Glancing in the mirror as I left the room, my reflection was, at the very least, passable, and, hopefully, things at Stormview would be as casual as my father had indicated.
I grabbed my backpack and closing the door firmly behind me, started on the path to the manor house.
Everyone was on the porch, as usual. I smiled sweetly as I greeted Hettie and Raoul not wanting to expose the latent anger that was building inside me. Raoul offered me a drink, but I declined, asking instead for some spring water. He glared at me for a moment as if refusing a drink from him were tantamount to treason, but quickly shrugged it off, handed me a bottle of water, and then sat on the wicker sofa with his wife.
“So, you’re taking off soon, Dad?” I asked as I sat down next to him.
He smiled. “Yes, time to put this old workhorse back in harness. And, to be honest, I miss it.”
I grinned. “And, I’m sure they miss you, too.”
We chatted amiably for a time, Raoul describing his upcoming trip to the Far East.
“I will be gone at least a week, but no more. Eight days is much too long to be parted from my sweet wife.”
As he spoke, he leaned over and kissed my aunt on the cheek, then got up and went to the bar to refresh his drink.
As he walked away, I turned to my father. “One thing, Dad, I’ve been meaning to ask you.”
“What, honey?”
“Dr. Conway.”
My father scowled when I said the man’s name. “What about him?”
“No one’s contacted me. Not the Medical Board or even the police. Isn’t that a bit odd?”
My father sighed. “No, it’s not. I never contacted the police. I thought a report to the Medical Board would be sufficient and that losing his license would be punishment enough. However, Conway apparently has friends in high places and, as far as I know, the Board has yet to mete out any discipline. I’m sorry, Kate. I messed up.”
“It’s not your fault. But the man deserves to be punished.”
“Who deserves to be punished?” asked Raoul who had just rejoined the group.
“Dr. Conway at Memorial,” I answered. “He used experimental drugs on me without permission. He should have his license yanked and also do some jail time.”
“Harsh words, Katherine,” said Raoul. “Perhaps it was just a misunderstanding.”
“No, it wasn’t,” interrupted my father. “Conway behaved criminally and when I get back, if nothing’s been done, I’ll get in touch with Jerry and see if he can intervene.”
The “Jerry” my dad was referring to was the governor of California, the Honorable Jerry Brown. Dad and the governor had been friends for years, and if anyone could make things happen in The Golden State, Jerry could.
Raoul frowned, then shrugged. “You do what you must. Now, I’m going inside to see what’s happening with our lobsters. I’m positively famished.”
The rest of the evening passed without incident. My dad and I made plans to get together the next afternoon. He would be leaving Storm soon and, since I planned to stay on, I didn’t know when I’d see him again.
When I got back to the carriage house, I poured myself a glass of port and sat down with my mother’s notebook.
I read for about a half-hour, frustrated that I still hadn’t stumbled upon anything that could have upset her so much. Noting that it was getting late, I decided to refresh my drink and read for just another fifteen or twenty minutes, then go to bed.
As I brought my glass back to the sofa where the notebook lay open to a poem about seagulls, I felt a distinct chill run up my spine. Feeling apprehensive, I stood motionless, shivering, as the scent of roses suddenly filled the carriage house and I felt a rush of cold air hit my face, as if one of the windows had been left open.
The wind swirled, blowing my hair around my head as I stared at the open journal on the sofa. The pages rustled rapidly, flipping forward away from the poem I had been reading to a place close to the end of the journal.
Then, as quickly as it had come, the wind calmed and the scent of roses disappeared.
Everything was normal again.
I took a deep breath, then a good gulp of my wine.
“Sweet Jesus,” I said as I sat back down on the sofa and picked up the notebook. Looking at it, I saw that it was now open to an entry dated three days before my mother’s death, entitled “Mischief Afoot at Stormview.”
Settling back, I started to read:
I went into the tunnels again today. I don’t know why I’m so drawn to them, but I am. Katy was at sailing class so I had most of the morning on my own. I spent about an hour in the little stone hut reading Maude’s books, then, bored, decided it was time to explore.
I know it’s unethical, but I do get a tinge of guilty pleasure listening in on conversations at the manor houses. Most are petty, just idle gossip, but today, at Stormview, I overheard something much more sinister and I am determined to document it while it’s fresh in my mind.
The tunnel that leads to Hettie and Raoul’s house opens into one of the closets or storage rooms just off Raoul’s study – the perfect place to eavesdrop on the business dealings of that supposed “dealer in antiquities.” The closet is a large one, custom designed, and is lined with shelves that hold hundreds of files. These documents, I believe contain vital clues to Raoul’s history from a time before digital storage became available. And, by reviewing them, I plan to find out who he really is.
Today, as in other days, I sat on the floor and pulled a folder at random. It was full of spreadsheets dating back ten years to around the time he met and married Hettie. The information in this file was probably important, but every entry was in some sort of esoteric code which I couldn’t decipher. Wishing I were Sherlock Holmes, I put the file back and was reaching for another when I heard the door to the study open.
Heavy footsteps resounded off the highly polished walnut floors and I scooted across the room to the keyhole, making sure the door that led to the tunnels was ajar so I could make a quick escape if need be. Crouching low, I peered through the keyhole.
Two men had entered the room, one of them, Raoul. The other man was a stranger to me. The two seemed to be arguing and I strained to hear what they were saying. The unknown man had a heavy accent, Eastern European or Russian, and, at first, I had a hard time understanding him. But I caught on after a couple minutes and discovered his name was Vlad.
I’m going to post their conversation here, as I remember it.
Raoul: “No. No way. Hettie would divorce me.”
Vlad: “She doesn’t have to know. The tunnels are perfect for it and, believe me, there’s money to be made.”
Raoul: “We’re making enough already with the coke and other drugs. Not to mention the experimentals. No, Vlad, this is too dangerous.”
Vlad: “But it would be so easy, so safe. We put up cages in the tunnel or in that big room down there. I bring the girls and we keep them until they’re sold. There’s a big market for Western women in the Far East. Those chinks will pay top dollar for a blonde or redhead.”
Raoul: “Vlad, enough! Hettie’s already unhappy with the recreational drugs. She’d like to go back to the old days when we only imported the experimentals that were legal in Europe. If she got wind we were into human trafficking, well, she’d toss me out, confess everything to the police, and send us all to jail. And, she’s my wife. So, your answer is ‘no.’ And I don’t want to hear anything more about it!”
At this point, Raoul slammed his fist or something down on the desk. Vlad, I guess, finally understanding that Raoul wasn’t about to give in, shrugged and sat down in one of the leather chairs.
Shocked by what I’d heard, I decided it was time to skedaddle on home, so I slipped out the trapdoor and made my way down to the tunnels, returning hastily to the carriage house.
I’m not sure what I should do now. Obviously, Raoul and Hettie are into something bad – dealing in illegal and dangerous drugs. And, if this Vlad character g
ets his way, they’ll be involved in something much worse – kidnapping and human trafficking. It boggles this woman’s mind.
I need to tell Ham about this, but don’t want to do it over the phone. After all, it’s his sister who’s involved. No, I’ll wait until he comes to the island in August. In the meantime, I’ll keep my lips zipped and document any further information I might overhear.
The entry ended there and I set the notebook down on the coffee table. Drugs! I couldn’t believe it.
I got up and poured myself another drink and stared out the window, picturing Raoul in my mind. He’d always been a bit of a shady character, no matter how many airs he put on. But Hettie involved in drug dealing, that I couldn’t believe.
I thought again about all the hallucinations I’d had and about the recent seizure. All of these episodes could have been induced by psychogenic drugs and now I knew who had ready access to the pharmaceuticals – my aunt and uncle!
As I stared out the window, the pieces of the puzzle I’d been living in began to come together. In the journal, my mother related something about Hettie wanting to bring to the States drugs that were approved for sale in Europe. I could see her altruistic intention in this regard … providing patients with life-saving medicines that Big Pharma might have lobbied against in order to prevent FDA approval. But how and when did she take the leap and go along with marketing recreational drugs, too? I saw Raoul’s fine hand in all of this, cajoling, bullying, and finally convincing her.
Experimental drugs. Like the ones used on me in California.
Everything started back there after I’d overheard that conversation between Conway and the unidentified man. Could Conway have been involved in Raoul’s drug-running scheme? And, was the man he was arguing with, who had a heavy Eastern European accent, the same one my mother saw with Raoul? The man named Vlad?
I nodded to myself. It was all beginning to make sense. Vlad would have told Raoul that I might have heard something incriminating and the two of them concocted this scheme to make me look insane and get me committed to an asylum. Once that happened, no one would ever believe me.
But how did they drug me?
Once again, I went over everything I’d ingested that morning. There was nothing I hadn’t prepared for myself. Then I remembered the latté Alistair left for me in clinic. Had it been laced with drugs? And, if so, had Alistair been a participant in Raoul’s scheme?
I thought about my affair with Alistair. While it had been short-lived, at times it had been intense. But he never gave me any indication that he would physically harm me. Thinking about him now, I found myself surprised at my attraction to him. Had I just watched a few too many episodes of Grey’s Anatomy and envisioned him as my “Derek?” I shook my head, acknowledging that, in truth, I’d been more attracted to his power than to the man himself. He was an icon in the Surgery Department at Memorial. He loved his profession and, while he might betray a woman, I didn’t think he would betray his calling. Given this and, looking at him rationally, I couldn’t see him getting involved in illegal drug trafficking. Anyway, he would be a poor conspirator. He was too much of a narcissist to be trusted by Raoul and his henchmen.
No, Alistair was most likely an unwitting pawn. More plausible was the conclusion that somehow Conway doctored the drink without Alistair’s knowledge and I, trusting the source, drank it all. Thinking about this, I jotted down a note to remind myself to call Alistair in the morning and see if he remembered Conway being anywhere near that latté before he left it for me.
I leaned back going over everything again in my mind. I shuddered as I acknowledged that Raoul’s plan almost worked. I was all set to be shipped off to Riverside Psychiatric when my father insisted I get five more days. And then I further complicated things by hiding the pills and giving them to Seth.
Enter Hettie … suggesting to her brother that I come to New York. But, once I arrived, she shipped me off to Storm where I would be isolated and she and Raoul could keep a close eye on me. Naturally, no one would suspect that the prescription medications she gave me were anything but legitimate. But, obviously, they weren’t, and were the cause of my nightmares and those hallucinations on the widow’s walk and in the tower room.
But what about those visions featuring that disgusting spider-like creature? Had Raoul, who I now knew was familiar with the tunnel system, been behind those awful hallucinations, too?
All the pieces were falling into place and, as I thought about what I’d been through and how I’d questioned my own sanity, my blood began to boil.
They would pay for what they did.
Angry, I paced the room. I needed to talk to my father before he left and talk to him alone. I looked at the clock. It was almost midnight.
I grabbed a blank sheet of paper and drew a clumsy drawing of the first-floor layout of Stormview. The study, the one my mother said the tunnel opened into, was only a couple doors down from the guest bedroom where my father was staying. Hettie and Raoul’s room was on the other side of the house and odds were pretty good that they would be asleep by now. I could venture into the tunnels tonight and slip into my dad’s room unnoticed. I would take Mom’s journal with me and let him judge for himself who was sane and who was not.
I finished my wine and put the glass in the sink. I needed to get dressed. It was going to be a late night.
Terror In The Tunnels
A HALF-HOUR LATER, I shimmied my way down through the trapdoor into the tunnel that led from the carriage house. I was wearing jeans, a heavy sweatshirt, and, once again, the miner’s cap. As I gained my footing on the damp rock floor, I flicked on the light and pulled a flashlight from my pocket. Taking a deep breath, I took a moment to review Sloane’s map, locating the fastest route to the manor house.
It was eerily quiet as I made my way through the maze of tunnels. Only the occasional bubbling from a natural spring and the beating of my heart broke through the deadly wall of silence.
As I carefully walked along the dark passageway, I rehearsed what I would say to my father. Of utmost importance was the need to sound rational. I had to stay calm and proceed as if I were presenting a case on rounds. Just the facts, ma’am, no elaborations or emotions allowed.
I thought I’d passed the halfway point when a noise startled me. It sounded like a rock falling, but it could have been anything. I froze in place, quickly turning off my hat and torch.
I waited.
It seemed like forever but it was only a few minutes. Everything was quiet again and I breathed a sigh of relief.
Determined to make haste, I reached up to turn my headlight back on as I took a step forward. Suddenly, I felt something or someone grab my arm, knocking me off balance. I tried to right myself and pull away, but whoever it was grabbed me around the waist, lifting me off the ground. I opened my mouth to scream, but my assailant clamped his hand firmly across it. Shocked, I struggled, but the man who held me was too strong. I tried to bite him, but as soon as my teeth connected with his finger, he tossed me across the passageway like a sack of potatoes.
My head hit stone and I briefly saw stars. When I came back to full consciousness, my hands were trussed behind my back and a tall, muscular man yanked me to my feet.
“We meet again, Dr. Pomeroy,” the man said, his heavy Eastern European accent not lost on me.
“I don’t know you,” I replied, indignantly. “Untie me right now!”
He laughed. “Well, I guess you’re right. We didn’t actually meet. Dr. Conway neglected to introduce us. But you saw me.”
As he spoke, he reached over and turned on my miner’s headlight, revealing his face.
It was heavily lined and pock-marked and, at first, I couldn’t place him. Then it came to me – he was the man from the laundry room … the one arguing with Conway. Was this Vlad?
I took a chance that I was right.
“Vlad,” I said.
He looked surprised, then grinned, nodding. “You’re very sharp. Very sharp. How did yo
u find my name? Have you been snooping down here before?”
I remained silent. I wasn’t going to give this thug the courtesy of an answer.
“You’re not going to tell me?” he laughed. “Have it your way. But, you know, it may turn out that you and I will get a lot closer, if you know what I mean.”
His eyes raked over my body when he said those last words and a shiver of fear coursed through me. Was he intent on rape?
Without further conversation, he pushed me ahead of him, keeping one firm hand on my shoulder.
“Where are you taking me?” I asked.
“Oh, so the little lady has found her voice. How pleasing. To answer your question, I’m taking you where you want to go. To Stormview. However, I don’t know if your uncle will be pleased to see you. Now move along. The dampness in this tunnel is making my joints ache.”
He pushed me forward again and, with no other option available, I began the walk to the manor house.
As we neared the end of the passageway, Vlad pulled out his cell phone and speed-dialed a number. He spoke softly into the phone and I couldn’t make out what he was saying, but I assumed he was talking to Raoul, advising him that I’d been snooping in the tunnels.
After a few seconds, Vlad put the cell back in his pocket and grabbed the back of my sweatshirt.
“Hold on,” he said. “You’re not going all the way to the house. Turn here.”
He pushed me to the right where a narrow tunnel branched off. I knew from studying the map that this passageway would lead to the open room where the mob used to store their liquor. Why was he taking me there? Was he going to kill me?
I stumbled and my abrupt movement caught Vlad off-guard and he let go of my shoulder. Seizing the moment, I righted myself and began to sprint forward down the tunnel, hoping against hope I would find a way to escape.
Storm Island: A Kate Pomeroy Mystery (The Kate Pomeroy Gothic Mystery Series Book 1) Page 22
