She started in on the soup. It was lukewarm and tasted like shit, but she was hungry. She needed to keep her strength up if she had any hope of escaping.
“What happened to all of that bravado I saw yesterday in the car?”
“That was before some creepy, disgusting old man brought me to his weird castle to keep me prisoner in his dungeon.”
“There we go,” he said. “Much better.”
She kept her eye on the spoon as she lifted each spoonful of soup to her mouth. Be patient, she reminded herself, but the idea of sitting in this room for another hour, let alone another day, made it difficult to sit there and do nothing. She lifted her chin, looked him square in the eyes. “Why are you staring at me?”
“You’re mesmerizing, Claire. I don’t think you have an inkling as to what an absolute masterpiece you are.”
“Let me go. I can’t live here with you.”
“Who said anything about living?” He picked up the tray and waited for her to put everything on it.
Dutifully, she placed her bowl on the tray. The spoon was clutched tightly within her fist. She wanted to jab it into his eye, thrust the hard metal into his throat, but she felt unusually weak. The bastard had put something in her soup. Her head began to spin. Her eyelids felt heavy.
“I bet you wish you were back home with that hateful family of yours—isn’t that right, Claire?”
She wanted to spit in his eye, lunge at him, and rip that stupid beard from his face. But she was light-headed and tired. The spoon dropped from her hand. Her body sagged against the flimsy mattress. Instead of charging at him, she felt herself nodding in agreement right before she drifted off to sleep.
CHAPTER TWENTY
Lizzy pulled to the curb, screeching to a stop. She threw the car in park in front of the building where Stacey Whitmore worked. Stacey had made the mistake of leaving her keycard behind in Lizzy’s car after their “interview” with Bennett. She’d left a message on Lizzy’s phone to arrange its return, but Lizzy hadn’t gotten around to dealing with it. Now would be the perfect time.
Stacey had been ignoring her calls for days now. Something was going on, and Lizzy aimed to find out what it was. She had been inside the station before. Had followed Stacey inside, knew what to do—assuming the keycard still worked. It was quite possible it had been deactivated when Stacey had been issued a replacement. Things would get more complicated then. Lizzy would have to feign frustration with the lock mechanism, then bluff herself inside when someone came to deal with her.
No plan B necessary: Lizzy slipped the card through the slot and opened the door into the building. The receptionist gave her a funny look, but Lizzy ignored her and kept on walking. She passed by a long row of cubicles.
Behind her, she heard someone calling out to her, but she ignored the voice and headed straight for Stacey’s cubicle.
Stacey’s head shot up when Lizzy entered her space. “Lizzy!”
“Hello, Stacey. Here’s your keycard back.” She tossed it on her desk. “Is there a reason you haven’t been returning my calls?”
Stacey sorted through papers on her desk, tried to appear relaxed, but she was anything but. Her face had paled the moment she’d seen Lizzy.
“What’s going on, Stacey?”
Stacey bolted to her feet then, grabbed hold of Lizzy’s arm, and ushered her to an editing room. She shut the door. Then she crossed her arms and said, “Now you can talk.”
“I have pictures of Miriam with Wayne Bennett,” Lizzy told her. “Pictures of the two of them cuddling and eating dinner in a dimly lit restaurant. Dozens of them. I also have the video that you helped me tape. The one where Bennett looks directly into the camera and says he’d never heard of Miriam Walters.”
Stacey let out a breath. “I need that video back.”
Somebody tried to open the door. “Is everything OK in there?”
“We’ll be out in a minute!” Lizzy shouted.
The door opened. It was a tall dark-haired woman with wild eyes. She pointed at Lizzy. “You’re going to have to come with me, miss. You can’t be back here without checking in first. I’ll need your ID.”
Lizzy walked toward the woman, shut the door in her face, and locked it. Then she turned back to Stacey.
“They’ll call security,” Stacey told her. “You don’t want to end up in jail again, do you?”
“You’re seriously pissing me off. Tell me what’s going on right now, or I’m going to walk out there, find your boss, and tell him you’ve been working with me and that you borrowed station equipment to help me get a video of Wayne Bennett.” Lizzy curled her fingers around the doorknob, ready to open it and follow through with her threat. The look she saw on Stacey’s face said it all.
“Bennett got to you,” Lizzy said.
“It’s complicated.”
“Bullshit. The asshole got to you, or maybe he had a little talk with your boss and he told you to back off.” Lizzy shook her head. “You are now officially just like every other chickenshit reporter running around Sacramento with their tail between their legs.” Lizzy scowled at her. “My God. I really never thought a scumbag piece of shit like Bennett would get the best of Stacey Whitmore. Remember how fired up you were when you started out, fighting to get stories with substance, stories that just might make a difference? What happened to that Stacey?”
Lots of frantic pounding on the door.
“I thought you were different from the rest of the talking heads.”
“I thought so, too,” Stacey said. “But things change, I guess. I thought I could make a difference and somehow save the world. What a crock of shit. Now I’m just hoping I can save myself. I really don’t know what else I can say other than I can’t be part of this reckless journey of yours.”
“Then don’t call me begging for any more stories,” Lizzy said through clenched teeth.
Stacey shook her head in frustration. “You really don’t get it, do you? Bennett is a dangerous man. We both agree on that. But I don’t carry a gun, Lizzy. I’m not a fighter. You certainly aren’t going to be able to protect me. I may not like it, but I can’t do anything about it. I can’t help you, Lizzy.”
“Then I guess we’re done here.”
“I’m sorry.”
Lizzy turned back to the door and opened it.
Two security guards with starched white shirts and shiny badges tried to grab hold of her arms. “Let go,” Lizzy said, wrenching them free. “I’m leaving.”
Shady Oaks Nursing Home looked slightly better than the last time Kitally visited. The smell of sanitizers was strong and the floors looked as if they had just been mopped. Even the dingy plastic chairs had been removed.
She walked up to the front counter and recognized the woman with the frizzy brown hair. She had the same annoyed expression scrawled across her face.
“Hi,” Kitally said. “I’m here to see Betty Ackley. I’d like to check in.”
“Weren’t you here recently for a tour?”
“Yes, I was.”
“I don’t believe you mentioned you knew Betty Ackley.”
“I don’t believe I did,” Kitally said. “Betty Ackley is the reason Mom and I are interested in checking the place out for my grandmother. Is there a problem?”
“She doesn’t get too many visitors. It strikes me as odd, that’s all.”
Kitally glanced at the woman’s nametag. Her name was Birgitta. “Can I please get a badge?”
The woman took her time, but she finally handed Kitally a clipboard with a list of names followed by blank spaces where she was to sign her own name.
With that done, Kitally made her way to the hallway with all the rooms where she’d first met Cecil and Betty. Unlike the front area, the hallway and rooms had clearly not been cleaned recently. The smell of urine and soiled bed linens became hard to ignore as she went along. Shady Oaks was definitely understaffed. The door to Cecil’s room was closed, but she found Betty sitting in the chair next to her bed. Once again, the television was blasting.