Frannie let herself in the back door of the bakery and paused by the stairs leading up to the second floor. There wasn’t much up there. She mostly used it as storage, but only because the previous store owner had piled all the old furniture and scraps of material like carpet, and even some drapes and old dirty sheets, up there. It wasn’t good for anything she needed. There wasn’t even a working bathroom.
She had hooked up her computer in the single bedroom and hauled in an old metal filing cabinet, but that was it. The plus side was that her mom or sister would never intentionally soil themselves by going up, so she actually had a private space. Even one that smelled like mothballs—or what she figured mothballs would smell like if she actually knew what they were.
The first lady strode into the kitchen with an empty tray. “There you are.”
“Everything go okay?”
“Fine, dear. You?”
Frannie shrugged. How someone could make a look of consternation feel warm was anyone’s guess, but Susan Sheraton did. Frannie figured the first lady wasn’t used to taking crap from anybody. Or being lied to.
Susan set her dainty hand on her hip. “I have a daughter. I know what being brushed off looks like.” She sighed. “Believe me, I know. But you don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to. I’m not about to pry in your business.”
“Thank you.”
Her blue eyes narrowed and glinted. “Ah, so there is something.”
Frannie laughed, which felt good. There wasn’t much in her life that warranted humor, unless it was the tragic kind. “Any idea how to escape your life when you’re basically stuck with it twenty-four/seven?”
“Well, it’s funny you should ask that…”
“Yeah.” Frannie mock-sighed. “You probably don’t know anything about being stuck under a microscope. Or having to do something because people assume you should, instead of being able to just goof-off for a day.”
The first lady smiled. “Have you tried kick boxing?”
“Seriously?”
“Sam has a class on Thursday afternoons at four. It’s a great workout if you’re feeling the need to pummel something that won’t get mad, or hit you back.”
“All right.” Frannie smiled. “That sounds pretty good.” She was going to have to work it around rehearsals for the play, but it might just be worth it.
“You know, I can stick around here if you have something you need to do.”
“Really? You’re not bored yet?”
Susan shook her head. “It’s different, but I’ve enjoyed meeting everyone who came in. Beth is due in a few minutes. I gave her a call and said to come over. You have her favorites in the display cabinet. The chocolate croissants.”
“That’s right. She asked for those especially, said she had a craving.”
Something flickered over Susan’s face, but she shook it off fast and smiled. “I’m sure she did.”
“If you’re good, then I’ll go upstairs and get some paperwork done.” Frannie waved toward the stairs behind her. “Holler if you need anything.”
“I certainly will.”
Half an hour later the first lady brought Frannie a bottle of water and a sandwich. That was when she realized she hadn’t eaten anything since her four a.m. breakfast. Frannie pulled her gaze from the snow-crested peaks of the mountains out her grimy window and looked at the desk.
She was still surrounded by papers. They hadn’t magically disappeared while she’d been daydreaming.
Susan chuckled. “I shouldn’t laugh, but you really look like you’re in pain.”
“I am.” She puffed out a breath and then grabbed two papers that tried to blow away. Those needed to be delivered. “I really hate accounting, but it has to be done.”
“And you prefer baking, or conversing with customers better?”
“Baking.”
“That’s what I thought.”
“What do you mean?”
The first lady shook her head, but her face looked a whole lot like Olympia’s had that morning. That, I’m a mom and I’m up to something, face. “I’ll let you know when I figure it out.”
Frannie should tell her everything. Then Susan could give her an answer for all of it, but she wouldn’t be sorting out her own life. She would be leaving that to someone else. Again. Therein was the whole reason she was in this mess in the first place. She should have just told Director Mason to stick her mom and sister in Miami. At least they would have died happy.
By the time the sun set behind the mountains, Frannie had printed the whole stack of invoices. Tomorrow they would need to be delivered, after which, money would trickle in, and she’d be able to buy some more toothpaste. Then she’d be able to purchase more bulk baking supplies from the Air Force for next month.
Although she was out of blue food coloring now. If she wanted to make those whale cookies before her shipment came in on the delivery transport, she’d have to run to the tiny general store on the other side of Main Street and grab one of the little bottles.
The first lady had left a couple of hours before and apparently cleaned the tables and mopped the floors before she’d left. God bless the woman. Frannie double-checked the locks and tried to calculate how long it would be before she could get a security alarm. A hundred years from now, most likely. Unless she could get an oven for free, or find someone to fix the one that was out.
Dreading the idea of going home, Frannie rode her bike to the medical center instead. The light in the front windows was dim, but the security guard would let her in.
Xander appeared at the door, making her jump back even though she’d been expecting him. The whites of his eyes were the only thing visible against his dark skin. Then he smiled, and she saw the gap between his front teeth. He laughed, but the sound was muffled through the door, and he hoofed his girth back to the reception desk where he pressed the door release.
Frannie pushed the door open and stepped inside.
He stuck his thumbs in his belt. “Scared ya.”
“Yes, you did. Hi, Xander.”
“Hi yourself, Ms. Frannie.” His belt contained a baton, flashlight and radio but no gun. Xander had been hired as a night guard after the break-ins started and the locks were broken. No one had been caught yet and things seemed to have quieted down. There’d been one more theft of pharmaceuticals the sheriff figured out had happened during the day, but Xander kept up his nightly patrols, and Frannie was glad for it. His presence meant Stella wasn’t alone when her husband went home for the day.
“Here to see Ms. Stella?”
Frannie nodded. “How is she?”
His smile slipped. “Not so good.”
Frannie squeezed his tree-trunk bicep, suddenly feeling like she needed to comfort him. It had to be hard to be around sick people night after night. Sure, a lot of them recovered and went home, but some didn’t. She wasn’t sure she could cope with that sense of finality. Death Valley. It was what some of the town residents called Sanctuary. Not that it was actually a valley, more like a basin. But it was where they all came to die.
Frannie made her way down the hall. The only alternative to dying here was to leave…and be killed on her father’s order by his men still hunting her.
What power she had lay with the choice itself, instead of the outcome. There were people in the world who wanted her dead and would use any means necessary to see it happen. It was why she was here—why her family was here, as much as they grated against her.
Now the only power she had was in the day to day decisions she made. Like the decision to cut her mom and sister loose, fire them from the bakery and move out. She’d taken care of them for so long it was almost instinctual now. What would she do on her own? How would they pay the mortgage, and how was she going to break the news that she was cutting them off? Did anyone other than the first lady even want a job at the bakery?
Not to mention there was hardly time to worry about all that when she was running a business, working her hours in the kit
chen and at the front counter. Starting tomorrow she was going to be acting in Aaron and Shelby’s play. It had sounded like fun at the time, and the selection process was something like jury duty in this town, but Frannie had loved drama at school. Not that she’d ever admit that to her former movie-star mom. Heaven forbid.
When things calmed down, that would be the time to start making huge life changes.
Frannie knocked softly on the door to Stella’s room. Since Stella was a permanent resident of the medical center, the room had an en-suite bathroom with a tub and a detachable shower head. The TV was a little bigger than in the other rooms. But the smell was worse, even with the fresh flowers Stella’s husband brought in every week. The bouquet was all reds and gold glinting off the lamp-light, something you might find decorating your table at Christmas. It was an interesting choice.
A short, bulky figure stood over the bed. Not the doctor, someone else was visiting Stella. A night nurse? Frannie hadn’t heard of anyone being hired on after the doctor’s wife committed suicide. The remaining day nurse might be working late.
“I can wait outside if you want.”
He turned. It wasn’t bright enough to make out who it was, but he had a wool cap pulled over his face.
“What are you—”
His hand came into view, a needle clutched in his gloved fingers.
Frannie’s heart stopped beating in her chest. For a moment she couldn’t breathe. By sheer force of will she sucked in air…
And screamed.
The stocky man dropped the needle and ran at her. She was still screaming when he tackled her, shoving her into the wall.
The back of Frannie’s head slammed into the corner of a shelf, and she hit the ground.
Chapter 5
Frannie couldn’t tell if someone was coming or if the pounding was inside her head. Everything was blurry until the light flicked on and Xander rushed over.
“Ms. Frannie, I heard you yell. What happened?”
“Someone…a man…” Her thoughts wouldn’t coalesce, they were as helpful as yeast that wouldn’t activate. But one thing rose to the top. “Stella.”
“Let’s sit you up, and I’ll see to her.” Xander grabbed his radio. “Sheriff Mason, this is Xander at the medical center. We need you over here, A-SAP.”
Frannie’s head spun. She leaned her shoulders against the wall and touched the back of her hair. No blood on her fingers. That was good, right?
Xander went to Stella’s bedside, but didn’t touch anything. “She’s still sleeping. There’s a needle here. What happened?”
Frannie massaged her temples but couldn’t make sense of any of it. Who was that man? Had he been trying to kill Stella? She was dying. Why kill a woman with only a short time to live?
Xander picked up the phone beside the bed and punched in a series of numbers. “Doctor Fenton?”
Frannie tuned out what he was saying. Her head hurt like nothing she’d ever felt before. It was going to be a nightmare trying to work tomorrow, but that worry was for then. Right now she had to check on her friend. It took several attempts, but she managed to get her feet underneath her. Using the bed for leverage, Frannie pulled herself up. The world stopped and then rotated in the opposite direction. Her legs started to give out, but she forced her knees to lock.
“Ms. Frannie!”
Stella’s eyes were closed. Her chest rose and fell with the slow breaths of someone resting. Still, relief didn’t come. Stella had lost so much weight, and her color… Frannie’s heart hurt just looking at her. She stumbled back, not wanting her friend to waken and see the effect being here had on Frannie. Stella didn’t need Frannie to compound her suffering.
Xander took her elbow. “Let’s find you a place to sit.”
Frannie nodded, feeling the wet tickle of a tear on her cheek. She swiped it away as the security guard steered her out to the waiting area. A Jeep pulled up outside, and Xander hit the release button on the door to let the sheriff in.
John Mason wore jeans and a crumpled T-shirt. He’d slid his badge on his belt, and his gun was in a shoulder holster like he was some big-city police detective instead of the sheriff of a small town. Given he’d formerly been an undercover US marshal, it wasn’t a wonder the man could pin her with a stare that made her nearly pee her pants and wish he’d just ask a question so she could spill her guts—even if she hadn’t actually done anything wrong.
Frannie had also seen him crouching down before his son, sharing a soft smile with the nine-year-old. But that man wasn’t here now. This man was all cop. He might have the same short blond hair, and his chin held a smattering of stubble, but those good looks didn’t soften the authority he wore like it was a shirt. The same way his brother, Grant, the director of the Marshals, did.
“Frannie, you okay?”
Xander appeared beside where she sat and handed her an ice pack. She smiled her thanks, not sure she could speak yet, and pressed it to the back of her head. It was really cold. She took a breath and blew it out before looking at the sheriff. “No, I’m not okay.”
He crouched, his mouth crimping into a sympathetic smile. “You want to tell me what happened?”
Frannie reiterated the whole thing. The man, the needle. All of it.
Sheriff Mason stood. “Xander, stay here with her for a minute.”
The security guard rocked back on his heels, thumbs in his belt. “Sure, boss.”
John snorted, but walked straight for Stella’s room. A couple of seconds later, the doctor let himself in the front door, pocketing a key. “Frannie?”
She felt her brow furrow. She didn’t know why it surprised her that he knew her name, but it wasn’t like they’d ever really talked. His wife—before she died—never came to the bakery, and they didn’t exactly run in the same social circles. Doctor Fenton looked like one of her mom’s old boyfriends from when Frannie was in middle school, during the year her parents had been separated. He’d been a plastic surgeon. Their relationship would probably have bankrupted him if it’d gone on any longer.
Frannie wouldn’t be surprised if he got his hair and nails done at Nadia Marie’s salon. And if he did, the appointments had continued even after his wife committed suicide, because not one thing was out of place.
“Ms. Frannie hit her head. Ms. Stella’s resting, but we’re not sure if something might have been done to her.”
Doctor Fenton flinched. “Done to her?” Clearly the idea of someone messing with one of his patients was abhorrent. Frannie considered that a good quality in a doctor. He reached for her head.
“No, I’m okay. It’s just a bump. Check on Stella first, please.”
He nodded. “Very well. I’ll be back shortly.”
The sheriff passed him in the hall, now coming back. They stopped and had a brief conversation, neither one looking particularly happy. Especially not when they both turned and looked at her. Shouldn’t they be searching for the man who’d been here?
She shifted and looked up at Xander. It hurt her head, but she had to ask the question. “Did you see someone run out of the room? A man?”
“No, Ms. Frannie, I didn’t.” From the look in his eyes, that concerned him. Like he thought she was losing it.
“How could he have gotten out if the front is locked? Is there a back door that’s open?”
His face twitched. “Worth checking, I think.” Xander wandered off, suddenly energized. Was he hoping she was right? Which begged the question—why did they think she was wrong?
Unless they didn’t believe her.
The sheriff sat on a waiting room chair across from her and rested a small box big enough to hold a butter knife on his lap. “Ms. Peters, can you tell me about the needle?”
“It was in his hand. He dropped it when he ran at me.”
“Can you describe the man?”
Frannie already had, when she’d told him the first time. “Short and stocky.”
“Taller than you?”
“Maybe an inch or
two shorter. Heavy. Not that he looked it, but more like an impression of heaviness. Like he had trouble hauling it around, so he walked like it took a lot of effort. But he moved fast. Before I knew it, he was running into me.” Frannie lowered the ice, the back of her head now numb.
Sheriff Mason said, “The man you saw, what do you think he was doing?”
Frannie closed her mouth, pressing her lips together while the things she’d seen washed through her mind. The man standing over the bed, a needle in his hand. “He was going to harm her, wasn’t he?”
The sheriff gave her a conciliatory smile. “Until we can confirm what was in the syringe we can’t be sure, but the doctor gave me a pretty good idea. So yes, we think he was trying to harm her.”
“Like kill her?”
“Frannie, why do you think someone would want to do that to Stella?”
She frowned. “I don’t know. She isn’t doing well at all. Stella has been fighting, but it’s clearly hard, and it’s taken a lot—” Her voice hitched. “—out of her. But she promised me she’s not going to quit. She promised me.”
“A particular kind of person may consider it a kindness to end that kind of suffering.”
“You mean like…” The idea of it broke over Frannie like an ice cold wave.
Doctor Fenton strode down the hall toward them.
Frannie shot out her chair and fought away the dizziness that momentum brought on. She planted both feet and waited for the doctor to come to her. “What is it, how is she?” Was everyone going to stop looking at her like that? She wasn’t the one who was sick.
Doctor Fenton scratched his perfect hair. “Mrs. Noel is sleeping. I’m not sure she woke up, even with the disturbance, and I’m disinclined to rouse her now. At this point she needs to rest.”
The pounding in Frannie’s head kicked up again. “What?”
Doctor Fenton sighed. “She doesn’t have long.”
Her legs moved. Before she realized what she was doing, Frannie had backed up two steps. The back of her knees hit the arm of a chair and she crumpled. The sheriff caught her, lowering her to the seat.
Sanctuary Buried WITSEC Town Series Book 2 Page 6
