Robbie said something Candy couldn’t quite make out, and then she heard him marching away. Bob called after him as he unhooked the other door from its tether and swung it closed. She heard a hurried sound and then a snap, as if a padlock had been attached to the outside door handles.
“Robbie! Robbie, listen to me!”
Bob ran after his son. Candy caught a glimpse of him out the window on the other side of the shed, hurrying up the pathway toward the parking lot, chasing after Robbie.
Candy waited in the stillness for a few minutes, allowing her heart to slow and her breathing to ease. She realized she was sweating.
When she felt she’d waited long enough to make a quick, unnoticed escape, she emerged from the corner and rushed to the door, pushing on it first with one hand, then with the other.
It refused to open.
She pushed again, harder this time, with her shoulder, but no luck.
She couldn’t get out.
She was locked in.
Thirty-Six
She stood staring at the door in disbelief. He’d locked her in! How could he have done such a thing? She felt her face getting flush. A few fingers of panic reached into her, causing her to stiffen. She looked around, searching for another exit. But there was no other way out, she realized with a start.
She was trapped inside Bob Bridges’s maintenance shed!
She couldn’t believe she’d gotten herself into this jam. What was she going to do? “Just stay calm,” she told herself in a low breath. “Stay calm and figure this out.”
Despite her admonition to herself, she could feel her heart beating faster as the panic threatened to build, to sweep through her in an unbridled surge. But she kept it under control as she tried to decide what to do next.
For a moment she actually forgot what day it was, which caused the panic to spike, but she quickly remembered. Memorial Day. A holiday. Her head twisted toward the window on her left. The fog had settled in outside, becoming impenetrable. Any tourists who might have lingered on the property were probably all gone, driven off by the worsening weather and leaving her stranded alone on the grounds of the English Point Lighthouse. She had a chilling vision of being trapped here all night, sitting dejectedly in Bob Bridges’s desk chair with her head dropped onto his tiny desk, miserably trying to get some sleep.
That wasn’t a vision she liked, but it worsened further as more questions jumped into her head, making her shiver briefly, uncontrollably. What would she eat? What if she got thirsty? What would her hair look like in the morning?
More important, what would she say when they found her in here the following day? What would she say to Bob Bridges? What would she tell Doc when he asked why she hadn’t called him and let him know she wasn’t coming home?
Suddenly she reached back with her hands, urgently patting her pockets, as if they were on fire. Her cell phone! Her left hand fell upon it. It was still in the left front pocket of her jeans!
A wave of relief washed through her as her shoulders visibly sagged. She’d found a way out. She could breathe again.
She pulled the cell phone out and clutched it tightly in her hand, cherishing its feel. The hard black plastic was warm and comforting against her skin, her lifeline to the outside world. At this particular moment, she realized, there was nothing else she’d rather be holding — except perhaps a door key to get her out of this place.
But even that wouldn’t work. These doors, she realized, had no interior keyholes — no real locks at all. She recalled seeing large metal handles on the front of the doors. Bob must have padlocked the handles together, so even if she had a key, she couldn’t get to the lock.
She’d have to call someone to come get her out.
Flipping open the phone, she brought up the contact list and scrolled down to her home phone number. She couldn’t recall if Doc had anything planned this afternoon, but he’d pick up if he was around the house. He was her best option, she decided as she pressed the button that selected the number. But before she pressed send, she hesitated.
Maybe it would be better to call Maggie instead. No doubt Doc would look very unfavorably upon Candy’s current predicament and would probably give her some sort of lecture, or at the very least disapproving looks for days. Maggie was the better choice.
She quickly found Maggie’s number. Her thumb hovered over the send button. But again, she hesitated.
Her gaze rose to the door, studying it for a few moments before she turned toward the small window at the far end of the shed. Outside, the light was fading, squeezed from the day by the dense fog. She walked to the window and looked out. A few lights were flickering on around the complex, activated by sensors, she guessed. They formed glowing pools of pale illumination in the murky day.
She turned and looked up at the ceiling of the shed. She hadn’t even noticed before, but a single fluorescent light strip hung over her head.
“Candy,” she softly chided herself with a shake of her head.
She found the light switch by the door and turned it on. The fluorescent light cast an eerie glow in the shed’s interior, but she barely noticed. She was moving again.
Maybe she wasn’t as trapped as she thought. Maybe she could pop open one of the windows. Or maybe she could use a crowbar to wedge open the double doors far enough apart to squeeze through.
She’d try both those avenues of escape — right after she took care of something else, something more important.
It was time to do what she’d come here to do.
It was time to check out Bob Bridges’s desk.
A key to the Keeper’s Quarters could still be hidden somewhere in the shed, and she decided to take a few minutes to search for it.
Crossing to the desk, she pulled open the top drawer and studied its contents. It was as neat as everything else she’d seen in here. Pens and pencils were carefully arranged in a long tray, pins and thumbtacks occupied smaller bins, boxes of paper clips and rubber bands were lined up along one side, and scissors and rulers were laid squarely next to each other. Farther back were writing pads and other office supplies, like boxes of staples and various types of Scotch and masking tape, all in their appropriate places.
Candy pulled the drawer out a little farther and slipped her hand far into the back, feeling around for a set of keys. She was careful not to disturb anything. She didn’t want Bob to think someone had snooped around in here. Her fingers reached and probed, but she didn’t find what she was looking for.
She closed the top drawer and checked the others just as carefully and as cautiously, working top to bottom. One drawer held envelopes and labels, another a couple of reams of paper and ink cartridges for a printer, and another neatly labeled, alphabetized, and categorized files. None of the drawers held a set of keys.
Slowly she straightened, sliding the bottom drawer closed as she rose. No luck.
She stood quietly for a moment, still clutching the cell phone in her left hand. She looked down at it, thinking. Maybe she should just give Maggie a call and get herself out of here in time for dinner. Maybe she was trying too hard to solve this mystery. Maybe it would be best to bow out now, before things got worse, and let the police do their job.
Maybe.
But she felt she was so close. Wilma Mae had felt it too.
