Berried, page 19
part #6 of Charlie Cooper Mystery Series
Camden raised an eyebrow. “You’re pretty good,” he said. He stuck the gun closer to my face. “But not good enough.”
I gulped.
“Take it easy,” his wife said. “What if that thing goes off? This is already so screwed up.” Her voice rose in pitch. “We were not supposed to kidnap people. I knew from the beginning this was a stupid thing to do, but you were never one to listen.”
“Would you please just drive?” he barked, then he turned back to me. “You haven’t finished yet. Go on with your story of how Miss Detective Ponytail solved her way into the back seat of my car.”
Galloping glazed doughnuts!
What had I done? Having brilliant insights, it turned out, was maybe not so smart. A less shrewd version of myself would be in bed already with a book and some of my mother’s oatmeal raisin cookies.
“The photograph was one clue,” I said to him carefully, unsure what kind of information would cause him to get angry and wave the gun around.
“What photograph?” Marge asked.
The first time I met Camden, I explained, he seemed familiar in a way that I couldn’t quite put my finger on it. Then earlier that night, with my mind on Camden’s father, and his sale of the yard, I thought of a photo I’d seen on the day we snuck into Gossard’s office. One man in the photo was the spitting image of the man who was glaring at me now. It seemed like an older photo, so it must have been his dad.
“Taken by themselves, none of those things seemed important, but when I looked at them together, they kind of made sense,” I said.
Fern let out a nervous and loud laugh.
“What?” Camden asked. “What’s so funny?”
“It’s just”—Fern couldn’t stop laughing—“these three seemed so goofy and yet, they’ve figured it out.”
“Yeah, I’m laughing my butt off,” Camden said and rolled his eyes. He turned to me. “Too bad you won’t get to tell your story to anybody else. Dead detectives tell no tales.”
I took a calming breath, and Marge reached for my hand.
“So, tell us,” Celeste said. “What was your relationship with Nathaniel?”
Camden shifted in his seat. “After my folks got divorced, my dad became big buddies with good old Gossard Senior. They bonded over golf, the most boring game ever. About a month ago when my old man died, I got a call from Gossard Junior saying we should meet. It concerned the will, he said, and I should come alone. I thought that was kind of fishy, but what did I know?” He coughed. “I met him at a coffee shop, and that also seemed super weird when every lawyer that I know has some fancy office. Anyway, there he was at that table with a letter from my dad, and I had strict instructions not to show it to my mom.”
I could feel more pieces of the case coming together bit by bit. Our kidnapper went on to explain that the letter had originally been in the possession of the elder Gossard, who had passed all of his business to his son upon his death. Although the letter had been sealed, Nathaniel Gossard was aware of exactly what it said. He’d been told by his dad.
All of us leaned forward, very interested. Let’s just face it, it was a distraction from the terror gripping at our hearts.
“The letter said my dad, back when the property was ours, buried an important piece of paper in our yard. It was directions to a storage unit, where there was something my old man wanted me to have. Long before they split, my mother and my dad couldn’t stand each other, so my dad had specified that this was just for me.”
Part of me was wondering what was in the storage unit. The other part was wondering what in the heck was up with the whole cloak-and-dagger, secret-letter-in-a-coffee-shop routine. Surely, a clause in the elder Dingman’s will would have been more efficient than a secret piece of paper buried in the yard. I would think that would be the choice of anyone over the age of six. Something told me, though, that this scheme was not on the up and up; thus the need for secrets.
“And that weasel Gossard couldn’t just hand over the letter.” Camden continued with his story. “A man like that insists on his piece of the pie.”
“Stupid jerk,” Fern said. “Nathaniel threatened if he didn’t get his cut, he had some maneuvers up his sleeve to keep us from getting anything at all.”
“He knew his way around the law when it suited him,” Camden said, “so I told him he’d get his cut, and he met me on the property to dig up the directions.”
“What a crook,” Fern said, which was kind of rich coming from the driver of the kidnap car.
“I don’t understand,” Celeste said to Camden. “Why couldn’t your father just hand you the letter? Or just tell you about the storage unit?”
“Oh, you know how it is. Old people can be weird.” Camden rolled his eyes. “They hide money underneath their mattresses like they can’t trust the bank—stupid things like that. Since my dad was determined this stuff would be mine and would not go to my mother, he took the extra step of selling off a corner of his yard. That way, the directions were buried on a piece of ground that wouldn’t be my mother’s after the divorce.”
“Whoa.” Marge spoke in a hushed tone. “That’s so bizarre. And to think it would’ve been so easy. So, what was it your dad had stored?”
“I don’t know yet. I’d just found the paper when I was rudely interrupted,” he told Marge with a glare. “I just know it’s something of value. I knew my dad. It has to be something of value.” He looked down at the floorboard. “You know, I love my mother, but this was my dad’s stuff, and he wanted me to have it.”
“His wishes should be honored,” Fern agreed as she picked up some speed. I had no idea where we were.
“It’s just my bad luck that my dad had to sell part of that yard to the meanest man in town.” Camden continued with his story. “There was no way I could just go knocking on his door and ask to do a little digging, which is why I had to sneak into the old guy’s yard that night to meet Nathaniel.” His face turned red with fury. That did not bode well for us. “Nathaniel and I agreed, he’d get one-third of the take. A whole third of an inheritance that didn’t belong to him. And then at the last minute, he decided that was not enough. He demanded half.”
“He had it coming when Camden put a bullet through him,” Fern said. Her voice was devoid of all emotion despite the grim subject matter.
“I did get some satisfaction out of doing that.” Camden smiled. “Then the three of you appeared around the corner.” He frowned. “You have this real bad habit of showing up where you’re not wanted. What an annoying bunch.”
The car was silent for a moment. Since I couldn’t bear to think too far into the future, I mulled over the information we had just received. I thought about the voices McMillan claimed he’d heard on the first night of the trespassing.
“I’ll bet that was not the first time you’d been in McMillan’s yard in connection with your…plan.” I had to be careful with my words. This man had a temper—and a gun.
“Nah. That old man is always watching, which made it really hard. The first time we tried, he came out with the gun. He always has that gun. He called the cops, but we got away.”
Our client had been right. There had been something going on in his yard the first time he called the police.
“Did you hear anything that night about Tony winners?” I asked.
“Pony dinners?” Celeste asked.
“Betty’s crew?” Marge asked.
He stared at us, confused.
“I think your mother’s neighbor must have hired these folks from the local nuthouse.” Fern let out a little laugh.
“I heard nothing of the kind,” Camden said. “No Betty or Tony or whoever. Luckily, my mom was watching TV that night, and I thought that would suppress any loud noises Nathaniel and I would do.”
“The sound on that TV could make a person deaf,” Fern said.
“For some reason, on that night, it was even worse than normal,” Camden said. “I figured that kept the old man from hearing us while we did our thing. Like I said before, though, McMillan was always watching—watching with that gun.”
A silence fell over the car once again as I watched the darkened shapes outside my window. It looked as if we were on the highway. My mind went to places no mind should ever go.
“What about Tiffany Rogers?” Celeste asked. I could tell she wanted to stall for time. Fine by me.
Camden smirked. “You don’t think I haven’t dug up some dirt on Gossard too, do you? I knew about him and that secretary or whatever she is. She served her purpose well.”
“You planted the gun in her apartment,” I said.
“Technically,” Camden said, “my wife did that.”
Fern grinned in an evil way that gave me the creeps. I thought about how I should have waited for the cops to come to McMillan’s house, instead of trying to catch the bad guys myself and drag Marge and Celeste in it too. I couldn’t die, not now that I finally had a boyfriend.
“So what happens now?” Marge asked. “You’re planning on killing three other people? And then what? Spend your whole lives on the run?”
“It’s none of your flipping business how we spend our lives,” Fern told her angrily. “If you had minded your own business in the first place, you’d be back at home, and this could have been avoided.”
In a tiny voice, Marge said, “At home, I have three babies—tiny, precious little things.”
That shut Fern up for a moment. “Babies? You have babies? Camden, she has babies! We can’t shoot some baby’s mother. How would I sleep at night?”
I felt a ray of hope. Would I be saved by kittens?
Camden turned to Marge. “You have three kids at home?”
Marge blushed. “Kittens. I have three kittens at home.”
Camden and Fern rolled their eyes.
“See?” Camden said to his wife. “Now you’ll sleep at night.”
This man was unreal. I tried to brainstorm a plan, determined not to die that day.
“Why would anyone say they have babies, when there’s—” Fern said, but stopped midsentence.
“What is it?” Camden asked, slightly annoyed.
Fern let out a string of expletives. “If it’s not one thing, it’s the other. I swear, Camden Dingman, your laziness is going to do us in.”
I glanced at Celeste, confused. What on earth did laziness have to with this?
“I wish you’d quit jabbering and drive,” he said. “What’s your problem now?”
“My problem is, it’s hard to drive when your foolish husband says he’ll go get gas and leaves the tank on empty.”
“We’re out of gas?” Camden asked.
“Yes, dear, we’re out of gas.” Fern’s tone was rather sarcastic.
Camden closed his eyes and sighed, and I glanced at Celeste again. We’d seen time and time again that the criminal element in Springston lacked basic common sense—most of them at least.
They started bickering who was the last one in the car and was supposed to put gas in it. However, that didn’t help the situation at hand. The car needed gas.
After a few minutes filled with angry silence, Fern pulled into a gas station and slammed on the brakes.
I took a look around. The station seemed to be a small one in the middle of nowhere. It only had one pump. Once again, I felt the faintest ray of hope as if the universe were saying, “Here you go. Now, run!” I was afraid, however, that any move I made would be quickly followed by a gun blast. That wouldn’t be the smartest move for Camden, as that would surely make the clerk rush to call the cops. The chances of getting caught would skyrocket after that, but he seemed to be the type to act before he thought. Unsure of what he would do, I remained frozen in place with fear.
Unfortunately, the station was deserted except for the lonely clerk. In the brightly lit up shack of a building, he was focused on his phone and not the customers outside.
Camden kept the gun pointed and his eyes glued on us while Fern got out to pump. After fumbling with the equipment, she cussed out loud. Then she leaned into the car. “This antique pump is all messed up and won’t take my credit card. Just our stupid luck. I’ll have to go inside.”
“Oh, for crying out loud,” Camden said. “I’ll go.”
He got out of his car—gun still in hand—and he pointed to Celeste. “This one is coming with me.”
Celeste glanced back at us. I nodded.
As she exited the car, he hid the gun inside his jacket and glared at me and Marge. “If you two try anything—anything at all—your friend is as good as gone. Do you understand?”
We nodded.
He turned to Celeste. “The same thing goes for you. If you try to get a signal to that clerk in there, I’ll give Fern the sign. Fern knows how to shoot.”
Fern got back in the car with us, pulled out her gun and trained it at us, and I watched Celeste walk toward the building just ahead of Camden. She didn’t dare turn around to face us, but I saw very clearly the slight nod that said, “Do what you have to do.”
My heart began to pound as I forced myself to think. There was silence in the car as I kept watching Camden and Celeste inside the building, standing at the register. It was pitch black outside, with the exception of the dimly lit bulb coming from the gas pump. I scanned the front of the building. The sign pointing to the bathrooms gave me an idea.
“Arghhh.” I started to feint pain.
Fern studied me. “What’s wrong?”
“My stomach,” I said, trying to crouch down.
“What about it?” She raised an eyebrow.
“I need to go to the bathroom, like right now,” I said.
Fern snorted. “I don’t think so.”
I gave her a pleading look. “I’m really sorry, but I’m about to throw up any second now. I really have to go. I’ll be good. I promise!”
“You’ll just have to wait. You’re not going anywhere.” Fern kept the gun on us, holding it below the level of the window in case of passersby.
“She really, really means it,” Marge said in a confidential tone. “I hope you have lots of towels if you won’t let her go. We’ve had some…incidents.”
I made an oomph-like sound from deep within my throat and clapped a hand over my mouth.
Fern closed her eyes and sighed. “This day is the worst. Fine, but we’ll all go. I’ll be right behind you—with the gun.” She hid it beneath her jacket and close to her hips as we got out of the car and made our way to the right side of the building where the bathrooms were.
We were a couple of feet from the bathroom door, and I knew I had to act. If I could distract our captor, Marge would know what to do in her super-ninja way of putting evil in its place. I had no ninja moves, but I could throw up for real, which could come in handy.
I stopped short. “Oooh! If I’d known how the night would go, I would have skipped that last chili dog. I’m not sure I can walk.” I clutched my stomach and doubled over with a little cry.
Fern instinctively stopped short behind me, and I knew she was watching me, trying to figure out what to do next. Marge seized the moment, turned around, jumped on Fern, and tried to grab her gun. They both wrestled for the gun, and I saw Marge trying to point the barrel toward the sky. In the scuffle that came next, they both landed on the ground. I got in there myself, and we all fought for the gun. Someone kicked my shins, and I’m not sure whom I hit with my elbows, but as long as I was coming out of this with only bruises, I was a happy camper. All three of us had our hands on the gun, so we had no idea which one of us pulled the trigger. The blast was deafening.
We stopped moving.
“Am I shot?” I screamed. “Omg, am I shot? Marge! Are you shot?”
I jumped up and checked myself. I saw no blood on me, so I was good.
“Marge, are you hurt?” I cried.
“I’m good down here, I think.” The voice was muffled at the bottom of the pile that was now Marge and Fern.
Marge sat up, dazed, and looked around. Somehow, the gun was thrown and landed a couple of feet beyond us. We turned to Fern. There was a lot of blood pouring from her shoulder. OMG, that looked nasty!
Just as Fern started screaming, Camden and Celeste walked out of the shack and stopped short.
“Are you idiots?” Camden yelled. “What have you done?” He pointed his gun at Celeste.
I think I stopped breathing.
I glanced at Fern’s gun, but there was no way I could reach it in time. The nervous stomach pains became more real than ever as I closed my eyes, helpless to stop the awful thing I knew would surely follow.
When I heard the gun blast, I was instantly confused. The firing sound came from somewhere behind my back. To add to my confusion, it was Camden, not Celeste, who clutched his side in pain. Celeste simply stared ahead as her expression changed from stone-cold fear to sweet relief.
Not two seconds later, Marge grabbed Fern’s gun from the ground and trained it on her. Celeste sprang into action and kicked Camden’s gun out of his hand then grabbed the Persuader from his back pocket. Blood started oozing out of Camden’s left side.
I heard a familiar voice behind me. “I never liked those Dingmans! I always knew those fools were trouble.”
It was McMillan to the rescue. The smoke still billowed out of his flower-berry gun.
“Grumpy Man Mc…I mean…Edgar…I mean, Mr. McMillan?” I stared wide-eyed.
“Bet your detective tush it’s me,” he said, walking toward us.
“How did you find us?” I cried as relief washed over me.
Marge stumbled to my side. “Awesome moves,” she told him.
“Thanks.” McMillan blushed. “I tried real hard to keep up when the three of you went running from my yard,” he explained. “This old man is kind of slow, but I had to see what was going on. Then I saw the fool force you into his car, so I ran back for my gun and set out in my car on a mission.”
“You just saved our lives,” Celeste said and was still a little white from the ordeal.
“You did great,” Marge said. “I know you’re not fond of disobeying the speed limit.”
He grinned. “When it comes to his favorite detectives, there are times a man has no choice but to put the pedal to the metal. I stayed back so they wouldn’t spot me. You learn a thing or two when you get to be this old.” He winked. “The cops are in the loop. I kept them informed from my car. But as usual, they’re slow as an inebriated snail to get to a crime.”
