Sanctuary Lost WITSEC Town Series Book 1

by Lisa Phillips

  John flung the door open.

  The kid was flailing, eyes wide as his unfocused stare darted around the room. Andra was in a wheelchair. She pulled Pat back until he was behind her. Harriet was on the opposite side of the bed, facing away from John. She held her hands out, trying to placate Aaron with senseless words. She touched his shoulder.

  Aaron screeched and almost jumped from the bed.

  Doctor Fenton pushed in behind John. “Harriet, that’s enough. Andra, you too. Everyone back up. I want you all out of this room.”

  The way Fenton said it made John think he saw both women as equally responsible, like he didn’t know who Aaron was reacting to. John had assumed Harriet was the culprit, but could Aaron feel threatened by Andra? Either way, John needed answers. So having a word with doctor Fenton about man-handling his wife was going to have to wait.

  “Harriet.” John waited until she looked at him. “If you’d like to come with me, I have a few questions to ask you.”

  The first of which probably shouldn’t be, “Did you murder Betty Collins?” Still, it was tempting to get straight to the point.

  John wasn’t familiar with the layout of the medical center, so he let Harriet lead him to a break-room with a vending machine and a fridge. A tiny TV was up on the wall in the corner, tuned to a national news program with the volume low and subtitles on. John sat facing it, so Harriet wouldn’t be distracted.

  She settled in the plastic chair across from him. “I can’t imagine what this might be about. I thought Andra Caleri was in custody, and there she was in Aaron’s room like a free woman.”

  No mention of the state of her face, or the fact Andra had been holding Pat back with one arm while the other was wrapped around her waist.

  “How are you, Mrs. Fenton?” Maybe that wasn’t the best lead-in, given there was apparently trouble in medical center paradise, but the formality was ingrained in him. “Are you doing okay since your friend’s death?”

  She sighed and her gaze dropped to the table between them. “It’s been a hard few days.”

  He would give her that, being as her hair was rumpled and her husband seemed to feel she was being distant. But other explanations fit too. Betty Collins had reported her as having a relationship with Terrence.

  Palmer had shown up Saturday night with his shirt all disheveled. And he’d been absent a lot. Were they in a relationship—in this—together? She could easily be the woman Bill and Sam had seen in town, running away from Betty’s dead body. Harriet could also be the cause of Aaron’s reaction, the one who told him not to tell. He couldn’t be sure she’d hit the young man over the head, but Palmer sure could have. Just as he could have drugged Andra and used John’s satellite phone.

  “So what just happened with Aaron?”

  Harriet’s eyes saddened a little too quickly. “He just doesn’t like me.” She wasn’t going to blame the reaction on Andra? “Aaron is…sensitive. It’s something we all have to deal with.”

  John hadn’t found him to be the least bit sensitive. He didn’t believe in placating people and making them feel like a burden, he’d rather give them the tools to handle themselves. And yet, Aaron seemed to be doing that himself.

  Still studying Harriet, he sat forward in the chair and tried to look like he cared. “Why do you think Betty was killed?”

  “I have no idea.”

  “You were friends, would you have known if someone hated her?”

  Her face screwed up. “Like Andra?”

  John shrugged.

  “Maybe she was just in the wrong place at the wrong time.”

  “You really think that?”

  Harriet considered it for a moment and then said, “Betty said someone had called her, told her to meet them where she was…killed. I bet it was Andra.”

  “She doesn’t have a phone.”

  “Still, it must have been her since she was the one who stabbed Betty all those times in her stomach.”

  John digested that. Word got around, but were the details of the murder common knowledge?

  “She probably borrowed someone’s phone.” Harriet sneered. “It isn’t that hard to do.”

  Did he really believe any of that was the truth?

  **

  Andra released the grip on her waist and took a breath before she glanced back at Pat, who had pushed the wheelchair down the hall for her. She should go back to her room now. The alternative was to waltz right in—or as much as you could waltz in a wheelchair—and get the soda, like it was no big deal Harriet was framing her for murder.

  “Outside of her former occupation and your personal feelings toward Ms. Caleri, what makes you think she killed Betty?” John’s voice was even, like the question was about whether or not she thought ironing was worth the work.

  Pat didn’t say anything; he just gripped the handles of the wheelchair. It was plain on his face he knew what was happening. His faith in her was tentative and this was going to destroy it.

  “You said so yourself and everyone knows. She’s a killer. She totally stabbed Betty.”

  Andra looked at the ceiling. Of course, it made total sense someone with a career of poisoning people would break a decade-long drought by falling off the wagon and stabbing a woman just for being annoying.

  Harriet went on, “I heard Betty was going to get her evicted from her cabin. You know it’s not legal she lives up there. It might even violate the terms of her Memorandum of Understanding.”

  Andra could see the look on the woman’s face. Tight smile. Smarmy, just like when she’d declared Andra’s arm wasn’t broken and told her to sit in the waiting area for hours. At least Andra wasn’t the one who had to clean up the mess after the pain got so bad. Her stomach did a backflip just remembering it. The meds were wearing off. Pretty soon the doctor would want to give her more, but she couldn’t weather this if she wasn’t thinking straight.

  “What’s the big deal about where Andra lives? She’s still in town.”

  Harriet sputtered. “It’s the principle of the thing. Living up there like she’s lording it over us. Better than everyone else, too good to live in town. And then showing up at church on Sundays, all holier-than-thou.”

  This was the best the woman could come up with? If anyone had been lording it over anyone else, it was the mayor and his wife for sure. But that wasn’t Andra’s purview. Evidently, in trying to live a quiet life she’d become a source of speculation because she didn’t fit in with the rest of the town. Go figure. She’d never fit in anywhere, even without the assassin thing over her head.

  John spoke next. “Maybe she does need taking down a peg or two.”

  Andra held her breath.

  “I’m sure a murder conviction will take care of that.” He chuckled. “It’ll certainly get her out of town, which seems to be fine with everyone.”

  “You’re not going to defend her?”

  “What’s the point?” Andra heard his hands slap down. “Everyone knows she did it. For all I know, she probably is the murderer.”

  Andra tasted blood, so she relaxed the bite on her lip. He really thought that? Please, please, please, let him just be playing devil’s advocate and not starting to wonder if she was the killer. Or…this killer, at least. She didn’t need that, not from one of the few people who didn’t look at her like she was some kind of abomination who did the unthinkable for money.

  John’s faith in her had been part of what kept her going all this time. His face across from her at her table was what she’d thought about in the middle of getting punched and kicked. He’d brought her through that and he didn’t even know it.

  She knew he had to stay impartial, and she knew he couldn’t tell her even if he didn’t think she was guilty. Still, John was the first man in a position of authority over her who didn’t make her afraid.

  “I knew she killed Betty.” Like Harriet hadn’t been the one to implicate Andra in the first place and she was just now finding out.

  “Guess I can stop looking
for the killer, since she’s down the hall.” John chuckled and the sound sliced through Andra just like the killer’s knife had sliced through Betty.

  “I’m so glad you’ve realized, Sheriff.”

  She could imagine Harriet leaning forward to touch his thigh and give it a gentle squeeze. Andra was going to throw up. She reached down and gripped the wheels. She was ready to go, even though Pat was behind her still holding the handles.

  “I’m so glad you see her for what she really is.”

  We’re not going anywhere.

  The look on his face said anything but, and she’d hung onto that. Now she knew what he really thought.

  They had no future. Instead of hanging on to hope, Andra had to face the fact he’d given up on her. John wasn’t going to fight the battle she couldn’t fight herself. She had to let go of the hope he might be how God resolved things for her, if He planned to at all.

  Andra had to face the fact she was going to prison for life.

  “Ms. Caleri will be out of town on Monday and then all of us will get what we want.”

  Chapter 24

  John stood, not willing to spend another moment in the presence of someone so quick to believe Andra would kill Betty. He strode out, squeezing the back of his neck. This was getting entirely too personal. He just couldn’t bring himself to care.

  Down the hall, Pat wheeled Andra back into her room. John’s steps faltered. Had she heard what he said?

  He still couldn’t believe how convinced the town was as to her guilt. He’d joined in for a moment—albeit sarcastically, though that might not have been obvious. Despite the sick feeling it gave him, John had considered things might be easier with this over and done. It didn’t mean he wanted Andra on the transport, especially not when she would be convicted of murder and sentenced to life in prison. And especially not when the move brought her directly into the path of whoever wanted her out of town.

  But what if sending her away meant he found out who framed her? He could clear her name and discover the truth. Not just who the killer was, but find out who was behind this entire conspiracy.

  “Thanks for helping me, Pat. I appreciate it.” Andra’s voice was tight. John looked into the room as she lay back on the bed, her lips pressed into a white line.

  “I bet my Uncle Nate has nurses helping him.” Andra frowned at him, so Pat said, “He’s the quarterback for the Dolphins, but he sprained his ankle again on Sunday.”

  “I’m sure he has lots of help.”

  “Plus my Grandma went to Miami to help him out, too.”

  John leaned against the doorway. “Of course Nate has help. But he’s home now. He has enough money he can hire whoever he wants to cook and clean and do anything he needs.” By the time he’d finished talking John knew it wasn’t the right thing to say. He sighed. “Pat—”

  His son turned to Andra. “I’m going to see if Doctor Fenton needs me to do anything else.”

  Pat squeezed past John without speaking or looking at him.

  John gripped the back of his neck and looked at the floor.

  “You think maybe Pat would rather he was there, than your brother fork out some of his vast amounts of cash to hire people to help him?” Andra tipped her head to the side. “I’m guessing.”

  John folded his arms and rested his hip on the end of Andra’s bed. “We can’t leave. Pat knows that’s the deal. Not until the end of the month and we make the decision to stay forever, or go for good.”

  Her eyes flickered. Apparently she hadn’t known. “You’re leaving?”

  “Maybe. We haven’t decided. This is a probationary thing.”

  “So it really wouldn’t bother you if I was carted off to prison, then. You’ll just leave anyway and the town will continue on with Palmer as the sheriff, unless your brother brings in someone else.” She paused. “Is there someone else?”

  “I have no idea.”

  “So you just go back to your life and pretend this unfortunate episode never happened?”

  “No, that’s not what this is about.” John blew out a breath. “I haven’t decided yet. There are a lot of factors involved, not the least of which is Pat.”

  The focus of her good eye moved over his face, but she didn’t give a thing away. Why did some women do that? What was so bad about letting him know what she was thinking?

  Finally she said, “I don’t blame you, you know.” But it wasn’t absolution, not when she looked sad.

  “You think I’m giving up?”

  “I heard you tell Harriet you’ve decided I really did kill Betty.” She picked at a loose thread on the blanket. “I’m not worried about going to prison, John. I’ve been through worse and I’m no innocent.”

  He knew that, logically. Only, was he really supposed to let her go? He could plan for every eventuality and stake all his bets on this conspiracy idea. But in the end, sending Andra off as the arrested suspect might only end in a guilty sentence. It was a long-shot, so there wasn’t much point in getting her hopes up. She was resigned to her fate, whether he tried to help her or not. Whoever was behind the murder and intent on framing Andra needed to believe she was left with no one to help her, which meant they also had to believe John had turned his back on her.

  “I just wish you could have believed in me. Apparently that was a lie, too.”

  John’s chest tightened. She was going to make this easy for him. But if that was the case, why did it hurt so bad? He sucked in a breath. “I guess it was.”

  “You talk a good game, John Mason. But at the end of the day you’re no different than Drew, hiding your agenda behind your skewed idea of duty.” She brushed at the blanket on her lap, never looking at him. “Good thing I’m being arrested for murder, given the track record of my last marriage. It’s been a while, but how do I know history won’t repeat itself and I’ll be forced to do the worst to someone else I care about?”

  John didn’t think she would get into a relationship and end up killing the person. He would be more inclined to believe Andra intended to avoid relationships altogether, and thereby eliminate the risk of betrayal. If he stayed in Sanctuary with Pat and all this worked out so Andra could come home, would he have to see her week-in and week-out and pretend he didn’t want her in his life? All the while she would be battling fears he figured were unfounded anyway.

  John lifted his chin. “Looks like it’s all going to work out.” At least he hoped so, maybe enough he’d have to say a prayer about the whole thing just to be sure. Too much could go wrong for him to relax.

  “One more thing.” He reached to his belt for his handcuffs. “You’re a murder suspect, so no more leaving this room.” He cuffed her left wrist, and then cuffed the other end to the bed rail so she had some movement. “I’ll be in the hall. If I need to leave, someone else will be guarding the room.”

  “Because I’m such a danger to everyone?” She rolled her eyes. “I can’t even walk.”

  “It’s procedure.”

  “Of course it is. Now get out.” She shifted on the bed to face away from him, but John caught the flash of pain on her face that came with moving.

  **

  Andra sniffed away tears. They never did any good anyway. What was it with men? They always said one thing and then did completely the opposite. She’d honestly believed John might be different. That maybe he would be the one person who never lost faith in her, even when she was forced to lay down her faith in herself.

  Everyone was guilty of something and still innocent in many ways, at the same time.

  Andra had trusted for a long time now that God had brought her here for a reason. If He wanted to take her away from Sanctuary, it wouldn’t be because John decided she was guilty. Only because God had allowed it.

  Now John had written her off. Pat wasn’t hers to take care of. Helena didn’t need her. There was only Nadia Marie and Hal, both of whom had other people to support them. Andra had a feeling Nadia Marie might find comfort in the arms of a certain rancher, given h
ow he’d been looking at her in the hospital room. Although if he did like her, Bolton needed to wake up and do something about it or Nadia was going to move on.

  A tear slipped from her eye. Andra swiped away the moisture even though it hurt to touch her cheek.

  If she was ever going to fight for a long life, there had to be a pretty compelling reason to want to stay.

  And right now, she just couldn’t see one.

  **

  John sat in the hall until the sun went down and Pat’s occupying the chair beside him turned into his son’s weight slumped against his side. Aaron still hadn’t told the doctor anything to help identify the person who killed Betty, and neither Matthias nor Bolton had been able to get anything useful out of him.

  Boots echoed in the dim hallway and Bolton strode toward them with to-go boxes from the diner stacked in his hands.

  “You brought us dinner,” John said quietly when Bolton stopped in front of him. “How kind.”

  “Yeah, right.” The rancher grinned. “These are for me. Shift change.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “Don’t got nothin’ better to do with my evening than sit on a prisoner for you.”

  John cracked a smile. “Sure you don’t. But I appreciate it anyway.”

  Pat roused enough John didn’t have to carry him, and they took the Jeep back to the sheriff’s office. It was Friday night, which meant there were two days before Andra would be flown out of town. Two days in which to figure out the real perpetrator and make it so she didn’t have to leave at all. But that would mean the murderer not only confessed, but also told him the identity of the co-conspirator on the outside of Sanctuary who wanted Andra within their grasp.

  Pat walked up the stairs to the apartment ahead of John. He glanced back. “What’s for dinner?”

  John shrugged. “Let’s see what’s in the cupboard.”

  He found a box of macaroni and cheese and tossed some cut-up hot dogs in with it as it cooked, while Pat settled on the couch with the TV on. All normal things, but John still couldn’t get rid of the unsettled feeling in his stomach. He didn’t want to be responsible for an innocent person being sent to jail, or for the real killer going free. But it was more than that. The reality was it had everything to do with Andra—who thought he had given up on her.