LETHAL OBSESSION
By Carey Regenold
CHAPTER ONE
June 25, 2013
The housekeeper's scream of panic jolted Ellen out of her pool. She thought maybe the house was on fire. Heart pounding, her bare feet flew across the flagstone tile, ignoring the sharp pebbles. Juanita's plump body flew out the back door and smacked right into Ellen's wet swimsuit. She braced to keep from falling as she steadied the woman whose eyes looked crazy with terror. "What's wrong?
"Juanita pointed a trembling finger toward the house just as a tall, uniformed man came out.
"Madre Dios, he...he put me in jail. He take me away," she said in her broken English.
Ellen watched the lawman approach as she tried to comfort her housekeeper. He was tall and sure of himself. This man had the bluest eyes she had ever seen and a full head of silver, gray hair.
"Nobody is going to take you or hurt you, Juanita. I won't let them."
The lawman took out his ID badge showing it to Ellen. "Ma'am," he removed his hat. "I'm Sheriff Gene Stone." I couldn't convince your maid I wasn't from immigration. Sorry if I frightened her.
"Ellen noted the documentation with a nod. "Sheriff Stone, I'm Mrs. Ellen Anderson. How can I help you?"
"Is there somewhere we can speak in private?"
"Certainly, come in the house. Would you like some ice tea? It's very warm today or I would offer you coffee."
"Ice tea would be great."
She could still see Juanita was trembling with fear. "Juanita, it's okay. Sheriff Stone has business with me. Why don't you go fix us some of your delicious iced tea." Ellen looked at the sheriff. "She's not used to seeing the uniform." Ellen looked down realizing how undressed she was in a dripping, skimpy bikini. At least the house wasn’t burning. “If you'll excuse me for a few minutes, I'd like to change into some dry clothes."
"Certainly."
"Please make yourself at home." She gestured to a chair in the breakfast nook. "I won't be but a minute." Ellen hurried up the stairs shivering from either cold or fear, she wasn't sure which. The adrenalin rush was still roaring through her system. Grabbing a towel from the bathroom, she quickly slipped out of her wet, clinging bikini while her mind twirled a mile a minute.
"What in God's name did the county sheriff want with her? Her brain raced through and discarded all kinds of possibilities. Did she run a red light today or park in the wrong spot? True she had been in a hurry, excited that Mark was coming home. A week of separation felt like a year and she would be so glad to see him. Does the sheriff himself make a personal visit for traffic violations? That didn't make much sense really. Maybe it was something more serious.
Ellen's heart hammered with dread as she pulled on underwear and bra. This was worse than having to go to the principal’s office in school. She went to the giant walk in closet and stared at her clothes. Oh for Christ sake, she scolded herself. “Just grab something, anything. You are not having an audience with the queen.”
As they sat at the breakfast nook sipping iced tea, Sheriff Stone appeared deep in thought and seemed hesitant to state his business. The more he hesitated, the more nervous Ellen felt. This must be really bad, she thought.
"You have a magnificent place here, Mrs. Anderson. I've lived in the Smoky Mountain area all my life but I've yet to see views this breath-taking."
"Thank you. My husband bought this piece of land because of its location and dreamed about a home here. Our chalet just got completed two years ago and we love it. The wood and stone is local. We wanted our home to blend with nature."
"It definitely does that." Gene gazed up at the cathedral ceilings. An entire wall was glass which gave a panorama view of The Great Smoky Mountains National Park. "Speaking of your husband..."
"Was it my husband you wanted to speak with? Mark will be home from a business trip tonight. He's flying his plane in from New York so I'm not sure what time."
"No ma'am, it's you I need to speak with." Gene was looking down at his hands as Ellen waited for him to continue. His electric blue eyes met hers with the saddest look she had ever seen. Alarm bells were screaming inside her head. What in the world has she done?
"Your husband, Mark Anderson, was uh... lost today when his plane went down in the mountains close to the Asheville Airport."
Ellen stared at him. "Lost? What do you mean? Mark is an excellent pilot. He would never get lost." Gene shook his head. "I'm sorry, poor choice of words. Mark Anderson's plane crashed and caught fire in a remote area, twenty miles from the Asheville Airport. There was a severe electrical storm in the area at the time. According to rescue personnel, Mr. Anderson didn't survive the crash."
Ellen was still as a statue as she continued to stare at the sheriff. Surely she didn't hear him right, but her body felt numb and tingly like it was no longer a part of her.
The sheriff put a gentle hand on her shoulder. "I'm so very sorry for your loss, Mrs. Anderson. I know this is a horrible shock. Is there anybody I can call for you? Tell me how I can help."
Ellen shoved back from the table and stood. Sounds were coming from a distance like she was in a tunnel. Juanita's soft weeping, the refrigerator motor, a mocking bird by the window, everything sounded unearthly. "My... h..husband... is on his way home. He called me this morning. Mark always comes home. He's a good pilot, you see, one of the best. There is no way something like this could happen. It has to be another plane, not Mark's."
Ellen could feel the sheriff close behind her. Maybe if she kept talking she could convince him that Mark was coming home, that he wasn't really... How strange this buzzing in her ears. And those little black spots dancing in front of her eyes were getting bigger. Then all went black.
Ellen opened her eyes. Pulling the cool cloth from her head, she looked around confused. How did she get here, flat on her back on the couch? Why was Juanita leaning over her, praying and crying? And what was this strange uniformed man doing here?
"Mrs. Anderson, you sort of went out on us."
Ellen stared into electric blue eyes as it all came rushing back like an unspeakable nightmare.
"You came here to tell me my husband is dead."
"Yes, Ma'am."
"Well..." she pulled herself to a sitting position. "I guess there's nothing more to say, is there?"
Ellen still felt disembodied like she had stepped into somebody's nightmare. If everybody could disappear and just leave her alone, maybe she could find her way out this unreality.
"I'm not comfortable leaving you like this, Mrs. Anderson. You just lost consciousness and you're still very pale. I wish you'd let me call an ambulance and have you checked out in the emergency room."
"There's nothing they can do for me, Sheriff. Juanita can take care of me here. I don't really want to go anywhere or see anybody, not right now."
"I understand. Is there a relative or friend I can call for you?"
"No, there isn't."
Well, I guess I'll be on my way then." Gene hesitated. "I'm not sure if I can be of help, but I'd like to offer it." Pulling a card from his pocket, he handed it to Ellen. "This is where I can be reached if you need anything or just want to talk. I want you to know I'm available. I am so very sorry for your loss, Mrs. Anderson."
She took the card and reached for his hand. "You've been very kind and right now that helps a lot. Thanks."
Gene walked away from the Anderson chalet feeling bereft and helpless. As he got in his patrol car and reached for the ignition, he shook his head. That was harder than he thought it would be. Normally his deputies made these types of calls but he wanted to handle this notification personally. Gene was at the site and witnessed the jet engulfed in flames. That made it personal. Ellen Anderson’s pale, shocked face haunted h
im. Poor woman, he thought. What a horrible thing to happen to her husband. Gene felt so sorry for her. She didn't cry and he kept waiting for that. He expected hysteria. Instead he got unconsciousness. At least he was standing close enough to catch her before she hit the floor. Gene shook his head again feeling the beginnings of a throbbing migraine. Boy did this put a monkey wrench in his day.
He began driving toward the highway but didn't really feel like going back to the department. Gene's mind was going in circles and some of those circles were making him squirm. Ellen Anderson was widowed and his heart went out to her. Then on the other hand, Ellen Anderson was a damn beautiful woman. Considering the tragedy, he felt a tad guilty for thinking about her in that way, but what the hell. He was only human after all.
Gene almost had a heart attack when he first came out the back door. That tiny bikini she had on left very little to the imagination. Jesus H. Christ! When she looked directly at him he could've drowned in those bottomless, clear, aqua eyes. Alright Stone, get a grip. It was a pathetic attempt to rein in his emotions. The woman just lost her husband. Have you no shame? Obviously Gene's mind and body didn't agree as his body wiggled with discomfort in his seat. Not much room in these pants. Haven't had a boner this rock hard in a coon's age, he thought. Feels pretty good. There hasn't been too many classy ladies in his life recently. So Gene gave himself permission to think about her all he wanted. Thoughts can't hurt anything.
Suddenly he remembered something. The first responders referred to Mark Anderson as a tycoon to the tune of multi-billionaire. Private jet, expensive property, these people were rolling in dough. Gene thought he had seen Mark Anderson's photo in Forbes Magazine. Maybe he did need to go back to his office and do a bit of research. The more he knew the more he could be in a position to make himself available to the bereaved widow. That's what he told himself.
When Gene’s cell phone blasted out with a rip roaring rock ballad, he nearly jumped out of his skin. Damn, they know not to call him on this thing unless it’s pretty dire. “Yeah.”
“Got a chink in the plans, Boss.”
“Like what?”
The phone call just messed up a good sexual high and Gene’s mood was quickly turning sour.
“We couldn’t get the info you wanted because the guy sorta died on us.”
“Shit. I didn’t tell you to kill the son of bitch, just rough him up a little.”
“Yeah well, I guess he had a bad heart or something. So what do you want us to do now?”
“You stupid ass hole, do you really have to ask me that? You know what to do. Fix it so he’ll never be found.”
“Yep, got it.”
Gene broke the connection with his thumb and threw the phone on the seat so hard it bounced onto the floor board. What kind of brain dead imbeciles does he have working for him anyway?
Gene knew he should have handled the job himself. Then he thought if he had, he never would’ve been here to meet Ellen Anderson. Things do have a way of working themselves out, and meeting her was special, very special. A woman like Ellen doesn’t come along every day. Gene settled back in his seat with a smile. He thought of her tan, supple body, high breasts and flat tummy. His smile returned along with a throbbing sexual glow.
CHAPTER TWO
The excruciating pain of reality was beginning to break through the numbness. Ellen couldn’t let it or she wouldn’t survive. She would be dead like Mark. Then she realized with shock that being dead was a comforting thought. If she had gone with her husband on this trip like usual, they would be together now. The only reason Ellen stayed behind was because Mark insisted she rest. She was trying to get pregnant.
"Oh my God," Ellen put her face in her hands but the tragedy was too great even for tears. There would be no baby, not now, not ever. Her period had come two days after Mark left for his trip. Juanita was mumbling Spanish, crying and fussing over her. The woman meant well but it was beginning to get on Ellen's nerves. If she heard one more "Ave Maria" she just might scream.
"Juanita, come here." She held out her arms as the housekeeper sat down, going into Ellen's embrace. For several minutes she held Juanita close letting her sob.
"I know how bad you feel. Believe me, I know, okay?" She paused to wipe her housekeeper's tears. "But I need to be by myself for a little while. I promise I'll be fine. I'm not going to do anything stupid. I'm going to go upstairs and lie down. Just tell me when dinner is ready."
"Yes Senora," she sniffed. "I just worry so for you."
"I know you do and I love you for that, but trust me. I need to deal with this in my own way."
Ellen laboriously made her way up the steps. She couldn't feel her feet touching the floor. Her arms were numb and her whole body was moving in slow motion as if in a dream.
Standing at the window, Ellen stared out at a foreign world which no longer seemed to be turning. Was it only a few hours ago she was giddy with excitement?
The estate was quiet and peaceful. The manicured lawn with its shade trees stretched seemingly forever like an undulating green velvet carpet. Birds were singing undisturbed amid the beauty of their private mountain retreat. A massive black granite fountain in front of the house shot water in the air like millions of diamonds. It was Ellen's favorite as a statue of two small children huddled in glee beneath a granite umbrella. It was also a favorite of the birds as they bathed and frolicked in the cooling waters. Nothing had really changed except Mark would not be coming home ever again.
Her breathing was ragged and her stomach felt sour. She wondered if her spirit was now winging its way to her love. She wondered how long it was going to take before her body followed.
Ellen undressed and donned her silk robe. She peered at the giant walk in closet. All Mark's clothes were there. It was as if the world had forgotten he was no longer in it. Ellen could feel the queasiness snaking its way to her throat. Nausea was bubbling inside her like a toxic tide. Moving quickly to the bathroom, she knelt on the floor clutching the cool porcelain bowl like a long lost friend and retched until nothing was left.
"Mark" she whispered. "I can't do this." She thought the tears would come then, but they didn't. There was just too much loss to cry.
Ellen brushed her teeth and went to sit on the cushioned window bench. She stared out at the distant hills thinking about her husband and how it all began.
Ellen Beacham was an only child, the product of alcoholic, abusive parents. They lived in a clapboard shack on the outskirts of Jackson, Mississippi. Her dad in a drunken rage would beat on her mother until she lost consciousness. Then he would turn on his helpless young daughter.
As a child, Ellen dreamed of a place where she and her mother could go to escape the violence. They could run away and be safe. But back in the nineties, if there had been such a place, Ellen had never heard of it.
Her saving grace was her brilliance and determination to have a better life. As much as she loved her parents, Ellen was powerless to stem the tide of their self destruction. Both were deceased before she graduated from Jackson Business College.
Ellen was twenty-three when she got an offer to work as private secretary to the president of a large bank. It meant relocating to Asheville, North Carolina. There was nothing left in Mississippi but sad memories so Ellen was looking forward to a new life.
Marilyn Ford was a jewel to work for. Ellen loved the Smoky Mountains and her life was finally soaring to new heights. Then Marilyn got pregnant and resigned her position at the bank. Her new boss, Robert Danville seemed nice enough but there was something about him that made Ellen uncomfortable. She thought perhaps she just needed to get used to him.
Ellen knew he was married from the pictures of his wife and children she had seen on his desk. She couldn't figure out what it was that bothered her about him. He was friendly and easy to work with so Ellen tried harder to like this man.
One morning her intercom came to life. "Ellen, could you come in here please?"
Picking up her steno pad, she
slipped in the door and quietly closed it behind her. Ellen waited but he just stared at her. That was a bit unnerving. She wondered what he wanted.
Robert Danville came out from behind his desk and stood in front of her. "I've been thinking about giving you a promotion which of course will come with a nice juicy paycheck. I've been watching you, Ellen and I'm quite impressed with the quality of your work."
"Thank you, Sir."
He stepped closer until she could feel the heat of his body.
"Would you like that, Ellen?" His fingers grazed her chin and began playing with a lock of her hair. Startled Ellen stepped back out of his reach. His touching was inappropriate in her book but she wasn't sure how to handle the situation. If he tried to touch her again, the man might lose a finger.
"I've been bored lately and need to take more leisure time for myself. I'd like to spend that time with you, Ellen. Do you get my drift?"
His mouth turned up in a secretive smile. Oh yeah, she got his drift just fine.
"I have the power to make your future with this bank very profitable. There will be traveling and quite a few fringe benefits I might add. What do you say?"
His sense of self worth was so huge that Ellen knew he never considered the idea that she might turn him down cold.
Her face burned and her body literally shook with indignation. She didn't give a damn whether he was president or not. Moving toward the door, Ellen looked him square in the eye. "Mr. Danville. I'm not interested in that type of promotion or the fringe benefits. I believe I prefer my work load just the way it is."
By this time her back was to the door as his face turned sinister and angry. "Is that so? Well I don't think you need to worry anymore about a workload because yours has just been lifted. I suggest you clean out your desk today. Your severance check will be in the mail. Good day to you, Miss Beacham."
Ellen stared at him in shock. "Let me get this straight. You're firing me because I turned down your sexual harassment offer?"
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