Coffee, Kids, and a Kidnapping (A Charlotte Ritter Mystery Book 1) Page 5

  I took a deep breath to steady my nerves. “No. We can’t stop. We need to find Amber and Lily, and this guy could be the key.”

  Traveling slowly over well-worn roads spotted with potholes and debris from palm trees, we came upon a dirt path leading into an area filled with tall grasses, saw palmettos and pine trees. Cole parked the car and the two of us hesitantly exited the sanctuary of his ’01 Ford Explorer and walked to the edge of the trail.

  “Stay behind me,” Cole instructed. He didn’t have to tell me twice.

  I was sweating under the bright heat of the sun, but ominous, dark clouds had gathered nearby. Somehow the threat of a thunderstorm felt appropriate for the moment. A few yards down this path into the Florida version of “the woods,” we heard voices. Men were talking. I was thankful that the tone of the conversation sounded friendly and not like an argument. Cole reached behind him and held his hand in front of me, silently mouthing “stop.”

  “Hey, fellas,” Cole hollered. “I’m here to see Gator. Is he here?”

  I couldn’t see around Cole’s broad shoulders. Peeking around his outstretched arm, I caught a glimpse of three men standing near a clearing not far from us.

  “I’m Gator,” one of the men yelled back. “Who’re you?” he asked, sounding very much like a, uh…well, a redneck.

  “My name is Cole. A friend of mine told me I could find you here. Got a minute?”

  After a little whispering with his buddies, Gator walked forward. He wore a t-shirt emblazoned with a beer advertisement and a scantilly clad woman; the sleeves cut off to reveal the gator head tattoo on his upper arm. He dropped a cigarette from his hand as he strolled up to us. His face weathered like someone who worked outdoors displayed a crooked smile that made you think he was up to something.

  “The only friend of mine who would give a stranger directions out here is a cop,” he said quietly. “I’m assuming you’re a cop, too?”

  “No, no. We actually work for a law firm. We’re looking into a case…well, it’s kind of a long story,” Cole tried to explain.

  “Do you know Amber Tipton?” I asked, boldly stepping out from behind Cole.

  “Amber? Isn’t she Autumn’s sister?” This guy was sounding way too friendly and relaxed. It was weirding me out.

  “Yes, she was…is. She’s missing. And we heard she gave you trouble when she was trying to get Autumn away from your—“

  “Business!” Cole interrupted. “We were told she meddled in your business.”

  Cole gave me a look when he said that. I caught on that we should keep the conversation generic, and not mention drugs.

  “Look, if you’re talkin’ ‘bout the meth situation, I don’t really do that stuff. I mean, I was there a couple times meetin’ my supplier. Weed, man. That’s all I do.”

  “And apparently kidnapping,” I spoke boldly again. But as soon at the words left my mouth, I felt a twinge in my stomach.

  “So, you’ve done some digging,” Gator remarked. “How much do you know?”

  This question made me feel really nervous. Cole cleared his throat and prepared to answer, but Gator jumped in again.

  “Okay, so yes I technically kidnapped my son,” Gator began. “But, and that’s a big but…he’s my son and his mother was all whacked-out on heroine. I had to get him outta there.”

  “Wait…what? You took your son away from his mother while she was strung out on heroine? You were charged and convicted of kidnapping,” Cole reminded him.

  “I know. I was on probation for possession of marijuana, and my baby momma’s parents don’t like me much. They fought to get me behind bars. They got custody of my boy, now.”

  Gator’s face turned sullen. I actually felt sorry for him.

  “So, then I guess you don’t know where we could find Amber,” Cole said with a sigh.

  “You said she’s missing?” asked Gator. “What about that no-good husband of hers? There’s a piece of work for ya. That dude’s got anger issues. Autumn told me he beat her sister, and she was trying to get away.”

  “Makes sense,” I said to Cole. “We found that restraining order.”

  “Guess we’re back where we started,” Cole lamented.

  We thanked Gator for his time, and practically ran back to the car to get out of there. Last thing we needed was to get caught up in a drug bust or something.

  “Apparently, Gator is your friend’s informant. He said his friend was a cop,” I said to Cole as we drove out of the Compound.

  “I guess so. And he definitely doesn’t come across as someone who would kidnap a woman and a little girl.”

  “So, now what?” I asked, feeling defeated.

  Cole smiled. “Now, we get coffee.”

  I spent the rest of my day at the office, working on the upcoming custody dispute case and ignoring all things related to Amber and Lily Tipton. Meeting Gator was just a waste of time and nothing but a dead end.

  “I’m leaving now,” Ginny informed me, poking her head into my office.

  “See you in a couple days,” I said, trying to smile and be polite.

  “Oh, I’ll be back tomorrow.” She apparently took my politeness as an invitation to come in and chat.

  “We’ve got a good handle on this, Ginny. You don’t need to work extra days.”

  “Well, I’d rather be here and get stuff done just in case you and Cole go on one of your excursions again,” she remarked, smiling and giving me a wink.

  “Excursion? We had to meet with someone. That’s all.”

  “You came back with coffee, all chatty with each other. But, whatever. None of my business.”

  “Agreed. Have a nice night,” I hinted, smiling and waving. She took the hint.

  I finished jotting down reminders on my desk calendar and stuffed my planner into my bag alongside my stash of Lucky’s trail mix and my phone. Mr. Baker waved from his desk as I left the office. It took a minute to get my bag, coffee mug and myself situated in the van. Finally, on the road heading for home, I weighed the tough decision of taking either Wickham Road or interstate 95. These days, it’s six of one, half a dozen of the other as to the possibility of sitting in a traffic jam. I opted for the interstate, and whispered a prayer.

  A few minutes into my trip home, the gas light came on.

  “Seriously?” I said aloud to no one but myself, and I flipped on my blinker just before the next exit.

  As I drove onto the exit ramp, I realized the car behind me was coming up quick. Before I could speed up, the other car came along side me causing me to swerve onto the shoulder. Instead of going ahead of me, though, the car stayed to close to my left. I couldn’t see inside because the windows were so tinted. Panicked, I tried to slow down to let them pass but finally had to slam the brakes. My van skid and a cloud of dust rose into the air as I narrowly missed a roadside sign. The other car stopped and began to back up…until the sirens were heard. Coming up right behind us was a sheriff’s car. I stayed on the shoulder and let him go after that crazy driver, but he pulled behind me!

  “Ma’am, are you alright?” he asked through my open window.

  “Yes, officer. I take it you saw that person trying to run me off the road?”

  “Sure did. I radioed his tag number and direction of travel. We’ll have someone caught up to him in no time. There’s a speed trap just down the road where he was headed. You sure you’re okay?”

  “I’m sure. Thank you.” I suddenly realized I had been holding my breath. I inhaled deeply and tried to calm myself.

  “He wasn’t just trying to get by. He wanted you to wreck or stop. We have seen some incidents where criminals will do this and then rob the person. Sometimes there’s assault or even rape involved. No way to know how or why they targeted you…unless you have a suspicion?”

  “No, Sir,” I lied. I hate to have to admit that, but it’s true. I lied. I did have a suspicion. But, I couldn’t exactly go into all that. I silently repented for my transgression.

  “It might
help if you filed a report. You can do it tomorrow if you like. Here,” he handed me a card with his name and badge number and the address of the sheriff’s office.

  “Thank you. I’ll do that.”

  Pumping gas was an ordeal. I was constantly looking around nervously, and the slam of a car door made me jump. By the time I got home, my hands were shaking; I barely got the back door unlocked.

  “Mom, are you okay?” Carrie asked, worried.

  “I’m fine. Just almost had an accident and it shook me up a little. Ya know, I really don’t feel like cooking. Suggestions?”

  “Pizza!” yelled Tommy from the living room, with his headphones still on.

  “Let’s go out somewhere. We’ve got some coupons,” said Carrie, looking through the coupon drawer in the kitchen. “How about Burger King?”

  “Yes!” Tommy squealed, excited. “My favorite!”

  I put on a brave face, drove the kids two minutes down the road and went through the drive-thru. As soon as were safely back in the house, I locked the doors and checked the windows. We ate supper and chatted, and I managed to keep the conversation funny and light-hearted. Later, once the kids were in bed, it took a cup of sleepy-time tea and four episodes of Star Trek Enterprise on Netflix to get me to sleep.

  chapter seven

  Wake up. Look at time on phone. Groan. Toss and turn. Dose off. Repeat. That was how my night went. At six-thirty, I called Mr. Baker and told him how horrible I felt, but that I’d work from home for the day. He was fine with that.

  “I know Ginny gets on your nerves. Truthfully, I would have let her go already, but she does decent work and doesn’t mind the few hours as we need her.”

  “I know she helps especially when we have a lot to get done in a short amount of time. It’s just with my lack of sleep and this headache…”

  “No worries. Janet says to let her know if you need anything. She’ll be out towards your part of town for a library event.”

  “I appreciate that. Thank you. I promise to let her know if I think of something.”

  It was difficult not to ask for Janet for some of her homemade gumbo. Good food always lifted my spirits, and that gumbo was seriously good.

  Of course the kids wanted to stay home to “help” since I didn’t feel well. I convinced them I’d be fine and got them all to school on time. On the way home, Cole called. Don’t worry. I answered while sitting in the McDonald’s drive-thru waiting for coffee, and put him on speaker phone while I drove.

  “Sorry you’re feeling bad,” Cole said sweetly. “You’re not upset about the dead end with Gator, are you?”

  “Well, it’s kind of related to all that, I think. I need your opinion. You should know what happened after work yesterday.”

  I filled him in on the whole scary scenario in between sips of coffee.

  “Are you sure you’re alright? No wonder you’re all a wreck today!”

  “I’m not ‘all a wreck.’ Just tired. Who would do this to me, though? Could it just be coincidence?”

  “No way. It’s Gator, or one of his buddies. I guarantee it. He played all nice and easy going, but he wanted to scare you into leaving things alone.”

  “You really think so?”

  “I do. You need to be careful. Go file that police report. You should have something to protect yourself.”

  “I have pepper spray.”

  “Somebody’s gotta get awfully close for that to work.”

  “I’ll sign-up for a karate class,” I joked.

  “I’m serious. But, first things first. Go to the sheriff’s office.”

  I called the number on the card the deputy had given me and verified that I should come in and file some type of report. Feeling a teensy bit energized from the coffee, I went to the sheriff’s office and filled out some paperwork. Sheriff Ivey, here in Brevard County, is a much-loved and well-respected man. While I was waiting to have someone look over my report, I noticed a brochure. In it, the sheriff himself was quoted; encouraging citizens of our county to arm themselves.

  “The best law enforcement agencies in the country have a response time in minutes,” Sheriff Ivey states. The brochure goes on to suggest that an armed criminal can take your life in a matter of seconds. Maybe Cole’s suggestion was something worth considering.

  It was our mid-week service at Greater Life Worship Center. I always enjoyed Bible study. Ours was relaxed, casual, and served coffee. We arrived early (miracles never cease!), and the Gaggle of Grannies cornered me first thing.

  “You look peak-ed,” commented Mammaw Sellers. “You’re not eating right.”

  “You look tired,” added Little Momma. “You feelin’ sick?”

  “No, ma’am. I just didn’t sleep well,” I confessed.

  “She almost had an accident,” Carrie blabbed. I gave her an annoyed look and she took Tommy down the hall to his class. Joseph went off to find his friends.

  “An accident? What happened?” asked Granny.

  “Some idiot tried to run me off the road. The sheriff’s deputy said a group of criminals are causing people to either crash or stop in an uninhabited area so they can rob them.”

  All the grannies gasped and began talking at once about “what the world has come to” and “the last days.” Not that I disagreed, but I couldn’t get a word in edgewise.

  “You need something to protect yourself,” Momma Pat told me.

  “Listen to her,” said Granny (Momma Pat’s mother). “They call her Granny Oakley down at the firing range.”

  I burst out laughing, but the grannies just looked at me…dead serious.

  “I have my concealed carry permit. You should, too,” Momma Pat informed me.

  “Are you…packing?” I asked.

  “Always! You need to get educated on guns and self-defense and licenses. This is where you should go.” She handed me a card for Femme Fatale Arms and Training.

  “They’re not too far from the house. I’ll check it out.”

  “If you start to chicken out, call me. I’ll go with you,” Momma Pat offered, giving me one of her world’s best hugs.

  “Promise,” I committed.

  After the weekly Bible study (which was about the whole armor of God, oddly enough), I drove us home. We talked and laughed the entire way. It wasn’t until we walked in the back door that fear gripped me. What if we had been followed? What if someone was here at the house?

  “Freeze!” I yelled to the kids, and they actually froze in place.

  “Mom, what’s wrong?” Joseph asked, a bit shocked at my outburst.

  “Stay with me and we’re gonna walk through the house together.”

  “Is something going on? This is weird,” Carrie added.

  “Just walk with me.”

  We went room to room together, and I prayed out loud, thanking God for being our Protector, our Refuge in a time of trouble. The kids basically just looked at me as if I had three heads and spoke Klingon. When it was obvious that everything was fine, I let them go their own way. Of course, none of them wanted to be separate from the group.

  “Hey, Joseph, let’s watch an episode of Malcolm in the Middle before bed,” Carrie suggested.

  “Yeah, why not,” he replied.

  “I’ll watch, too,” Tommy said, to our surprise. Then he grabbed his iPad and headphones and sat next to them on the couch.

  Cole had taken the liberty of informing Mr. Baker about my interstate incident. He agreed with Cole that I needed to be cautious and think about protecting myself and the kids. So, when I asked to take extra time at lunch to check out this women’s gun and training place, my boss was happy to oblige.

  Walking into Femme Fatale Arms, I wasn’t really sure what to expect. In the front, they had a display of beautiful leather purses that had special concealed compartments for your weapon. There were t-shirts, holsters, and even jewelry. I pretty much made a straight line for the glass cases filled with guns.

  “Hello, welcome to the store. Is there something I
can help you find?” Asked the woman behind the counter.

  “I’m not sure. I’m looking for something for protection, but I have a lot of questions…a lot of concerns.”

  “Alright. Let’s get started. What do you want to know?”

  “Well, first off, let me tell you that I’m not even sure I’m going to buy a gun.”

  “Not a problem. We are here to educate women about weapons, about options, about protecting themselves. I’m Marcy, by the way.”

  “Nice to meet you.”

  “What’s your biggest concern?” she asked kindly.

  “Safety. I have kids at home, and one of them is autistic. I can’t have the gun easily accessible, but at the same time, it needs to be…accessible.”

  “Understood. I always recommend a good gun safe, and we have one here that is biometric.”

  “That sounds like something from Star Trek.”

  Marcy laughed. “It’s pretty cool. It scans your fingerprint; so you’re not fumbling with keys in an intense emergency situation. And it holds over thirty prints so you can input all your fingers in case maybe one hand is injured.”

  “I like this. Safe but accessible. Okay that’s one concern figured out. Now, if I were to get a gun, the problem is I’m obviously a bit petite and I don’t have strong hands.”

  “Not an issue,” she assured me.

  Marcy, deciding it best to start with absolute basics, began by showing me ammo, and how different bullets have different results.

  “A lot of stores will direct women to a .22, but all that’s really good for is shooting squirrels and paper.”

  “Obviously, I don’t see either of those as threats,” I quipped.

  “Exactly. I recommend a nine millimeter like this Sig Sauer over here.”

  She took out a rather large gun, removed the magazine and handed demonstrated how to slide it back, pull the trigger and such. Then she handed it to me. Nervously, I took hold of the gun, used my left hand to slide it back like she had shown me, and pointed it toward a rather large wall safe to pull the trigger. It was much easier than I had anticipated.