All the same, she quickened her pace as she walked the short distance from the freestanding garage to the side kitchen door, her keys gripped tight in one hand, her cell phone in the other. She wiggled her keys in the lock just as a dark shadow passed overhead, and she whipped around expecting a boogey man. Or woman.
It was just a dark cloud passing.
She laughed nervously as she hurried inside, then collapsed back against the closed door. In the sanctuary of her home, she dropped her purse on the counter but slipped her cell phone into her back pocket where she could grab it quickly if Sam called.
A movie. That’s what she needed to get herself to relax. She headed for the front room.
She didn’t hear a thing. But suddenly, she felt a sharp stab of pain on the back of her bare arm.
“Hey!” she yelped.
She spun around to see her attacker. If you could call her that. Señora Sanchez was holding what looked like a round, wooden stick with a pointed end, much like a popsicle stick. Except for the sharp point. It had barely drawn blood.
Allie was sure she was losing it. But…
Wow. That stung.
“Hola, Señora McBride.” Señora Sanchez took a few steps into the living room from the hall where she’d been waiting. Her magenta lips contrasted with her pale skin as she stretched them into a smile that didn’t reach her amber eyes.
Every nerve ending in Allie’s body was screaming one thing. Get out.
Allie pushed the other woman as hard as she could. The unexpected assault sent her sprawling against the wall.
Allie had a sinking feeling she knew why this woman was there. No way was she going to wait around and let it happen. She started to take off running.
But another, heavier figure stepped from the hall and grabbed her by the arms.
Terror flooded through her. He was holding her so tightly she couldn’t move.
“Careful, Javier,” Señora Sanchez scolded the man, who Allie recognized as the teacher’s son. “We can’t risk leaving any bruises.”
To hell with that. If they wanted to keep her still they were going to have to restrain her. Beat her, hit her. She didn’t care. She wasn’t going without a struggle.
Except, the oddest thing was happening to her.
Her fingers and her toes were starting to tingle. Even the tips of her ears seemed to buzz. And instead of her foot coming down to stomp on the brute, it wouldn’t move. She tried again.
Nothing was happening.
Señora Sanchez came close, and Allie tried to turn her head to gaze at the woman, but she struggled even to move. She tried to open her mouth, but nothing came out.
Dear God. What was wrong with her?
She then realized something else. Javier was no longer restraining her. He seemed to be…holding her up.
“Yes. I think she’s ready now. Let’s get her into the bathroom.”
Like a rag doll, she was swept up into the bastard’s arms. Her legs and arms refused to obey her brain’s scream to run.
My God. She was totally helpless.
Chapter Seventeen
It was her. It had to be.
Sam closed the yearbook and thought for a moment, the only sound the old clock chiming above the kitchenette in the pool house. Señora Sanchez was the only person who made sense.
She’d had access to Jackson Williams fifteen years ago, and to Allie now. She’d also sent him and Allie on a goose chase with that hint about Mr. Williams’s involvement with a married woman, possibly to throw the scent off her. He was going to report his suspicions to Detective Johnson, but first he had to find Allie and tell her. He needed to be sure she really was safe.
He glanced at the clock again. Oh, hell. It was a lot later than he’d realized.
He reached into his back pocket for his phone, but it wasn’t there. After five long minutes of searching, he finally found it on the piano bench in the main house. He must have left it there earlier.
There were two missed calls and a voicemail.
Allie. He listened to the message, and all the pieces clicked. She was right. There had been a book. He didn’t have an inventory list, but he didn’t doubt that it wasn’t listed.
He called her. It went to voicemail. Damn it.
The way he’d shut her out, he wouldn’t be surprised if she was screening his calls. He left a message, hoping if she heard what he had to say, she’d answer, or call him back. He waited another minute and then dialed her again.
Still no answer.
He felt a sudden tightness in his gut, a familiar signal that always told him something wasn’t quite right.
He called Detective Johnson—who did take his call, thank God—and quickly relayed what he and Allie had figured out. As expected, the Detective wasn’t falling all over himself to arrest the Spanish teacher—it was really just conjecture—but he was definitely attentive and said he’d pay her a visit right away.
Sam got off the phone, still uneasy. He tried Allie again, and when she didn’t answer, out of perverse desperation, looked up her sister’s phone number. But Allie wasn’t with Laney, and after assuring her there was nothing to be worried about, he hung up.
Where the hell was she?
She had better not be staying late at the damn school again. Surely, she’d learned her lesson after the last time. As a precaution, he called back Detective Johnson who, at hearing the panic in Sam’s voice, agreed to send a car to the school and one to her house, just in case.
There was no way Sam was going to sit here and wait around for the all clear. He had to do something. To see with his own eyes that she was safe.
And to apologize to her for being a complete asshole.
…
Allie’s head flopped back. Her eyes stared straight ahead, which only afforded her a view of the ceiling. But Javier’s arm, tucked under her head, was so close she could smell the garlic and sweat that clung to him. Her throat convulsed lethargically, but she didn’t gag. The only silver lining to her present state. Choking on her own vomit was something she’d just as soon skip.
Then Javier was slowly lowering her downward. The familiar cold, hard porcelain of the tub met her back, cradling her limp body. She could see the bastard’s face, but he was careful to keep his eyes averted. Coward.
“Go make sure the doors are locked,” his mother ordered. “We can’t risk being interrupted.”
He let her drop and strode off, no doubt relieved to escape the small, suffocating room that was filled with the smell of her fear and horror.
An unmistakable vibrating under her right hip sent a surge of hope through her. Her phone. She’d set it on vibrate for the school day and never switched the ringer back on.
Was it Sam calling her back?
Oh please, let him figure it out and come to her rescue.
Señora Sanchez didn’t appear to notice the muffled sound, and it had stopped by the time she came to kneel next to the tub. Looking Allie over, she then bent down and started to remove Allie’s shoes.
“Have you heard about the tragic decimation of the rainforests?” Señora Sanchez asked, as if they were sitting in the faculty lounge talking over coffee. “They say that with the loss of the rainforests, countless medical miracles—potential cures for many diseases, even cancer—will be lost.”
Allie couldn’t help but wonder if, besides the paralysis, she was becoming delusional. Was the woman really talking about trees right now?
“In the little village where I grew up in Ecuador, there were a few women with knowledge about the healing powers of the roots, trees, and fauna found deep in the Yasuni rainforest. There is also a vine that causes paralysis. It was first used by the Indians, the hunters, to immobilize their prey. The tricky thing is getting the poison into the bloodstream. Just ingesting it won’t do anything.”
Allie’s brown leather clogs clunked to the floor, and Señora Sanchez’s slim, vein-covered fingers stretched out and began working on the buttons of Allie’s shirt. Finger
s that were icy cold where they touched her bare skin. Whatever was happening to her, Allie could still feel sensations.
She just couldn’t freaking move.
Señora Sanchez continued. “My mother was one such healer. And when I visit her every few years, I replenish my supply of the extract. You never know when you might need it. The toxin itself isn’t poisonous, although in high doses, it can paralyze the respiratory system so a victim will actually…suffocate.”
Horror filled Allie. Was that how she was going to die? Unable to breathe?
“Don’t worry. I’m quite adept at calculating the proper amount. The ratio I used should be low enough that you can continue to breathe on your own…for now. The toxin will gradually wear off and will be virtually untraceable. But until it does, as you’ve learned, it renders you completely paralyzed.”
“Everything in the house is secure.” Unlike his mother with her heavily accented English, Javier sounded as American as the next guy. “How much longer?”
“As long as it takes,” she snapped angrily. Then her demeanor changed again. “Javier, why don’t you go keep watch at the windows,” she said more indulgently. “Make sure no one arrives without our knowing.”
The last button released, she pushed Allie’s blouse open. Allie prayed Javier had followed his mother’s orders and wasn’t watching. “My son is not happy about any of this, but he sees the importance of keeping your silence. He has a family now. Children. Things he can’t risk losing. It’s your life or his.”
Her life? God help her.
So they did plan to kill her. Why, oh, why hadn’t she sat tight at school until she heard from Sam?
Hopefully, he’d gotten her message and was acting on it. Hopefully, he’d be here any minute, if nothing else to discuss her theory.
She prayed she’d still be alive when he confirmed it.
“You really should have reconsidered hiding your extra house key someplace less obvious. Over the past couple of weeks, I can’t tell you how many times I saw you or that daughter of yours retrieve it from under that rock. Not very good thinking on your part.”
She’d been watching them?
The bitch leaned Allie forward and pulled her blouse off. “You know, I made a mistake with Jackson,” Señora Sanchez said into the quiet stillness of the room. “I should have left his body somewhere no one would ever find it—at least not until long after I was gone. But you got it into your silly head to build that ridiculous peace garden. The most idiotic idea I’d ever heard. I thought Jeremy was going to win out and nix the idea, but somehow, you wormed your way around him and all the other objections.”
She folded the blouse and set it carefully aside. Allie wanted to scream.
“I really am sorry for having to do this to you.” She sighed, then her face hardened and she snorted. “But Jackson? He deserved it. He used me. Lied to me. And tried to discard me like some old whore. And not even for someone of my same class and breeding. But to that…that surgeon’s wife. Who already had everything and only wanted to take more and more and more.”
Her jaw clenched, then her face smoothed out, and she pinned Allie with a cold stare. “But you, you kept trying to immortalize Jackson as some saint, someone worthy of attention, and you kept digging. Even destroying the files down in archives and wrecking your car wouldn’t sway you. You and Jackson were both of heartier constitutions than I gave you credit for.”
She unclasped Allie’s bra with some difficulty, then eased her back in the tub. “I used to slip small amounts of a pesticide into the cream he added to his coffee every day. He never even suspected he was being poisoned. I got a lot of enjoyment at seeing him suffer from the stomach cramps. But it was taking an awful long time. Arsenic poisoning is not an exact science, you know. The amount I put into those creamers you like so much didn’t have quite the desired effect. I’d been hoping to make you sick enough to put you out of commission for a few weeks, well past the time you needed to make your video. But it didn’t work as planned.” She sounded disgruntled at that.
Allie thought back to the stomach bug she’d had last week. Well, that explained why she’d passed out at the carnival. The subsequent headaches. The confusion. Things she hadn’t even considered were caused by being poisoned. If she managed to get out of this alive, she’d never touch that sweet creamer again as long as she lived.
Señora Sanchez smiled down at her beneficently. “I have patience, though. And I would have been patient while Jackson slowly succumbed to the poison. But then he got it in his head to run away with his whore. That was the last thing he told me before I plunged that damn letter opener into his chest. Poetic, really. She had given it to him, you see.”
She reached for the water taps, but paused with her hand on one. “I almost buried it with him, but why should he be able to have something of hers rest with him for all eternity? I had Javier pull it out of his chest when he helped me lay the cheating bastard in that cold grave, and I cleaned it with bleach and returned it to his desk. No one the wiser.”
She smiled, then focused her attention on the button and zipper of Allie’s jeans. “I just wish I’d thought about that damned book. You know which one I’m referring to. I heard you mention it to Sam in your voicemail. You should have left well enough alone. Now look at what I must do to silence you.”
She stopped speaking finally, all of her attention consumed with trying to pull Allie’s pants down past her hips. After another moment’s struggle, she called out for her son again. “Believe me, dear. This will still be a much easier way to go than with Jackson. Just take a deep breath and it will all be over.” She tilted her head thoughtfully. “It’s too bad about your little girl.”
Violet. Oh God. How was she going to take this? Allie felt the warmth of tears trickle down her cheeks.
Javier came to the bathroom door. “What is it?”
“Help me pull these off,” she said. “We have to be careful. I can’t risk anything tearing. It has to look like she undressed herself.”
His hands, hot and clammy, were on Allie’s waist, touching her skin. Señora Sanchez had left the bra loose around Allie’s shoulders, giving her a bit of modesty—before she was killed. But Allie could feel his gaze on her. His hands lingered far too long as they grabbed the pants and her panties and worked them down. His nose made a whistling noise from his efforts. More tears flowed down her cheeks, this time from humiliation and fury. She wanted nothing more than to scream at him, to bite him, to tell him to keep his filthy hands off her. But she couldn’t move.
“You can let her go now, mi’ja,” his mother said, humor in her voice.
He dropped her clothes on the floor, but one hand still rested on her hip. He seemed embarrassed for a moment, and then he stood in front of her, staring down at her almost naked body. She willed her eyes to shoot daggers of disgust and anger at him, but they wouldn’t obey. They stayed staring straight ahead.
Finally, she sensed him leave. Señora Sanchez sat on the toilet and pulled Allie’s bra—and her last vestige of modesty—from her shoulders, and tossed it on top of the rest of her clothes. Then she leaned forward again to turn the taps.
It was freezing cold for a few seconds until the hot water finally warmed and flowed in. Horror sent her heart thundering nearly out of her chest. Despite the streaming water, the only sound she heard was the rush of blood pounding in her ears.
No! She couldn’t die like this.
“Hmm. I don’t think I’ll leave you to drown in the tub,” Señora Sanchez said. “That would be too stupid an accident, even for you. It has to look intentional. Like you did this to yourself.”
She got up and started to scour the medicine cabinet. Her fingers flipped the few pill containers forward, but having a kid, Allie never kept anything more than Tylenol and Ibuprofen in there, and occasionally some leftover antibiotics. Nothing that could be dangerous to her daughter, even with the childproof caps. Not finding what she was looking for, Señora Sanchez stepped out
of the room.
Leaving Allie to watch the water slowly fill the tub. By now, it reached the bottom of her breasts.
Señora Sanchez was talking to her son again. About what, Allie couldn’t quite make out. A moment later, she was back, perched on the edge of the toilet. She held something that glimmered in the light.
“I was hoping to find some pills, something stronger than Tylenol, that I could have fed you that looked like an overdose where you lost consciousness and drowned. But it seems I’m going to have to do things the hard way.” She held a blade up so Allie could see it. The knife was part of the cutlery she and Ryan had been given for their wedding.
God. Talk about ironic. And she’d thought she was the lucky one to get it in the divorce.
The razor-sharp blade rested on the tub surround as Señora Sanchez leaned forward and turned off the water. She pulled a towel—one of Allie’s best—from the rack and used it to wipe the blade and the handle. Then, still holding the towel, she used it to grasp the knife in her palm.
“Now, what is it they say? Something about people mistaking the way to slash their wrists. I don’t actually remember… Do I slice horizontally? Or straight up and down?” She sounded perplexed. “Well, I suppose it won’t really matter. Either way, the warmth of the water will draw the blood out faster. It will be a peaceful death. Other than the initial pain.”
Without any warning, the blade sliced across the thin skin on the inside of her wrist, sending whistles of pain through Allie’s head. Her arm dropped back into the water. It lay limp at her side and, although she couldn’t see it, she could feel the blood pump out into the water.
In the eerie quiet of the bathroom, Allie’s cell phone vibrated from the pocket of her jeans, lying on the floor. The woman flinched. Then, with equal swiftness, she lifted and slashed Allie’s other arm. Then she pressed the handle into Allie’s hand and let it go. Both her arm and the blade dropped into the rising water that now, Allie could see, was laced with ribbons of scarlet.
With the towel, Señora Sanchez wiped the surface of the tub, including the knobs, then turned her attention to the toilet. Allie tried to focus through the scalding pain coursing through her arms. When the woman left the room again, the sharp, throbbing, white-heat of pain was beginning to lessen. Allie felt as though she was floating in water. She began to drift.
You Again Page 20
