The Test (28 page)

“None of us believed him,” Dan said. “Welton's a pathological liar. Right?”

“About this, he was accurate,” Preston said. “But now it may be a moot point.”

“What?” All four responded in chorus.

“C. W. Crane, the P.I. for Welton, ran a lookout on credit cards, routine in cases like this. We now know that a telephone call, charged to Ashley's ATT card, was made in Santa Fe, New Mexico.”

The family members stared at each other in disbelief.

“Now it could be a fluke—like somebody got access to her card. But a call in Santa Fe was charged to it. Just one, a local call. C.W. flew to New Mexico last night.”

“New Mexico?” Dan repeated.

“Good friend from med school's doing a residency in Albuquerque,” Preston said. “Name's Ruth Campbell, but she's heard nothing from Ashley. Either she's telling the truth, or she's putting on a good act. But I want to question her in person. Immediately. Can I use your plane?”

“So perhaps Ashley
is
alive?” Frank raked the fingers of both hands through his hair. “Welton was right all along?”

“We have to get out there. If she's as far away as New Mexico, she's hiding.” Dan said. “Hiding from Welton. He must have done something to really spook her.”

“You got it,” Preston responded. “That guy's got a bad history, but no time for all that now. About the airplane, a Lear, if I'm not mistaken?”

“Mr. Preston, are no secrets safe from you?” Carrie asked.

“Not if I'm doing my job, and please, call me Jack. My hunch is that we're going to get to know each other quite well as we peel the onion on this case.”

“Just remember,” Matt said, as he punched in the number of the private terminal. “We can't have any leaks, even in the family. Just the five of us. Okay?”

“Not even Rory?” Gina asked. “Finding Ashley would mean so much to her.”

Frank made the decision. So far only he and Carl knew about Ashley's pregnancy. “There's something else,” Frank said. All eyes focused on him. “Jack, you need to know this too. Ashley is pregnant. She told Carl the night before she was killed—or disappeared. It's why she could not give the bone marrow for Rory that day. She went to the clinic, but they wouldn't proceed.”

“Rory and Chan don't know?” Gina clarified. “Or Welton?”

“No, just Carl and us,” Frank said. “I don't see any reason to tell anyone else at this point.”

“Keep it tight,” Preston said. “Too many involved and we'll lose control. We don't want to tip our hand to Welton. Sure he doesn't know that she's pregnant?”

“We don't think she contacted him after she found out,” Frank said, “and he hasn't mentioned it.”

“I got the plane,” Matt announced. “It can leave within the hour.”

“Got room for me?” asked Dan with a goofy look. “I've never been on the family plane,” he explained. “I hate flying, but to find Ashley—”

Carrie interrupted, “What do we think Ashley's doing for money?”

“She can't have much,” Preston said, tucking his small notebook inside his jacket. “She left with a few hundred dollars and hasn't tried to access any accounts. That's why Crane was keeping a watch on her credit cards. Friends, perhaps?”

“Marcy,” Justin jumped up as Ashley walked in the front door. “Wanta play Power Rangers?””

“After dinner.” She tousled his hair as he hugged her legs. She gave her older charge a friendly tickle, knowing that he couldn't tear his eyes from the Nintendo screen for even a nanosecond.

Sandra called from the kitchen, “Glad you're home for dinner, although it's only Hamburger Helper. That's one more thing we have in common. We're marginal cooks.”

“Things my mother never taught me. But I think I'm getting better.”

“If you consider pizza and Chinese take-out getting better.”

Ashley laughed. “Can I help you with anything? Salad, maybe?”

With time, Ashley had come to consider Sandra Becker more a friend than an employer. Sandra trusted her to run the household, and the women had become best buddies. Ashley had Saturdays off, and usually she just hung out at the house, but that day she'd driven to Albuquerque. She'd planned to look up Ruthie at the University of New Mexico Medical Center. She longed to apologize to her for dropping out of her life when she'd met Conrad. Ruthie had been the closest friend she had ever had. She'd also wanted to ask Ruthie's advice about pregnant bone marrow donors, but now she had another problem too. That morning she'd noticed splotches of blood in her panties. Spotting was a scary sign at three months gestation. Ruthie, always so practical and such a good doctor, would help her figure out whether anything was wrong. After she got over the shock of seeing her alive.

She walked into the lobby to ask if Ruthie was on call. Like all children's hospitals, the lobby made a valiant attempt at cheeriness, at attempt overshadowed by reality. This was a place for very ill children.
This was a place where Ashley wanted to be. After much thought and research, she had decided that she wanted to be a pediatrician, a neonatologist to be specific. Being in a hospital again opened up a compartment in her mind that she'd slammed firmly shut. Her future as a doctor had been put on hold, but it would soon change.

At the information desk, surrounded by concerned parents, she asked whether Dr. Campbell was on call. The answer was yes; did she want Dr. Campbell paged in the neonatal unit? Again a yes. They handed her the phone, but the unit announced that Dr. Campbell was doing a procedure. “Would she like to leave a message?”

Ashley hung up. Her good idea now seemed dubious. She thought,
I abandoned you and now I'm asking for your help?
Ashley left the hospital and debated with herself during the drive from Albuquerque to Santa Fe whether she should try to call her friend later that day.

“Hungry?” Sandra asked, interrupting Ashley's renewed debate as to whether she would call Ruthie.

“Yes. Tired
and
hungry,” Ashley admitted.

She'd skipped lunch as she'd wandered about the University of New Mexico medical complex, refusing to part with even a dollar of her cash. Reluctantly, Sandra had agreed to pay her in cash, even though her employer existed on plastic and had to make a special trip every week to the ATM.

Ashley pulled out a head of lettuce, a tomato, and a cucumber with one hand and, and with the other, she retrieved three slices of American cheese. “Just going to wash up,” she called. “Be back in minute.”

On the way to her room, she hastily unpeeled the plastic wrappers and stuffed the cheese slices into her mouth. Back in the kitchen, she poured a twelve-ounce glass of milk. “For the baby,” she said, dabbing at the white moustache. “Amazing how much better a little food can make you feel.”

“You haven't gained much weight,” Sandra remarked. “You should have seen me when I was pregnant. Especially with Justin.”

“I'm just at three months,” Ashley said, patting her abdomen, which showed just the touch of a curvature.

“You'd better get to an OB,” Sandra said for the hundredth time.
“Prenatal care is very important. Mine was very good. All you have to do is make the call.”

Right, and pay the bill. Ashley had planned to put off seeing a doctor for a few more months. Of course, she was a doctor herself, but that was in another life, a life where she had medical insurance. But Sandra was right. With the spotting, she'd have to make an appointment soon.

Sandra had the radio on in the kitchen and was humming along with the music. “I like that song,” Ashley said, to change the subject.

“Monica Monroe,” Sandra said. “Voice of an angel. And what a life story. Did you read how she was adopted? Her biological father was some filthy rich guy. Paid the mother megabucks not to have an abortion. It was all in the news a couple of months ago. Did you know she married that TV sports guy?”

“No, I didn't know,” Ashley lied. Wherever this conversation was going, she needed to steer it away from the Parnells.

“Her biological family has had a string of trouble. Can't remember the name. One of the brothers is a senator or governor or something back east. Anyway, one woman was killed in a car crash and another had some bizarre heart disease, and one was killed on September eleven. Read it in
People
magazine at the dentist.”

Ashley made a mental note to get that magazine as Sandra hummed along with Monica.

“By the way, some guy rang the doorbell today,” Sandra said as she stirred the box of Hamburger Helper into the ground meat. “Asking about you.”

“What?” Almost dropping the wooden salad bowl, Ashley braced herself against the countertop. “L-looking for me?”

“Yeah, a smooth talking guy, in his forties, I'd guess. Short, stocky, wiry brown hair. Said he knew I had a new nanny. I asked him what business it was of his, and he asked me if I had checked your references.” Sandra was staring at her now.

“Sit down, Marcy. You look so pale. What is it?”

“Did you find out who this m-man was?” Ashley was shaking, gasping for air. “Who sent him?”

“No. He didn't introduce himself. Matter of fact he never mentioned
you
by name. Just kept calling you ‘the new nanny.'”

“Did you give him my name?”

“No. I asked him again what business this was of his.”

“‘Woman like you, alone, should be more careful about who you trust your children to,' was all he said. It shook me up for a minute. Then I figured that he was just a neighborhood busybody. What do you think?”

Ashley leaned back against the cabinets. “I don't know. Maybe somebody in my family,” was all she could think of to say.
I have to get out of here
was screaming in her head as she forced herself to finish setting the table.

“Marcy, you haven't told me much about yourself.” Sandra wrinkled her brow in worry. “I didn't want to probe. You've been the perfect nanny to the boys. I'm just so appreciative. But if there's going to be trouble, I can't risk the safety of my boys. They're all I have.”

Ashley stood frozen to the tile floor. How had Conrad found her? And where could she hide from him?

“I'm sorry,” she said to Sandra. “I don't mean to cause you trouble.”

Sandra came to Ashley and started to put her arm around her shoulder, but Ashley pulled back.

“I'm not feeling well,” she said, massaging her forehead. “A migraine. I just need to lie down.”

She had made that one mistake. Otherwise, she'd been so careful. She had a platinum American Express, a Visa, a Saks card, and a First Union Bank card. She had her passport and driver's license. But she had never used any of these for any reason. She still had her cell phone, but hadn't dared to keep it charged lest she be tempted. The only mistake she had made, and it was a stupid one, was to make one call from the road to Sandra's gallery. Last week, she had taken the boys to the pediatrician's office because Bart had an ear infection. On the way home the transmission in the Taurus went out. They were not far from a strip mall, so she took the boys in hand and trudged to a pay phone. Bart was moaning about the pain in his ear and Justin was crying. On impulse, she'd reached into her purse, pulled out her ATT calling card, and called Sandra at the gallery. That was probably how Conrad located her.

She waited until she was sure that Sandra and the kids were asleep. She'd packed her few belongings, and at one a.m. she crept into the kitchen, heading for the refrigerator. She selected a carton of milk, an
entire packet of cheese slices, a leftover chicken breast, and several apples and oranges. She moved to the cupboards and as quietly as possible removed cans of tuna, packets of drinks, Pop-Tarts, two muffins, and a loaf of white bread. She stuffed them all in a plastic kitchen bag, remembered that she'd need a can opener, and lifted one out of the silverware drawer. She decided to leave the note in that drawer. It read:

Sandra, I am sorry. I have never taken anything in my life. I promise I will repay you as soon as I can. I loved working for you. Please say good-bye to the boys. I will miss them.
Thank you. Marcy.

It was the same drawer where Sandra left the grocery money. With relief, Ashley found that Sandra had replenished the funds for the next week, $220. Mentally she added up her money. $220 here; the $120 that Julie's aunt handed to her; $30 from her original amount; and nearly $450 from her weekly wages. That came to $850. And Sandra's credit card was in the drawer, too. She would take it, and use it for gasoline, but only for tonight.

Getting the car out of the garage without waking Sandra would be risky. But that risk paled compared to the chance that Conrad, or whomever he had hired, might be watching the house. In the dark, she searched up and down the street. She saw no cars lurking out there, so she carried her two bags—one canvas, with her clothes, the other plastic, with her food—into the car. Then gingerly, Ashley pressed the garage door opener. Holding her breath, she started the Taurus and backed it out onto the street. Heart pounding, she jerked it into drive and took off toward the Interstate. She was too scared to look back.

She would drive as far away as one tank of fuel would take her. First, she had to get out of Santa Fe, but to where? Colorado to the north? Texas, if she headed due south? Oklahoma to the east? Arizona to the west? As the Taurus sped forward, she still hadn't decided. Her focus was fixed on the rearview mirror. At one fifteen in the morning she met few cars as she zigzagged her way to I-25, disturbed by the occasional set of headlights appearing, then disappearing behind her. But should she take the Interstate north or south? She figured she'd have about four
hours, five at the most, before the cops caught her. Less if Sandra woke up early, found her car and money missing, and called the police. But her gallery didn't open until one on Sundays, and since there was no school Bart would sleep 'til noon if you let him. Still, the little one would be up at seven, toddling around until he woke up an adult. Realistically, she told herself, Sandra would call the cops around seven thirty or so. By then, she'd need to abandon the car.