Alive After Friday (Sandy Reid Mystery Series) Read online

  Alive After Friday

  A Novel

  Rod Hoisington

  Copyright © 2013 by Rod Hoisington

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without permission in writing from the publisher.b11y07y13B

  Cover design by Mark Hoisington

  markhoisington.com

  Editorial Assistance:

  Karen L. Hoisington

  For Vanna

  Sandy Reid Mystery Series

  by Rod Hoisington

  One Deadly Sister

  The Price of Candy

  Such Wicked Friends

  Chasing Suspect Three

  Alive After Friday

  Table of contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Chapter 36

  Chapter 37

  Chapter 38

  Chapter 39

  Chapter 40

  Chapter 41

  Chapter 42

  Chapter 43

  Chapter 44

  Chapter 45

  Chapter 46

  Addendum

  Chapter One

  Sandy Reid slammed the brakes hard when the dark colored SUV cut in front of her and screeched to a stop. Her eyes flew to the rear view mirror hoping the driver behind could stop. All she could see back there was the bright glare of headlights rushing in on her. She tightly gripped the steering wheel of her Miata convertible and clamped her jaw waiting for the impact.

  Nothing.

  Somehow, the vehicle behind had stopped mere inches from her bumper. She exhaled and relaxed her grip. The SUV in front stayed motionless. No sign of the idiot driver. No further movement—nothing happening. “Hello! Can we do something this year?”

  She swallowed the urge to get out and start yelling. Best not to flip off an obscene gesture into the Florida darkness, where the driver might be sitting with a Glock 22 in his lap. Relieved that her car hadn’t been damaged all she wanted was to get on her way. Turning in the seat looking back she couldn’t make out the vehicle behind at all, but could see her small sports car was tightly sandwiched between the two larger vehicles. She felt a wave of claustrophobia even though she was sitting in the open-air on a pleasant Florida evening with a clear sky above.

  The driver behind kept his blinding headlights on high beam. With the convertible top down, she was clearly visible and didn’t enjoy being on display to both drivers. She shrugged in resignation, put her car in reverse, looked over her shoulder and shouted. “Hey! You’ve got me trapped here.” That accomplished nothing. The vehicle behind didn’t budge. The driver must be watching her and must have seen her backup lights come on, yet gave no indication of moving back.

  Something about this was all wrong. This wasn’t a case of standstill traffic, and she had given them plenty of time to move. She quickly reached over for her phone. A car door slammed. Then another.

  Her heart started pounding and her eyes widened as she suddenly realized what was about to happen. She slammed the shift into Park. Flipped loose her seatbelt, and jumped over the side of her car. Too late. Hands grabbed at her from behind. Her scream was squelched when they clutched at her mouth and throat. That’s when the black hood was jammed down over her head.

  Chapter Two

  “Sandy left our law office here around five today,” Martin Bronner said, “headed over to her apartment to change into something more festive. She should be here soon.”

  Detective Chip Goddard crossed and uncrossed his arms. “I expected her to be here waiting for me. It was her suggestion the three of us go out to celebrate tonight.”

  “Relax. We’ve been talking for two years about how we’re going to celebrate after winning the Banks-Olin lawsuit. She’ll be here, nothing will stop her.”

  “Winning a two million dollar wrongful death lawsuit...now that’s worth celebrating.” Chip leaned forward, pointed to the newspaper article spread out on Martin’s desk and pretended to be reading aloud, ‘Martin Bronner and Sandra Reid, incredible local attorneys-at-law, pull off a big freaking deal for a couple of small town Florida lawyers and get showered with money.’”

  “You should put her name first. She made it all happen.” Martin tapped the newspaper with his pencil and frowned. “Not a large amount for many lawyers, and it took us almost two years to settle, but it’s a big deal for us small towners. I wish the paper hadn’t published anything about us. Sometimes publicity attracts the wrong sort of attention.”

  Chip thought it was a good point, yet most of the town was already aware of Martin’s considerable wealth. “I don’t blame you for not wanting your financial details divulged to the public, but it is rather sensational news at least around our little town of Park Beach. On the other side, Sandy loves the publicity. Said the recognition is going to make it rain—isn’t that what you lawyers say, when new clients pour in? If she had her way, that news item would be on the front page of every newspaper in the country.”

  “After trial expenses our client gets one million, two hundred thousand.” Martin explained, “Sandy and I will split four hundred thousand for our legal fee, less something for our office expenses here.” He glanced over at the desk clock and continued tapping the pencil.

  “How about the way Sandy has pulled together her law practice?” Chip said. “Last year at this time she was pinching pennies. Now she’s caught up on her bills and has money in the bank.”

  Martin nodded. “She’s been doing remarkably well, but you can’t build a meaningful practice on a string of five hundred dollar fees. Now with this added two hundred thousand dollar share she has enough to expand and operate the way she’s always dreamed.” He knew it wasn’t like Sandy not to call if she were running late. “I hope she’ll start spending some of it on herself.”

  “Remember when her standard outfit was jeans, T-shirt and sneakers.” Chip grinned. “And maybe that pink baseball cap she wore when the top was down on her MX-5. I’m not complaining she sure looked hot.” He ran his fingers through his thick dark hair and checked his watch. “I’m going to give her a call.”

  “Let’s give her another ten minutes before we start bugging her.”

  Chip continued, “Back when Larry Moran was state attorney, she’d drive him bonkers. He’d make a big production out of ordering her to his office. You know what a stuffed shirt he was. He’d be all puffed up trying to impress upon her the importance of his high position. And she’d show up wearing jeans, T-shirt and sneakers.” He looked at his watch, then stood and walked to the window.

  “She’s changed since passing the bar,” Martin said, “and takes her look more seriously. Still might wear jeans but with a jacket. Sneakers are out.
Now it’s sandals or low heels. Still a long way from the cover of Vogue, as if she cares.” She always looked wonderful to him but he didn’t say that aloud. “She wears suits, if she’s going to court, but rarely appears in court. She prefers to operate behind the scenes to get her clients off the hook—searching for evidence, interviewing reluctant witnesses, tailing bad guys—.”

  Chip interrupted, “You left out kicking ass and doing trash hits.”

  “Trash hits?”

  “Dumpster diving. Amazing the incriminating stuff people throw away. If she believes something might be in someone’s trash, she won’t hesitate to jump in and dig for it.”

  “Sounds like Sandy,” Martin said. “By running around uncovering facts, her opponents often settle immediately to avoid facing her in the courtroom. She loves being a lawyer, but I believe she’d rather run around investigating than be in the courtroom.”

  “She’s the original whatever-it-takes girl,” Chip loosened his necktie, came back and sat in the classic brown leather armchair. “I don’t mean she’s devious, she knows where the line is. It’s just that sometimes crossing the line is so damn convenient. She operates right on the edge.”

  Martin said, “My impression, from talking with her, is that you are a steadying force in her life. You keep her from straying too far off center. I have it from the very best authority that she loves you.”

  “I believe so. We had some commitment issues early on that I feel are all resolved.” Chip stared at his phone. “I’m calling her...something isn’t right.” He frowned when there was no answer and the call went to voice mail.

  “Maybe she’s still getting ready,” Martin said, not actually believing it.

  “The men wait while the women dress routine.” Chip stood, paced around the office and again ran his fingers through his hair. He phoned again. “Where the devil is she?”

  “Considering her new found fame, perhaps she’s out interacting with some new people.” Martin tried with his phone. “Why isn’t she answering? She knows we’re waiting.”

  “Something’s wrong.”

  “It’s been only forty-five minutes.”

  “What do you mean only?” Chip said.

  “Let’s give her another thirty minutes.”

  “No, fifteen.”

  “Okay, then we’ll check her apartment. No, you check her apartment, I’ll check the hospitals.”

  “Let’s go now.”

  Chapter Three

  In a flurry of movement, strong arms dragged Sandy backwards and dumped her onto the rear seat floor of the vehicle. Her thrashing arms and legs meant nothing as strong arms held her as they tied her hands behind her back. In the instant when they replaced the hood with a tight blindfold and duct-taped a gag in her mouth, she detected she was in an SUV. No doubt the dark SUV that had stopped in front of her car.

  With no traffic noises and an uneven road, she sensed they were taking her out into the rough country. The irregular sounds of the roadway told her they weren’t on the north-south Interstate. Since the ocean was east, and they’d been traveling for so long, they must be headed west. Heading west from the Atlantic coast in south Florida means the dry land will soon dissolve into a soggy swamp and you’ll find yourself in the Everglades; the tropical wetlands natives eloquently describe as the “Sea of Grass.” Repulsive swamp critters call it home. Why did they want her out in such a miserable marshland?

  She assumed struggling and making muffled sounds would not only be futile but would interfere with her being aware to all that was happening. She tried to keep her senses alert to memorize anything that might later be useful in identifying her captors or their destination—the place where whatever was going to happen. She had started counting to estimate how long they had been driving but for some reason, perhaps nervousness, she soon lost track. If being blindfolded heightened her other senses, her fear deadened them. Above all, she had to believe she’d stay alive to talk about it later.

  An average speed would take them into the Everglades in less than an hour; she guessed they’d driven at least that long. The ride abruptly became rough. Swayed and jostled, she knew they were off the road and into an isolated locale. The vehicle stopped. She heard the side door slide open and the humid air instantly blasted her with the heavy stench of a multitude of flourishing and decaying creatures. A jangle of swampland sounds ranging from incessant buzzing to howling mournful, almost-human sounding shrieks engulfed her ears.

  They pushed her out and with her hands tied behind, she couldn’t catch herself and fell face first into the warm soggy grass. Immediately, she felt a sting on her arm, then another on her neck. She hoped they were mere mosquitoes and not some exotic, deadly insect.

  Without words, someone gripped her arm and dragged her roughly away from the vehicle. She felt it must have been a strong man. The heavy hand on her shoulder then forced her to kneel in the mushy muck. For a crazy instant, she thought about her new pants and designer shoes that had cost a small fortune being soaked and ruined; she had gotten all dressed up for a kidnapping in an alligator infested sawgrass swamp.

  He put a firm hand on her head and then she felt the sharp sting as he ripped the duct tape away from her mouth. With hands tied behind, she couldn’t reach her face to tell if any skin had come off with the tape. Then he yanked the gag from her mouth.

  “Why did you bring me here?” she spat out words as best she could. “Why are you doing this, what do you want?”

  No one answered.

  She flinched when the cold barrel of a gun pressed against the back of her neck brought her to a new reality. Behind the blindfold, she squeezed her eyes tightly shut. Her first impulse was to yell for them not to hurt her, but that would be a waste of breath.

  “Whoever you are, you’re foolish to be out in the Everglades after dark. This is the heart of gator country and you don’t have to be this far out to stumble over them. I hope you have a big shotgun to go with that pistol. Don’t you realize people in Florida back over gators in their driveways? Will you please tie my hands in front so I can protect myself some from these flying bugs?” Not likely they would try to make her comfortable.

  Memorize details of your captors, she thought, some small thing might help. There seemed to be two of them. One was certainly a powerful man. And she was certain she’d breathed in the essence of a woman sitting beside her during the drive out there. At least she wasn’t in the hands of two men—still not necessarily good but she’d take it. One man is better than two, a man and a woman are better than just one man—although in the end it might make no difference.

  Memorize your surroundings, she told herself, so you can find this location again. Nothing could be seen through the blindfold. Warm and humid—nothing unusual about that, the sweat trickled down the back of her neck. She was kneeling in the province of snakes and the other nightmarish critters she’d heard about, especially alligators. She doubted gators made much noise as they approached. She couldn’t have heard them anyway above the sounds of the sweaty swamp plus the bugs buzzing in her ears, and her own panicky heartbeat. Gators would have already caught the scent. By now they could be watching. Is this how it ends, face down in the sticky Everglades muck waiting for the gators to slither over? She’d rather have a quick shot to her head.

  Her mind raced through explanations for the kidnapping. A mistake perhaps? They have the wrong woman. Money came to mind, of course, but she was certainly not a wealthy target; everything she owned would easily fit in her little sports car. Was this a payback for some offense; a punishment for God knows what? Was she there to be assaulted and severely thrashed? Some sexual purpose was unlikely, as they’d just driven past hundreds of more suitable locations for a sexual attack. Still, she did recall the man had drawn his hand across her breasts while shoving her into the vehicle. With more serious things to worry about, she hadn’t thought much of it. And it might have been accidental with all her jerking around and kicking at the time.

  There was
another chilling possibility. An execution. After all, they had her blindfolded with hands tied behind her back and kneeling with a gun against the back of her head. Kneeling in front of your executioner is usually the classic last step. The perfect crime. Just drive away and let the gators tidy up the murder scene devouring the last small bit of human evidence. How many persons disappearing in Florida without a trace would that explain? Yet, bringing her out here to fire a bullet through her brain didn’t make sense. Of course, that was her own logical thinking. They may not have logically considered the consequences of what they were doing. One thing was certain: No one was going to come looking for her; at least not for several hour. Even then no one would think of the Everglades. That thought sent another wave of terror sweeping over her. She felt sick. It was extremely likely that she was about to die.

  “You don’t want me dead, do you?” More a wish than a question.

  Why weren’t they answering?

  Perhaps she could make a deal with them. “You can ransom me. I have money.” Geez, she dearly hoped this was about money.

  The cold metal was lifted away from her neck. Had she said the magic word?

  She could breathe again. “Yes, I can pay you. I have over twenty-five thousand dollars in my savings account.” Of course, that didn’t count her half of the gorgeous four hundred thousand dollar check she’d soon deposit. They didn’t need to know about that. Although, she’d give it all just then for a can of mosquito spray. She could hear them slapping the mosquitoes, as well.

  “Not a good time to be lying.” At last, there was a voice. A funny sounding male voice with a ridiculous twang. As though holding his nose.

  Another voice, “That was Dick and I’m Jane. You know, like fun with Dick and Jane.” The second voice belonged to a woman, high-pitched and also falsely nasal. Quite effective for disguising a voice. “Go ahead, tie her hands in front so she can swat some bugs.”