by Lisa Jackson
He glanced at the garden as he swung into the saddle. Who the hell had decided burying a likeness of a missing child was a good idea? Or a bad joke?
Yeah, things were certainly not on the up-and-up here at Neptune’s Gate, but then, he surmised, they never had been. The old mansion built into the sides of the hill held secrets, some much darker than others.
Today, he needed to take advantage of the fact that no one was looking over his shoulder. He needed a few hours alone, without anyone’s prying eyes watching him. The sands of time were slipping by far too quickly, and he had to work fast. He couldn’t be derailed from his mission. Not even by Ava Garrison.
Lord knew she was a major distraction.
“Come on,” he urged the horse, who broke into a smooth lope. Up through the woods he’d ride, only veering south once he was assured no one could see him.
Then he’d sneak into his final destination: the abandoned walls of Sea Cliff.
“So what’s all this cloak-and-dagger stuff?” Tanya asked Ava as they walked along the hilly sidewalks of Seattle. Tanya was dressed in a fur-lined coat and boots with four-inch heels. As they strode along the steep incline, she tried and failed to keep an umbrella from turning inside out in the wind that blew in off of Elliott Bay. “I mean, what’s with the spy cameras and recording devices? Don’t tell me . . . you’re going to become a PI. Good! I’ll have you take pictures or videos of Russell when he’s got the kids.”
“I don’t think I’d make a very good private detective,” she admitted with a laugh. During the drive to the city, Ava had kept mum about her mission. Only now, after they’d gone to an electronics store and, using Tanya’s credit card to avoid any link to Ava, had purchased the items she thought she needed was she ready to explain, if only a little. She owed her friend that much.
“Then why all the James Bond equipment?” Tanya pressed.
“I’m just trying to turn the tables on whoever is gaslighting me.” They sidestepped a man walking a schnauzer in the opposite direction, then waited for a light so they could cross the street to the waterfront restaurant Tanya had chosen for their late lunch.
“You think it has anything to do with Cheryl’s murder?” Tanya asked nervously. She hadn’t been silent about her belief that Ava’s visit to the hypnotist had something to do with Cheryl’s death.
“I don’t see how.” Which was true, but still it bothered her. A lot. Not only had Cheryl’s life been taken brutally, but, Ava, too, worried that there might be a connection.
“Well, it’s weird and scary—no, make that terrifying—and it makes me paranoid!”
“Join the club.”
The light changed and they waited a beat for a maniac driving a Volkswagen bug to zip through the intersection on a red. “Idiot!” Tanya yelled as the driver of a Ford Escape laid on his horn as the escaping yellow beetle careened around a corner.
Once Tanya and Ava were no longer in jeopardy, they quickly crossed the broad street to the waterfront where the air smelled of the ocean and seagulls cawed and wheeled in the gray skies overhead. Ferries chugged across the choppy water, sending up frothy wakes, and in the distance, through a thin layer of fog, the sweeping Olympic Mountains were visible.
As one, they walked to Pier 57, then slipped through the swinging doors of a bistro located over the water and known for its fresh seafood. There were only a few patrons inside, as the lunch crowd had thinned and dinner seating was hours away.
Once seated in a booth near a window with a view of Puget Sound, they ordered drinks and a crab and artichoke dip appetizer that they shared, then individual specials of fish stew and Dungeness crab cakes.
“Okay,” Tanya said, once her pomegranate martini was delivered, “so spill. What’s with the high-tech spy gizmos?” She sipped her drink and eyed her friend from across the table.
Drawing a fortifying breath, Ava unloaded about the night before and how she’d broken into the third floor only to discover the recording device. For once, Tanya didn’t interrupt; she just listened as she sipped her drink and nibbled on the dip and crusty sourdough bread.
“Something’s very rotten on that island,” she finally said once Ava had finished. “But Jewel-Anne? Let’s face it, even if she could climb the stairs, which she can’t, is she really that tech savvy to set up some kind of elaborate system?”
“She could have had help. Her brother, Jacob, is a computer genius. Still in school, but he’s already been contacted by several software companies here, in the Seattle area and Silicon Valley.” She tried her soup and found it hot and tangy, weaving the flavors of tomato, garlic, and fennel to complement the halibut, mussels, shrimp, and bass.
“But why?” Tanya asked. “Why go to all this trouble?”
“I don’t know. Maybe because I own Neptune’s Gate.”
“Mmmm. Money. The age-old culprit.”
“Maybe.”
“But then what about Noah? You think they had something to do with his kidnapping?”
Her heart grew heavy again, the fear that she’d never see her son again sometimes so dense she felt as if she couldn’t draw a breath, couldn’t force her lungs to work. “I don’t know.” She ignored her glass of Chardonnay and suddenly found the soup unappealing, too. “I don’t know how.”
Picking at her crab cakes, Tanya said, “You know that gossip runs fast and hot through Anchorville, and one of the hotbeds, of course, is my salon.”
“Of course.”
“So I heard there was a body found buried in the garden at Neptune’s Gate?” She was buttering a piece of bread but stopped long enough to skewer Ava with her gaze. “Is that what you mean by ‘gaslighting’?”
“Not a body. A doll. I’m sorry I didn’t mention it earlier,” Ava explained, and then, deciding she had to confide in someone completely, told Tanya everything that had happened on the island. She didn’t care if her friend thought she was nuts; she laid it all out, from seeing her son’s image on the dock to finding his wet shoes in the nursery, to her believing that her husband was having an affair with her psychologist.
When she was finished, she felt better. Unburdened. Tanya had barely taken a bite. “Wow,” she finally said, “I think I’m going to start calling you Alice. You’ve definitely been down the rabbit hole.”
“Several times.”
They finished their entrées, and when dessert was offered, Ava passed, opting for an espresso, but Tanya ordered a Northwest apple and cranberry cobbler with a huge scoop of vanilla ice cream and two spoons. Ava grudgingly took several bites as she sipped her dark coffee.
She’d just finished signing the credit card receipt for the bill when Tanya said, “So on the way back to Anchorville, you can tell me all about Austin Dern.”
“And why would I do that?”
“Oh, I don’t know, maybe because you fancy yourself in love with him?”
Ava was shocked. “Is that what it sounded like?” The last thing she needed, the very last, was any complication in her love life, and Dern was definitely a complication.
“You didn’t mention him much, but when you did, you actually blushed,” Tanya said, jabbing her spoon at her friend. “Don’t deny it. I’m an expert at these things. I’m a beautician, remember? I’ve listened to women’s life stories for years, and it always involves a man, or more often than not, men.”
“I don’t even know the man, not really, and besides, since you can’t seem to remember, I’m married.”
“Not much, you’re not. Where’re your rings? If I remember right, you had something like a two-carat diamond and a wedding band.”
Good question, Ava thought. She hadn’t thought about that. “I think maybe they’re in a safe somewhere, or a safe-deposit box.” She looked down at her naked left hand and rubbed her fingers self-consciously.
“You really don’t remember, do you?”
“I guess not.”
“You threw them into the bay.”
“What?” Ava gasped.
&nbs
p; “I was there.” Tanya casually took another bite of ice cream laced with berries.
“But I would never—”
“Sure you would. Because you caught Wyatt cheating, and it wasn’t the first time.”
“No, I mean, I don’t believe that . . .” But her voice trailed off, and some of the sharp little pieces of the past started fitting together, bit by bit. “With who?”
“Does it matter? In my book, cheating is cheating. No matter who the other half of the equation might be.”
Ava’s insides twisted and she felt sick. There was truth to this. Some truth.
“Come on, Ava, you have more than holes in your memory. You have giant abysses that span months, maybe even years.” Tanya set down her spoon and pushed the rest of the melting dessert aside. “Look, I haven’t said anything because I didn’t want to make you worse. But I’ve seen you struggling, trying to remember, and now things are getting really, really weird. You need to get out. While you still can.” Tanya was serious now.
“You think I’m in danger?”
“Well . . . yeah. Maybe. Probably. Look what happened to Cheryl.”
“That’s something else.”
“Is it?” Tanya’s eyebrows drew together, and lines of worry creased her forehead. “The timing . . . it all seems like it goes together. You know it, too.”
She did. The fears that she’d tried so desperately to fight loomed ever stronger. “No. That’s leaping to conclusions. And really, if anyone wanted me dead, I would be.”
Tanya wasn’t buying it. “It’s not that easy to kill someone and make it look like an accident these days. Nuh-uh. Too much forensic evidence and they always look to the family first. I think they’re hoping you freak yourself out to the point where you do it yourself.”
“No.”
Tanya reached across the table and clasped one of Ava’s arms. Rotating it so that her wrist was partially exposed, parts of scar tissue visible, she said, “I’ve known you a lot of years, Ava, and until Noah went missing, you were the last person I would have believed capable of trying to commit suicide. The very last. You were the sanest person I knew. So what happened that night?”
Ava swallowed hard. “I don’t know,” she whispered. “I can’t remember.” But there were murky images, like pictures that had been overexposed, the edges in shadow. She did recall the bathtub with its foaming bubbles, the warm, comforting water around her naked body, and in an out-of-body experience, she had seen the bloom of blood sliding into the water, staining the frothy bubbles a pale, deadly pink. The razor was on the side of the tub . . . so easy to reach . . . to slide against her white, veined skin . . .
Now as she thought about it, her heart was pounding, a metallic taste rising in her throat.
“Think, Ava. It’s important,” Tanya pleaded from somewhere in the distance. It was as if she were suddenly in an icy cave on the shore where the thunder of the waves crashed against the rocks and the wind in the cavern rushed so loudly she couldn’t think.
“Was anyone else in the room with you?” Tanya’s voice. Far, far away . . .
Shaking her head, willing the cloudy memories to clear, she forced the images of that night into her brain. In her mind’s eye, she saw herself, arms and legs seemingly detached from her body, the mirror over the sink foggy with steam from the hot water, the lights dimmed and candles burning, red wax running like the thin trickle of her own blood.
Was there someone with her? No . . .
“Who found you? Wyatt, right?” Tanya’s thin voice again.
Everything blended together, spinning in some great vortex, clouds swirling, but she was there, in the tub, feeling light-headed.
“Ava? Are you okay?”
Was that Tanya, now, here in the restaurant, or someone on the other side of the bathroom door, knocking frantically, trying to break in?
“Who found you?”
She blinked. Realized who she was with. Found herself clutching the edges of the table. Focused on Tanya, who was rising out of her chair as if she expected Ava to faint.
“I . . . I don’t remember, no . . . not Wyatt. Not at first.” That was right, wasn’t it? Yes. She remembered her cousin’s distorted, horrified face. “It was Jewel-Anne. She was freaking out, screaming and crying and . . .” The image started slipping away again, and she grabbed hold of it, certain that she’d seen the girl in the wheelchair, calling for help, yelling and screaming that Ava was dead. And then there had been lights, flashing against the windows, reflecting in the raindrops.
As she’d been lifted from the tub, she’d heard Wyatt’s comforting voice, asking that she please be covered as paramedics tended to her. In the farthest reaches of her consciousness, she recalled the bumpy ride across the water to the hospital. . . .
It was all wrapped in delusions and dreams, a fog created by her own despondency and the pills she’d taken before stepping into the warm, soothing water, enough to make her relax.
As it was, she’d barely escaped with her life, had passed out in the rescue boat, hadn’t awoken until days later.
Now she swallowed hard, the memory causing goose bumps to rise on her flesh as she mentally returned to the nearly empty restaurant and her best friend. “I lied,” she said, and cleared her throat. “I do remember. Just not all of it.”
“You didn’t try to kill yourself, did you?”
“No,” she said, now more certain than ever.
“So who did?”
“That I still don’t know,” she admitted, the possibilities running through her mind, “but I intend to find out.”
“Be careful, Ava,” Tanya advised, looking scared. “Be real careful.”
CHAPTER 32
Dern felt the first drops of rain as he tied his horse to a sagging limb of a pine tree near the old asylum. Sea Cliff was showing its age. The cracked concrete, rusting pipes, and moss growing over old gardens were evidence enough of its disuse and emptiness, and the wind sweeping in, smelling of salt water, couldn’t quite hide the odor of abandonment.
From one of the rooftops a crow cawed, ruffling his feathers as he looked down at the empty yard, and above the roar of the sea, a chain rattled against one of the unused flagpoles.
All in all, it was a lonely, eerie place that probably should be torn down, Dern thought as he made his way inside. He knew his way around, had learned it by trial and error, having visited the empty mental hospital three times previously. Each time he’d visited, he’d explored a section of the asylum for an hour or so before returning to his studio over the stable and hoping no one had seen him leave, usually by horseback, with an excuse ready should anyone ask of his whereabouts. He’d already mentioned riding the fence line, and today his excuse would be he thought he’d seen someone up in the woods and he wanted to check out if someone was camping on the property or needed assistance. He could use these simple lies to avoid too many lifted eyebrows or clouds of suspicion to gather.
So far, no one had noticed him missing, so he hadn’t been forced to lie.
For the time being, he needed to keep his fascination with the institution a secret, and so far, he thought he’d accomplished that much.
Now, at one of the rusted side gates of the complex, he retrieved a pick from his set of slim jims, worked the old lock, and let himself inside. A gravel path choked with weeds wound through what had once been the gardens that separated several buildings on the premises. He passed a section of row houses that had been accommodations for some of the staff. Two of the houses had been remodeled, the common wall between them taken down to allow for one larger home; the rest looked as if they hadn’t been touched since Eisenhower was in office. Across a dying hedgerow, he skirted the long clinic building that had been used for outpatient appointments.
Though the entire enclosure was fenced and gated, there were interior security walls as well, and the primary facility, the hospital itself and center of the complex, had its own set of locks, gates, and surrounding fences.
Asid
e from the fact that there were no towers at the corners of the fences, and no razor wire glinting over the tops of the concrete walls, this area resembled a prison.
“All very civilized,” he said under his breath, then picked the lock of the main gate and slipped inside the heart of Sea Cliff. A portico with a sagging roof stretched over the entrance, where a bank of windows and wide double doors greeted visitors.
This lock was a little more stubborn, but eventually it unlatched as well. He pushed some cobwebs aside as he stepped inside, to a place where time and humanity had seemed to have been forgotten. He walked into what had been the reception area of the hospital.
It was empty aside from a broken desk resting against one wall, collecting dust. Through the reception area, he entered into a large office, that of the hospital administrator, the last of whom had been Crispin Church, Ava’s uncle. The file cabinets were empty, of course, and the credenza with a broken leg covered what had once been the heat ducts.
He’d been in here before and found nothing on this floor. Nor had he discovered anything of significance in the row houses or clinic buildings that he’d searched. That left the upper floors of the main hospital with its mazes of hallways, nurses’ stations, abandoned group rooms, and empty wards.
The elevators didn’t work, so he took the stairs, his boots ringing against the concrete steps. The stairwell was dark, the wire glass windows opaque to begin with and now covered in grime. The asylum bordered on creepy, but Dern wasn’t one to be easily freaked. If so, he would have lost it when digging up the tiny coffin. Now, that had been unnerving. It was a wonder Ava was holding on to her sanity.
The second floor’s layout was nearly identical to the first, the only difference being that the reception area below had been relegated to a kitchen and dining area on this floor. There was slightly more furniture in the rooms. A bed with a stained mattress stood in the middle of one patient room, and the frames of two others littered another, larger room nearby. A chair, circa 1972, had been pushed up against a window, forgotten, its stuffing exploding out of scratched faux leather, a frothy cascade of batting.