by Mary Burton
‘Harold did love me.’
‘Jordan, you told me he held a gun to your head and played Russian roulette.’
‘I also told you the gun was empty. If he’d wanted to kill me he would have, but he didn’t. He said he was just kidding.’
Lindsay nearly cried out her frustration. ‘Jordan, you have to understand that a man shouldn’t treat a woman that way.’
‘Don’t tell me any more of your lies. I don’t want to hear them. Harold and I would have been fine if you’d just stayed out of our lives.’
‘Jordan, you’re the one who came to me.’
‘You killed my husband.’
‘I did not!’
‘I’ll never forgive you for what you did to me.’ The line went dead.
Lindsay shoved out a breath and closed the phone. Frustration ate at her. Jordan had decided Lindsay was the cause of her problems.
Lindsay tapped her pinky ring – her mother’s high school ring – against the steering wheel. She clicked on the radio, hit ‘scan,’ and hoped for some kind of news about Harold. Nothing. Each station played a collection of songs and advertisements, but no news.
Aware that her breathing had grown shallow, she drew in deep breaths. Slowly the muscles in her chest eased.
What had Harold been doing behind the shelter? Sanctuary was the kind of place he despised and he had no reason to be there – unless Jordan really had lured him to the shelter and killed him as some kind of message to Lindsay.
‘Jordan, please tell me you didn’t do anything stupid,’ Lindsay whispered to herself.
The deluge of rain slowed. Streets glistened with rain. Steam rose from the hot pavement. Puddles collected on the shoulders of the road.
Lindsay flipped open her cell phone and redialed Jordan Turner’s number. The phone rang once and then went straight to voice mail.
‘This is Jordan. Leave me a message and I’ll get back to you.’
‘Jordan, it’s Lindsay O’Neil. I need to talk to you again. You’ve got my number.’
Lindsay clipped the phone back into its holster on her waistband. Ten minutes later she parked in front of Sanctuary. The downpour had just stopped but it had chased away the forensics team and the curiosity seekers. A squad car with a lone officer in the front seat remained parked in the driveway and two television news trucks lurked across the street. The reporters huddled inside the front cabs.
A streak of lightning shot across the sky. Lindsay flinched. She counted to five. Thunder boomed. Another storm was close.
Grabbing her purse, she hurried across the muddy front lawn and climbed Sanctuary’s front steps. She darted in the front door.
The morning calm had been replaced by a buzz of video games and children’s chatter. Jamal and Damien Greenland had arrived home from summer school. Damn. They shouldn’t be here. Ruby should have picked them up at school.
‘Ruby!’ Lindsay shouted. She pushed open the pocket door that portioned off Ruby’s small office.
Ruby sat behind her desk, a phone cradled under her chin. When her gaze met Lindsay’s she hung up. ‘How was the hospital?’
Lindsay brushed the rain from her face. ‘Time will tell. Planted a few seeds. Why are the Greenland boys still here?’
‘The school wouldn’t release them to me and I couldn’t get hold of their mother. I had no choice but to let them ride the bus home. The bus just dropped them off. I decided to plant them in front of a video game until you got back.’
Lindsay sighed. ‘Now that the rain has let up, the cops are going to return soon to salvage what they can from that backyard. I’ll run the boys over to Riverside now. I don’t want the kids around when they return.’
‘Are you sure?’
‘Yeah, I’ll be back in an hour.’
Lindsay headed into the front family room, where the boys were playing the video game on the television. Ruby had closed the shades to block all views of the police car and news vans parked out front. ‘Hey, guys, how’s the game going?’
Damien glanced up from the screen. ‘This game is kinda lame, Lindsay. No guns, no bombs, no fun.’
The video game system had been anonymously donated to the shelter two months ago. She was grateful for the donation but had immediately sifted through the stack of games that came with it and tossed the violent ones. The kids who lived there saw enough violence in real life. ‘That hasn’t stopped you fellows from playing it nonstop.’
Damien had a concerned look on his face. Usually during the day she was too busy to chat. ‘Is Mom okay? I saw the cop outside.’
She could have sugarcoated the whole issue, but she’d hated it when adults had condescended to her after her mother’s death. It’s going to be fine, dear. Don’t you worry. ‘Your mom is fine but we’re going to have to move you, your brother, and your mom to another shelter today.’
‘Because of him.’ Damien’s voice wavered even as he jutted out his chin. His brother set down his video controller and looked at her.
Him was their father – Marcus Greenland. He’d been a star linebacker in college. During his junior year, he’d gotten involved in drugs and trouble with the local police. He’d been suspended from the team. Then he’d hooked up with another college but hadn’t lasted the season. From then on, he had been on a downward spiral. Frustrated by his own failures, Marcus took out his anger on his wife and children.
Lindsay laid her hand on Damien’s shoulder. ‘No, your father has nothing to do with this.’
Suspicion narrowed Damien’s eyes. ‘Are you being straight with me?’
‘I promise, Damien. I can’t give you details but I swear that this has nothing to do with you, your mom, or your dad.’
Finally, the anxiety eased from the boy’s shoulders. ‘Thanks, Lindsay.’
‘No problem, kiddo.’
‘Can I save the game to the memory card?’ Damien said.
‘I thought it was lame,’ she teased.
‘Not too lame,’ he added.
Unless this murder was resolved quickly, the shelter would close, and she had no idea if and when it would open again. ‘You can take it and the game with you.’
He grinned. ‘For real?’
‘Absolutely.’
‘Thanks!’ Jamal exclaimed.
As the boys finished up their game, she grabbed a plastic grocery bag from under the kitchen sink. Jamal pocketed the disc and memory card as Damien unplugged the game and tucked it in the bag. The three headed outside.
‘We can really keep this?’ Jamal said.
‘Until you and your brother get settled in a real home with your mom. When you guys are feeling comfortable in your new place, I’d like it back for the next kid.’
Jamal frowned. ‘Damien and I aren’t the last kids?’
Sadly, there would always be a next kid in her line of business. It was the main reason why she was there. But Jamal didn’t need statistics or grim predictions of the future. He needed hope that his life would one day be happy and normal. ‘I sure hope you are.’
Lindsay ushered the boys outside to her car. They buckled in and soon were headed across town. Fifteen minutes later, they rolled into the Riverside parking lot. The shelter was also in a residential neighborhood and looked much like the other trilevel houses around it. Toys now damp from the rain littered the front yard. The front door was open. Inside, lights glowed.
Aisha Greenland came outside, her shoulder-length braids brushing her wide shoulders. She grinned when she saw Lindsay and the boys. The boys scrambled out of the backseat and ran up to their mother. She hugged them close.
Lindsay followed with the video game system in hand. ‘How’d the interview go?’
Aisha grinned. Hazel eyes flashed with genuine happiness. ‘I got the job.’
Lindsay knew Aisha had been terrified of the interview. It had been eight years since she’d worked out of the home. ‘That’s great.’
Jamal cupped his mother’s face in his hands. ‘You got a job?’
Aisha kissed her son. ‘I sure did, baby. I sure did. I’m gonna be working as a cashier at the supermarket.’ She lifted her gaze to Lindsay. ‘Thank you.’
‘Happy to help.’ Moments like this made all the bad stuff fade.
‘I have just a little something for you,’ Aisha said.
‘You don’t need to give me anything.’
Aisha shook her head and from her pocket pulled out a small wrapped box. ‘I heard Ruby saying it was your birthday on Wednesday.’
Emotion tightened Lindsay’s chest as she slowly opened the box. Inside was a plastic butterfly. Clearly it wasn’t expensive, but that didn’t matter. ‘You know butterflies mean rebirth.’
Aisha shook her head. ‘I just liked the pretty colors.’
Lindsay hugged her. ‘So do I. Thank you.’ Unshed tears burned the back of her throat. ‘Good luck. You guys take care. I’ve got to get back to Sanctuary.’
Inside her car, Lindsay turned on the radio, found a good song, and cranked it. She felt good and wanted to savor this small victory. To celebrate, she went to a drive-thru to treat herself to a milk shake, burger, and fries. The delicious smells made her stomach rumble for she couldn’t remember the last time she’d eaten.
Twenty minutes later, when she parked in front of Sanctuary, she’d eaten the fries and drank half the milk shake. A little food on her stomach had settled her nerves and she felt steadier.
The cop car was still parked out front, as well as the forensics van. Only one news van remained. And that was a good thing as far as she was concerned. She prayed the press would lose interest and this whole thing would just go away.
She was halfway up the shelter’s front steps when she heard a woman shout, ‘Lindsay O’Neil!’
Turning, she saw a tall woman with dark hair pulled back into a low, tight ponytail. She was wearing a sleek sapphire silk blouse that accentuated flawless porcelain skin expertly made up and black pants that showed off long legs and a narrow waist. Kendall Shaw, former cover model and now a reporter for Channel 10, was perfectly dressed as always.
One look reminded Lindsay that she’d barely had time to run a brush through her hair this morning. ‘Hey, Kendall.’
Kendall grinned and held out her hand. ‘It’s good to see you again. I guess it’s been a couple of months.’
Lindsay shifted her fast-food bag and drink to one hand so she could shake Kendall’s with the other. ‘Since you interviewed me a couple of months ago for that freelance article for Inside Richmond.’
Kendall’s grin broadened. Her grip was strong and firm. ‘That article was well received. The paper said that their sell-through for that month was eighty percent. You were a hit.’
‘It wasn’t me. The other gals you profiled were pretty amazing.’
Kendall let her gaze travel over the white vinyl siding and the trimmed boxwoods. ‘So this is Sanctuary. I always wondered what Sanctuary actually looked like. Those couple of times we met at the coffee shop, you never said where it actually was.’
‘That’s the idea. We need to keep our location secret. We still do.’
She nodded. ‘Oh, don’t worry about that. I won’t talk location. None of the news stations are.’ She slid manicured hands into her pocket and pulled out a slim notebook. ‘But I was hoping you could tell me more about what went on here this morning. The cops’ public relations guy said Harold Turner was killed here but won’t say much else. Any thoughts why?’
That was the million-dollar question. ‘I don’t know anything else. I’m just as much in the dark as you are.’
Kendall didn’t look convinced. ‘Oh, come on, you must have an idea.’ She’d dropped her voice as if they were somehow co-conspirators. ‘Detective Kier was in your office for over a half hour. And he was very tight-lipped when I tried to talk to him. He must have told you something.’
Zack hated the press. He never spoke to them unless he absolutely had to. ‘I really don’t know anything, Kendall.’
‘I thought he was your husband?’
Lindsay didn’t ask Kendall how she’d found out about her marriage. No doubt she’d done extra digging while working on the article. ‘I can’t add anything.’ She inched past Kendall up the stairs toward the door.
Kendall followed. ‘Harold’s death didn’t have anything to do with the Pam Rogers case?’
Tension snaked up Lindsay’s back as she reached for the doorknob. She’d never considered the two could be linked. But Kendall thought more like a cop.
‘Kendall, I’d help you out if I could.’ Another lie. ‘But I don’t know anything.’
Kendall’s smile was smooth as she laid her hand on the front rail. ‘Oh, come on, you must know something that you can share with me. I mean, I figure you owe me.’
Lindsay dropped her hand from the doorknob and faced the reporter. Whatever goodwill she’d felt toward Kendall had vanished. ‘You want to run that one by me again?’
Kendall didn’t look intimidated. ‘You were quite the “it” girl there for a few weeks after the article came out. I’d heard that donations to the shelter had soared.’
Donations had risen for a while but that didn’t mean Lindsay liked being pushed. ‘Right now I can’t say a word.’
Kendall’s eyes hardened but she maintained her trademark smile. ‘But when you can you’ll give me a call.’
‘Don’t count on it.’ Lindsay escaped inside the shelter but the well-being she’d felt on the drive back had evaporated. Kendall Shaw’s questions had set her teeth on edge and reminded her that no matter how hard she worked on the pending grant applications, the specter of another shelter-related murder could shut her down permanently.
Lindsay headed to her office. Carefully, she laid the butterfly in the center of her desk as she studied a long white flower box sitting on her chair. It was wrapped with a thick red ribbon. There was a card on the box. It read, ‘For Lindsay.’
No one ever sent her flowers.
‘Hey, Ruby,’ she shouted, ‘what’s with the flowers?’
‘They just came.’ Ruby rounded the corner, a big grin on her face. ‘They’re for you.’
‘Do you know who sent them?’ Had Zack remembered her birthday? Could he have sent the flowers?
Ruby grinned. ‘Open the card and find out.’
Tenderly, she touched the ribbon that seemed to have been wrapped with care. ‘There must be some kind of mistake. I’ve never gotten flowers.’ The truth was she didn’t like flowers, because her father always gave her mother flowers after he hit her.
Ruby shrugged. ‘No mistake. And if you’ve never gotten flowers, it’s high time you did.’
Her curiosity rising, Lindsay opened the card. ‘Lindsay, you are not alone anymore. The Guardian.’
Ruby came around behind Lindsay and glanced over her shoulder and read the note. ‘ “Lindsay, you are not alone anymore.” What does that mean? And who is the Guardian?’
Lindsay also was puzzled. ‘I’ve no idea.’
Ruby cocked an eyebrow. ‘I hate it when men play games. There a name?’
‘No.’
‘There’s no man in your life?’
‘No.’
‘What about your husband?’
‘He knows I don’t like flowers. Besides, romantic gestures aren’t his thing.’
Curious, Lindsay untied the crisp bow. She laid it carefully aside before opening the lid to reveal purple irises. They’d been one of her mother’s favorite flowers and, consequently, she loved them as well. ‘They’re beautiful.’
Ruby leaned over her shoulder, admiring the bouquet. ‘Maybe it’s from that doctor.’
‘I bet you’re right. I saw Sam this morning. He knows I was having a rough day and he’s one of the few who knows where the shelter is located.’
Sadness coiled inside her chest. It was foolish to want or expect anything from Zack. But for a brief moment she had. ‘I think we have a vase or a large jar in the kitchen.’
‘I think it’s under the
sink. I’ll be right back with it.’ Ruby disappeared down the hallway.
Lindsay lifted the flowers out of the box. As she raised the blooms to her nose she saw a bundle wrapped in green tissue paper. She laid the flowers aside on her desk and opened the second package.
Bile rose in her throat. For a moment she thought she’d throw up as she dropped it and backed away from her desk.
Cradled in the tissue and wrapped in a zip-top bag was a severed hand.
No one noticed delivery people. Some might glance at the name Joe embroidered over a breast pocket, but few would gaze under the bill of a hat or look beyond a nondescript magnetic florist sign stuck on a van.
That was the problem with people, the Guardian thought. They were selfish and far too wrapped up in their own lives to notice what didn’t directly concern them.
That’s why it was easy to feel safe moving past the unmarked police car and the cop now distracted by a well-timed cell phone call from his kid’s day care.
And the Guardian smiled at the ambitious reporter as she tamed a strand of hair and practiced smiling as her cameraman began taping her intro for the six o’clock news report.
Like everyone else, the cop and reporter were blind. Blind to the delivery. Blind to the pain and suffering around them. Blind to everything but their needs.
The only one who could truly see was Lindsay.
She reached out to others in need. She put the lives of others in front of her own.
The Guardian closed the door to the van and started the engine and pulled out. She would get the flowers soon. Soon she would know she wasn’t alone. ‘Happy birthday, Lindsay.’
Tightening fingers on the steering wheel, the Guardian slowed at an intersection when the light turned yellow. The car in the left lane darted through a red light and he frowned.
‘No respect.’
Today had been a good day.
The rains had purified the killing ground and signaled the beginning of a long overdue holy cause.
Together, Lindsay and her Guardian would destroy The Evil Ones.
Chapter Eight
Monday, July 7, 2:59 P.M.