Beachboy Murder Page 14

  "Miss LeClair." He tipped the brim of his bushman's hat. "I'm so pleased you agreed to come along today. Birdwatching isn't anywhere near as fun if you don't have someone to share it with."

  "Call me Gabby." I grinned at him. "And how could I resist? I mean, what? A chance to see a red-footed booby? Or a Layson albatross or Hawaiian goose? And what about those downey wedge-tailed shearwaters?"

  He wagged a finger at me and flashed a sheepish, nerdy smile. "I think you might be having some fun at my expense. But that's all right by me, especially if we're lucky enough to catch the rare sight of a bristle-thighed curlew."

  "Oh, absolutely, me too," I said and was surprised to find out I actually meant it.

  I turned around as a Kauai P.D. SUV pulled up several cars back on the far side of the portico.

  What came next happened so quickly I was struck dumb.

  Detective Ray opened the passenger side door of the police car and got out. He bent down to say something to the officer behind the wheel, and when he straightened up and turned back toward the entrance to the resort, his attention was riveted on the wide-open front entrance to the lobby.

  Detective Ray took a step away from the car, flashed his badge, and shouted, "Hershel Goldberg. Police."

  I spun around for a look in time to see Hershel Goldberg barreling toward Freddy's rental car. Sarah, looking stunned and frightened, was being pulled along behind him.

  The back door to our car was yanked open, and Hershel tumbled onto the seat.

  Detective Ray shouted again and lurched toward the Jeep. "Halt!"

  "Hershel?" Freddy half-turned, staring. He sounded alarmed.

  "Dammit, Sarah. Get in here." Hershel yanked hard on his wife, and Sarah fell in beside her husband with a shriek.

  "Drive!" Hershel commanded.

  "Huh?" It was Freddy. Confused. "Drive where?"

  "Just drive, or I swear I'll punch you in the head. Move!"

  "Punch me in the—"

  Sarah began to shriek. "Hershel! Oh!"

  Hershel reached up and grabbed the back of Freddy's neck. He squeezed. It had to hurt. "I said move!"

  Freddy threw the Jeep into gear and hit the accelerator. The back door slammed shut as the Jeep lurched and fishtailed, the tires screeching and spinning. Sarah was screaming like an eight-year-old on a rollercoaster. I reached above the window for the handgrip and held on for dear life as Freddy steered crazily, and we barreled out of the resort driveway nearly taking out a startled bellman, a heavily laden luggage cart, and two little ladies wearing matching muumuus.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

  With Hershel's hot breath and vice-like grip on his neck, Freddy drove fast, faster than was safe, jerking and weaving through the congestion of tour buses, rental cars, and resort shuttles. It was like being in the latest version of Grand Theft Auto.

  "Faster!" It was a shout.

  "Hershel," Freddy panted. "What the hell?"

  Sarah's shrieks had diminished to wheezing and whining.

  "Shut up, Sarah." Hershel kept his fingers clamped down on Freddy.

  I hadn't dared look at the crazed man in the back seat because I hadn't made up my mind yet as to what to do—if there was even anything I could do.

  But I had to turn and look at him when he said, "You ran straight to the police, didn't you, bitch?"

  I just stared at him. Behind his spectacles his eyes were bugged out and wild. His mouth twisted bitterly. He was talking to me, but there was nothing for me to say in response. Yes, I had gone to the police, not just about the gambling on the island but also about the backroom games in Chicago and all the rest. And the way he was acting now, the extreme panic at arrival and pursuit of the police, I was sure Hershel had lied when he denied having anything to do with the recent murder. I didn't know how yet, but I knew why.

  And now he was on the run and taking the three of us with him.

  Hershel reached an arm between the seats, snapping his fingers. "Phones," he commanded. I gave mine up. When we skidded to a stop at the main road, Freddy did too.

  Freddy's eyes darted to the rearview mirror. "Which way?" His voice squeaked.

  Hershel's free hand clamped tightly onto my shoulder. I jerked away, but he grabbed at me again. "I need a way to get off the island," he said. "Charter a plane? A boat?"

  "Let go of me." We were still at the stop sign, and I reached for the door handle.

  Hershel only squeezed harder. "Take your hand off the door, Gabrielle. I have a weapon. If you jump, I'll hurt Lancaster. You know I will."

  Weapon? I hadn't seen a weapon, but that didn't mean he didn't have one on him. I couldn't risk Freddy's wellbeing.

  When Freddy gulped and shuddered, I let go of the handle. "Planes, go left. Boats, either left or right."

  I felt Hershel jerk and chanced another look at him. He'd turned and was staring out the back window. I looked too. No police vehicle was in sight.

  Had Detective Ray not given chase? What was up with that? For just about any definition of the term, Hershel Goldberg had hijacked his wife, Freddy Lancaster, and me—not to mention the Hertz vehicle I'd rented for Freddy. I knew I wasn't Detective Ray Kahoalani's favorite island resident, but I figured he'd at least come after two perfectly good tourists like Freddy and Sarah.

  "Go right," Hershel demanded. "The police station's to the left. Stay away from there."

  Freddy didn't move. Hershel lifted his hand and slapped him on the neck. Hard. "Go now."

  Freddy jerked the wheel to the right, put his foot down, and without tire-spinning this time, we hit the main road and took off.

  "Please tell me what's going on." Freddy pleaded once we were up to speed—and if I were being honest, his nerves had us beyond up to speed.

  "I have to leave the island. That's all."

  "And you seem to need to do that as fast and anonymously as possible," I said.

  Hershel spit back. "That's on you. I must've been stupid to think I could get you off my back by taking you into my confidence. I'd bet you didn't wait five minutes before calling your detective buddy."

  "Bet on it, Hershel?" Sara's voice shook. Those were the first words she'd spoken since he'd commandeered Freddy's rental car. "Isn't that what's gotten you in this mess to start with?"

  Yes—I didn't say it out loud—that and murder.

  Hershel didn't have a comeback for Sarah's sarcasm. For a change, he didn't appear to be in the mood to berate her—he must have been scared.

  We headed up toward the north shore. No one spoke except Freddy who occasionally asked me if he was heading in the right direction. I nodded when he asked but otherwise kept myself occupied trying to figure a way out of this.

  Truth was, I didn't know where Hershel could charter a boat this late in the day. Everyone was either still out, or had already come back, tied up, and gone home.

  What would he do when we couldn't find someone to help him escape?

  We couldn't call for help. And while he hadn't produced a weapon, he kept bringing up the notion that he had one, and that had me too worried to risk making a break for it.

  The sun was sinking behind the mountains, and we'd been driving for about forty minutes when Hershel first noticed the sound of the helo.

  "Aw, hell." He bent down to peer up at it through the windshield.

  I'd heard the unmistakable beat of the rotors a bit earlier, but hadn't mentioned it for obvious reasons.

  "They've found us." The despair in Hershel's voice was nearly tangible. "Cops."

  But it wasn't the police. I knew that the minute I saw the helo persistently circling yet not crowding. Hershel must not have noticed the signature hummingbird on the side of the helicopter.

  Stella, the most recent ladybird to join the Air Paradise fleet, was on the job. No. Not the police. Rick Dawson was in the air.

  Hershel twisted to keep the helicopter in sight. "Lancaster, get us off this main road."

  Freddy turned his face toward me. "Where should I turn? "
Even in the dusky light and behind the lenses of his heavy-framed glasses, his pale eyes looked worried. His brows peaked in concern, and his mouth was drawn in a tight line. What must he have been thinking—that he might never see his darling Dolly again—that his business associate might just end his life—that he wished he'd never heard of Gabby's Island Adventures?

  "There's a turnoff we can take." I tried to keep my voice calm, reassuring. "Not far."

  We drove on for about another five minutes or so, until I saw it. "Here," I said to Freddy. "Turn here. Be careful. It gets pretty rural."

  The auto-headlights switched on as we turned onto the darker, narrow roadway.

  Above us Rick hit his searchlight, and the Jeep was suddenly surrounded by a cone of light like we were about to be abducted by aliens.

  Hershel really freaked out, twisting and turning and looking up at the helo. "Ohmigod. Ohmigod. Ohmigod. Do something, Lancaster. Get rid of it."

  He sat back, put his head in his hands, and began to moan.

  Curled up and keening like that, Hershel looked pitiful. I'd begun to doubt that he actually did have a weapon but wasn't confident enough to risk it. So we rode in silence, the only sounds the car's engine, the tires navigating what had become dirt road, and the whup-whup of the helo above. Even Sarah had quieted.

  Freddy had slowed down a little but was still doing over forty miles an hour, and that made the going rough on the uneven road. He seemed to be having problems keeping the car from veering one way or the other.

  The jolts from the numerous potholes Freddy couldn't seem to stop hitting set Hershel to cursing under his breath. "What the hell kind of road is this?"

  That only made Freddy more nervous, and he hit the next big chuckhole dead center, jarring us all to our very centers.

  "What the…?" Hershel reached up and smacked the back of Freddy's head, hard. Sarah and I yelled in alarm as poor Freddy threw up both his arms in self-defense and the steering wheel of the Jeep jerked to the left.

  We careened and bounced across the road, hitting more potholes, popping up on two wheels, slamming back down onto all four.

  Freddy got his hands back on the wheel and his foot on the brake, but it was too late. The wheels locked up, and we didn't slow as the grassy field at the side of the road seemed to fill our field of vision through the windshield. The Jeep smashed into a small berm, nosed up, then nosed down, and crashed into a shallow ditch.

  The momentum threw me hard against the seat belt, and my chest felt like I'd been hit with a hammer. My neck wrenched as my head jerked back and forth. Freddy and I had put on our seat belts back at Aloha Lagoon before Hershel took over the car. Sarah had evidently fastened hers somewhere along the way when she saw how crazy her husband was acting. But Hershel had been so intent on intimidating us, he'd never put his on. He slammed forward against the front seat. The air forced from his lungs sounded like the whoosh of a bellows.

  Everything seemed to stop. None of us spoke. None of us moved.

  From the quiet in the car, it was obvious we were all stunned, but that only lasted seconds. Sarah began to sob, Freddy to groan. I moaned and lifted my hands to support my neck. Hershel's shallow, rapid breaths were the only noise he made.

  In the road ahead Stella's rotors whipped up swirling phantoms of dust, and her blinding light was suddenly shining directly at us. The dark shape of the copter danced in the dust and shadows as Rick coaxed her into a landing.

  "Oh, thank God," Freddy breathed when he saw the helicopter setting down.

  Hershel choked back a cry, threw open his car door, and tumbled out into the cool evening air and damp grass. It took him a few tries to get on his feet, but once he was upright, he took off in a stumbling run across the flat, empty field and toward the looming shadows of the mountains. Within seconds, he disappeared into the night.

  Reaching around to my side, I made an effort to unfasten my seat belt, but I was suddenly too exhausted to manage it.

  "Are you two all right?" My voice sounded weak. "Freddy?"

  "I think so."

  "Sarah?"

  "Yes."

  I started when the car door was jerked open.

  Tears burned my eyes, and I sobbed realizing it was Rick. He was there with me, his blue eyes filled with concern, his hands solicitous and gentle as they touched my face, my neck, and shoulders.

  "Are you hurt?"

  "I don't think so."

  He reached down and released the seat belt. His strong arms went around me. His warm body shielded me, and he lifted me from the car. I didn't care how old-fashioned the sentiment was—I'd never in my life been so glad to be taken care of or have been in need of it so badly as I was at that moment.

  It should be made a universal rule that each and every girl be allowed at least one damsel in distress rescue without suffering judgment of any kind. And the same should apply to guys.

  The next few moments were surreal.

  Over the dying whine as Stella's engine shut down, a different sound rose, like a lawnmower on steroids. Two slanted green lights bounced in the dark as if a green-eyed dragon was on the attack.

  As Rick settled me on the grass and headed back to the car to check on the others, the dragon became a tough-looking four-wheel ATV. It stopped at the edge of the road. The engine shut off. The rider dismounted, walked around front, and stopped in the beam of the headlamps.

  He pulled off his helmet and tucked it under one arm. His wild hair sprang free. He rubbed his chin with his hand. "Dude, maybe I went a little overboard with the countermobility obstacles on the road."

  "Ya think, Hector?" Rick straightened from where he'd been helping Freddy climb out of the Jeep.

  Sarah came and sat beside me on the grass. "We were lucky none of us were hurt."

  "Sarah," I began. "They'll be going after Hershel. I—"

  "It's okay," she interrupted. "It's okay."

  Rick, Hector, and Freddy walked over and joined us. "I radioed this location. Detective Ray is on the way. They weren't far behind you. Should be just a few minutes."

  Hector looked anxiously up the road. "Just a few minutes, you say?"

  Rick ignored him and went on, taking a knee beside me. "Hector and I will go after Goldberg, but I don't want to leave you like this."

  "No," I said. "Go get him, but be careful. He said he was armed."

  Hector sounded positively gleeful. "That won't be a problem."

  Whatever that meant—I wasn't sure I wanted to know.

  Rick didn't rise. "I don't—"

  Freddy spoke up. "I'm not going anywhere. The girls'll be just fine until the police arrive."

  Right on cue, the sound of approaching sirens became audible.

  Hector put his helmet back on and began to shift his weight and snap his fingers. "Rick?"

  I took hold of Rick's hand and kissed the top of it—"Thanks for riding to my rescue, Sir Galahad. Now go. Get him."

  He stood and jogged along behind Hector to the ATV. Once Hector was onboard and had the motor started, Rick swung a leg over and got on behind him. In the glow cast by the Jeep's headlights, I saw him toss a salute in my direction before they headed off across the field in the direction Hershel had run.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

  Rick had been right. The police were only moments away—four police SUVs and an ambulance pulled up and stopped, lights flashing, the whelp of their sirens fading.

  Detective Ray efficiently organized the officers and sent them out to search the fields and foothills for Hershel. The EMTs from the ambulance took the time to check out how Freddy, Sarah, and I had fared through the whole adventure, eventually fitting me with the latest haute couture cervical collar.

  It had only been about half an hour before the return of Hector's ATV was announced by the guttural buzz of the motor. The rugged vehicle came bounding in at a fast speed. Hector steered madly. He was by himself. Something about his urgent demeanor and the fact Rick was nowhere in sight made my heart lurch in my
chest. I stood from where I sat, and before I actually acknowledged I was doing it, I was running to meet him.

  He stopped just feet from me and yelled above the grind of the motor, "It's Rick. He's hurt. Maybe bad."

  Detective Ray was right behind me, and it was then that I saw just how much Rick Dawson meant to obsessed, distrustful, the-Man-is-out-to-get-me Hector. "Hop on, Detective. I'll take you to him. The others can follow."

  Detective Ray didn't hesitate but scooted onto the back of the ATV and wrapped his arms around Hector's middle.

  Hector swung the ATV around and headed in the direction he'd come. One of the four-wheel-drive SUVs followed them.

  Poor Hector must have been screaming on the inside—every nerve on full alert—his most vivid conspiracy threat plastered right up against him. Yes, screaming on the inside, but so desperate to help Rick that he'd apparently do whatever it took.

  Just as I would have, but there was nothing for me to do then except wait helplessly for their return, praying that the man I needed most in my life and cherished most in the world would be all right. Hector's words repeated in my head like an alarm sounding over and over. It's Rick. He's hurt bad. Hurt. Bad.

  I waited for what seemed like an eternity. Freddy had bummed a cell phone off one of the EMTs and used it to relay the night's excitement to Dolly. Sarah had wrapped herself in a blanket and perched on the wide back bumper of the ambulance. I'd gone to her and tried a few words of encouragement and empathy, but she'd only shaken her head and waved me away.

  After what seemed like several consecutive forevers, the eerily green headlights of the ATV, followed a bit behind by the police vehicle, came at us from across the field.

  I paced, barely able to contain myself until both vehicles arrived. Hector was alone on the ATV. He stopped off to the side of the road, shut it down, got off, and came straight to me, pulling off his helmet as he moved.

  He stopped in front of me. Before he even spoke, the expression on his face told me it wasn't good. "Rick's out cold—"

  I couldn't hold back the wheeze of shock.