Читать книгу No Sanctuary - Helen R. Myers - Страница 12

Tyler, Texas

Thursday, May 31, 2001

Things had changed. Nestled in the luxurious dove-gray leather of Madeleine Ridgeway’s white Lincoln Town Car sent to bring her home, Bay struggled to recognize landmarks as she was chauffeured around Tyler’s Loop. If it hadn’t been for the road signs, she would have sworn she wasn’t even on 323. Gone were the woods interspersed with stretches of pasture that had first given the East Texas community its charming rural appeal years ago. In their place was row after row of shopping strips, large chain stores and enough fast-food joints to keep the stomach bulging and the wallet starved. As for traffic, Bay had seen less congestion this morning as they’d passed under I-35 by Waco—the current main expressway connecting Mexico to the heartland of the U.S.A. It explained the increase of apartments, though. With everyone shopping so much, who had the money for a mortgage?

As her hymn-humming driver Elvin Capps wove his way between slower vehicles—most of them SUVs or pickups and all freshly washed—she dealt with a dizzying mixture of elation and alienation. “Is there a plan for street expansion or another loop?” she asked once the car stopped for yet another red light.

Darkly lashed hazel eyes met hers in the rearview mirror and crinkled at their corners. “My, yes. There’s always a plan. There’s a plan to adjust the latest plan, and a plan to oust the people wanting to stick with the original plan. In the meantime the traffic gets worse, accidents more frequent, insurance rates skyrocket and—” He punctuated his opinion with a shrug and sheepish smile. “I’m no expert, ask Mrs. Ridgeway. Next to her church commitments, improving the roads is her biggest interest.”

Then no doubt something would get done. Bay believed if Madeleine Ridgeway could get her out from under a murder conviction, unraveling the political and economic bird’s nest delaying a new multimillion dollar road system should be no problem.

The congestion didn’t ease up once Elvin turned south on Broadway. Before they cleared the second traffic light, she witnessed several near collisions…and the city stretched onward.

“Good grief!” Torn between a laugh and shout of warning as another impatient driver cut in front of them, she gripped the back of the front seat.

“Don’t fret none,” Elvin drawled, stopping before the intersection that featured one of the Ridgeways’ gourmet grocery stores. “You’re in good hands. Jesus watches over this car.”

As he went back to humming the latest gospel tune playing on the radio, Bay reconsidered his earlier advice that she fasten her seat belt. Back in Waco, she’d rejected the idea as too close a reminder of driving shackled in the back of a patrol car. To avoid it now she averted her eyes from the traffic to the growing city’s infrastructure.

Discount department store, super hardware store, super furniture store…American corporations were making a killing on cheap imports. Bay wondered…did she have a future in this kind of economical environment? Why would anyone pay premium prices for her one-of-a-kind creations when they could get slapped-together facsimiles for a fraction of the cost? Of course, the dream of having her own business again, let alone focusing on her sculpture was just that, a dream that would have to wait until she could manage to simply support herself. What she needed to think about was would anyone want to hire her? She’d been forewarned by the warden at Gatesville that the media knew of her release and was treating it as top-story material.

By the time Elvin steered the sedan past the electronic gates of the Ridgeway estate, some of Bay’s euphoria over being released faded under the weight of her cloudy future. When they stopped beneath the two-car-wide portico of the sprawling three-story structure, Bay, feeling less worthy than ever, got out before the cherub-faced driver could make it to her door. Elvin Capps seemed a genuine dear, comfortable in that middle-aged, barrel-chested way that probably made him a top candidate by organizations seeking volunteer Santas at Christmas. What won her approval was his unmistakable devotion to Mrs. Ridgeway.

But as Bay eyed his crisp white shirt, khaki slacks and navy blazer, she experienced renewed doubt. For all of their simplicity, Elvin’s clothes were designer quality compared to her cheap T-shirt and jeans. She might as well be back in her orange jumpsuit. How did she face Mrs. Ridgeway looking like someone even her chauffeur would find tacky?

“I don’t know about this,” she began. “Maybe I’ll come back after I get properly settled somewhere.”

“You get in there and let her enjoy the reunion.” Brusque as he pressed the doorbell, Elvin was beaming as he stepped back to make room for her. “I’ll be here when you’re ready.”

The door opened. A young Latino girl in a white uniform beckoned her inside, keeping Bay from questioning the latter half of his comment.

The maid led her across the foyer to a door on the left. Softly knocking, she opened it and gestured for Bay to enter.

On the far side of the high-ceilinged room sitting behind a huge rectangle of thick, smoky glass held up by a pair of marble elephants waited Madeleine Ridgeway. She sat framed in the mauve-ivory-and-silver decor, a sight to behold dressed in a silk tunic pantsuit that matched her platinum hair. Bay had never forgotten the elegance of the office; the woman had her gaping. Once Madeleine’s trademark had been her long, steel-gray mane coifed in a sophisticated bun at the nape, à la dancing legend Martha Graham. Today she wore it as short as a boy’s, as short as her own, and almost the same color. Bay had the oddest sensation that she was seeing herself in thirty years.

“My dear.”

Her mature alter ego rose from a gray leather chair similar to the car’s interior and swept toward her with arms wide. The women were twins in build now, too, except that Madeleine stood inches taller even without high heels. Despite her initial shock, Bay saw that time had been kind to her benefactress. Her skin was as luminescent as the six rows of pearls gracing her throat, complimenting well-defined features that held just enough secret humor in those clear blue eyes, only a shade darker than her own, to keep from looking severe. Madeleine’s smile broadened, diminishing the fine lines around lips painted a passionate burgundy. The life-size portrait on the wall behind her couldn’t compete with her flesh-and-blood radiance.

“You made it. This morning I woke in a sweat dreaming they’d kept you.”

As Madeleine drew her closer for an exuberant hug, Bay fought the impulse to reject. Displays of affection had been few and far between even before her incarceration, and that history compounded her awkwardness. But to her surprise, the harder Madeleine laughed and hugged, the deeper she felt a seeping warmth. It was a relief to finally break away before she turned into a blubbering fool.

“Mrs. Ridgeway. How do I begin to thank you?”

“Oh, don’t start.”

“I have to. I owe you everything.”

“I only did what I had to do for my own peace of mind.” Hands with rings on every manicured finger including the thumbs gripped Bay’s upper arms, while intelligent eyes held her gaze with as much concern as warmth. “How are you, my friend? You’ve cost me many a night of sleep from worry.”

Where to begin? Did she really want to know? Bay had narrowed her philosophy of life to match her social one—believe in no one and nothing save herself. This woman’s kindness worked against that, as did the bite of seawater as it washed away the germs in a deep wound. Curiously, it left her weak in an unfamiliar and uneasy way. She needed time to regain her strength, not to mention her voice.

“I’m fine now.” The recited words were from a dozen or so she’d prepared to aid her in getting through the initial days. “Great, thanks to you.”

“Huh.” After another hug, Madeleine Ridgeway pushed her to arm’s length. “You’re as substantial as a morning glory. Let me call Lulu and have her get Cook to make you a calorie-saturated omelet. Lulu is actually Lucia, but I only call her that in formal situations.”

Bay thought fleetingly of the girl who’d worked here before. What had become of her? A job with the Ridgeways undoubtedly paid better than most service jobs and would be prized. “Really, I don’t need anything.”

“After such a ride? What about coffee, tea, a lemonade? I’m leaving shortly for a luncheon. Nevertheless, you’re welcome to—”

Bay took a step back toward the door. “I won’t keep you. I only wanted to thank you…for everything. The ride, too.”

“Isn’t Elvin a treasure? He’ll take you to your new home. Any questions or needs you have just tell him.”

This was like stepping into a movie theater ten minutes into the film. “I don’t understand.” At the prison they’d returned her belongings—a wallet containing sixty-three dollars, an expired license and equally useless credit cards, keys to a car, trailer and business that no longer existed. Her new residence would be wherever her exhausted body landed once she found a job that she could start immediately.

Madeleine threw back her head and laughed. “I’m ahead of myself, aren’t I? Blame it on sheer giddiness.” Beckoning, she returned to the desk, picked up a manila envelope and offered it to Bay with both hands. “This is for you. It’s a little property west of town. The cottage isn’t much larger than a dollhouse and it’s as old as my poor bones, which should warn you that it needs substantial work beyond what Elvin’s had time to put into it. On the plus side, it’s on the airport highway and has a tin building out front close to the road that can serve as a shop.”

The envelope might as well have been a new warrant. Bay shoved her hands into the back pockets of her jeans. “I can’t afford anything like that, Mrs. Ridgeway. I’ll be lucky to find someone to hire me to wash dishes on a trial basis, let alone give me a chance to work in my own field.”

“That’s utter nonsense. Darling, surely Lyle explained it to you? Your record is cleared.”

“Then someone neglected to inform the reporters waiting outside the prison as I got out.”

“Well, the case did receive broad media attention from the first. It’s understandable the discovery of that awful Basque man being responsible would stir things back up again. But it’s died down considerably what with the other horrors going on in the state and around the world. That’s the one thing you can rely on with the press—a short attention span for anything that doesn’t provide juicy video and meaty sound bites. In any case, you have nothing to apologize for, let alone explain to anyone.

“I think you misunderstand me on another front, too,” Madeleine continued with a knowing smile. “The property described in that envelope has been deeded over to you. What’s more, you begin work tomorrow on your first contract.”

“Doing what?”

“Get that hideous animal cage monstrosity called a gate off of my property and put up The Iron Maiden.”

There had been no missing the boring wall of metal bars as Elvin drove into the estate. Whoever contracted the job did competent work, but the design lacked the imagination and flair to do the estate justice, creating instead something better suited for the entranceway to a storage rental business.

“It takes more than a building and a dream to create what you’re asking me to do,” Bay said with unabashed regret. “As much as I’d love getting the job done right for you, I can’t. Probably not for some time yet. I don’t have the credit record to obtain adequate equipment, let alone purchase the material. Then there’s a matter of personnel.”

White gold and diamonds glittered and jingled as Madeleine waved away Bay’s excuses. “Some of what you need you’ll find already there. I had Elvin look into the situation. The rest, I’ll finance you. It’s all in that envelope. You keep record of everything else and we’ll work out a payment schedule later. As for staff, I have people who work the grounds, perhaps they can help until you find experienced staff. And don’t discount Elvin. He may be all thumbs for what you need, as well, but in a clinch, he’s the strongest thing on two feet.”

This was amazing, and impossible. Convinced the past could never be buried completely, Bay held tight to her angst. “Mrs. Ridgeway, you’ll never know—this means the world to me. But how can you, as brilliant a businesswoman as you are, take this kind of risk?”

“I’m not suggesting it will be easy. First and foremost I’ll worry dreadfully about you being out there day and night by your lonesome. I’d be happier if you stayed here with me. The place is like a giant mausoleum with my dear son Duncan constantly traveling.” The instant Bay started to protest again, Madeleine held up her hand. “I know better than to ask. So I’ll chew on carrot sticks to burn up frustration and chip my nails punching in your number on my phone.”

Dazed, Bay struggled to find new words of thanks. This marvelous woman was throwing her completely off balance with her generosity. “Why are you being so good to me? Don’t you realize this might hurt your reputation socially as well as—okay, I’ll say it. What about your position in the church?”

“Ho-ho. No one there had better utter a peep, not one word. Not if they dare call themselves Christians in my presence. As for our pastor, Martin Davis has been wholly supportive of my mission since I first discussed the matter with him.” Madeleine grasped Bay’s hands. “Stop fighting me. Yes, I can see you are. This is the least I can do for someone who’s been so wronged. I’ll never forgive myself for not doing more sooner.”

“The D.A. was intent on getting me convicted. It would have been double the nightmare if he’d injured you somehow in the process.”

“Then we must all put that terrible time behind us. Oh, I know you can’t get back the years you lost, but you can rebuild your life. I know. I did it twice, remember, first when I lost my darling father and again when dear Herman passed so prematurely.”

Bay nodded remembering the story she’d shared about how each had devastated her.

“If it wasn’t for my son,” Madeleine continued, “I wouldn’t have found the strength to go on. I can be that rock for you, dear. I admire you enormously, your talent, as well as your endurance.”

“Maybe you should wait for proof there’s enough of that endurance left to be worth your while.” At the moment Bay was feeling a shadow of her former self, vulnerable and unsure.

“You need to find your footing, that’s all. This is your opportunity.”

It sounded too good to be true and Bay had firsthand experience about that unwritten law. “What about Holly? Once she learns what you’ve done—”

“She knows.”

One more shock and Bay was going to have to sit down. Holly Kirkland was aware that Madeleine Ridgeway was sponsoring her? Glenn’s former fiancée would never accept her presence in Tyler, let alone being the recipient of such benevolence at the hands of this good soul. “Mrs. Ridgeway, with all due respect, you’re way off on your perceptions about her. This is going to—I’m afraid she’ll see this as a betrayal.”

“You’ll remember that aside from being a member of our church, Holly is an employee and, as a result, she has a firsthand comprehension of what our foundation is about. Of course, if you do experience any negative behavior—by her or anyone—I want you to report it to me immediately.”

Bay couldn’t do that any more than she would have run to Sergeant Draper for help. “I’ve always handled my own problems.”

“Admirable, but no one disrespects my wishes. There, there.” Embracing her again, Madeleine ran her hand over Bay’s back in slow circles as though calming a high-strung thoroughbred. “It’ll all work out, you’ll see.

“Now in this envelope are keys, phone numbers I felt you might need, a bit of cash and a checkbook with a modest deposit to get started. It’s not charity. I know you too well. We’ll take it off what you’ll bill me for the Maiden. You’ll also find the hours for church services in there.”

Bay handed back the padded envelope. “I don’t do church.”

“You have to attend, dear. I’ve talked you up to the entire congregation, and I should tell you that our membership contains some of the most influential people in the city and beyond. Why do you think there aren’t vans from either of the local networks parked outside my property right now? Don’t you realize that as soon as you got into my car back at Gatesville, they knew where you were going? In any case, seeing your sweet face and how some things turn out for the good will provide sustenance to our congregation’s faith.”

Bay thought that was the longest stretch in any rationale Madeleine could have tried on her. “I’m sorry if this disappoints you, Mrs. Ridgeway, but I’ve never been religious.” She couldn’t remember the last time she’d been to a service and guessed it was her mother’s funeral. Her father had been lucky she’d arranged for a graveside prayer for him.

“Madeleine,” her benefactress intoned. “How often am I going to have to tell you? Having witnessed your art and your courage, I consider you an equal. As for religion—”

A knock at the door stopped her. Releasing Bay, she stepped around her to greet the newcomer. “Martin. Your timing is divinely inspired. Help me assure your newest lamb that she’s as wanted as she is needed.”

Into the room stepped a short man with the merry eyes and chipmunk cheeks of a fairy-tale elf. Although his fifties-style pompadour barely reached Madeleine’s choker, he grasped her hand between both of his and bestowed a kiss to rival any gallant performance in a royal court. Before Bay could worry she was about to suffer the same greeting, he patted her hand. “Praise God for this day. Madeleine has worked tirelessly to bring you out of Satan’s den. Welcome, child. Welcome home to where you will be loved and nurtured.”

Somewhere on the south side of his fifth decade, the auburn lights in his lush hair suggested he used a stylist for more than a good cut and blow-dry. His summer-gray suit also spoke of attention to detail and complemented Madeleine’s silk suit. Accident or had they color-coordinated over the phone?

“Don’t be shy, dear,” Madeleine said. “Martin is as genuine as his smile. At our Christmas gala more children want to climb onto his lap than Santa’s.”

“Merely due to besting his girth, Maddie.”

Charming as the self-deprecation was, Pastor Davis could hardly hope to squeeze Saint Nick or the Pillsbury Doughboy out of a TV screen. He was simply, pleasantly plump.

“And you know better than to push,” he continued. To Bay he said, “We’ve always succeeded because we don’t pressure. Our message speaks for itself.”

Madeleine’s skepticism came out in a ladylike sniff. “If only I had half that success with some of the politicians in this city. The cold hard truth, Bay, dear, is that aside from the gift Martin’s sermons present, you need to understand that you’ll meet business contacts through your affiliation that wouldn’t necessarily be accessible to you elsewhere.”

Pressing a hand over his heart, Martin Davis groaned. “Maddie! How many times do I have to tell you that you’re my earthbound angel, not a networking guru?”

Bay held her breath wondering how her benefactress would take this, even gentle, scolding. Astonished, she listened to the older woman’s girlish laugh.

“You know me, Martin. I can’t just juggle two or four projects—lucky for you, too. In any case, it’s no fun if I don’t have to dodge a few bullets now and again.” To Bay she added, “You have to let me show you off. I expect you to sit beside me in the family pew, and ignore what Martin says. Modesty is his vice. He’ll be wounded if you’re not even slightly curious to hear how he’s become the rudder of the fastest-growing congregation in the Southwest.”

As Bay stood between the two, she knew she was trapped. Worse, she had no energy—correction confidence—yet to fight.