Safe Haven

by Hannah Alexander

  “So you left the Grand Canyon because of your divorce?” she asked.

  He gave her an exasperated glance. “You don’t exactly have a peaceful personality, do you?”

  “Never claimed to. You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to.”

  “My partner was killed in the line of duty. I decided then that it was time to leave.”

  Silence. He gave the lake a final glance as the trail took a turn into the woods. “A little over a year ago, my partner, Carl, answered a call late one night about a hiker who had fallen from the Grandview Trail.”

  “Grandview?”

  “That’s a nonmaintained trail that’s steep and dangerous, and which most people shouldn’t even hike in the daytime, much less at night.”

  She shuddered. “Now that scares me. I hate heights.”

  He glanced at her, surprised.

  “Don’t even say it,” she said.

  “What was I going to say?”

  “You know, the typical snide remark about how tall I am, that I should be used to it by now.”

  “You get teased about that, too?”

  “Too often. So what happened to your partner?”

  “Carl wasn’t supposed to be on duty, but he took the call anyway. He didn’t call me. When he arrived to the rescue without the right gear, apparently the hiker panicked and grabbed him. He lost his balance and plunged a hundred feet to his death on the rocks below.”

  Taylor felt the graze of a spiderweb across his face. These brushy sections of trail were notorious for multiple spiderwebs from July through September, but June took a few hits as well, apparently.

  “Wow,” Karah Lee said.

  Taylor knew what she meant, and again he felt ashamed of himself for spilling his guts like that. He didn’t do it often. In fact, no one here in Hideaway knew as much as Karah Lee did now.

  But why was he blabbing all this stuff to her, of all people? Maybe because she was the type of person to beat it out of him if he didn’t tell her what she wanted to know.

  Or maybe because, in spite of his macho self-sufficiency, which Clarice had resented so much, he had reached the point where he couldn’t contain it all inside of himself much longer, and Karah Lee was the first person to supply a listening ear.

  And maybe a listening heart, as well.

  Or it could be his brain was addled by loneliness after he’d been living alone in the woods for a year.

  Karah Lee drew up beside him at the same time that he stepped through another spiderweb. She spat and waved her arms in front of her. “Yuck! I forgot what a joy it was to hike out here in the summertime.”

  He chuckled. “You’ll get used to it. At least the spiders out here are harmless.”

  She was flicking a final strand of web from her face when they rounded a small copse of trees and saw their patient seated on a log beside the trail, exhibiting typical signs of heat-related illness. The two women with her slumped on either side of their friend, looking none too great, themselves. They would feel even worse in a couple of days, once the chiggers began their meal.

  Taylor held back and allowed Karah Lee to run the show. They had decided this would be an orientation run, and he was only supposed to observe. Karah Lee set to her treatment immediately, giving the woman an electrolyte-replacement drink and plying her with questions while wielding her stethoscope. Taylor pulled extra bottles of the beverage from his pack and handed one to each of the patient’s companions.

  They made their introductions, but Taylor only caught the name of Karah Lee’s patient, Dorothy. The younger woman to his right accepted his offering, popped open the top and sucked down half the contents. “Thanks,” she said breathlessly, seconds later. “We ran out of drinks about halfway around the loop, and it’s hotter than we thought it would be.”

  He couldn’t help glancing at her footwear. Sandals not hikers. Not even running shoes. “This is a twelve-mile loop,” he said. None of the women even carried backpacks. “How much water did you pack with you?”

  “We each had a bottle at the trailhead, and we thought it would be enough.”

  As Taylor listened to Karah Lee handle her patient with expertise and gentleness, he decided to forgo the usual lecture. After this, these three women would surely have learned their lesson.

  “I told you we should have taken the skin-diving lessons instead of this hike,” Sandals complained to her friends. “Then we wouldn’t have run out of water.”

  “I didn’t see any sign in town that advertised skin diving,” the companion said. “Did you see a brochure or something?”

  “No, but I saw that triangle logo on the boat with the divers. They’re the same company that rents the jet bikes and kayaks and practically everything else in town.”

  “Where did you see the divers?” Taylor asked.

  “You know where the trail cuts into those cliffs a couple miles down?” Sandals asked. “Some guys were diving out of a boat. Had that Beaufont thing right there on the side.”

  Taylor glanced at Karah Lee, who was focused on her patient. He hadn’t heard anything about diving lessons, but he wouldn’t be surprised. Beaufont was trying every other gimmick to make money, why not diving?

  “Where’s your vehicle?” he asked.

  “Lookout trailhead,” Sandals replied.

  “That’s only about a mile up from here. We can walk you out when you’re ready.”

  Karah Lee helped her patient loosen her restrictive clothing, then pulled a nifty little battery-operated personal-size fan with a spritzer from her pack.

  Taylor watched in admiration. “You come prepared.”

  She grinned and thanked him, then returned her attention to her patient. “Are you still feeling weak, Dorothy?” she asked gently. “There’s no rush if you want to take a few more moments to regain your strength.”

  Taylor continued watching her. As he’d noticed on Friday, something about her seemed different when she worked with patients. She gave them all her attention, and although she was assertive, her voice held a tone of genuine affection. He realized she loved what she was doing.

  How long had it been since he’d felt that way about his job?

  He knew the answer to that immediately. It had been Friday. In the clinic. He, too, loved treating patients.

  Taylor’s cell phone chirped at him, and he stepped away from the women to answer. “Yes?”

  “Taylor? This is Greg. Tom’s all hot and ruffled about a call he took at the station a few minutes ago. You remember that busload of sick folks you helped take care of down at the clinic Friday?”

  “Sure, what about them?”

  “You remember treating a guy named Casey Timble?”

  “Casey.” Taylor said the word softly, but he saw Karah Lee glance up at him. “What about him?” Casey who wasn’t a guy. Casey who’d been in the middle of treatment for a miscarriage when she skipped out, and no one had seen her since.

  “He was by himself,” Greg said. “Booked a trip to Bella Vista with a stop at Hideaway. Guy paid by credit card. Claims he never made it to the bus. He lost his ticket and credit card, then somebody barricaded him in the men’s room. The bus company’s trying to sort it out.”

  “Shouldn’t they be asking the driver about all this?”

  “They did, and the driver said Casey Timble got off the bus here at Hideaway with the rest of the passengers, but he wasn’t accounted for when they loaded up and left on the replacement bus.”

  “I don’t know what to tell you, Greg.”

  “You sure about that? Doesn’t it seem a little strange, somebody like that just disappearing? And what about that woman you had us all looking for Friday? Said she needed medical care, but couldn’t tell us any more than that. Too odd, if you ask me.” Yep, that was definitely suspicion in Greg’s voice…or maybe not suspicion as much as growing concern. The sheriff was astute.

  Taylor risked a glance at Karah Lee, who was helping her patient to her feet but kept giving Taylor qu
ick, intent looks. Obviously eavesdropping and not trying to hide it. When she caught his gaze, she narrowed her eyes and shook her head.

  He gave her a helpless, open-handed shrug.

  She shook her head more vehemently.

  He sighed. “I’m sorry, Greg. I know it sounds coincidental, but due to rules about patient confidentiality, even I don’t know what all that was about. Besides, whoever that patient was, she’s obviously out of the area now.” He just hoped the young woman was medically stable, because he knew how worried Karah Lee had been about her. She’d even called him a couple of times this weekend to find out if he’d heard anything.

  There was a grunt at the other end of the line. Obviously, Greg was not mollified. “Well, could be this guy just didn’t want to pay because of all that mess with the exhaust leak, but didn’t want to wait around to get his money back, and all this other stuff really was a coincidence. You know what Tom thinks, don’t you?”

  “I’m dying to hear this,” Taylor said. The deputy sheriff had a reputation to uphold as the man with the most active imagination in the Table Rock Lake area.

  “He thinks it was the murderer passing through.”

  “He thinks this Casey guy is a—” He glanced toward the hikers, who were listening to a lecture from Karah Lee about dehydration. He lowered his voice. “He thinks the guy’s a killer?”

  “Not him. You know, that young woman, Fawn Morrison, who murdered her lover and that hotel employee, then attempted arson at another hotel-theater complex.”

  “I was under the impression she was only wanted for questioning.”

  “Try telling Tom that, especially after the media made such a big deal about it. He thinks he’s got it all figured out. You know he’s a bulldog once he gets his teeth into something, and he’s decided there’s a connection between the murdered lover and the Beaufont Corporation.”

  “What kind of connection?”

  “Well, I’m not sure what he did, but you know what a computer geek he is. He practically lives on his PC at home, which is why he doesn’t have any kind of social life.” The sheriff paused, clearing his throat. “Not that there’s anything wrong with not having a…well, anyway…sorry, Taylor.”

  “It’s okay. What’s the connection with Beaufont?”

  “Well, like I said, I don’t know how Tom gets all his information, but he says the victim was an investment manager for some high rollers out in Las Vegas, and some of his clients had invested in the Beaufont interests here in Hideaway.”

  Taylor allowed that to sink in. “And?”

  “And the victim had just completed a transaction withdrawing the funds from Beaufont.”

  Taylor glanced at the others and strolled on down the trail a few yards, lowering his voice further. “So you’re saying the killer worked for Beaufont?”

  “I’m not saying it, and I’m not sure Tom’s saying it yet, it’s just something to keep in mind in case that patient happens to show up around here anywhere, if you understand what I mean.”

  “I understand.”

  “Right. Just be careful.”

  “He thinks Casey’s a killer!” Karah Lee locked the clinic door behind her and turned to join Taylor on the sidewalk. She had just released her patient to the care of her friends with the promise that they’d keep an eye on her and call if she became ill again. The sun had settled behind the western hills, and the oppressive, unseasonable heat had diminished. It had been a good day, until now. She didn’t like the idea that there might have been a killer in their clinic Friday. Didn’t like it, and didn’t believe it.

  “I don’t think Greg’s convinced,” Taylor said, “but Tom’s all excited about this thing. They think our patient ran because she’s trying to escape capture.”

  “Sure she did. But she wasn’t a murderer. More like a kid.”

  “She didn’t exactly seem dangerous to me, either, but now that I think about it, there are some close resemblances between our Casey from the bus and the composite picture I received on the fax machine last week.”

  “What picture?”

  “Just a computer rendition of what Fawn Morrison would look like if she were attempting to drastically change her looks. The police questioned some Branson store clerks who claim to have seen a woman fitting the paper’s description the day after the murders.”

  “Mind if I see the picture?”

  They reached his vehicle, and he opened the right rear passenger door and pulled out a manila folder. He withdrew the black-and-white printout and handed it to her.

  Karah Lee studied the short, dark hair, the high forehead with the widow’s peak, the small, determined-looking chin. “The eyes are the wrong color, according to this description.” She pointed at the list below the picture, but she could feel Taylor watching her.

  “It’s her, isn’t it?” he asked.

  “How am I supposed to know? It doesn’t make sense that a killer would continue to hang out anywhere near the scene of the crime. A killer would be out of the state by now, establishing a brand-new identity, not catching a bus with a group of elderly tourists.”

  “You’re right, it doesn’t make sense.”

  “Especially when the supposed killer helps take care of those tourists when they get sick.” She shoved the picture back at him and reached for her medical pack on the floorboard. “Look, I’m not the police, okay? There’s no way I’ll let myself get dragged into a witch hunt after a frightened teenager in trouble.”

  “That isn’t what I’m trying to do.”

  “You’re working with the police on this, of course it’s what you’re trying to do.” She slung the pack over her back and marched across the street. She heard him shut the door, and heard the automatic lock batten down the doors as his footsteps quickened to catch up with her.

  “Hey, I’m not the enemy, okay?” he said as he fell into step beside her. “All I’m doing is trying to figure out a few things of my own, such as how Tom thinks he has a connection between the Beaufont Corporation and the murders. If Casey is somehow involved in all this, then she might have some answers to a lot of questions.”

  “My only consideration was her physical well-being.”

  “Did you consider that if she is connected, then the exposure of her picture to the public in the paper and on television might attract the attention of someone besides the police?”

  “Well, it doesn’t matter much now anyway, does it? The girl has obviously found a way out of town. Case dismissed.”

  Chapter Eighteen

  By late Monday afternoon Fawn decided she was feeling better. At least she wasn’t cramping anymore. She’d felt thirsty all day, but at a thousand-degree temperature, anybody would be thirsty. Besides, she was tired of sitting around sick all the time, watching the world go by.

  This morning she’d reached into the bottom of the middle pocket of her backpack and pulled out the flash drive. She’d stuck it into the pocket of her jeans—in spite of the heat, she wore jeans because the hay was too scratchy for her bare legs. She was going to try to find out what was on that device, and see if it had anything to do with the condominium.

  Ever since Friday, when she wasn’t watching the construction at the project or the constant beach party going on, she’d thought about that computer in the reception office at the clinic. She knew how to operate a computer, and even though she hadn’t touched one since she’d left school—Bruce had never let her get near his desktop, laptop or pocket PC—she knew it wouldn’t take her long to figure out how to download the stuff from the storage device. And then maybe she’d know what she was dealing with, and would be able to figure out whom to contact.

  Now if she could just figure out how to get into that computer….

  At four forty-five, Fawn placed sunglasses on her face, plopped an ugly gray fishing hat on her head—she’d found it floating in the lake the previous night when she went to the beach to refill her water bottles—and sneaked back into town toward the square under cover of the
deeply shaded alleyways.

  She kept a close watch on everything that moved around her. This latest disguise was probably her best yet, but why take chances when she didn’t have to?

  She’d used the hair-color kit last night down at the lake, and judging by her reflection in the tiny lipstick mirror today, she could tell it had worked. She had silver-gray hair. She wore an overlarge men’s blue chambray shirt with sleeves rolled up to her elbows. She’d smeared the hair stuff on her face, neck, arms and chest and the backs of her hands.

  Today her skin was red and irritated. In a couple of days, her face would look good and old, like any fisherwoman who spent a lot of time in the sun. Maybe the allergy burn would last long enough for her to do what she needed to get done and get out of town for good.

  “You can do this,” she whispered to herself. “Just act natural, like you’re supposed to be here. Blend into Hideaway. You can—”

  A thud to her right startled her, and she caught her breath, stumbling to a stop. She heard it again, and glanced through the thick, overgrown shrubbery to find an elderly man in faded overalls hoeing in a backyard garden.

  She relaxed and breathed again. It was okay. He didn’t look up. She wished she’d bought some overalls like that in Branson.

  Rushing on, Fawn tried to recall exactly what route she’d used to escape town the other day without getting caught. This was the alley she’d taken, she remembered the honeysuckle in that sunny spot up ahead, only about a block from the square.

  Now was when it got tricky. She skittered past the sunny spot, then ducked behind another shrub and studied the street. From here, she saw the entrance to the neat little courtyard in the center of the town square—actually all the buildings surrounded the courtyard, facing outward, but she remembered from her escape Friday that all those buildings also had doors and windows and balconies on the second and third floors that opened onto that courtyard. Anyone looking out one of those windows would see her sneaking in.