Viper's Nest

by Shirley Raye Redmond

  “It seems everyone wants to see my notes or my manuscript before I’ve even written the book,” Allan said to Wren before looking at Judith. “I imagine the administrators were rather indignant when you suggested illegal activities had taken place at the facility.”

  “You can say that again!” Judith arched her thick, dark eyebrows at Wren. “As you’re his research assistant, you can help me too. I have a list of names, and I want to see if any of those names pop up in the records and notes you’ve been collecting for the professor. It won’t take long,” she promised. “I know what I’m looking for.” Judith turned her attention back to Allan. “I can do it right here in your office, Professor P., while you’re teaching class. Your assistant can keep an eye on me.”

  “How do you know I have such files?” Allan asked.

  The woman gave a mild snort. “I make it my business to know such things. I’m a reporter. Remember?”

  “And you’re just looking for names?” Wren asked.

  “Yep, that’s all. Names of certain patients and any visitors they may have had during their months or years at the hospital.” She turned to Allan. “It’s really a small request, considering what I’ll be showing you in the annex. C’mon, what do you say?” She gave him an inviting, lopsided grin, which made her look more attractive.

  Allan regarded the woman in a considering way. “I suppose you plan to sneak me into the annex on some moonlit night? Have you forgotten about the police patrols?”

  “I haven’t forgotten a thing,” Judith assured him. “Trust me. If you’re free tomorrow afternoon around two o’clock, meet me at the hospital cemetery grounds. Bring a camera. No one will see us. The police haven’t been patrolling that section of the institution’s grounds.”

  “And if they do?” Allan asked, quirking a brow. “We’ll be caught trespassing in broad daylight.”

  Judith shrugged. “I’m a reporter, Professor P. I learned a long time ago that one can usually get away with trespassing as long as you remember that it’s easier to ask for forgiveness than it is to ask for permission.” She gave him a cocky smile. “Are we on?”

  Allan ran a hand through his dark, wavy hair. “Sure, why not? I’m intrigued.”

  Wren was astonished.

  “All right then,” Judith said, nodding. “I’ll see you tomorrow afternoon.” Before she left, the reporter glanced over her shoulder to give Allan a measuring look.

  Wren relaxed her tight shoulders and released her grip from the edge of her desk. She’d been tense in the woman’s unnerving presence. As she stood up, her knees wobbled slightly. She braced against the back of her desk chair.

  “Hey, are you all right?” Allan asked, placing a steadying hand upon her arm. “Maybe you should sit down again.”

  “I’m just tense, I guess, from all the stress, and a little weak from hunger.” She glanced at her watch. “It’s late. I’ve got to go.”

  Allan dropped his hand and glanced at his own watch.

  “Do you think she’s really found evidence of a baby farm?”

  “She thinks so,” he replied. “We’ll see.”

  “Would you…would you mind if I came along?”

  He gave her a searching look.

  They stood so close that she noticed for the first time just how thick his dark eyelashes were.

  “Do you want to come?” he asked quietly. “Or do you feel you ought to come, since you’re my research assistant?”

  “Yes, I want to come,” she replied. “I want to see this through.”

  Allan gave an approving smile. “All right then. By now you know the drill—boots, jeans, flashlight.”

  “And the camera,” Wren added.

  “And you’d better tell your long-suffering sister-in-law to set an extra plate at the dinner table for Pippi—again.”

  ~*~

  When she finally arrived at Deb and Charlie’s, Wren felt a heart-tugging pang of guilt as Pippi ran down the sidewalk to greet her. In the glow of the porch light, she could see that her daughter’s small face reflected both relief and anxiety.

  “Mommy, I missed you!” Pippi declared, throwing her arms around Wren’s waist and giving her a tight bear hug.

  “And I missed you too, Pippikins.” Wren leaned over to kiss the top of her daughter’s head.

  “That professor man is working you too hard,” Pippi said.

  Wren wondered if her daughter was merely repeating something she’d heard her Aunt Deb say, or if Pippi actually thought Wren was working a lot of extra hours.

  “Hey, Wren,” Deb greeted her. She ran a hand through her short, dark hair, creating playful spikes at the top. “It’s about time you got here. Hasn’t your professor heard the latest news? Slavery has been abolished.”

  Before Wren could offer a reply, she was greeted by a chorus of, “Aunt Wren! Aunt Wren!” as her nieces gathered around to collect hugs from their favorite aunt.

  Laughing, Wren doled out fervent embraces, giving Pippi another one for good measure. “I’m starved. Do you have anything to eat?”

  “Sure, we had Texas chili for supper. There’s plenty left over.” Deb shooed the girls down the hall to play in Megan’s bedroom.

  “Where’s Charlie?” Wren snatched a sweet pickle from a dish on the table. “His truck is parked out front.” She poured a glass of tea.

  “When he saw you pull up, he went straight to the garage to putter around with something mechanical.” Deb dished up a bowl of chili and placed it in front of Wren.

  “Why in the world did he do that?”

  No doubt, the couple had been discussing her unusual workload and the grisly discovery at the asylum. The story had now made all the papers from Springfield to Peoria.

  “I’m supposed to have a word with you in private,” Deb said. She glanced down the hall from where an occasional burst of girlish laughter could be heard from Megan’s room. “I guess this is about as private as it’s going to get.”

  Wren could guess where the conversation was going.

  “You know, this is becoming a habit—you working late and then coming to my place to eat our leftovers,” Deb continued.

  Exhausted and a bit overwhelmed by the events of the past week, Wren blinked back a few unexpected tears. “I’m sorry to be such a bother.”

  “Oh, honey, you’re not a bother,” Deb assured her. She reached for Wren’s hand and squeezed it tightly. “We’re just worried about you, that’s all. Is the professor on a deadline or something? You’re working late and on weekends too. We don’t mind looking after Pippi, of course, but who is looking after you? I can’t help feeling that something’s going on—something we should know about.”

  Wren hesitated. Anything she shared with Deb would only be cause for concern, and Wren didn’t want Deb and Charlie to worry about her and Pippi any more than they already were. Feeling mildly wretched, Wren had to tell Deb something, since she needed to ask for another favor anyway.

  “Listen, Deb, I hate to ask again, but could you pick up Pippi from school tomorrow? I am going with Allan back to the asylum—there’s a lot to do before the old place is demolished. So, in a way, you’re right about the deadline. We don’t have a lot of time left to get everything done before they tear that old building down.”

  “I hope you don’t find more bodies,” Deb said, bristling. “I can’t imagine what he’s looking for in an abandoned building. And why is he dragging you back there again? You’re not the one writing the book. You’re only the research assistant, for Pete’s sake!”

  Wren winced. For Pete’s sake. If Pippi were to have a safe and secure future, Wren needed this job. She also needed to see everything resolved—particularly the shooting incident and the anonymous note. “Listen, Deb, I think there’s something you ought to know.”

  “I knew it. I just knew it,” Deb muttered, giving a slight frown. “Tell me everything before I imagine the worst. And I do mean everything.”

  Wren told her everything—from the mysterious lett
er to the incoherent ramblings of Freddy Grizzard to the possibility that staff members at the old mental hospital had been illegally selling babies born to the patients there.

  Deb gaped in disbelief. Occasionally, she’d blink once or twice before shaking her head slowly, as though incapable of taking it all in.

  When Wren finished, Deb leaned forward, her face pinched by a deep frown. “Do you remember me telling you—after you went into the tunnels for the first time—that this string of events was all rather thrilling, like in a novel?”

  Wren nodded.

  “Well, I’ve changed my mind.” Deb grimaced. “It’s not thrilling. It’s frightening. Now I’m scared and worried. You know I’ll have to tell Charlie, especially about the letter. It makes me wonder too about Peter’s accident—if maybe it wasn’t an accident at all.”

  “The police have already looked into that possibility,” Wren replied. “They assure me it was an accident, that there’s no evidence to the contrary. What’s really puzzling is why I should receive such a letter now, so long after the accident occurred. I wonder, too, if it’s a separate thing, or if it’s tied to Allan’s research for the biography he’s working on. He got started about six months ago.” She shook her head. “He sure has stirred up a nest of vipers.”

  “No kidding!” Deb exclaimed. “Do you trust the man, Wren? Is he a decent guy?” Concern colored her sister-in-law’s voice.

  This time it was her turn to give Deb’s hand a reassuring squeeze. “Yes, Allan Partner is a decent man. I trust him.” She felt sorry for him, too, but there was no need to tell Deb that.

  Allan had not fully recovered from losing his mother. Peter would have considered Allan to be one of the walking wounded, a term he’d used in a sermon once or twice.

  Since Peter’s untimely death, the term applied to her as well. Thankfully, she had Jesus and her church family to see her over the potholes on the highway of life—that’s what the new pastor had called difficult times in his latest sermon.

  But Allan didn’t have a family of his own. Both of his parents were deceased. He didn’t even have a girlfriend, as far as she knew. In all the months she’d worked for him, he’d certainly never mentioned one. But then, they didn’t really talk much about their private lives.

  Pippi was her primary concern. She needed her job with Allan to support her child. That’s what mattered most.

  “Are you afraid?” Deb asked, interrupting her reverie. Again, she ran a nervous hand through her spiked hair. “I would be, if I were in your shoes.”

  “Most of the time I’m not afraid,” Wren admitted. “But the note worries me. Both Allan and the cops have pointed out it isn’t a threatening one. I just don’t understand why someone would send such a note in the first place. What difference can it make now? Peter’s dead. Whatever he knew, he took it with him to his grave.”

  “And what about the shooting? You could have been killed!”

  Wren swallowed hard. “I know.”

  “And yet, you’re going to go back to the old tumbledown hospital and poke around some more,” Deb said, exasperated.

  “We’re going to the annex this time,” Wren pointed out.

  “You’ll be trespassing,” Deb reminded her. “If the police arrest you, I suppose you’ll want me or Charlie to come bail you out.”

  Wren chucked dryly. “No, I’ll expect Allan to pay any fines or legal fees. After all, I’ll be on the job. Workman’s comp, or whatever.”

  “And if you fall down some dilapidated staircase in the annex and break a leg, he can pay the doctor bills too,” Deb said with a curt nod.

  “I’ll be fine. Don’t worry.”

  “I can’t help it,” Deb said, pouting and frowning at the same time. “If nothing else, that note about Peter worries me.”

  Yeah, there was that.

  9

  Allan checked his cell phone and then put the ringer on mute. He glanced at the long, brick building looming at the top of the knoll. Judith Uravich had been right after all—there was no one around. His vehicle and hers were the only two parked in the small lot set aside for visitors to the hospital cemetery.

  She was waiting for them halfway up the hill.

  “Here, thought you might want this,” Wren said, handing him the digital camera. “Just in case. But if the electricity is off inside the annex, you may not be able to get any good shots.”

  Wren was wearing an oversized khaki vest. It sported multiple pockets in various sizes and a zippered pouch in the back at the waist. Noticing him looking at it, she lifted a shoulder. “Peter used to wear this vest when he went bird watching. He could tuck his binoculars in one pocket and use the others for his birding guide, snacks, water bottle—everything but the kitchen sink.”

  “Quite handy,” Allan observed. “I may have to get one myself, especially if I keep up this new habit of exploring condemned buildings.” He gave her a wry smile.

  She smiled back.

  Judith raised a hand in greeting. She seemed mildly surprised—and even a little disapproving—when she saw Wren. “I thought you might change your mind,” she said, speaking to Allan.

  “Not on your life. I told you I’d be here, and I am.”

  “With your research assistant in tow,” Judith said with a condescending smile for Wren.

  Allan detected a bit of a sneer in her tone. “Is that going to be a problem?”

  “Not at all.” To Wren, she said rather flippantly, “Try to keep up.”

  “Don’t worry about me,” Wren replied, tilting up her chin. She flicked her long hair over her shoulder. Allan caught a whiff of something pleasantly crisp, like lemon verbena. He wondered briefly if her hair felt as soft to the touch as it appeared. He resisted the urge to give one of the long strands a gentle tweak to find out. It would hardly be a professional gesture.

  “All right, let’s go.” Judith led the way to the annex building and to a side door that seemed to be an emergency exit.

  Allan glanced over his shoulder with the uncomfortable feeling they were being watched. There was no sign of anyone, not even security guards. No vehicles on the service lane either. He dismissed his unease, putting it down to nervous anxiety. Only now did he consider how displeased the college dean would be if one of his faculty members was arrested for trespassing.

  The door was unlocked.

  Strange. Was Gorse aware of the lax security measures?

  The annex was decades old, the inside walls painted a gloomy institutional green. The tile floor was cracked and discolored with age. Dark, brown water stains marred the ceiling.

  Was the building still insured for accident liability, or had the state dropped coverage when the property was slated for demolition?

  “This way,” Judith called. She guided them down the corridor past a dayroom with plenty of windows, a battered upright piano in one corner, and a sofa with lopsided cushions against the far wall. At the end of the hall, they went up a staircase and to a large ward with a row of metal bed frames lining each wall. There were several rattan bassinets and an assortment of discarded junk thrown into a corner.

  Wren bent down to pick up a frayed baby bootie. “This is unbelievable.” Wren’s heart broke for the mothers and the babies.

  “It is,” Judith agreed surveying the room.

  “How did you learn about the babies?” Allan asked.

  There weren’t supposed to be any children here. If a pregnant patient was admitted, arrangements were supposed to have been made for someone outside the asylum to come get the child.

  “Gorse was pretty insistent that in the early days of the asylum, men and women were kept separated, but he admitted that in more modern times, they were permitted to mingle at dances, during art classes and such. I suppose attraction between couples was bound to arise and a physical relationship could result in pregnancy. But this”—Allan made a sweeping gesture with his arm—“this suggests much more than the occasional out-of-wedlock birth.”

  “I intervie
wed a woman in town, who claimed she was born here in the annex, right down the hall in the delivery room,” Judith said. “According to this woman, who shall remain nameless, her birth mother was a mental patient here. Shortly after, a local couple adopted her. They were middle-aged at the time and had never been able to have children of their own. This woman is now nearly sixty years old and her adoptive parents have passed away. She didn’t know about any of this until her aunt, her adoptive mother’s younger sister, told her the truth a year or so ago, thinking she had the right to know where she came from.”

  Allan shook his head. If the media were intrigued by the human remains discovered last week, this story would send them into a frenzy.

  “Apparently, they paid fees directly to the matron,” Judith went on. “The birth mother had become pregnant by a male patient here. We don’t know whether she agreed to give up her child or if she was forced to do so by staff at the hospital. Later, I interviewed the aunt. She’s quite elderly, but her mental faculties seemed to be in working order. She told me the baby business was kept hush-hush, and that the hospital certainly didn’t advertise what they were doing. This woman—the aunt—had never approved of her sister obtaining a baby from here because, after all,” Judith raised an eyebrow, “the child was the offspring of two lunatics.”

  Allan stiffened.

  Wren shot a quick frown at Judith and a concerned glance in his direction.

  Judith couldn’t know that he was the child of a so-called lunatic—or so his mother had been called after being admitted to this same institution.

  “I’ve been researching this baby farming business for quite some time. I’m working on a book of my own, you know,” the reporter went on. “When I read in the paper about the infant’s remains found, I wanted to find out if you could help me access any records that might support my research.”

  “I’ll help in any way I can,” Allan promised.