A tall white chef’s hat was off to the side of him and I saw the knife for which I was looking. It was covered with blood, and the bright red stain trailed from the silver blade to several brutal wounds in the man’s chest. A pile of unpeeled potatoes lay scattered between his hat and the knife.
I was dealing with a straight-up, cold-hearted killer.
The air went out of my lungs and the room began turning black as my body threatened to pass out again. No! I told myself as I reached out to grab what I could to maintain my balance and stay alert.
I grabbed the wrong thing, and a stack of plates, and utensils, and glasses began crashing to the floor in a loud clatter.
With all that noise, it would just be a matter of time before someone came running in there, I was sure of it. There was no point in trying to stay quiet as I began tearing open drawers, opening and slamming doors to find something to cut the rest of the knotted bags off of me. Finally, I came across a pair of kitchen shears, scissors that had five blades on it that probably were usually used to cut through fresh herbs, but were now being used to trim off the rest of my knotted garbage bag binds. Within seconds I was free.
Common sense told me to hold on to the ultra-sharp blades as I took off running toward a green exit sign. I could not tell if my imagination or my ears were hearing footsteps coming from the opposite direction.
I was not going to wait to find out.
I pushed through the swinging door and gasped. After leaving such a scene of pure evil and violent brutality, I had not expected to walk into the total opposite: awe-inspiring beauty and breath-taking opulence.
I was standing in an atrium filled with all manner of flowers, luxurious draperies, candles, and chandeliers, most of which were in varying shades of red. Round tables were set up with elaborate centerpieces, real linens, covered chairs. The floor-to-ceiling windows that surrounded the expansive room showcased gardens and manicured courtyards as far as the eye could see.
I was clearly at some type of estate, a scenic mansion or lavish banquet hall suited for weddings, receptions, romantic dinners, or the like.
La Chambre Rouge.
Of course. Had to be. Though I had never followed up with my plan to research the name of the place where Jenellis and Brayden were to wed and Brayden/ Kwan was to go on his fantasy date with Silver courtesy of The Soul Mate Show, my high school French class memories told me the name translated to “the Red Room.” Almost everything in that room was red.
A loud crash coming from somewhere in the kitchen reminded me that this was not the time to figure out the connection. I needed to survive.
So I could get back to finding my son.
The windows of the atrium made it hard to figure out where any doors were, as the entire room was surrounded with glass. I began running down one side of the room, pressing constantly on the clear glass until one of the panels finally gave way. I dashed out into the courtyard, knowing that I was still too exposed in this venue of glass and open space. There was a stone pathway that led away from the courtyard and I had no choice but to follow it around the side of the atrium toward a red brick building that sat behind it. The area that looked like it was probably the kitchen from where I escaped connected the two buildings, and I recognized this red brick building as the restaurant that had been in the still shots of the grand prize of the dating show.
Were Silver and “Kwan” supposed to have their fantasy date this weekend? I wondered, still trying to make sense of my circumstances.
I pushed open a door, and was not sure whether to be comforted or alarmed that the restaurant was empty. Continuing with the theme of red, the restaurant was darker, more intimate, smelled of older wood and history than the grander atrium. A black marble fireplace was the focal point of the romantic space and dark cherry wood paneling covered the walls. Red velvet drapes, fringes, and feathers made the place feel more like a burlesque establishment than a restaurant of fine dining. I imagined a ragtime piano and an exotic beauty singing and dancing on the small stage I spotted near the back of the room. I thought about Silver and her line of work. How is all of this connected?
My eyes adjusted to the dimness as I stayed along the walls, trying to figure out where to go, what to do, hoping to at least find a phone somewhere to call for help. I found a hallway instead that took me to a set of doors. The wood in the hallway was even darker, older, nearly black, compared to the dining area. The stairs led me to what looked like an administrative wing, I guessed. My hopes rose as I considered that a phone would definitely be in one of the offices. I entered the first one and did a double take at what I saw.
Portraits on the wall told the story of African American management. That wasn’t what shocked me; rather, the pictures themselves. A group of men posed in large portraits, obvious business partners who must have taken over the property, in what looked like—I squinted to read the placard beneath—the year 2000. The man in the middle of the group had a square head, an uneasy smile, and the name Sheldon Long.
Jenellis’s first husband.
Her dead first husband.
I looked at the picture and studied the four other men who surrounded him. Their names and faces meant nothing to me, but I figured that even split five ways, the value of the La Chambre Rouge and its continuing income was still a pretty penny for each of the investors.
And, of course when considering a dead businessman’s monetary value, there were always life insurance policies in addition to other liquid assets. As I thought about the article I’d read about Sheldon Long’s death, how he had been found lying next to trash cans, stabbed repeatedly, my imagination ran wild. Throw in the abuse both Jenellis and Silver acknowledged occurred, there was plenty of reason to believe that there was more to Sheldon’s death than what was showcased on that short news clip I’d found on the Internet.
And then there was that sword showcased in a display box in Jenellis’s living room . . .
My mind was working as fast as a calculator, adding two and two, subtracting the excess. I recalled my first conversation alone with Jenellis. She had said her first husband died of natural causes. Why would the widow of a victim of such a violent crime claim his death to be natural?
If I was on the right train of thought, and I had every reason to believe that I was, then it would make sense that Jenellis would be reluctant to tell Brayden how she obtained her wealth. It had been Sheldon’s, a man who was murdered. A man she had murdered.
And Sheldon had been her first husband, I remembered. “We’ve had five marriages and three children between the two of us. That’s why this time, we need to make it work”: her words to me when we first met.
Now I wondered about her other marriages—and Brayden’s for that matter. What skeletons were hiding in his closet? And how did they even meet? A million and one questions filled my mind, but none as great as the one about my son—where was he? I had to get out of there so I could help find him.
I looked at the pictures again, realizing I had been too distracted by them. I scanned the office for a phone and saw one underneath a stack of files on the edge of a desk. The only light in the office came from a large window right next to the desk. I had to avoid the window. I did not know if I could be seen.
The sun was up and its rays seemed to be pouring directly into the room like a high-powered flashlight. Though I could not see anyone out there, I was not making any assumptions with a killer on the loose. I got down on the floor and crawled over to the desk. Using one hand, I reached for the receiver, and the stack of folders that had been sitting on top if it fell to the floor.
“Darn it!” I whispered, first because of the noise and secondly because I realized that the phone was one of those types of office phones where you needed to select a line to get a dial tone. I was still low on the floor and could not see the phone’s keys or dial pad. I started to stand, but caught myself, too afraid to stand up right next to the window. Holding my breath, and not hearing any other noises, I reached up m
y hand again, ran my fingers over the many buttons, said a quick prayer, and pressed one, hoping, praying, desperate for a dial tone.
I heard voices instead.
I’d selected a line in use.
Two men were talking.
“She’s still on the property,” a deep voice whispered.
“And the other one?”
“On her way.”
There was a pause, and I kept holding my breath, afraid that even a simple inhale would be heard over the receiver.
“Stop worrying,” the second man spoke up again. “I got this.”
“You need to cut the power. Cut the power and all the phone lines.”
“Okay, although there’s no way she’s getting away, even if she broke free. There ain’t nothing but woods around here. The main road is over two miles away. Stop worrying so much.”
“Cut the lines and all the power just the same. I don’t want to take any chances.”
“All right, whatever.”
The phone went dead. All the way dead. I ran my fingers over the buttons that were still out of my sight, pressing them to no avail.
Don’t panic, don’t panic, don’t panic.
Too afraid to even stand, I crawled back over the floor to the entrance of the office. The hallway, which I realized had previously been lit, was now dark. I listened for any sound, any movement.
Nothing.
I went back into the office, noticing that from the open doorway, the files I’d knocked over were visible on the floor. If someone happened to walk by, the disorder would not be missed. I crawled back to the desk, gathered the files into a pile. Still on my knees, I lifted them up toward their original place, but as I did so, a few papers fell out.
Newspaper clippings.
INVESTMENT BANKER KILLED IN HIT-AND-RUN.
RESTAURATEUR FOUND DEAD IN HOME DUE TO CARBON MONOXIDE POISONING.
ATTORNEY SHOT TO DEATH DURING BOTCHED HOME INVASION.
LEADING REAL ESTATE AGENT DEAD FROM APPARENT PRESCRIPTION OVERDOSE.
LOCAL PLASTIC SURGEON ACCIDENTALLY DIES FROM SESAME SEED ALLERGY.
DENTIST STABBED TO DEATH IN AN UNSOLVED MURDER.
They were headlines from newspapers from cities and towns throughout Maryland, Virginia, Pennsylvania, and Delaware. The deceased were black, white, Asian, Latino, and even a Greek man, from what I could tell from the accompanying photographs. Outside of being men of great wealth, there were no other obvious connecting threads. I reached for the files again, opened up a new one.
Life insurance policies. Bank account information. Estate valuations. All from the men identified in the articles, and a few more whose names I had not seen.
Now this set of papers did have a common denominator.
In each case, the beneficiary was the same. At least the first name was.
Jenellis.
The last name was different on most of the forms as she was identified as either the wife or girlfriend or partner or whatever role she had managed to get in their lives.
I stared at the documents, blinking, wondering if Brayden knew the danger he was in. Though most of the deaths reported in the newspaper clippings appeared to be accidental, there was no accident that Jenellis was involved, I was certain.
Ain’t that many coincidences in the world.
I was flipping through more of the files when a sound at the door startled me. I jumped to my feet.
“Oh, there you are,” she spoke casually, as if we were bumping into each other at the grocery store. “I was wondering where you went.”
Chapter 40
“I’m sure you were looking for me, Ms. Walker.” I glared at her. “Or whatever name it is you’re going by now.”
My bravery surprised me, but I had to get finished with this woman so I could get to my son.
Mother cheetah. Staring down danger for the sake of her cubs.
Jenellis glared back at me. “Not sure what you are talking about, but I need you to come with me.”
“Oh, so you can stab me with another needle, tie me up, and kill me?” I still had the scissors, I remembered. I could see the five-bladed shears on the floor under the desk where I had been kneeling.
“Kill you?” Jenellis looked taken aback. “Look, Ms. St. James, I’m not going to deny that you have every reason to believe I mean you harm, the way I’ve treated you.” She actually smiled apologetically, like she was trying to be my friend. “But consider this: if I was really trying to kill you, wouldn’t you already be dead?”
I looked in her eyes, wondering how I missed so much with her. Then it occurred to me, she had no idea that I’d seen those files, found out her game. She did not know I had the upper hand of knowing who, or what, she really was.
A “black widow.”
She was right. She could have killed me, but she still needed me alive for some reason.
I needed to survive to get out of there. The police, justice for those poor men, would come eventually. I just needed to get out of there. I bent down as if to fix my shoe, but reached for the scissors instead, tucked them in my waistband.
“Where are we going?” I walked toward her.
She smiled and motioned for me to follow her, completely ignoring my question. What the heck am I doing? I asked myself as I fell in line right beside her. Surviving. I patted the scissors on my hip for reassurance.
“I’m so sorry about what I had to do to you, but I need you to help me find my daughter.”
And I need to find my son! I could not even get the words out, only wanted to figure out what I had to do to get out of there.
“So, what do you think of our venue for our upcoming wedding?” she asked as smoothly as she’d just apologized for kidnapping me. We were heading down the hallway toward what looked like the main entry of the restaurant.
I decided to keep playing along until I had a better idea of what was going on. “It’s a beautiful place. Where is everyone?”
“Oh, they closed it down for the morning. The fantasy date for that dating show, you know? But Brayden and I have talked about it, smoothed out the misunderstanding, and wanted to use this time as a private walk-through to finalize the arrangements and clarify some other concerns.”
“I thought you said this place stayed booked?”
“Oh, it does.” She nodded. “But the next event wasn’t scheduled until later this evening, and when you can offer the right price, you can get almost anything done.”
I’m sure you can, missy, and I’m sure it doesn’t hurt that you have some stake in this establishment as well, courtesy of your first dead husband’s investments....
“I really was hoping that Silver would show for the date, though.” She glanced at me as she spoke. I stayed quiet.
Jenellis had no idea how much I knew. My confidence strengthened.
“Where are we going?” I tried again as we entered a small parlor.
“Oh, Brayden should be here now. It’s time for our final session. Couples therapy, right?” Jenellis flicked a light switch on and off to no avail. “Why isn’t this light working?” She looked genuinely confused.
Jenellis did not know the power had been cut?
“Hello, ladies,” a voice, smooth as butter, sounded from behind us. Both Jenellis and I jumped, but she recovered immediately.
“Hi, Brayden, you startled me.” She chuckled. David entered the room behind him. Jenellis’s smile dropped.
“David, what are you . . . doing with Brayden?”
All three of them stared at each other, a silent conversation I was not privy to. Jenellis looked nervous, something I’d never seen before.
Whatever confidence I’d felt began deflating from me like a pinpricked balloon.
“First things first,” Brayden spoke, turning his attention to me. “Where is she?”
“Huh?” I was so scared my thoughts had stopped connecting.
“Where is she?” Brayden asked again.
“Where is who?” My heart was beating wildly. Je
nellis smiled at me.
“You know exactly who I’m talking about.” Brayden’s voice held a threat.
David pulled out a silver chain, a broken butterfly charm dangling on the end.
“Silver?” I tried to keep myself from shaking. “I don’t know where she is.”
“Of course you do. That’s why Jenellis bought you here, am I right?” Brayden spoke like a man who was very much in control. I wondered if he knew Jenellis’s ultimate plans for him.
“What are you talking about, Brayden?” Jenellis blurted. Now I was thoroughly confused. I did not know who knew what anymore.
Brayden ignored her interruption. “I’m going to tell you a secret, Ms. St. James.” He mockingly lowered his voice as he stepped closer to me, but it was clear that everyone in the room could still hear him. “I’m a struggling man. That’s right, I am poor. Ain’t got but seven dollars and thirteen cents in my bank account. These suits I wear, the cars I drive? They’re not mine. I wash the cars and run the errands of a very wealthy businessman in Shepherd Hills. Reggie doesn’t even know I’ve been borrowing his things, but I had to. It was the only way I knew Jenellis would ever notice me. And I needed her to notice me.”
“Okay, stop it,” Jenellis outright yelled. “I don’t know what you are doing, what you are talking about, but we need to stay on topic and finish what we came out here for. Brayden, we don’t have time for some silly game. Sienna, where is my daughter?” She blinked at me innocently.
“Wait.” Brayden held up his hand. “We’ll get to that, but I need to finish my story, because I am finishing what I came out here for.” I didn’t miss the hardening in his eyes. “As I was saying, I’m a struggling man, but I needed Jenellis to notice me. I met this woman here a long time ago and was wowed, and I knew that to ever have a chance with her I needed to up my game. But I’ve learned that beauty and money mean nothing. See, I do my research.” He turned to look Jenellis straight in the eye. “And I dig all through the past. There’s been a stream of men with money you’ve met, married, and murdered. Fortunately, I’m not going to be one of them. I know who you are, Jenellis. Exactly who you are.”
Without Faith Page 22