Theodosia knew she was in terrible trouble. Knew she had to find a way out. But how? What could she use to free herself?
Her mind spun back to the shovel. If she could punch out a taillight, or wield it as a weapon against Bobby Wayne once he opened the trunk . . .
Could she do that? Could she pull herself together and go on the attack? She knew she had to try.
Then Theodosia’s restless, frantic mind circled back again and she thought,
The answer, when it finally came, rushed at her like a pack of snarling wolves.
Theodosia lost track of time. Curled up in the dark, nausea increasing by the minute, she had no idea how long she’d been unconscious. Wasn’t even sure how long ago it was that she’d woken up.
And then, suddenly, she felt an imperceptible shift as Bobby Wayne’s car slowed down. She was jounced and thrown off balance, causing more twinges to erupt in her head, as he negotiated a turn. Then they were bumping along over an uneven surface. She steeled herself, knowing she’d have only one chance to make her stand.
Theodosia wrapped her hands tightly around the handle of the shovel as they rocked to a stop.
She waited, hunched in the darkness, poised to attack.
But when the trunk was finally sprung open and cool night air rushed in to greet her, Bobby Wayne Loveday was standing a good ten feet back from the car, a snub-nosed revolver clutched in his hand.
“Get out,” he told her.
Cramped muscles protesting, Theodosia gingerly began to uncoil herself and put one foot on grassy ground.
“Drop the shovel.”
She touched the business end of the shovel to the ground, then released it. It fell forward and hit the earth with a loud clang.
“Get over here,” ordered Bobby Wayne.
Mustering her courage, Theodosia climbed the rest of the way out of the trunk and peered at Bobby Wayne through the darkness. “What do you think you’re doing?” she asked.
That seemed to confound him.
“Taking care of loose ends,” he finally replied. The gun moved slightly in his hands. “Now get over here.”
Standing upright, inhaling fresh air, Theodosia finally gained the presence of mind to look around. And was stunned at what she saw. A silver penny of a moon shone down, illuminating the ancient tumbledown rice mill at Carthage Place Plantation.
Theodosia’s first thought was,
What did Bobby Wayne mean to do? Drag her kicking and screaming into the nightshade garden and force black nightshade and poison rhubarb down her throat?
But no, he had stealthily circled around her, was fumbling one-handed in the trunk of the car.
Bobby Wayne pulled out the bottle of acetone.
“You don’t want to do that, Bobby Wayne.” Theodosia’s voice came across far more forceful than she felt.
“Get inside,” he barked. He walked briskly up to her, emboldened by the gun in his hand. “Turn. Walk.”
Theodosia complied. She turned slowly and walked the ten steps to the rickety door of the rice mill.
“Inside, girlie,” muttered Bobby Wayne.
That single order, phrased the way it was, incensed Theodosia. Finally helped clear her head and shoved back the pinpricks of fear. Strengthened her resolve.
Walking through the front door into the dilapidated mill, Theodosia was forced to duck her head. Inside, the ceiling was almost as low. Huge fallen beams were spilled everywhere like Lincoln Logs. Rotting leather belts hung from the ceiling. In the low light Theodosia could see the hulking remnants of the rice mill’s giant gears.
Theodosia remembered this old rice mill at Carthage Place Plantation was dry as tinder. The old wood was ancient, well over a hundred years old. One small spark and it would surely explode in a giant, roaring, conflagration.
“Keep moving,” said Bobby Wayne.
Stepping carefully, aware the floor was completely rotted through in several places, Theodosia picked her way farther into the old mill.
“Good enough,” growled Bobby Wayne.
Theodosia’s back rubbed up against a wooden beam as thick as a man’s torso.
“This is such a bad idea,” Theodosia told him.
Bobby Wayne stared at her in the darkness. “I think this is one of my better ideas, actually.” He sounded calm and rational, unlike his mad-dog, frothing-at-the-mouth inner self.
“You’re not going to get away with this,” spat out Theodosia. “The police will come . . .”
“The police will be looking at other suspects,” chortled Bobby Wayne. “Leah Shalimar and Harlan Noble. They’ll go looking for them. Because I know how to set a trail.”
“Like the one you set to Fayne Hamilton’s back door?” said Theodosia.
The lower half of Bobby Wayne’s face split open in a mirthless grin. “That was good, wasn’t it. I’m good.”
“No, you’re probably insane,” replied Theodosia.
“And you’re really quite boring,” snapped Bobby Wayne. He held out his bottle of acetone, sloshed the sickly sweet–smelling liquid all around.
Theodosia lifted her hands from her sides. One of them found its way to a rough railing and she gripped it tight. Her heart was hammering away inside her chest and she wasn’t sure what to do. She had to make a stand. But rushing Bobby Wayne when he had a gun pointed at her chest. Not smart.
Bobby Wayne sloshed more of the fire accelerant around.
The intensity on his face made him look scared, happy, and giddy all at the same time.
“Why don’t you just walk away from this,” began Theodosia. “Leave the country. Today. Right now. After all, people are going to find out that your FOREX scheme is a fraud.”
But Bobby Wayne was not to be deterred, was surely not to be reasoned with.
“Fire is better,” he told her. “Fire is . . .” He gazed at her and his eyes seemed to gleam. “. . . cleansing.” Digging into his jacket pocket, Bobby Wayne pulled out a lighter, flicked it on, watched the flame jump high.
Somewhere, in the back of her brain, Theodosia remembered Delaine talking about how she and Bobby Wayne had smoked cigars together. Theodosia wondered if this was the same lighter Bobby Wayne had used to light those cigars. Back pressed tight against the rough-hewn beam, Theodosia clutched the railing like a lifeline and also wondered if she’d get out of this alive.
Holding the lighter above his head, Bobby Wayne’s pudgy face looked almost satanic in the dancing light of the flame. “Bye-bye,” he called as he pitched the lighter toward her.
Flames immediately shot upward, illuminating the back end of the rice mill where she was crouched. As light flickered and bloomed, Theodosia spotted a gaping hole in the floor just to her left. And did the only thing she could do. Slipped under the railing and tumbled downward.
Plunging down into that dark hole, Theodosia prayed for a soft landing.
And whatever was in that basement, old gunny sacks, moldering pile of rice husks, manure from animals that had once been housed there, it did provide a slightly soft landing spot for Theodosia.
But it didn’t afford a moment’s respite.
