Chapter 18
Ezra hadn’t answered his phone when I called, so Broyles used the police radio to get a hold of Reese.
Reese’s voice came over the air. “Cell phone reception is crap here,” she complained. “I hope you all found something because we’re coming up empty here. Over.”
“Request a secure channel,” I told Broyles. I wanted to ask about Ari and Mason, and to see if Reese had seen Gilly, and I didn’t want to broadcast it out to all the cops in the area.”
“Move to two. Over,” Broyles said. He reached down and turned the dial on his radio until the LED number read 2. “Done.”
“Thanks.” I held out my hand, and he handed me the radio.
“Suspect first,” he advised.
“Right.” I depressed the button on the side of the handheld. “Suspect is Waylon Lems, white male, early forties, five-eight, around one hundred and thirty pounds. His hair is light brown, shoulder-length. He is possibly transporting several fifteen-gallon barrels of kerosene for whatever he has planned. Over.” I took my hand off the button.
“One hundred and fifty? Did I hear that correctly? Over.” Her voice hardened. She sounded every bit a cop.
“Yes. Motive, other than money, unknown. Over.” Some psychopaths got their kicks on torturing people. Maybe that was all the motive Waylon needed. “Have you seen Gilly? The kids? Over.”
“Gilly, the Doc, and Ezra took a jon boat with a trolling motor out on the lake to track them down. It’s going to be tough. The kids are somewhere among the hundreds of entries this year. There’s one raft that’s ten feet high and made out of nothing but Styrofoam coolers. These people are nuts. Over.”
“Heard. Over.” I was relieved she’d found Gilly and let her know something was up, but now I was worried for the three of them out searching for the kids.
I handed the radio back to Broyles. “We’re coming in now,” he said. “Over. Where do you want us to meet you?”
“The marina,” Reese answered. “Over.”
* * *
We pulledinto Portman’s on the Lake marina parking lot to a scene of chaos. The homemade raft race had drawn a massive crowd of spectators—drunk tourists, sunburned families, and locals alike—all eagerly watching the ludicrous floats bobbing on the water. Broyles and I scanned the throng, looking for Reese among the sea of faces.
Broyles keyed his radio, trying to establish contact. “Reese, this is Broyles. We’re at the marina. Over.”
Static crackled before Reese’s voice responded, sounding frustrated. “Copy that. En route to dock six. Meet me there. Over.”
“Copy that. Over.” Broyles tucked the radio away. “Let’s move,” he said, urgency coloring his voice as we hurried through the lively crowd toward the marina. It was after seven now, but it was still hot as we navigated through the maze of excited spectators. It almost made me long for winter. Almost.
As we reached the marina’s edge to wait for Reese, I scanned the horizon, hoping to catch sight of Ezra and the others. The sound of raucous cheers and the splashing of water filled the air, but amidst the festivities, our mission to find Waylon weighed heavily on my mind. I couldn’t shake the feeling there was more to his participation than for money or the fun of it. Waylon had always been so nice—said every neighbor of a serial killer. Waylon’s dad, however, was a piece of work. He was verbally, and I think, at times, physically abusive to his son. Even now. I always thought Waylon’s sculptures were an outlet—an escape—from his dad. If someone had told me Mr. Lems had people tied up in the basement, I wouldn’t have blinked. Which is why I wanted to understand.
“Hey, guys,” Reese said as she hustled toward us. She looked at my feet. “Nora, you picked the wrong day for a Gucci.”
“You’re telling me.” If I’d had time to go home and change clothes, I would’ve. Instead, the only thing I could do was take the blazer off. “Have you heard from Ezra?”
“You mean in the last five minutes since you asked?” She smiled. “Yes, he’s fine. They found Ari and Mason. They’re escorting them back.”
“Poor kids. They were really looking forward to this, then Waylon and Carol had to spoil it.”
“Every party needs a pooper,” Reese said. “The water patrol has been alerted so we can get the rest of the poor bastards off the water. Got uniforms searching the cars, the crowd, and the bank along the lake. If Waylon’s here, we’ll find him.”
I liked her optimism, but this place was packed. Needle meet haystack. “What about me?” I asked. “Should I join the search?”
“Not in those shoes,” Reese said. “Besides, Ezra said to wait for him here at dock six. He’s on his way back now, so hopefully, it won’t be too long. Broyles and I will join the search.”
Broyles took his radio off, twisted the dial to change the channel back to regular and handed it to me. “Just in case.”
“Thanks,” I said gratefully. Twenty minutes later, I was still standing in the same spot, my feet sore and my shoulders getting sunburned. I used the radio. “Ezra, where are you at?”
“Drunken idiots capsized their raft. Mounting a rescue. Over.”
Great. I couldn’t be mad because he was helping people, right? I was more mad at myself for my style than for my comfort.
“Miss,” a woman said. “Where’s the nearest bathroom?”
I shook my head. “Do I look like I work here?”
She shrugged. “Kinda.”
Six more people asked me for directions to the bar, what time the fireworks started, and where they could get more towels. My bad for wearing a suit to a resort in the middle of summer. Come on, Ezra, I thought. Hurry up.
I scanned the incoming boats. Nothing yet. At some point, I was dazing as I watched a white pickup back down into the woods using a service road entrance at the end of the docks. While the mules were more comfortable than regular heels, they weren’t tennis shoes. After another thirty minutes of being wedged in, my toes were starting to cramp.
A young woman wearing water shoes passed me on the dock. “What size shoe do you wear?” I asked.
“An eight,” she replied.
I was a seven and a half, so close enough. “Can I buy them from you?”
“I’ll trade you for yours,” she said slyly.
“Uh, no,” I told her. “How about fifty bucks?”
“Sold!” she said, already sliding out of them.
I got two twenties and a ten from my purse, then took off my mules and tucked them inside. Thankfully, the water shoes hadn’t been in the water yet, so they were dry.
I got on the radio again. “ETA to dock?”
“Another fifteen minutes,” Ezra answered.
I slapped a mosquito away, twisting as it buzzed my cheek. That”s when I noticed the service vehicle at the edge of the lake, with a man crouching near the water. I pulled out my phone and activated the camera, zooming in. My breath caught. The image was a little blurry, but I was almost certain I’d found Waylon.
Grabbing the radio from my purse, I pressed the button. “Suspect located,” I said urgently. “I repeat, suspect located.”
No one answered. I checked the radio to make sure it was working. It squawked so the batteries were good. Then I noticed the channel had changed.
I switched it to two. “Reese. Broyles. I see Waylon.” Still no answer.
What had Broyles changed the channel to before he’d left?
Even from this distance, I could see three white barrels turned on their sides. I got out my phone again and zoomed in.
What the heck? Was he dumping kerosene into the lake?
I moved the phone to view the incoming boats. They were going to cross right past Waylon’s dump site. Ezra had said he was on his way back. A sick feeling churned in my stomach—Waylon was planning to ignite the kerosene when the boats passed by.
Burn, baby, burn.
My stomach clenched with fury. I couldn’t let that happen. I had to stop him before he could carry out his plan. I cursed myself for not carrying my gun in my purse. I had a concealed carry license, but I didn’t like having my weapon with me all the time, especially since JP had started getting her toddler hands into everything. That didn’t mean I was defenseless, though. I had pepper spray and a telescoping flashlight in my purse.
I jogged around the dock to the parking lot, following the asphalt to where I’d seen the truck enter the service road. It was a longer route, but it was faster than climbing over the rocks at the shore. I switched numbers on the radio one by one, asking for anyone to answer as I neared Waylon’s location.
Finally, when I got to sixteen, Ezra answered. “Where are you?”
“Suspect located,” I said frantically. “He’s down a service road on the right side of the docks. He’s parked a truck and is dumping kerosene into the lake. I repeat, dumping forty-five gallons of kerosene. I think he plans to light it up when the boats cross over.”
“Nora, hold your position,” Ezra said. “Help is on the way. Do not approach the suspect.”
“He’s going to light people on fire,” I called back, panic rising. I was close enough now to see Waylon had a box of Roman candles on the hood of his truck. Clever. He could use those to shoot fireballs onto the spreading fuel. Maybe I wouldn’t have to confront Waylon if I could find a way to steal his igniter. He was preoccupied with dumping the kerosene, and if I was lucky, I could get away with it before he noticed.
I turned the volume off on the radio so it wouldn’t give my location away as I quietly crept toward the truck, using the trees for cover as much as possible.
A slew of rafts was returning, getting closer to Waylon’s trap. I quickened my steps, my heart pounding like a jackhammer in my chest.
Just as I reached the candles, he turned around. Fuuuudge.
“Waylon!” Ezra’s authoritative and firm voice cut through the silence. He was in the jon boat by himself, so he must’ve passed Gilly and Scott off to another boat or raft, then used the motor to come straight to me. Unfortunately, he was floating on a sea of flammable fuel. “Stop right there.”
Oh, God. He was going to get fried.
Waylon spun around, eyes wide with surprise and then fury. He was holding an old-fashioned Zippo lighter in his hand, and he’d struck the flame. “Stay back,” he snarled, his voice cracking with the weight of his mania. “Or I’ll light you up.”
“Stop this, Waylon,” I begged, stepping forward, my hands raised in a placating gesture. “You don’t want to do this. Think about the people, the families’…”
For a split second, he hesitated, his eyes flickering with something almost human. But then he shook his head, a wild gleam returning. “I...I don’t...It’s too late,” he said. He took a step toward me. “Stay back!”
“Waylon!” Ezra shouted, and the man whipped around, his back to me once again. My fear for Ezra made me reckless. I reached into my bag and grabbed the easiest weapon at hand then charged the last twenty feet with my telescoping flashlight extended, lunged forward, and knocked the lighter from Waylon’s hand before tackling him to the ground. The lighter skittered down the boat ramp toward the water when we hit the rough cement. I held my breath as I waited for the water to ignite.
Nothing happened. “The flames out,” Ezra shouted.
I heard him splash in the water as the strong scent of kerosene overpowered my senses. No, no, I thought. Not now.
The vision didn’t care that I was about to get my butt whooped.
I’m in an old, cluttered antique furniture shop. I recognize it immediately as Mr. Lems place. The smell of kerosene is suffocating. There’s a man on the floor, bleeding from his head, and it’s not hard to tell by his sheer size that it’s Waylon’s father.
“You won’t get away with this,” Mr. Lems says. I can see he’s been tied with some twine to a ring on the floor.
“You”re wrong,” Waylon tells him. It’s an old shop, and you have a whole section with kerosene lanterns. The fire investigators won’t blink an eye. He has a timer in his hand, similar to the one he put on the stink bomb. “At five after nine, while the whole town is watching the fire at the lake, you’ll be enjoying your own personal inferno. By the time the firetrucks get here, it’ll be too late.
“Why, son?”
“Because I’m tired. I can’t do this anymore. This is the only way I’ll be free of you.”
The vision snapped away, leaving me gasping for breath. I turned to see Ezra, soaking wet, yanking Waylon off me and pinning him to the ground. He pressed his knee into Waylon’s back. “Nora, you all right?” he asked, his voice strained but steady.
“Yeah.” My elbows were scrapped up, and I rubbed the back of my neck. As much as it hurt, I knew it would be worse in the morning. “I’m okay.”
“Nice shoes,” he teased, then whistled low, a tight smile on his lips. “Damn, woman, you’re going to age me twenty years.”
I chuckled. “Then I’ll have to trade you in on a new model.” I picked up a foot and wiggled it. “And these shoes are the most expensive water shoes on the lake.” I sobered as the reality of the vision hit me. “We’ve got to get fire trucks over to Lems Antique Furniture. Waylon dumped kerosene around Mr. Lems and set a timer to start a fire in the store. He’s trying to kill his father. That’s what this has been about.”
Not money. Not revenge. Just a man who was still an angry child at heart, who couldn’t find a way to grow up and leave his father. Not while his father still lived. No wonder Carol and he found each other. They were two peas in an emotionally stunted pod.
“Get a squad car, an ambulance, and fire services over to Lems Furniture,” he said into his radio before rattling off the address. “Tell them to be careful. There’s flammable liquid set to go on a timer.”
“Nine-oh-five,” I told him.
He shook his head and smirked. “Five after nine.”
Broyles and Reese showed up shortly and cuffed him. When they finished, they wrestled Waylon to his feet. The man’s rage had given way to broken sobbing, the fight drained out of him.
“I wonder what it’s going to take to clean this up?” I asked.
“More know-how than I got,” Ezra replied. His eyes filled with a mix of pride and worry as he met my gaze. “You did good, Nora,” he said softly. “We stopped him.”
* * *
Ezra’s cabinwas warm and rustic, and tonight, it felt like a sanctuary, a world away from the chaos and danger we’d left behind.
A week had passed since Carol and Waylon had plotted to turn Garden Cove Lake into an inferno. They were both in jail, awaiting arraignment for two counts of reckless endangerment, multiple counts of assault, attempted murder, and arson. They were both looking at a long time inside of a cell. Unsurprisingly, they’d turned on each other and provided even more damning evidence to keep them locked up for a good long time. To me, hatred was a wasted emotion. To them… it had been their modus operandi and had backfired in a way that had destroyed them.
Waylon admitted to stealing Edgar Jones’ coin from his desk at the bank when he’d gone in with his father the previous month to ask for a loan. He’d had an idea in his head to frame Edgar at the point, and the fact that the poor banker had been on scene at the first two dangerous pranks had been a happy accident. Needless to say, Edgar was released with an apology from the police department. I think that had been the mayor’s idea. The last thing the city needed was a wrongful arrest suit, and since Edgar was a prominent citizen in Garden Cove, he’d have a good chance of winning.
The mayor awarded commendations to Shawn, Ezra, and all of Ezra’s team for valor in the line of duty. For me, she offered a private, heartfelt thank you and promised my name would not grace any public records. I was extremely grateful. The Garden Cove Gazette issued a front-page apology, blaming the letter on the crazy ravings of a madwoman with a vendetta going all the way back to high school. With Carol in jail, it helped to sell the story as completely believable. I’d been getting less hate now, and maybe in a short while, folks would forget about it altogether. I doubted that would happen, but a girl could hope.
The fire department got to Mr. Lems in time. They saved the old coot’s life. He hadn’t been grumpy but grateful. Lucky for me, he’d decided to finally sell the building, and he offered me a fair price. I needed the extra storage for my stock, and it would give Gilly the space to expand her massage business. Ari and Mason did not finish the race, but neither did anyone. The state water patrol had evacuated everyone else in the area off the lake. As it was, Portman’s docks were shut down until the EPA could contain, clean, and decontaminate the affected water.
“Are you okay?” Ezra asked as I nestled into his side, feeling the steady beat of his heart against my cheek. His arm was wrapped around me, holding me close, a silent promise of protection and love.
“I’m perfect,” I told him. “You?”
“I think you’re perfect, too.” He grinned.
I gave his chest a playful slap. “That’s not what I meant.”
“I know,” he said, stroking the hair from my face. “I’m about as good as a man can get.”
Across the room, Ezra’s son Mason and my goddaughter Ari sat on the floor, their eyes wide with fascination as they watched “2001: A Space Odyssey” for the first time. The movie’s eerie score and stunning visuals filled the room, but I was more captivated by the peaceful scene around me. The two twenty-year-olds were engrossed in the film, their friendship evident in their easy banter and shared wonder.
Ezra chuckled softly, his breath warm against my hair. “I think they’re hooked,” he whispered, his voice filled with affection.
I smiled, snuggling closer. “It’s a classic. Hard not to be.”
We fell into a comfortable silence, the weight of recent events lifting as we soaked in the simple joy of being together. I glanced over at Mason and Ari, their faces lit by the flickering light of the TV screen and felt a swell of gratitude. They were safe, here with us, their laughter and curiosity a balm to my weary soul.
Ezra’s fingers traced lazy patterns on my arm, a soothing rhythm that lulled me into a state of contentment. “I’m glad you’re here,” he murmured, his voice a low rumble that resonated deep within me.
“Me too,” I replied, tilting my head to look up at him. His eyes, filled with warmth and love, met mine. “We did good, Ezra. The bad guys are put away, and the people we care about are safe.”
He nodded, his lips moving over mine. “All is right with the world.” His smile was a soft curve that made my heart flutter.
“Indeed,” I agreed. “It’s never been more right.”
The End...for now.
What’s next for Nora and the gang?
Of Spice and Men: A Nora Black Midlife Psychic Mystery Book 10
My name is Nora Black. I’m fifty-six years old, and I’m having the midlife adventure of my life.
I’m all set for the ultimate escape: a couples cruise with my sweetheart Ezra, and my best friends Gilly and Pippa, along with their husbands.
We are ready to hit the high seas for sun, fun, and definitely no crime-solving. The plan is simple: cocktails, sunsets, and endless laughter. But you know what they say about the best-laid plans...
When one of our table mates, a frequent flyer on this very cruise line, ends up face down in the Lido Deck pool, the captain declares it an accident.
But my psychic nose says otherwise—this is murder. Now, with the clock ticking before we reach foreign soil, I’ll have to use my aroma mojo to sniff out the truth. It looks like it’s up to us to unravel the mystery before the killer gets away with murder.
So much for smooth sailing!