He leaned down, kissed her, and shouted, “Marry me!”
That was more than twenty years ago, when she’d been young, beautiful, and built like Raquel Welch. Now a paralegal and soon-to-be ex-wife, she was still taller than her peers. Gray hairs had begun to silver her auburn brown strands, and she longed to recapture the time in her life when anything had been possible—even miracles. She turned up the volume, listened to the hypnotic spiel for the medical spa that promised rejuvenation, and dialed the twenty-four hour number plastered across the screen.
~*~
The next day, shards of pain shot through Sandra’s head—either from the rough van ride, the scotch and sleeping pill hangover, or a combination of both. Jim had always said she couldn’t hold her liquor. I guess the S.O.B. called that one right. She pressed her sunglasses firmly in place, and glanced around the vehicle.
The driver stared ahead at the road, wearing head-phones that blasted music so loud she wondered how much hearing loss he had. The big man with the crew cut sitting at the end of bench seat had helped her into the van at the Westport train station after she’d arrived from Grand Central with little more than the small overnight case she’d packed for the hotel. What was his name? Bert? Bud?
A young copper-haired girl whom Sandra guessed to be about twelve or thirteen sat between her and what’s-his-name. Dressed in a faux-fur trimmed navy-blue parka, hands clasped in her lap, the girl stared straight ahead, her face an immobile mask. With her attention riveted on the child’s strange affect, Sandra’s headache was all but forgotten. “Who is she?"
“Shhh.” What’s-his-name stroked the girl’s hair. “Her name’s Erin. Sweet thing’s had a terrible time. Her mother was murdered in front of her. Police had a time of it getting her out of the crawl space under the house, half-frozen, mute. She’s practically catatonic.” His hand lingered a bit too long, fingers played a tad too sensuously with tendrils of hair that trailed down the girl’s neck.
He licked his lips, as if anticipating a special treat. Revulsion shuddered through Sandra, setting off a relay race of adrenalin from her heart to her head and mouth. “Take your hands off her.”
Startled, the man jerked his head in Sandra’s direction; his hand not moving from the girl. “What are you talking about?”
“If you don’t take your hands off her right now, I'll call the police.” She pulled her cell phone out of her pocket and flipped it open.
The creep slid away from Erin and pressed against the sliding van door. Sandra put her arm around Erin’s shoulder, pulled her tight against her side, and glared at the man.
He muttered something that sounded like “Bitch!” And pulled the hood of his jacket up, hiding his face.
Forty minutes later, they arrived in the Village of Lake Placid. The Adirondack Mountains rose up around her, seeming to touch the sky. In the distance, a tiny gondola crawled up a cable. Normally, the sight of the picturesque village and its colorful shops would have excited her, filling her with the urge to visit all the places she’d been during that eventful time when she met Jim.
Her mood now, however, was anything but festive, and she wondered what had possessed her to come here. Was it a search for another miracle? A last stab at youth? An attempt at closure? What should one do when a marriage is over?
The van pulled into a parking lot next to a path that led to the front door of an old-fashioned camp cottage with a screened-in porch. Despite the sunglasses, the glare of the morning sun off the snow-covered lake beyond the cottage hurt her eyes. Using one hand as a visor, she focused on the building, and watched a pinch-faced woman dressed in a puffy black coat step off the porch, walk to the van, and open the door.
The creep hopped out and mumbled something indecipherable to the woman.
“I’m Louise Carson, Nurse Manager.” She reached for the girl’s hand, and led her out of the van, handing her over to the waiting man. “Take her in house. We’ll be right there.”
Head down, Erin obediently went along.
“No!” Sandra shouted. “He shouldn’t be alone with her.”
Carson took what felt like a proprietary hold on Sandra’s arm. “Not to worry, Ms. Blake. Bob will take care of her. She’s in good hands.”
Bob. That was the pervert’s name.
“His hands were all over Erin in the van. No matter what I said, he kept touching her.”
The nurse sniffed. “Bob’s an excellent mental health aide. Now, let’s get you into the cottage.”
An arctic gust blasted across the lake and up the hill to the cottage, its temperature close to the iciness in Sandra’s voice. “Listen to me. I’m a CASA volunteer and a Court Appointed Special Advocate for kids. I’ve seen a lot of creeps in my time, and I don’t like the way he---”
Louise cut her off mid-sentence. “We’ll get you a bite to eat and settle you into Cottage A. There’ll be plenty of time this afternoon to talk about your stay with us.” Iron-handed, she half-dragged Sandra along the icy sidewalk. Her breath came out in white puffs in the sub-zero air. “Here we are. Watch yourself. We need to get some salt on these steps.”
Sandra stopped at the door, teeth clenched in frustration. “Your excellent employee is a pedophile.”
“Ms. Blake, please," Louise huffed. “All our staff have impeccable credentials. You have my word on it.”
With a short honk of a horn, an SUV with LAKE PLACID POLICE printed along its side pulled into the parking lot. The driver’s window rolled down, revealing a handsome, middle-aged man with salt-and-pepper hair and matching mustache. He removed his sunglasses and yelled, “Hey! Nurse Carson! You lose someone?”
Louise stiffened. “What did you say?”
“Looks like you lost one of your patients. We found her on Main Street. In pajamas. Barefoot. Incoherent.”
Louise picked her way down the stairs, stepped over to the squad car, and stared through the rear window. After a second, she muttered, “She’s ours.”
First the creep in the van, now this? Sandra thought. What the hell’s going on here?
“Second one this week,” the cop said in a voice sharp with annoyance. “You guys having problems?”
No sooner were the words out of his mouth, when the sound of a man’s scream came from inside Cottage A.
Already at the door, Sandra raced inside with Louise not far behind. Sandra found Bob in a bedroom, on the floor, sobbing and moaning. Blood oozed through the fingers of his hands covering his mouth and his panic-stricken eyes bulged out of his pale face.
Gaze locked on bright red trails on Bob’s hands, Sandra heard Louise in the hallway, talking to someone. “We’ve got a situation here. No, not a patient. That new mental health aide. Yeah. I need an administrator here ASAP. The police chief is outside. I think he’s calling for back up.”
Movement caught Sandra’s eye. The girl, Erin, sat in a corner with her head on her knees, hands inside her jacket, rocking. Years of working as a CASA never prepared Sandra for this. She knelt beside her. “He can’t hurt you anymore, Erin. Why don’t you give me that?”
Louise shrilled from the doorway, “Get away from her! She might have a weapon!”
The girl looked up, her beautiful face smeared with red streaks. She took her empty hands out of her pockets, smiled, and spat a chunk of pink flesh into Sandra’s open palm.
~*~
While the EMTs attended to Bob, a patrolman took Louise to a separate room, leaving a female uniform behind to stand guard. Erin refused to let go of Sandra's arm and remained glued to her side while they sat on a couch in the waiting room.
Sandra thumbed through spa and tourism pamphlets with her free hand, and a wave of melancholy swept over her when she came to a glossy brochure advertising guided tours of Olympic sites.
“Ms. Blake?”
Sandra had to tilt her head back to see who was speaking.
The man from the squad car stood in front of her, a cowboy hat tilted back on his head, wearing a dark blue uniform beneath a she
arling jacket. The heavy coat accentuated a pair of broad shoulders. His V-shaped torso tapered to a fully loaded Sam Browne duty belt, sans shoulder strap. His light blue eyes seemed to pierce her protective aura, an impression heightened by his furrowed brow.
Even as she studied him, she realized, he was examining her. Refusing to remain in a subordinate position, she stood. Erin, making soft grunting sounds, clung to her arm with one hand while patting her shoulder with the other. “It’s okay, honey. I’m here. I’m not going anywhere.”
"Ms. Blake?" he repeated.
At five-feet ten inches, Sandra was taller than some men—but not him. “Yes, that’s me,” she said. “And you are…?”
“Chief Doug Harrington, LPPD. I need a statement about the incident.”
“That’s a delicate way of putting it.”
He nodded at Erin. “Is this the young lady you found with the victim?”
“I’m not sure the term ‘victim’ applies to Bob. He’s lucky she only bit his tongue.”
The Chief lifted an eyebrow and his lips quirked. He took a pen from behind his ear, pulled a small notepad out of his shirt pocket, and stood with pen poised over paper. “Could you describe what you heard and saw—minus the editorials?”
While the Chief scribbled, she described Bob’s behavior in the van, then the scene in the cottage bedroom, careful to delete the editorials.
“What brings you to Lake Placid?”
She raised her hands and gestured to the walls of the small room. “We’re standing in a world-renowned spa. I’m a woman. You do the math.” She knew she was being a smart-ass. She couldn’t help it. Inane questions always annoyed her.
“Were you under the influence of any substances?”
She shook her index finger at him. “I had one scotch and one sleeping pill—over eight hours before I arrived here. I know what I saw,” she paused. “As soon as I got here, I told Louise I didn’t like the way that creep had touched Erin in the van. She refused to listen.”
“Okay. Go on.” He stared straight into her eyes, giving her an even stronger impression of being inspected. She stared right back at him, silently dared him to blink.
“If this nurse was so concerned about her employee, why’d she call her boss before she gave Bob first aid?”
“Louise Carson says you were drunk and combative.”
“Bullshit!”
“She also says Erin’s a person of interest in an ongoing murder investigation. Father stashed her here to protect her. Maybe she’s just pretending to be mentally ill to avoid jail time?”
Sandra fought back the urge to punch him right on his way-too-perfect-for-a-real-man nose. “Are you out of your mind? Look at her.”
Harrington studied Erin for a moment, as did Sandra.
Boney hands. Torn, bitten cuticles. Dirt under her nails. Hadn’t anyone bathed the child after they dragged her out from under the house? By this time Erin was rocking side to side, shifting from one foot to the other. A sweater and jeans bagged on her too thin body. Sandra had to wonder whose clothes she was wearing. Her dead mother's, perhaps? She shuddered at the thought.
“Look at her face.” She tilted Erin’s head in the Chief’s direction, so he could have a better look at her empty eyes and vacant expression. “Some might argue she acted in self-defense against a sexual predator. Others might conclude she’s suffering from post-traumatic stress disorder, secondary to witnessing her mother’s murder. The fact that this Bob person went after a vulnerable, mute girl in full view of a witness is disgusting. And, re-victimizing the victim by suggesting she's feigning her symptoms to avoid prosecution is doubly disgusting, Chief Harrington.”
He gave her a long, assessing look.
Sandra stared right back, locking on those unsettling blue eyes, waiting to see who blinked first. Butterflies ice-skated in her stomach. Warmth rushed up her neck. Her knees started to knock.
Whoa! The last time she’d felt this way had been in 1980—here, at the Olympics.
He sighed before glancing around the tiny room. “Are you a lawyer, Ms. Blake?”
“Paralegal. And a CASA volunteer.”
He nodded. “How long have you’ve been a CASA?”
“About ten years.” Starting two months after the doctor told me I’d never be able to carry a baby to term, she thought. “It’s not a hobby; it’s a calling. I’ve worked with hundreds of kids who have witnessed brutal crimes against family members.” She tipped her head towards Erin. “Just like her.”
“Interesting.”
Afraid her knees might buckle under the weight of his attention, she sank to the sofa. Erin floated down alongside her.
Harrington made a few more notes and snapped his notebook shut. “We’ll be in touch.”
He turned on the heel of his cowboy boot, and strode away in a slightly bowed stance, as if he’d just gotten off a horse, taking the two uniforms with him.
Louise entered the waiting room, reversing Sandra’s good mood. “Time to get you to bed, Erin.”
Putting a Vulcan grip on Sandra's arm, the girl shrank behind her. “Tell you what, Louise. Why don’t you show me where we’re going? Looks like she and I are joined at the hip.”
~*~
Sandra had to admit that the ambiance of her suite in Cottage A, decorated in soothing shades of aqua-blue and greens, was relaxing. An in-room snack bar offered bottled water, juices, organic fruit and cookies and Swiss chocolate. A young woman in a turquoise one-piece ski uniform and matching hat delivered breakfast on a white tray. The smells of piping hot bread, chocolate, and rich, dark coffee provided a perfect wake up call for Sandra’s taste buds.
Sated on croissants and coffee, she shrugged into a thick, white terry-cloth robe and wandered across the hall to check on Erin. Still sleeping. When awake, if Sandra stepped out of her sight for more than a few seconds, Erin would become agitated, rocking and grunting.
After my shower, I’ll try to coax her to eat some breakfast. Maybe she’ll like the pastry. The poor kid didn’t touch her dinner last night.
Louise whispered in Sandra’s ear, startling her out of her reverie. “We’ll have to sedate her to keep her calm, so you can begin your deluxe treatment regimen,” Louise said. “That’s what you’re paying for.”
Sandra closed Erin’s door, and motioned to Louise to step into her suite. “Who’s paying for Erin? What’s she really doing here?”
The nurse picked a piece of lint off her slacks, avoiding eye contact. “That’s none of your concern.”
“How on earth will a seaweed wrap help this child?”
“Don’t be ridiculous.” Bright red spots rose on Louise’s cheeks. “The psychiatrist will be up later this week to conduct an assessment.”
“You’ve got to be kidding!” Sandra’s voice, laden with anger and disbelief, rose to a near shriek. “This kid’s been doubly traumatized, and she needs an emergency psych evaluation. What kind of operation are you running here?”
“We’re a fully licensed mental health and substance abuse treatment center—as well as a MediSpa. Erin will receive psychotropic medications, electro-convulsive therapy—whatever she needs—when her own psychiatrist sees her, someone with whom she has a therapeutic relationship.”
“Shock therapy? That’s barbaric! I can’t believe anyone does that anymore.”
Louise’s beady black eyes glared at Sandra. “It’s an excellent treatment for depression.”
Appalled at the prospect of someone passing electricity through anyone's brain, Sandra snapped, “It’s a great way to get brain damage and memory loss!”
Crossing her arms over her breasts, Louise's lips thinned. “Since you’re not a physician, Ms. Blake, your opinion isn’t relevant. Now, if you don’t mind, I’ll give Erin her medication, so you can get some time for your own much needed therapy.”
Sandra followed the nurse across the hall, and watched her remove a zip lock bag containing a pre-filled syringe from the pocket of her turquoise smock. As
Louise approached the bedside, Erin woke up and began to wail, eyes wild with fear.
“For God’s sake, woman, let me by!” Sandra pushed Louise aside. Erin threw her arms around Sandra’s neck and howled. She loved kids, but hadn’t signed up for a baby-sitting job. It looked as if she’d unwittingly become Erin’s surrogate mother.
She pointed at the syringe. “What is it?”
“Just a little sedative to calm her down,” Louise retorted in a brisk, no-nonsense tone of voice. “Doctor’s orders.”
“Let me see it.” She reached for the medication. “Now, or you’ll have to get past me first.”
Louise shrugged and handed her the medication.
“Vistaril?” Sandra recognized the mild anti-anxiety drug from her post-partum depression days, when she’d been so agitated she thought she’d jump out a window. “Don’t you have this in pill form?”
“This is the route the doctor prescribed." Sandra could have sworn the nurse was smirking.
Holding the quaking girl, Sandra said, “Hang on to me, honey. This will be over in a moment.”
Torn between remaining with the teenager and going to her scheduled appointment, Sandra stayed at Erin’s side until she fell back to sleep.
~* ~
Louise offered to call the van to drive her to her appointment, but thinking a walk in the fresh air would do her good, Sandra declined. A slow-moving maintenance worker was shoveling a footpath through the snow-covered walkway, but didn’t seem to be getting very far. As she stood on the curb, eyeing the pavement with trepidation, a police SUV pulled up alongside.
“Ms. Blake?” Chief Harrington beckoned to her. “May I speak with you for a moment?”
“I’m already late for appointment. I’m supposed to be at Cottage D right now.”
“That’s over a mile from here. Hop in.”
Sandra debated for a tenth of a second, thought about how cold she was, and slid into the warmth of the car. She turned sideways to face Harrington, and noticed a zigzag scar along his strong jaw line.
Killer Kisses Page 3