Trapped man standing, p.1
Trapped Man Standing, page 1
Trapped Man Standing
Travel Writer Mystery Series - 2
Wendy Meadows
Copyright © 2021 by Wendy Meadows
All rights reserved.
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No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
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This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are a product of the author’s imagination. Locales and public names are sometimes used for atmospheric purposes. Any resemblance to actual people, living or dead, or to businesses, companies, events, institutions, or locales is completely coincidental.
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Majestic Owl Publishing LLC
P.O. Box 997
Newport, NH 03773
Created with Vellum
Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
What’s Next?
More from Wendy
About Wendy Meadows
Chapter One
Now why would Edna pull me away from my trip to Greenland and send me to this small town? Patricia wondered as she stepped out of a yellow cab and searched a long, narrow street surrounded by miles of open, rugged land. First, she insisted I go to Greenland like the world was ending or something, then she calls me from the airport right before I’m about to board my flight and pulls me away to Arizona…the woman is a fruitcake.
With weary eyes, Patricia searched the street and sighed. A middle-aged woman holding a cigarette in her mouth stuck her head out the driver’s side window. “You gonna pay me or what? I ain’t got all day,” she barked at Patricia.
Patricia gulped as her eyes soaked in a deserted town. The street she was standing on, though paved, was ripped and torn like a piece of paper some deranged cat had attacked. There wasn’t a vehicle or person in sight. Also, no power lines; Patricia feared a functioning bathroom was probably a failed dream. All that stood before the depressed woman was a town lined with worn-down buildings.
“Are you sure we’re in the right place?” she asked the cab driver.
“Wounded Willows…this is the place,” the woman assured Patricia in a gruff voice stained by years of cigarette smoking. “Now, pay up. I’ve got a two-hour drive back to Flagstaff ahead of me.”
“Uh…maybe you can stick around until Mrs. Owens arrives? That’s the lady I’m meeting here.” Patricia didn’t care for the cigarette-smoking cabbie, but she didn’t want to be left alone in this empty little town. What if Amy Owens didn’t show up? How would she get back to Flagstaff? “There’s nothing between here and Flagstaff except a few little dots in the road that are nothing more than gas station stops. The last gas station we passed was…about forty-five minutes ago.”
“Look, I’ve got to get back to Flagstaff,” the woman snapped. LuAnn Nettleson was a woman who had lived a hard life. She didn’t have time to sit in her cab, freezing her buns off, and listen to some spoiled, fancy little writer whine. “Pay up. I’ve got to get moving.”
“Oh,” Patricia moaned under her breath. She opened her green purse, pulled out some cash, and asked how much she owed. LuAnn barked an amount. “Okay, sure…here you go.”
LuAnn grabbed the money, counted it, and then, without saying a word, sped away, dodging one ripped piece of road after another and bouncing away like a miserable ping-pong ball.
Patricia stood still and watched the cab race away and finally vanish. “Well…all alone,” she whispered as a cold gust of desert wind began howling down the street.
A shiver snatched at Patricia’s heart. She cradled her arms together and walked her eyes up and down the street. The old buildings greeted her eyes like terrifying outlaws preparing to draw their guns and start firing on her. “Hotel…general store…” Patricia whispered as she read old wooden signs attached to each building, either hanging loose or barely hanging on at all, creaking in the cold desert wind like crying children. Note to self. Punch Edna in the nose.
A powerful gust of wind tore at her red hair. Heavy desert sand danced in the wind, striking Patricia’s soft face like hard bullets and causing her to let out a little cry of pain. “Oh my,” she cried and dashed up the general store’s rotted, wooden walkway and turned her back to the wind. Goodness, what a miserable place this is.
After the wind passed and the sand settled, she wiped at her hair and face and turned to view the town center once more. As she did, a pair of eyes appeared in the dusty window attached to the right wall of the general store. The eyes studied Patricia and then vanished without being seen. Unaware that someone was hiding in the shadows of the sand-torn general store, Patricia studied the spooky town again and then eased back to the middle of the street.
“Why in the world would Edna send me here?” she asked, speaking just to hear a voice instead of the howling desert winds. “Mrs. Owens obviously knows, but that woman is being so tight-lipped an elephant could go across her mouth riding a bike.”
The sound of an approaching vehicle from the west caught Patricia’s attention. She spun around and threw her hands over her blue eyes and searched the deserted street. To her relief, a dismal SUV appeared in the distance, sputtering and chugging forward, carefully dodging the pieces of torn road.
“I don’t think that’s Mrs. Owens,” Patricia said to herself, standing still with her hands covering her eyes. “Whoever is arriving is having engine trouble.”
Patricia eased back toward the general store and waited for the gray 2012 Kia Sorento to reach her. The first thing she noticed was a huge amount of luggage stuffed into the back of the Kia. Were the people traveling in the SUV vacationers? Most likely.
“Uh…hello,” Patricia called out and waved her hand toward the driver’s side window as the car came to a stop.
A man wearing a very distraught face stuck his head out the window and looked at Patricia with worried eyes. “I assumed this town had a gas station,” he said in a confused voice.
“Uh, no gas station,” Patricia quickly said. “The whole town appears abandoned. I took a cab from Flagstaff. I’m here to meet a woman who has an interest in this place.” Patricia cautiously looked past the confused man and spotted what appeared to be a very upset woman sitting in the passenger seat. “My name is Patricia McKay. I’m a travel writer,” she carefully introduced herself.
“A travel writer?” the man repeated and then, with a heavy sigh, he turned off the sputtering SUV.
“That’s right.” Patricia nodded. “May I ask who you are?”
“We’re lost, hungry, and angry,” the woman sitting in the passenger seat announced in a loud, ill-humored voice. “And to make matters worse…I’ve got to pee!”
The man let out another heavy sigh. “This is my wife,” he told Patricia. “My name is Brent Gordon. My wife’s name is Rhonda.”
“Hey, what about me?” a pouty voice yelled.
“That would be our twelve-year-old son,” Brent continued. “His name is Samuel. We call him Sam.”
A curious face with bright red hair popped out of the back passenger window and looked at Patricia. “Hey, you’re cute…a real babe!”
“Samuel!” Brent snapped.
Patricia grinned a little. Samuel was a feisty little guy. “Thank you for the compliment, but I think you’re a little too young for me.”
“Ugh, I’m always too young,” Samuel pouted. “Dad won’t even let me drive this heap of junk we’re in.”
“Sit back and hush,” Rhonda snapped at her son and then ordered her husband to bring the SUV back to life. “You and your bright ideas. There’s not a gas station in sight…now get us out of here!”
“The map—” Brent defended himself.
“The map lied!” Rhonda snapped at her husband with angry eyes. “Now get us back to civilization.”
Patricia eased her eyes past Brent and saw an angry-faced woman with short black hair that didn’t match a face that had lost its beauty to far too many crash diets. “Uh…last gas station I saw was west of here…about forty-five minutes down the road.”
“The SUV started giving me trouble about twenty minutes ago,” Brent explained.
Patricia focused her eyes on Brent. He appeared to be a city guy—a suit who worked in a bank, maybe. The poor guy looked to be about forty-five but already had gray hair that was thinning pretty rapidly. “I’m not a mechanic, but from the sound the SUV was making when you arrived, I’m not so sure I would risk the drive. Maybe you should wait until my friend arrives? I’m sure Mrs. Owens will be happy to drive you to the nearest gas station. You could arrange for a tow truck from there.”
Brent considered Patricia’s suggestion. “That seems like a practical approach,” he agreed.
“When is this friend of yours supposed to be arriving?” Rhonda demanded.
“Yeah, I’m hungry,” Samuel piped up.
Patricia grinned, snatched open her purse, and dug out a candy bar. “I have a Fifth Avenue candy bar…if it’s all right…your son can have—” Before Patricia could finish her sentence, two hungry hands exploded out of the back window, grabbed the candy bar, and vanished. “Oh…well, I guess you really are hungry.”
“Manners, Sam,” Brent complained. He looked at Patricia with wear
“No problem,” Patricia assured Brent, grateful that she had company and was no longer standing alone in the spooky town. “From what I understand,” she said, deciding to give a brief history lesson, “the state of Arizona was planning to tear down this town and run a new emergency route. The state got as far as paving a new road, but then, for whatever reason, canceled the project. This road,” Patricia nodded at the torn road running through the town like an unhealthy vein, “connects to the main road—”
“The main road?” Rhonda said and then let out a sarcastic laugh. “The main road we were on was nothing but a miserable two-lane desert road surrounded by endless miles of miserable desert land!”
“It is pretty remote out here,” Patricia agreed, keeping her cool instead of becoming annoyed. “The main road connects back to the highway…but, as you said, the main road stretches for miles and miles before it reaches the highway. The gas station I mentioned sits just off the main road right as you leave the highway. There’s nothing between the gas station and this deserted town except desert.”
“Well, the map I have said there was a gas station,” Brent insisted. “See!” Brent grabbed a wadded-up gas station map and stuffed it out of the driver’s side window. “Look for yourself.”
Patricia humored Brent. She carefully took the map, unfolded it, and searched out the deserted town she was currently trapped in. “Uh…Mr. Gordon, where exactly were you looking on the map?”
“Right here,” Brent said and pointed to a spot on the map.
Patricia winced. “Mr. Gordon, I think you’re a little…off,” she explained. “The town you’re pointing at is near the border. Uh…were you by chance holding the map upside down?”
“Oh, you idiot,” Rhonda complained. “You can’t even read a map right.”
Patricia saw Brent’s cheeks turn red. She winced again, handing back the map and waiting for a fierce marital argument to begin. “I asked you to read the map for me, Rhonda, remember?” Brent exploded. “But no, you flat-out refused! I had to read the map while trying to drive…so forgive me if I made a mistake!”
“Don’t you raise your tone to me!” Rhonda fired back.
Samuel scooted out of the SUV and looked up at Patricia. “That’s all they do…yell and scream,” he said as he polished off the last of his candy bar. “I’m used to it, but boy,” Samuel rubbed his left ear, “can a guy go deaf.”
“Samuel, get back in the car!” Brent roared.
“Oh, Dad, can’t I get some fresh air, huh?” Samuel complained. “I’ve been listening to you and Mom screaming and hollering for hours. This is supposed to be a vacation…kinda…at least for me.” Samuel rolled his eyes and wiped his hands on his green-and-white-striped shirt and then shoved them down into a couple of front pockets attached to a pair of worn jeans. “We drove all the way from Ohio. My parents even took me out of school for two entire weeks…but so far, the trip has been a real bummer.”
“My sister lives in California and became ill,” Brent explained. “I was…planning to move my family to the Los Angeles area—”
“Without telling me first,” Rhonda snapped at her husband. “You were planning to destroy our lives and you know that’s true!” Rhonda leaned forward and glared at Patricia. “Jane wasn’t nearly as sick as my husband made out. He was just using her illness to move us to Los Angeles. As it turns out, my sister-in-law has a very mild case of—”
“Don’t mention Jane to me…ever again!” Brent cut his wife off in a stern voice. “I’ve had it up to here with the both of you!” Brent grabbed the steering wheel. “All I wanted to do was accept a better job and get Samuel out of Toledo. Was that such a terrible crime, Rhonda? But no—”
“Our lives are in Toledo. My family is in Toledo. Samuel’s friends are in Toledo,” Rhonda fired back. “Jane was right to take my side.”
“Jane is an idiot!”
“Here we go,” Samuel said with a dramatic roll of his eyes. “Mom mentions Aunt Jane’s name and Dad goes off the deep end.” Samuel kicked at the street and then looked around. “Hey, can I go explore while you two yell and scream?”
Brent threw his eyes at his son. “What?”
“Can I go walk around a little bit…please?” Samuel pleaded.
“Let our son get some fresh air,” Rhonda ordered Brent. “He’s been stuffed up in this car with us for hours. He’s probably going crazy!”
Brent let out a heavy sigh. “Sure, Sam, you can walk around a little…but stay on the front road and stay close,” he ordered.
Samuel let out a radiant smile and took off running up the torn street. Patricia watched the kid take off like a bolt of lightning and then looked at Brent. Brent shook his head and went back to fussing with his wife.
“What a day this is turning out to be,” Patricia whispered in a miserable voice as she waited for Mrs. Owens to show up.
Samuel spotted a wooden building that had a wooden sign hanging from a rotting wooden balcony that read “Wound Willows Hotel.” “Cool,” he whispered, enjoying the cold desert winds rushing past his face. Being trapped in an SUV all day with two bickering parents was a real bummer. The icy winds and open desert made Samuel feel free—and adventurous. The little guy carefully glanced over his right shoulder, spotted his “babe” standing next to a crippled SUV listening to his parents argue, and grinned. “Time to have some fun.”
Without wasting a second, Samuel hurried up onto a worn veranda that felt unstable and dangerous. But the old boards lining the veranda were plenty strong enough to hold a twelve-year-old kid. Sam rushed to the front door of the hotel, paused, glanced back at the SUV one more time, and then excitedly opened a creaky door that was barely standing on its hinges. He peeked into a dark, dusty, cold room and grinned. “Cool.” Feeling brave rather than nervous, Samuel stepped into the room pretending to be a brave soldier. After all, he was twelve and far too old to fear the dark. Besides, his Uncle Ralph had served in the Army and taught Samuel to always be brave.
Samuel stood still for a few seconds and allowed his eyes to adjust to the darkness controlling the dusty room. He felt—rather than saw—that the front was over to his right and that a staircase leading up to the second floor was hanging over to his left. “I’ll go explore all the rooms upstairs and—”
Samuel suddenly stopped talking. Something…shadowy…was in the far corner of the room. Samuel felt every hair on the back of his neck stand up. “Uh…hello?” he called out, determined to sound brave instead of running away like a scared kid. Truth was, Samuel was standing close enough to the front door to make a clean escape before the shadowy figure lurking in the far corner could get him. He felt proud of himself for standing his ground.
No response entered the dark air.
Squinting, Samuel tried to see through the darkness. “Is anyone over there?” he called out. When there was no response, he eased back toward the front door. His eyes struggled to make out what appeared to be a man or woman—or maybe just a pile of clothes or blankets—slumped down in the far corner. “Hey…is anyone over there?”
Samuel was about to leave the building, but then he remembered that there was a pen light in his front pocket that his Uncle Howard had given him. “Yeah,” Samuel nodded, quickly grabbed the black pen light, and snapped it on. “Hey…anyone over there?” he called out and threw a bright but thin beam of light onto the far corner. The light traveled through the dark like a man walking through wet concrete. Samuel followed the beam of light with careful eyes…and then shrieked.
Hearing Samuel scream, Patricia threw her head toward the direction the scream originated from. “Your son!” she yelled at Brent. “I think he’s inside the hotel!”
Brent bolted out of the SUV and charged toward the hotel. Patricia quickly followed. “Sam!” Brent hollered. “Where are—” Before Brent could finish his sentence, Samuel came bursting out of the hotel, spotted his dad, and took off running toward him.
