Jeff Buick - Lethal Dose

There were four doors off the upper hallway, all of them closed. He opened each door slowly, scanning the room intently before moving on to the next one. The last room he reached was the master bedroom. There was a slight creaking sound as he opened the door and he moved into Jennifer’s bedroom. Her bed was still made, no signs of anyone having slept in it. He switched on the light and looked about. Everything was neat and orderly, just as she would have left it before heading for work in the morning. He retreated back to the main floor, switching on lights as he went, looking for clues as to what might have happened.

Nothing.

Gordon paced through the house time and time again, his eyes searching for even the slightest clue that would tell him what had happened to Jennifer. He left the house, walking quickly up and down the road and looking for her car. It wasn’t there. He returned to the house, breathing a little easier as a logical idea came to him. Jennifer had probably stayed the

night with a friend rather than come home. That would account for her car not being anywhere in sight. But other details still nagged at him. Why was the front door unlocked? Even if she had left the house open for when he arrived, surely she would have left a note somewhere in the house at least telling him that she was okay. Nothing was making sense.

Then the phone rang, shattering the ominous silence.

Gordon checked his watch. Three-thirty-five. Who the hell would be calling at this hour? Unless it was Jennifer calling to tell him where she was. He grabbed the phone and said hello.

“Who is this?” a man’s voice asked. He sounded surprised.

“Never mind who this is, who’s calling?” Gordon snapped back.

“I didn’t expect to get a real person,” Evan Ziegler said thoughtfully. “Thought I’d get voice mail.”

“Well, you didn’t. You got me. Now, what do you want?”

“Let me think.” There was a pause. Ziegler said, “You must be Gordon.”

That the man knew his name took Gordon by surprise. “Perhaps. Please tell me who you are and where Jennifer is.”

“Yes, well, that’s why I called. To leave a voice mail as to where you can find Jennifer.”

Gordon’s hand tightened on the phone, almost crushing it. He struggled to keep his breathing normal. “Where is she?”

“Well, she had a bit of an accident in her car. I don’t think she’s going to make it.”

“You son of a bitch. Where is she?”

Ziegler’s tone changed; a cold edge crept into his voice. “Careful what you say, Gordon, or you may never find her body.”

Buchanan wanted to scream. “I’d like to know where she is,” he said calmly, ready to explode.

“That’s better. You should get a pen and a piece of paper, because unless you know this area really well it’s going to be a little confusing.”

Gordon found a pencil and grabbed a flyer with a picture of

a vacuum cleaner on one side. He flipped it over and said, “All right. Give me the directions.”

“Write quickly. Miss a turn, you miss the crash site. Go west through Charlottesville and head up into the Shenandoah Mountains. At Waynesboro, you turn north. Go seven miles, then turn right onto the forestry road. It’s a bit of a goat path, so don’t miss it. If you hit Grottoes, you’ve gone too far. Once you’re on the forestry road, go two miles, then veer right along the ridge. Watch for the gap in the trees and shrubs where a vehicle recently went over the edge. And be careful-the cliff is very steep and slippery.”

Gordon finished writing the directions. “If she’s dead, I’ll hunt you down and kill you.”

“Somehow I don’t think so,” Ziegler said, then ended the call.

Gordon was shaking so badly he could hardly dial a cab. He gave the dispatcher Jennifer’s address, then called the Alamo booth at the Richmond airport. They were open twenty-four hours and he confirmed that they had cars available. He gave them his name and hung up. As he waited in the darkness for the cab, one thought kept running through his mind.

Was Jennifer Pearce alive or dead?

The night air was crisp and the sky clear as Gordon motored through Charlottesville and continued west into the Shenandoah Mountains. The road rose quickly, leaving the plains and small foothills behind. Pine, hickory, and oak bordered the road as it twisted along the east side of the ridge. He reached Waynesboro and made the turn, heading north on a secondary road that ran parallel to the massive ridge that defined the eastern edge of the Shenandoah Mountains. He reset the trip odometer on the Jeep and glanced at the dashboard clock. Five-eighteen. The sun was close to rising and the sky to the east began to lighten.

Gordon slowed as he approached the seven-mile mark. Even at twenty miles an hour, he was past the forestry road before it registered. He backed up and turned right, his hands starting to shake. He reset the trip odometer again and drove the narrow, rutted road at a reasonable speed. The last thing he needed right now was to slide off the road into a grove of trees or, even worse, over one of the many drop-offs that cut perilously close to the tire tracks. At two miles there was a fork in the road, with the main branch heading to the left. He took the right fork, now glad he had paid extra to rent the Jeep. He touched the four-wheel-drive control and felt the front transaxle kick in. The trees opened up on his left, allowing a spectacular view of the sun rising over the eastern seaboard and distant Richmond.

The caller had told him to watch for a gap in the trees where a vehicle had gone over, and as he drove he caught glimpses of the cliff he was paralleling. If Jennifer Pearce had gone over anywhere near here, she was most certainly dead. The drop was hundreds of feet to a base of rocks and large trees that would shred a fast-moving vehicle. He rounded a curve, and through the trees ahead he caught a glimpse of color. Blue. Jennifer’s Mazda was blue. He pulled ahead, his heart racing. One more curve in the path and he could see it. The rear of Jennifer’s car. He pulled up behind it and cut the engine. The silence was immediate. Slowly, he opened the driver’s door and stepped out of the Jeep onto the rocky ground.

The car was perched precariously on the edge of the cliff. One good push and it would be over. He carefully picked his way through the surrounding shrubs and reached the driver’s door. He took a deep breath and looked into the car.

Jennifer Pearce, her eyes wild with fear, stared back at him. At the sight of his familiar face, she broke into a huge smile and started to cry simultaneously. The tears rolled down her face. He reached in and gently brushed them away.

“Gordon,” she said quietly. “Oh, thank God you’re here.”

“I’m here,” he said, opening the door and reaching inside the car. It wobbled a bit, and he steadied it by pushing back against the frame. “Let’s get you out of there,” he said, surveying the situation. Her hands were bound with strips of leather, a thin piece of tanned hide between her wrists and the leather. The same with her feet. Her abductor had bound her in such a way that he could take the leather strips off and there would be no evidence she had ever been bound. The leather strips on her hands were pulled through the steering wheel, making it impossible for her to exit the car. Gordon untied her hands first, then her feet.

“Just slip out easy so you don’t rock the car,” he said, taking her by the hand.

She placed one foot on the ground and shifted her weight off the seat toward Gordon. Removing her body weight from the vehicle upset the delicate balance and the car started to move forward. Gordon yanked her out and they both went over backwards, he taking the brunt of the fall and she landing directly on top of him. There was a strange scraping sound and the Mazda disappeared over the edge. A few seconds of silence, then a distant crashing sound as the car hit the rocks hundreds of feet below.