The Elizabeth McClaine Thriller Boxed Set

by Catherine Lea

  “So you’re telling me Lois Hankerman simply walked in through the front door with a bagful of heroin and a syringe in her pocket?”

  “As I told you, security has been tightened considerably since then.”

  “But surely she’d have to have help on the inside.”

  The subject was evidently raw in the warden’s mind. She shifted in her seat and when her response came out, it was stilted, sounding practiced. “The drug found in her possession was heroin. In fact, we believe Lois did bring in it with her. Who knows how she got the syringes in through the security checks, but evidently she found a way. She was trusted, knew every angle in the security processes, knew the admissions personnel. Someone on my watch got lax. Doesn’t matter whether it was my sister or the Queen of England. The situation resulted in someone walking in with drugs on their person. It shouldn’t have happened. And believe me, it won’t happen again.” In the following silence, she turned her attention to closing a couple of files on her desk and stacking them neatly to one side, before meeting Elizabeth’s gaze again.

  “You don’t believe your own sister would do that. You must know her better than that to have even had her working here.”

  Jennifer Glassy’s expression hardened. She folded her hands in her lap and cocked her head.

  “I have a job to do here, Mrs. McClaine. People seem to think that because we’re contracted by the state, this is just another bureaucratic money pit.” She leaned forward, jabbing her index finger on the desk as she spoke. “Well, guess what: this is no different than any other job—I have budgets to meet, company performance objectives to achieve, KPIs coming out of my ass, and after two savage staffing cuts, I’m supposed to keep an under-resourced workforce safe and content doing a goddamn tough job on a pay scale that’s frankly insulting.” She sat back, spitting out the words now.

  “Our investors don’t care what happens inside these walls. They don’t care about the Stacy May Charmses or the Nyla Guthries of this world. They couldn’t give a damn about the welfare of my staff or the inmates. That’s my brief. That’s my job. All they care about is the return on their investment—the bottom line.”

  Seemingly surprised by her own sudden outburst, the warden turned to the files again, shifting them as though their presence offended her. Having regained her icy calm once more, she lifted her head high, her lips a tight line.

  “Is there anything else you need to know, Mrs. McClaine?” She made a point of checking her watch, then said, “I have a tight schedule and I’m supposed to be meeting my husband for dinner. He’s practically forgotten what I look like and I’d like to be there on time in case he winds up wining and dining a total stranger.”

  Elizabeth rose from the chair. “Then I guess that’s all for now. But you haven’t heard the end of this.”

  CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE

  DAY TWO: 8:07 PM—STACY

  The sun was long gone. Between the overhead rooftops, the moon had risen, threading long fingers of shadow between buildings, turning alleyways into black tunnels, its blue-white reflection mirrored over and over on glass like a kaleidoscope. The building she’d visited earlier looked different at night—somehow colder, harsher, the edges sharper. An array of floodlights on either side of the front doors shone out across the wide entranceway, like a warning, like a lighthouse saying, “Don’t come any closer.”

  Keeping one eye on the street, Stacy walked briskly up to the front door and peered in. In the center of the lobby, she could see the desk where the concierge had sat, empty benches left and right between the potted plants, all quietly washed in the subdued nightlight. She crossed to the far left of the windows and cupped her hands to the glass, squinting at the board with all the company names tiled over it. Floor 29: Farrant Beta Holdings. Maybe she’d heard of it. Maybe she was imagining it and mixing it up with something else.

  She went back to the wide double doors, tried them. Locked. To the right was a single door that exited out to the east side of the building, probably for employees to leave after hours. She went over and tried it—also locked.

  What now?

  She walked as far as she could down the side of the building, then back. No way in down there. Inside, a strip of light widened across the rear of the lobby as an elevator opened. The doors stood open for a few seconds, then closed behind a dark figure in a suit and carrying a briefcase. He strode across the lobby, momentarily pausing to search his pockets, presumably for his phone, because his eyes were fixed on it all the way to the single exit door.

  Stacy swung around with her back to the wall and waited. The door sucked open, swinging right around in a full arc, almost smacking her in the face, then began hissing closed while the guy walked off down the street. She let it swing halfway back, then grabbed the handle, pivoted inside and dropped into a crouch as it clunked shut again.

  Silence all around.

  No canned music. No background hum of air conditioning. The place radiated icy emptiness. A quick peek confirmed the guy had gone, so she straightened and tiptoed quickly across the lobby to the elevators and pressed the up button. Almost immediately, the car behind her opened with a waft of aftershave. She stepped inside, hit the button marked 29, and turned to face the doors.

  The car rose, speeding up until it reached 28, then slowed to a stop on 29. The doors opened onto a dimly lit marbled lobby with a sign on the wall that read: FARRANT BETA HOLDINGS.

  Behind a set of double glass doors, she could see a shiny chrome and black reception desk, three hallways leading off in different directions behind. She got out and tried the doors. The left one opened. She slipped inside, wondering what she was going to do next— her plan hadn’t involved getting this far.

  A door at the very end of the left hallway swung open and a wedge of light expanded into the hallway as a man exited with a bunch of papers in his hand, heading for the front desk. He looked up, straight at her, and froze.

  She backed up a couple of paces. “Sorry, I think I got the wrong place.”

  “Stacy? Stacy May Charms?” He inched closer, head angled and peering at her as if in disbelief.

  Her mouth dropped open.

  “What are you doing here?” he asked softly. “Elizabeth’s been looking everywhere for you.”

  Adrenaline flashed through her veins. Flight or fight. Which was it going to be?

  He inched closer, one hand up. “It’s okay. You can trust me. My name is Clay Farrant. I’m a friend of Elizabeth McClaine’s. She told me everything that’s happened. She’s worried sick about you.”

  The tension in her shoulders eased. She glanced back at the front door. “Where is she?”

  “I don’t know. Last time I talked to her, she was asking about some little manufacturing company way out in the boonies.”

  “Millcreek,” she supplied.

  His brow crinkled. “That’s the one. You know it?” As if suddenly remembering his manners, he said, “Listen, you must be starved. I don’t have much here, but can I get you a drink? A snack maybe?”

  In her experience, people who said “Trust me” were the last ones to trust. Her gut said, Run. Her stomach said, Stay long enough to get fed.

  She nodded once. “Okay, thanks.”

  “Come, this way.” He gestured toward the door he’d exited from. “We’ll talk in my office. Security checks in here every half hour. Plus they’ve got cameras.” He pointed.

  Behind her were two small cameras mounted on the ceiling, swiveling from the elevator to the entrance, the red in the lens showing like an eye. Another two the same, just inside reception.

  He showed her the flat of his hand—a stop sign. “Don’t worry. It’s okay. They’ll call up, but—”

  A buzz from the telephone console on the reception desk cut him off.

  With an I-told-you-so shrug, he leaned across and hit a button on the console as he lifted the receiver. “No, it’s fine. I forgot to call down to say I was expecting someone. Sure, thanks.” And he hung up.


  “See? Nothing to worry about,” he told her. “Come in and I’ll get you a drink. Maybe something to eat.”

  He walked back to the doorway and waved her over, smiling. “C’mon, I don’t bite.”

  Behind her, the elevator door had closed, the light on the panel illuminating the number 7. She followed him slowly, keeping a distance between them.

  “What do you do here?”

  “We import and distribute fabric.” He gestured to a row of graphics in frames along the hallway as he passed them, then disappeared into his office, calling back, “We have a number of subsidiary companies that we supply, like Tammy Frank and Rue Xeeba.”

  The name snapped into her memory. The fashion label.

  “Come on in. Don’t be shy.”

  He was across to a bar when she entered. It was fully stocked with bottles and liqueurs and glasses, a refrigerator at the center. About the size of the last house Stacy lived in, Clay Farrant’s office was situated on a southwest corner of the building, two walls consisting of floor-to-ceiling glass that looked out over the city. She’d never seen anything like it. Out there she could see lights blinking forever, cars zipping along the streets like toys. An expansive black desk stretched across one corner of the room, plaques and awards displayed on shelves behind it. On one corner of the desk was a newspaper open to the business section. A picture midway down. Clay Farrant with the governor. The caption read: Clay Farrant Ohio Businessman of the Year.

  Clay turned from the refrigerator with a bottle of juice and a pack of cookies. He placed them on the desk, rounded the end of it, and sat.

  “Take a seat. Tell me what’s going on.”

  She lowered herself into the seat opposite him, took a tentative sip of the drink.

  “Go on, eat.”

  She opened the pack of cookies, took a bite. She hadn’t realized just how hungry she was. “Millcreek is what’s going on.”

  He leaned forward on his elbows, sharp eyes watching her. “Elizabeth said she went there. She thinks someone’s smuggling drugs from there.”

  She spoke through a mouthful of cookie crumbs. “Yeah? What else did she tell you?”

  He frowned while he collected his thoughts. “Ah, that someone murdered a girl named Amy? Is that right?”

  She paused with the cookie halfway back to her mouth. “Yeah.” She took a bite, watching him.

  “And that someone threatened your son. That’s unbelievable. Listen, I’m going to call Elizabeth, tell her you’re with me. Okay?”

  She hesitated while she considered it. Couldn’t see a reason not to. “Sure,” she said, and lifted the drink to her lips.

  He punched in a number, hit a button and the burr, burr of the phone ringing burst from the speaker. It rang several times then went to Elizabeth’s voice mail, her voice inviting them to leave a message.

  His shoulders sank as he hung up. “Damn. Not answering. I know, let me try her other line.” Again, he punched in a number, this time lifting the phone to his ear. He waited a moment, then lifted his eyes on Stacy. “Hey, Elizabeth, thank God I caught you. I have Stacy May right here with me. Yeah, I know, it’s incredible. She walked right into my office. Listen, remember what we talked about?” He gave Stacy a flick of the eyebrows—a sign of reassurance, that everything was in control. “I suggest we meet up, figure out what to do next. At Millcreek? Sure. We’ll be there in…” He checked his watch. “A half hour or so.” And he hung up.

  “You’re right. Whatever is going on has something to do with Millcreek.” He got up, drew his jacket from the back of the chair and shrugged into it, saying, “She wants us to meet her there.”

  Stacy sat frozen in the chair and looked up at him. “So you know where it is?”

  “Sure—,” he began, then cut himself off. “She just told me.”

  She eyed him for a few seconds, then got to her feet and stuffed the remaining cookies into her pocket.

  “I better go. I have somewhere I gotta be.”

  He rounded the desk and paused in the doorway. “But I just told Elizabeth we were on our way. She’s expecting us.”

  Their eyes met, and her gut tightened. “Then she’ll have to be disappointed. Excuse me.”

  When he didn’t move, she squeezed past him, both of them in the doorway. Feeling the heat of his body against her, she pushed past him and went for the front door. It was locked. She shook the handles.

  Behind her, he said, “You know, I can’t just let you go. You wouldn’t get far anyway. I doubt you’d make the lobby.”

  This time, she froze; then turned slowly, only now noticing the swirl in her brain and blurring of her vision.

  “I’m afraid you’re going to take a short nap,” he said.

  “This is bullshit,” she slurred, as the room spun out from under her.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX

  DAY TWO: 8:42 PM—ELIZABETH

  Nighttime had dropped the temperature to a chilly forty-two degrees by the time Elizabeth exited the front doors of Carringway. Buttoning the front of her jacket for warmth, she walked quickly back to the parking lot, where her car sat in a hazy pool of yellow light cast by the overhead security lights. Two beeps from her phone indicated she had a message. Opting to get out of the cold first, she opened the driver’s door and slipped in behind the wheel where she hit the ignition and switched the heating on, rubbing her hands together to get warm before digging her phone from her purse.

  Two calls from Penny, one call from a number she didn’t recognize. Only one message. She was just about to hit the message button, when the phone rang in her hand. Recognizing the number as the second call she’d missed, she hit send and cautiously answered with a flat “Elizabeth McClaine.”

  Nancy didn’t even bother with the formalities. She jumped straight into a garbled stream of words that Elizabeth couldn’t make sense of. “It’s gone! The car’s gone. It went off the radar and I’ve got no idea where it went.”

  “Hold on just a second,” Elizabeth told her, gesturing her to stop, despite the fact that she couldn’t see her. “Slow down and tell me what happened.”

  “Nothing happened. I went online to check on it and it’s gone—vanished off the screen. I clicked all kinds of buttons and tabs and shit, but nothing happened. It’s still gone.”

  “Let me get this right—are you saying the car’s gone? Or just the signal?”

  Frustration raised her voice to a shout. “How would I know? All I know is it’s gone.”

  “Calm down, Nancy. Where was the signal last time you checked?”

  “Same place—Millcreek. Then it just disappeared. I don’t know if the car’s gone, or if someone turned it off, or if Trish is driving the car, or what.”

  “And the system doesn’t tell you?”

  “Who knows? I tried every goddamn button on that website but I can’t find a thing. I’m going out there.”

  “No, wait—”

  “What for? This is my wife we’re talking about. She’s been gone twenty-four hours, not a damn word, and now her car’s disappeared. I should have done something sooner. I should have listened to my gut. Now she could be in real trouble. I’m not waiting another minute.”

  “Nancy, slow down. Call the police. Tell them what’s happened and report her missing.”

  “Do you know how long that’ll take? The hell with that. I’m going out there now.”

  Floundering for a better plan and failing to come up with one, Elizabeth said, “Okay, then I’ll meet you out there. And stay in your car until I get there, okay?”

  When all that echoed back down the line was an electrically charged silence, Elizabeth said, “Nancy. Do not get out of that car until you see me. You hear?”

  “Yeah. I hear you,” she said and hung up.

  The GPS still held the location of Millcreek. She tapped the screen, setting the location, and changing the route so she didn’t wind up at the same collapsed bridge. Then she put the car in gear and headed for the exit, phone in hand while she diale
d Delaney’s number. The line opened, rang several times, then went to voice mail.

  “Lance, where the hell are you? Call me. Now!” she said, then hung up and tossed it onto the passenger’s seat.

  Millcreek was a half hour away. For the first ten minutes she spent the time running various scenarios through her head, backtracking, and starting all over. By the time she got back to the interstate, her brain felt like it was swimming around in ever-decreasing circles in an ever-deepening pool, so she tapped the next CD lined up in the player and wound up the volume, letting Taylor Swift lighten the mood with Shake It Off until the GPS guided her back down the narrow lane, past the Dumpsters, and into the parking lot of Millcreek Fashions.

  Elizabeth pulled to a stop at the front gates, cut the music, and looked the place over.

  Total silence all around.

  The building stood at the end of the lane like an abandoned fortress, the angles of the roof and the concrete apron around the loading dock picked out in the watery moonlight against a backdrop of black on gray countryside.

  No sign of Nancy. Or anyone else. The place exuded emptiness, the windows creating black voids like eyes in the walls.

  Feeling the first twinge of uncertainty tighten in the pit of her stomach, she hit the gas and drove past the front of the entrance, wondering what on earth she’d been thinking driving all the way out here before speaking to Delaney. It wasn’t until she swung the car around and pulled into the lot to park beside the only other car there that she let out a long breath, more relieved to see Nancy’s car than she’d have guessed.

  Despite her warnings, Nancy wasn’t in her car. Elizabeth cut the engine and sat for some moments, listening—nothing out there but the breeze in the dried grass and the occasional whoop of a distant bird. The entire place was in darkness.

  She was just reaching for her phone when a knuckle rapped on the window next to her. Elizabeth let out a yelp and clutched her hand to her chest.

  Nancy appeared at the window with a flashlight under her chin like something out of a horror movie. “It’s me, Nancy,” she called through the glass. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you.”