Marcia Talley: In Death's Shadow

"I feel the same way, Hannah."

"I just wish I could get a message to Paul. The last time I talked to him, he made me promise not to leave the house. When he gets home and finds me gone, he's going to kill me." I chuckled ruefully. "So to speak."

I reached for my purse and started rummaging.

"What are you looking for, dear?"

"Something to write with. I want to leave Paul a note, if they-" I swallowed, unable to continue.

For want of something better, I located my checkbook and tore a deposit slip out of the back. It would have to do. With tears streaming down my cheeks, I wrote Paul a note that came straight from my heart.

When I finished, and had pulled myself back together, I turned to Mrs. Bromley. "Where should I hide it?"

Mrs. Bromley didn't even pause to think. "You could empty out a wine bottle, put the note in, and recork it."

"I like that idea."

"I used it in a novel once. The Broken Promise ."

"Really? I don’t know how I missed that one. When we get out of here, I'll have to read it." Tucking the note into my pocket, I crossed the room. Starting at the lower left-hand corner nearest the door, I counted nine slots up and seventeen over. I pulled a wine bottle out of the slot and carried it over to the door so I could see the label more clearly.

"Michael LeBois Pinot Noir Santa Maria Highlands 2001," I read aloud.

"Sounds complicated, but lovely," Mrs. Bromley said.

"I'm sure he's waiting for this little beauty to mature." I took the bottle over to the decanting table and positioned it under the corkscrew. "Well, too effing bad!" I pulled down and rammed the corkscrew home. I lifted the handle to release the cork, then held the bottle over the sink.

"Want a taste?"

"Are you kidding?"

I tipped the bottle to my mouth. "God, this is good." I took another swig and swished the wine around in my mouth before turning the bottle upside down and watching every last ounce of Michael LeBois's finest gurgle down the drain.

I rolled my note into a tube, stuck it in the bottle, and replaced the cork, pushing it all the way in with my foot. Then I returned the pinot noir to its proper slot.

"In case something happens to me, Mrs. Bromley, remember: nine up and seventeen over. It's my birthday."

From her position on the floor, Mrs. Bromley looked up at me and smiled. "Under the circumstances, Hannah, don't you think it's time you started calling me Naddie?"

"Naddie," I said, trying it on for size. "Naddie."

Next to me, Mrs. Bromley began to weep quietly. "If anything happens to you, Hannah, I'll never forgive myself."

"Please, Mrs. B, uh, Naddie." I wrapped my arms around her, wanting so much to comfort her, to reassure her that everything would be okay, but at that point, neither one of us was likely to believe it.

Tears glistened on her cheeks.

"Here," I said, "let me find you a tissue." I plunged my hand deep into my purse. I had a packet of tissues in there somewhere.

I pushed aside my wallet, my lipstick, an appointment book, my car keys-fat lot of good they were going to do me now. I found an old AAA battery, a stick of gum, and somebody's business card. Then my hand touched something soft and squishy.

Squishy? I tried to think. I felt it on all sides. Something squarish, in bubble wrap.

Bubble wrap. Paul's global positioning system was wrapped in bubble wrap.

Carefully, lovingly, realizing the potential of this miraculous discovery, I pulled the GPS out of my purse and laid it gently on the blanket.

Carefully, lovingly, I began to remove the bubble wrap, praying, as I did so, that the GPS had been returned from the West Marine repair shop operationally complete, including fresh batteries.

"What's that?" Mrs. Bromley asked as the device began to emerge from the plastic.

"This, Mrs. B, may be our salvation." I looked straight into her eyes. "And if not our salvation, at least a means of bringing these criminals to justice after we're gone."

"What? With a PDA?"

"No, not a PDA, Naddie. It's Paul's GPS." I turned it around so she could see the screen. '"I lift up mine eyes-'" I quoted. "I knew there was some reason we needed that window!"

Naddie looked puzzled. "Does it send out some sort of signal?"

"No," I explained. "Just the opposite. It picks up satellite signals and tells you exactly where you are. Paul uses it when he's sailing, to navigate."

"Well that's all well and good," Naddie said, wiping her eyes with her sleeve, "but knowing exactly where we are isn't going to help us get out of where we are."

"No, but when we do get out, it will tell us how to get back."

"Get back? Why on earth would we want to come back?" And then she got it "Ah, the police! I must be senile."

I got to my feet. "Here, hold onto this-carefully!-while I climb back up to the window."

"Why do you need the window?"

I eased a toe into an empty wine slot and began to pull myself up the wall. "It needs to see the sky in order to pick up satellites."

When I reached the ceiling, I used the decanter drying rod to remove the panel, laying it aside on top of the Whisperkool.

Light poured into our prison cell.

Naddie handed me the GPS, and I held it as far out the little window as I could before turning it on. I waited, watching anxiously for the screen to light up. When it did, I said a silent prayer, thanking God and the Energizer Bunny. Then I cheered as, one by one, the device glommed onto the satellites orbiting overhead.

When the GPS was done acquiring satellites, it beeped.

"Now, to save our position."

Below me, Mrs. Bromley was bouncing up and down on her toes. "How do you do that?"

"Remember when I said Paul used this for sailing? Well, what we do is push the man overboard button." With my thumb, I mashed the M.O.B. down. "If we get out of here alive, Naddie, this little baby will tell us exactly where we've been. It'll even lead us here, like a mechanical bloodhound."

I kissed the GPS, tucked it into my waistband, and scrambled back down.

"You know what?" I said as I re-wrapped the GPS in its protective plastic. "I'm tired of waiting. I think we need to make it happen."

I tucked the device tenderly into my purse, slipped the strap of my purse over my head and positioned the bag comfortably against the small of my back. "You know what else I think? I think Chet's waiting for instructions. He doesn't have permission to use that gun, otherwise he would have shot us already."

"Perhaps we should get his attention." Naddie squared her jaw and grinned. She picked up a bottle of chardonnay, and when I nodded, she smashed it on the floor.

We stopped to listen. Chet had switched channels. He seemed to be watching a stock car race.

I picked up another bottle of chardonnay and hurled it against the wall. It crashed into a bin of merlot with a satisfying thwack .

The television went silent.

Just to make sure Chet was listening, I threw another bottle of wine against the door, hoping to shatter the pane. Surprisingly, the bottle broke, but not the glass. God only knew what kind of space age material it was made from.

A shadow appeared on the other side of the glass. "Hey, you ladies, cut it out. I know what you're trying to do."

I stood to the left of the door, well out of pistol range. "Aw, Chet. We're just having a little fun! There's wine in here, Chet. Lots and lots of wine! What do you think we've been doing in here, Chet? We've been drinking wine! Lovely, lovely wine!" I dashed another bottle against the tiles.

"You can break every goddamn bottle in there, I don't give a fuck. It's not my wine."

"C'mon, Chet," I wheedled. "Let us go. Before your friend gets back. We'll never tell."