The Secret of Kolney Hatch
Page 22
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KOLNEY HATCH: BURIED SECRETS
AVAILABLE March 8, 2016.
ONE
“She’s being held under strict surveillance in the isolation ward. We’ve been instructed she receive no visitors, Mrs...”
Hoping to remain anonymous, Petunia Pennyworth scanned the hospital office searching for a new surname. On the far wall hung a large print of the London Bridge.
“Bridge. My name is Petunia Bridge.”
“Well, Mrs. Bridge...”
“Are you certain I cannot see her?”
“Yes, I am quite certain.”
Petunia heaved a deep sigh. No visitation rights seemed awfully mysterious. Just two weeks prior, Petunia had eavesdropped on a shocking revelation about Roger Loxley and Richard Baker’s involvement in Wendy Watson’s murder. The only person who knew the whole truth was Agatha Bates, and Petunia knew that unless she could get the truth from Agatha, her secret was hers alone, for not a soul would believe a murder revelation obtained from eavesdropping behind a wall.
Agatha Bates was Petunia’s only hope, and so, on that gloomy winter morning, Petunia traveled for over an hour in the snow, by train and car, to Hollybrook Hospital. Now she stood in front of a dull blonde haired receptionist who had an equally dull personality. With one last attempt to see Agatha, Petunia asked again:
“There’s no possibility of me seeing her?”
“As I’ve said numerous times before, Mrs...Bridge, I am sure there’s not,” the receptionist maintained, suspiciously surveying Petunia from the corner of her flat blue eyes. “The police specified that she receive no visitors of any kind.”
Petunia tucked one of her unruly black hairs back into its bun.
“But I’m afraid it’s of the utmost importance that I speak with her.”
The receptionist shrugged as if to say she cared nothing for Petunia’s needs. But Petunia refused to give up and was about to give the receptionist an inflated reason for going to the psychiatric ward, when she suddenly felt faint. Petunia took deep breaths and steadied herself against a nearby wall.
“Are you all right Miss?”
Slowly, Petunia nodded her head. She knew she was not alright, not in the least, for she hadn’t slept or eaten much since the night of the ball.
“Move out of the way!” A penetrating voice growled suddenly.
Petunia jumped and clutched her heart. She turned to see a tall, muscular guard pushing through a throng of lobby visitors. He disappeared behind a set of double doors.
The receptionist stood abruptly. Apprehension filled her eyes.
“Amelia, what is this all about?” She called to one of the nurses who hurried after the guard.
“Something’s happened,” Amelia, began to say, but seeing Petunia, she stopped. “Just...follow me, will you?”
“But the lobby...”
“It can wait.”
The receptionist scurried around the desk and followed Amelia through the double doors. Once they were gone, Petunia realized that with the exception of the visitors, no people were around. She thought it odd, but decided, if no one would let her into the psychiatric ward to see Agatha, she would just have to sneak in and find Agatha on her own. A peppery buzz generated among the visitors who were speculating reasons for the guard’s behavior. Looking around to make sure no staff had returned, Petunia carefully pushed through the doors. She was going to obtain the truth from Agatha if it was the last thing she ever did.
“Whew,” Petunia breathed. Safely through the doors she saw only
empty white halls filled with an eerie quietness. An arrow pointed to the psychiatric ward down the hallway and to the right, so she hurried down the corridor. Before she reached the end of the hallway, a tall, abrasive guard caught her by the arm.
“What are you doing back here?”
“I...”
Petunia had no time to answer. She heard cries in the distance. The guard grunted, and still holding her forcefully by the arm, dragged her down the hallway and into the lobby once more.
While they walked, he said, “You are not authorized to be back here.”
“I’m sorry I just...”
The guard bust through the double doors and moved toward the crowd of visitors who now looked at Petunia with curiosity. In a strident voice, the guard said,“Everyone in the lobby must exit the hospital immediately.”
Petunia barely had time to put on her gloves before she was herded with visitors and staff like sheep through the doors. She was not a fan of tight spaces and was flustered that she traveled all this way just to be disappointed. Outside the facility in the biting air, flurries trickled out of grey skies. A throng of people had gathered by the front of the facility and shivered in their overcoats and gloves. The police arrived several seconds later, and Petunia watched the crowd part as the police pushed through to the front of the facility.
Petunia stood closest to the door and watched as the officers filtered into the building. Suddenly, she noticed an egg-shaped head emerge from the opening in the crowd. It was Constable Wyatt.
The last thing Petunia wanted was for the Constable to recognize her. She tried to move out of sight, but the crowd had become so large that she could not move without being seen. The Constable approached the door of the facility where a guard met him. Petunia watched as the guard leaned over and whispered in the Constable’s ear.
“What?” Constable Wyatt snapped, narrowing his eyes. Petunia tried to hide behind the wall, but the crowd had moved closer to the door leaving her nowhere to turn. To Petunia’s horror, Constable Wyatt turned and glared directly into her eyes.
His eyes met hers and lingered for a moment. Recognizing her, he cocked his head slightly to one side, and then turned back toward the guard and followed him inside. Petunia turned and struggled through the crowd until she stood alone. Her heart was pounding so quickly that it was difficult to catch her breath. When she finally did, she overheard two of the hospital’s attendants speaking to one another as they each smoked their cigarettes.
“The asylum’s never had this kind of situation,” the first man said.
“Yes, quite a tragedy indeed,” said the second man.
“Did they say how it happened?”
“It was murder.”
“Are you sure? That’s impossible.”
“Yes, I’m quite sure. I heard they found a puncture wound on the neck where the victim was poisoned.”
“Do you think they’ll suspect the staff?” Petunia heard one of the men say.
“I suppose they’ll question everyone who was here today and entered that ward.”
Petunia heard their voices drop lower and inched closer to hear them better.
“The guards were baffled. She was under such heavy surveillance.”
Petunia’s stomach dropped.
“The police sure have their work cut out for them,” one of the attendants pointed out. “Someone has gone through great lengths to kill the Bates woman.”
Petunia clutched her chest as she tried to catch her breath once more. Could it be true?
Agatha Bates was dead.
Many people helped with the publication of this book. I would like to thank my mom and dad, my ultimate supporters, for always encouraging me to pursue my dreams and be the best person I can be. I would also like to thank my brother Raymond and his fiancée Lauren, my Aunt Kathy and Aunt Diana, my Grandmoms Rose and Stella, and my cousin Karina. Thank you to Jim Donio, President of Music Business Association, for taking the time to read this novel and for giving me a great critique. Thank you also to Barbara Tisa for your superb editing and suggestions. Thank you to Angelo Saggiomo and Bryan Butler for your respective edits on this novel. Thank you also to Joy Stocke for all of your guidance and insight. Thank you J
ason Dichter, Al Simpson, Lindsey Wells, Theresa Hrivnak, Anna Marie Hrivnak, and to all of my friends at the enlightenment book club who sent positive energy and inspiration my way. Thank you also to all my countless friends and family over the years for your support.