Deadly sanctuary, p.11
Deadly Sanctuary, page 11
My watch said 9:30. An hour had passed since her call. I snatched up the phone to call Morton Tuggs. He seemed surprised to hear from me. "You got something?"
It took me about five minutes to fill him in on my suspicions about Roy, coupled with the mysterious phone call.
His anxiety spilled into my ear. "I knew it. I felt in my gut he was up to something. What the hell do you think he's involved in?"
"Beats me. This much we do know. Roy was nervous when I asked for those files again. He didn't threaten me, but it's clear he doesn't want any more bad publicity on those two cases. The phone call tonight confirms that Dexter never reached his destination. And, all we really have is Roy's word that he issued him a ticket. What if he didn't? What if Roy is responsible for Dexter's sudden disappearance?"
"Jesus Christ," he moaned softly. "This is just what I was afraid of. Why the hell am I doing this? If it turns out Roy's done something awful, it's gonna just kill Mary, and I'll be jeopardizing the paper at the same time."
I knew what Tugg meant. There was no concrete proof of any misdeed, only assumptions, and certainly nothing we could print. Judging by Roy's reaction this afternoon, he'd waste no time in pulling the plug if we did. Of course, that meant my job would be down the tubes as well.
"Tugg, do you think perhaps we should contact the county attorney's office about this?"
He was silent for a moment and then echoed my doubts. "And tell them what? We still don't have one goddamn shred of evidence that he's even involved, and you know he'll deny everything."
"You're right, but perhaps our mysterious lady will provide some clue. I can't stay here twenty-four hours a day, so if it's all right with you, I'll get with the phone company tomorrow and have call forwarding activated."
He agreed, told me to be careful, and hung up. I returned to the darkroom, finished my prints and then went home.
Before retiring, I studied the photo of John Dexter again and added several more things to my notebook. The data filled almost one full page. First thing tomorrow, I'd call the medical examiner's office in Prescott and ask for copies of the toxicology reports. I would also return the picture to Yolanda and see if she had remembered anything else about him which might have some significance.
My head was spinning with questions and details as I climbed into bed and lay listening to crickets chirp. Away, in the distance, I heard the distinct yipping of coyotes.
Sleep was a long time coming and when it finally did, it was filled with a series of jumbled, ghoulish nightmares. In one dream Sheriff Hollingsworth, laughing like a maniac, was bearing down on me in his patrol car as I ran and ran, seemingly in slow motion. In another, John Dexter kept appearing over a hill, around a corner, always beckoning for me to follow. He'd always vanish before I could get to him. Then, I was in a room filled with flowers. Hundreds of them. Eric was there. He put out his hand to me and smiled. I reached to take it when Bradley appeared out of the shadows. His face was a mask of fury when he drew out a long knife and plunged it into Eric's stomach. There was blood everywhere. My sudden indrawn breath wakened me. Bathed in cold sweat, I sat up and hugged my knees until my heartbeat slowed. Rather than risk another set of nightmares, I got up, slid open the arcadia door and stepped outside onto the back patio. A warm breeze met me. I stood there for a long time and allowed the silence to soothe my taut nerves. Eastward, over the massive silhouette of Castle Rock, I watched insistent tendrils of dawn coax the darkness from the night sky. I hugged myself in enjoyment. Sunrises and sunsets in Arizona were so dramatic.
The last few days, wispy dry-looking clouds had begun to appear, adding just a touch more color to these already breathtaking spectacles. I wondered if it meant that the summer rains everyone assured me of were on the way. Across the yard two kangaroo rats skittered into a hole, and somewhere nearby an owl hooted. I shook my head in awe. Only a short while ago I'd been absolutely positive I didn't belong in this wild, desolate state. But, now I knew with a curious certainty that even with the dread of sizzling summer staring me in the face, if I were ever to leave this place, I would miss it terribly. How could one love and hate something at the same time?
Later, as I left for work, one of the linen trucks I'd seen on several other occasions, drove past headed toward Serenity House. The driver honked his horn and waved. The sight of his truck reminded me that I was to check the truck rental places today.
The Gold Dust Parade was scheduled for Saturday morning and there seemed a frenzy of excitement and anticipation among the townspeople. Kids out of school were bunched on street corners, colorful posters announcing the events were tacked to phone poles, and the sound of hammering from workmen erecting grandstands filled the early morning air as I drove through the downtown area. The last big tourist attraction of the year had the streets choked with out-of-town vehicles by the time I finished my second assignment and drove to the first rental lot.
No, the owner did not recognize the photo of John Dexter and had no record of him renting a truck during the first week of April. No one at the other two places had seen him either.
So, I had the answer to my question and it left me with a sick feeling locked in my stomach. John Dexter had not emptied out his apartment.
By late afternoon, I felt disappointed that I'd not made more progress. Yolanda, I was told, would be out of town visiting relatives until next week, and my call to the medical examiner's office was a wash, too. The doctor was busy and would return my call on Monday.
With a sigh of exasperation, I grabbed my notebook and headed across town to complete my final assignment.
When I returned an hour later, Tugg called me aside and told me he'd spoken with the phone company. Unfortunately, the call forwarding feature would not be functional for another day.
Okay, that meant another evening to hang around the office. Not so bad, I thought, since I had a zillion pictures to develop and print. Although Bradley was frequently out, the office had seemed curiously empty the past three days with him gone.
Before Ginger left she invited me to dinner again the following week, saying that Bonnie and her husband Tom would be there too. I gladly accepted, thinking it would be interesting to see them again and hear how the adoption was proceeding, especially since I'd be having dinner with their attorney, Eric Heisler, tomorrow night.
I had no intention of missing the call from my mysterious lady if it came tonight, so I took the phone from Bradley's desk, pulled the cord as far as it would stretch, and set it on the floor just inside the darkroom.
I had asked Harry earlier if he'd ever received any unusual calls in the evening and he'd said once in a while he'd get a wrong number, but that was all. As I'd suspected, he confirmed when the small press was running, it drowned out the noise of the phone.
The thought of the impending call kept me in a state of high anxiety. I must have checked my watch a hundred times and finally chided myself aloud, "Cut it out. If she's gonna call she'll call, if not, looking at your stupid watch won't change things."
By the time ten o'clock rolled around, I was almost finished with my prints and disappointment had set in. She wasn't going to call. I slipped the last negative into the enlarger plate and heard what sounded like a footstep outside the door.
"Harry?" There was no answer so I said, "Wait just a minute, Harry. I have one more print."
There was a sudden rush of fresh air into the room so I knew the door had been opened. Immediate surprise flooded me and then switched to a stab of alarm. Instead of the expected flash of light from the outer room, there was only darkness. But, I had left the office lights on.
I felt a presence even before a shadowy form appeared in the doorway, silhouetted in the dim glow of the outdoor lights which streamed through the office window beyond.
My heart set up an awful racket in my head and my throat closed as the shadow advanced toward me. "Harry? Is this a joke?" No answer. "This isn't funny!"
Clearly it wasn't Harry. Instinctively, I grabbed for a weapon, anything. My hand curled around a bottle of fixer and I hurled it at the shadow. It crashed against the wall, missing its target.
With a small shriek I turned and made a lunge for the light switch just as something crashed down on the back of my head. Searing pain sent me spinning into oblivion.
15
Someone was shouting my name. I wanted to stay in the peaceful blackness, but a sharp, persistent odor interfered, straining to pull me from it.
"Kendall!" the voice commanded. "Can you hear me?" I labored to raise my eyelids but something heavy pressed them down. Sizzling ropes of green and red lightning flashed before me while a knifelike pain jabbed the back of my head.
With great effort, I opened my eyes. The blurry face above me gradually became recognizable. It was Bradley.
"Are you all right?" he asked.
Was I? I blinked several times and tried to speak without success. When I attempted to raise my head, waves of blackness returned. When I came to again, Bradley was waving a vial underneath my nose.
I took a weak swipe at it. "Will you get that stinkin' stuff away from me?"
"Ahh," he crooned with satisfaction, relief mirrored in his eyes. "You're back."
Bewildered, I realized we were both on the floor of the darkroom, the cabinets, counters and sink far above. The globe that covered the overhead light was full of dead bugs. I'd never seen the room from this perspective before. Interesting.
"What happened?" I groaned.
He tipped his hat back. "I was about to ask you the same question."
Still muddled, I asked, "What are you doing here?"
"I work here."
"I know you work here. I mean what are you doing here now? I thought you were in Phoenix."
He cocked one dark brow. "I drove down to cover a story, I didn't relocate there. I got back a little while ago and stopped in to pick up my messages. Instead, I'm picking you up. What happened here anyway?" he asked, watching my face closely.
I pressed a hand to my forehead. "I'm not sure. I was working...I heard the door open, and then I saw someone standing in the doorway."
"Who was it?" His voice was sharp.
"I don't know. It was too dark to tell. I remember going for the light switch and then whamo! I think someone conked me on the head."
"From the look of things, it appears that you bumped the corner of this shelf," he said pointing to the jumble of bottles, paper and the wooden board on the floor.
For a second, I stared in confusion. Could I have imagined the shadow?
I looked up and saw him studying me with searching intensity. "Why would someone hit you on the head?" he asked softly.
How could I explain without giving away my secret assignment? "It was probably my wild imagination."
I made a move to rise, but, he firmly pushed me flat to the floor. "Just a minute. I'm not finished examining you yet."
"Examining me? What are you talking about?"
"It's part of my job."
I gave him an incredulous look. "Oh, wait. Let me guess. Besides being a sports writer and a rancher, you also moonlight as a doctor?"
He grinned. "You must be okay now. Your charming wit has returned in force."
I struggled to get up. "Answer the question. What do you mean it's part of your job?"
"Be still a minute. And be quiet." The tone of authority in his voice surprised me, and an unexpected sensation of vulnerability crept over me as I lay on the floor with him kneeling beside me. The thought of his hands exploring my body spawned a pleasurable tingle. Perhaps it was my weakened state or the fact that he was so close; whatever, I was overwhelmed with the sudden desire to reach up and pull his sensuous mouth against mine. My fingers would trace the contours of his face and move from there to his chest, then around to stroke the taut muscles on his back and from there, eventually trailing down to where I'd finally get my hands on those gorgeous buns. God! What was the matter with me? What would he think if he could read my mind? At that moment, I didn't know what to think of myself.
"Your pupils aren't dilated, so I don't think you have a concussion," he concluded, sitting back on his heels. "But you've got a good sized goose egg on the back of your head."
"This still isn't computing," I whined.
He laughed. "Relax. Of course, I'm not a doctor, but I have had some medical training. I'm a member of the county sheriff's posse. Search and Rescue."
The sheriff's posse! An uncomfortable shiver ran through me. "How well do you know Roy Hollingsworth?"
"Pretty well."
"So...you work closely with him?"
He looked puzzled. "On occasion. Why?"
I had a hundred questions I couldn't ask him so I replied, "Just wondered, that's all."
He helped me to a sitting position while I gingerly touched the lump on my head. I hadn't imagined anything. Someone had meant business. Then it hit me. I'd activated the security system before going into the darkroom. If there had been a break-in, why hadn't I heard the alarm? Why hadn't Harry?
Someone must have disarmed it. I slid a suspicious glance in Bradley's direction. Was it just a coincidence he happened to show up at this particular time? Knowing he worked with Roy left me feeling hollow. Could the shadow have been him? But why would he knock me cold and then revive me? It didn't make sense.
When I stood the room swayed a little and he steadied my shoulders. "Thank you," I murmured and then jumped when he quietly asked, "What are you up to, Kendall?"
"Up to?" I hedged. "What do you mean?"
"Come on. You've been all over town asking questions about John Dexter. Why?"
I gulped. "How do you know that?"
"People talk."
Damn. If he knew, so must Roy. Perhaps my charade about the runaways hadn't fooled him at all.
Just then, Harry appeared at the doorway. He surveyed the confusion and stared at us open-mouthed. "What the hell's going on here?"
I was surprised when Bradley told him I'd fallen. "Christ." he breathed. "I slip out for a lousy ten minutes to get a pack of cigarettes and miss all the excitement."
I assured him that I was all right and he said good-night. At least I knew now why the security system hadn't been on. Obviously, Harry had forgotten to re-set it when he left. But that brought forth a frightening scenario. It meant someone had been lurking outside waiting for an opportunity to find me alone. When the next thought struck me, my heart lurched painfully. I'd left the notebook containing all my clues lying right on top of my desk. It took supreme effort to appear impassive as I hurried to my desk. The sight of the notebook resting beside my purse made me giddy with relief. I clutched it to my chest with a silent vow to never let it out of my sight from now on.
At first, it appeared nothing had been touched, but when I opened the top drawer, it was apparent to me that somebody had sifted through the contents with great care. There were just enough items out of place to tip me off. A feeling of certainty settled over me. This wasn't the sloppy work of a thief. Someone had taken the bait and followed up on my fabricated tale concerning personal items left behind by John Dexter.
Bradley's voice broke into my thoughts. "Did you lose something?"
I turned to meet the suspicion in his eyes. "No. I just thought I'd ah...I was just...a..."
"Thinking about rearranging your desk drawers at midnight?"
I dropped my eyes. "No."
I sensed he was waiting for me to say something, and when I didn't he persisted, "So, you're not going to tell me what's going on?"
"I...I can't."
"You mean you won't."
It would have been so nice to confide in him, but I held back. "What's wrong with me being curious about what happened to my predecessor? A better question is why aren't you curious about what happened to John Dexter?"
Anger darkened his eyes. "He was a sleaze bucket and frankly I don't care what happened to him after all the shit that came down on me, not to mention the embarrassment he caused my family. I'm just glad he got the hell out of my life."
This was the opening I'd been waiting for. I'd read all John's articles and, by their tone, it was obvious he'd thought Bradley responsible for his wife's untimely death. He'd never missed an opportunity to fan the fires of suspicion.
"Do you want to talk about this?" I held my breath waiting for his answer.
"We were talking about you."
Positive he planned to stonewall me again, I blurted out, "Bradley, I know what happened to your wife."
An inscrutable look passed over his face. "So that's it. I should have guessed. Well, that explains why you're always so jumpy around me."
"That's not true."
He laughed bitterly. "It'll never end, will it? My screwed up personal life made for sensational headlines and kept tongues wagging for hours on end with tidbits of juicy gossip. Don't tell me you're like some of the stubborn jackasses around town who still believe all that crap about me?"
I hesitated and he growled, "Goddamn it, Kendall! You think I killed her, don't you?"
"I never said that."
"But it's crossed your mind, hasn't it?" His face was positively fierce and it frightened me. But mixed with the fear was a curious elation. At last I'd forced some genuine emotion from this man who always seemed to hold himself carefully in check.
I wanted to deny it, but all at once a wave of dizziness passed over me. I put a hand to my head and he was at my side immediately. "I'm calling Dr. Garcia."
"I'm okay," I assured him. "I just need to go home and lie down." Whoever had attacked me wasn't going to have the satisfaction of knowing I'd been hurt. I knew the rumor mill would grind out it's own version of what happened and the last thing I needed was to be the talk of the town. Plus that, I sensed that Tugg was becoming uneasy about my involvement. I knew down deep that he wanted the mystery solved, but how could he, in good conscience, place his old friend's daughter in danger? The thought was distinctly unsettling, but I'd sunk my teeth into this story and I wasn't letting go.
"I'll drive you out there,' he offered.
