Alive After Friday (Sandy Reid Mystery Series #5)

By Rod Hoisington

~ They kidnapped Sandy — Bad move, they should have chosen the Devil. ~ When a murder plot strikes too close to home, Sandy Reid is forced to come up with a world of money to save her lover. The feisty young defense lawyer ignores the risks and is off on a gripping whirl around sun-drenched Palm Beach County, Florida; including confronting a sexy stranger who’s easy to brush off until the gun comes out, a cheating wife who gets more action than she can handle and a Barbie Doll beauty who would never jump into bed with just any couple who asks. Another exciting Sandy Reid Mystery Romance.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Rod Hoisington
• Release date: Oct 27, 2013
• ISBN: 9781311887719

Rod Hoisington

Rod Hoisington lives in Florida where he devotes full-time to his compulsion to dig into the souls and lives of fictional characters. ONE DEADLY SISTER is the first novel in the popular Sandy Reid mystery series, followed by THE PRICE OF CANDY,SUCH WICKED FRIENDS, CHASING SUSPECT THREE, ALIVE AFTER FRIDAY and INTO THE HEAT.

Book preview

Chapter One

Sandy Reid slammed hard on the brakes when the dark-colored SUV suddenly cut in front of her. She screeched to a stop, and her eyes flew up to the rearview mirror, hoping the driver behind could stop. A blinding glare of headlights rushing in on her was all she could see. She tightly gripped the steering wheel of her compact 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 had stopped crooked in the roadway. No sign of the idiot driver. She twisted in her seat to look back at the bright lights behind—then back to the SUV. 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 her car hadn’t been damaged, all she wanted was to get on her way. Looking back again, 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 the stars beginning to show in the clear sky above.

The driver behind kept his blinding headlights on high beam. Sandy was clearly visible with the convertible top down and didn’t enjoy being on display in the spotlight. 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 grabbed for her phone. A car door slammed. Then another.

Her heart started pounding, and her eyes widened as she quickly realized what was about to happen. She slammed the shift into Park. Flipped loose her seatbelt and jumped over the door 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

In a flurry of movement, strong arms dragged Sandy backward and dumped her onto the vehicle's rear seat floor. Her thrashing arms and legs meant nothing as the 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 main north-south Interstate. She reasoned that since Park Beach was a small oceanside town on Florida’s southeast coast, and since they’d been driving for so long, they must be headed west—otherwise, they would have reached the ocean. Heading west from the Atlantic coast in southeast Florida means the dry land will soon dissolve into a soggy swamp, and you’d find yourself in the Everglades, the tropical wetlands natives eloquently describe as the Sea of Grass. Repulsive swamp critters of all types call it home. Why did her abductors want her out in such a miserable marshland?

She assumed struggling and making muffled sounds of distress would not only be futile but would interfere with her being aware of 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 some isolated locale. Finally, the vehicle stopped. She heard the side door slide open, and the humid night 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 pulled 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. A 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 got all dressed up for a kidnapping in an alligator infested, Sawgrass swamp.

The man put a firm hand on her head, and she felt the sharp smarting as he carelessly 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. Next he pulled the gag from her mouth.

Why did you bring me here? she spat out words as best she could. 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, she sputtered, 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. 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 undoubtedly a powerful man. And she was sure 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. A man and a woman seemed better than two sets of active, male imaginations considering her—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 sticky 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, 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, yet she certainly was not a wealthy target—everything she owned would almost fit in the trunk of 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 beyond 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 with your back to your executioner is usually the classic last step. Yet, the perfect crime would be to Just drive away and let the gators tidy up the murder scene devouring the last small bit of human evidence. How many people who have disappeared 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 would come looking for her, at least not for several hours. 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.

Chapter Three

"Sandy left our law office here around five today, Martin Bronner explained, headed over to her apartment to change into something more festive. Should have been back already."

Detective Chip Goddard ran his fingers through his thick dark hair and checked his watch. 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’ll celebrate after winning the Banks-Olin lawsuit. She’ll be here. Nothing will stop her.

Chip was tapping his pencil on the newspaper article spread out on Martin’s desk. Winning a two million dollar wrongful death lawsuit—now that’s worth celebrating.

Not a large fee for many lawyers, Martin explained. Still, it’s a big deal for us small-towners. Sandy and I will split $400,000, less something for office expenses. The settlement was a matter of public record, but I wish the paper hadn’t published the actual amount. In fact, I wish the paper hadn’t published anything about us.

Chip nodded. Publicity often attracts the wrong sort of attention. But it is rather sensational news, at least around our little town of Park Beach. On the other side, Sandy loves publicity. Said the recognition would 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. He glanced over at the desk clock and continued tapping the pencil. Last year at this time, she was pinching pennies. Now she can pay off her student loans, get caught up on her bills and have a little money in the bank.

Martin stood and walked around the desk. She’s been doing remarkably well with her law practice. Nevertheless, you can’t build a meaningful practice on a string of small fees. Now 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, sweatshirt 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 crossed and uncrossed his arms. I’m calling her.

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

Chip continued, Back when Larry Moran was state attorney—you know what a jerk he was—she’d drive him bonkers. He’d make a big production out of ordering her to his office. He’d be all puffed up trying to impress upon her the importance of his high position. And she’d show up wearing jeans and sneakers. He glanced 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 seemed wonderful to him, but he didn’t say that aloud. She wears suits, if she’ll be in court, but rarely appears in court. She prefers to work 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. She loves being a lawyer, but I believe she’d rather be outside investigating than be in the courtroom. By running around Florida uncovering facts, her opponents often settle immediately to avoid facing her in the courtroom.

She’s the original whatever-it-takes girl, Chip loosened his necktie 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, Chip. 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 voicemail.

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

The men wait while the women dress routine. Chip paced around and again ran his fingers through his hair. He called again. Where the devil is she?

Considering her new-found fame, perhaps she’s out interacting with some new people. Martin tried on 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 Four

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

Why weren’t they answering?

Perhaps Sandy 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 $25,000 in my savings account. Of course, that didn’t count her half of the gorgeous $400,000 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. Both of them might be newcomers to Florida since they hadn’t brought mosquito repellant. She made a note of that little clue.

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.

Sandy noticed the woman was giving the orders—that was probably good. The man pulled her to her feet and untied her wrists. Her knees were hurting. Her arms were stiff and cramped, and it took a few seconds of stretching to loosen them. In that moment of freedom, she ran her hands rapidly up and down over her arms and through her hair for a moment of blessed relief from the bugs. He immediately grabbed her wrists and tied them in front—much better. Nothing could be done about the mosquitoes now biting through the back of her blouse and on her arms, but at least now she could raise her tied hands and brush them from her face.

In his artificial voice, the man said, We know you got $400,000. He forced her back down onto her knees.

Sandy took a deep breath. Damn, they knew about the lawsuit settlement money. How much more did they know about her? But thank God this was about money. I didn’t get all that money.

Geez, why did she say it like that? If she insisted on talking about only her $200,000 share, they might go back and extort Martin for his half—or more. $400,000 was the amount mentioned in the paper. So, that’s what this was all about—money. An amount that was incomprehensible to her anyway; she couldn’t visualize that much money. She hoped they didn’t know too much about Martin. People assumed he had money. Most didn’t understand that his affluence stretched out beyond belief.

The man’s voice was low-pitched with the same false nasal twang. Your splits aren’t our problem. 400 grand came in and we’re taking it.

He sounded young. Maybe from the south. He had said ‘fer hun-durd gran.’ She hoped they weren’t aware of just how fond of her Martin was. He would gladly pay a million, or even more, to ransom her. She didn’t want them thinking about him. Quickly she said, You’re right, you’re right. I received $200,000 and can get the other half. I can get it. It’ll be a fast and clean score for you. Just take me to the bank or… whatever.

Whatever… is always the problem part, Jane said. Kidnapping and ransom are full of whatevers.

But the kidnapping part is interesting, the male voice said. Tied up and helpless is even better. Sandy felt a hand softly squeeze her shoulder, then his fingers gently slid up as though caressing her neck and stayed touching the skin under her hair. She shrank away from his creepy touch. Then he grabbed a handful of hair at the back of her neck, slowly bobbing her head up and down suggestively as if her head were merely an available plaything. Her skin crawled when he noticeably sucked in his breath.

Hands off, Romeo! the woman yelled.

The woman had slipped. Her words came out clear and undisguised. Sandy tried to place the normal voice and memorize it at the same time, but it was difficult. Simply another female voice— not identified with any particular part of the country.

Why couldn’t the man be just an obnoxious criminal? Pushing her around roughly was expected, but what he had just done violated her. Why did he have to distort everything with his wanton self-indulgence? She then realized the hand drawn across her breasts earlier hadn’t been an accident. She had let that part go but now vowed to never forgive whoever he was for moving her head like that.

Just let me go. I’ll get the money and give it to you. If I don’t, you can kill me then. Kill me now, you get nothing.

"We are going to let you go now. And you are going to get the money for us. Here’s how you should be thinking, Jane said. Concentrate on getting us the money. After that, you can do all your clever tracking-us-down junk. All that forensic evidence from our vehicle and this location here. All the sounds and smells you’re trying to memorize right now. All the usual criminal investigation shit. But don’t think about that part yet. That all comes later. You’ll have plenty of time for that. Just worry about getting us the money."

The woman seemed cool and clever. Was that good or bad? Clever meant she’d be unlikely to do something really stupid like start shooting. It also meant she’d be difficult to outsmart and bring to justice—assuming Sandy ever got the chance. I understand. And if I don’t come across with the money, you’ll shoot me.

Dick was quick to say, No, we shoot your man, Goddard, isn’t it?

Sandy almost freaked. Kill Chip? She hadn’t thought about that switch. Not him! No, he has nothing to do with this. If I don’t give you the money, you kill me. Okay, you kill me?

Jane said, Now you’ve got the angle. With your own life on the line, you might decide to take a chance and bring in the police before you pay us. If you did, it’d be your funeral, yet I can imagine you doing it. This way, you’ll be deciding whether Detective Chip Goddard lives or dies. If you decide to take a chance and call the police, it’ll be his funeral, not yours.

Sandy protested, You’d kill a cop? You have to be crazy. Half the world would come down on you. They’d get you sooner or later—they’d never give up. She had another thought. Anyway, he’s not my man anymore. He’s old news—we broke up. The loser was screwing some waitress on the side. I don’t care what the hell you do to the bastard.

Nice try, but it’s bullshit, Jane chuckled. "Maybe we won’t get away with it, but he’ll be just as dead. You want to chance that? Your big problem is to keep Goddard alive. So don’t call the police until after you give us the money. Got it? Then you can get on with your pretty life. If you get any wise ideas, just picture him stretched out on a slab."

Sandy felt the blood drain from her face, and a wave of nausea slide through her stomach. She started to sweat. She retched forward, trying to keep her balance, and vomited wildly.

Jesus! You’re disgusting, the guy yelled, not disguising his southern accent.

She choked, gasped and wiped her mouth as best she could. Don’t worry… I’ll give you the money.

And you’re not going to call the police until after you give us the money. Now say it again, Jane ordered.

"I’m not going to call the police until after I give you the money. How much time do I have?"

Today is Wednesday. We’ll call you Friday with instructions. Get ready with the cash. If you bring in the police, the feds, or tell that detective boyfriend of yours—he won’t be alive after Friday. That gives him only seventy-two more hours to live unless you do it right.

Dick said, I believe she’ll call the police after she gives us the money.

What did I just say, dimwit? Of course, she’s going to do that. We can’t control what happens after.

We should get rid of her after we get the money.

Don’t even think about it. We get the money—we disappear. End of story. We don’t ever show up again and give the authorities another shot at us.

Can I get up off my knees now?

The man said, I like you on your knees. Then he added, Hey, can we get out of here? These damn mosquitoes are killing me.

Sandy could tell the woman was leaning down close to her. Again, she felt the press of cold steel against the back of her neck. You see why all this was necessary, Sandra? If we’d just texted you and asked for 400 grand, you’d have laughed. Wouldn’t you?

Dick added, But you aren’t laughing now.

Chapter Five

Dick and Jane drove Sandy out of the Everglades and back to her car in Park Beach, which they had casually pushed to the shoulder of the road and left parked with the top down. This time Sandy didn’t resist as the man jostled her out of the SUV. He pushed her down onto the gravel behind her car before he untied her hands. By the time she’d pulled the blindfold down and was able to stand, all she could see were taillights receding into the darkness.

Thirty-six hours until Friday. If they were to be believed, Chip might not be alive after Friday unless she followed their demand for $400,000. As unbelievable as their threat seemed, should she believe them? Should she take the chance and report the kidnapping and extortion to the authorities before paying the money?

It seemed days since she had jumped from her car. Although she had lost track of time, it had to be two or three hours. Fortunately, there were houses nearby, and her lonely car abandoned roadside appeared as just carelessly parked—extremely careless, the keys were still in the ignition. She then realized her hand was still tightly gripping the blindfold. She carefully placed it on the passenger seat, and that’s when she noticed her phone on the floorboard. Her phone was full of missed messages from Chip and Martin. Her first impulse was to phone them and receive immediate comfort and sympathy. Instead, she quickly texted them both: FELL ASLEEP MAYBE FLU BUG CUL

She started her car, raised the top and switched the air on cold blast, all while frantically rubbing the ubiquitous mosquito bites. Her body seemed to be one huge swollen, itching mass of agony. She sat there crazily rubbing everywhere she could reach. She resisted the urge to rip off all of her skin with her fingernails. One more minute exposed in the Everglades, no doubt she’d have lost her mind.

She drove back to her apartment,