Deadly Sanctuary (Kendall O'Dell Series #1)

by Sylvia Nobel

  And Lucinda Johns at the cafe I added ruefully to myself. She rose then, announcing the conclusion of the interview. I thanked her, stating my intention to do a series on the problem after the fundraising event and could I return for more details and perhaps interview some of the girls?

  She rubbed her hand harder. “Interview?”

  “Yes, you know, to kind of personalize this. And perhaps I could take some photos…” I halted as her eyes narrowed. They were a peculiar shade of violet.

  “I think not, Miss O’Dell. I do after all, have an obligation to protect these girls’ privacy.”

  “Please think it over. I can assure you of their anonymity and I would, of course, shadow their faces.”

  She showed me to the door. “It’s really against policy.”

  “Whose policy?” It couldn’t hurt to push a little.

  “Mine.” Her smoldering gaze challenged me to respond. It was obvious I’d overstepped the line.

  “Thank you so much for your time,” I said, faking a warm tone. “You’ve been most helpful. Perhaps we can talk another time when you’re not so busy.”

  “Perhaps.” She inclined her head and shut the door.

  Inwardly fuming, I turned and strode to my car. It was ego deflating to be so thoroughly skunked on a story. With a touch of defiance, I yanked my camera from the car, snapped a few pictures of the house’s exterior and then slumped behind the wheel. I’d gain nothing by alienating Claudia Phillips so I’d have to think of a different approach.

  Before leaving, I surveyed the house once more. It was then I noticed the slight movement of the curtain at the office window. If Claudia Phillips was so terribly busy, why was she watching me?

  I’d returned to the office and made the afternoon deadline with ease. The rest of the week went smoothly, but now, as I sat studying the notes three days after the interview, I couldn’t seem to shake the feeling that something about the woman just didn’t click. The more I thought about it, the more I was reminded of drawings in some of my childhood activity books. What’s wrong with this picture? What doesn’t belong here? I flipped to the back of the notebook and added Claudia Phillip’s name to the list.

  “Hey, O’Dell, wake up! I’m talking to you.” Jim’s demand combined with being hit on the head with a paper wad pulled me from my reverie.

  “What is it?” I said with a slight touch of irritation in my voice.

  “A bunch of us are going over to the bowling alley for happy hour and then,” he paused and scooped his right hand forward, “knock down a few pins. You want to come?”

  “Bowling? I don’t think I can stand the excitement.” That brought a laugh from Bradley. Jim muttered for me to ‘suit myself’ and swaggered out. I felt a little guilty then. Though annoying at times, he was only trying to be friendly.

  But then, I couldn’t have gone anyway. I had one last stop before heading home. John Dexter’s place.

  At four o’clock Bradley left with a reminder that he’d pick me up at six-thirty sharp the following evening. I agreed, cleared my desk and headed to my car.

  The Ocotillo Village Apartments had obviously seen better days. The peeling pink stucco walls seemed to sag in the late afternoon sun. As I picked my way through the littered courtyard, I suppressed a shiver of revulsion at the sight of a chipped swimming pool filled with murky, oily-looking water.

  I counted twelve units before knocking on a door that had one F missing from OFFICE. A small grayish lizard clutching the doorframe turned bulbous black eyes in my direction.

  The manager, a greasy looking little man with leering eyes and boozy breath invited me inside the dusty, cluttered room.

  “Have a seat.” With eager movements, he removed a pile of newspapers from the chair in front of his desk. The way his gaze lingered on my body made my skin crawl. But…perhaps he could be useful. So, I gave him an extra flash of leg as I crossed one over the other.

  Practically slobbering, he ran around behind the desk and pulled out a blank rental agreement. “I don’t have a unit available right at this minute,” he said, fumbling for a pen, “but just as soon as one opens up, you can be sure you’ll get it.”

  It was difficult, but I mustered up what I hoped was a bewitching smile.

  “I’m not looking for an apartment, actually.”

  The gleam of anticipation in his beady eyes faded. “Oh. Well…what do you want?”

  “I’m looking for someone. My…ah brother, David, gave me a couple of things that belong to a friend of his who used to live here. David’s in the service and he’s been transferred to Germany. Before he left, he asked me if I’d return this guy’s stuff.” I gave him another wide smile. “So…I was hoping you could give me his forwarding address.”

  He reached for a rolodex file. “What’s his name?”

  “John Dexter.”

  A scowl creased his face. “Dexter? That son-of-a-bitch broke his lease and skipped. Sorry, can’t help you.”

  I pouted. “Oh dear. So, you don’t have any idea where he might be?” It was hard to maintain the beguiling expression.

  He reached for a cigarette, lit it, and blew out a long stream of acrid smoke.

  “I don’t know if there’s anything to it, but I did overhear him having a row with his little wetback girlfriend here when I was working outside number six one night shortly before he took off.”

  “Really? What about?”

  “Something about tickets to Nogales.”

  “Nogales?”

  “Yeah. You know. In Mexico.”

  “Oh. So he and his girlfriend went to Mexico?”

  “Not hardly. She’s still here so I figure he must’ve had him another hot little number down south,” he said jerking his thumb to the right. “John was, how shall I say, real popular with the ladies, if you get my drift?” He gave me a suggestive wink.

  I got his drift. “His girlfriend is still here?”

  “Yeah.”

  “What’s her name?”

  At that, his eyes narrowed suspiciously. “Say, you ask an awful lot of questions. Why do you want to know?” Uh oh. I’d asked one too many. “I…just thought she’d know where he is.”

  “I might know her name.” The wily smile revealed a row of tobacco stained teeth. “How about you and me go have a drink? We can talk some more.”

  That was it for me. I looked at my watch. “Oops. I’m terribly late for my appointment. Thanks anyway.” Before he could move, I jumped up and got the hell out.

  Halfway down the street, a thought stopped me. When he said the girlfriend was still here did he mean still here in Castle Valley or still here at Ocotillo Village?

  On a hunch, I doubled back to a row of mailboxes I’d seen near the entrance gate. I ran my finger along the names and when I came to number seven I whispered, “Bingo.”

  Fortunately, it was on the end, out of sight of the office. I knocked softly and when a pretty dark-haired girl of perhaps nineteen or twenty answered I asked, “Yolanda Reyes?”

  “Yes?”

  “I was wondering if I could talk to you for a few minutes about John Dexter?”

  A look of sheer hatred blazed in her eyes. She screamed something in Spanish and for the second time that week I had a door slammed in my face.

  8

  A brilliant sunrise lit the eastern sky as Ginger and I headed toward Phoenix for our day of shopping. It was sheer delight to see a few thin wisps of clouds stretching outward from the horizon like long, white fingers.

  As I drove, I tried to concentrate as Ginger jumped from subject to subject, conferring upon me bits and pieces of information about the residents of Castle Valley.

  Every now and then I’d interject a word, but my mind was on something else. I wasn’t accustomed to having doors slammed in my face and my first instinct had been to knock again and keep on knocking until the girl answered. Yet I had no desire to attract the attention of the sleazy apartment manager.

  I felt discouraged on the one hand
and hopeful on the other. She couldn’t elude me forever. And her violent reaction convinced me that she might be a valuable link to information concerning John Dexter.

  As far as Claudia went, I didn’t know what her problem was. She’d seemed more than a little edgy.

  Too bad for her, but I was going to show up again like a stray cat on her doorstep. It was curious indeed that my questions appeared to have caused her such agitation.

  “Sugar? Did y’all hear what I said?” Ginger’s demand interrupted my thoughts.

  “Uh…I’m sorry. I was thinking about something else.”

  “Bet you a dollar to a doughnut you’re daydreaming about tonight. Now listen up, if y’all play your cards right, I’d say you got yourself a mighty fine chance of snagging Eric Heisler. Here’s some of his vital statistics.”

  “Ginger, I’m going to smack you in about one minute.”

  “Oh piddle. You mean to set there and tell me y’all ain’t even the teensiest bit curious about him?”

  “No.”

  “You lie!”

  “Okay, maybe a little.” I learned a lot in the space of two minutes. He was gorgeous, forty-one, and divorced.

  “How long has he been single?” I asked braking the car to avoid a jackrabbit streaking across the highway.

  “Hmmmm. Five years, six maybe.”

  “What happened?”

  “Well, from what I heard, it was a real messy business. Seems one of the gals working at his office was his mistress, so his wife really stuck it to him in the divorce settlement.”

  I glanced at her. “This sounds like a good plan. You want me to get involved with a man who cheated on his wife?”

  “That was never proved, and besides she wasn’t no saint herself. Seems she was real friendly with one of the tennis pros at their country club. So don’t be too quick to point a finger. Anyhow,” she said with a defensive sniff, “Doug says Eric’s a real fine man. Generous to a fault. Bonnie said so too. She told me yesterday he’s not even going to charge them his regular fee.”

  What a pill she was. Bent on matchmaking, Ginger wasn’t going to be satisfied until she carried out her plans. It would be useless to argue with her, so I just laughed. Secretly, I was curious to find out if he could live up to all the rave reviews.

  As we neared the outskirts of town, I pushed my thoughts aside and concentrated on the swell of traffic and unfamiliar streets.

  Phoenix was a kick. Like Philadelphia, it was big and bustling, but all similarity ended there. Instead of soot blackened, ivy covered monuments and crumbling ghettos, this crisp looking desert city boasted wide thoroughfares studded with waving palms. The skyline shimmered with modern glass highrises and the enclosed, air-conditioned shopping malls were simply delicious. Following her appointment with the doctor, Ginger and I had a ball exploring the stores and then lunching at an elegant restaurant.

  By late afternoon, we’d visited at least ten different shops and couldn’t agree on what type of outfit I should buy.

  After some good-natured arguing, I finally settled on a sleek, knee-length emerald green cocktail dress.

  “If you ask me,” Ginger remarked following the purchase, “I liked that itty-bitty black one better.”

  “Please. I don’t want to look like a hooker. I’m there on assignment, remember? Anyway, the green one is more practical. Boy, I miss my old salary. I can’t eat for a month now because of this.”

  It was time to head home but Ginger insisted we stop at the cosmetics counter before leaving. She purchased a bottle of her favorite cologne and spritzed us with two different scents, exclaiming, “Oh, looky here. A sample of Shalimar.” She inhaled the fragrance and blew out a blissful sigh. “What do you think, should we live dangerously and buy some?”

  I looked at the price and made a face. “At two hundred an ounce? I don’t think so.”

  Pretending to pout, she sprayed a liberal amount on my wrist and returned the bottle. I sniffed it appreciatively and then started in surprise. I had smelled this sweet scent recently. But where?

  It bugged me for a half an hour before the answer came to me. Claudia Phillips had been wearing it. “Tell me,” I asked Ginger while maneuvering the car into the flow of freeway traffic, “what do you know about Claudia Phillips?”

  She giggled. “You mean other than the fact that she looks like Olive Oyl?”

  “Yeah. Other than that.”

  “Well, let’s see.” She hesitated while chewing her thumb nail. “I see her here and there around town. I don’t know if she’s got a boyfriend…” After another short pause she said in a surprised tone, “Come to think of it, I don’t really know much about her at all. Why?”

  “I can’t put my finger on it. There’s something about her that strikes me wrong. She supposedly earns a mere pittance at the shelter and yet, when I interviewed her the other day, she had on what looked like a designer suit and she was wearing Shalimar.”

  “Beats me.” Ginger yawned in obvious disinterest.

  An accident a few miles from Castle Valley stalled us in traffic almost forty minutes, so I was running way behind schedule by the time I dropped her off and eased the car into the carport. The hall clock chimed six-fifteen as I stepped inside. There was no way I could be ready in fifteen minutes. Bradley would just have to wait.

  In the bedroom, I threw off my clothes and then, clad only in bra and panties, padded towards the bathroom where I stopped in confusion. The door was closed. Funny, I didn’t remember shutting it when I’d left this morning?

  I edged it open and stepped cautiously in. A split second before I pulled the shower curtain aside, I had a premonition something was wrong.

  Rational thought deserted me at the sight of what was in my tub. The scream that rose to my throat almost choked me. There must have been a dozen huge spiders crawling and tumbling about, some halfway up the side.

  Led by the cold hand of panic, I careened off the doorjamb and bolted, unthinking, into the hall and straight out the front door.

  “Jesus Christ!” I shrieked to no one as I stood on the walkway shivering with fear and revulsion. The thought of one of those horrid creatures touching me turned my stomach cold. How the hell had all those spiders gotten into my tub? How was I going to get them out of the house? I thought wildly. A broom? Yes! A broom. No wait. A shovel? Think. Of course! The only logical solution was the vacuum cleaner.

  It took me about five minutes to quit shaking as I rationalized the situation. Calm down, I urged myself. You’re out here and they’re in there, so you’re safe.

  My breath wheezed in my throat. I needed the inhaler but had no intention of going back inside. A few more shallow breaths had just begun to reinstate a semblance of self-control when the sound of a vehicle approaching sent me into a second fit of panic. I wasn’t dressed! Instinctively, I dove behind the fountain in the courtyard as Bradley’s truck braked to a halt.

  How was I going to explain this? I looked around hastily to find something to cover myself with, but, of course, there was nothing. I could find only one thing to be thankful for at that moment. At least I hadn’t stripped naked.

  A split-second fantasy had me running down the walkway and into his arms for aid and comfort. But even though I was terribly relieved to see him, I steeled myself against it. What would that do to my self-esteem? Was I to appear once again as the damsel in distress?

  Clad in a black western suit and looking taller and leaner than ever, he stopped in his tracks when he saw me crouching beside the fountain. His face registered disbelief.

  Stupidly, I said the first thing that popped into my head. “You’re early.”

  Hat in hand, he cocked his head to the side and stared at me. “So it would appear.”

  Why had I said that? Subconsciously I knew, and I hated it. As he’d done with the javelinas, there was little doubt he was going to have to rescue me again.

  “I may be wrong,” he said, moving closer, “but don’t you think you’re slightly u
nderdressed for this dinner party?”

  “No. I always go to black tie affairs in my underwear.”

  He gave me a thin smile. “Well, whatever smokes your shorts.” I said nothing and he added, “Okay, so do you want to tell me what the hell you’re doing out here? Somehow I find it hard to believe, even though you are a greenhorn, that you’d make it a practice to prance around barefoot among the cactus?”

  I groaned and closed my eyes for a moment. Why was I behaving like such a coward? “I need help. I can’t go back in the house.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because there’s a herd of spiders the size of softballs in my bathtub.” Thinking of it gave me the creepy-crawlies all over again.

  He looked quizzical. “A herd?”

  “Yeah. Go see for yourself.” I stood up on one foot and winced as I plucked several cactus thorns from the other.

  He started toward the house and then unexpectedly turned in my direction. Startled, I crossed my arms over my chest. It didn’t hide much.

  In silence, he removed his jacket and draped it gently around my shoulders. A warm, masculine scent wafted from the fabric. He made a great show of trying not to look at my mostly naked body. He failed.

  I suppressed a gasp as his touch sent a fiery tingle through me. “Thank you,” I mumbled, clutching the coat around me.

  He returned in a moment. His inquisitive gaze bored into mine. “Someone’s played a rather spectacular joke on you. I don’t think I’ve ever seen that many tarantulas all together in one spot before.”

  A thought struck me. “How come they haven’t crawled out?”

  “That’s curious. By the smell, I’d say somebody sprayed WD-40 on the porcelain. They can’t get enough traction to climb up.”

  The idea that someone had deliberately planned this sent another chill of horror through me. It had to be someone who knew about my spider phobia. Ginger? But no, Ginger couldn’t do something so despicable.

  Something else occurred to me. “I wonder how whoever it was got in?”

  “I checked already. The arcadia door in your bedroom was unlocked.”