by E. Joan Sims
Despite the pain, I didn’t even hesitate. “Then try this one on for size,” I sneered. “You’re nothing but a child-stealing punk with delusions of grandeur!”
“Such fire and passion!” he said with a dangerous smile. “Are you good at pleasing a man?” He held my chin up and folded back the neck of my shirt to expose the tops of my breasts. “Yes, I think you must be.”
I tried to pull away from the iron grip of his hand.
“Aren’t you going to thank me for the compliment?” he asked, raising his eyebrows.
“Won’t Carmencita mind your attentions to another woman?”
He let go of my chin and stepped backward. “Carmencita, poor thing, won’t mind anything ever again—not even the cold hard ground where she has been feeding the worms.”
“You killed her, too,” I gasped.
“Of course,” he stated matter-of-factly as he took up his seat on the barrel once again. “Well, not right away. She was a great help at first. She went to the morgue and identified poor Manuel’s body as that of Francisco Villaneuva, then withdrew all of her cash and sold some of her jewelry. It was she who made the arrangements for the burials. A grieving mistress is not an uncommon sight in my country. Actually she was quite the belle of the ball—standing by those four graves dressed in resplendent black silk—she was magnificent in her make-believe grief. But when she began to realize the life I had provided for her was over—that coming with me would mean being on the run, and staying would mean giving up her apartment and her beautiful clothes—she decided to sell me out to highest bidder. When I found out what she intended to do, I made love to her one last time. At the height of our passion I slipped a very sharp, thin, knife under her lovely breasts and pushed until I felt it pierce her heart. That’s when I discovered how easy it was to kill—much easier than leaving a witness. It has gotten even easier since then. You will be no trouble at all, Paisley Sterling—quite like squashing a pesky mosquito.”
Chapter Thirty-five
I searched my mind for an appropriate oath and came up with a word I had heard my father-in-law’s gardener use one summer afternoon long ago when he found a snake in the bougainvillea. I wasn’t exactly sure of the meaning, but from the rapid change in Newton’s complexion, I knew he did.
“Ay, ya, ya,” he said shaking his head. “Where did a lovely lady like you learn a word like that?” He walked around the column, examining me from head to foot. “I think you need to be punished. What is it that American mamas do? Ah, yes, they wash their children’s mouths with soap.” He looked around in mock dismay. “No soap? Well, then we will have to find another punishment.”
He grabbed my chin again, then brought the end of his glowing cigar close to my cheek. I tried to move, to free myself, but it was useless. He held the burning ash against my hair. I heard the sickening sizzle, and coughed as my nostrils filled with the stench.
Newton backed away and waved the smoke out of his own eyes. He was obviously very pleased with the fear he saw on my face. He came toward me again, puffing the cigar to make the end even hotter.
I was terrified. Death was one thing, but torture was quite another. I was chicken, pure and simple, and I had a very low threshold for pain. I reacted completely out of the instinct to survive. I kicked as high and as hard as I could, my foot landing squarely in the hollow of Newton’s throat—crushing his sunglasses and driving the metal earpiece into his neck. He stood there, eyes bulging out—fury written on his face. He opened his mouth to speak but no words came, only a flood of bright red. He gagged and coughed and fell to his knees, tugging on the metal. When he pulled it free, blood spurted from the wound, pouring freely from his open mouth. Newton stared at me—arrogant disbelief in his eyes— and fell forward at my feet. His legs jerked twice, then he was still.
I cried. Tears poured down my face and into my mouth. I sobbed. Finally the ache in my arms and the burning in my wrists brought me back to the problem at hand. I was still a prisoner in an abandoned barn in the middle of nowhere with two dead bodies for company.
My nose was running freely so I didn’t smell the smoke until I saw the flames. Newton’s cigar had landed in a pile of debris. Several burlap sacks and some shingles from the fallen roof had caught fire. I had no desire to imitate Joan of Arc. I had to find a way to escape.
I pulled against the nail holding my wrists, but if it were like the big shiny one still holding Ruby Dawn up, no doubt it would survive in one piece after the building burned to ashes.
The smoke drifted lazily in my direction, reminding me that I had very little time. I looked around, searching for anything that might be of use. Newton’s dead body was the only thing close by. He might have a knife in his pocket, but there was no way to get to it. I kicked him as hard as I could. At that moment, I hated him more than I had ever hated anyone. Not until I stomped on his hand did I realize that standing on him might give me the extra height I needed to get free.
I stretched my right leg out and hooked my foot under his armpit. Pulling his body slowly forward with my toes took an enormous effort. The fire was getting bigger and closer. Arid black smoke billowed upward through the hole in the roof, obscuring the bright blue of the summer sky. “Damn you, Frank Newton!” I shouted. “Help me get out of here, you bastard!”
I gave Newton’s body one last tug, then stepped on his bloody face. My foot slipped off twice, but I finally managed to gain enough purchase to stand up straight. I raised my arms as high as I could and was rewarded for my efforts by the sound of the handcuffs sliding over the nail. My unfeeling arms dropped heavily forward and I lost my footing on Newton’s head. The rope around my middle caught my fall, forcing the breath from my body as I sagged forward from the waist. I gasped for breath and choked when my lungs filled with smoke.
I tried to make my hands work—to untie the rope that still held me—but my fingers were numb. I could feel nothing but the pain of blood surging back into my veins. I cried with the unfairness of it all. I was so close to freedom. I rocked back and forth, pulling against the rope. The column suddenly came loose from the damaged roof and toppled over dragging me with it. I tried to bring my arms up to protect my face, but it was no use. Shingles and rafters tumbled down on top of me, blocking out the sound of the approaching fire truck.
When I came to, a fireman was standing over me with a huge axe. I screamed as he brought it down with a solid thump that cut through the rope around my waist, freeing me so the paramedic could pick me up and carry me out of the barn.
By the time they got me outside, the building was completely ablaze, the flames reaching high into the summer sky. Hundreds of displaced barn swallows circled overhead, crying out their distress and berating us for our careless destruction of their home.
“Poor little birds,” I mumbled.
“She’s out of her head,” said the paramedic.
“Damn. I was hoping she could tell me what the hell happened here.”
“Andy Joiner, is that you?”
He slid in beside me in the ambulance. “Paisley, are you okay?” he asked.
“Nice of you to worry,” I observed sarcastically.
“I guess that answers my question.” A relieved smile stole across his face. “I radioed your mother and Cassie. They’ve been half out of their minds with worry. And Horatio Raleigh has been about to drive me out of mine.”
“So Horatio’s been on the case, hum?”
“Big time!”
“Andy,” I began, licking my dry cracked lips so I could speak, “I hate to appear ungrateful, but do you have the faintest idea how hungry and thirsty I am?”
“Nothing by mouth, Miz DeLeon,” interrupted the paramedic. “Not until we get you to the hospital and the Doc gives you the once over.”
“But I’m dying for a drink!”
“Actually, you’re in pretty good shape. Your heart rate and pulse…”
“Screw my pulse. I want a drink of water! Is that so difficult to understand?”
<
br /> “I’ll radio the Doc, and see what he…”
“You mean I have to wait until that miserable Winston Wallace, says I can have a drink?”
“Well, no,” answered the paramedic, blushing to the roots of his fair hair. “The new doc, Dhanvantari, is on call weekends.”
“Oh, terrific! THEN ASK HIM!” I shouted, raising up from the stretcher.
“Take it easy, Paisley,” soothed Andy, as the ambulance started up. He steadied the stretcher as we lurched from side to side over the ruts in the dirt road.
I could hear the paramedic speaking over the radio. When he finished, he climbed back over the front seat and squatted down next to Andy. From the look on his face, I could see I wasn’t going to get my drink. I started crying—softly at first, and then in great big hiccoughing sobs.
“Doc says to start an IV—get some fluids in her that way, and maybe something to calm her down. Can you help me, Chief Joiner?”
Andy nodded, and talked to me in a quiet voice while the other man cleaned off my arm and inserted the needle in my vein. I didn’t understand a word Andy said, but after a while, I didn’t care any more. The only thing worrying me was where the barn swallows would nest tonight.
I slept for two days. Mother and Cassie, and even Horatio, came at various intervals to hug and kiss me, and make sure I was going to be all right. On the morning of the third day, I convinced the plump little Indian nurse who was Dr. Dhanvantari’s assistant, that I was strong enough to take a shower. When I didn’t come out after five minutes, I had to convince her again. She was wringing her hands and babbling curses in Hindustani when I finally exited twenty minutes later, skin glowing and hair squeaky clean.
“You should not do that!” she cried. “Your body is very weak. Doctor will take me to task when he finds out!”
“Then let’s make it our little secret,” I said with a winning smile.
“Oh, no!” she cried. “No secrets! Honesty is the best policy, is it not?”
I let her help me back to bed and fuss endlessly over the sheets and blankets because I was clean again, and feeling more like myself. Whether she and Dhanvantari liked it or not, I was out of here. Tonight I would be in my own little bed. I was through with the watery slop the hospital nutritionist called soup. I wanted some of Mother’s bisque. I told her so when she came for the morning visiting hour.
“Do you think that’s wise, dear?” she asked, as she put yet another dozen roses in a vase she found at the nurse’s station. “What has the doctor said?”
“I don’t know. You tell me?” I looked at her suspiciously. “I can’t hear what you two mumble about out in the hallway.”
Mother blushed the color of the roses, and gave them one final pat before she came to sit by my bedside. She reached over and took my hand in hers. The contrast between the two—her beautifully manicured nails and smooth skin, and my rough, scratched fingers with the torn nails and ragged cuticles—made me uncomfortable. I pulled my hand away on the pretext of scratching my nose.
“You’ve been through a terrible ordeal, Paisley, dear. Give yourself time to heal.”
“I don’t have time,” I protested. “That’s just the problem.”
“What is your hurry?” she asked calmly. “What is so pressing, that you can’t get the rest and the nourishment you need?”
“Nourishment, hah! Poison is more like it! And you know perfectly well what I have to do. Find out what happened to those Mexican girls, and that poor little baby, for one thing! Not to mention, making sure that Clementina is being taken care of properly!”
Mother bit her lip and lowered her eyes. I could tell she was trying hard not to cry. I raised up in alarm.
“Don’t tell me something’s happened to them! Not like what happened to Ruby Dawn! And Clementina? What about her?” I cried. “Please, Mother! Tell me, please!”
The nurse came running into the room clucking like a distraught mother hen.
“Little Mother, you must go, now,” she ordered, lifting Mother bodily out of the chair. “Our daughter must not be disturbed. It is not good for her.” She ushered Mother out of the room before I could say another word. Mother looked back over her shoulder and smiled tentatively. “I’ll be back later, dear,” she called as the door closed behind her.
“Damn it!” I shouted throwing back the covers. “I’m blowing this joint. I have places to go and things to do!”
The nurse threw up her hands, “No! No! Daughter, you must behave! If you do not, I have orders to calm yourself.”
“What in the hell do you mean by that?” I asked as I bent over to look under the bed for my shoes. The painful needle stick in my bottom answered my question. I was out like a light before I even hit the bed.
Chapter Thirty-six
Two more days passed before I got my wish to go home. Dhanvantari spouted words like “dehydration” and “mental confusion” when he explained why he wouldn’t let me out of the hospital. I almost began to wish Winston Wallace were on my case. But as the hours passed, and my progress pleased him, the good doctor’s smiles grew bigger with every visit.
“You are almost quite done with your healing,” he announced one sunny afternoon. “And,” he added with a twinkle in his eye, “Nurse Indira has threatened to leave my services if I do not send you on your way. She has quite met her match! Yes, I do believe it.”
When we drove up in the driveway, the sight of Meadowdale Farm brought a happy tear to my eye. While I snuffled into one of the new handkerchiefs Mother had gifted me with, Horatio pulled the car close to the walkway and parked.
“Is this close enough, my dear?” he asked. “Do you think you can walk from here to the library door?”
“For Pete’s sake, Horatio. I’m not an invalid!” I grumped.
“Quite right, my dear, quite right. But do you think…?”
“Yes, I can make it.”
Cassie came running down the walk to open the car door for me. “Mom, it’s great to have you home! And when your hair grows back, your cuts heal, and you gain a few pounds, you’ll look just like yourself again.”
“Gee, thanks, Cassie.”
“Gran has a bed made up for you in the library. She thought you would want a place to stay during the day where you could be around the rest of us and see outside, too.”
She helped me in the library, babbling on about the little things that I had missed. “…a brand new baby groundhog. Aggie cornered the poor thing, but I managed to rescue it just in the nick of time.”
“Where is the mighty dog?” I asked as she helped me into bed. “I missed her.”
“You did? Wow! Things really must have been bad!” She fussed over the sheet until I brushed her hands away. She wasn’t Nurse Indira, and I could fix my own bed now, thank you very much. “I’ll go get her,” said Cassie with a big smile. “You can take it from here.”
“Finally! Thank you, Cassie. At least you still think I’m capable of taking care of myself.”
“We all do,” said Horatio quietly from the wing chair by the fireplace. “But on occasion, some of us need special care. We were simply making sure you have that care, Paisley.”
“I’m sorry for acting like such a brat, Horatio, really I am,” I offered, my voice full of remorse. “I gave everybody a hard time didn’t I?”
“From what I hear,” he chuckled, “Nurse Indira Amana very nearly became one of Mother Theresa’s nuns last week. Her bags were packed, and she had reservations on a plane to Calcutta. God only knows what Saijad Dhanvantari had to promise just to convince her to stay in Rowan Springs.”
Mother came in bearing a tray brimming over with all the tiny finger sandwiches I loved. “Cassie and Aggie are behind me with the tea,” she announced. “And I have some nice gossip for our little party. Doctor Dhanvantari and his sweet little nurse are getting married this afternoon. Isn’t that lovely?”
Horatio and I were still laughing when Cassie and Aggie burst into the room.
I let Ag
gie sit in my lap and sneak bites of my sandwiches while I listened to the pleasant sounds of my family. I was home again, and the nightmares were almost gone.
“Clementina…” I began, but Mother cut me off.
“Don’t worry about her, dear. She’s quite all right. The plastic surgeon from Wieuca City promised us there will be little or no scarring.”
“But does she really have to go back to Mex…?”
“Mom, you promised the doctor you wouldn’t worry about things like that if he let you come home. Especially things you can’t help.” She patted my knee and passed the tray of sandwiches. “Try one of these sausage and cheese pastries. They’re absolutely divine.”
If Mother hadn’t insisted I take the little white pills the doctor sent home with me, I would have stayed up all night trying to figure out what to do about Clementina and the other girls. Somehow, I felt it was up to me to save them.
The next morning after I finished the magnificent breakfast Mother brought in on a tray, I announced my intentions to get up and get dressed.
“But, Paisley, dear…”
“No arguments,” I stated firmly. “I’m fine, really I am. I may look scary, Mother, but I’m okay. What’s on the agenda?” I asked with a reassuring smile. “Surely you have something you’ve been wanting me to do. Clean out the attic? Polish that king’s ransom of silver you have in the maid’s pantry?”
“Butler’s pantry, dear.”
“Whatever. What can we do? It’s a beautiful day. Let’s make the most of it.”
“Well, “she began.
“Well, what? Whatever it is, I’m willing. Just let me out of this sickbed.”
“Miss Lolly…”
“Oh, no,” I said, making a face.
“You did say ‘whatever,’ dear. And Miss Lolly called every day after you disappeared. As soon as she found out you were all right, she made me promise to bring you over to see her just as soon as you were up to it.”
