No More Time Read online

  Vernon sneezed. All eyes shifted toward him, then Mildred giggled. “Oh, Vernon. I didn’t know you cared!”

  He manipulated his hearing aids. “What?”

  Bill had been sneezing since yesterday…

  Lola rubbed lotion onto her arms and shoulders. “Good luck or bad, I hope the curtain works tonight.”

  Heads bobbed in agreement.

  “Tomorrow’s storm is going to be fierce,” said Edna, studying her cell phone. “Code N.”

  She glanced at the group. “Newsworthy event.”

  Sheesh. That was all the theater festival needed on its awards night.

  “Lightning and thunder. It’s the season,” said Edna.

  For summer storms yes, but not the kind of squall that became Hurricane Sandy.

  Pauli dove in and out of waves, then shook off the water like a wet dog and trudged up the beach to the towels. “Hey. Water’s awesome.”

  “This time of the year is the best,” I said. “Warmer.”

  Penny headed to the hot dog stand, Vernon turned off his hearing aids, and everyone else decided to stick their toes in the ocean.

  “Pauli, got a job for you.” I did need some help, but I also figured it wouldn’t hurt the kid to keep busy and keep his mind off Janice.

  “Yeah?”

  “Can you research an address for me? Find out what it is?” I asked.

  “Easy peasy.”

  I handed him a piece of paper. “Maybe we can connect later tonight at the show. That’ll give you some time with your laptop and websites. It’s in a town I can’t identify.”

  “Cool.”

  I flashed on our view from the catwalk on the Barnegat lighthouse…how Bill and I could see up and down the coastline and the layout of the town below us. That gave me an idea. “Pauli, how about checking Google Earth? See if the address is a residence or some kind of company. What kinds of other buildings surround it.”

  “Google Earth. Awesome,” Pauli said. He brushed the damp hair off his forehead, whipped out his cell phone, eyed the Main Street address, and tapped on his phone. Up popped an aerial photo. Pauli zeroed in on the location.

  I’d used Google Earth before—besides checking out my parents’ home in Naples, I’d spied on Bill’s house early in our relationship. “Let’s see that,” I said and Pauli handed me his phone. “It’s a large building. Obviously more than a residence.” Pauli peered over my shoulder. The picture was a miniature, but the gradations in tones from white to gray to black indicated clearly enough that the structure was substantial in size.

  “A warehouse,” he said.

  “Maybe.” According to Maxine, Vinnie “had business stuff all over the place.” What significance would this location have for Vinnie that he’d kept the address in his pocket?

  “Like an Amazon warehouse,” Pauli added.

  I agreed. “Where they store and ship packages.”

  We both stared at the photo. “Looks like it’s in the middle of nowhere. No houses or other buildings close to it. That empty space could be fields or parking lots.”

  Pauli went back to work on his phone. “Like, from here the location is only thirty minutes away.”

  “What kind of town is Walker, New Jersey? What’s the building used for? Could you—”

  “Already on it.” Pauli’s eyes sparkled.

  “Text me later? Not sure where I’ll be,” I said.

  The rest of the Etonville crowd traipsed up the beach and packed up their beach gear. It was approaching five o’clock. Lola, Abby, Edna, Penny, and Carol decided to eat a light snack and shower before going to the theater. Mildred and Vernon were joining the Banger sisters at the Candle Diner later. Vernon had had enough of Cinderella and Prince Charming, the singing kids from The Sound of Music, and Shakespeare. Instead, he planned to attend a concert on the beach—it was oldies night and cover bands were playing sixties music. I was in perfect agreement with him. I intended to “second act” the theater festival myself, arrive during intermission in time to see Arsenic and Old Lace, applaud enthusiastically, and submit my vote for best show. Meanwhile, I’d have time to change and visit the Sandbar. I pulled on a pair of shorts, ran my fingers through my wavy mane, transformed into a halo of curls a lighter shade of auburn thanks to the sun, salt water, and humidity, and folded my beach blanket.

  “Any word on Jackson?” Lola whispered as we headed to the boardwalk.

  I shared my visit with Maxine, her comments on Jackson, and the address she’d found in Vinnie’s coat pocket.

  “Walker, New Jersey?” she asked. “I’ve never heard of it.”

  “Me neither.”

  Mildred caught up with us. “I don’t care what Penny says. I think fate will smile on the ELT tonight. This gorgeous weather makes everyone feel better.” She patted Lola’s arm.

  I waved good-bye to my friends. I wasn’t certain the ELT had a chance to win the theater festival, but making an impressive showing was important. After all, as Lola said, the ELT had its reputation to maintain, whatever that reputation was.

  14

  I was on my second Creamsicle Crush when Grody planted himself on a bar stool next to me.

  “How about an appetizer to go along with those? I got some fresh scallops. Tonight I’m featuring a grilled scallop cilantro. Fresh lime juice and red chili flakes give it a zing—”

  “Oooh, yummy. But I think I’ll pass. I don’t have much of an appetite.”

  Grody gave me the eyeball. “What’s the matter? Besides the fact that your current boyfriend has been pulling a disappearing act and your ex is out on bail for murder?”

  “When you put it that way…” We exchanged grins.

  “Irish, you’ve been a good friend to Jackson. Now that he’s got a lawyer, you need to let him take over.”

  “That’s what Bill said.”

  Grody hesitated. “The evidence is a problem.”

  “Circumstantial, according to Jackson’s lawyer.” I sucked up the last of my drink.

  “The ice pick was in his backpack.”

  “Which anyone could have placed there,” I argued. Plus Jackson’s fight with Vinnie the night he died and the matter of the IOU. The evidence, circumstantial or not, was a problem.

  “Have you ever heard of Walker? It’s a town about thirty minutes inland,” I asked.

  Grody frowned. “Don’t think so. Why?”

  Better not to reveal the address at this point. Grody had done enough digging around for Jackson. “A friend from Etonville has relatives there,” I improvised, changing the subject. “Since it’s close to Candle Beach, I thought maybe we’d visit and—”

  “Wait a minute.” Grody snapped his fingers. “One of my customers mentioned Walker a few weeks ago. Showed me an article in the Candle Beach Courier last month.”

  “True?” What a coincidence! I tried not to come across as too interested. “What did it say?”

  Grody poured himself an iced tea. “The article? There’s ghost towns in the Pine Barrens. Abandoned communities people left. Just walked away from businesses and homes. Mostly in the 1800s. Early 1900s.”

  The Pine Barrens was a rural, heavily forested coastal plain that sprawled across more than seven New Jersey counties. “Walker is a ghost town?” I asked. “From the early 1900s?”

  “Not really. Walker got included in the story because it was deserted a few decades ago. My customer and her husband got lost driving around in the area. The only thing they saw was an old factory. Nothing else. I guess the rest of the town died. Hey, kiddo, no way your friend has relatives living there.”

  “I must have misunderstood,” I said lamely.

  He gestured to one of his servers. “I’ll be back.”

  Vinnie had saved the address of an abandoned factory. Why on earth would that be of interest? And did it have any connect
ion to the charter boat business or, more importantly, his death?

  It was six thirty. The show started in an hour. I still had time to kill. I weighed my options. I could hang around the Sandbar and wait for Bill, who might or might not show up, or I could hang out at home—which I was not eager to do given the recent visitor who’d rummaged through Jackson’s things. Speaking of the devil, I could drop by The Bounty and see if that’s where he’d stashed himself. Or…I could take a quick drive to Walker, New Jersey, and visit the abandoned factory.

  I left a twenty-dollar bill under my drink glass and swung my bag over my shoulder. Across the restaurant, Grody was acting captivated by two patrons who bent his ear. I diagnosed the body language—been there, done that.

  On the boardwalk, evening was fast approaching—the sun inching toward the horizon, the light wind picking up, the aromas of food wafting forth from eateries up and down the walkway. My stomach rumbled. I’d eat after the show. I hurried to the marina where The Bounty was docked. Boats bobbed in the water, a fishing vessel backed into its berth, a bell clanged. Two men in deep conversation passed me on the pier, nodding as they went by. I approached The Bounty cautiously and stepped onto the deck. No one paid me any attention, and I peered down the stairs to the cabin. No lights were on, and the door was locked. No sign of Tiny or Sam or Jackson, for that matter.

  I opted for Plan B. I’d pick up my MINI Cooper and trek to Walker. It was a nice night for a sunset drive. I covered the few blocks to my bungalow, hoping to see Bill’s rental car in the driveway. No luck. He apparently wasn’t at home, not that I expected him to be. I’d been keeping my focus on Jackson in part to take it off Bill. I worried about him, about us really. My instincts told me he was keeping something from me… I shrugged off my uneasiness and cranked the engine, backing onto the street. I hoped my GPS would be able to locate Walker. I had only gone a block when my cell rang. My heart soared. Bill! I pulled to the curb. It was Pauli.

  “Hey,” I said, disappointed.

  “Hey. So like I found out about that place in Walker.”

  “Let me guess…an abandoned factory?”

  “Walker Machine Tool. Went out of business in 1984. Walker’s, like, a ghost town. Nobody lives there anymore. That’s why it’s, like, in the middle of nowhere.”

  “Can you find out who owns it now?” I asked.

  “No problemo.”

  “Nice work.”

  Pauli mumbled his thanks.

  “You going to the theater tonight?”

  “Dunno,” he said.

  “If you do, tell Lola I’ll see her afterward, okay? I’ve got an errand to run.” I figured Pauli knew my destination.

  “Totally.” He clicked off.

  I was now running off schedule and needed to pick up my pace if I was going to make it back for the second act of the festival. I zoomed out of Candle Beach onto Highway 195 heading west for ten minutes, then my Genie led me off the highway onto a state route through a number of small towns for ten miles. So far, so good. This part of the state was largely unpopulated compared to the rest of Jersey. I passed dilapidated barns, forests, a lake, fields of wildflowers and tall grasses. Fifteen minutes later I was a mile from the address, according to my GPS, in the middle of what looked like a swamp.

  My cell pinged. I steered my MC to the side of the road, onto a gravelly lane that sloped downward. It was Lola confirming that we’d connect after the performance. I sent a best of luck emoji and dropped the phone into my bag.

  I glanced in my rearview mirror to check the road before backing onto it. A white van whizzed by going well beyond the speed limit. My little hairs stood at attention. A white van on my street; a white van stalking me to Maxine’s. Bill would tell me it was all in my head. My instincts told me this was no coincidence. Someone who had been keeping an eye on me was now in an isolated area of the state, possibly heading to the same location as I was. Nothing else in Walker, right? The van’s speed and deep shadows slanting across the highway had probably prevented the occupant from detecting my MC.

  I put my car in gear and slowly crept forward. The road was bordered by a tangle of trees and wild grasses. Off to my left was a pond with a skim of algae on top. The sun was nearly down. When it set, the road would be completely dark. Night noises emerged, an owl hooting, crickets chirping. I was too far committed to give up and go home though I had a weird feeling. Besides, my curiosity was crushing me. Whenever I questioned my habit of delving into the unknown as a kid, my aunt Maureen informed me that millions saw the apple fall…only Newton asked why. Asking why had become routine for me.

  I came to a dead end and turned left. Out of the night a series of shapes materialized on both sides of the roadway. Shells of former houses, a general store in ruin, several shop fronts wrecked with roofs and windows missing. A sign indicated this was Main Street in Walker, New Jersey.

  Another quarter of a mile and Main Street narrowed to a lane, pitted with potholes, covered with scattered stones, and marked with stubbles of grass growing between cracks in the cement. I bounced along. Ahead of me, a chain-link fence appeared, and I tapped the brakes. A rusty gate with a “No Trespassing” sign hung off its hinges. Beyond it, I could see the hulking silhouette of the two-story building. Either the windows were blacked out or the place was empty. No light was visible. Where had the white van gone? Driving five miles per hour, I eased my car to the right and decided to track the fence and stay on the road that circled the building.

  The factory was enormous. No openings in the chain links on this side. I reached the far end of the structure, about to ease around the corner, when I spotted a pinpoint of light in the distance. I flicked off my headlights and pulled to the edge of the lane behind a stand of large trees. My heart throbbed. I’d been in some frightening scrapes before, but being alone in this New Jersey wilderness sent my dread-o-meter into overdrive. I instinctively scooted down in my seat. Which I knew was ridiculous; it was my MC that was in danger of being spotted. Not me.

  I squinted into the dark. Up ahead was an open, wide concrete surface. The space that Pauli and I had spotted on Google Earth. A parking lot! Of course. In its heyday the factory probably employed hundreds of workers. I opened the driver’s side door, grateful I’d worn black capris. I grabbed a dark jacket from the back seat and zipped it up to my chin. I checked my cell phone battery—50 percent. It would have to do. I whispered a silent prayer to the snoop gods and set off, creeping a dozen yards to the chain-link fence. I had no intention of going inside the fence, but from out here I might see something that—

  “Yo,” a voice yelled.

  In the still of the clear night, sound carried well.

  “Gimme a hand, Tiny.”

  I froze. How many Tinys were there in this part of the state?

  A man appeared out of the shadows. The sudden creaking and scraping of metal on metal meant he’d raised the door of the old factory. A swath of light escaped and illuminated an opening in the fence. Also a parked white van and its bulky driver. My pulse, already pounding, skyrocketed into panic territory. It was my Tiny. He joined the man who’d entered the building.

  I rubbed my sweaty palms on the legs of my pants. I knew I should run for it, but what was the point of coming out here if I never found out what was going on in the old structure? And what importance it held for Vinnie. I counted to five and sneaked to the angle in the fence. I told myself one peek into the building and then I was gone. Voices rose and fell as though Tiny and his accomplice were arguing vehemently. I was too far away to make out much of what they were saying except for the occasional swear word and “the hell with them.”

  I crouched down and duckwalked twenty feet or so until I was almost opposite the entrance to the factory. I darted into the cover of the trees bordering the road and craned my neck to peek into the opening. It was a deserted machine tool company, right? Probably all I’d see was a dirty, ju
nk-laden factory floor. Scraps of metal, machine parts. Just a little farther, I told myself. I counted five steps. Then I stood and stared into the light.

  I gasped. No dirt, no messy floor, no rusted tools. Inside the abandoned factory were at least a dozen gleaming, beautiful luxury automobiles. The one closest to the entrance was a gold BMW. Bill’s car! What had I stumbled on? My hands trembled as I dug my cell phone out of my bag. I couldn’t imagine what this place meant to Vinnie, but I needed to contact the police. I tapped on the keypad and hit 911. Nothing happened. A cold sweat ran down the back of my blouse. No cell service out here. Walker was in the middle of nowhere, as Pauli had pointed out.

  Tiny walked out of the building and headed to his white van.

  I darted backward too quickly and, in the dark, tripped over a pipe only half-buried in the ground. “Damn!” I said aloud before thinking.

  “Who’s there?” Tiny whipped toward me.

  Running away was not an option. I stopped breathing, fell to my knees, and tucked into a fetal position. Tiny flicked on a flashlight, sweeping it back and forth, cutting an arc through the trees, the fence, and the road. I clenched my mouth shut to keep my teeth from chattering. I grasped my pepper spray.

  “I’m gonna find you. So give it up.” He paused, stared into the dark directly at me. I shut my eyes, desperate to believe that if I couldn’t see Tiny, then Tiny couldn’t see me.

  He lifted his flashlight and aimed it at my car twenty yards away, mostly hidden by the tree line. “What the…?”

  Tiny took two strides toward me, and I made up my mind. I had to run. I tensed my muscles, forming fists, ready to leap forward.

  Without warning, a spotlight shot directly into the front of the building. The hollow, distorted squawk of a megaphone blared out of the night. “This is the state of New Jersey Auto Theft Unit. We have you surrounded. You are under arrest.”

  Tiny stopped dead, whirled to his right, then back toward me, as if he couldn’t make up his mind. His hesitation spelled his doom. A SWAT team, heavily armed, wearing night goggles, flew out of the forest on the opposite side of the building. Some cops swarmed into the factory with others securing the perimeter. Two spotted Tiny, who remained glued to the earth, and swiftly cuffed him. As they led him away, he rotated his head toward me. I gulped the night air to calm down.