming on the
waves. She had never been on the water in conditions like this before, but was certain that a small craft like What's in a Name could
not survive. And yet she was powerless to do anything.

Laura leaned over the sail bag, keeping one hand on the tiller.
She gave an odd little smile. "Who knows whether you even remember how to sail, right?" She studied Darby for a moment.

"You seem anxious about this tropical storm. Are you concerned about the seaworthiness of my vessel?" She threw back her
head and laughed. "Look, you really don't need to worry about
your safety. You're not coming back alive anyway! So just relax and,
as they say, enjoy the ride."

Darby watched as Laura tried to steer the boat through a particularly large swell. Water rushed up onto the deck and she heard
Laura swear.

Darby wondered how far out they were going, wondered whether
she would be stunned again before being dumped overboard. Either
way, I'll drown, she thought. She felt warmth between her legs and
realized she had lost control of her bladder.

The heavy clouds above seemed to open up and the spitting
rain became a downpour. In minutes Darby saw that Laura was
drenched, her navy blue and white T-shirt clinging to her body.
Laura seemed to notice the worsening weather for the first time
and the look on her face darkened. Darby remained huddled in
the bag, praying for time and a miracle.

She told herself that the effects of the stun gun would lessen if
she were not shocked again. She remembered reading that victims
remained immobile for less than fifteen minutes. If only she could
recover the use of her arms, at least, she could fend off an attack by
Laura Gefferelli ...

Laura pushed her wet bangs out of her eyes. "You figured it out
at the hospital, didn't you?"