The Elizabeth McClaine Thriller Boxed Set

by Catherine Lea

  “I’m sure you would. Because right at this moment, my father-in-law, Charles McClaine, is asking the same questions.”

  David picked up a heavy file and spun on his chair to slap it on the black file cabinet behind him. “Leave it with me, will you, Mrs. McClaine? I’ll make some enquiries, but I doubt it’s anyone from here. It’s strictly in violation of company policy for staff to approach the press without authorization. But thank you for letting me know.”

  Feeling brushed aside and determined not to be discounted, Elizabeth said, “Then just tell me the name of the person who was supposed to be looking after Kimmy.”

  “I can’t give you names. All I can tell you is that the woman caring for Kimmy at the time is no longer employed here.”

  “She left? When?”

  He hesitated. “Yesterday.”

  Her eyes narrowed. “She left? Or she was fired?”

  “Does it matter?”

  “Yes, it matters. I can ask our legal team to address this, David.”

  “She was fired.”

  Elizabeth said nothing, just held his gaze.

  Wilting under her glare, he broke eye contact to lift a file. “We believe she was responsible for some bruising on Kimmy Donohue. Nothing serious, but worrying.”

  Elizabeth’s mouth dropped open. “Nothing serious? Are you kidding? How did you get this woman? Did she have a history of abuse?”

  “You don’t think we would have red-lighted that?” Obviously regretting his remark, he reached back and plucked a file from a cabinet behind him.

  Somewhat calmer now, he said, “I’m not personally involved in the recruitment process, you understand. I leave all that to Velma.” He flicked over a few pages, then zigzagged one finger down the page. “I don’t know what use it’ll be in finding Kimmy, but here it is: Employment Pulse Recruitment.” He slammed the file closed and pushed it toward her. “I should add that we will not be using their services again. I hope that satisfies you.”

  Elizabeth left the file sitting where it was. “Thank you, David. That’s all I needed to know. I won’t take up any more of your time.” She collected her purse and got up.

  Seemingly surprised at the ease with which he had placated her, he rose from his seat and smoothed a hand over his head. “My apologies for my abrupt manner, Elizabeth. I’m completely snowed at the moment. I’ve got reports to get out, and Velma has called in sick.”

  “That’s a pity.” It came out a little more coolly than she’d intended. “I hope she’s well again soon.”

  Once again, he rounded the desk, guiding her to the door. “I just hope she’s back tomorrow, sick or not. I’m down two admin staff and I’ve had to leave a junior nurse aid on reception.”

  “She seems to be doing a fine job.”

  Elizabeth was just about to step through the doorway when she turned, a tiny frown creasing her brow. “Oh, by the way, you couldn’t tell me what files Laney Donohue stole when she broke in, could you?”

  His face blanched. “No, I couldn’t. I haven’t had a chance to review what’s missing.”

  “When you find out, would you mind letting me know?” she said.

  “Of course. The instant I’m in possession of those facts, I’ll call you.”

  “Thank you,” she said.

  He was lying through his teeth, and she knew it.

  But she had one more piece of the puzzle.

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  DAY TWO—10:22 AM—LANEY

  Tasked now with also finding Mrs. O’Dell’s lost daughter, Laney had offered her up a few pathetic words of solace. Even to Laney, they sounded empty and clichéd. But she wasn’t used to these situations. So, when there was no response and Mrs. O’Dell had continued sobbing into her hands, rocking like a child, she’d touched her on the shoulder, said her goodbyes, and slipped out of the door feeling her spirits as leaden as the overhead skies.

  As she made her way back to the car, shoulders hunched against the rain, she’d made herself a silent promise that if she could find anything about the real Wendy O’Dell, about where she’d gone, why she’d disappeared from her family’s life, she’d return and pass it on to her mother. Good news or bad, a mother had the right to know.

  But if the woman she’d been searching for wasn’t the same as the one who’d left the grieving mother Laney had just visited, then who was she?

  She was sitting in the car outside Wendy O’Dell’s parents’ house, trying to put aside the memory of that mother’s torment, when a second message came in—this one also from Kiddy. But this one had an address. What the hell had happened that Kiddy needed to see her so badly? Who could she have spoken to at such short notice?

  Laney immediately fired up the car and took off.

  Twenty-two minutes later, here she was sitting outside the address Kiddy had given her, looking the house over. Drapes drawn, newspapers piled up on the front steps, grass a couple of weeks past cutting, it looked abandoned. Gingerly, she got out of the car and went up the front path, one eye on the street. Instead of ringing the front doorbell, Laney opted to follow a narrow path that led around the side of the house, under an arched trellis over which a bedraggled rose bush had climbed, and around to the back yard. The surface of the pool was strewn with fallen leaves that dappled the dirty blue cement bottom in shadow. Two chairs and a potted plant had been blown over alongside the barbecue, the cover of which had been lifted and twisted to one side by the wind.

  Fear stabbed at her gut. It looked like no one had been here for weeks. Maybe months. So why send her here?

  Fighting the urge to run, she moved onto the decking at the back of the house, one eye on the perimeter hedging shielding the pool area from the neighbors, then paused with her back pressed to the wall beside a window.

  Inside she could see a broad dining room with eight chairs positioned around a long wooden table, behind which stood an ornately carved wooden dresser lined with plates and cups. Through a door to the left of the room, the house was in darkness. Just ambient light from an outside source. Probably a rear window. When a shadow passed the doorway, she sucked in a quick breath and jerked back out of sight.

  That was enough. Whoever was in the house must have seen her. She didn’t have time for stupid games.

  Ducking under the next window, she headed for the front yard and the street again. But just as she reached the corner, she heard the sound of the front door closing.

  Immediately, she turned back, walking quickly towards the rear of the property from where she’d just come. When she checked back over her shoulder, she saw a shadow—someone following her. She broke into a trot, and was just about to run for the rear fence when she heard Kiddy’s voice.

  “Hey, stupid! Where are you going?”

  Laney stopped short with her hand to her heart, felt it thudding against her ribs.

  “Kiddy? Is that you?”

  Sure enough, Kiddy rounded the corner behind her dressed in skin-tight jeans, a Soundgarden tee shirt, and the same puffer jacket and boots. She’d wiped the mascara from beneath her eyes but her pallor was still the same washed-out gray of a habitual meth user.

  “For cryin’ out loud, you scared the bejeezus out of me.”

  “I told you to meet me here, didn’t I? I don’t know why you’re getting your panties in a bunch.”

  “Okay, okay.” She gestured towards the house. “So, what’s the deal with this place? Looks like nobody’s been here for years.”

  “Well, just after you left I got ahold of Dorothy, the old lady that does the afternoon shift, right? So, I asked her if she knew where Wendy lived. And she didn’t.” She threw up her hands and lifted both shoulders. As if that was the end of it.

  Laney made a face. “Yeah, so…?”

  “So, anyway, I said, ‘Well, do you know where she mighta gone?’ and she’s like, ‘Why do you want to know?’ And I’m like, ‘You remember Laney Donohue, right? Kimmy’s sister?”

  Laney frowned, wondering if she’d ever
get to the point. “Yeah, yeah, so what did she say?”

  “So anyway, she says there was another girl turned up about a week before Wendy split. Apparently, she was looking for some girl named Katarina something-or-other. Dorothy remembered because this girl had the same accent as Wendy. Anyway, I said, ‘So, what happened to her?’ And Dorothy was like, ‘Oh, yeah, so Velma came out and talked to her. She took her inside and then two guys came and picked her up.’ So, Dorothy followed them. You know, to see where they went.”

  “As you do,” Laney said, implying it would be the last thing you’d do.

  Ignoring the sarcasm, Kiddy turned toward the house, waving a dismissive hand at it. “So, anyway, this is where they brought her—like, the new girl.”

  “Was it the Armani guy? The same one who picked up Wendy?”

  “Nah, this one was a fat guy. Dorothy said the other one kept giving him orders and the fat one looked totally pissed.”

  Laney frowned and looked up at the blank windows and unwelcoming façade.

  “So, what’d they do when she got here?”

  “Beats me. They took her inside, but you’d never know. Looks as if no one’s been there in, like, months. There’s dust all over the furniture, and the fridge has been switched off.”

  Laney’s jaw dropped. “You broke in?”

  Kiddy gave her an incredulous look. “The locks were totally simple. It’s like the place was just begging to get burgled.” As if that justified her actions.

  “And you thought you’d get me out here so I could get arrested along with you? Gee, thanks a bunch.”

  Kiddy’s shoulders slumped and her eyes rolled heavenward. “Nobody’s getting arrested, for cryin’ out loud. Geez, you’ve turned into a such a wimp since you got out. But wait till you see what I found inside.”

  Laney’s eyes went back up to the darkened upper-story windows with a welling sense of dread. “What did you find?”

  “Come and see.”

  ***

  The Associate

  A tiny red light blinked on in the bottom right-hand corner of his screen.

  Oh please, God, no!

  Ever since he installed the surveillance system in the house, he’d dreaded that red light. Movement-activated cameras throughout the house. The sensor set to trigger that red light at the slightest movement.

  For months, nothing had happened. Then a week ago, he got that call—the one to say that a girl had turned up at Sunny Springs asking about Katarina.

  If they found Katarina, they would take her and he’d never see her again. Giving up her friend made him sick to his stomach. But what else could he have done? So he’d made a call. Was told to let them deal with her.

  Within the hour, two men had picked her up and taken her to the house.

  Intrigued, wondering what this girl knew, whether she’d talk, he’d turned the video on, tracked the two men as they escorted the girl into the front entrance and down the hallway.

  He’d switched the camera angle to watch them pause to unlock the basement door. Even without audio it was obvious she was questioning them, asking where they were taking her.

  One of them appeared to give her a brief explanation, then ushered her through the door. Even more curious now, he’d switched the feed to the basement camera that he’d installed high in the corner, angled down across the workbench. It was on a swivel bracket so the camera could pan from one side of the basement to the other.

  What he’d witnessed after that had made him sick to his stomach. He’d had to turn it off. Then he’d sat there with the images he’d just witnessed spooling over and over through his head, knowing that while he’d never heard her screams, he’d never obliterate those last images from his memory.

  It was that night, while he burned her clothing in back of the house, that he’d gotten that phone call.

  Now that little light was on again. This time, there had been no warning.

  Reluctantly, he’d clicked on the hallway camera and watched the young woman enter the front door. She looked like a teenager, her hair a nest of blonde ringlets. She wore puffer jacket, jeans, and a dark tee shirt.

  With his heart in his mouth and his fist pressed to his lips, he watched her close the door and creep through the house, opening doors and peering into rooms before moving on. He clicked to the second camera, palms sweating, blood pounding in his ears as he watched her try the basement door.

  “Don’t go in there. Please don’t go in there,” he begged her under his breath.

  Unable to open it, she walked on to the kitchen while he let out a breath. He followed her back in the direction she’d come, then up the stairs. When he lost her briefly, he feverishly clicked from camera to camera, desperate to locate her. He found her on camera four upstairs and tracked her into each of the bedrooms, both bathrooms, then the upstairs office.

  “No, no, no,” he muttered over and over, slowly shaking his head as he watched her opening drawers, and closets.

  Keeping one eye on the screen, he checked there was no one outside his office and lifted the phone.

  The second it answered, he said, “There’s movement in the house. Someone’s broken in.” He listened to the response, glanced at his watch, then said, “It’s ten minutes away. She could be gone…no, wait…” His heart flipped. “Now there’s two of them,” he said.

  The man at the other end snapped out a couple of orders.

  He nodded. “I’ll get over there right now,” he said and hung up.

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  DAY TWO—11:50 AM—ELIZABETH

  No calls. No messages on the phone. In fact, Delaney probably wouldn’t even bother contacting her if they found the identity of the dead girl. Why would he? But Elizabeth had more than one string to this violin. She was just lifting her phone when it rang in her hand—a number she didn’t recognize, so she kept the greeting cool and brief.

  “Elizabeth McClaine.”

  A woman’s voice replied. “Mrs. McClaine, this is Jennifer Reels. I’m a freelance reporter. I believe you wanted to speak to me.” Blunt, forthright, she sounded in her late forties, maybe early fifties, with the husky voice of a smoker.

  “That was quick, Miss Reels.”

  “Your PA just spoke to me. What can I do for you?”

  No correction on the “Miss,” Elizabeth noted. She checked the time. “I’m just on my way out. I’d like to meet with you if I can.”

  “I’m sure you do.” A wry smile came through on her words. As if she was holding the line, waiting for Elizabeth to take the bait.

  This was a game Elizabeth knew well enough to be wary.

  “What time is good for you?”

  Jennifer Reels had suggested they meet straightaway. Which didn’t surprise Elizabeth. The woman smelled blood and she wasn’t about to let go. By happy coincidence, it turned out Miss Reels was about twelve minutes away. So Elizabeth had proposed her local coffee shop in fifteen.

  Despite Elizabeth’s making it to the Café St Martin on time, Jennifer Reels had arrived early and was already seated when she walked in. She recognized her the second she saw her—a plump brunette with hair styled in a fashionable swept-over bob with a splash of white over her forehead. Probably in her early sixties, she wore a long-sleeved navy dress with matching shawl tossed over one shoulder, deep red lipstick, long false nails to match, and a glittering array of heavy rings on most fingers. The last time Elizabeth had seen her was at a fund-raising luncheon for the Paralympics. The woman had looked bored throughout the entire event and hardly looked up from her phone.

  She waved Elizabeth over and gestured to the seat opposite her. Only now did Elizabeth notice the woman’s phone on the table. Set to capture every word, no doubt.

  She sat without expression. “I’d prefer you didn’t record this.”

  “If that’s what you want.” The journalist slid the phone towards herself, swiped through some options on the screen, but left it where it was with the screen blank.

  Eliz
abeth met her gaze with a cool smile. “I read your article this morning, Miss Reels.”

  A wolfish smile widened on Jennifer Reels’s mouth. She leaned forward on her elbows, thick, ring-studded fingers clasped at her chin.

  “A call out of the blue, straight after my story? I’ve been in this business a while, Mrs. McClaine. Wouldn’t take a genius to know what brought you here.”

  Elizabeth broke eye contact while she placed her purse down on the floor next to her. “I’d like to know where you get your information.”

  “I’m sure you do. And I’m sure you know I’m not obliged to divulge that.”

  With a mildly condescending smile, Elizabeth relaxed and met her eye. “Unless your information is incorrect.”

  “Oh, my information is quite correct, Mrs. McClaine. You could say it’s right from the horse’s mouth.”

  The smug, self-assured smile irritated Elizabeth. But the last thing she could do was lose her composure.

  “I’m sure your sources think they have their facts in order, Miss Reels, but the numbers stated in your article are clearly…” A small shake of the head, as if searching for the word. “…way off the mark.”

  Try and explain that one way, she thought and fixed the woman with a challenging stare.

  Without responding, Jennifer Reels leaned to one side and picked up a file from the briefcase down by the leg of her chair. She flicked through a few of the enclosed pages, stopping on one, then twisted the file on the table to face Elizabeth. The open page showed the electronically signed documents Elizabeth had forwarded back to the court, confirming sponsorship of Kimmy Donohue.

  “Is this your signature?”

  “This is a confidential document. Where the hell did you get it?” Elizabeth demanded, all pretense at pleasantries gone.

  Obviously satisfied by the fact that she’d rattled her, Jennifer pulled the file back, flipped the page, and slid it back again.

  Elizabeth blinked at the document now in front of her. It was the same document confirming her foundation’s sponsorship, signed in the same way, and also sent to the relevant authorities. This time it was the application of a young man Elizabeth knew well. He had been virtually paralyzed since birth with cerebral palsy, and recently lost his mother who had been caring for him. According to the notes below, one of the conditions of support from the Charles McClaine Foundation was the referral to Sunny Springs for live-in care. She looked up in horror.