The vineyard and the container holding Earl, Tyler, and Bernard prisoner weren’t in Napa or Sonoma, but the small town of Petaluma, about thirty-five minutes north of Earl’s house. As the Sonoma County police pulled up, I was still battering away at the container with the heavy sledgehammer. The deafening clang of metal against metal resounded through the tranquil vineyard. Cries from the three men inside the pod added to the confusion and the lady with the small boy in her arms was hollering, “That’s her. That’s her.” About that time, the small boy began to wail.
The police bolted from their cars, guns pulled and yelled, “Drop the hammer.”
I pushed the hair out of my eyes. “You mean me?”
An officer responded, “Drop it now.”
“No problem,” I said, letting the sledgehammer fall from my hands. I leaned against the container, breathing heavily, my hair and tee shirt drenched in sweat. “Please, finish the job and get those guys out of there.”
Within fifteen minutes, Earl, Bernard and Tyler were free and gulping down cold water. Tyler waved at me.
“Thank you for finding us,” he said as he guzzled the cool liquid. Then he grabbed another bottle and dumped it over his head. Tyler’s face bloomed tomato red and his wiry black hair dripped with water and sweat.
“Yes, thank you,” said Earl with a weak wave.
Paramedics loaded Bernard onto a gurney and into an ambulance for transport to the hospital. While other EMTs scurried about Earl and Tyler, I wasn’t as lucky. I sat on the ground, arms behind me, handcuffs circling my wrists. I pleaded with the officers to call Inspector Burrell. Even Earl’s and Tyler’s protests that I wasn’t to blame were ignored. The woman and the boy were now back in the house, no doubt weaving an incredible story about the crazy lady attacking their storage pod.
Two cars approached the strange scene on the dirt road. One was driven by my sister, the other by Inspector Burrell.
“Hey, Trish, love your new bracelets,” greeted Lena with too big a smile for my taste.
Inspector Burrell looked at me, shook her head with a sigh, and walked over to the local police. A few words later, they moved to my side, hauled me to my feet and unlocked the handcuffs.
“Let’s start from the beginning,” said one. “Please tell me your name.”
It took a while to explain what had happened. Inspector Burrell stood a few feet away from the local police, listening. Her radio went off and she tilted her head to hear better.
“Good,” she said. “Okay. Thanks.” She kept talking but one of the policemen moved over and blocked my view of her.
“Ma’am, tell me again how you got here.”
“For the third time … in the trunk of a car. My phone is still there, so you should be able to track it if they haven’t found it already.”
Inspector Burrell stepped closer.
“The car was stopped. Like you said, your phone was in the trunk and your backpack on the floor of the car. Both men are in custody.”
Over the years, Inspector Carolina Burrell had become my friend and bailed me out of weirder situations than this. The local police and Inspector Burrell walked away from me, talking. In a few minutes, the officer came back and said, “You’re free to go, but we might have some more questions later.”
He handed me his card.
“Another one for your collection,” said Lena. “How many cards from different officers do you have now? Ten? Twenty?”
“Now is not the time for sarcasm. I have just been locked in the trunk of a car. I’m recovering from a traumatic experience. I’m soaking wet, my arms and legs feel like they’re going to fall off, and I bet I have a concussion. And anyway, you’re wrong. It’s only five. Maybe six.”
I shook out my wrists, painfully sore from the handcuffs and the zip ties. My biceps ached from fighting with the furniture container and my legs and back throbbed from kicking the inside of the trunk. I asked the police if I could go in the house and use the restroom. Lena and one of the cops came with me. In the living room, the mom and little boy were speaking with an officer. I heard her say her husband was out of the country and two of his friends had moved them to this spot the day before.
“Daddy’s gone,” the little boy stated. The policeman nodded.
Lena walked closer to the living room where the woman answered questions, while I disappeared down the hall. In a few minutes, we moved out to the yard in silence and stood close to her car.
“I heard her say she didn’t know anyone was inside the container. She’s been here less than a day,” my sister said.
“Did she say that her husband is the Popolare guy?”
“I think so. But he’s out of the country.”
“Back to Italy. That’s my guess.”
“And that she and her son were only there on a temporary basis. They were leaving next week,” said Lena. “Why did they abandon the Marin house? Why is everyone disappearing?”
“They must have known that they were being watched. So they launched the first code and took off. I bet they planned on leaving them in that pod to roast to death.”
Inspector Burrell sat in her car, talking on the radio. She held up a finger as Lena and I moved in her direction. She said a few more words and signed off. “You’re free to go, you know. You don’t have to hang around here any longer.”
I smiled. “Thank you for believing me.”
She turned to Lena. “Are you working with her now?”
My sister paled. “Absolutely not.”
“Well, you have intercepted a scheme that would have taken down the entire networks of at least six small to midsize cities. You should be proud.”
“I had a feeling.”
“Well, once again your feelings panned out. Good work,” said Inspector Burrell.
“Can Earl and Tyler go home now?”
“Tyler’s the missing person you told me about a few weeks ago, isn’t he?”
“Yes.”
“The police want to continue talking to him. Not a big deal. But they’re going to take him in for questioning.”
I took a step back and let out a small gasp. “He’s just a dumb kid,” I said.
“He’s not a kid. He’s a person of interest,” said Inspector Burrell.
“And Earl?”
“He can go,” she said.