by Lori Flynn
His smile widened. “Help yourself. It’s on my desk.” He shoved her key ring deep in his pocket. “You’re smart not to use a landline or your cell phone if someone could be listening in. Semper Fi.” He gave a small salute and exited through the rear door.
With the doctor’s phone to her ear, Gretchen closed the door and braced against it. Her heart pounded. She prayed her fragile ribcage would hold.
“Dr. Hunter, is that you? Is everything all right?” Olivia said. “I’m on my way there right now.”
“No, sweetheart, it’s Gretchen. Sorry to confuse you. I borrowed Hunter’s phone. Something’s happened, and I need you to listen carefully. Take back roads where you can. When you get here, drive around to the warehouse. I’ll meet you there and fill you in. Do you know when that’ll be?”
“About twenty minutes; you’re scaring me. What’s going on?”
“I can’t explain. Drive carefully.”
Gretchen paced the open double doors of the warehouse. Twenty minutes felt like twenty years. When Olivia arrived, she helped her maneuver the Ferrari safely inside the sizeable structure, then closed and locked the doors behind it.
Olivia leaped from the car, grey eyes wide. “This is about me, isn’t it?”
“Two detectives were here this morning looking for you. They asked about your whereabouts on the night of the hurricane, specifically after the Gala. They’re coming back.”
The color drained from Olivia’s face. She collapsed against her car. “Oh God, I don’t know what I can tell them. I have no memory of that night.”
“They asked about Delila Jennings.” Gretchen paused to judge her reaction.
“Who’s that?”
Gretchen grabbed Olivia’s hands. “You have to trust me. Can you do that?”
“Of course I trust you.” She sobbed. “But trust me when I say I can’t give you the answers you’re looking for. I don’t have them. I’ve never had them.” Tears streamed her face. “You say to trust you, but what can you do? It’s hopeless. What can anyone do?”
Turning Olivia’s hand, Gretchen placed a folded paper in her palm. She then reached into the front seat of the Ferrari and handed the fearful girl her purse, but not before removing her cell phone.
“My car’s parked right outside,” Gretchen said. “Drive it to the address on the paper. The directions are already programmed into the car’s GPS. Ben’s waiting for you there.”
“Ben knows I’m in trouble? How? Why’d you take my phone?”
“The police can find you faster with it. There are people who love you that want to help. But you have to go now. The keys are in the car,” she said as they embraced.
Gretchen lingered in the warehouse. She heard her car pull away and prayed her plan would succeed. Ben’s advice not to overwhelm Olivia with information seemed prudent. She might drive away and disappear if she knew more. Olivia looked scared enough to consider it.
Gretchen headed back to the main building well after one o’clock. She felt every one of her many birthdays. There was still more to do.
“Your secretary’s been looking for you,” a young employee holding a sleeping puppy said, as Gretchen walked by the main desk. “I think trouble’s waiting in your office.”
“Thank you. I’m on my way. Who do we have here?” Gretchen asked, reaching for the tiny puppy.
“She’s a runt. The mother abandoned her. She got here just in time. We’re taking turns holding her, keeping her warm. I named her Miracle.”
“Can I take a turn? I could use a little puppy love right now. I’ll bring her back after a while.” Gretchen cradled the black short-haired mix asleep in her arms and felt its even warm breath on her neck.
At the last turn before her office, she slowed. The detectives were probably pacing by now, understandably so. She’d deceived them, intentionally kept them waiting, and was arriving alone.
“They don’t look happy,” her secretary whispered.
“I’m aware. Have you offered our guests coffee?”
“Yes, they weren’t interested.”
Taking a deep breath, Gretchen pushed open the door. She’d bought Olivia time. She’d bear the consequences. “Good afternoon, gentlemen,” she said. “I’m sorry to have kept you waiting. I had a small puppy emergency.”
With one glance toward the napping puppy in Gretchen’s arms, Michael Spazioso moved to her side and stroked its furry head. He, massive and oppressive, turned to marshmallow crème. Under his breath, he hummed a soothing lullaby. The somber atmosphere returned when his partner cleared his throat.
“Are you boys sure you don’t want coffee?” Gretchen asked. “There’s still a good selection of donuts out there.”
“I’d love a bear claw,” Spazioso said.
Baker scowled. “No donuts, thank you.”
“What? We missed lunch.”
Detective Baker struck like a nervous cat in a dog pound. “It’s two o’clock, Ms. VonBuron, and still no Olivia Harding. I feel you’re yanking my chain. I’d hate to take you in on an obstruction charge.”
“You should be careful tossing around threats,” Gretchen interrupted. “I haven’t stopped you from finding her. How many points do you think you’ll score when you cuff and haul in an elderly woman for not doing your job for you?”
“Why don’t you let me worry about my points and stop playing games,” Baker said.
“You’re right, of course. I should get on with it. Here.” Gretchen handed him a business card. “It’s from the lawyer representing Olivia Harding. I’m told you can stop by for a chat between four and six. The address is simple to find.”
Baker shot to his feet. “Is this a joke? You jerked us around all day to say she lawyered-up?” He shook his head and motioned to his partner. It was time to go. Spazioso gave the puppy’s ears one last rub.
“You’d better hope, Ms. VonBuron, that I can’t prove any form of collusion between yourself and that attorney. I won’t tolerate being played.”
“There you go again, throwing around those threats, Detective Baker. Maybe you could do me a favor?” Gretchen asked as the men hurried from her office. “Inform your captain his daughter’s puppy’s ready for pick-up. I believe he’ll be happy with my choice. He usually is.”
Gretchen kept an eye on the dark sedan skidding from the gravel parking lot and then sank into a chair. The puppy, whose life had started in turmoil, shifted her weight in the old woman’s arms and continued her peaceful slumber. Gretchen closed her eyes and prayed for Olivia, who could use a miracle of her own.
Chapter Forty-Six
Olivia
Olivia’s trembling hands gripped the wheel with such force they left marks in the double-stitched leather. She cried so hard through the agonizing journey that it blurred her vision and blended the lanes on the road. As the car’s GPS alerted of the final turn, her breath hitched.
She pulled through a stretching driveway, secluded by pine trees and foliage that led to a modest house. She swallowed hard seeing Ben pacing beside his car. Their eyes locked through the windshield. The darkness in his alarmed her. Shame, more than gravity, kept her in her seat, as tears again streamed her face.
Ben wrenched open her door. In one quick motion, he pulled her from the car. He embraced her, buried his face in her hair, and released a long sigh. She’d always been able to read him, until now.
“I was dying to call,” Olivia said into his chest. “Gretchen took my phone. She said the police want to know about the night of the gala. Why?” She choked back a cry.
“They’re from homicide. Friends in the department tell me they traced you through a fingerprint. You’re in the system because you were bonded, remember?”
A wave of shock slapped her. “Homicide—you mean murder? They think I killed someone? Ben, you don’t think I did, do you?” The thought siphoned the blood from her face and widened her grey eyes with fear.
“No, but you’ve lied to me, more than once. You said your injuries were from a fall down the s
tairs that night.”
“I’m sorry. It was easier than the truth.”
“That’s normally why people lie.”
She took his face in her hands and held it gently. “I didn’t want to lose you; I thought the truth would scare you away.”
His scowl darkened. “I don’t scare easy. Try me.”
Dropping her eyes, she reluctantly revealed what he’d asked. “I have no memory of anything that happened after I got in my car after the gala until I woke up at home the next morning, battered and bruised.”
“Were your injuries worse than you said?”
Closing her eyes, she nodded.
He pulled her closer. “I’m afraid to ask. Has this happened before?”
With her freedom, life, and, in all probability, her sanity on the line, she debated protecting her secret. The pleading look on Ben’s face tipped her over the edge.
She paused, took a breath. When she tried to speak, her voice wavered. “For as long as I can remember…” Olivia’s confession was interrupted by an imposing white Mercedes speeding into the driveway and screeching to a stop behind the car she’d parked there.
A middle-aged woman in a tightfitting designer suit made a beeline toward Olivia. She barked orders with her approach. “Mr. Thornton, I would think you’d know better than to have my client say anything you may be forced to repeat. Your conversation’s over.”
“Olivia, this is Abigail Matthews. She’ll be defending you. I picked her myself. She’s the best.”
“You’re my lawyer, Ben!”
“Abigail’s a criminal defense attorney.” The words nearly choked him. “It’s important you tell her everything. Don’t leave out what you told me about your memory lapse.” He linked eyes with Abigail.
“Say goodbye you two. We need to get going.” Abigail ordered, and then opened the passenger door of her car before returning to the driver’s seat.
“I’m leaving with you?” Olivia asked. “Where are we going? Will I be gone long? But my dogs…they’ll think I abandoned them.” She clung tightly to Ben.
“I’ll make sure that doesn’t happen,” Ben assured her. “Concentrate on doing everything you can to help yourself. Now, go. Abigail isn’t known for her patience.” He kissed her and then wiped her tears.
“Forgive me, Ben. I love you.”
Olivia dropped into the passenger seat. She gasped, forced back by Abigail’s arm as she reached over and slammed her door, all while accelerating down the driveway in reverse. Overcome with fear, Olivia stared at Ben, capturing his image until the trees and her tears blocked her view.
Chapter Forty-Seven
Abigail
“Hold on, honey,” Abigail said, navigating her Mercedes. “It’s vital I separate you from lover-boy and get you the hell out of Dodge—pronto. Time’s not your BFF.” She stepped on the gas and weaved through traffic, the gut-wrenching sobs of her most recent client her only soundtrack.
Abigail exhaled. Such a beautiful girl, I weighed more as a toddler than she does now. She could do shampoo commercials, unlike my fifty-year-old-chia-pet look. I’m told she’s an heiress. I’m doubling my fee.
“I know you’ve been through a lot today, but we’re in a time crunch here,” Abigail kept her voice strong yet soothing. “Want to end this? Pull it together.”
“What do you need?” Olivia asked, her fragile voice shaking.
“Start talking. What do you remember about that night the cops have a hard-on for? Don’t leave anything out. Even if you think it doesn’t matter.”
Abigail remained expressionless as the girl in her passenger seat told of remembering nothing after resting her head on the steering wheel, suffering from a migraine. She engaged her digital voice recorder, kept in the console, to document the condition Olivia woke up in the next morning. Abigail’s eyes left the road when her client disclosed she’d discovered a blue contact lens and a bloody purse.
“This episode of time loss—was it your first?”
Olivia covered her face with her hands and shook her head no. “As a child, I thought it happened to everyone.”
Abigail acted lightning fast. Crossing three lanes of traffic, she initiated a U-turn without the benefit of a signal. As she screeched into her cell phone, she wreaked considerable havoc around her.
“I appreciate how busy he is, but he’ll want to take MY call.”
Olivia closed her eyes, held on, and waited for the wild ride to end. “Where are you taking me?”
“Change of plans, sugar. You’re gonna have to trust me. Think you can do that?”
“I don’t even know you, and you’re not the first person to ask me that today.”
“I’m getting you admitted to Palm Haven Mental Health Facility for evaluation.” Abigail quickly braced her arm over Olivia’s shoulder and pressed her back in her seat. “Calm down. It’s a scary thought, but I know this place. Extremely exclusive, only starlets and an heiress like you can afford it. It’s where you should be right now.”
Olivia raised her hands. “Oh my God, I think I’m gonna be sick.”
“Not in my car, you’re not. Breathe in through your nose, out through your mouth.”
“If I refuse, can the police arrest me?”
“They can hold you for seventy-two hours without charging you. I’ll meet with the detectives on your case after I get you settled and see what they’re chewing on.”
“Do I have a choice?”
“Sure, you do. You can make me a list of what I can pack for you. You may as well be comfortable in your clothes.”
Olivia swallowed hard as Abigail handed her a pad and pen from her bag. “How long a stay should I pack for?”
Abigail focused on the road. “Start writing; I’ll tell you when to stop.”
Olivia began to write, then stopped. “I need to call my grandmother. She’ll worry.”
“You can’t. I’ll do it, but anything I say may worry her more.”
*
Abigail walked from the office of Dr. Sidney Coffield, pushed her hair from her face, and headed down the extravagantly decorated hall to the room assigned to her client. The fact Palm Haven offered more amenities than most five-star hotels impressed her as much as it pissed her off. But Dr. Coffield was the real deal, and their conversation had made her confident with her decision.
She knocked briskly and was greeted by a woman professionally attired in white. Tall as she was thin, with pixie-length auburn hair, her wide smile seemed genuine as she held out her hand.
“You must be Ms. Matthews. Dr. Coffield told me to expect you. My name’s Connie. I’m Olivia’s nurse. If there’s anything to make her stay a more pleasant one, please let me know.”
Abigail grinned back at the smiling woman. The spacious room easily doubled the square footage of the studio apartment she’d called home while struggling her way through law school. A sofa and two chairs fit comfortably, along with a well-stocked bookcase and bedroom set. Missing was a television, phone, and radio, given outside influences were guarded.
Abigail eyed the bathroom’s polished granite and silver fixtures glistening in the sunlight. I think I’ll use the exorbitant fee I plan to charge for this case and check in for a few weeks. Olivia’s slight form slouched before the picture window brought her back to reality.
“Connie, I need time alone with my client,” Abigail said.
“Of course, Ms. Matthews,” Connie said, her cheerful expression unchanged. “Just push the red button when you’d like me to return.”
“I’ll do that.” Abigail closed the door behind her. Hold your breath while you wait.
As soon as her nurse left the room, Olivia sprang to life. She turned from the window and crossed to her lawyer. Her tear-stained face lacked color, her eyes wide with worry. When she noticed Abigail had brought her suitcase, her shoulders dropped.
“What is it, Olivia? I thought you’d be happy to have your things.”
“I’m sorry. Thanks. I was hoping Ben would br
ing them.”
“Listen up, sweetie. There’s a list of rules here longer than the constitution. You’re looking at your only visitor during this evaluation. Now, dry up. There’s work to do. And I’d rather not have to go back to your house for more clothes. One of your dogs took a bite out of my Versace scarf.”
“That would be Webster. He does that when he’s stressed. Honestly, he does it all the time. I just believe he’s stressed.”
“We all are. I’ve been busy on your behalf today. Dr. Coffield met with me and said he’ll see you later. The three of us will work together. You need to trust him, Olivia. He’ll help you. It’s the quickest way out of here.”
Olivia nodded. “What could the police possibly have on me?”
Dr. Coffield gave Abigail guidelines: record her conversations, take a gentle approach, and don’t mention Delila’s employment application. She settled beside Olivia on the sofa.
“A man named Howard Welker was found dead in a room at the Biltmore Hotel. The police believe he was murdered the night of the gala.”
“What’s that got to do with me? I don’t know anyone named Howard Welker and most definitely have never been to the Biltmore.”
Abigail took her hand. “The detectives I spoke with say your fingerprint was confirmed on a cell phone, found near the body. Does the name Delila Jennings ring any bells?”
Olivia’s muscles instantly tensed. “Gretchen mentioned it this morning. Should it?”
“Not sure. Bring to mind the injuries you discovered the morning after the Gala. All of them, no matter how small.”
Standing, Olivia straightened her shoulders and cleared her throat. She told of each cut, bruise, and abrasion in detail as Abigail recorded her every word, prudent not to react. Olivia dropped into her seat before explaining where she’d hidden the blood-soaked clutch purse.
“Let’s discuss Ben. He knows your family history better than most. I could use his help. Of course, that would make him privy to sensitive information. Can you handle that?”
“Yes, if it’ll help.”
“My office will send the necessary release papers by for you to sign.”