Click Here to Return to Homepage for A Good Read

Mrs. Stroble’s Honeymoon

Written By: Dorothy McFalls

Gert’s flinched and opened her eyes. A hand, leather gloved, covered her mouth and pinned her head to the bed. Almost instinctively, she gulped a breath of air.

She heard a faint click.

“Don’t move a muscle. This is a gun jammed into your temple. Ok? You do exactly as I say,” a muffled male voice ordered.

Realization hit like a splash of water.

She and Jake had checked into the beachfront hotel that night, the first night of their honeymoon. There was no remote reason for this.

Time stood still as thoughts troubled her mind. Her assailant was behind her, kneeling on the bed. He kept her head turned toward an empty wall. Why? What didn’t he want her to see?

The only sound she could hear was the distant breaking of waves. Or was that the blood pounding through her head? Where was Jake? What was happening?

Her heart, fully awake now, pounded wildly in her throat. Forget about trying to breathe normally.

A tall thin man whose features looked like they had been being pulled from the grime on the floor approached the bed and stood for a moment before crouching down beside her.

Renewed terror pushed out from her chest as her eyes met the man’s cold rat-black eyes. He was an ugly man. His face, pockmarked and prematurely wrinkled, was accentuated with a jagged thick scar that ran down the entire right side of his face.

Gert shivered. Where was Jake?

Then fear, worst than the fear of looking death in the face, hit her. Underneath the thin sheet she was completely naked. It was her honeymoon for God’s sake. She began to tremble uncontrollably.

The ugly man reached his long crooked fingers toward her and wrapped his rough hands around her neck. His eyes suddenly flashed to a point above Gert, to where the gloved man’s face must have been. “She was becoming hysterical.” The ugly man explained.

Gert’s world closed in around her and then disappeared.

Mia was on night patrol, the only black cop on this rapidly changing oceanfront island of Folly Beach. She passed a car driving slowly toward the City of Charleston. Few crimes occurred this early in the morning. It was nearly 5 AM. The streets were empty save for the few people working early shifts. Mainly old-timers, fishermen. Not the new rich living in the new mansions that shamed the original beach shacks.

A call crackled over the radio. There was a disturbance in the island’s only hotel.

Mia responded to the dispatcher with one hand and steered the car into a U-turn with the other.

In less than five minutes she was riding the elevator with the hotel’s night manager to the fifth floor. The manager nervously wrung his hands as he explained that a person was heard calling for help. Not wanting to risk hotel employees he decided to call the police. Mia stared blankly at her distorted, large, dark figure reflected in the elevator’s mirrored wall and considered the possible scenarios. Domestic disputes could be problematic. “It’s probably nothing. But I’ll handle it.”

The manager unlocked Room 503, a honeymoon suite, and stepped back to allow Mia to enter. After unhooking the buckle on her holster, Mia knocked sharply on the door. There was no reply. She gave a second knock and pushed the door open. “Jake? Gertrude Stroble?” Mia called out. The night manager had provided her with their names in the elevator. “This is the police. We have reports of a…”

“Help me.” A small voice whispered in the darkness.

Mia’s hand quickly found the light switch and flooded the room with the bright lights. She shrunk back toward the door at the sight; even growing up on the East Side of Charleston did not harden her enough against this.

Thick, clotting blood was smeared on the far wall as if someone terribly wounded had been thrown there, or shot. In the center of the room sat a white woman, probably in her forties, with long blond hair - bleached, bound to a chair; her head slumped forward, her skin a pasty gray color. She had been blindfolded with a long handkerchief. Her body had been wrapped in one of the white terrycloth robes provided by the hotel. Half of the robe was stained a ruddy brown. Fresh blood dripped down her slender fingers to the floor.

It took Mia less than a second to drink in the sight and compose herself.

“Get an ambulance out here.” She commanded of the stunned manager while she rushed to the injured woman’s side. “One hell of a honeymoon night, honey.”

It was late in the afternoon before Mia stole a chance to take the oak draped drive into Charleston. An earlier call to the attending doctor at the County Hospital confirmed that Gertrude Stroble was alert and healthy for questioning.

With notepad in hand, Mia met the doctor in the hall. He shook her hand briskly before escorting her to Gertrude’s room. Along the way he explained that although the patient was weak, she was in no danger. “Your use of pressure points probably saved her life.” He said with a gentle nod of the head. “Whoever sliced her arm knew what they were doing though, sliced open a vein.”

Mia nodded. The night before she had examined Gertrude’s body searching for the source of pumping blood. Besides a thin slice up one arm, there were no other marks on her, no signs of struggle.

In the small, pale green hospital room Mia found that Gertrude’s color had not improved much from the night before. That was to be expected since her strong heart had effectively pumped too much blood from her body. Mia settled into a bedside chair with a mind to provide comfort.

“Mrs. Stroble. My name is Officer Mia Camp. If you don’t mind, I need to ask you a few questions.”

Gertrude struggled to sit up before finding the controls to the bed. “It’s about time you’ve gotten here.” Her voice strained against her own weakness. Color drained from her face. “I’m nearly dead with worry. Where is Jake?”

She had been nearly dead and it wasn’t from worry, Mia thought while patting the woman’s hand. “We’ve got an APB out on him. Don’t worry, he won’t be coming back to hurt you. We won’t let him.”

“Let him?” Gertrude jerked her hand away and fiddled with her wedding ring studded with three large diamonds. “Jake didn’t do this.” Her color turned even more ashen and her breathing shortened. “Jake is missing? He must be in danger!”

Tuck Camp, a strong man with an incredible height of six feet eight inches, was hunched over a microscope in the basement of the County Hospital. Mia winced at the sight. She knew the kind of back problems he’d have that evening.

She cleared her throat. “Dr. Camp, may I have a word with you?”

Tuck swung around and seized his wife in his thick arms. “What have I done to win this surprise visit?”

“Business brings me down here. A woman was attacked in her hotel room last night. It was her honeymoon. And now her husband is missing.”

Tuck released Mia and crossed his arms thoughtfully. “The husband attacked her?”

“Thought so.” Mia shook her head. “But seems there was someone else involved.” Mia repeated Gertrude’s story and described how everything in the room was gone; luggage, toiletries, towels, soap, everything stolen. On the surface, it appeared to be a violent robbery. But something about the circumstances nagged at Mia. “We’ve got a description of the attacker and a description of the husband out on the wire…as well as the missing car.”

Tuck frowned. “Doesn’t sound right. Them leaving the woman for dead and stealing the husband. I can see it in your eyes; you don’t believe it’s a robbery.”

“I don’t exactly know what to think.”

The radio on Mia’s belt crackled to life and called out her name. The missing car had been found. A body was in the trunk. Both had been burned.

Mia acknowledged the call and closed her eyes. The evils that man could inflict on others no longer surprised her, yet she was rattled by the thought of the woman lying in the hospital bed upstairs having to learn that she had lost her husband before the marriage had even begun.

Several days later Mia was home in the house that Tuck and her constructed on the small strip of land known as Mosquito Beach. The home had been built on the Camp family property less than ten years ago and was the only house on the street with central air conditioning. On hot days the neighborhood, mainly Tuck’s relatives, filled their house from early in the morning till late at night. That afternoon Mia busied herself in the kitchen fixing another pitcher of lemonade for the neighbors when the phone rang.

“I’ve no luck.” Tuck said sourly before Mia could say hello.

“What do you mean?” Mia asked. Tuck had been assigned with the grim task of performing the autopsy on the alleged body of Jake Stroble, and had promised to call with any information.

“I’ve got nothing to work with. No dental or medical records. I’m stumped. There’s no way to id this guy.”

That nagging feeling returned to Mia’s gut. The city police chief and county sheriff were pushing her to close the case. But Mia could not write the report. Something blatant about the case was staring at her, telling her not to believe the surface. Problem was, she did not know what was missing.

“Mag.” Mia called out to Tuck’s aunt who played mother hen to the neighborhood. “I’ve got to go out for a bit. Lemonade’s ready.”

“Tart, cold, and sassy.” Mag called back. “I don’t know what Tuck sees in you.”

Mia drove her cruiser into the new neighborhood where Gertrude Stroble lived. The neighborhood, located just across the main roadway from Mosquito Beach, was filled with cheaply constructed plastic sided houses selling at prices barely affordable to middle income territory. Buyers hungry to own a home in the Charleston Metro area were blindly snatching them off the market. Mia turned her nose up at the neighborhood. Mosquito Beach may be mired with extreme poverty, but it was a community, not warehouses hidden behind rows of garage doors. Gertrude’s house, near the center of the development, was a yellow vinyl-clad two-story home identical in style to the pink and white homes on either side.

Dressed in civilian clothes, a neat buttoned-up shirt and faded jeans, Mia rang the doorbell. There was no answer. Mia knocked and called out Gertrude’s name. There was no answer.

Itching to solve the case, Mia got nosey. She wandered around to the side of the house and pushed open the gate to the backyard.

Lounging by the small in-ground pool, Gertrude baked in the hot summer sun. Her eyes were closed and her muscles looked loose and relaxed, however, the expression on her face was hardened with extreme and prolonged emotions.

“Forgive me. I rang several times at the door.” Mia said and then waited for the woman to awaken.

“Shouldn’t you be out finding my husband’s killer?” Gertrude eyed Mia coldly giving a clear message that she did not approve of a black woman cop.

Mia shrugged it off. “I need some information about your husband.”

The woman, just a few years older than Mia, sat up and found a pack of cigarettes on a small table beside her lounge chair. She pulled one from the pack and rolled it between her fingers, watching as the light refracted in the facets of the diamonds on her wedding ring.

Mia took this as a sign of cooperation and moved a chair into the shade.

Gert, as she insisted on being called, did not provide much usable information. Not because she had reservations about talking with the police (which she clearly did), but because she did not know much about the man she married.

Jake worked construction jobs and always insisted on being paid in cash. He did not pay taxes or own property. If he went to a doctor or dentist, Gert didn’t know about it. She did not even know where he was from. He had moved to the Charleston area two years previously and didn’t sound like a southerner. She said that his voice always made her think of the stereotypic taxi cab driver.

“He lived in the present and only talked about tangible things. You know, things you can see or touch.” Gert explained as she lit her cigarette. She puffed out a cloud of smoke and leaned toward Mia. “He loved me. Ain’t no one can tell me otherwise. I know you suspect him…Well sure he may have never said it, but his actions were all love.” Gert verged close to losing it, so Mia tried to pull their thoughts back to the tangible, the topics Gert’s husband had preferred. She asked about Jake’s height, clothes size, shoe size, and anything else that could assist Tuck in his examination. He had been happy to get anything. Though it wouldn’t be enough to get a positive identification, but it may be enough to exclude Jake.

After her emotional visit with Mrs. Stroble, Mia steered her police cruiser, the size of a tank, onto the main highway heading toward the County Hospital. As she drove her mind stayed with Gert. The woman had lost her husband. All that was left of the marriage was her wedding ring.

Mia’s mind burned.

Wedding ring.

An expensive diamond ring.

She slammed on the brakes. The three cars behind her nearly piled into the bumper.

The robbery. The assailants had gone through great effort to remove everything from the hotel room. But they had overlooked a wedding ring that would bring more money than the combined worth of everything else in the room. They left behind the ring on a woman written off for dead?

At the hospital Mia found Tuck in the employee lounge sipping on a large cup of coffee. He wasn’t supposed to drink coffee; it was bad for his kidneys.

“Jake’s not dead. At least he didn’t die in the car fire.” Mia said, overlooking this time his forbidden drink.

Tuck pushed the half-empty cup aside and gave her an amused look. He had always accused her of being psychic, and loved it when she appeared to prove him right. “You’re right on that one. That corpse is not Jake Stroble unless he can fit his size 11 foot into a size 8 shoe. Not everything burned completely. The body is the same height and size as Jake. But the shoe size is too different.”

“Not really a big leap forward.” She sighed knowing how irritated her police chief would be once he learned that the case would remain open.

Although more pieces were known, Mia had not made any progress toward finding Jake Stroble in over a week. His photo had been sent out over the wire for the second time, and he was added to the FBI’s wanted list, with no success. Even worse, Gert would not believe that her husband would try to kill her and had become uncooperative. It seemed that no matter what Jake’s connection to Gert’s attack was, the investigation had reached a dead-end. And that was why she was so surprised when her mind buzzed like a wind-up alarm clock after she had read the front-page article of the morning’s paper.

Mia spent the entire afternoon with the sheriff’s department reviewing the facts of the murder headlined by the papers as “Vacationer Executed.” A New York City man with strong mob connections had been killed in his rental house, execution style with a single bullet to the back of the head. The sheriff’s department believed that this violent action had been imported from the north. They would not listen to Mia’s hunch that it could be, even remotely, connected to Jake Stroble’s disappearance. In fact they laughed and sent her away.

But Jake may have been from New York and so was this new victim. Both were leading questionable lives. Not willing to let the loose connection between the two cases go, she visited Gert.

Gert answered the door dressed in a brightly colored mini-dress with a large flower print. She immediately frowned the sight of Mia, dressed in her full uniform.

“Mrs. Stroble, it’s good to see that you are looking healthier.” Mia said in a clumsy attempt to thaw now expected frigid reception.

The color in the woman’s cheeks darkened. Strong sparks of life flashed from behind Gert’s ice-blue eyes.

“Just tell me what you want and get out here.” Gert said looking at her watch. “I have some friends waiting on me.”

“Ok then.” Mia dropped all pretense. “There was a murder yesterday, and I believe it is linked to your husband’s disappearance.”

“You mean you think he is responsible.” Gert started to close the door. Mia wedged her thick boot between the door and the jam.

“No, I am saying that I think that is connected.”

“So? Why are you here? You want to come in and search the place for him?” Gert swung the door wide. “He ain’t here. As painful as it is to me, he ain’t here.”

“Mrs. Stroble, please calm down. I was just thinking about things and wondering if Jake had any place he would go to get away from things for a few days?”

Gert considered the question for quite a while before giving an answer. “He and some friends sometimes go to a cabin on Wadmalaw Island, about an hour from here. He took me out there a few times. It’s nice. It’s in the woods away from everything.”

“Good. I need the address and directions to get there.”

“I can’t give you an address or directions. I could probably find it once I see the roads though.” She grabbed her purse and pulled the door closed behind her. “Do you really think that he is alive?”

“I don’t know anything for certain. We just need to follow every piece of information, no matter how insignificant.”

They had a little more than an hour’s worth of daylight left when they set out on their quest. They began driving down a wide, straight state highway, but eventually turned down a road that grew more twisted and narrowed as they wove their way into one of the most rural areas of the county. Fewer and fewer structures were visible from behind rows of thick live oak trees dripping with silver-colored Spanish moss.

Gert deftly directed their drive, pointing out where to turn as various buildings, trees, and turns in the roads looked familiar. The sky was about to turn gray with twilight by the time they emerged onto a long dirt driveway. They were at least ten miles from the closest paved road. The trees, deep in the forest, were lanky pine trees too tall to stand straight. They leaned into the driveway like a battalion of ancient civil war soldiers.

Mia cut the engine. She considered calling for sheriff backup, but decided against listening to their jokes about chasing a squirrel up a tree when she was really after a fox. The cabin was not in sight, but promised to be located at the end of the drive.

“You wait in the car. I’m going to take a walk around.” Mia climbed out of the car and unlatched the strap on her holster.

The cabin was, just as Gert had described, at the end of the long, dirt drive. Wooden shingles hung loose from the sagging roof and looked as if someone had carelessly scattered the square wood tiles on the roof with no attempt to secure them. The windows had been boarded up to protect the interior from the wildness of the dense pine forest. Vines jutted out of cracks in the boards.

A sleek black Mercedes SUV sat parked in front of the shack. The back hatch was open and several bags had been piled in.

Mia ducked into the shadows of the roadside brush as the rotting front door swung open.

“Jake!” Gert screamed from behind. Mia nearly jumped out of her skin with surprise as Gert, new with life, charged down the drive and to the dilapidated house.

Mia watched with a helpless dread as a man with hardened features appeared from the door and snatched Gert by the neck. There was only one option, and Mia knew that it would put her at a terrible risk. She stepped boldly into the middle of the driveway; her gun raised and pointed at the man’s head.

“Release her or I will fire,” Mia commanded.

The man stared calmly at Mia. Nothing could surprise him. She knew the type; pushing back as hard as life pushed them. His cold eyes harbored emotionless murder. It took him only a few short breaths to read the situation and react. He smoothly pulled out a long hunter’s knife; the edge of the blade caught a glimmer of the low sunlight and glowed red for a moment. He pressed the blade against Gert’s throat while positioning himself squarely behind his hostage. A smile pulled at his wrinkled and scarred face. “Well, it looks like we have a stand off. The problem with your side is that you want to preserve this woman’s life. I have no problem ending it.” Gert gurgled a half-suppressed cry. The man gave an amused look at her reaction. “I believe that definitely I have the advantage here.” He said in his thick northern accent. “I think you better follow me inside the cabin…for this woman’s sake of course.” He backed toward the open door careful to keep Gert between him and Mia’s gun.

Mia hesitated. To follow him into the cabin would probably be a fatal mistake. To remain outside would ensure Gert’s death.

Lord, please don’t carry us both to the grave today, she prayed silently before crossing the distance and stepping into the darkened shack. Hopefully she could delay any sinister actions long enough for an opportunity for escape to appear.

The interior was dark, cool, and smelled the sweet scent of eternal dampness. The sparse furniture was worn and broken. The front door was behind her and another door, presumably leading into a back room, in front of her. Those were the only exits. All of the windows in the room had been boarded up. She studied the walls. The exposed wood siding could be broken through, but it would take time.

Before a plan of action could begin to form, the man tossed Gert’s shaking body into Mia’s arms. Moving as quickly as a frightened cat, he darted behind Mia and slammed the front door shut. The point of his knife dug into her back.

Taken by surprise, she stood frozen, her arms still tightly around Gert’s waist.

“Loose the gun,” he ordered.

Mia let her gun slide from her hand. It landed near her foot, but was quickly kicked away.

“Is the car ready?” A man, pulling a polo shirt on over his head, emerged from the back room. Both Mia and Gert recognized Jake as soon as the shirt cleared his face.

“Jake?” Gert cried with a sigh of hesitation. She was being much more careful this time. Too bad it was too late.

“Gert, you shouldn’t be here! I left you behind for your own good.” Jake shouted.

Mia tried, but could not hold back her comments. Ignoring the knife at her back and the jeopardy of the situation, she grabbed Gert’s arm and displayed the long row of dark stitches. “This is what you call ‘for her own good’? Leaving your wife tied to a chair to bleed to death?” Mia’s feeling were strong and bitter for this stupid woman who was willing to run back to her man like a dog returning to the master who continued to beat it. “You don’t know how to care. You stop fooling her.”

Jake’s eyes were fixed on the line of tiny stitches.

“Shut up pig,” the knife-wielding murderer ordered.

Mia did as she was told.

She watched silently as the color from Jake’s already pale face drained away. “You had told me to get the car and you would handle the room,” he said quietly as if he were in a trance. “We had Gert secured. There was not much else to do but to wreck the place, to make it look like something violent had occurred.”

“She saw me. She had to be disposed.”

Color rushed back, reddening Jake’s face. “I’ll kill you!” He lunged at the scar-faced man pushing Mia and Gert out of the way and to the floor.

Mia scrambled across the dirt-covered floor and retrieved her gun. She jumped to her feet with the gun pointed stiffly in front of her and ordered the men to freeze. But they remained in a death struggle quite oblivious to the world around them. She considered firing her gun in the air to jolt the men’s attentions and stop them from killing each other, but quickly determined that a bullet would very likely bring the roof crashing down on their heads. The last thing Mia needed right now was more chaos. It was too dangerous to get between them, with Jake’s death grip on the scar-faced man’s neck and the scar-faced man’s knife flailing wildly.

Stepping out of their way, she called for backup on her radio. A sheriff deputy promised to be right out. There was nothing else to do, but to wait for one man to win. At least that was what Mia thought.

The sound began as a low moan and grew in intensity as it formed into words. The pitch increased with the volume. “Stop it! Stop it! Stop it!” Gert screeched sending chills down Mia’s back. Both men were affected by the sound. Jake looked up and was caught off guard by the scar-faced man. The knife blade sliced into his cheek. Mia was sure that it would be all over. Gert’s screams grew worse as she mourned his injuries. But Jake was not willing to lose. He drew his right arm up and slammed his fist into the other man’s broad forehead knocking him out. He drew up his arm again to deliver another crushing blow, but Gert rushed to his side and seized it. She was completely hysterical, screaming into his ear.

Jake cradled Gert in his arms and whispered incomprehensible sounds into her ear until she was silent. Mia’s heart softened for this man. She placed a hand on his shoulder. “You and your partner over there are under arrest.” She held her gun loose in her hand and pointed at his gut. “I do hope that, for Gertrude’s sake, you are willing to come with me peacefully.”

Jake lowered his head with resignation. “Just give me a chance to speak to Gert. I have some things that I want to explain to her.”

Mia felt obligated to remind him of his rights and that anything that he was to say would be used against him at trial. Jake didn’t care. He just wanted to explain himself. The rest of the world could damn him as a consequence.

That evening, feeling terribly drained of energy; Mia slumped in her overstuffed sofa. Even though it was stifling hot out, Mia shivered and wrapped a soft afghan around her shoulders. The room was unusually silent that evening. Tuck had rushed all of the neighbors away as soon as he arrived home. He stood on the other side of the room, arms crossed, face tense.

“It turned out ok,” Mia said hoping to sound forceful and cut off the arguments Tuck appeared ready to voice. “Jake, or Joey Portelli it seems his real name is, was more than willing to cooperate. In exchange for his testimony the federal boys have agreed to place him and Gert in the witness protection program. That’s what he wanted all along. He wanted out. They weren’t willing to let him go that easily though. Now, his testimony will bring down one of the largest assassin rings in North America.” Mia was talking too much, weakening her case.

Tuck stood motionless and said nothing.

Mia spoke up to fill the void. “He said that he was tired of killing. Said the ghosts were haunting his sleep. Said that he knew he was going to hell, but wanted to experience a little heaven before getting there. I think that he really does love Gert. He didn’t want to leave her. But he was not willing to drag her into his hell either. When his old gang found him, he knew that it was over for them.” She sighed with an uncharacteristic romantic thought. “It really will be a happy ending. We should be celebrating.”

Tuck was unmoved. He was firm as a rock against her. He closed his eyes and drew in a very deep breath. Mia watched as he grew larger than life. Finally, when he spoke, his voice was low and tightly controlled. “Mia, danger don’t follow you; you go searching for it. If I ever hear about you doing something as damned fooled as marching into a killer’s hideout…” He paused while his eyes hardened to stone. “You won’t be welcome in my home. And I won’t be weeping over your grave.”

Tears stung Mia’s eyes. No words could excuse her unprofessional behavior. The sin of pride had always haunted her. Should she tell him that she had felt compelled to act on her hunch? That the sheriff’s department had already made it clear that they didn’t believe her? That their assistance would have been unlikely? No, she knew that the words would make no difference.

She tore her eyes away from his gaze, unable to bare it and keep her composure. “Next time,” she said with conviction, “next time will be different.”

Click Here to Return to Homepage for A Good Read