No Sanctuary. Helen R. Myers
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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