She’d been on her way home from Doc Hunter’s office that afternoon when she found the card lying on the sidewalk just outside Haygood’s. It had to be an omen from God, she thought as she read the card.
Fulton County Women’s Clinic.
One phone call, and her plans were set.
Casey stuffed the card inside her purse. Tomorrow she’d show it to Blake and maybe her mother.
She touched the three stitches at her temple and wondered if she should tell Blake her suspicions. While Sheriff Parker said she’d been hit by a loose shutter, she knew better.
Right before she’d been hit, she felt a presence. As she was about to turn around, she felt the blow.
Everything went black after that. But she knew someone wanted to hurt her. Maybe they were trying to scare her away. Or, and the thought of this sent chills down her spine, maybe someone wanted her dead. It was clear someone hadn’t wanted her in that house. Were they afraid of what she’d find in the book bag? The sheriff gave it to her, apparently not caring about the contents, or if he had, nothing he found had seemed important.
Why had Sheriff Parker appeared out of nowhere? He’d shown concern for her, but was his concern real? And why had he asked her if she remembered the position she’d slept in? Almost like he’d been testing her. But for what?
In just a few short days her life had turned into one question after another. Casey knew that her mother could answer many of her burning questions, but until John came home, she couldn’t ask her anything more.
Casey turned the lamp off for the second time and crawled beneath the covers. All evening she’d tried not to think about her revelation to Flora, but now in the dark of night, alone with her thoughts, she couldn’t stop the memories from coming. One minute she would believe herself a murderer and in the blink of an eye, she’d see herself as a victim, a little girl crying to be loved. Why? she wondered as she pulled the comforter closer around her neck.
She remembered that day in the closet ten years ago so vividly, yet anything before then still remained a clouded mystery.
The card. She hadn’t wanted to think of its implications, but she couldn’t stop herself. She recalled making the phone call, and then . . . as was the norm for her, she drew a blank.
She recalled being so afraid. And a strong need to hurry. But why? Had her life been in danger?
Or had her fear simply been a case of newfound over-protectiveness for her unborn child?
He watched the upstairs light dim for the second time that night. She must be suffering from her nightmares. This thought pleased him. He hoped he’d caused her some discomfort, if not physical, then at least mental. When he’d seen her running through the rain, he followed her. Her destination seemed fitting for his plans.
Sure the blow would keep her quiet for a while, he’d been surprised when he heard her soft moans. He hadn’t dared another attempt, at least not yet. Another opportunity would soon make itself known, and he would wait until then.
He would wait for his orders.
Eve parked her BMW in the hospital’s parking lot and cursed the hurricane winds that tousled her perfect blond bob as she walked to the front entrance. Eight o’clock in the morning and already she looked a mess. It wouldn’t do for John to see her in such a state. She had decided to ignore Dr. Foo’s orders to keep away.
Stopping in the ladies’ room, she ran a comb through her hair and reapplied her pink lipstick. A glance in the mirror told her she looked her best, as always.
The maze of halls always confused her. She stopped to make sure she’d made the correct turn. Left, then three doors down. John’s room.
Before opening the door, she drew in a deep breath and plastered a smile on her face. John liked to see her happy. And he’d want to know how Worthington Enterprises fared with her at the helm now. She’d fired Mort and couldn’t wait to tell John whom she’d hired in his place.
She gave the heavy door a shove and entered.
The blue shades were open, allowing the dreary gray day to seep inside. A fluorescent light behind and above John’s bed couldn’t dispel the gloomy atmosphere. She smelled Lysol and urine and wondered how in the world John stood it.
She sat down in the fake leather chair next to his bed and waited.
He must be in the bathroom, she thought, because his bed was empty. Actually, it looked like it hadn’t even been slept in. The white sheets were smooth, their corners tucked under, sharp and crisp.
She went to the bathroom and knocked. Nothing.
Pushing the door aside, she peered from side to side.
Empty.
Her next thought caused her heart to pound in excitement.
Quickly she hurried out of the room to the nurses’ station. Leaning over the counter, she looked down at the skinny nurse who’d ushered her out of John’s room just days ago.
“Yes?” The woman looked up, her irritation at being disturbed evident in the scowl that creased her pale forehead. Too bad, Eve thought.
“I’d like to know where my husband is. He’s not in his room.”
“You don’t know?” the nurse inquired.
Good God! Her heart gave another leap, and for a moment she thought she might faint.
Had the hospital tried to phone her? After all, she was his wife. A lawsuit loomed in the near future for this ramshackle excuse of a hospital.
“No one bothered to call me. And you can rest assured the director of this . . . this clinic will hear from my attorney before sunset.” Eve forced her eyes to water and took a tissue from the box placed beside a vase of wilted chrysanthemums on the countertop.
“Ma’am, I’m sorry you’re so upset. I thought you knew.”
“Wouldn’t you be upset if your husband passed away?” Evie asked. She started to weep, and became aware of several nurses and a few doctors staring at her. She blotted her eyes and blew into the tissue.
“Oh, no, Mrs. Worthington. Your husband isn’t dead.” The woman stood up and walked to her side of the counter. She led her to another group of horrid green plastic chairs. “Please, sit down.”
Eve must have been stunned, for it took several minutes for the nurse’s words to register.
“Your husband isn’t dead.”
Suddenly Eve stood up, all thoughts of crying cast aside. “What did you just say?”
“Mr. Worthington is fine. As a matter of fact, Dr. Foo was about to sign his release papers when Mr. Worthington requested he be relocated.”
“Relocated? What do you mean, relocated?”
“He’s asked the location not be given out. To anyone.” The nurse smirked.
“What do you mean, for God’s sake? I’m his wife.” Shouting now, Eve didn’t care that all who happened by were staring.
“Why don’t you ask him yourself? Here he comes.” The nurse looked down the hall at a tall form approaching. Eve watched as Adam Worthington strode toward them.
Eve rushed to him. “You bastard, what do you think you’re doing?”
“Calm down, Eve. Let’s go someplace where we can talk.” Adam’s usual placating tone infuriated her. She’d not let him get away with this sort of treatment. She’d tell John as soon as she found out where he had been taken.
Adam pulled her inside John’s former room and motioned for her to sit. She did. For once she wanted to hear what this hateful stepson of hers had to say.
“You’d better have a good explanation for this, Adam. I’ve never been so frightened in my life. That dreadful nurse told me John died. I’m going to call my attorney as soon as I leave here. I’ve never felt my heart pound so. You know, I’m not that young anymore either, Adam.” She took a monogrammed handkerchief from her purse and blew into it.
“Stop it, Eve. Save the show for a new audience.” Adam sat on his father’s bed and stared at his stepmother. Eve was filled with an overwhelming desire to strike him.
“What are you talking about? One minute I think your father, my husband, for Pete’s sake, is d
ead and the next you’re jumping down my throat. I won’t have it, Adam. I’m tired of it.”
“You know exactly what I’m talking about, Eve. And I won’t tolerate it. My father is very ill at the moment, that’s what concerns me.”
“That nurse said Dr. Foo was ready to sign release papers. He can’t be too ill if he was going to be discharged and moved at the same time.”
“Well, sorry to burst your Cinderella bubble, but that nurse has no idea what she’s talking about.”
“And I suppose you do?” Eve snarled. He’d always been such a know-it-all.
“Yes. Dad’s blood pressure continues to elevate at potentially dangerous levels. He can’t afford to be upset. Knowing that certain people hold the power to do just that, he’s asked to be moved to another hospital until his condition can be stabilized.”
“You expect me to believe that? John would never do anything like this without telling me first. I know him too well.”
Adam was trying to upset her. She wouldn’t play his game.
“Maybe you don’t know him as well as you think. Maybe you’ve mistaken him for someone you, ah, know a little better.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Figure it out. Here’s the deal Eve. Take it or leave it. Until Dad’s condition improves—drastically—I’m the only one who knows where he’s at. I’ll keep you updated on his progress, give him any messages you have, but that’s it. I don’t see that it should matter to you anyway. With your trips to Atlanta and a big corporation bowing to your every command, I would think my father would be the last thing on your mind.”
“God, Adam, you really are a spoiled little bastard. How can you say such mean things? Why I’ve been nothing but . . . accepting of you. I’ve tolerated your rudeness. And you know, years back, when you never even bothered to come home for a visit, it was I who consoled your father, Adam, me who he cried to at night.”
Adam got off the bed and strolled to the door. “As I said, Eve, save it for a new audience.”
He closed the door behind him, and Eve wished she’d struck him when the urge hit her. She would not allow him to run her life. He might think he had the upper hand now, but she knew better.
She’d had a stepson long before Adam came along. And she knew just exactly how to deal with them.
Jason Dewitt had spent the previous evening enjoying the luxuries provided by the Ritz-Carlton in Buckhead. He felt at home among the eighteenth-century antiques and the quiet elegance the Carlton was noted for.
He’d consumed a bottle of wine in the Lobby Lounge, and when he was called to dine in the hotel’s noted dining room, he’d practically stumbled to his table.
In the morning, the bottle of wine that had gone down so smoothly the night before came up mixed with chunks of whatever it was he’d eaten.
He retched until he thought his insides would explode. Maybe he had food poisoning.
In the huge bathroom, he filled the white marble bath with hot water and climbed in. After sponging himself liberally with a sea sponge, courtesy of the Ritz, he dunked beneath the surface and almost felt human when he came up and leaned against the cool tiles. Definitely a bitch of a hangover.
Fleeing Savannah had been in his best interest. After serious thought, he’d decided a confrontation with Bentley wouldn’t do. He’d needed more time to think and plan. It didn’t hurt to know what he was up against. Yesterday when he saw Bentley coming out of Peachtree Center, he couldn’t believe his good fortune.
When he inquired about an office in the building, the building’s supervisor gave him Bentley’s card, telling him he might rent the space he required.
Today all thoughts of renting office space were forgotten. His plans were taking shape. The staff at the house would know better than to ask him any questions; the Judge had trained them well. He’d contact Jo Ella, explain to her he’d be gone indefinitely. His patients could easily find another doctor to listen to their pathetic complaints.
He would fly to Brunswick and, if luck stayed with him, he’d put an end to the threat from Bentley.
Things were definitely looking up. He recalled his promise to the Judge.
Bentley recalled a time when the mere thought of spending a night alone in the dark dampness that surrounded him at present would’ve sent him scurrying for better accommodations.
When he’d stumbled on this room years ago, he hadn’t given much thought to its use. Now he was glad he’d found it. Dozens of passages, winding in every direction, were located under the basement at Sanctuary. According to the history of Sanctuary, he knew these dark passageways were the former escape route for slaves hundreds of years ago. He smiled thinking of it. What excitement they must have felt, knowing all that prevented them from freedom were the walls of dirt that surrounded him.
A trip to the basement hadn’t been unusual for Robert. The hospital stored broken equipment, boxes of old files, and just about anything they didn’t dare throw away down there.
Robert had been exploring in the basement when he discovered a door guiding him farther into the damp earth. A crude wooden staircase led him straight down into the darkness. Using his butane lighter to guide him, he’d investigated the hidden tunnels. Afraid he would get lost, he’d hustled back toward the stairs.
That’s when he located the room.
He would never have noticed it if it hadn’t been for a piece of chain protruding from the wall. He’d stopped and pulled on it. The wall moved. He pushed harder. A door.
The room was as large as the entire basement above. The smell of dampness permeated the huge opening, and years of decaying animals scented the room. He’d covered his mouth with the sleeve of his shirt and viewed the area with a discerning eye. Someday he might have use for such a room.
Someday had arrived . . . a long time ago.
Norma couldn’t find him there, the staff apparently had no idea what he’d discovered beneath the basement, and the people of Sweetwater, if they knew Sanctuary housed an escape route for what might have been some of their ancestors, hadn’t spoken of it either. He smiled when he thought of all the crazies just two floors above him. They’d love it down here.
Over time, he’d furnished the room from the basement’s store of discarded furniture. Though the pieces were crude, some broken—a chest of drawers missing a drawer or two—it had served his purpose. He even found a small cot and shoved it next to the wall to the left of the door. The dirt walls that provided safety from detection to those who’d inhabited them before continued to work their magic.
For him they provided what he’d needed more than anything.
A place to hide.
When he left Atlanta yesterday he hadn’t planned on spending the night in the room. He’d entered his sacred ground without being noticed. When he received the call on his cell phone he’d decided it might be best to remain for the night.
Dewitt was nowhere to be found. Bentley had called the doctor’s secretary again, and she still had no idea where he’d gone—only that he called and told her he’d be out of town indefinitely. And she’d been occupied elsewhere. Probably pulling the last of their plans together. Robert hoped she wouldn’t fuck up as she had in the past.
They hadn’t discussed those plans yesterday. He’d explained to her it was possible they could be overheard, and it was better to be safe than sorry. They would only discuss their plans at prearranged times. So far so good.
Things were falling into place, with the exception of Dewitt. But, Robert thought, he might not be a threat after all. He had only the good doctor’s word that the Edwards woman talked. He could be bluffing. At this point in the game he just couldn’t take that chance. He remembered the packet he had discreetly placed beneath the front seat of the rented Mercedes.
There was more where that came from.
Chapter 22
Casey took her usual morning shower before going downstairs. Shaded dreams and vague memories had kept her awake most of the night. Her
eyes were heavy and her head throbbed.
Coffee. Flora always kept a fresh pot on the counter. A cup or two, and she’d be fine.
Hoping Blake had already called, she hurried down the stairs to the kitchen. Observing the unusual hustle and bustle, Casey wondered why the extra help had been hired and what was going on.
“Mornin’, Missy.” Flora looked up from her papers at the wooden table and motioned for Casey to sit down.
“Morning. What’s all this?” She nodded at the four women surrounding Mabel.
“We’re to do the afternoon tea for the Married Ladies Club. There’s about twenty-five ladies coming this afternoon. Your momma bein’ the president and all, it’s her turn to host the tea.”
“I had no idea. Blake told me about the club, but I didn’t know Mother belonged. I guess this must be a pretty big thing in Sweetwater.”
“Oh, it is. If you belong to the Married Ladies Club you’re somebody, that’s for sure. The club’s been around for more than a hundred years.”
“Then I take it Mother will be here for the party?”
“She never misses a meeting. She’ll be here.”
“Is she still with John at the hospital?”
“As far as I know. By the way, that Marianne called again. She said to tell you she and Vera tore the attic apart down at the sheriff’s office, and they haven’t found what you were lookin’ for.”
“Somehow I knew they wouldn’t. It doesn’t matter, I guess.”
“Is it the report you were lookin’ to find, Casey?” Flora looked up from her notepad. Worry lines wrinkled her brow. “You know . . . of that day?”
“The one and only. I’m not relying on anyone’s written word of what happened that night. I’m confident I’ll remember everything that happened, given time.”
The screen door slammed, causing Casey to jump. She turned around just in time to see Hank headed for his gardens.
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