Deadly Sanctuary (34 page)

The kitchen buzzed with activity, and the dour cook, assisted by Rosa and two others, turned out an amazing amount of delicious-smelling food. The young women shouldered heavy trays back and forth through the swinging kitchen door.

I signaled to Rosa when she returned with her empty tray. While the cook’s back was turned I told her I needed some time to check the outside area, and after that the interior. She said she’d figure out a way as soon as the dinner shift ended.

Dusk had fallen by the time I finished three hours of peeling potatoes. I massaged my numb fingers. If I never saw another potato again, I wouldn’t care. Rosa jabbered something to the cook and then motioned for me to follow.

She handed me a bucket and rags and showed me to a pantry area. “You clean the shelves.” She reacted to my look of distaste with an amused grin. “There is a window behind you. How long will you take?”

“Give me at least an hour, and then meet me here.” After closing the door firmly behind her, I turned and ran to the window. It was open, so all I had to do was remove the screen. I slipped outside and ducked behind some oleander bushes while I got my bearings. As far as I could tell I was now behind the kitchen building. That meant the garage and other buildings I’d seen on my way in would be to my left. Keeping my back to the wall, I edged around the corner to the right. The courtyard area before me was brightly lit. Beyond that, a few hundred feet from the gate, a silhouette filled the window of the guard tower. Quietly retracing my steps, I anxiously wondered if the grounds were patrolled at regular intervals by guards accompanied by the vicious- looking dogs. It was a chance I had to take.

The bright moon presented a problem. I had to wait until it vanished behind a cloud before making my move. Drawing in a deep breath, I sprinted across the open space into the shadows beneath a grove of trees, then dashed across a driveway to what I guessed was the garage. Exhilarated and gasping for air, I made my way behind the building and peered through a small, grimy window into the dark interior.

The clouds were drifting away from the moon when I discovered a nearby door. I pushed it open and slipped inside. The narrow beam of my pencil flashlight did little to break the gloom, but between that and the moonlight streaming in some larger windows on the south side, I could make out two of the white vans and Dr. Price’s black Mercedes.

My hand was on the door handle when the sudden sound of approaching footsteps from outside broke the silence and almost stopped my heart. I ducked behind the Mercedes and held my breath. Lights flashed on above me and I saw two dark-haired men enter from a door in the front.

Frantically, I looked for a place to hide. Laughing loudly while conversing in Spanish, the men seemed to be headed right for me. In a panic, I dropped to the floor and scrambled underneath the car, almost losing my wig in the process.

Flat to the floor, my cheek pressed against the cool concrete, I was eye level with their shoes. Inexplicably, the desire to giggle was almost overwhelming. I bit the inside of my lip and shut my eyes. When one of them opened the car door on the driver’s side, I almost lost it. Oh, shit! Don’t let him start it.

I could hear one of the men rummaging around inside and then to my relief, saw his feet reappear and heard the car door slam. Only after they’d shut out the lights and left did I move. And then it was a tremendous effort to get my rubbery legs to support me.

“You are definitely insane, O’Dell,” I muttered as my racing pulse gradually slowed. I finished searching the garage, being careful to use my flashlight as little as possible.

Disappointed to find nothing of interest, I stepped outside again. I was about to lose the moonlight behind the mass of dark clouds now gathering over the top of Castle Rock. Beyond the garage, I saw the outline of another structure about a hundred yards away. Crouching low, I hurried noiselessly along a sandy path.

When I reached the building, I felt comparatively safe, situated well behind the main house and out of sight of the guard station. I circled the structure. There were no windows and in the dim glow of my light I read the large sign on the door. POOL CHEMICALS DANGER! KEEP OUT. Underneath, it warned in Spanish:
¡PELIGRO! ENTRADA PROHIBIDA
.

I started to move away and then stopped in my tracks. Wait a minute. What was so dangerous about pool chemicals? I turned back, playing the light over the padlock which I tugged to no avail.

The lock was solid, but I noticed the strip of metal behind it was anchored to the splintery wood with rusted screws. After a few minutes of frustration, I was finally able to pry it loose with my knife.

After a quick look behind me, I pushed against the door. It was stuck. I pressed harder. The wood was probably swollen due to the humidity, I thought. One more firm shove and the door loosened. I winced at the protesting squeak of hinges as I edged it open.

When I stepped forward something soft brushed my face. Involuntarily, I jumped back and shined the light into the opening, shuddering. A web that seemed the size of a trapeze net covered the doorway. An enormous spider scuttled from the middle of it and disappeared above the doorframe.

I considered going no further until the faint beam of my flashlight picked up a shape in the gloom. Whatever it was, it was big.

I grabbed a stick and stifled the urge to scream as I cleared away the web. Not daring to even think about where the spider was, I bolted inside and approached the mass which was covered with a tarpaulin. I lifted the canvas back and gasped. Bright red paint glittered back at me. I had found John Dexter’s truck.

Even though I had been half expecting it, the discovery left me in shock. The burning question of what had happened to John Dexter’s truck was now answered. And what of John? The sense of immediate danger was strong as I stood rigidly contemplating my next move. Better proceed with extreme caution, or risk the possibility of becoming instant dog food.

I couldn’t very well bring back the whole truck as proof, but I needed something tangible to show the county attorney. It took only a minute to locate the truck’s registration. It read: John J. Dexter.

Outside again, I pulled the door shut while stuffing the small paper in my pocket. A sudden flash of lightning made me jump. The wind had picked up, and the smell of rain was in the air. Rumbles of thunder accompanied me as I alternately sprinted and crept back to the pantry where Rosa waited.

She threw me a worried look. “You are very late!”

“I’m sorry,” I said, brushing the remains of leaves and dirt from my clothing and hair. “I got delayed.”

“I must take coffee to Dr. Price. Where do you want to go?”

“With you.” To substantiate the second part of my theory, getting a good look at Dr. Price was next on the list.

Again, she gave me a troubled look and shrugged. She explained to the cook that I needed to accompany her so she could put me to work scrubbing floors. That seemed to satisfy her.

Rosa led me from the kitchen through a maze of wood-paneled hallways to a wide staircase. Dr. Price and the head nurse lived in a suite of rooms in the main structure and the patients were in the building beyond, she explained, gesturing towards arcadia doors. In the low light, I could just make out a palm draped breezeway that connected the two buildings.

At the top of the stairs, she motioned for me to put down the bucket and take the heavy tray from her. The aroma of coffee and the sight of the fresh cookies made me wish I’d eaten earlier.

“Oficina del doctor,”
Rosa whispered, knocking lightly on the door before pushing it open.

I followed her into the room, my heart hammering in my ears like a kettle drum. My feet sank into plush ruby-colored carpeting as I surveyed the room, taking in a series of tall bookcases and stylish overstuffed furniture. A glance to my left revealed a connecting bedroom and to my right, at the furthest corner of the rectangular shaped room, I spotted Dr. Price seated at an impressive mahogany desk.

“Who’s that with you, Rosa?” he asked in a guarded tone. His gaze swept over me, lingering for long seconds. I tensed. What an idiot I was. It hadn’t occurred to me to give myself a name.

I met the panic in Rosa’s eyes. “Her name is…Angelica. I am…I will be…away next week. So…I am having to train her for me,” she finished lamely. For being put on the spot, her story was quite good. I felt a rush of gratitude.

Dr. Price rose and took several faltering steps. The light from the chandelier caught the reflection from the cut glass liquor decanter perched on the corner of his desk. He pointed to a small table nestled between two upholstered chairs. “Set the tray over there,” he directed me, his voice slurring.

Careful not to react, I kept my face bland and looked at the floor as I passed him, suddenly doubting myself. He looked so damned authentic; tall, gray haired, distinguished. But not old, I thought setting the tray down. Not old. And not sick, as Thena Rodenborn had described. As far as I was concerned my question was answered, but my elation was tempered by apprehension.

It would be best to get out of here now, continue my exploration of the place, gathering evidence, and then lay low until tomorrow.

“Angelica,” Dr. Price purred. “You have beautiful hair. I’d like it very much if you’d bring a cup of coffee to my desk.”

Pretending not to hear, I busied myself arranging the dishes on the little table.

“What’s the matter? Are you deaf?” he challenged. It was an effort not to turn around while Rosa hastily explained my condition. “But, she is a good worker. And, she can read instructions,” she added helpfully. I had to stop myself from throwing an admiring glance at her. She was really getting into the part and earning her five hundred dollars.

“So she can’t speak or hear,” he muttered. I heard his approach and my skin tingled knowing he was close behind me. Casually, he reached around my hand and tapped the cream pitcher. The white liquid poured onto the rug.

“How careless of me.” His voice was smooth as velvet. What the hell was he up to? I thought, kneeling to sop the cream with one of the cloth napkins.

“I will get the bucket to clean it,” Rosa said quickly. “No. Let her do it. You go and get me some more cream. And have Señora Morales go to the cellar and get me more brandy.”

I turned my head ever so slightly in Rosa’s direction. The look of fear in her eyes made me even more uneasy.

“Please, Dr. Price,” she implored. “I will clean it. Angelica can get what you need.”

“Do as you’re told! And close the door behind you.” It was hard to breathe normally as I returned my concentration to the spill.

“Angelica, you’re a very pretty girl,” he said softly. I felt his hand on my shoulder. “And you look so very, very young.” Every muscle in my body strained as I fought for control.

When his hand started to trail down my back, remnants of Mike Scott’s conversation filtered through my mind. All the patients molested by Charles Sheffield were adolescents.

I warned myself to stay calm, or my sleuthing would end right here. Trying to keep my face hidden behind the long black hair, I pushed his hands away, got up and headed for the door.

My hopes of escape vanished when I felt his arms close around my waist. I wouldn’t have thought a man as apparently drunk as he seemed could move that fast.

He clapped a hand over my mouth and dragged me across the room toward his bedroom. I struggled against him as he kicked the door shut and shoved me toward the bed. The look of unbridled lust in his glazed eyes conveyed his wretched plans for me. His arms locked around me and I shook my head violently, fighting to keep his lips away from mine. “Oh, now, don’t be that way,” he said, fumbling for the zipper on my jeans.

“Take your hands off me, you filthy bastard!” The words exploded from my lips before I could stop them. He released his hold slightly, drawing back with disbelief.

“What’s going on here? I thought you couldn’t talk? Why you little fake!” A crazed smile crossed his face and he lunged for me again.

I screamed, “You’re the fake, you stinking child molester!” He grabbed my wrists, so I tried to knee him in the groin. If he hadn’t been so drunk he’d have realized at that point I wasn’t who I claimed to be, but his actions seemed driven by a demonic hunger.

I ducked out of his grasp and almost made it to the door when he grabbed my hair. The wig slipped off and he shouted, “What the hell is this?” His arms closed around me again as I grappled for the doorknob.

He yanked me backward and wrestled me to the floor. Straddling me, he pinned my arms firmly and stared, his eyes widening with recognition. “Well, I’ll be...”

The door opened behind him. I prayed it was Rosa, but before I could call out for help, the words locked in my throat. Claudia Phillips stood in the doorway, a look of rage on her face.

“Charles! You make me sick,” she seethed. “Must you diddle the hired help? I would think you’d get enough to quench your obscene appetites.”

“My dear sister, this one, I think you’ll agree, is a little different.” He rose to his feet, grabbed a handful of my hair and jerked me to a sitting position.

The look on her face when she saw me was worth remembering. “You!” Her violet eyes flashed fire. “How did she get here?” she demanded, crossing to where I sat.

“I’m not positive, but I think she came in with Rosa,” came his reply.

Concern for Rosa almost overruled my own fear. As calmly as possible, I said, “She had nothing to do with this. You two might as well pack it in, because I know what you’ve been up to out here. My editor knows too.”

Claudia’s face blanched. She turned to her brother and cuffed his head. “You idiot! If you hadn’t let that mangy girl escape she wouldn’t be here. I’m sick to death of cleaning up after you.”

“But, Sissy…” Charles Sheffield whimpered like a whipped dog. “What are we going to do now?”