Premeditated Mortar Read online

  “She was so ill during those years,” he said. “Her nerves were so delicate. Sometimes I wondered if she might literally shatter from the internal chaos she was dealing with.”

  Dad’s tone made it sound like everyone had suffered along with her. Of course they would. She had friends and family who loved her. They would feel her pain. “But ultimately she came home for good and never went back,” I said. “It was great, especially for Jane. But how was she able to finally make it work?”

  “Frankly, the drugs got better. Her doctors were getting a lot better at regulating her medications. I remember her telling us that she felt normal again.” He chuckled. “And she always used to laugh at that word, normal. But she was so much better. Healthy again. Able to live a good life.”

  “I’m so glad.”

  “Yeah.” He chuckled. “Way back, when your mom was still with us, she and Grace were very close. Grace was a crackerjack. She threw wonderful parties and she loved to go sailing. She and your mother used to play baseball together. Do you remember?”

  “I do,” I said, grinning. “I remember you and Mom taking us to the park and I sat in the bleachers with Jane and Chloe and we had hot dogs. And you guys all played baseball and drank beer. I mostly remember seeing you laugh.”

  He grinned. “We all laughed a lot back then.”

  “I just remember being happy and having fun all the time.” I shook my head. “God, I was so young. Just a kid. That was a long time ago.”

  He wrapped his arms around me and hugged me tight.

  My mom died a few years after that, I thought. And then Jane’s mom got sick. And everything changed. I took another breath, let it out in a huff, and reached for his hand. “I’m back to being happy, Dad. I even manage to have fun most of the time.”

  Belinda walked out to the terrace then and smiled at both of us.

  “So do I, sweetheart,” Dad said, reaching for Belinda. “So do I.”

  * * *

  * * *

  Once we finally finished the barrel tasting, we were in serious need of a long walk through the vineyard and around the property. When we got back, the kitchen staff had fixed a beautiful late-afternoon lunch for us. Several pasta salads, a fresh green salad, a charcuterie platter, wonderful cheeses, and lots of chunky breads.

  “I need to take another walk and then a nap,” Chloe said, holding her stomach.

  “This was so wonderful,” I said, giving Belinda a big hug. With lots of hugs and promises of more get-togethers while Chloe was in town, we finally took off for home.

  On the drive home, I told Mac everything my father and I had talked about.

  “So Grace Hennessey knew something was wrong up there,” he said. “Wow.”

  “Oh, yeah, she did. I know there were plenty of patients who died while they were at the Gables, but I still feel like she might’ve known this girl, Regina, who died. Grace would’ve been much older, but the timing does work.”

  “It’s possible. But look, even if she didn’t know Regina, she knew that something was rotten up there.”

  It was dark when we arrived back in Lighthouse Cove. Mac walked Robbie around the block while I refreshed the water bowls and got things ready to go back to work tomorrow. Mac and I talked a bit of strategy about how to approach Rachel with what we had found out yesterday through the obituaries and the high school yearbook page. Mac gave Ricky a call to make sure he was still safe and willing to meet us the next morning in front of Building Seven.

  By ten o’clock we were ready for bed and I was sound asleep within minutes.

  * * *

  * * *

  Monday arrived and I had to struggle to get out of bed. But once Mac reminded me of what the day might bring, I jumped into action and hurried off to take a shower, get dressed, and feed the pets. Downstairs, Mac made coffee and scrambled eggs and I took care of toasting two English muffins.

  We took our separate cars since Mac intended to go home and get some writing done, once we had explored the Baths with Ricky. He also hoped to find Rachel and quiz her about Regina Pomeroy.

  “I hope she can give us some answers to our questions,” I said, as I locked the kitchen door and headed for the back gate.

  “I’d just like to find out who she is exactly.”

  “Yeah, that would be nice,” I said. “And she must have some clue about Dr. Fairchild. Oh, and maybe she knows more about the protesters than she’s let on. I’m still wondering if more of them belong on our suspect list.”

  Mac just grinned. “See you there,” he said, and gave me a kiss before climbing into his SUV and pulling out of the driveway.

  I followed him up to the Gables and parked my truck next to his car.

  I tucked my small purse under the driver’s seat, then locked my door and set the alarm. I buckled my tool belt around my waist and slipped the car keys into one of the pockets. Then I hefted my toolbox out of my truck. “Let’s go find Ricky.”

  The excitement I’d felt earlier faded and I had a deep sense of foreboding as we rounded the building and walked toward the front entry. But Ricky was standing there waiting for us and I was able to let go of the breath I was holding. At least he was safe.

  We walked inside and down the hall. Along the way I greeted the few guys that were already at work this early. We made it through the passageway under the stairs and into the back hallway. The remnants of the brick wall remained the same. The broken door still lay against the wall of the antechamber. I couldn’t look beyond there without picturing Judson Killian’s body on the floor.

  “Where are we going?” I asked.

  Ricky pointed. “It’s at the end of the hall.”

  I glanced at Mac. We had never made it this far down the hall so I had no idea where we would end up.

  Ricky stopped and turned to a door on the right and I was certain I’d never noticed it before. It was shorter than the regular doors that lined the left side of the hall.

  “Here we go.” He pulled the door open to reveal an old stone staircase that spiraled down, well below the first floor. The walls and steps appeared to have been whitewashed sometime in the last hundred years or so.

  No wonder the door was different. It opened into another odd passageway, this one subterranean.

  “I forgot there was a basement level.” I hadn’t paid much attention to it on the blueprints because Jane didn’t plan to access it for the hotel. At least, not right away. She thought she might eventually use it for storage.

  “Yeah, there’s a bunch of stuff down here,” Ricky said. “And there’s also an underground route to get to the other buildings. It was used in case it was raining a lot.”

  Or in case someone wanted to sneak out of here and escape, I thought.

  We started down the stairs. I was happy to cling to the iron railing that was attached to the outer wall, because the heavy stone stairs were very narrow and so steep that I imagined people fell in here all the time.

  “It’s similar to the circular stairway inside the old lighthouse,” Mac murmured.

  I nodded. “It was probably built around the same time.”

  We finally reached the bottom of the stairs and ended up in a long, tiled room that had clearly been an old bathroom. There were gated windows high up on the walls so there was plenty of light coming in. We could see everything—and what we saw made me want to strangle someone. How could they allow people to use these horrible facilities? I wondered.

  The filthy, stained tiles were the least of the problems. I figured that some of that filth could be attributed to time and neglect. Along one wall was a long row of toilets. I counted twelve altogether. I couldn’t call them stalls because there was no wall or door for privacy. Each toilet was separated by a thin, three-foot-high partition, but without a door. Everyone was forced to take care of their personal business in front of anyone who walked by.
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br />   It infuriated me at first, but I began to realize that this lack of privacy might’ve been for the patients’ own protection. Still, I couldn’t believe that the great Dr. Jones would’ve approved of this callous way of treating the most vulnerable members of our society.

  Hey, at least build that partition a little higher, I thought.

  “Did everyone use this bathroom area?” I asked Ricky.

  “Anyone who came down here did. Yeah. Pretty much.”

  And now I had to wonder why anyone would come down here. But I guessed we were about to find out.

  “It’s over here,” Ricky said when he reached the end of the room. “This way.”

  “It looks like a cupboard,” I said, looking at the flimsy wooden door with the simple slide barrel bolt holding it closed.

  He grinned. “Yeah. Cleverly disguised. They always had a nurse or someone standing here, so you couldn’t just walk in without supervision. And you definitely couldn’t walk out, either.”

  I paused, not sure I was ready for the next step.

  Ricky slid the bolt out of its case, then jiggled the door handle. It opened and Ricky said, “After you.”

  I could feel and smell the humidity hanging in the thick air.

  “Leave the door open,” I said, looking at Mac.

  He understood immediately. The last thing we wanted was to get stuck inside the Baths. He walked back to the other end of the long room and grabbed a chunk of broken plaster. Returning to the door, he set it on the floor. “There. Door stopper.”

  I sighed. “Thank you.”

  Before we walked in, I put my hand on Ricky’s shoulder. “Ricky, are you going to be okay in there?”

  I didn’t want this to trigger any unpleasant memories for him.

  “Sure, I’m cool. Let’s go.”

  I’m glad he was cool because I was a little freaked-out over the whole situation. But I sucked it up and walked into another long narrow room. It was pitch-black.

  “Can’t see anything,” I said. But I could feel the chilly dampness. Pulling my mini-flashlight from my tool belt, I turned it on. I could vaguely make out a row of large bathtubs. They were old and grimy and rusted. Each tub was covered completely by a thick canvas cloth that appeared to be held in place by straps that wrapped around the bottom of the tub. The cloths were equally grimy with unspeakable stains all over them.

  “What is that canvas cloth for?” I had a feeling I knew, but I had to ask.

  “It keeps people from climbing out of the tubs. They’ve also got straps so you’re completely trapped inside for as long as they want you to stay.”

  There was a good-sized hole on one end of each cloth. “And this big hole?” Again, I didn’t want to ask, but had to know.

  “Your head sticks out there so you can breathe,” he said easily. “There’s an extra strap that goes around your neck to hold your head up so you don’t sink down and drown.”

  “Jeez Louise,” I whispered.

  I could hear the sound of running water but couldn’t see well enough to tell where it was coming from.

  “Do you hear that?”

  “Is there another facility nearby that’s using water?” Mac asked.

  “It’s something you hear,” Ricky said with a shrug, then glanced around, frowning. “But these pipes were all replaced by the development company so they’re usually pretty quiet. I’m not sure where that sound’s coming from.”

  We continued to walk past the next tub and I shined the flashlight beam on each of them as we passed.

  “Wait, what’s that?” Ricky said, pointing farther down the row. “What the hell?”

  “I can’t see,” I said, in spite of my flashlight beam.

  He walked more quickly as he moved toward the far wall.

  “Ricky, wait!” Mac shouted.

  “Oh no! Oh God.” He sounded like a panic-stricken kid. “I gotta get out of here.”

  “I was afraid of this,” I said, grabbing Mac’s arm. “He’s freaking out.”

  I aimed the flashlight at Ricky, who was frozen on the spot, pointing and staring at the last bathtub.

  “What is it?” Mac demanded, and walked faster. Water was making it slippery as we got closer to the far end.

  And now I could make out a thick mane of pale hair draping out from the large hole in the canvas.

  “Oh my God. Is it . . . is that Rachel?”

  Ricky cried out. “No! It’s . . . it’s my mother.” Then he whipped around and ran all the way back to the door we’d come in through.

  “It’s Dr. Fairchild,” Mac muttered. He lifted up a heavy strand of wet platinum hair to find a pulse point in her neck. “She’s dead.”

  Chapter Sixteen

  I grabbed Mac’s hand. “We have to call Eric.”

  “Okay. But let’s get out of here first.”

  “Oh, definitely.” No way did I want to be anywhere near the body of Dr. Fairchild. I hadn’t liked the woman when she was alive and I really didn’t want to spend time with her dead.

  We moved carefully through the water that had dripped out of Fairchild’s bathtub and onto the floor, and made it to the door at the end of the room through which Ricky had disappeared.

  I was still shivering, but I would survive. It had to have been a lot worse—and a lot colder—for the poor folks who had been forced by Fairchild to sit in icy water for hours.

  I would never say it out loud, but in my heart I wondered if Dr. Fairchild didn’t end up getting the exact proper punishment for her crimes.

  I knew Eric would disagree. Murder could never be a suitable alternative for justice. And he was right. Better to have the evil doctor be judged by a jury and forced to live the rest of her life in a cage.

  But that was not to be. The woman was dead. Murdered. An entirely different jury had spoken, pronounced her guilty, and sentenced her to death. And whether Eric approved or not, I had to say I felt as if justice of a sort had been served.

  And once again, we had no way of knowing how she died. Not yet, anyway.

  We made it to the cupboard door and stepped into the long tiled bathroom, retracing our steps to the bottom of the treacherous spiral stone staircase.

  We had to take it slowly and when we reached the door leading to the back hallway, I breathed a sigh of relief. “Made it. Let’s call Eric.”

  But Mac came to a sudden stop in front of me, and I realized he was blocked by Ricky.

  Mac put his hand on Ricky’s shoulder. “Ricky, are you okay? Come on, bud. We need to move it on out of here and call the police.”

  But Ricky stayed right where he was and I was getting a really bad feeling. I mean, I’d been getting bad feelings every day here at the Gables, but this was really bad. Especially when Ricky began to raise his arms in the air.

  “What the heck is going on?” I whispered.

  “Shhh.” I heard Mac say it, but then I watched him raise his arms, too, and I wanted to scream. Someone was going to hurt him and I couldn’t do anything about it.

  I was still tucked inside the stairwell and couldn’t see, but suddenly Ricky spoke and I got the gist of the situation.

  “Hey, Rachel, that’s not necessary,” Ricky said, cajoling. “It’s me. Ricky. You should put that gun down.”

  I thought I might pass out at the words, but I needed to think clearly. What could I do?

  Rachel had a gun trained on Ricky. And Mac. Oh God.

  “We understand what you’re going through,” Mac said carefully. “We want to help.”

  “You can’t help me. Nobody can help me.” Rachel sucked in a deep breath and I realized she had been crying. I hated that I knew what that sounded like. I’d been bursting into tears on a regular basis myself for the last week.

  “It was supposed to be perfect,” she moaned. “We were going to make it be
autiful for everyone, but now it can never be anything but ugly.”

  “That’s not true,” Mac said, keeping his tone light. “We can make it work. You know Jane wants that, too. Her mom was stuck here for a while so she knows how ugly it was back then. But Jane’s trying to give this place new life. And so are you.”

  “Jane knows,” she murmured.

  “That’s right.”

  “Ricky,” she said. “You know.”

  “Yeah, I know.” His voice grew stronger. “My mom was an evil witch and she hurt people. She hurt me. I’m glad you put her in the Baths.”

  “She put me in the Baths,” Rachel whispered, and I had a feeling she was starting to lose it. Or maybe she’d lost it a while ago, but she’d been able to put up a good front until recently.

  “Hey, she put me in there, too.” Ricky was back to cajoling, trying to relate. It was a good thing for him to do, but I wasn’t sure it would work. The woman seemed pretty far gone. But Ricky kept trying. “Come on, Rachel. Put the gun down. Nobody here is going to hurt you.”

  “Judson was going to tell everyone about the doctor,” she said. “He was going to find proof that she killed people. So she killed Judson.” She sobbed as she said his name and I wondered if she had been in love with him.

  “Why did he throw the blood at you?” Mac asked.

  “He was supposed to throw it at the billboard,” she explained. “It was symbolic.”

  I could see Mac nodding. “I understand.”

  “But that woman, Prudence,” Ricky said. “She bumped into him and his aim was off.”

  “She was Fairchild’s nurse,” Rachel said. “She did everything the doctor told her to do.”

  “So you were working with the protesters?” Mac wondered. “You had a plan?”

  “Our plan was to bring Dr. Fairchild here. Out in the open. We wanted her to face her enemies. Us.”

  “But then Prudence started to interfere,” Ricky said.

  “And then Fairchild killed Judson. I had to kill her.”