No Sanctuary (18 page)

The washing machine had probably stopped by now.

Gillian hurried through the house.

I won’t wait for five o’clock, she decided. As soon as the robe’s in the drier, I’ll come in and get ready. By the time I’m set to go, the robe should be pretty dry. Jerry won’t mind if I show up a little early.

Outside, she resisted the urge to peer over the fence again. She walked straight to the laundry room. The washing machine was silent. She opened the lid, reached inside, and lifted out the heavy, sodden robe. She dropped it on top of the drier.

Bending over, she opened the drier’s door.

And groaned.

Fredrick had gone off and left laundry in the machine.

Just what I want to do, Gillian thought. Touch his stuff. At least it looks dry.

Reaching into the drum, she pulled out a washcloth, a shirt, some white socks and a few pairs of brightly colored bikini underpants. She tossed them on top of a drier beside Jerry’s robe. When she dragged out a large blue bathtowel, the machine was empty.

Except for a book.

It was oversized, with a brown leatherette cover, and looked like a photo album.

So what’s it doing in the drier? Gillian wondered.

She supposed that Fredrick had put it there as a precaution, to save it in case the house burnt down while he was away.

She removed it, set it on top of the drier, and stuffed Jerry’s robe into the machine. She dosed the door. She pushed a button to start the drying cycle.

Then she stared at the album.

My big chance, she thought, to see what Fredrick looks like. A guy with mirrors all over his bedroom would probably have quite a collection of photos featuring himself.

It’s more likely crammed with Polaroids of his girlfriends in the raw. That would be his speed.

Do I really want to find out? I doubt it.

Gillian left the album on top of the drier, turned away, and walked to the laundry room door. She stepped outside into the sunlight. Then she halted. She sighed.

If I look in the album, I’ll regret it.

She muttered, “Shit,” turned around, strode to the drier and picked up the album. Holding it under one arm, she walked quickly to the lounge and sat down. She rested the book on her crossed legs and opened it.

There were no photographs on the page. Pressed beneath the clear plastic sheet was a newspaper clipping. There was nothing to indicate the name of the paper or the date. Gillian read the story.

U of A CO-ED VANISHES

Foul play is suspected in the disappearance, Saturday, of 19-year-old Candice Fairborn, a University of Arizona co-ed, from. her apartment on Spring Street.

According to police authorities, the roommate of Miss, Fairborn returned to the ground-floor apartment Stun-day evening after a weekend outing to find a rear window open. Further investigation led to the discovery of an upset lamp in the victim’s bedroom along with the torn. remnants of her nightgown.

. Being sought in connection with the disappearance Ls Miss Fairborn’s former boyfriend ...

The story continued, but Gillian didn’t bother to finish it. She turned the page. And found another clipping.

MYSTERY BODY GREEN BAY HOUSEWIFE

The partially decomposed body discovered Thursday by hikers in the Bagley Rapids area has been identified as Kathy Ellen Warnack, the 22-year-old wife of Ronald Warnack, who disappeared from their Jackson Avenue home on August 4.

According to the coroner’s report, the slain woman had been sexually molested and died of multiple stab wounds...

Gillian had a tight, cold feeling in her stomach.

Why did Fredrick Holden keep these clippings? Why, indeed ?

Her hand trembled as she turned the page.

GRISLY DISCOVERY

Saranak Lake—The remains of an unidentified female were found Saturday in a densely wooded area north of Saranak Lake...

She glanced at the next page. Eighteen-year-old Pam Jones had vanished from her parents’ home in Park Ridge while they were out playing bridge. On the next page was the story of Maggie Drukker, a twenty-three-year-old housewife who disappeared from her New Orleans apartment while her husband was working the graveyard shift at the airport.

The raped and mutilated body of a Seattle secretary was found in the woods near Salem, Oregon, two weeks after her disappearance.

Remains, partially devoured by wildlife, were found in the bayou and identified by dental charts as belonging to Maggie Drukker, who had disappeared from her New Orleans apartment on November 2nd.

Page after page, the stories went on. Young women mysteriously vanishing from their homes or apartments. Corpses found in secluded, wild areas. On four occasions, stories of the discovered bodies matched earlier stories of disappearances. Gillian turned several pages and came to one without a clipping. The remaining pages of the album were bare.

She turned back to the final story.

MISSING TEEN FOUND SLAIN

Underhill—The raped and savagely mutilated body discovered Friday by hikers in the Smuggler’s Notch area of Mt. Mansfield has been identified as that of 17-year-old Rhonda Bain, who was abducted May 24 from her parents’ home in Burlington.

The nude corpse of the teen was found ...

Gillian didn’t read the rest of it. Numb and confused, she flipped to the front of the album. She counted the clipping. Twenty-six of them.

She looked again at each.

Most of the stories contained references to locations. Some of the areas were unfamiliar to Gillian, but she knew enough geography to realize that the disappearances and murders had taken place in states all over the country.

None in California, though. That was interesting.

She shut the album and stared at it.

Why, for godsake, did Fredrick Holden have a scrapbook like this?

Yeah, why?

Why do I keep my photographs and stuff?

To look at them and remember.

“You guys should get first choice of where you want to set up your tent,” Bonnie said.

“I think we’ll do some scouting around,” Bert told her. “You can have this campsite. I’m sure we’ll find a good one.”

Rick felt something collapse inside. Oh no, he thought. Bert, no.

Andrea pulled a boot off and looked up, perplexed. “What do you mean?” she asked. “You aren’t leaving, are you?”

“There’s plenty of room here,” Bonnie added. “There’s no reason to go.”

“I’m sure we won’t go far,” Bert said. “You girls didn’t come out here to be stuck with us.”

“And vice versa,” Andrea muttered.

Bert didn’t respond to that remark. “Maybe we can get together later on, tell stories around the campfire or something.”

“Whoopee.” Andrea looked at Rick. “I thought we were all going to stick together.”

“Yeah. Well. I guess it doesn’t really matter. We’ll be close by, in case anything happens.”

“Nothing’s going to happen,” Bert said. “I’m sure Jase and the others are over the pass by now.” She turned to Rick. “Why don’t we leave our packs here until we find a place? No point in lugging them around anymore than necessary.”

Andrea peeled a sock off her foot and threw it down.

Rick followed Bert to a path near the shore of the lake. “There are probably a lot of good campsites,” she said.

“This one has the stream. We want to have running water, don’t we?”

“Maybe we’ll find another stream.”

They walked only a short distance before Rick spotted a clearing with a fire ring. “Let’s check this place out,” he suggested.

Bert scanned it from where she stood. “We can do better,” she said.

It’s too close to the girls’ camp for her taste, Rick thought. Great. Wonderful. Shit.

They kept walking. Soon, they came to a clearing with a built-up fireplace that had a grate. There were logs for seats, even a makeshift table. The area had high clusters of rock on three sides that would provide a natural barrier against the wind.

It was probably not much more than a five-minute hike from the girls’ camp.

“This looks perfect,” Rick said.

“Not bad,” Bert agreed. “Why don’t we keep going, though? There’s no big hurry. Maybe we’ll run into something even better if we keep looking.”

“Okay.”

“Maybe we’ll find a stream.”

They found a stream.

But not before they had rounded the end of the lake.

Standing on a small rise, they stared down at it. The stream by the girls’ camp was a trickle compared to this. The wide band of water rushed down over bare rocks, white and frothy in places; in other places gleaming like clear glass. Not far from where it spilled into the lake, the stream formed a wide pool.

“Oh, this is fabulous,” Bert said.

Rick tried to spot the girls’ camp. He couldn’t. The stream emptied into an inlet with a rim of rocky, wooded land across the front. There was only a narrow opening between a high outcropping on the shore and the end of the sheltering arm. Bert couldn’t have found a more secluded spot. And there was a camping area on the other side of the stream, down near the inlet.

She smiled at Rick and squeezed his hand. “Come on.” She led him down the slope. She had a spring in her step. She really loves this place, Rick thought. And he couldn’t blame her. But it was too far from Andrea and Bonnie.

When they reached the stream, Bert stopped at its edge. She stood there, turning her head, smiling as she watched it rush and swirl. It sounded like a strong wind, and a hint of coolness seemed to rise off its surface.

“What do you think?” she asked. She looked eager. And she looked ready for disappointment.

“It is nice,” he admitted.

“I know we’re a long way from the girls, but this is so beautiful and we’d have it all to ourselves. It’s the kind of place I was hoping we’d find, even before we started out.”

“Okay,” Rick said.

“You want to camp with the girls, don’t you?”

“No, of course not. It’s just that we told them ...”

“We don’t owe them anything. Hell, we spent the whole day with them. We didn’t come on this trip to have a four-some. We came to be with each other.”

“It’s just that I’m worried about them.”

“The guys are long gone, Rick. The girls don’t need our protection.”

“No, I suppose not. I said we could stay here.”

“Your heart wasn’t in it. Do you want Andrea? Is that it?”

“Don’t be ridiculous.”

“Because if you do, just say so. I’ll camp here, out of your way. Maybe we can even get Bonnie to come over, so she won’t...” Her voice snagged. Her eyes glimmered wet. She turned away.

Rick put his hands on her shoulders. “For godsake, Bert.”

“I’m sure she’d be ... more than happy to oblige you.”

“It might be nice,” Rick said. He felt Bert stiffen under his hands. “But she isn’t you.”

“Oh, I’m sure she has pretty much the same parts.”

“So do a Volkswagen and a Rolls-Royce.”

“Christ, you’re going automotive on me?”

“Four wheels and an engine, but there’s a difference.”

“You don’t even have a Rolls-Royce.”

“Got you.”

She sniffed and rubbed a shirtsleeve across her nose. “Yeah, you got me. Still want me to move in with you?”

“Will you?”

“No. But I’ll think about it.” She turned around. Her dirty, tear-streaked face wore half a smile.

“Your mascara ran,” Rick said.

“What mascara?” The other half of her smile came up.

“You need to wash your face.”

“Thanks, buster. You seen yourself lately?” She kissed him on the mouth. “Anyone for a bath?” she whispered.

“We’ll freeze our nuts off.”

“You may.”

“We’d better get back,” Bert said. “The girls might think we’re lost and come looking. If they see you like this ...”

“They’d go apeshit, but they’d be tough out of luck. I couldn’t get it up now if my life depended on it.”

“Wouldn’t bet on that,” Bert said.

He felt her hand.

“Ah, I was right.” She patted his belly. “But enough of this. We’d better get dressed.”

She sat up. Her back was speckled with grit. The smooth face of the rock still bore her wet imprint.

They both stood. Rick used his open hands to brush off her back and rump. Then he turned around, and she did the same for him. “For a man,” she said, “you have a very nice ass.”

“Well, don’t beat it to death.”

She squeezed it and stepped away.

When they were dressed, they crossed the stream, leaping from rock to rock, and made their way down to the campsite. The shaded clearing had a fireplace with a grate, and a good flat area where they decided their tent would go.

“Looks fine to me,” Rick said.

“Any more qualms about abandoning the girls?”

“They’ll be all right.”

“Would you feel better if we asked them to come over here? I’m not willing to give up this place, but if they want to bring their stuff over...”

“You’ve sure changed your tune.”

Bert shrugged. “I guess Andrea doesn’t seem like such a big threat anymore.”

“I guess she wouldn’t,” Rick said.

Bert reached forward and clasped her hands behind Rick’s neck. “So, what do you think? Should we allow them into our nice little hideaway?”

He slipped his hands inside her open shirt. He curled them over her breasts, lightly caressing the smooth skin and stiff nipples. “I don’t think so,” he said. “They’d just be in the way.”

“Let’s bring our packs over.” She tipped back her head and squirmed against his moving hands.

“What’s the hurry?”

“I want to ... lie out on the rocks again ... while the sun’s still on them.”

“That’s certainly worth hurrying for.”

She swallowed. “Thought you might think so.”

Rick drew the front of her shirt together and fastened the middle button. She released his neck. Her hands glided down his shoulders, then dropped away.

He followed Bert across the clearing and up the rock slabs to the stream. They hopped across it. The flat surface on the other side, where they had made love, was dry now.

Rick remembered how her wet skin had been cold at first, and stippled with goosebumps.

Then he remembered what his mind had done.