Deadly Sanctuary (25 page)

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.

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.

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?”

Claudia slowly laced her fingers together and gave me an apologetic smile. “I’m afraid so, since she’s no longer here.”

“Oh, that’s right. This is Thursday. So, of course, you’ve already put them all on the bus?” I watched her closely to see if there were any signs of discomfort. She appeared cool, confident, in control.

“Yes. Too bad you didn’t arrive earlier. You just missed her.” Her eyes glittered with triumph, like she was privy to some private joke.

My pulse hammered in my temples. It was an effort for me to conceal how much I disliked this woman.

The housegirl moved past the doorway, flashed me a furtive look, and then froze as Claudia turned and spoke sharply to her in Spanish.

I shook my head in amazement. If I hadn’t already known she was lying, I would have had no reason to suspect that she was. The falsehood had slipped off her tongue as easily as raw oysters from a china plate. I tucked the lens into my purse. Could I crack her icy facade if I confronted her? It would have given me intense satisfaction to do so, but I decided against it. I still didn’t have one shred of evidence that she was lying. It would be my word against hers.

Instinctively, I knew that she would most likely have a glib explanation for Jenny’s absence. This was a woman accustomed to subterfuge.

The Mexican girl answered Claudia in a soft, quavering voice, then bowed her head and hurried away. I wondered what Claudia had said to her.

“And now, Miss O’Dell,” Claudia said, returning her attention to me. “Since you now have what you came for, I’m afraid I must ask you to leave. I have work to do.” She accompanied me to the door and ended the conversation by remarking that my article had been commendable. I forced a smile and thanked her as I left.

As I drove to the fairgrounds, I felt a tremor of uneasiness. What had she done with Jenny? Was she being held captive behind one of those locked doors? Drugged, perhaps? Or, was she already safely transported beyond the border into Mexico where she’d be shipped off to the Mid-East where wealthy Arabs paid handsomely for blonde, blue-eyed girls?

Somehow, I had to get the goods on Claudia. Nobody was perfect. Somewhere along the way, she and Roy Hollingsworth had failed to cover their tracks. All I had to do was find out where.

There was a sizable crowd at the fairgrounds, and I took the necessary pictures of the brown Alaskan pigs as they raced around the oval track. I copied a few cute quotes from bystanders and hurriedly drove off to the sheriff’s office.

The past few days, I had entertained several grandiose ideas about how I was going to get to the files of the two dead girls and those of Violet Mendoza and John Dexter, without Roy’s knowledge. One of them involved my breaking into the office in the dead of night and making off with the folders. That seemed ridiculous to me now as I parked in front of the building.

There was only one patrol car in the lot, and I felt a rush of relief when I stepped inside and saw Deputy Potts at the sheriff’s desk. He jumped up like a jack-in-the-box when he saw me come in. The loud crack I heard was probably his knee meeting the desk drawer. It was difficult to keep from laughing at his masterful attempt to cover his pain.

“Miss O’Dell!” he gasped. “What a fine sight you are this morning. I missed seeing you this week.” As always, his gaze swept over me with deliberate care. I experienced the discomforting sensation that he was mentally removing my clothing piece by piece.

It was tempting to say, “Well, I didn’t miss seeing you,” but instead I smiled and asked for the daily logs.

“Got them right here.” He swept a large black binder from the desk and handed it to me, making sure his fingers touched mine. “Thanks,” I said, moving away to the counter. I studied the material and then, keeping my voice casual, I asked, “Say, where’s Roy? I haven’t seen him around for a few days.”

“Oh, he’s off to Laughlin. He’ll be back tomorrow.”

“Again?”

“He’s got the bug. Sometimes I think he’d rather be at the blackjack table than be here, if you know what I mean?”

“No, I don’t really. Enlighten me.”

“Well, it’s right there as plain as the nose on your face,” he said with an air of importance. “I’ve seen a bunch of talk shows about people like Roy.”

He reacted to my look of puzzlement by saying in a low voice, “You know, he’s like an alcoholic, only with him, it’s gambling. If he’s not in Vegas or Laughlin, he’s out on the reservation.”

“Is that so?” That was interesting information. If Roy did have a gambling addiction, he might be willing to do just about anything for money. Anything.

Just then their secretary, Julie, entered the room. Her face looked drawn and pale. “Hi,” she said in a faint voice.

After she vanished into her office, I asked Duane, “What’s wrong with her? She looks sick.”

“She’s feeling kind of puny today. Probably got a touch of the stomach flu or something. She’s been barfing her socks off all morning.”

“Well, why don’t you send her home?”

He looked wounded. “Hey, I would, but there’d be nobody to cover the phones when I’m not here. As a matter of fact, I was just on my way out. We got a fire going down at Grubber’s Feed Lot and I’ve got to go make sure things are okay.” As he gathered up keys and his hat, I had to stifle a gasp when it dawned on me what an incredibly lucky break this was for me. Neither he nor Roy would be in the office. Could I trust Julie not to tell either of them I’d asked to see the files?

It was an effort to keep my voice calm. “Don’t let me stop you. I know duty calls and you don’t have time to waste talking with me.”

He stepped so close I could smell garlic on his breath. “It’s my extreme pleasure to talk to you any time, Miss O’Dell. In fact, maybe you’d like to have a cup of coffee with me sometime.”

“Sure,” I said sweetly. “Will your wife and kids be there too?”

His face flushed several shades of red and he let out a nervous laugh. He winked and shook his finger at me. “That’s real good. You have a real good sense of humor. Yes, sirree, Bob. A great sense of humor.”