A Person of Interest: Samantha Bowers Mysteries, #1

By Ardelle Holden

Tired and soaked to the skin, Samantha climbed the stairs to her friend's apartment. The door stood ajar, which was curious.  Siobhan should have been at work?  When Samantha peered in, she could just see the outline of two ominous figures skulking in the gloom. She gasped and slammed the door shut. Their muffled shouts were lost in her screams as she flew down the stairs into the howling rain.

 

Samantha has escaped with her life, or has she? The victim of a brutal murder has been discovered. The police want her arrested, thugs want her dead, and Ben wants her.

 

Suppressing her feelings of vulnerability, she accepts the proffered hand of this handsome stranger and they disappear into the bitter night. Can Ben be trusted? He's charming, personable and persuasive, but then again, so was Ted Bundy.

 

• Language: English
• Publisher: Ardelle Holden
• Release date: Sep 1, 2019
• ISBN: 9781775301332

Ardelle Holden

An award-winning writer and artist, Ardelle Holden has had a wealth of life experiences raising two children with her husband, Patrick, working together in aviation, mining exploration, and in the wild rice lakes of northern Manitoba. She worked as a medical office assistant in Victoria for years and formed three companies to satisfy her need to share her creative enthusiasm. Ardelle is pursuing her diverse artistic passions in retirement in Nanaimo, BC and Ajijic, Mexico.

Book preview

ESCAPE

Samantha’s pulse raged. Could they hear it from down the alley? She hesitated, held her breath, and listened. In the darkness, pelting rain muffled the voices of the two men she knew would soon round the corner and see her silhouetted against the light from the street beyond. Ahead she spotted the dark recess of a delivery entrance. As her mind raced, Samantha’s feet struggled in nightmarish slow motion against the grip of debris and rushing water that conspired to drag her backwards into danger. The instant she reached the doorway, she leapt up onto the threshold. Pressing her back hard against the ridges of the cold metal door, she wished she could melt into it like a Dali watch.

She glanced down the half-block distance she had yet to go. I can’t make it! In desperation, she thumped her back against the massive door. It gave way with an ominous creak, and Samantha found herself stumbling backwards into a dimly lit stockroom. Although faint, this light was enough to cast her slim shadow onto the graffiti-covered wall across the alley. She could hear muffled staccato curses as her pursuers approached like horses galloping in surf.

Samantha’s head pivoted as her instincts turned from flight to fight. She spotted a crossbar standing behind the door. Yes! She sucked her breath between clenched teeth as she heaved the heavy door shut and slammed the crossbar between the brackets.

She spun on her heels and bolted for the front of the shop, her sodden runners squeaking and slipping as she made her way through the maze of crates and boxes stacked as though in a deliberate attempt to thwart her escape. Her pace quickened when she heard, from the back of the stockroom, the faint thud of the men colliding with the door. Samantha felt a moment of guarded relief when, over the obstacles in her path, she saw the way out. She hit the swinging doors running and burst through the red velvet curtains into the shop.

Samantha balked with her hands outstretched, and for a surreal instant she faltered. Tranquil oriental music floated with incense in the air. Laughing Buddhas, lucky cats, and cherrywood dragons all smiled silently down at her. But then the panic in her heart jolted her back to reality and a tsunami of fear flooded in. Giving her head a shake, she tore up the aisle towards the front of the shop, the thick red carpet muffling her steps as she ran.

The man behind the counter jerked his newspaper down. He stared over his glasses, mouth agape. Seeing him, Samantha hesitated. She pointed back towards the storeroom and then at the entrance. Sorry. I had to come through. Namaste. With that, she burst onto the street into the downpour.

She glanced to the left to see if the two had rounded the corner yet. Umbrellas bobbed up and down the street, dodging one another. Samantha was just another obstacle to be avoided. Dead ahead, a Chinatown Express bus announced its imminent departure with groaning hydraulics. In three strides, she jammed her arm between the closing doors. They bounced back, and she dove between them. As they closed behind her, she scrambled up the steps. Tripping on the front of her trench coat, she landed on her hands and knees in the aisle. The bus driver raised his eyebrows at her.

Are you all right, Miss?

Samantha looked sideways at the bus driver and tried to control the tremor in her voice. I’m okay. Please just go. Quickly. Please. I’ve got to get out of here.

The young man sitting above Samantha leaned forward and touched her shoulder. Seeing the fear in her eyes, he gave an abrupt nod in the rear-view mirror to the bus driver, who accelerated into the moving traffic without hesitation.

I hope you know what we’re doing, Ben.

The wup . . . wup . . . wup . . . of the windshield wipers in the heavy rain matched Samantha’s racing heartbeat.

Kneeling on the mucky floor, Samantha slumped back on her heels and held her breath. The swaying of the bus felt like a magic carpet whisking her away. She exhaled and started to breathe again. Still shaken too much to try to get up, she slumped against the bench. She felt a gentle squeeze on her shoulder and looked again into the concerned face of the young man the driver had called Ben.

Two men, she said. Can you see them? Did they see me get on the bus?

Ben and all the other passengers lifted off their seats ever so slightly to turn and peer out the rain-streaked windows.

Ben’s body stiffened and he pressed down on Samantha’s shoulder. Two men were running out of the side street.

Yes, he said. I see them. Stay down.

All the nodding heads agreed—stay down—and Samantha was only too willing to comply.

Half standing, Ben kept his hand on Samantha’s shoulder while he scrutinized the traffic jockeying around them. She never took her eyes off his face. After two intersections, Ben relaxed a little and shifted his attention back to Samantha.

Let’s get you up off that floor. He guided her onto the seat beside him and gave her hand a gentle squeeze before releasing it. Having a rough day, are we? Ben was hiding his own visceral reaction to the fear he saw in this girl’s face. He leaned in to whisper. I don’t think we’re being followed.

Samantha looked into the most reassuring smile. She could feel the warmth of his breath on her cheek, but she did not feel threatened by it. His intensity seemed focused on her welfare alone—his looming posture entirely sentinel. She managed a weak smile and her mouth formed a silent thank you.

Those eyes—those deep sable eyes smiled back at her with an equally silent you’re welcome. She tried to slap the dirt off her coat but was just making matters worse. She brushed the wet hair off of her forehead with the back of her hand and looked at her filthy sleeves. It was hopeless. She sank back, still shaking and fidgeting, and tried to hide her trembling face.

I’m sorry. This is just so not me.

Ben took her hand away from her face. It’s okay. Are you hurt? He continued to hover, maybe a little too closely, but he didn’t care.

Samantha looked down at herself and gave a nervous laugh. "No, I don’t think I’m hurt, but my heart is just pounding. I’ve never been so scared. I don’t think my dignity made it through those doors though."

Ben chuckled in spite of himself. This girl is going to be all right. The ghost that had roared into his consciousness and spurred him to act was now receding, allowing him a brief moment of reflection. He had been riding this bus for five years now, ever since college, but this was the first time a beautiful young woman had fallen at his feet. Her long fair hair was soaked, and wet curls hung over her striking green eyes. A colourful scarf hung unevenly in the neck of her muddy coat. She was a mess, but a very pretty mess in Ben’s considered opinion.

Do you think they saw me get on the bus?

Shaking his head, he placed his arm on the back of the seat behind Samantha and a hand over both of hers, which were fidgeting in her lap.

One of them went into that little gift shop, Good Fortune, and the other one went into the grocer next to it. I don’t think either of them noticed the bus. Who are they?

Ben’s hand was calming, but still Samantha’s voice cracked as she gulped her words. "I have no idea. I heard them ransacking my

friend’s apartment, so I tore out of there, screaming like a banshee." She frowned at the smirk that crept over this stranger’s face as he listened.

I’m sorry. It’s just— Ben was interrupted by the scruffy fellow sitting across from them grinning through his stringy beard, revealing stumps of blackened teeth.

Like when you got a crocodile on your ass, eh? You don’t stop and ask, what’s that red stuff in your teeth.

Samantha raised her eyebrows. What?

I’m just sayin’ . . . The man shrugged and fell silent again.

Samantha shook her head and closed her eyes. She put her hands up in front of her face to ward off any input.

Just let me think for a minute. She clutched her small red purse slung across her chest and scowled, realizing she didn’t have her cellphone. The one time I leave it behind. She contemplated borrowing a phone to warn Siobhan, but quickly realized what her immediate course of action should be. She looked at Ben and across at the bus driver. I have to call the police.

No need, Miss, said the driver. The police station is only a few blocks ahead. We’ll be there in just a few minutes. He continued checking his mirrors, signalling, and manoeuvring through traffic, as if this were an ordinary day.

Since this was an express bus, it seldom stopped; when it did, a few people got on, and no one got off. The three young fellas in the back of the bus were as animated as prairie dogs. They had even popped out their earbuds and were pointing their cellphones between the standing passengers. Ben had noticed and turned his back even more to sit sideways on the bench, he hoped effectively blocking the cameras. A young couple got up to leave at one stop, but then whispered to each other and sat back down. The people who boarded after Samantha’s dramatic entrance were unaware of the unfolding drama until they overheard the general buzz of excitement amongst the other passengers.

Two men were chasing her!

She fell into the bus! That was righteous, man.

They could still be following her for all we know!

What about that car? Is it following us?

No, there’s only one guy in it.

I missed my stop!

So did we!

Soon the bus driver announced that the police station was across from the next stop. All the passengers craned their necks and peered through the rain-spattered windows. The boys in the back were bobbing like whack-a-moles, looking ahead, looking behind, pointing their cellphones in every direction.

Ben shielded Samantha from behind as she stepped down into the stairwell. She rocked against him with the lurching of the bus, despite the death grip she held on the rails. Some of the passengers whispered, Good luck!

Without warning, Ben bent over and, wrapping one arm around Samantha, lifted her back up the step. Every muscle in his body tensed. He couldn’t hold her tight enough. Don’t stop, Charlie. Look.

Bounding up the front steps of the police station were the two men from the alley.

DOUBTS

Shaking his head, the bus driver glanced past Ben.

Miss, if you’re a fugitive, I can’t . . .

Samantha’s body stiffened as she turned in Ben’s arms. Her voice cracked. Fugitive? Her eyes grew wide with apprehension as she searched his face. But the furrows on his brow suggested only tense confusion.

Ben held up his hand as if to stop speeding thoughts. "Hang on, Charlie. Let’s not assume they’re policemen." Though even he had the unsettling feeling it seemed likely.

He stepped back from Samantha; her body jostling against his was making it difficult to think. There was a long pause while he considered the possibility that they were policemen, and that this girl actually was a fugitive. But something told him it didn’t matter, not yet. His eyes darted between the road ahead and Samantha’s anxious face. He saw the fear and vulnerability she couldn’t hide behind those wide eyes and knew he had no choice. Collecting his thoughts, Ben huffed before he spoke.

Before we go any further, I’m Ben, and—

Yes, I got that, she said, her voice abrupt, failing to mask her panic.

And he’s Charlie. It is Charlie, isn’t it?

Yes, Miss.

"Good. Well. I’m Samantha, and I don’t understand what’s happening here. The short version is, when I ran into the street there was no traffic, so I bolted across to hide in that alley. Then the traffic closed in behind me, but those two guys saw me as soon as they came out that door. There was so much street noise, and with the rain and all, I couldn’t hear what they were shouting from the other side. It could have been ‘police,’ but I’m just not sure. It just doesn’t make sense. I know my friend Siobhan’s at work, so they had to be burglars. Samantha was stirring the air with wild hand gestures. I’m sorry, Ben. I’m sorry. I don’t mean to dump on you like this, a complete stranger. You don’t know me from Adam." She placed a hand on his chest.

Ben squeezed her hand against his chest. It’s okay. It’s okay, Samantha. He heard himself say her name for the first time. He clenched his teeth against his nagging ambivalence and shook his head as if to knock his conscience off his shoulder. Her lips parted to speak, but then didn’t. The tremor in her hand told him all he needed to know.

"I will help you, but, only if you want me to." Ben shook his head.

Samantha glanced at Charlie who returned a reassuring smile. And in Ben’s eyes, she thought she saw what she was looking for—a depth of honesty that transcended her anxiety and fear. She could only nod for the lump in her throat. She felt deflated, like a balloon that had just fizzled out at her feet. She nodded.

Although Ben was taller than her and had been standing between her and the other passengers, he put his hands on her shoulders again and turned her back to him. He lowered his voice and put his mouth close to her ear.

Listen to me, he said. The boys in the back have their cellphones up, and everyone else on this bus probably has by now too. You know what that means. Let’s get off at the next stop, get you somewhere safe where we can sort this out, and make a plan. Everything always works better if you have a plan. Samantha nodded without comment and did not look back.

Ben turned up the collar on his jacket and pulled the brim of his hat lower on the right to shield his face.

"Let us off in a few blocks, Charlie. I’ll take care of her. You don’t know where we’re going, do you?"

Charlie shook his head and reached out to shake Ben’s hand. You take care, Son.

As he pulled into the curb, Charlie patted Samantha’s arm. Don’t you worry, Miss. You are in good hands with Ben. He is a good man.

Samantha could feel the bond between these two men. Except for a recent blow to her confidence, she felt she had always been a pretty good judge of character; and character was what she thought she was seeing in Charlie and Ben. She had made her decision, and she was okay with it, for now. Her instincts told her this was no time to second-guess herself, because at present, the alternative terrified her.

The doors swung open and Ben followed her down the steps. Her voice faded as the doors closed behind them. Thank you, Charlie.

Ben hustled her away from the circle of light on the sidewalk. As the bus pulled away, cellphones strained for a glimpse of a couple fast disappearing into the gloomy night.

Don’t look back, he said. Photos of our backs are streaming onto the internet as we speak. Let’s get around this corner before we hail a cab.

Where are we going?

My place. It’ll give us a chance to think, out of the rain, and make a plan. Are you all right with that?

She hesitated. Well . . . so far.

Fair enough. If you feel uncomfortable, you just say the word, okay? We’ll come up with a different plan. Ben shivered and began to hustle.

Thanks, Ben. I appreciate that. As she hurried to keep up with him, she couldn’t help thinking, what kidnapper would leave her behind like this? Slow down a bit. What’s this about a plan?

Oh, sorry. He slowed his pace. The immediate plan is to get you safely to my place. He took off his distinctive Tilley hat and tucked it in his back pocket. As they hurried down the sidewalk, he looked her up and down. "Pull your scarf over your hair, and tuck your purse inside your coat. It’s a little too . . . too red."

Samantha weighed the logic of Ben’s instructions. She draped her scarf over her head and wrapped the ends around the back of her neck. She tucked wayward strands of wet hair behind her ears and pulled the scarf down over her forehead.

Okay?

He nodded his approval. She couldn’t help but notice how cold he looked with his hands jammed in his pockets, his shoulders up around his ears, his hair already matted to his head. He didn’t look much like an opportunist. He looked so miserable, she wondered if maybe she wasn’t the only one having second thoughts.

Ben shot his hand in the air and whistled. There’s a cab. Okay, here’s the plan. Don’t talk once we’re in. Whatever I say, just agree with me, all right? She nodded as she clutched the lapels of her coat. Ben pulled the door open and flapped his hand for Samantha to hurry up and climb in.

Where to folks? the cabbie barked over his shoulder as he pulled into traffic.

Corner of Forty-Second Street and Mavis Avenue. Lizbeth, it is so good to have you back home. Did I tell you that Deidre and Ron are back in town? Why don’t we give them a call and have them over for drinks tomorrow night? It’ll give us a chance to catch up. I wonder how the twins are doing. Ben chattered on in this vein for the length of the trip. Oh, here’s our stop. Thanks, Mack. Keep the change. He handed the cabbie a bill and they disembarked.

What was all that about?

Something for him to remember us by. Come on. He grabbed her hand and they jogged across the street as he flagged down another cab.

"What, another one?"

"Yup. Same rules. Mum’s the word.