You Don't Want To Know

Chapter 32


Dern felt the first drops of rain as he tied his horse to a sagging limb of a pine tree near the old asylum. Sea Cliff was showing its age. The cracked concrete, rusting pipes, and moss growing over old gardens were evidence enough of its disuse and emptiness, and the wind sweeping in, smelling of salt water, couldn’t quite hide the odor of abandonment.

From one of the rooftops a crow cawed, ruffling his feathers as he looked down at the empty yard, and above the roar of the sea, a chain rattled against one of the unused flagpoles.

All in all, it was a lonely, eerie place that probably should be torn down, Dern thought as he made his way inside. He knew his way around, had learned it by trial and error, having visited the empty mental hospital three times previously. Each time he’d visited, he’d explored a section of the asylum for an hour or so before returning to his studio over the stable and hoping no one had seen him leave, usually by horseback, with an excuse ready should anyone ask of his whereabouts. He’d already mentioned riding the fence line, and today his excuse would be he thought he’d seen someone up in the woods and he wanted to check out if someone was camping on the property or needed assistance. He could use these simple lies to avoid too many lifted eyebrows or clouds of suspicion to gather.

So far, no one had noticed him missing, so he hadn’t been forced to lie.

For the time being, he needed to keep his fascination with the institution a secret, and so far, he thought he’d accomplished that much.

Now, at one of the rusted side gates of the complex, he retrieved a pick from his set of slim jims, worked the old lock, and let himself inside. A gravel path choked with weeds wound through what had once been the gardens that separated several buildings on the premises. He passed a section of row houses that had been accommodations for some of the staff. Two of the houses had been remodeled, the common wall between them taken down to allow for one larger home; the rest looked as if they hadn’t been touched since Eisenhower was in office. Across a dying hedgerow, he skirted the long clinic building that had been used for outpatient appointments.

Though the entire enclosure was fenced and gated, there were interior security walls as well, and the primary facility, the hospital itself and center of the complex, had its own set of locks, gates, and surrounding fences.

Aside from the fact that there were no towers at the corners of the fences, and no razor wire glinting over the tops of the concrete walls, this area resembled a prison.

“All very civilized,” he said under his breath, then picked the lock of the main gate and slipped inside the heart of Sea Cliff. A portico with a sagging roof stretched over the entrance, where a bank of windows and wide double doors greeted visitors.

This lock was a little more stubborn, but eventually it unlatched as well. He pushed some cobwebs aside as he stepped inside, to a place where time and humanity had seemed to have been forgotten. He walked into what had been the reception area of the hospital.

It was empty aside from a broken desk resting against one wall, collecting dust. Through the reception area, he entered into a large office, that of the hospital administrator, the last of whom had been Crispin Church, Ava’s uncle. The file cabinets were empty, of course, and the credenza with a broken leg covered what had once been the heat ducts.

He’d been in here before and found nothing on this floor. Nor had he discovered anything of significance in the row houses or clinic buildings that he’d searched. That left the upper floors of the main hospital with its mazes of hallways, nurses’ stations, abandoned group rooms, and empty wards.

The elevators didn’t work, so he took the stairs, his boots ringing against the concrete steps. The stairwell was dark, the wire glass windows opaque to begin with and now covered in grime. The asylum bordered on creepy, but Dern wasn’t one to be easily freaked. If so, he would have lost it when digging up the tiny coffin. Now, that had been unnerving. It was a wonder Ava was holding on to her sanity.

The second floor’s layout was nearly identical to the first, the only difference being that the reception area below had been relegated to a kitchen and dining area on this floor. There was slightly more furniture in the rooms. A bed with a stained mattress stood in the middle of one patient room, and the frames of two others littered another, larger room nearby. A chair, circa 1972, had been pushed up against a window, forgotten, its stuffing exploding out of scratched faux leather, a frothy cascade of batting.

Nothing of interest.

He climbed the stairs to the third and top floor of the building. It appeared much the same as the others except for the water stains seeping in from the ceiling. Again, here was the common area and nurses’ station, but this time he felt a prickle of apprehension as he made his way down one hallway and stopped at the corner room, only distinguishable from the others because of its two windows.

Was the dust in this room disturbed slightly? For a moment he thought he saw the print of a shoe, but it was just a trick of light.

The space was empty, its famous inhabitant leaving not a trace of himself behind.

“Where the hell are you, Reece?” Dern asked, his question echoing off the crackled walls and scratched tile floors. The man was a ghost, haunting this island and the town of Anchorville, leaving behind him an almost tangible legacy. As much of a monster as Lester Reece had been while alive and visible, since the mystery of his whereabouts had never been solved, he’d become a legend, part of the mystique of this part of the world. The old coots in the bar hadn’t been mistaken. Like D. B. Cooper, who’d jumped out of a hijacked plane in the sixties with two hundred thousand dollars and two parachutes, Lester Reece had his share of admirers, those fascinated by criminals who had escaped justice and couldn’t be proven to be dead or alive. People liked to believe myths and think that someone could get away with murder or money. Lester Reece had gotten away with both. The money he’d stolen had never turned up, nor had his body, but his myth lived on.

And Dern was out to prove the bastard dead, or nail his pathetic hide to the wall once and for all.

Standing at one window, he looked through the murky glass streaked with dirt, the outer sill covered in bird droppings, the interior walls showing black spots where someone had put out a cigarette or two . . . or three. Recently?

He felt a niggle of anticipation, and if he tried hard, he thought he could smell the faint scent of cigarette smoke . . . but that was probably just his imagination working overtime.

He couldn’t tell if the black marks were from recent smokes or from cigarettes that had been extinguished years before. “Hell,” he muttered, and peered out the dirty window. From this vantage point, he observed a span of restless water that stretched to the far, rocky, tree-lined shore of the mainland. Reece’s escape route, or so it was presumed by those who believed him alive.

Maybe.

Maybe not.

A glint of light caught his attention, and he moved his gaze to the north, along the edge of the island. There, through the trees, barely visible, was a patch of illumination. “What the devil?” he whispered, and craned his neck to take a second look. Sure enough, through a chasm in the hillside, a space where the trees were particularly thin, he caught a glimpse of the backside of Ava Garrison’s home.

Not that it meant anything.

And yet he had the uneasy feeling that he’d just stumbled upon something important, a connection between Lester Reece and Ava Garrison’s huge house, or more precisely someone who lived there.

Slow down. You’re leaping to conclusions.

From here, he was able to see portions of the widow’s walk. Cut into the roofline were windows on the third floor, probably to the servants’ quarters, which, to his knowledge, were unused. The illuminated window was one floor lower and faintly visible. It was obviously the back of the house, and even in the gray daylight, a lamp was burning.

How many times, Dern wondered, had Lester Reece stood in this very spot and looked out the window to the back of Neptune’s Gate?

Maybe never.

Or, more likely, he thought, his mind darkening with the revelation, every damned day.





“This is never going to work!” Tanya squinted through the windshield, her hands holding the wheel of her Chevy TrailBlazer in a death grip. It wasn’t quite six, the night had settled in, and a thick mist forced Tanya to turn on the windshield wipers. Leaves fell, dancing and swirling, caught in the headlight’s glare as the SUV’s tires hummed over the two-lane road that cut through the forests and gloom.

Truth be told, Ava, too, was feeling nervous, as it was more than possible that she could get caught with spy cameras and the like. But she had to try.

All the way home, the closer they’d gotten to Anchorville, the more worried and quiet Tanya had become. What had seemed a lark earlier in the day had become a worrisome reality as, in her beat-up Chevy, the two women had ferried across Puget Sound, then driven through the port towns and north coast of the Olympic Peninsula, heading ever closer to Anchorville.

As a Seattle station played a mix of soft and hard rock, Tanya slid a glance into the backseat at the large bags they’d brought with them. Ava’s cover was a girls’ day out, which supposedly included a shopping spree in downtown Seattle, a massage at a local spa, and lunch on the waterfront. They had done all of those things, and she had the shopping bags to prove it, but tucked deep in a Nordstrom bag were the devices she’d picked up at a small electronics store not far from the University of Washington. She’d hidden all of the equipment in shoe boxes and a new purse she’d purchased and hoped to high heaven that she could make it inside the house without anyone wanting to see what she’d bought or asking too many questions.

An accomplished liar she wasn’t.

But she was learning.

“Seriously, what’re you going to do with all this stuff?” Tanya asked, motioning to the sacks in the backseat.

“Set it up.”

“Do you know how?”

“No, but it comes with directions, and the guy told us it was simple enough that a ten-year-old could handle it.” The “guy” was a geek at the high-tech store who looked like he could set up a computer system for NASA.

“I’m talking about you,” Tanya reminded.

“Your faith in me is underwhelming.”

Nervously, Tanya stretched her hands over the steering wheel and slowed for a turn. “All this bothers me. I don’t like it,” she said.

“Me neither.”

“Oh, damn!” A raccoon waddled across the narrow, two-lane road, and she swerved slightly to avoid hitting it.

Anchorville was less than two miles away, and Ava could feel her anxiety ratcheting up.

Wyatt had called while she’d been shopping in Seattle; she’d seen his name on the phone’s small screen but couldn’t pick up in the electronics store.

Now she called him back, and he picked up before the second ring.

“Hey,” he said.

“I just noticed that you called earlier,” she lied. “Sorry.”

“I was just checking in.”

“Tanya kidnapped me,” she said, keeping her voice light. “Lunch, shopping, a spa treatment, you know, the works.”

“You had a good time?” he asked while Tanya fiddled with the knob of the car’s defroster and pretended not to eavesdrop.

“A really good time.”

“So where are you?” he asked.

“A few miles out of Anchorville.”

“You know you missed the last ferry.”

“I can probably catch a ride with Butch or one of the other guys who ferry to the island. I should be home in less than an hour.”

“No. Just wait at the coffee shop. I’ll pick you up.”

Her stomach sank at the thought of juggling packages and hiding what was inside them on the boat with Wyatt at the helm. “Thanks, but really, I’m sure someone will be available. If not, I’ll call—”

“I’m on my way,” he cut in.

“Seriously, Wyatt, you don’t have to . . .” She caught Tanya’s worried glance.

“It’s not a problem. I’ll see you soon!” He hung up before she could protest any further.

“I knew it!” Tanya said, giving up on the heater. “He’s suspicious!”

“He’s always suspicious.” Ava dropped her phone into her purse and leaned back in the seat while trying to convince herself she could pull this off.

Twin beams from the headlights of an oncoming car washed over the interior, illuminating Tanya’s concerned face for a split second. “You could always stay with me.”

“Thanks.” Ava touched her friend on the shoulder. “But that would just raise more suspicions. Don’t worry. I’ll be fine.”

The lie stretched between them.

“I’m a mother,” Tanya said. “You know that worrying is second nature.” Her SUV rounded a final corner, and the lights of Anchorville came into view.

As they passed the blue and white WELCOME TO ANCHORVILLE sign, Ava told herself that she could get through this, that the worst that could happen was someone finding out and either calling her paranoid or trying to commit her. She’d suffered through worse.

But her confidence was eroding.

It didn’t help when Tanya said, “There’s a reason Cheryl was killed, Ava. I have no idea what it is, but I’d bet my tips for a month that it has something to do with you.” Ava opened her mouth to argue, but Tanya wasn’t finished. “Don’t even say it, okay?” She slid her friend a don’t-bullshit-me look. “This is all too weird. I mean, I’m nervous as all get-out ever since I found out that Cheryl was killed. Killed. I check and recheck the locks on my doors at night. I test every window latch, and I still think I hear noises—someone—in the basement.”

“But why are you afraid?”

“I don’t know! That’s what I’m saying. It doesn’t make sense. Guilt by association, I guess. Like Cheryl.” She waited at a blinking red light for a pickup heading out of town to roll past, then turned down the hill to the road that ran past the marina.

“You mean by association with me?” Ava asked. “You think I was the target?”

“I don’t know what to think.” She nosed her TrailBlazer into a nearly empty parking lot across the street from the waterfront. “But to tell you the truth, I’m just glad Russ has got the kids tonight. Jesus, did you ever think I’d say that?”

“No.”

“Just goes to show how freaked out I am.” Shoving the gearshift into park, she let the SUV idle. “You have to be careful, Ava. Promise me.”

“I will.”

“You could just go to the police, you know.”

She thought of Detectives Snyder and Lyons, then the sheriff. “Not yet. Not until I have some proof,” she said, opening the car door. A gust of cold, damp air swept inside. “Thanks for everything, Tanya.”

“NBD.”

Ava laughed. “You’re wrong. It is a big deal. A very big deal.”

With a dismissive shrug, Tanya said, “Fine, then. Thank me by saying hi to Trent for me.”

“I still owe you, but okay. Will do.”

Some things never changed. Tanya, it seemed, had never lost the soft spot in her heart for Trent.

Grabbing her bags from the backseat, Ava waved good-bye, then walked down the asphalt path to the marina. Her stomach clenched with each footstep. Somehow she had to get through the next few hours with Wyatt and pretend to enjoy spending time with him when all she wanted to do was get back to the island and set up the recording equipment. She’d lock herself in the bathroom, run the shower, and connect all the pieces of her spy equipment so that all she had to do once everyone in the house was asleep was place the camera and recorder in the attic. Motion activated, it would only record when someone came into the bedroom and checked his or her equipment. “Spy vs. Spy,” she whispered, thinking of the old comic strip and cartoon show she’d seen as a child. “Two can play at this game.”

But first she had to deal with her husband.

On the waterfront, lights were strung near the entrance to the marina. She passed the open market, where the smell of fish was overpowering, and she saw Lizzy helping to scoop out a mound of shrimp for a couple who were perusing the glass display case.

Three doors down, she entered the coffee shop where the scent of brewing coffee was strong and rows of brightly colored Christmas gifts for the coffee connoisseur were displayed near a case of coffee cakes, doughnuts, and croissants. She ordered a pumpkin latte she really didn’t want, then sat at a tall table near the window, her bags at her feet.

Sipping the latte, she set her elbows on the top of the bistro table and stared out the window toward the waterfront, dreading the boat ride with her husband.

Earlier, Tanya had mentioned that Wyatt had cheated on her, though her friend couldn’t, or wouldn’t, supply the names of whoever had supposedly been romantically involved with him. Now, as she tasted the spicy foam over her hot drink and stared out the window to the inky waters of the bay, she tried to recall who it could be and when it had happened.

Did it matter?

Of course it does. You need to remember everything. Good. Bad. Ugly. True. False. Whatever. Think, Ava. Concentrate. Everything’s locked away, deep inside of you, but you can find it if you look hard enough. Just think!

Her head pounded and her stomach was in knots. Just a few more hours and she would be able to set her plan in motion. Her cell jangled.

Instinctively, she reached into her purse, her fingers grazing the ring of keys she’d stashed there. With all the excitement of the day, she’d forgotten them, but now she pulled them out of the bag, dropped them, clattering, onto the table, then withdrew her phone.

Wyatt again.

“Hey,” she answered, ignoring the tightness in her chest as she fingered the old set of keys.

“I’m about there, but wait for me. We can have dinner in Anchorville and then head back.”

Oh, Lord. She glanced down at the packages she wanted desperately to stash in her closet. “Virginia isn’t expecting us?”

“Doesn’t matter. We’ll call.”

Whatever you do, don’t make him more suspicious than he already is.

“Okay. I’m already at the coffee shop. I’ll wait for you.” Her own words circled back at her and slapped her in the face. “I’ll wait for you.” When had she uttered those before? Her skin crawled and she stared out the window, catching sight of her watery, worried reflection in the glass, a ghost of the woman she’d once been.

Again, she wondered about Wyatt’s lover, the woman with whom he’d had the affair. Her head began to pound painfully as she dug into her mind, piecing the past together, forcing the sharp-edged pieces into a pattern she could understand.

Suddenly, the door to that part of her memory flew open.

And all the sordid little details of that time in her life came rushing back to haunt her.