Deadly Sanctuary (33 page)

I laughed and told him who I was. “Have you got a few minutes?”

“Uh-huh. What can I do you for?”

After a series of questions, he remembered John Dexter. “Oh sure,” he said. “I remember him. He had one of those new red Toyota pickups. Man, that sucker was sizzling. Yep. He was as proud as a pup at a fire hydrant and scared silly we might put a scratch on it when we mounted the tire.”

“Do you have any kind of records to show what date and time he was here.”

“Someplace,” he said waving to a grungy office. “He was here kind of late.”

“How late?”

A far away look entered his eyes. “Well, I remember he was pretty mad that we didn’t have his tire fixed on time.”

“His girlfriend said he was supposed to pick it up at four.”

“Right. Well, I think it was more like five when we got done.”

“How can you be sure?”

“Jeeter!” he yelled. “Come over here a minute.” A tall, thin man in grease-soaked overalls joined us.

Pinky explained the situation and he nodded solemnly. “Yeah, I remember that day real clear. I remember ’cause I read in the paper the next week that was the last day anybody ever saw him.”

“I’m trying to verify that he was here at four o’clock.”

“Yeah, he was here all right. He spent the whole time ragging on me saying he had some kind of important meeting he had to get to. I think we were done a hair before five.”

“This is probably a long shot, but do you recall which direction he was headed when he left?”

“North.”

“You’re sure he didn’t go south?”

Pinky looked annoyed. “We were both standing right where you’re standing when he left here. I think we both know north from south, and he went north.”

“Would you guys be willing to swear to what you just told me?”

They exchanged a glance and nodded. Things were coming together for me at last, I thought jubilantly. Roy was lying through his teeth. I could hardly wait to confront him and watch him squirm. Better yet, maybe I’d keep this to myself and spring it on him in Saturday’s column.

Back at the office, Ginger was motioning to me as I stepped into the lobby.

“Mike Scott is on the phone, and he says it’s real important.”

I charged to my desk. “Mike, I’m glad you called. I hope you have some news for me.”

“I’m not sure it’s going to help you, but remember that name you gave me when we talked last?”

I flipped open my notebook. “Charles?”

“Yes, well, it clicked something in my brain, and I finally remembered where I’ve seen the woman you call Claudia. It’s been about ten years ago. Our paths crossed when I was working on a case for the prosecutor’s office. She didn’t look like that and her name was different. I can’t remember what it was, but I’m sure it wasn’t Claudia.”

My heart hammered hard against my chest. “I’m listening.”

“We prosecuted a case against a doctor, a gynecologist by the name of Charles Sheffield. It was an important case and caused quite a scandal. He was accused of molesting some of his patients. A lot of the finer details I’ve forgotten, but you could look up the news clippings at the library. But, I do remember one weird thing.”

“What’s that?”

“All the victims were young. I’d say ranging in age from thirteen to, oh, maybe eighteen years old.”

“Really?”

“Yeah. Pretty disgusting, huh? Well, anyway, we won the case and the guy had his medical license revoked. He got ten years at Florence, and a hefty fine. I seem to recall though that he was released after serving only five years and to my knowledge no one ever heard of him again.”

“Did he leave the state? Do you think he’s still practicing medicine somewhere else?”

“Possibly.”

“But, where does Claudia come into all this?”

His voice became animated. “During the trial, she was there in the courtroom almost every day and she testified for the defense in his behalf. She had kind of light brown hair then. Short and fluffy.”

“I’m not following. What’s the connection?”

“She’s Charles Sheffield’s sister.”

“His sister?”

“Yep.”

I had a flash of the Rolodex card in her office with the horrid little devil figures and the words, May you rot in hell! I said, “Hmmmm. Well, I’m not sure what to make of this just yet, but I certainly appreciate your call.”

“Glad to be of help. Perhaps we’ll see you at another tennis match?”

“Could be.” I hung up and sat tapping my pencil and staring at my notes. So, now that I knew who she was, what did I really know? Having been involved in such a nasty scandal would certainly explain why she would have chosen to remain anonymous.

Later that night, I sat propped up in bed with all the information spread out around me. The answer had to be here somewhere. When I closed my eyes, the words swirled and buzzed in my head like a swarm of angry bees.

I forced my mind to relax and all at once, the fragmented clues began to fall neatly into place. Dr. Charles Sheffield had disappeared five years ago. Violet Mendoza had died mysteriously five years ago. Claudia had arrived in Castle Valley to manage the shelter five years ago!

A chill prickled my scalp. An obviously frightened woman with a heavy Mexican accent had called John Dexter with information for sale. Someone else knew where John Dexter was headed that last day. If I was right, I knew where Jenny had gone and where the young girl we’d found in the desert had been all this time.

A wild scheme began to form in my mind. Armed with nothing more than my hunch and a batch of circumstantial evidence, I knew now what I had to do. There was only one way to accomplish it, and Yolanda Reyes and Nona were going to help me.

Yolanda Reyes stared at me as if I’d lost my mind. “You want me to help for you to go inside the house of the crazy ones?”

I kept my explanation brief, anchoring it mostly on John Dexter.

“But, why did he go away?” she asked frowning. “Why did he not meet with the girl who calls him?”

“I think he did.”

Her face paled. “So…the letter. It was not from John?”

“I doubt it.”

Her hand flew to her mouth. “If John was there, then he is—”

I cut off her next words. “That’s what I want to find out. But, I can’t get the proof I need unless I can get inside the place. If I’m wrong, I may find that it’s just what it’s supposed to be—a mental hospital run by an eccentric old psychiatrist, and that will be that. But, if I’m right…”

She dabbed a tear from her eye. “What do you need for me to do?”

“These people have got it cleverly fixed with the fence, the dogs, and the guards, so it’s impossible to get in. How those girls got out, we may never know, but I think I know a way I can get past the guards, and that’s where you come in.”

At first, Yolanda looked doubtful about my plan to masquerade as one of the Hispanic girls from the Mexican shanty town. I convinced her it could be done, and that I would pay whoever arranged it two hundred dollars. The girl would have to speak some English and I needed to have an answer immediately. Yolanda looked worried when we parted.

I, however, was elated, and put the next step in motion. Nona seemed delighted by my sudden visit and surprised at my request for the wig and theater makeup. “It’s a bit off season for Halloween parties, ain’t it?” she inquired, giving me a quizzical look.

“I’ve been invited to a costume party. In Phoenix,” I added quickly.

“Really? Well, sure, I’ll be tickled pink to help you out,” she said, digging jars from a drawer. “This color ought to do. It stays on real good, and this stuff’ll help you get it off when you’re done,” she said, pressing the containers into my outstretched hands. “You sure you want to go as a Spanish dancer? I got costumes here for Cleopatra, all manner of royalty, or I could even dress you up like Mae West. I had a bit part in one of her movies once, did I tell you?”

As a precaution, I asked her not to mention my visit to Ginger. It was a surprise, I convinced her. She still looked skeptical, but I had no time to explain further.

Yolanda phoned me at the paper around four o’clock. “I have found a girl named Rosa who can help you. She is not very happy to do this. She says strangers are not welcome there.”

“Was she able to tell you anything about the people running the place?”

“No. She says they have warnings never to talk of such matters.”

My heart beat a little faster. Her voice grew plaintive. “Señorita O’Dell. Perhaps you should not do this. You do not understand my language. When they hear you talk, they will know!”

“I’ve already thought of that. You can explain to Rosa that I don’t plan to speak at all. She can introduce me as her cousin from Mexico and tell them that I am mute, cannot speak or hear. Tell her I intend to have a quick look around, and then she can tell them I am sick and need to leave when the van goes for supplies the next day. But, I’m still going to need your help tonight.”

Yolanda drilled me in Spanish until the wee hours, and later, after I’d donned the makeup and wig, she arranged the meeting at Rosa’s trailer. When I arrived, she was openly amazed at my transformation.

Rosa Soto was almost as wide as she was tall, and she looked uncertain as I pressed the twenty dollar bills into her hand. All the while, Yolanda was explaining the setup to her in Spanish. Rosa’s gaze kept flickering over me suspiciously and she babbled something back to Yolanda who let out a sigh of exasperation. “She says it is too much risk for only two hundred dollars.”

I said, “Tell her I’ll pay another three hundred when it’s all over.”

That did the trick. Rosa gave me a yellow-toothed grin and waved us outside. Before the van arrived, I had given Yolanda an envelope and instructed her to deliver it to Tugg if she had not heard from me by four o’clock Saturday afternoon.

Clustered with the other women outside, I stood silently as Rosa explained to the driver that I was a new employee. While I endured his careful scrutiny, my heart beat erratically. By the time he finally motioned me inside, my knees felt wobbly. I collapsed on the seat and sent a silent prayer of thanks to Nona. So far, the wig, skin makeup, and dark glasses had served their purpose.

I prayed Yolanda was right when she had assured me that of all the people in town, the Mexican community was the one close knit group of people who knew how to keep secrets. Since Yolanda herself was probably here illegally, I knew what she meant.

The interior of the van was suffocating. The combination of smells; warm fruit, strong body odor and gas fumes, mixed with the swaying motion of the vehicle, had me struggling for breath. Pressed closely between Rosa and another woman, I fought the nausea rising in my throat and tried to focus my thoughts on something else.

The key to the mystery had been there in front of me all along. John’s crumpled note had made reference to the fact that the first two girls had been found on Talverson property. The third death, coupled with Mike Scott’s information regarding Claudia’s brother, provided the link I’d been missing. The common denominator had to be Serenity House. Tucked safely away in the desert, hidden from all prying eyes except mine, it provided Roy and Claudia a perfect spot to carry out their nasty smuggling operation. It hadn’t been Lucinda trying to scare me away. It had to be the sly Claudia.

The driver hit a pothole and I grabbed the edge of the seat to keep from bouncing off.

“It will not be long,” Rosa whispered beside me. I nodded and positioned one hand on the ceiling to steady myself. There was no question in my mind that Tugg would brand me as certifiable if he knew what I was doing.

We’d traveled about a half an hour when the van braked to a halt so suddenly, I was almost thrown to the floor. I heard the driver chattering to another man in Spanish and knew instinctively I was now on the grounds of Serenity House, probably at the guard station. My heart was pounding with excitement when the van accelerated and then came to a stop a second time. I made eye contact with Rosa and she squeezed my hand and put one finger to her lips.

The driver opened the doors, letting fresh air flow inside. I drew in a thankful breath and squinted into the blinding sunlight. Carefully, I fingered the pencil flashlight underneath my blouse and felt the bulge of the Swiss army knife in the back pocket of my jeans as I followed the rest of the girls outside.

We were met by a rather severe looking Hispanic woman with iron-gray hair and a terribly wrinkled face. She greeted the girls in Spanish and Rosa motioned for me to follow them. Ahead of us, across a grassy courtyard graced with towering cottonwood trees, loomed an impressive two-story building of white stucco topped with a red-tiled roof. Several smaller wings flanked each end. The one to the right contained the kitchen, Rosa explained in a low voice, and the stone structure next to it was the monastery. The ancient bell tower, backdropped by Castle Rock, spired upward toward puffy white clouds.

To my right, glossy, sable Dobermans paced restlessly along the inner fence. Set back to my left, nestled in groves of palm and eucalyptus trees, were several wooden structures. The large one looked like a garage, the smaller ones were probably used for storage.

I followed Rosa inside the building through a dark, narrow hallway until it opened into an enormous flagstoned kitchen. The heat emanating from three ovens almost took my breath away. Face averted, I waited beside a long butcher block table while Rosa crossed to talk to a heavy-set Hispanic cook. I knew she was explaining that I could not speak or hear, and that only she could communicate with me through sign language. The cook shook her head in disgust and pointed me to a mound of potatoes. Rosa set to work washing dishes nearby.

So far so good. I was so wired, I could hardly hold onto the potato peeler. Praying that the theater makeup wouldn’t wash off my hands as I rinsed the potatoes, I wondered again at my rash decision. My mother had always warned me that my impulsive behavior would one day get me into serious trouble. I hoped she was wrong this time. There should be no danger if I did nothing to attract attention to myself. All I needed was enough time to prove my theory.