Vanished

Prologue

Prologue

With her body and personal belongings stored in the trunk of his leased Lincoln Town Car, he slowly motored up the coast marked “Highway 101.” As far as he could see, his was the only vehicle on the road. The radio announcer rattled on about “hazardous conditions and pea-soup fog.” He couldn’t comprehend what that meant, but figured it had to do with poor visibility. He assured himself that the fog was a good thing. It would shield him from being seen when he dumped the body. He was confident in the GPS to safely navigate him to the beach.

Suddenly, he heard a moan. It seemed to come from the rear of the car. It made him shudder. Suppose she wasn’t dead? He imagined her stirring, still alive. “She’s harmless, and if she’s not dead now, she will be by the time I’m finished with her,” he muttered.

A moment later, he detected another soft moan. Was there a problem with the car? “Merde!” he shouted. He had leased the Lincoln because of its reputation for reliability, quiet, and oversized trunk.

He listened for more noise, but it had stopped. Heaving a deep sigh, he told himself it must have been his imagination.

He reviewed what had happened earlier. Killing her had not been in his plan, but rage had overtaken him. He hated her for his dependence on the proceeds from her remarkable work, but now that was over.

His only mistake was that he should have killed her insufferable spoiled brat too. She could make serious trouble for him. If she had been home instead of taking care of a sick neighbor, the angel-brat would be dead now, too.

He must return to the house and kill her tonight. He’d make it look like she had walked in on a robbery and was killed by the robber.

With the brat gone, as her mother’s partner and manager, he alone would possess her valuable sculpture and antique collection. Grinning, he congratulated himself on his good fortune that the work of prominent dead artists commanded a higher price.

Suddenly, he became painfully aware of his full bladder. He was desperate to urinate, but he couldn’t make out a safe place to stop. Fear crept up on him, like a vicious beast. The GPS instructed him to make a left turn at the next street for the beach. He would head to a place to park, pee, and drag the body onto the beach under the cover of dense fog.

He stopped at the red signal light and peered around. He could barely make out what appeared to be rocks on the side of the highway. Could this be a picnic site? A parking area? Was this on the shore? As instructed by the GPS, he made a left turn. He parked at the side of the road. Pressing the trunk button to open, he stepped out of the car.

Blinded by fog, he tripped on a huge boulder and fell on a rock. He tried to stand, but the pain in his ankle was excruciating. Forcing himself to endure, he dragged his foot, twisted and turned his body toward the car trunk, and pulled out her body. He wrapped the king-sized blanket around the body and dragged the load toward the sound of crashing waves. On the way, he wet his pants. Cursing under his breath, he tripped and fell several times before the surf splashed his ankles.

Determined to make her death look like a drowning accident, he lifted the body and carried it into the ocean.

Waist-deep, he held onto the body, planning to release it further in before swimming back to shore. Suddenly, the undertow knocked him off his feet. In the fog, he couldn’t see how far he was from shore. Trapped into the rip current, he was pulled further off shore into deeper water. He tried to fight off the terror, but things happened too fast. Desperately, he held on to her body as a life raft, until a powerful rip separated him from it, sucking him in, deeper and deeper.