Viper's Nest

by Shirley Raye Redmond

  Wren’s cheeks bloomed in a becoming shade of pink. “Have you ever read the book of Esther in the Old Testament?”

  “It’s been a while,” Allan admitted. “But I do remember it vaguely from my youthful Sunday school days.” Which had come to an abrupt halt after his mother was admitted to the mental hospital. His father felt Sunday school was a waste of time and church attendance as well. It was perhaps the only thing Allan and his father had agreed upon.

  “Queen Esther felt reluctant to enter the king’s presence, even to plead for the lives of her people. It was death to anyone who went into the throne room without the king’s permission. But then Esther’s cousin, Mordecai, pointed out that God may have made her queen for exactly this reason.”

  “I believe the words were, for such a time as this,” Allan smiled slightly. “So you think the same thing is happening now, that God is using us to bring about something…er…important?”

  “Yes,” Wren said with an emphatic nod. “Think about it. You decided to write a book about Dorothea Dix. Because of this project, you sought permission to tour the asylum, one of the last institutions built because of her political influence. Since touring the place, you have discovered human remains and have renewed your interest in your mother’s years there as a patient. What if you hadn’t done those things? The body of that poor little soul may have remained undiscovered forever.”

  “Bringing truth to light—it’s a tall order for two ordinary people like us, don’t you think?” Allan could hear the sneer in his own voice.

  “It’s no longer just the two of us,” Wren pointed out. “The police are involved too, as well as the press, hospital, and state officials. Heaven knows who else will get involved before it’s all over with.” She paused to give him a significant look. “And I mean exactly that: Heaven knows.”

  6

  Allan was moved by Wren’s heartfelt argument. But she was a real innocent if she thought her God cared about such matters. While he was willing to concede there might be a Supreme Being who created the universe, Allan doubted such an entity would pay any attention to man’s little dramas.

  “All right. I’ll go see Freddy Grizzard.”

  She nodded, looking pleased.

  “But, Wren, don’t pin your hopes on the old guy being the key to solving this case. Remember, he was a mental patient at the hospital before he was sent to the nursing home. Now he’s old and probably suffering from senility or dementia or whatever. Those bad dreams may have nothing at all do with his time at the state hospital.”

  “You never know,” she replied, hopefully.

  “Why not ask your nurse friend to confirm the dates of Grizzard’s years of admission at the hospital. That would be helpful to know.”

  “Bea’s not really a friend of mine,” Wren admitted, taking another sip of iced tea. “Just an acquaintance. Once a month Pippi’s youth group goes to the nursing home to take refreshments and a video to entertain the residents and spend time with them. That’s how I met Bea.”

  “Friend or not, ask her to check his medical file for the exact dates. Also, I’d like to know why he was admitted to the mental hospital in first place. They should have sent that information over when he was transferred,” Allan said. “It will make a difference, you know, if he was admitted because he had a head injury or if he suffered with schizophrenia.”

  “OK,” Wren replied, smiling. “I’ll ask Bea when a good time would be for us to visit Mr. Grizzard too. Maybe we could go some afternoon this coming week when your classes are over with for the day.”

  “Sure, why not?” he agreed, already bored. What useful information could they really expect from a mental patient? Sometimes Wren was more optimistic than necessary.

  “I wonder when Dr. Leadill will come by with those files she promised to loan you.”

  “I don't know. Sometime early next week, I hope. I would be interested to know what she thinks about this new development—an infant’s skeleton tucked away in one of the tunnel alcoves. And I intend to ask her why she snatched my digital camera, too.”

  “Do you really think she’ll give you a reason?” Wren arched an eyebrow. “I don’t trust her. She lied. I know the office door was locked. I’m still trying to figure out how she got in.”

  “I have half a mind to call the woman and tell her I want my camera back immediately.”

  After taking another sip of tea, Wren leaned forward. “So what did Detective Reed say when you showed him the note? Did he think there might be a connection between the note and the shooting? Should I be worried? Or am I just being over-emotional? Regarding the letter, I mean.”

  “Reed didn’t say anything about it at all,” Allan admitted. “I shared with him what you’d told me and mentioned that your husband had been killed in a car accident a year or so ago. He said he’d look into it.”

  “That’s all? I thought he might want me to come down to the police station and make a statement.”

  “I’m sure he’ll be in touch,” Allan reassured her. He waved his fork at Wren’s plate. “Eat up. I need to get home. I have a stack of quizzes to grade.”

  “I’m not very hungry.” Wren pushed her plate. “I’ll ask for a to-go box and take the leftovers home to eat later. It was nice of you to treat me to lunch, Allan. Thank you. This is a nice restaurant, but I hardly ever eat here.”

  “Why not?” he asked, frowning. “Don’t you like the food?”

  “They don’t serve grilled cheese sandwiches or chicken fingers. Pippi’s favorites.”

  Allan nodded, reaching for his wallet.

  She leaned forward. “Don’t look now, but that woman in the red blazer at the next table has been watching us off and on the entire time we’ve been having lunch. In fact, I’m pretty sure she followed us into the restaurant.”

  Allan started to turn his head.

  “Don’t look!”

  “Maybe she recognizes my face from the back flap of one of my books,” he suggested. “She’s probably a fan trying to stir up the courage to come over and ask for my autograph.”

  Wren gave a little snort of disbelief. “I doubt it. I think I saw her on campus yesterday, hanging around outside the history wing. She looks familiar.”

  “Doesn’t mean she’s not a fan,” Allan pointed out. He glanced around for the waitress, caught her eye and waved her over, requesting a box for Wren’s uneaten sandwich and the bill. As he did so, he let his gaze stray to the woman in the red blazer. With her long, wavy dark hair—hair almost as black at Dr. Leadill’s unnatural crop—and her bold Italian features, the woman was striking, and, as Wren had pointed out, vaguely familiar. He was certain he’d seen her before, but could not think where. Perhaps on campus, as Wren had suggested?

  She was watching them, but pretending not to. She poked at her taco salad with disinterest, taking frequent, self-conscious sips of water. The woman knew she was being observed.

  Allan’s stomach tightened as his suspicions were aroused. “I think we should give her the slip,” he said in a low voice, leaning across the table.

  “If she is following us…or you…don’t you want to know why?” Wren asked.

  They fell silent as the waitress returned to the table with the bill and a small box.

  Wren slipped the uneaten half of her sandwich into it. “Why don’t you walk over to her table and say something like, ‘Haven’t we met before?’ or ‘Didn’t you take a class with me last semester?’ Couldn’t you do something like that?”

  Allan gave her a wry grin. “It’s beneath my dignity to use such flimsy pick-up lines—no matter how worthy the cause.”

  Wren blushed and lowered her gaze to her empty plate. How pretty she was in that wholesome, girl-next-door sort of way.

  “So what will we do?” she pressed.

  “You’re going to use the proverbial powder room,” Allan told her. “I’ll sit here, watching to see if she follows you there. If not, I’ll leave by the front door and see if she comes after me. I am
guessing she’ll assume I’m going to the parking lot across the street. Instead, I’m going to duck around the corner of the building and meet you in the alleyway.”

  “Is there a back exit I can use? Or do you want me to come back here to the table?”

  “There is a back door right past the men’s room—you’ll see the sign in the corridor.” Seeing Wren’s puzzled expression, he gave a wry chuckle. “Unlike you, I do eat here often. I’ve even gone out the back way a time or two.”

  “All right,” she said, taking a deep breath. “Let’s do it.” She reached for her purse, pushed her chair away from the table, and made her way to the ladies’ room.

  She had a gentle sway to her hips and held her head up with purpose and confidence. No doubt about it, Wren Bergschneider was an attractive woman. Very attractive. He left cash on the table, enough to cover the cost of the meal and the tip.

  When the raven-haired woman made no attempt to follow Wren to the restroom, Allan decided she must be waiting for him to leave. Or perhaps he and Wren were now slightly paranoid after being shot at, finding human remains in the infamous food tunnels, and contemplating the meaning of the strange, anonymous note. Maybe the woman in the red blazer was just a people-watcher enjoying her lunch.

  His pulse quickened as he rose from the table and made his way to the front door. A quick glance over his shoulder revealed that the lady had risen from her table, abandoning her unfinished salad. She appeared to be fumbling in her purse. Scrambling for money to pay her bill perhaps?

  Out on the sidewalk, Allan darted quickly around the corner of the building.

  The chase was on!

  He felt a mild thrill as he cautiously peered around the corner and saw the woman hastening through the front door of the restaurant. She looked both ways before quickly crossing the street to the parking lot. Once there, she paused to look around as though she had forgotten where she’d parked. She was probably hoping to catch a glimpse of him or Wren.

  Wren arrived, breathless and wide-eyed, her cheeks flushed with excitement. “She didn’t follow me into the ladies room,” she told him. “Has she come out of the restaurant yet? Did she follow you?”

  “Yes,” he said quietly. He rolled his eyes, indicating the parking lot with a thrust of his chin. “She’s over there. Looking for us—looking for me, actually. You were right.”

  “What do we do now?”

  “Let’s see which vehicle she gets into,” he suggested. “I’m pretty sure I know that woman, but I can’t remember from where.”

  “I saw her on campus yesterday or the day before. Maybe she’s a former student or teaching colleague.”

  He shook his head.

  Wren clutched his sleeve. “Look, Allan, she’s coming back this way!”

  Sure enough, the woman was apparently intent on returning to the restaurant. And looking none too happy about it, if the expression on her face was any indication.

  “Let’s go,” Allan said, placing his hand on Wren’s back briefly to propel her down the alley.

  She clutched her purse tightly under one arm and quickened her pace to keep up with his long-legged stride. “Where are we going? Do you think she’ll go to the ladies’ room to look for me?” Her questions came out in breathless spurts.

  “She might,” he admitted. “When she discovers you’re not there, she’ll guess you slipped out the back way to meet me somewhere. She may even follow us into the alley.”

  “So where are we going now?”

  “This way,” Allan said, waving a hand to the left.

  They headed down the alley toward a bookstore. The back entrance was open, a female employee coming out to dispose of an armful of cardboard boxes into a nearby recycle bin.

  “We could slip inside the bookstore,” Wren suggested, panting.

  Allan paused a moment to let her catch her breath. “I don’t think so. Red Blazer Woman would guess we might hide out in a bookstore. I am an author, after all.”

  “Red Blazer Woman?” Wren grinned.

  He smiled back at her before quickly surveying the alley through narrowed eyes. “This way,” he said and motioned for Wren to keep up.

  They made their way to the back entrance of another shop—this one a hardware store with a small loading dock. The back door was propped open with a broken cinder block. A large van had backed up to the dock to unload supplies.

  Allan reached for Wren’s hand and tugged her up the steps. “C’mon,” he said. “It’s a hardware store. If we’re lucky, she won’t think to look for us in here.” He darted down one aisle and up another, making his way to the front of the store.

  Wren followed.

  Allan made his way to a small nook that faced the parking lot across the street. “We can watch from here. If I’m not mistaken, Red Blazer will eventually go back to the parking lot.”

  “You’re enjoying this.” Her tone was accusing.

  He chuckled. “I guess I am…a little. I’m not even sure why we’re avoiding her. If she wants to speak with me, she knows where to find me. You said you’d seen her on campus. She’s bound to track me down sooner or later.”

  Wren gave a curt nod and then turned to look out the window again. “That makes her behavior all the more suspicious, don’t you think? Why doesn’t she call you and make an appointment if she wants to speak with you? Why didn’t she come over to our table and introduce herself?”

  “Can I help you folks?”

  Allan and Wren turned at the same time.

  A middle-aged sales clerk—balding and paunch-bellied—stood behind them in the aisle. A questioning frown pinched the man’s features.

  “Not yet,” Allan told him. “We’re stilling…um…looking.”

  Allan waited until the clerk had retraced his steps back to the cash register before turning his attention once more to the front window.

  Wren was watching him with a withering glance.

  “We are still looking,” he pointed out, with a half smile.

  She said nothing, but her posture was rigid and one hand had curled into a tense fist.

  He touched her shoulder gently. “Relax, Wren, it’s going to be OK.” She flinched beneath his touch. Allan quickly removed his hand.

  “Look! There she goes.” Nervous tension colored her tone.

  Allan peered out the window. There she was indeed, walking briskly to her car with a determined stride. He wracked his brain trying to remember where he’d seen the woman before.

  She made her way to a small vehicle—a Japanese import in an unusual cobalt blue color. She slipped inside and sat behind the steering wheel without starting the engine. She seemed to be waiting for something—or someone.

  “She’s just sitting there,” Wren observed after a while. “I think she’s waiting for us—for you, I mean.”

  “I think you’re right,” Allan agreed. “And we’ll let her wait.”

  Ten minutes passed, and then twenty. A few customers came in, paid for their purchases and went out again.

  The stony stare of the annoyed sales clerk bored a hole through Allan’s back. What if the man became so suspicious he called the cops?

  Allan had enough contact with the police in the past few days to last a lifetime. He needed to do something to appease the irritated clerk. “Keep your eye on her, Wren. I’ll be right back. I’ve got to buy something.” He ambled down the aisle, casually picking up this and that. A flashlight, a pack of light bulbs, an extension cord, a suet cake for backyard birds. It didn’t matter what—anything to keep the clerk sweet. When Allan reached the counter, both his hands were full. He plunked the pile of assorted merchandise on the counter with a noisy clatter. “Ring ‘em up,” he said with his friendliest smile, reaching for his wallet.

  The clerk glowered at him. “Find everything all right?”

  “Everything and then some,” Allan assured him with a nod. He was tempted to spin some tall tale for the man’s benefit about dodging an angry ex-wife, but decided against it, because
Wren was with him and he didn’t want to embarrass her.

  Wren joined him at the counter. “That woman finally drove away,” she said in a low, and slightly breathless, voice. “I’m sorry I didn’t get the license plate number, but it was an Illinois plate—if that helps. At least we know she’s not from out of state.”

  “Unless it’s a rental car,” Allan pointed out. “It certainly won’t be hard to mistake that cobalt blue car if we ever see it again.”

  Wren nodded, perusing his miscellaneous purchases with a twitch of her lips as the clerk shoved them into a large brown paper bag. Picking up a plastic jar from the counter, she grinned. “What in the world is this?”

  Allan read the label—naval jelly. He laughed.

  ~*~

  Wren stooped to pick up another abandoned paper doll and its motley wardrobe. For once, she wasn't angry with Pippi for leaving such a mess all over the living room floor. It gave her something to do. She dropped the paper doll and dresses into the shoebox with the others and glanced around the living room for other signs of her young daughter's abandoned pleasures.

  Wren had had a compulsive urge to do mindless things with her hands. She’d baked cookies every day and tried catching up with her scrapbooking projects. She’d even cleaned the two-bedroom rental from top to bottom—anything to keep from thinking about those tiny remains hidden away in the old cookie tin. She hoped the baby had died from natural causes. But if so, why hadn’t the child been buried in the hospital cemetery? Why hide it in the tunnel?

  The newspaper report in the Jacksonville Courier Journal stated police had launched an investigation. Not an inch of the tunnel would go unexplored.

  She closed her eyes to fight back the tears welling there. When she’d told Deb and Charlie about the incident, safely out of hearing range from the children, they’d listened with wide-eyed attentiveness.

  “It’s just like something in a horror novel,” Deb had declared. “It must have been thrilling, in a grim sort of way, I mean.”

  There hadn’t been anything thrilling about it at all, Wren reflected with a sniff as she scooped up a pair of discarded socks and a plastic, pink pony. The discovery of the child’s skeleton had been revolting, certainly depressing and now haunting.