Deadly Sanctuary (Kendall O'Dell Series #1)

by Sylvia Nobel

  “She has to be here someplace,” came Charles’ anxious voice. I heard boxes being moved, frantic scraping. Don’t look up, I prayed fervently.

  “You pathetic son of a bitch, you didn’t lock the door properly,” accused Claudia.

  “I did! I swear I did. Ask Raoul.”

  “Oh, Jesus Christ,” she shrieked. “I don’t have time to argue about this. Get on the phone to Roy. Tell him to get his ass back here right away.”

  “But, he just left an hour ago. He’s going to be real mad about this,” Charles whimpered.

  “Never mind. I’ll call him. In the meantime, we have to find her.”

  “What shall I do, Sissy?”

  “Just get out of my sight. Get Raoul and Carlos to help you search the grounds. Do you think you can handle that?”

  There was a thick silence for a few seconds and then Charles complained, “I still think it’s impossible. No one’s ever gotten out of here before. Let’s look again.”

  “What do you think she did?” snapped Claudia. “Climb through the ceiling?”

  Her words turned my stomach over. I held my breath waiting for the worst, but then I heard their voices moving away.

  After several silent minutes passed, an amazing realization cut through my fear. I hadn’t heard the door close. I scrambled to my feet, pried open the trap door, and cautiously peeked down. Faint light from distant windows streamed through the open doorway. I sent a prayer of thanks to God, then lowered myself down. Alert for any sound, I moved with deliberate care across the basement to the head of the stairway.

  I hesitated. Deliverance from my prison presented a new set of problems and might only serve to plunge me into further danger. I had no idea which direction would lead to freedom. Others held here against their will had escaped, I reminded myself. The question was, how?

  When I eased the kitchen door open a few inches, I got two shocks. First, it was pouring rain, and second, the clock above the stove where the cook stood with her back to me read four o’clock! A tantalizing whiff of whatever she was cooking made my stomach rumble. Yesterday’s lunch seemed light-years away.

  When she suddenly turned in my direction, I ducked away, shut the door, and ran back down the steps. Expecting to hear her behind me, I frantically searched for a place to hide, finally wedging myself behind a pile of boxes. In breathless silence, I waited and then it hit me. Without my wig, how was I going to move about unnoticed? By now, the entire staff would no doubt be on the alert.

  When the cook didn’t appear, I collapsed in relief. For a while I just laid on the floor, my knees drawn up to my chin. Then I thought of something. I still had the makeup on and I fingered for the dark glasses in my shirt pocket. All I had to do now was figure out how to conceal my red hair.

  Quietly, I rummaged through boxes and shelves. My search ended in one of the scrub buckets piled against the far wall. With a surge of elation, I pulled out a pile of stiff rags and chose a worn bandanna which I tied tightly around my head. Then I picked up the bucket, grabbed a mop, and headed up the steps. One thing I knew for certain. Risk or no, I had to have a look into the area where the supposed patients were kept. After that, I didn’t know.

  I cracked the door once again and waited patiently until the cook had her back to me, then swiftly opened the door, crossed the few feet to the doorway and out into the hall. It was mercifully empty so I hurried to the double doors Rosa had shown me the night before and slipped into the open breezeway that she’d indicated connected the main building to the patient wing.

  The overhanging palm fronds thrashing in the wind protected me somewhat, but my head scarf and clothes were damp before I reached the arched doorway and crept inside.

  The long hallway, adorned with colorful posters of rock stars, was painted a delicate pink and lined with large potted plants. I’d only gone a few feet when I heard footsteps. My heart lurched painfully as a heavy-set Hispanic woman rounded a corner and began speaking to me in rapid Spanish. By her tone, I could tell that she was issuing an order, but not one word did I understand. Squelching the knot of panic that coiled in my stomach, I fought to keep my presence of mind. It was only her gesture toward the muddy footprints on the white tile floor that saved me.

  “Sí,” I answered, pushing the damp string mop across the floor. Apparently that was the right thing to do, for she turned and continued out the door behind me.

  I let out a shuddery breath. That had been way too close. Self-preservation told me I needed to stay out of sight and I sent up a hopeful prayer that Yolanda would get the note to Tugg by five.

  I mopped my way down the hall, noting that each closed door was painted in a muted pastel. It was strangely quiet. Rounding a corner, I collided head on with a girl probably in her early teens. “Jesus!” I whispered, reaching out my hands to steady both of us.

  “I’m sorry,” she mumbled, barely glancing at me. Puzzled, I watched her shuffle away. She moved like someone in a trance. How odd.

  A door opened to my right, so I dipped my chin and pushed the mop again. Out of the corner of my eye I saw a pretty blonde girl walked past me, her expression calm, almost dreamy. I stifled a gasp of surprise. It was Jenny from the shelter. Unreal. My theory was coming eerily to life.

  I followed her, pausing as she stepped out onto a spacious glass enclosed patio. Raindrops pounded the roof and rivers of water cascaded down the tall windows. Through the mist, Castle Rock loomed large.

  Secreted behind an enormous potted rubber plant, I surveyed what must be the recreation room. Jenny called a greeting to several girls sprawled comfortably on sofas in front of a big screen television. Four other teens played ping-pong at the other end of the room.

  I stared in fascination as one of the girls rose from the couch and waddled by, her belly swollen in pregnancy. In fact, with the exception of Jenny, each of the girls appeared to be in some stage of impending motherhood.

  It took a few seconds for the awful truth of the matter to sink into my tired brain. What in heaven’s name was going on here? My mind whirled in confusion and then my neck prickled when I sensed someone behind me.

  I spun around and stared directly into Eric Heisler’s chilly blue eyes. The gun in his hand was pointed directly at my chest. “My dear Kendall. What a pity you didn’t listen to me and get out of town while you had the chance.”

  36

  The body can only handle so much distress, I decided, as a feeling of numbness radiated over me. I stood unmoving when Eric stepped close and fastened talon-like fingers around my upper arm. A waft of his expensive aftershave tickled my nose. He looked wonderful in his well-cut, charcoal gray suit and as out of place as a snowman in the desert.

  “Mr. Richardson,” said a soft voice behind me. “I need to talk to you about the baby, about the money.”

  Several other voices chorused the name. Mr. Richardson? I glanced up. The expression on his handsome face was tranquil, but his eyes reflected a glimmer of apprehension. He swallowed convulsively and strengthened his grip, pulling me to his side. I felt the warning jab of the revolver in my sore ribs. “I can’t speak with you right now, my dear,” he said, his tone smooth as velvet. “I have an important meeting with my…honored guest here. But, I’ll return shortly and we’ll talk.”

  Instinctively, I stiffened as he urged me into a turn. “Don’t do anything to upset the girls,” he ordered in a harsh whisper. “Come along quietly and you won’t be hurt.”

  As we moved along the deserted hallway, I fought to make sense of what I’d witnessed. All the girls were pregnant. One of them asked about money. Money for what? What was Eric’s connection? I mentally sifted through the data in my notebook and suddenly the misty curtain of confusion began to lift. Wait a minute! My hypothesis about Claudia and Roy was all wrong. The new theory emerging was so monstrous, so outrageous, it was an effort to contain my rising panic.

  When we reached the study, he closed the door behind us and sat me firmly in a chair. “Stay there.” He mo
ved to the window, looked out, and then began to pace back and forth. Beads of sweat glistened on his forehead.

  I began, “Eric, what in the hell…”

  He brandished the gun in my direction. “Shut up! I’m trying to think.”

  I cringed inwardly. It was different, oh, so different, to see him shaken, his cool facade cracked and peeled away. “Damn it! Why couldn’t you mind your own business? All I needed was a little more time.”

  My mind worked feverishly. I felt it was crucial to keep him talking, but it was an effort to keep the tremor from my voice. “So, that’s why you killed John Dexter. He found out about your baby-selling scheme, didn’t he?”

  He looked stricken. “I didn’t! It was an accident.”

  “And those three girls? You’re going to tell me they were accidents too?”

  His tongue flicked over his lips. “That was unfortunate. But, I couldn’t have them talking to anyone. It would have ruined everything.” As his pacing continued, I could see his mind racing behind his eyes.

  Unexpectedly, he moved close beside me and stood without speaking. Was he going to shoot me now? I closed my eyes and then recoiled with surprise when I felt his fingers caress my hair.

  “We could be so good for each other, Kendall.” I suppressed a shudder. To think I had been alone with this maniac. And I’d let him kiss me. “It was never my intent to see anyone harmed,” he continued, “but, sometimes to achieve something truly great, sacrifices have to be made. Do you understand what I’m saying?” His breathing was sharp, uneven.

  Keep him calm, I warned myself, a wary eye on the gun hanging limply in his right hand. “I’m not sure I do,” I said in a soothing voice. “Why don’t you explain it to me.”

  “It’s so very simple. You see, I figured out a way to perform a very important service for society. Everyone involved benefits.” His tone of voice worried me. It had an almost singsong quality. “Think about it. I rescue these poor homeless waifs, who no doubt would end up on drugs or in jail, or most likely dead, and provide for them a stable, comfortable environment. The best of everything. Food, clothing, medical care. And in return, they supply a valuable and rare commodity. I’ve made so many people happy. There are countless couples in this country crying out for healthy white children.” He shrugged. “I provide them.”

  The ring of sincerity in his voice made my throat tighten. This man was definitely on the edge. Why hadn’t I seen it? With great effort, I kept my face bland. “Let’s see if I have this right. Your friend Claudia lures these already troubled girls to the shelter, chooses the ones she feels will be good candidates, brings them here, they are…” I almost retched on the words. “They are impregnated by Charles Sheffield alias Dr. Price. He provides maternity care, delivers his own babies, and then you auction them off to the highest bidder, is that about it?”

  He tipped my face toward his. “I hate the tone of accusation in your voice. Please say you understand the importance of what I’m doing here.”

  “Of course. Of course, I understand.” To myself, I added, I understand all right. You prey on innocent people. You’re playing God, selectively breeding people the same way Tally breeds his prize appaloosa horses.

  He smiled with satisfaction. “See, I knew you would once I explained it. Rochelle was so wrong about you.”

  “Rochelle?”

  “Claudia to you. She’s so impetuous. She wanted to kill you right away, but I told her no. Another dead reporter would arouse too much suspicion.” He knelt in front of me and laid the gun on the floor. “I need your silence and your cooperation. I don’t want to have to kill you, Kendall.”

  “That sounds like a good plan to me.”

  A frown wrinkled his forehead. “I suppose we could keep you here for a while. Just until things die down about poor Tanya.”

  “Tanya?”

  “The girl you and Doug found.” He sighed. “Why she would want to leave the paradise I’ve created here, I’ll never know. But,” he added, brightening, “Roy will take care of things, and then you and I can go away for a while.” He searched my eyes for a response. “Maybe to Europe. What do you think of that?”

  I didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. Go away with him, or die? Some choice. Acutely aware of the gun only a few inches from my grasp, I managed a stiff smile. To my horror, he gathered me in his arms. I tried not to wince as his lips touched mine.

  It was a struggle to keep from shoving him away. Carefully, I edged my hand downward toward the floor. Just then, the door behind him flew open. Eric jerked away, and we both gaped at the vision in the doorway. Claudia’s face was at first a white mask of shock, and then realization colored her sharp features. Her lips pinched together like a drawstring bag and a look of cold hatred glittered in her eyes. “You miserable, lying bastard!”

  Before I could grab it, Eric scooped the gun into his pocket and scrambled to his feet. “Rochelle!” His distracted gaze darted quickly between the two of us. “I…I didn’t hear you come in.”

  “Obviously.” She fingered a small caliber handgun that matched her deadly expression. She raised it toward him. “I heard what you said to her. You never did love me, did you? You’ve been using me all these years just like you use every one else. I’m not going to do it this time. I refuse to stand by and let you make a fool of me twice.”

  “Now, darling,” he said, starting to move toward her. “Calm down. I can explain everything.”

  “Stay where you are!” Her hands shook and Eric froze in his tracks. “I don’t want to hear any more of your lies. Five years I sacrificed for you,” she continued, her chest heaving. “Five long years. I do all the dirty work, I take all the risk, and what do I get? Shit! Just wait one more year, my love,” she grimaced, mimicking his voice. “And then we’ll be married. Yeah, right. You son of a bitch, I’ll kill this red-headed whore just like I killed your precious Stephanie!” She let out a peal of hysterical laughter and then a thick silence settled over the room. They stood as still as two mannequins, staring at each other.

  I was stunned. Claudia had killed Stephanie Talverson? While they evil-eyed each other, I slid to the floor beside the chair.

  The look on Eric’s face was murderous. “You killed her? You?”

  “Did you think I’d just stand by and do nothing while you screwed your new little playmate right in front of my nose? Did you?”

  He hadn’t needed much to send him over the edge, but that did it. Shouting, “You vicious bitch!” he lunged for her. There was a momentary scuffle and the gun went off. I ducked behind the chair and heard her scream in terror. “Eric! I’m sorry. Forgive me. Darling, please forgive me.” There was a second shot, a thump, and then stillness.

  “Jesus H. Christ!” I whispered. Hardly daring to breathe, I poked my head around the chair. Gun in hand, Eric stood over her unmoving form. He turned slowly toward me. I stared at the growing red stain on his left shoulder then met his panic-glazed eyes.

  “My God. I’ve killed her! I didn’t mean to do it,” he choked, looking wildly around the room. “It was self defense. She was crazy! You could see that, couldn’t you?”

  I needed to do something, say something, but I was speechless.

  “I have to get out of here,” Eric said suddenly, moving to the desk. He laid his gun down and swore as he touched the bullet wound in his shoulder. “No evidence,” he mumbled, frantically pulling folders from a drawer and tucking them under his arm. “Mustn’t leave any evidence behind. Nothing to implicate me. They’ll think Charles did it.” He chuckled, and then a sob caught in his throat. I almost felt sorry for him. He was pathetic and appeared to be losing touch with reality.

  Slowly, I rose to my feet and pictured myself dashing across the room to get Claudia’s gun. Even if I did, I had no experience with firearms. Only in the movies did the heroine pick up a loaded gun for the first time in her life and shoot the villain squarely in the heart. “Eric, you might as well give it up. You can’t kill everybody,” I said, a
sudden calm stealing over me. “Charles knows, the girls know, I know, and by now Morton Tuggs knows.”

  He looked at me blankly. “Morton Tuggs?”

  “I left him a note. He knows about all of you. Even Roy.”

  Dismay clouded his face and he leaned heavily against the desk. I started to move toward the door when he looked up at me. The malevolence in his eyes punctured my fleeting sense of triumph. “Well then, you will have to be my ticket out of here.”

  My mouth went dry. “What do you mean?”

  He looked smug as he picked up his revolver and aimed it at me. “Very simple. You’re going to act as my shield. If anyone tries to stop me, I’ll kill you.”

  “It won’t work.”

  “Of course it will,” he said, his voice brimming with superiority. “Mexico is less than an hour from here by air. Turn around,” he growled, shoving me against the wall. He dug his knee painfully into the small of my back, wrenched my arms behind me, whipped off his necktie and bound my wrists. “There,” he grunted, pulling the knot tight, “you may think you’re smarter than I am, but you’re not. Move!”

  Eric’s wild mood swings terrified me. Woodenly, I moved down the stairs. He stayed close behind. The rain had stopped and the air felt warm and clammy. The sky to the north looked ominously dark. When we reached his Mercedes, he shoved me in the driver’s side and roughly pushed me to the passenger seat. Then, he climbed in, still pointing the gun at me. I wondered why. Did he expect me to grab the gun with my teeth?

  He backed out and then jerked to a halt as Charles ran up and banged on his window. Eric’s jaw muscles worked furiously. “Goddamned pervert,” he whispered under his breath, pushing the button to lower the window a few inches.

  “Hey, Eric, don’t worry,” Charles panted, “we’re going to find her. She has to be here…” His words died as he stared dumbfounded at me, then looked anxiously at Eric. “Does Rochelle know you have her? Where are you going?”