Nowhere to Hide

by Terry Odell

  Graham paused, sipping coffee while collecting his thoughts. He’d decided he could tell Schaeffer about the files Colleen had shown him, but now it seemed hard to get the words out. If she hadn’t been a former cop, he wouldn’t have thought twice about it. Instead, he told him about the BOLO on Townsend’s truck and an earlier phone call to the Holiday Inn. “It turns out Jeffrey made that Holiday Inn reservation in mid-September. When he didn’t show up, they charged his card against his guarantee.”

  “So maybe he isn’t in Alabama after all.”

  “Meanwhile, I got a lead. Remember Doris was freaking out about going to a home? It might be a place called Vista Gardens. I thought I should interview someone there. Find out if Jeffrey made any arrangements.”

  “Let me know how it goes.”

  Another solo. Graham tried not to look too pleased.

  “How are you doing on those phone calls?”

  “I thought it might be better to wait for a more civilized hour.”

  “You’re a cop, Harrigan. You’re allowed to wake them up. Get to work.”

  Schaeffer might be right, but that didn’t mean Graham was comfortable intruding, especially since an early morning call usually meant bad news.

  Schaeffer turned his attention back to his paperwork and Graham went back to the cubicle he’d been assigned in the CID bay. When the phone rang, he picked it up.

  “CID. Harrigan.” Damn, that felt good.

  “It’s O’Neill. The truck you’re looking for showed up at Orlando International. Gold lot, long term parking.”

  Which was pretty much where it was supposed to be. “Anything fishy?”

  “Nope. It’s got a low cover over the bed, but the cab is clean. No flies, no smell. Looks like any other car in the lot.”

  “Can you tell how long it’s been there?”

  “We’ve got a call in to check.”

  “Thanks. Let me know what you find out.” He hung up and found the number for Vista Gardens. He called, but the administrator he needed wouldn’t be in until nine.

  He went back to the notes he’d made at Colleen’s. Something about the National Audubon Giving Society and the Great Egret. He clicked to their website and drilled through the links until he found what he needed. The Great Egret was one of the Society’s premium membership levels. He read further.

  Holy crap! Jeffrey was going to donate over twenty-five grand to the Audubon Society. The membership included an exclusive birding trip. Maybe it was spur of the moment and he was off in the boonies looking at birds. Graham studied Jeffrey’s credit card statement. There was a two hundred fifty dollar payment to the Nature Conservancy. He explored their website. Buying up land for conservation didn’t sound like something a developer would be doing. Had Jeffrey suffered a change of heart, or was he appeasing his conscience? He wondered how much information he could get from anyone simply by identifying himself as a deputy sheriff. If he got lucky, he might hit a babbler.

  A voice from the next cubicle caught his attention.

  “Heads up!”

  Graham caught a glimpse of motion, and something flew into his cubicle. He snatched it mid-air.

  “Damn it, Harrigan, your stomach’s growling loud enough to wake the dead. Take a break and feed it.”

  Graham checked the clock on his monitor. After nine? He ripped open the wrapper. “Thanks,” he mumbled around a mouthful of a peanut butter PowerBar.

  He washed it down with cold coffee and took a call from the airport parking authority. Frank Townsend’s car had been in the lot since October seventeenth. He reviewed his notes. Townsend had called Stuart Gravely on the fifteenth, almost a month ago. Townsend’s roommate said he’d been gone about three weeks. Graham called Townsend’s number and left a message to confirm the date. His next call yielded a noon appointment with the head administrator at Vista Gardens.

  With a sigh, he picked up the telephone list from Gravely’s fund-raiser and started making calls.

  *****

  Promptly at twelve, Graham followed a plump African American woman down a carpeted hallway in the Vista Gardens Community Living Center. She pushed a massive carved wooden door open and leaned into the room. “Deputy Harrigan is here to see you.”

  “Thank you, Paula,” came a cultured female voice from inside the room. He stepped into the spacious office and his escort closed the door behind her when she retreated.

  A tall, slender woman with steel-gray hair that matched her eyes stood behind a glass and chrome desk, bare aside from a nameplate and a large arrangement of silk flowers. Behind her was a credenza holding a computer monitor, a telephone, and one chrome organizer that appeared to contain a single file.

  “Thank you for seeing me, Mrs. Wyckoff.”

  Mrs. Wyckoff extended a hand with long, tapered fingers that ended in long, manicured nails. When he shook it, her grip was firm, and her hand was cool and dry.

  “What can I do for you, Deputy Harrigan? I have a luncheon at one.” She lowered herself into a large black leather chair, smoothing the gray fabric of her skirt as she did so.

  “I don’t think it should be a problem. I came across this facility in reference to an investigation.”

  “Certainly you’re not investigating Vista Gardens, Deputy? I can assure you, we meet or exceed all standards at all levels.” She motioned him to one of two armchairs.

  He took a seat. “I was wondering if the names Jeffery or Doris Walters meant anything to you.

  “I can’t say I recall either of them.”

  “Perhaps you could check your records. Last month, Jeffrey Walters sent you five hundred dollars.”

  “That sounds like a routine donation in response to one of our expansion campaigns, but I suppose I can check.”

  “Thank you. I appreciate it.” He leaned forward a little and watched her swivel her chair and press a button on the phone.

  “Paula, will you please bring me anything we have on a Jeffrey Walters?”

  “Or Doris,” he said.

  “Or Doris Walters. Thank you.”

  She turned back to face Graham with a look that said she was tolerating him, but barely. He merely sat and smiled. He could handle waiting. Unlike Erica, however, Mrs. Wyckoff wasn’t a babbler.

  Several silent minutes later, Paula deposited a folder on the desk and departed. Mrs. Wyckoff picked up the file and gave an obvious look at her watch before she opened it. He saw a flicker of something pass across her face before the façade of cool professionalism dropped back in place. Surprise? Embarrassment?

  “It would seem Mr. Walters has visited Vista Gardens on several occasions. I apologize for not remembering him, but you must understand, we get dozens of visitors each week, people looking for the best environment for their loved ones. If you like, I can have Paula give you a tour. I’m sure you’ll find Vista Gardens is far from your stereotypical image of an … old age home.”

  “I’m sure I would,” he said, although he wondered if the residents’ accommodations came anywhere close to the luxury of this office. “Can you tell me why he was here, or if he made any arrangements for his aunt to move in?”

  She scanned the papers one more time, then closed the folder, set it in the center of her desk, and folded her hands on top of it. “The five hundred dollars was, as I suspected, a donation to the facility. We’re trying to expand our recreation center. However, he did fill out a preliminary application for Doris Walters. As our space is limited and very much in demand, we have placed Mrs. Walters’ name on our list of potential guests pending further investigation, and of course, an opening.”

  “And what is it you investigate?”

  “The usual. Overall health, of course. We have both assisted living and full nursing home facilities and different availabilities in each. And although we don’t charge rent, per se, we do require an equitable sum be turned over to Vista Gardens in return for lifelong care. We provide meals, room, furnishings, recreation, and of course, proper health care. None of this com
es cheaply, you understand.”

  “I do.” He leaned in and rested his hands on the edge of her glass desktop and smiled inwardly as he saw Mrs. Wyckoff try not to flinch. He could almost hear her calling Paula to polish her desk as soon as he left. “Basically, your residents sign over their life savings to Vista Gardens, and before you let them in, you need to make sure the money won’t run out before they do.”

  “I think that’s a rather crude way to put it, Deputy.”

  “I’m a crude kind of guy, Mrs. Wyckoff. Was Doris going to make the cut?”

  “I believe that’s privileged information.”

  “I believe I could get a warrant if I had to. Or ask you to come to the station, but that would mean you’d miss your lunch, wouldn’t it?” Damn, he hoped she couldn’t tell he was bluffing. He had no leverage with her at all.

  She stood and walked to a narrow door at the side of the office. Pulling the door open, she reached inside and removed a jacket to match her skirt, and a small gray purse. He stood and waited for her to step back into the room.

  “Mrs. Walters had little, if any, money of her own, Deputy. However, her nephew was negotiating terms of acceptance. It is my belief she would be considered for an opening within a year.”

  “And what might those terms be?” He held his breath. This one was a real push.

  “I’m sorry, Deputy. I think I’ve already told you far more than I was required under the circumstances. If you want any more details, perhaps you should think about procuring that warrant. Now if you will excuse me, I don’t want to be late.”

  So. Doris did have something to worry about.

  Chapter Seventeen

  Colleen lowered the pile of shopping bags to the couch and organized her purchases. First, she ripped the plastic wrappings off her new sheets and took them to the washer to get the stiffness out. There would be more drenched-in-sweat awakenings, but at least now she had more than one set of linens. She was on the way to becoming a new Colleen.

  She ran her hands down the black and brown tweed slacks and long-sleeved brown polo Tracy had selected. As comfortable as her standard jeans. Nothing fancy. Just different. And maybe if she changed the outside, the new Colleen she was creating would burrow down to the inside. Maybe the new Colleen wouldn’t flash back to scenes of domestic violence.

  With the washer running, Colleen fell victim to the golden box of truffles. She chose one at random, shoving bags aside so she could relax on the couch and savor the rich sweetness. The new Colleen got chocolate truffles and e-mails quoting Yeats.

  Yeats. She owed Graham a response for that one, but had no clue how to handle it. Maybe another piece of chocolate would help.

  When the last traces of chocolate had dissolved, she retrieved the file cabinet keys from her nightstand drawer. Next, the box of brownies she’d bought. And if the brownies didn’t get her into the house, asking to borrow a hammer to hang her new pictures might.

  She’d stepped outside when the phone rang. Tempted to ignore it, then remembering her answering machine was still en route, she raced inside.

  Hearing Graham’s voice did nothing to slow her pulse. “I was on my way up to pay Doris a visit.”

  “Maybe I should let you go. Do you have a way inside?”

  “A box of brownies. I was going to wing it from there. Thought I might ask to check my e-mail on her computer or something.” She heard a car on the driveway. “Wait a second. Someone’s coming.”

  She walked to the window and pulled the curtain aside. The green Chevy from the other day was parked there, and two women got out and headed for Doris’ door. “Looks like she’s got company. Guess I’ll have to wait. Thanks again for the chocolate.” Her throat tightened and she had to pause. “And the poem. It was … beautiful.”

  Background sounds of voices and ringing phones told her Graham was probably not alone. There was a slight pause before he spoke, his voice low. “So are you.”

  She had no response, no experience in dealing with the kind of attention he was giving her. Instead, she moved into slightly more comfortable territory. “How was your day? Find Jeffrey yet?”

  “I went to Vista Gardens and found a connection. Spent hours digging through databases for phone numbers and lost track of the time. I’m not sure my ears will ever recover from the calls, but it was a great day, even if I didn’t find Jeffrey.” He paused. “Look, I know it’s an imposition, but my cruiser’s going in for maintenance and will be assigned to someone in Patrol while I’m doing my bit in CID. Since they haven’t issued me an unmarked yet, I thought, if you weren’t busy, you might swing by and pick me up. I’d love to tell you everything. Maybe over a beer?”

  At the sound of voices, she turned to the window. Doris was getting into the Chevy with her friends. “Sure. Looks like Doris is going out, and I don’t think I’m up for a B&E.”

  *****

  Colleen pulled into a visitor’s spot in the Sheriff’s Office parking lot and took a deep breath. She focused on the flags snapping in the breeze. On her way to the entrance of the glass-fronted building, uniformed and plainclothes officers strode toward her. Her breath came in short, shallow gasps. She felt lightheaded. Dizzy.

  You can do this. They’re cops getting off duty.

  Nobody knew her here, nobody but Graham. He was the only person she needed to think about. She pulled open the glass doors and stepped into the lobby, trying to ignore the feeling everyone was staring. That they knew she was a failure. While she waited her turn to speak to the receptionist, she admired the Harley on display. A memorial to an officer killed in the line of duty. Her stomach lurched.

  When there was nobody left in line, she forced herself to march to the glass-enclosed reception desk. “Harrigan,” was all she could say. She fought the nausea. Couldn’t breathe. Turned and could hardly keep from running as she rushed to the door and the safety of her car, digging for her keys along the way.

  Leaning against her Honda, she took slow, deep breaths. Heard Harrigan’s voice. Felt his hands press on her shoulders.

  “Didn’t want to wait for me inside?” he asked, turning her around. “Hey, you’re a little pale. You all right?”

  She pulled herself away. “Of course. Why shouldn’t I be?”

  Get mad. Use the adrenaline.

  His eyes bored into her. He opened his mouth as if to speak, then closed it. “Mind if I drive? I know where we’re going.”

  She relinquished her keys and climbed into the passenger seat, staring straight ahead. Her head throbbed and her stomach did backflips. Not now. She couldn’t throw up. That went with the nightmares, not the flashbacks. Or whatever had set off this panic attack. Too many uniforms. She bit her lip, took a deep breath and tried to calm herself.

  “What’s wrong?” Graham said. “You been OD’ing on ice cream again?”

  “No. But—” Damn, her voice cracked. She coughed.

  “I’m taking you home.” Graham said. “We can go out another time.”

  She couldn’t find the strength to protest. She leaned against the window and closed her eyes. The car started. She crawled deep into herself. Heard his voice, felt the car sway.

  When she opened her eyes, they were parked in her driveway and Graham stood beside her, unfastening her seatbelt.

  “I must have dozed off.” She refused to meet his gaze. She swung her legs around and jumped out of the car and if not for Graham’s supporting hand, would have fallen. He didn’t speak, merely helped her to the door and unlocked it. He dropped the keys on the entryway table and led her to the couch.

  “Sit,” he said.

  “What am I? Part of your K-9 team?”

  “You’re almost transparent and you’re shaky. You’re one step away from me taking you to the hospital, that’s what you are.”

  “Because I fall asleep in the car? Maybe I didn’t sleep a lot last night. Maybe I had a long workout this afternoon. I’m fine.” She struggled to stand, but his hand on her shoulder kept her down.

/>   “Not yet. Sit there for a few minutes.” He went to the kitchen and came back with a glass of orange juice and a damp towel. “Drink this.”

  “Thanks. I’m sorry.” She reached for the glass and swallowed half of it before he took it from her trembling hands.

  “Not too much at once. You going to tell me what happened?”

  “Nothing.”

  “I might accept it if you hadn’t done the same thing Wednesday. You’re not epileptic. Diabetic?” He sat on the couch, pulling her against his chest so she leaned into him. His steady heartbeat calmed her. She blew out a long, shaky sigh. His strong fingers brushed the hair from her face, the cool cloth wiped away the sweat. Tears welled in her eyes and her control started to crumble.

  “I’m healthy as a horse. Please. I’ll be okay. I need to be alone.”

  “Like hell you do. Talk to me.”

  She couldn’t. The words stuck, trapped behind the fist in her throat. “McDonalds don’t cry,” she finally whispered.

  “Bull. McDonalds most certainly can cry if they’re with Harrigans.” He turned her so she faced him. His blue eyes, dark with pain, broke the last barrier. The tears flowed. Slowly at first, and then deep, chest-wracking sobs took over.

  The harder she cried, the tighter he held her. She heard murmured words she didn’t understand, and finally, her blubbering diminished to hiccups. She relaxed into his chest, now wet with her tears. “Oh, God, I’ve ruined your tie.”

  “It’ll clean. Hush.” He kept her close, stroking her back, nuzzling her hair. “I’m no expert, but I’d say you’ve held it inside a long time. Too long.”

  She pulled away and managed a weak smile. “I am so embarrassed.”

  “Don’t be.”

  She lowered her head back against his chest, trying to absorb his warmth.

  “Damn it, woman. You’re shivering.” He tilted her chin so she met his eyes. “I’m dead serious here. I think you’re bordering on shock and you’ve sweated through your shirt. I want you in something warmer and in bed. On your own, or with my help, but I’m going to insist. Either that or the Emergency Room.”