The Final Kill

Abby could still hear Lydia Greyson’s voice: People don’t listen to children. They pooh-pooh their fears, as if a child can’t possibly have all that much to worry about. Don’t do that, Abby. Don’t ever, ever do that. You don’t know how much harm you could be doing to that child.

“Allie,” she said quickly, “don’t go. Of course you can stay. For tonight, at least. All right? You can sleep here, both of you.”

Tears filled Alicia’s eyes. “Oh, Abby, thank you so much! I promise, you won’t regret—”

“Wait,” Abby said, interrupting. “Don’t make too much of this. You need to understand that I can’t keep Jancy here alone, as much as I’d like to help you with that. The fact that she’s a minor could be a problem. And since I don’t know what’s going on, I have no idea what might come up.”

“Tonight, though?” Alicia said with the first glimmer of hope in her voice. “You said, both of us? And no one will know?”

“Absolutely no one,” Abby said firmly. “I don’t know what you’re running from, Allie, but you’ll be safe here.”

And God help me if I do end up regretting this.

Allie let out a long breath, as if a huge burden had been lifted from her shoulders. Jancy didn’t say a word, but sat biting her black-painted fingernails to the quick. Abby noted that otherwise they looked freshly done, and now that the first moments were over, she also recognized Jancy’s black jeans jacket as being from a famous designer.

She looked at Alicia’s shoes and recognized them, too, as having cost somewhere in the neighborhood of seven hundred dollars. Back in the days of her marriage to Jeffrey, Abby had learned to have an eye for fashion like that. At least one thing seemed certain: Allie and Jancy wouldn’t suffer from a lack of funds, wherever they ended up.

There was a bellpull by the doorway into the reception room, a leftover from the days when the cloistered Carmelites lived there. Preserved for history’s sake, it also had a functional use. Within a minute or two of Abby’s gentle tug, Helen appeared from her room near the front door. Abby asked her to have someone take Alicia and Jancy to the second floor.

“There’s a room prepared?” Abby asked.

Helen shot her a look as if to say, “Isn’t there always?” To Alicia and Jancy, she said, “All right, then, come with me.”

But Helen was limping, and Abby didn’t want her to climb the stairs. “Sister Liddy is probably up already. Why don’t I ask her—”

“I’m not that useless yet,” Helen grumbled, lumbering to the door with a frown.

Abby knew when to fold ’em, so she contained her usual smile at Helen’s crustiness and turned to Alicia. “Okay, then. You and Jancy go with Sister Helen. She’ll take you to your room.”

Alicia hugged her. “How can I ever thank you enough?”

“A donation would be nice,” Abby said, with a laugh. “A big one, for the Women’s Center for Learning.”

“It’s a promise,” Alicia said, squeezing her hard.

Abby took her by the shoulders. “No, seriously, just take care of yourself and Jancy. Do you have a cell phone with you?”

She nodded.

“If you need anything in the night, then, don’t hesitate to call me.” Abby took a piece of notepaper and a pen from a desk and wrote her private cell phone number on it.

“I’ll only be a floor away,” she said. “Since the night’s almost over, you might as well sleep in. Call me when you’re up, and I’ll let Sister Benicia know. She’ll fix you something to eat.”

Allie nodded again and squeezed her hand. As she and Helen headed for the door, Abby touched Jancy’s arm and pulled her back a bit.

“Are you all right?” she asked in a low tone. “Is there anything special you want or need?”

Jancy gave a shrug, but tears filled her eyes again. Closer up, Abby could tell that what she had thought was heavy eye shadow was actually swollen lids that she’d apparently tried to cover up by reapplying her makeup several times. The shadow had creased and flaked, and some of it had fallen, leaving rivulets of black glitter on her cheeks.

Abby’s ability to spot troubled kids was usually right on target, and this one was shouting “trouble” all over the place.

But Jancy shoved her hands in her pockets, sniffled and shrugged. “What good would it do?” she said tiredly.

“Jancy,” Alicia said in a firm tone. She gestured for her daughter to catch up. “We’ve bothered Abby enough for tonight.”

“See what I mean?” Jancy murmured.

Abby followed Jancy and the two women into the hall. Instead of turning right toward her apartment, she paused and watched as they started up the curving mahogany stairs toward the second floor. Helen had to grasp the railings on both sides to pull herself up each stair, and Abby didn’t know whether to feel bad for her or angry with her. She could be so damned stubborn.

Standing there, she felt a sudden chill. While she was glad she’d let Allie and Jancy stay, she would have felt better if she’d known what was wrong. Something to do with Gerry, after all? Alicia clearly didn’t want him to know where they were or what had happened. For someone as afraid as she was, there had to be a good reason for keeping her husband out of it.

Add to that Jancy’s attitude. The child exuded anger and pain out of every pore, which could either be normal teenage acting out—or a sign of abuse. But Gerry? Was he really capable of that?

Abby didn’t know. She hated to think that way, but she hadn’t been around him recently enough to spot signs of abuse.

Her questions, or some of them, were answered moments later. Before Jancy, Helen and Alicia even made it to the landing between the first and second floor, there was a loud, abrupt banging on the front door.

All four women stopped moving and stared at one another.

“It’s them!” Alicia said in a low, frightened voice. She didn’t say who, and there was no time to ask questions. Abby raised a finger to her lips, while with her other hand she motioned for them to keep going. Alicia turned and ran farther up the stairs, with Helen doing her best to keep up. But Jancy still stood as if frozen, staring down at the carved double doors. They were old and thick, of Spanish design and meant to protect the early Carmelites from intruders. They couldn’t be broken down by anything less than a battering ram, but there were newer windows here on the first floor that were far more vulnerable.

Abby’s automatic reaction was to protect the woman and child under her care and ask questions later. Running as silently as possible up the stairs, she whispered to Helen to go back down and give them a minute or two before she opened the door. Grabbing Jancy’s arm, Abby pulled the girl after her. She followed numbly, as if in shock.

“It’s okay, you’ll be okay,” Abby whispered, but by the time they had reached the second floor and the Sacred Heart statue, Jancy was sobbing. Abby grabbed her arm and forced Jancy to face her.

“Stop it! Stop it right now! They’ll hear you!”

Jancy gulped and nodded, then rubbed her nose with the sleeve of her jacket. The heavy makeup was wearing off, and she looked more her age now, young, frightened and vulnerable. Abby saw that Allie was waiting for them, half-hidden behind the statue. Allie took Jancy’s hand and pulled her down the corridor to the left, whispering for Allie to follow.

They ran to a room near the big, oval solarium that overlooked the front gardens. By this time, the noise at the front door had escalated. The banging continued, growing louder and louder. Then a male voice shouted. “Abby? Abby, open up!”

Confusion set in. Ben?

Another voice followed his. “FBI! Open the door!”

A quick look at Alicia and Jancy told Abby they were terrified. She knew everyone in the Prayer House must be awake by now, and Helen would have to open the door, or someone else would.

Pulling on Alicia and Jancy’s hands, she whispered to them to crouch down as she led them into the solarium. Although the room was pitch-dark, there were floor-to-ceiling windows on three sides. It was possible that anyone moving about in here could be seen by someone standing way out in the garden, by the rim of trees.

Abby, going ahead, dropped to her knees, then inched along the inner wall in a belly crawl. There, she felt along the edge of one oak panel. Finding the right spot, she pressed. The bottom third of the panel swung open, revealing a small, dark cubbyhole.

“Here!” she whispered to Alicia and Jancy, urging them to crawl across the floor the same way she had. They did, and when they got to her she said, “You’ll have to squat down, and it’ll be a tight fit, but I’ll come for you as soon as it’s safe.”

“What is this?” Alicia asked, peering into the dark hole with a tremor in her voice.

“A modern-day version of a priest’s hole,” Abby said. “I remodeled the solarium, and I’m the only one who knows it’s here. Get in! There’s a lock on the inside so no one else can open it from out here.”

She pushed them both harder than she meant to, but the male voices were louder now, as if coming from inside the downstairs foyer. Her own anxiety ran high, and she began to shake. What the hell was going on?

Making sure the two women were safely in the priest’s hole and the inside lock was in place, she went quickly down the stairs. Entering the foyer, she slowed and rubbed her eyes as if she’d just woken up.

She didn’t have to pretend much to look surprised; the scene in her foyer worked pretty well as a wake-up call.

Ben stood there with another man, talking to Helen. Abby studied the other man before walking up to them. He was dressed in a dark blue blazer and khaki pants, and he was tall, even taller than Ben, who was just over six feet. He had silver hair that complimented his tanned face and steel-gray eyes, and he held himself with an air of assurance. When he looked up and saw Abby, he nodded to Helen and said politely, “That’ll be all. Thank you very much, Sister.”

Helen shot a glance at Abby. She nodded and Helen left, walking toward the kitchen. Abby noted that the front doors were open behind Ben and this man. In the semicircular gravel drive, the bright motion lights revealed two police cars and at least three unmarked cars. There were several figures in dark suits, some of them on one knee behind the open car doors. They had guns drawn and pointed directly at the Prayer House, as if expecting an attack by insurgent nuns on the lam.

“What’s going on?” Abby asked Ben, trying to steady her voice. “What is the FBI doing here?”

“We want the two women who came here earlier,” the other man answered for him.

“I don’t understand.”

“Special Agent Robert Lessing,” he said, holding out a hand. Abby shook it. His palm was dry and warm. No nerves, she thought, for this fellow. Too bad that couldn’t be said for her.

“We know they’re here,” Lessing said. “And I’m sorry to disturb you, Ms. Northrup, but this is FBI business. We need to take those women in for questioning.”

“I still don’t understand. Who are you talking about, and what did they do?”

“Please, Ms. Northrup,” he said irritably, “it’s been a long night. Trying to hide these women can only make it worse for you. Do you really want to be charged as an accessory?”

“Accessory?” She looked at Ben. “To what?”

“Murder, Abby,” Ben said.

“Murder!”

“Chief, I asked you not to—” Lessing began.

Ben ignored him. “I got a call on my cell phone, on my way back to the station. A man was murdered in a room at the Highlands Inn. There was an envelope of photos in the room, photos of two women—actually, a woman and a teenage girl.”

Abby was shocked, but went for total innocence. “So you identified the woman and girl in the photo as the women who came here earlier? Without even having seen who was actually here?”

“Abby, I heard Sister Helen on the intercom. She said there was a woman and a teenage girl seeking sanctuary. This is a small town, and I don’t believe in coincidence. Besides that, this sort of thing doesn’t happen here every day.”

“But you’d like it to, wouldn’t you?” she said testily. “Shake things up a bit in this boring little bubble. Isn’t that what you called Carmel? A bubble?”

“I didn’t say it was boring,” Ben snapped, his voice rising. “And please don’t do this.”

“Do what?”

“Act as if I’d tell the FBI about your work here for no other reason but a personal desire to stir up some action.”

She stared at him as disbelief filled every pore. “You told them? Everything?”

Ben was one of the few people she’d told about Paseo. She had sworn him to secrecy—and tonight, he had told the FBI. Just like that, he had betrayed the trust that women were promised when they came here for sanctuary.

“I trusted you,” she said softly. “You swore never to—” She broke off as her voice failed.

“This is different,” Ben argued, looking decidedly awkward. Nevertheless, his voice was firm. “If these women are killers, you aren’t safe, Abby. No one is safe while they’re here.”

She suddenly couldn’t think straight. Was what he said true? Had Alicia, someone she’d known for years as one of the nicest people in the world, actually murdered someone? Was she in fact running from the FBI?

One thing she’d learned over the years was that people you think you know well can change. And given extenuating circumstances, they don’t always change for the better.

The other thing she’d learned, though, was that the police and federal agencies—given their own extenuating circumstances—can’t always be trusted to know what the hell they’re doing.

“Well,” she said to Agent Lessing, “I’m sorry I can’t help you, but the women who were here are gone.”

Ben stared at her. “C’mon, Abby. This is no time for games.”

Agent Lessing’s voice was even harsher. “If you’re harboring criminals—”

“I could be arrested as an accessory to the crime,” Abby said calmly. “I know. You made that quite clear.”

“Or as a coconspirator,” he said. “Either way, you’ll go to jail.”

“Abby—” Ben began.

“Ben,” she interrupted, “if you had called me before rushing out here with your merry little band of Men in Black, I could have told you not to bother. The women you’re looking for are most definitely not the ones who came here earlier. And they are not here now.”

“I know you, Ab,” he said irritably. “And I don’t believe you. Dammit, I’m worried about you, and I’m getting tired of you hiding things when you know I’d worry even more!”

“And I’m getting tired of you worrying about me as if I were a child. I can take care of myself!”

“Yeah? Well, I can remember a time when you couldn’t,” he said just as angrily. “You wouldn’t even be alive now if—”

Before he could finish, footsteps sounded from the hallway stairs. Startled, Abby turned to see a blond woman of about thirty, dressed in a trim black pantsuit and white blouse, accompanied by three men.

“We’ve checked out every floor,” she said to Agent Lessing. “No sign of them. Quite a few upset nuns, though.”

“How did you get up there?” Abby said, furious now. “You had no right—

“This says I do,” the woman answered, producing a folded court paper from the inside pocket of her suit jacket. “Kris Kelley, special agent.”

Abby opened and scanned it.

“It’s a search warrant,” Ben said.

“I can see that,” she replied shortly.

There was a buzz, and Agent Lessing pulled a two-way radio out of his pocket. “Lessing,” he said, and listened.

After a few moments he murmured, “Right,” and hung up. Turning to Ben, he said, “They haven’t found anyone on the grounds, either.”

“You’ve actually been searching my property?” Abby said, feeling more than ever violated.

“The warrant covers that, too, Ms. Northrup,” he said. “What you have in your hand there is a copy. You may keep it and check with your lawyer about it, if you like.”

“You seem to have come prepared,” she said, striving to sound calm again. “This must be a very big case—with a very important corpse. Mind telling me who it is?”

“Sorry,” Agent Lessing said, shaking his head.

“Why not? It’ll be all over the news by morning.”

“So you’ll find out then,” he answered.

“Look,” Ben said to Lessing, “we aren’t getting anywhere here. I suggest we go back to the station.”

“Just one more question,” Lessing replied. He turned to Abby. “Where did those women go from here?”

“I have no idea. But as I told Ben, the women who were here aren’t who you’re looking for.”

“Oh?” Lessing smiled. “And how would you know that?”

“Because they were old friends,” she answered coolly. “One is a teacher, a woman in her fifties. She’d brought her niece with her, on a field trip. They were driving through town and stopped to say hello, and I gave them some hot soup and cocoa. We talked a bit, and they went on their way.”

“Old friends, huh? And they just dropped by—all the way out here in Carmel Valley—to say hello in the middle of the night?”

Abby shrugged. “They were tired. They’ve been touring the old missions and needed a pit stop on the way to I-5. As you probably know, there’s not much open in Carmel at night. Besides, everyone who knows me knows that I’m up half the night.”

Ben stared at her for a long moment, as if by doing so she might break and give herself up. But then he said to Lessing, “That’s true. Abby’s a freelance writer. She does her best work at night.”

The agent gave Ben a weary look. “We’re getting nowhere here. Let’s all go back to the station.”

Ben turned to Abby, and for the first time his voice was soft. “Ab? You’ll be all right?”

Too little, too late, she thought bitterly. He’d betrayed her, and he wasn’t getting off that easily. “Of course I’ll be all right,” she said irritably, “once all of you people get out of here and I can get to bed.”

“I…I’ll see you in a little while,” he said.

“No. It’s almost three in the morning. I’ll call you. Later.”

He looked taken aback. Shaking his head, he led the way out of the foyer and onto the front drive. The female agent lagged behind. Just before she went through the doorway, she said to Abby, “I’ve heard about you. A couple of years ago, wasn’t it? You must be pretty tough, to have gone through all that and come out unscathed.”

Unscathed? Abby thought. Hardly.

But that was the point, she realized suddenly. The woman somehow knows there are things about me that haven’t healed, and that I don’t always act wisely, but out of leftover emotions—good and bad.

“What are you, some kind of shrink?” Abby said.

“No. Just someone who admires the work you’re doing. There have been times—” She broke off and looked toward the front door, where the men were gathered around the cars.

“You were saying?” Abby prompted.

“Nothing. Gotta run,” the woman said. “Looks like everyone’s leaving.”

5

Abby locked up and stood at a front window, watching till every car had gone down the twisting, oleander-lined driveway to Carmel Valley Road. There they turned right, heading back into town. Finally. The FBI woman’s words kept repeating themselves in her mind. To have gone through all that…come out unscathed…

How does a woman end up unscathed, Abby thought, when she’s so brutally raped she’ll never be able to carry a child? How does she even end up close to being what other people call “normal”?

And the rape was only the beginning. What followed had nearly killed her, just as Ben had said. If he hadn’t been there…

Which didn’t excuse his betrayal tonight.

Glancing at her watch, she decided to wait ten minutes before going up and releasing Alicia and Jancy, just to be safe. In the meantime, she looked for Helen, wanting to thank her for her help. When she didn’t answer the knock on her door, Abby quietly opened it to make sure her old friend was all right, but glancing around, she saw that Helen wasn’t there.

The room was small, no more than a “cell,” as the nuns in former times had called their ascetic cubicles. Most had held little more than a bed, a chest of drawers and a crucifix. Though Helen could have had the biggest, nicest bedroom in the house, this was what she’d asked for, and Abby had built this room to her specifications.

“I can’t sleep if there’s too much space around me,” Helen had muttered. “Or too much clutter, for that matter. Those young sisters and the others can have their big, pretty rooms with their flowered curtains and sheets. To my mind, that’s all nonsense.”

Sister Helen had been Abby’s teacher in high school, and though Abby had feared her at the time, she’d come to love her as an adult. The job of answering the bell that announced nighttime visitors was actually a perk. Because of the arthritis in both her hips and knees, it had been painful for Helen to climb the stairs every night. This way, she could remain on the first floor at all times.

The elderly nun would be aghast, of course, to think she had special privileges, or if she knew that Abby and the other women had come up with this solution to ease her discomfort. Helen was from the old school of Catholics. She believed in suffering and in “offering it up” in exchange for more stars in her crown in heaven.

Abby was no longer a practicing Catholic, despite the year she and her best friend, Marti, had spent in a convent at the age of eighteen. She didn’t know if “offering it up” toward a better future in heaven was still a viable plan, but to each his own.

Come to think of it, she and Marti had both followed a different drummer. Going off to become nuns right out of high school seemed to be a wacky thing to have done later on. But they’d honestly had some idea that to do so would better the world. When they didn’t turn out to be the greatest of nuns, they left, went to college and became journalists.

Marti, though, became a famous photojournalist, while Abby married a guy who turned out to be no Prince Charming. He had an affair with a woman who had boobs out to “there” and dressed like a Hooters waitress. In fact, Abby thought, I called her “the bimbo” every chance I got—until I finally had to stop and forgive her, given that she was my sister.

And where was Karen Dean now? Off on some new adventure in Africa, God love her, trying to save her poor tattered soul by working with children who had AIDS.

Abby looked at her watch. A good ten minutes had passed since everyone had left. It should be safe now to go up and get Alicia and Jancy. Alicia had damn well better have some good explanation as to what she was doing earlier in the hotel room of a dead man.

In the solarium, Abby knelt down and tapped on the panel to the hidden cubbyhole. She waited, but didn’t hear the inside bolt slide open.

“Allie, open up,” she said in a low voice. “It’s me, Abby. They’re gone.”

She waited a few more seconds and tapped again. “Allie? Jancy? It’s okay. You’re safe. Open up.”

Leaning her ear against the panel, she heard a rustle and what sounded like someone sniffling. Another few seconds and the bolt was thrown. Abby opened the panel and saw Jancy, her face swollen and red from crying. The girl shuffled backward on her behind and leaned against the back wall, drawing her knees up to her chin.

“Allie?” Abby squinted, looking around the small dark space. She’d worried about squeezing the two of them into it, as the priest’s hole was never meant to hold two people comfortably.

Well, hell, she thought, both fear and anger vying for a place in her head. That doesn’t seem to matter much now.

Allie was gone.

Abby couldn’t get Jancy to come out, so she sat on the floor just outside the paneled door, talking in gentle tones. “Where did your mother go? Do you know where she is?”

Jancy wiped her eyes with the sleeve of her shirt and murmured something Abby couldn’t hear.

“Jancy,” she tried again, “where is your mother?”

“I don’t know,” Jancy mumbled, covering her face with her hands. “Gone. Like always.”