Sanctuary Lost WITSEC Town Series Book 1 (12 page)

“I don’t need to talk. I want to know why my
wife’s—” He swallowed. “—body, has been locked away. I can’t even
see her!”

John took his elbow and led him to the side
but the mayor shook off his grip. “I want to see my wife.”

“I understand. But it’s necessary for Doctor
Fenton to make sure that where she is, her body is safe.”

She had to be locked up, since there wasn’t
the personnel to provide security. The “morgue”, such as it was,
was located in the windowless basement of the medical center which
had been designed for precisely that purpose. Doctor Fenton had
secured the body behind a locked door but provided John with a copy
of the new code.

“I can take you to see her, if that’s what
you wish.”

The mayor sucked in a shaky breath, his red
face contrasting the white of his hair and his usually pressed
appearance was wrinkled like he’d slept in his suit. One of his
shoes was untied. “I want to know when you’re going to bring the
killer in. I want to know when Andra Caleri will be arrested.”

**

Andra took a step back. Anger rolled from the
mayor in waves all the way across the room to the kitchen door.

Stupid.
Why had she doubled back just
for some of the cilantro Olympia grew on the Meeting House’s
kitchen window? Didn’t she know by now she was better off up the
mountain where no one came by?

The mayor’s eyes narrowed and he launched at
her. “You!”

She braced. There were at least eight people
between them. The force of his emotion was so strong she stiffened
anyway.

“You did this! You killed her!”

John grabbed him. “Easy.”

The mayor fought against his hold. “I want
her arrested! She killed my wife!”

John looked at her but Andra couldn’t move.
She hated that she couldn’t move. Someone touched her sleeve and
she flinched. Olympia. Andra wanted to grasp the woman back, but
she’d never initiated physical contact and Olympia seemed to
understand the distance was something Andra needed.

The mayor was still yelling. Olympia held out
a hand toward the kitchen. “Let’s step in there.”

Andra followed her. The metal counters were
clear and the room was quiet. On the rare occasions Andra came down
for meetings, the kitchen was usually a bustle of noise since
offering food inevitably drew more people in. It was an effective
tactic.

“Are you okay?”

The Spanish language Olympia spoke was both a
source of comfort and of pain. Andra pushed that aside along with
everything else. Olympia didn’t know better. After all, Andra was
the one who’d initiated their conversations in the first place.
“Si.”

“I think not.” She gifted Andra with a warm
smile. “I think you like to pretend you’re strong but you do not
have to do that with me. A broken heart knows a broken heart.”

Andra folded her arms.
Defensive.
She
unfolded them and stuck her hands in her back pockets. “Who says I
have a broken heart?”

The older woman chuckled.

“I only came back because I forgot to ask for
cilantro.”

“Of course.” Olympia moved to the window
above the sink and returned with the herb in a small pot. “This is
for you.”

“No, that’s not necessary. I only need a
small amount.” Andra tried to give it back but Olympia wouldn’t
accept.

“My gift to you, since you won’t come to
lunch.”

Andra relented. “Gracias.”

Olympia nodded a queen in an apron, bestowing
riches on the populace with a grace that just wasn’t found anymore.
“The mayor is crazy in his grief.”

“I know.”

“He did not mean what he said. Lies may
soothe his pain now but they will not heal his heart. Only the
truth can do that.”

Andra of all people knew truth was the only
thing that let you move on. Especially when it wasn’t just a heart
that was broken, but an entire life.

Olympia gave her a measured stare. “You know
who said this, don’t you?”

“Yes.” Andra clenched her hands into fists.
“I do.”

“The sheriff will find the truth and Harriet
Fenton will be exposed for the liar she is.”

Andra shook her head. “I know that’s the best
thing. I do. But—”

“No one believes you did it.”

Which just showed exactly how badly she had
them all fooled.

“Listen to me. Anger is a tempest. You
surrender to it and there is no control. Innocents always get
caught up in the damage.” She sighed. “If you came to town more,
maybe joined in—”

“No.” Except she had. Even if Battle Night
hadn’t turned as planned, it had still been a great idea. They
would just have to wait until next time to figure out what
happened. “Nothing good ever comes of it.”

“What about the sheriff?” Olympia’s lips
twitched. “I’ve seen him looking at you.”

“Don’t.” Andra sniffed. “He has a son.”

“And boys need a mother.”

“That might be getting a little too far ahead
of things, since I only met the man yesterday.”

“So you see a future then?”

“Olympia.” Andra sighed. “I have no
future.”

Only days and days and more days stretching
out like a kind of prison sentence.

The older woman’s smile fell. Andra’s stomach
churned, but it was better Olympia knew the extent of it now. She
needed not to get her hopes up; even if she did keep telling Andra
she needed to get out more. Meet a man.

“I’m sorry, child. I didn’t know.”

“It’s for the best.”

A throat cleared. The sheriff stood in the
doorway, his eyes moving between Andra, who was still holding the
potted herb, and Olympia.

Andra made for the back door and hit the
safety bar. She didn’t want to know what nice thing he was going to
say to make her feel better. She needed to pretend he would turn
out to be a jerk, instead of a nice guy who loved his son. Nothing
good was ever going to come of it.

She made it to the end of Main Street and
then headed left instead of right. Harriet Fenton’s house was also
half as big again as everyone else’s, like the mayor’s humble
eyesore of an abode. Why those two couples alone in town needed the
biggest, newest houses, was anyone’s guess.

Andra knocked, but it was more like pounding.
Lingering heat from her pace mixed with frustration in her blood to
pump warmth through her body. Why couldn’t they just leave her
alone? She only wanted to live a quiet, solitary life and they all
thought that was somehow wrong or that there was something wrong
with her. And worst of all…it needed fixing.

Harriet pulled the door open and her smile
died. Not who she’d been expecting.

“You’re telling everyone I killed Betty
Collins?”

Harriet sputtered but recovered fast. “Of
course you did. Who else hated her as much as you? I could just
tell, every time you looked at her, you were so jealous. Of
everything about her!”

“Jealous?” Andra blinked. Was she crazy?
“None of you ever bothered to learn the slightest thing about me.
How could you possibly think I wanted to be anything like her?”

“Not like her, just…
her
. Her life, her
job, her style, all of it! Admit it!”

This was unbelievable. Andra lifted her hands
and then dropped them.
Shoot.
She needed to not lose the
cilantro. “Why would I admit that? I’m not the crazy one. You are.”
She took a breath. “Look, I’m sorry your friend died. But that had
nothing to do with me.”

Harriet sneered. Her gaze flicked past
Andra’s shoulder and she screamed. Was the killer coming for her?
Andra whipped around. John sprinted over, his jacket flapping to
reveal the weapon under his arm.

Harriet shrieked. “She killed Betty. A-And
now she’s here to kill me, too!”

Andra flipped around. Harriet screamed again,
like Andra was in the process of attacking her and then she stepped
back. The woman was certifiable. Andra backed up more and John
passed her. “Don’t go anywhere.”

He went straight to Harriet. “Mrs. Fenton, go
in your home. I’ll take care of this.”

Harriet gripped his arm. “Thank you. Oh,
thank you so much.” Her voice even quivered. “I was afraid for my
life, you know.”

“Lock your door. Everything is fine.”

Andra started walking.

“Hey.” His footsteps caught up to her at a
jog. “I said, don’t go anywhere.”

She didn’t stop, forcing him to jog beside
her.

“Maybe you should lay low. Try not to get
folks all riled up.” His eyes were sad, but he didn’t look like a
crazy person. Yet here he was, telling her to do what she’d been
doing for the past decade up on her mountain. “I’ll figure this
whole mess out and then we’ll see where we’re at.”

She rolled her eyes. “But not that I’ll be in
the clear.”

“I can’t comment on an open
investigation.”

She should probably count to ten. “So you do
think I might have gone from the barn and side-tripped to kill a
woman I don’t like. A woman I can’t say I’ve said two words to in
ten years.”

“I’m not ruling it out.”

“This is unbelievable!”

“I’m not saying that’s what happened, either.
I can’t. I have to be impartial, that’s the whole point of coming
from outside Sanctuary to be the sheriff. Look, if you’re innocent
then you have nothing to worry about.”

Andra laughed. Even she wanted to wince at
the sound. “You really haven’t been in this town long, have
you?”

He stopped. “Now what is that supposed to
mean?”

She shook her head and walked away.

“Andra!”

“I’m going home.”

Where else was there to go? Andra was going
to do what she always did—retreat to her mountain. At least until
the people of Sanctuary invaded her peace with more of their
accusations. The minute Harriet had uttered those words it was only
a matter of time before John arrested her. It didn’t matter what
evidence there was, her fate was set and their judgment would be
swift.

Once the sheriff read her file it would be
out. She wasn’t going to kid herself that her past could be kept
under wraps. There was no such thing as confidentiality, not in
this town. Then everyone would know the person she had been and the
things she’d done. No matter that it had all been in a life that
seemed a million years ago.

But by the grace of God I am what I am and
His grace toward me was not in vain. On the contrary, I worked
harder than any of them, though it was not I but the grace of God
that is with me.

And all of it would be for nothing.

For years John’s uniform had been a
bullet-proof vest, a shotgun and a jacket with US MARSHALS on the
back. Monday morning he pulled on the tan pants, shirt and the belt
Grant had given him. The collar was stiff and the material felt
like it needed a week’s worth of wear before it would give enough
he could sit down.

When he emerged from the bedroom, Pat looked
up from his cereal. “Cool, Dad!”

John smiled. “Glad you like it.”

Pat changed out of his pajamas into jeans
with a hole in the knee and a blue t-shirt and they headed
downstairs.

A dark shadow filled the glass of the front
door. John waited a second while he booted up his computer. The guy
didn’t knock, so John strode over and unlocked it.

“Mail day. Special day.” The young man’s
smile was infectious, his mouth a jumble of teeth. Stubble covered
his jaw and his hair was a tangled mass shaved close on the sides.
He looked barely twenty, though John couldn’t be sure since the
young man’s gaze darted around the room and didn’t stop long enough
to focus on anyone.

The guy squeezed between the frame and where
John held the door open. “Mail day.”

“I’m Sheriff John Mason.”

The young man shuffled to the rear of the
room. “Aaron.”

“Aaron what?” John shut the door.

“Aaron.” He opened the closet and pulled out
a rolling cart. “Mail day.”

Pat kept his distance but said, “Are you the
mailman?”

Aaron puffed out his chest. “Mailman.”

“Awesome. Can I help?”

Aaron’s head whipped around and he narrowed
his eyes. John’s body tensed, ready to get between them the minute
Aaron made a move toward his son.

“Can’t touch.”

John moved closer and set his hand on Pat’s
shoulder. “You’re in charge of the mail, Aaron?”

“Cataloguing, recording, delivering. Checks
and balances. Ones and zeroes. All Aaron.”

John motioned to Pat with his head and his
son sat in the waiting area chairs. “I have some mail needs to go
out today. Can you help me get it ready?”

Aaron yanked the file cabinet drawer open and
pulled out a form, which he set on the desk in front of John. “Fill
out all appropriate boxes, including your name and address and the
recipient’s. Contents must be printed, indicating which item is in
which package. Envelopes must be clearly labeled. Prior
authorization must be obtained for all mail containing matches,
lighters aerosols or other hazardous materials, small arms
ammunition battery-operated heat-producing equipment, wet spillable
or non-spillable batteries, fuel cells, internal combustion or fuel
cell engines, specimens in formaldehyde, liquid nitrogen or gas
cylinders.” He took a breath, not even looking at the paper which
he was quoting verbatim.

“The transportation of weapons alcohol or
body parts is strictly prohibited. All mail will be screened by
authorized personnel and restricted items will be incinerated.”

“Of course they will.” John grinned. “Sounds
like something the government came up with.”

Aaron went on. “All mail must be catalogued
with a registration number before it leaves Sanctuary and a record
kept in the sheriff’s office.”

John took a look at the kid. “Tell me the
record number of the last item Sheriff Chandler sent out.”