Deadly Sanctuary (Kendall O'Dell Series #1)

by Sylvia Nobel

  I told her I wasn’t sure, and then she asked me how my interview had gone at the shelter. She listened intently, and said she was looking forward to reading my article. I knew there would be at least two other people in town anxious to read it. I wished I could be there to study Claudia and Roy’s faces when they got the morning edition. Ginger and I hugged good-night and I left.

  At home again, I checked for messages and found none. It was puzzling why the Mexican woman had never called back. “¡Dios Mío!” she’d cried. “They are coming.” I went over my notes of the conversation again, but the picture remained as fuzzy as ever.

  Curled in bed, I realized that if I was going to get any sleep, I’d have to deliberately push the puzzle from my mind. The two week deadline I’d imposed on myself looked insurmountable.

  Two things were clear. In order to prove my theory to Tugg, and not have him knock the slats out from under me, I had no choice but to work smart and work fast.

  24

  By Thursday morning, I felt like I’d been catapulted to the role of local celebrity. My story on the runaways in the previous day’s edition of the Sun had barely hit the vending machines and mailboxes when the phone started ringing.

  Thena Rodenborn was the first to call and congratulate me, saying she’d never read such a well-written article, that it had moved her to tears.

  In the midst of my regular assignments, people stopped me on the street to say it had given them a new perspective on a subject they’d known little or nothing about. Many told me they could hardly wait for the Saturday edition which would carry the second installment.

  Even my co-workers seemed surprised at the depth of the article. Tugg, who returned to work looking pale and slightly disheveled, gave me a hearty thumbs up. The only dark spot in an otherwise perfect day was Tally’s conspicuous absence from the office. Supposedly, he was having some problem at the ranch, but I suspected he was still avoiding me.

  Nevertheless, I was pumped and feeling pretty good about myself as I prepared to cover the pig races at the fairgrounds. It wasn’t until I dug to the bottom of my camera bag and searched every compartment that I realized my wide angle lens was missing.

  I stared blankly at the bag and tried to remember where I’d used it last. Suddenly, it came to me. I remembered setting it on the mantle above the fireplace at the Desert Harbor Shelter during my photo session with the girls on Tuesday. I hated to think how much it would cost me to replace it.

  “I’ve gotta go early,” I told Ginger, running past her desk. “I left one of my lenses over at the shelter and I need it for this story. I’ll be back after lunch.”

  She was on the phone, but her smile brightened, signaling that she’d heard me. Outside, I blinked in the fierce, white sunlight and fished in my purse for the handkerchief I used to grab the blistering metal door handle on the car. After burning myself repeatedly, I’d finally gotten smart.

  I threw my purse, notepad and camera bag on the passenger seat and slid onto the towel I used to prevent third degree burns on my thighs. I broke into an immediate sweat and groaned with discomfort as I rolled down the window. It had to be at least two hundred degrees inside the car.

  When I turned the key, only a faint clicking sound met my ears. I tried several more times and got the same result. “Damn it!” I thumped my hand furiously against the steering wheel. I’d suspected something was going wrong, and I could have kicked myself for not checking it out.

  Sighing, I reached to gather my belongings and then looked up as a vehicle pulled in beside me. I looked away just as quickly. “Oh, please,” I moaned under my breath, “anybody but him!” The thought of appearing once again as the weak, ignorant female put my teeth on edge. Why, of all the people in the world, did Tally have to drive in at that precise moment. So far, his timing was flawless. Whenever I was in a pickle, there he was.

  Since he’d made such a point of ignoring me the past three days, I wasn’t about to ask him for anything. I turned my back to his truck, pretending to be completely absorbed in my notes.

  He shut off the engine, but I didn’t hear his door open. No way would I turn and look. Normally, he just jumped out and went inside. But of course today he seemed in no hurry. Then I heard the truck door slam and the click of boots as he approached my car. I ignored him and tried not to notice the drops of sweat trailing off the end of my nose, making soft pattering sounds on the notepad below.

  The footsteps halted but he said nothing. My neck ached from the awkward position and I could feel my temper rising. How long was he going to stand there in silence staring at me?

  “So,” he finally said, “I guess there’s some reason you’re sitting out here. Is everything okay?”

  “Everything’s fine,” I said with a tone of dismissal, still not looking at him. He made no move to leave.

  “Do you need help with something?”

  “If I did, I wouldn’t ask you.”

  He ignored my rebuff. “Is there a problem with your car?”

  “No,” I shouted, turning to face him. “I happen to like sitting in a car that’s a thousand degrees inside, okay?”

  “I see.” His face was impassive as he continued to stare at me. I was doing quite well in the staring contest until a big drop of perspiration slid into one of my eyes, causing me to blink. With a catch in my voice I cried, “Would you please go away?” The suffocating heat was so unbearable, it was an effort to keep from screaming.

  “Pull the hood release,” he commanded.

  “I said, there’s nothing wrong. I do not need your help. I do not need to be rescued. I will take care of this myself, thank you very much.”

  “Why are you being so unreasonable?”

  “I am not being unreasonable!” I’m being…I’m being…”

  “Unreasonable,” he repeated, quietly finishing the sentence for me. Before I could stop him, he opened my door, took a quick glance under the dashboard and pulled the hood release.

  I could have gotten out at that point, the air outside the car, ironically, was much cooler. But, stubbornly, I stayed put.

  After a minute or two he strolled back around the raised hood, stopped, and tipped his hat back. “When was the last time you put water in your battery?”

  “My battery?” I replied haughtily. “I’ve never had to put water in my battery. You must be mistaken. There must be something else wrong.” Why was I acting so stupid? I couldn’t seem to stop myself.

  “Well, Miss Ace Car Mechanic,” he said, widening his stance, “then maybe you can explain why your battery is as dry as an old buzzard bone.” A hint of a smile hovered around his lips and that made me even angrier. I knew myself pretty well and realized I was near the boiling point. With a ragged breath, I bolted from the car. It was a relief to feel the hot wind blowing through my matted hair. Without looking, I knew the wet blouse was molded to my breasts. I threw him what I hoped was a malevolent glare and then recoiled in surprise when he dangled his car keys a few inches from my face. “Here. You were obviously on your way out. Take my truck. While you’re gone I’ll see about getting you a new battery.”

  “Please don’t bother yourself, and I will not take your truck.”

  “Why?”

  “Because…because…Just because, that’s all.”

  He threw his head back and laughed so loudly, the pigeons roosting on the drain gutter squawked and flapped away. I started toward the entryway, but he reached out, grabbed one shoulder, and spun me to face him. “Look,” he began, as I tried to pull from his grasp, “I don’t mean to offend your feminist sensibilities, okay? Just relax. This is one friend helping out another, and nothing more.”

  “Oh, now you’re my friend? Well, that’s a surprise.” He pulled his hands away so swiftly, I almost reeled.

  “This isn’t about the car at all, is it?”

  Well, this was the confrontation I’d been waiting for. Might as well get it over with. “All right. It isn’t about the car. For three days now, you
’ve made a deliberate point to ignore me and—”

  “Wait just a minute,” he said sharply, “Why are you mad at me? You’re the one who stood me up.”

  “I did not stand you up!” I shouted. Then lowering my voice a bit, I added, “At least it wasn’t deliberate. I made a mistake. I’m sorry as I can be, but I can’t undo it. You, on the other hand, have been acting like a…like a…”

  “A horse’s ass?”

  “Yes! Exactly.”

  I expected him to respond but, instead, he averted his gaze and stood silently staring at the distant horizon. The wind moaned around the side of the building and sent papers skittering wildly across the parking lot.

  I said nothing, feeling it was important to wait for his response. Finally, he settled the hat firmly on his head and turned to meet my eyes. “So, then,” he said in a controlled voice, “you will be coming out to the Starfire after all.”

  He hadn’t said he was sorry, so I guessed his admission was as close as he was going to get. “I said I’d come, and I meant it.”

  His expression lightened and so did my heart. “Okay,” he said easily, “apology accepted. I’ll have Jake hold my wagon for the hayride until you get there.”

  “Sounds like a plan,” I quipped. We exchanged sets of car keys and I fought the sudden weakness that came over me. I decided it was either a result of too much time in the sun, or the aftermath of the adrenaline rush due to my temper tantrum. Perhaps it was both.

  Inside the building again, he gave me a friendly salute and disappeared into his office. I downed five or six cups of cold water, explained the situation to Ginger, and then, headed for the shelter in Tally’s truck.

  The air conditioning unit in the cab of his pickup was downright frigid compared to the one in my car. The blast of icy air against my damp clothing gave me a slight chill.

  The confrontation with Tally had served to clear the air between us. I hated to admit it, but I had been troubled since our quarrel last Monday. Depressed even. The more I thought about it the more the implication rattled me.

  And, I wondered, braking to avoid a dog running into the street, what about my feelings for Eric? At times, I felt he was more of a curiosity to me than a love interest. He was exciting, innovative, certainly sexually stimulating, and actually more the type of man I’d always been attracted to in the past.

  Tally, on the other hand, projected an air of keen intelligence, mixed with a large dose of the same arrogant pig-headedness that I’d always been accused of possessing. That was probably why we always seemed to bring out the worst in each other.

  There were several cars parked along the street in front of the Desert Harbor, so I made a U-turn and pulled up to the curb opposite the house. I shut off the engine and gathered my things together. I’d just placed my hand on the door handle when a car appeared in the driveway of the shelter.

  Claudia Phillips smoothly maneuvered a dark, late model sedan to the street entrance. The car was packed with passengers, and I realized she must be on her way to the bus station with the girls I’d interviewed two days ago. Before moving into the street, she stopped and looked with care in all directions. She glanced directly at Tally’s truck and then away. Apparently satisfied no one was watching her, she turned onto the street.

  Instead of going inside to retrieve my lens, I quickly re-started the engine and followed her down the street. Her furtive movements were curious. Why would she care if someone saw her taking the girls to meet the bus? What a blessing I’d taken Tally’s truck.

  Downtown, I picked a hamburger stand adjacent to the bus depot. I drove in, hastily parked, screwed the telephoto lens onto the camera and trained it on the faces of the girls as they stepped from the car.

  There was no look of anticipation or hope, only morose, downcast eyes and sullen expressions. Claudia ushered the girls inside the building, and it was only then I realized something important.

  There were only four girls, not five. The girl I’d focused the first part of my series on, the pretty one named Jenny, was not among them.

  25

  For a few seconds, I stared blankly at the backs of the retreating girls as they trooped inside the bus station. Where was Jenny?

  All at once, I knew exactly what I had to do. I ground Tally’s truck into gear and tore out of the parking lot so fast I practically mowed down a pedestrian crossing in front of me.

  Armed with the knowledge that Claudia would be away from the shelter for a while, I was presented with the tantalizing opportunity to get inside and do a little detective work. All I needed was just one tiny shred of evidence that would connect Claudia and Sheriff Hollingsworth to my macabre theories. I pressed the accelerator harder. Two weeks was an awfully short time to find the smoking gun.

  Within two minutes, I screeched to a halt, leaped out, bounded up the front steps and tried the knob on the front door. It was locked. I knocked loudly and waited. No one answered. After a quick glance at the street, I headed around the house, noticing with a surge of elation the back door propped open with a scrub bucket. I stuck my head in the door and called, “Hello?” There was no response. I called again. Nothing but deathly quiet. I wondered where the little Mexican maid was.

  I tiptoed tentatively into the dim hallway. A few steps to my right, the kitchen stood empty, and so was the first bedroom to my left. The door to the second bedroom was closed. Ever so gently, I eased it open, wincing at the loud squeak from the hinges. Inside, on one of the beds, a girl lay sleeping. Her face was turned away from me, so I softly called, “Jenny, is that you?” The girl stirred and peered glassy-eyed over one shoulder. It wasn’t Jenny. “Sorry,” I mumbled, backing away. I didn’t recognize her, so she was obviously a new arrival.

  I shut the door and checked the other bedrooms. The two girls I’d seen playing cards in the kitchen, lay sleeping in one. It seemed odd to see them all sleeping at this time of day.

  I moved toward the living room. The ancient floorboards creaked under my weight and little shivers of apprehension prickled my spine. The silence of the house was so complete it was downright spooky. I paused at the doorway and noted with satisfaction that my wide-angle lens lay atop the mantelpiece just where I’d left it.

  Claudia had said her living quarters were on the second floor, so I took the stairs two at a time. There were four closed doors. I tried the first. It was a bathroom. The second opened to reveal a set of dusty stairs that probably led to the attic. The other two doors, boasting shiny new locks, were tightly secured. I knocked lightly on each, whispering, “Jenny? Jenny, are you in there?” When I heard no reply, I felt a stab of alarm. If she wasn’t here then where was she?

  Filled with a sense of growing dread, I hot-footed it downstairs and, after a hurried glance down the dark hallway, headed for Claudia’s office.

  The sign on the closed door read: Private. Keep Out. I expected it would be locked and felt relief when the knob turned easily. Without hesitation, I edged the door open and stepped inside. The faint scent of Claudia’s cloying perfume hung in the air.

  It didn’t surprise me that all the drawers in her desk were locked. A check of the filing cabinet netted the same results. Crap. Flooded with disappointment, I started for the door, but stopped when I spotted a Rolodex file on the far corner of her desk.

  Yes! I rushed over and quickly leafed through the cards, taking note of the names I recognized. Roy Hollingsworth, Thena Rodenborn, Dr. Garcia, the numbers of several shelters in Phoenix and…what was this? There was one card with only the name Charles written on it. Claudia had doodled something, and then, with bold strokes of her pen, slashed it out. I pulled the card from the file and angled it back and forth in the light from the window. I couldn’t be certain, but it looked like she’d crossed out the words: “May you rot in hell.” There were hideous little figures of Satan drawn beside the name. How curious. The telephone number to the right had been erased, but I was able to make out the faint remains of the last two digits.

&n
bsp; My whole body went rigid at the sound of soft footsteps approaching the doorway. Claudia was going to catch me red-handed in her office and my undercover days would be finished for good.

  Numbly, I shoved the card back into the file and waited in breathless agony to be discovered. The startled look etched on the little Mexican girl’s face when she rounded the corner probably matched my own.

  I exhaled slowly and swallowed hard with relief. There was no point trying to explain what I was doing since it was unlikely she’d understand me anyway. I mustered a weak smile. “Hello there.”

  “Miss Claudia ees not here. You go! You go!” she said urgently, pointing to the front door.

  The fear reflected in her black eyes said it all. Wordlessly, she sprinted to my side, grabbed my hand, and pulled me into the hall, shutting the door behind us.

  Then she snapped the lock on the door and frantically motioned for me to leave. When I didn’t move, she said, “Very much ah…bad for me if she come. You go pronto.” The look of sheer terror on her face disturbed me. What was this girl so afraid of?

  I stood my ground for a moment and then we both jumped as Claudia’s car roared into the driveway. Without another word passing between us, I stepped out onto the front porch. The door closed behind me.

  Halfway back to the truck, I remembered my lens. I hesitated for a moment, uncertain, and then did an about face, returning to the shelter. As far as Claudia knew, I’d only just arrived. My reason should not alert her suspicions and would no longer put the young Mexican girl in jeopardy. This was a golden opportunity to trap the very careful, very crafty Miss Phillips and I couldn’t pass it up.

  As usual, she looked less than happy to see me. I explained why I was there and some of the coolness left her eyes. “And, as long as I’m here,” I said, retracing my steps toward the living room, “it would really be great if I could talk to Jenny one more time. I just need a couple more quotes.” I swept the lens from the mantelpiece and turned to face her. “Would that be a problem?”