Scent of Roses & Season of Strangers Read online

  “Sí, I think that, too. I think there is something that connects the ones she fears with my baby.”

  “More than one? Are you sure?”

  She shrugged her shoulders. “It just seems that way.”

  “But you don’t know who they are.”

  Maria shook her head. Elizabeth was tempted to tell her about the couple who had once lived in the old gray house, that a few years after they moved, the man and his wife had tortured and murdered a child in Fresno, that Consuela Martinez had been pregnant at the time of the murder and later had lost the baby.

  Perhaps the information would convince Maria to leave. But if she refused, she would be even more terrified than she was already.

  They watched TV for a while, switching through the three valley stations the television was able to receive.

  There wasn’t much on. As the evening settled in, they popped corn and ate it watching a Seinfeld rerun, then an old John Wayne western neither of them had seen. The national news came on at eleven, but it was the same depressing mayhem that was on every day. The local news followed, the big news in San Pico being the upcoming weeklong Rose Festival near the middle of September, which was less than two weeks away.

  Sitting next to Elizabeth on the sofa, Maria yawned and her eyelids began to droop. They couldn’t put it off any longer. It was time to go to bed.

  Elizabeth nudged Maria. “Why don’t you go to bed? It’s getting late and the doctor says you need your sleep.”

  She nodded, pointed at the lightweight quilt folded neatly on the chair next to the sofa. A foam pillow covered with a fresh case sat on top. “If you need anything—”

  “This is fine. I’m sure I’ll sleep like a baby.” That was a lie. She’d be lucky if she could relax enough to close her eyes.

  Maria waddled heavily off toward the bedroom, and Elizabeth went over to check the front door. She turned the deadbolt, heard it click into place, went into the kitchen to be sure the back door was locked as well, then returned to the living room to put on the pair of pale blue nylon pajamas she had brought.

  Maria’s door stood open. Elizabeth didn’t blame her for leaving it that way. She wondered whether the girl had taken her nightly sleeping pill, but didn’t ask. Instead, she draped the quilt over the sofa, placed the pillow at the end, then sat down and tried to tell herself she was sleepy.

  The window air conditioner hummed. Even in September San Pico was hot. She lay down on the sofa and let the white noise soothe her. Amazingly, she drifted off to sleep.

  It was the creak of the floorboards beneath the carpet that awakened her. Her eyes cracked instantly open at the distinct groan she remembered from before, the sound of footsteps, someone moving carefully across the living room floor.

  Her eyes searched the dim light in the room. For long seconds, she lay there, straining to hear. The sound came again, as if someone passed by the end of the sofa, but enough light filtered in through the curtains that she could see no one was there. She sat up slowly, peering into the darkness, her gaze swinging toward the open bedroom door.

  The footsteps moved forward, as if they walked through the opening, and Elizabeth’s heart clattered, thundered beneath her breastbone. Her hands shook as she drew back the quilt and quietly rose to her feet. Barefoot, she moved toward the bedroom door, her own steps silent on the carpet.

  As she reached the opening, she saw that Maria lay quietly sleeping, but even as she watched, the woman’s breathing quickened and her eyes twitched wildly beneath her closed lids. Lying on her side, Maria drew her legs up toward her protruding stomach as if she tried to protect the precious life inside. She moved a little, began to shift restlessly under the sheet, and a soft moan seeped from her throat.

  Elizabeth started toward her. She had taken a couple of steps into the room before the wind began to howl. The room seemed to grow darker, the faint thread of moonlight outside the window no longer able to penetrate the thin muslin curtains over the bed.

  What felt like a strange electrical current filled the air, lifting the hair at the nape of her neck. Elizabeth stepped backward, pressing herself against the wall, her heart pounding, her mouth so dry her tongue felt glued to the roof of her mouth. Around her, the air in the room began to thicken and swell, and suddenly it was hard to breathe. A pale haze crept into the bedroom, a faint light that was there and yet wasn’t. The wind moaned outside, a fierce, almost human keening, a tortured sound that conjured images of death and dying.

  She forced herself to breathe, to drag deep breaths into her lungs, and made herself look at the bed. Maria sat in the middle, her legs out in front of her, staring straight ahead. Her dark eyes were open and staring, the pupils wide but unseeing, and Elizabeth had the wild notion that she was still asleep.

  The air grew even more dense, felt almost tangible against her skin, and Elizabeth recognized the faint scent of roses. The smell grew heavier, thicker, cloyingly sweet, a sickening odor that built and changed, turned even more repulsive, reminding her of rot and decay and making her stomach roll with nausea. The awful smell drifted into every nook and cranny, floated to the ceiling and oozed over the floor.

  Then as quickly as it came, it faded.

  Elizabeth’s gaze shot to Maria, still sitting rigidly in the middle of the bed. Her lips began to move, and though Elizabeth couldn’t make out the words, she saw that Maria’s gaze was fixed firmly on something at the foot of the bed.

  For the first time, Elizabeth felt a wave of real fear as the haze in the room began to move and swirl, began to condense, and she realized it was taking the form of a person.

  She bit back a frightened sob at the sight of the small figure slowly taking shape, the image growing clearer and clearer, the figure of a little girl. She could see her now, the tiny black patent shoes, the full skirt gathered around her tiny waist, covered by her pretty pink pinafore. Her blond hair fell in waves around her face, down to her shoulders. Her skin was pale, completely translucent, and yet there was a hint of color in her cheeks.

  Elizabeth could see her plainly and yet behind her—through her—Elizabeth could make out the bureau against the wall, the small porcelain lamp sitting at one end.

  The child said nothing, at least no words that Elizabeth could hear, though she had the oddest sense that she was somehow speaking to Maria. The young woman started to shake, her body trembling almost uncontrollably.

  Frightened for her and for the baby, Elizabeth started toward her. Terror struck as she realized that she could not move. Not a finger. Not even a toe. She was pressed against the door as if an invisible force held her paralyzed.

  Elizabeth opened her mouth, but no sound came out, and the fear inside her swelled to immense proportions. Her gaze locked on the tiny, pale figure at the foot of the bed, and she watched in horror, frozen in place, her eyes darting from the child to Maria and back again.

  Then the image slowly began to fade. In seconds, it was completely gone, along with the eerie haze in the room. Except for the hum of the air conditioner in the living room, the bedroom was utterly silent. Sitting in the middle of the bed, Maria blinked several times then looked up at her and burst into tears.

  The sound jolted Elizabeth into action. Freed from the force that had held her immobile, her legs shaking, she released the breath she had been holding and rushed toward the bed.

  “Maria!” Reaching out, afraid she would frighten the girl even more, Elizabeth gently caught her shoulder. “It’s me, Elizabeth. Are you all right?”

  The girl’s head slowly turned. “Elizabeth?”

  “Yes. I’m right here. I saw everything.” Sitting down on the bed, she leaned toward Maria and the girl went into her arms. “It’s all right. It’s over.” Maria clung to her fiercely, weeping against her shoulder.

  “It’s all right,” she said again, though at that moment, nothing felt
right at all.

  “Elizabeth…something bad has happened. I am bleeding.”

  Elizabeth looked down, saw the bloodred stain spreading across the sheet. “Oh, my God!” Leaping up from the bed, she raced toward the phone in the living room. “Don’t move!” she called behind her. “I’m getting help!”

  She was shaking so hard, she was barely able to dial 911, fumbled once, then made herself slow down and do it correctly. Hurriedly, she told the operator that a young, pregnant woman was hemorrhaging and that she desperately needed an ambulance out at the workers’ compound at Harcourt Farms. Though the operator wanted her to stay on the line, the cord wasn’t long enough to reach the bedroom. Elizabeth left the receiver off the hook and hurried back to Maria.

  “Just hang on,” she said. “They’re on their way.”

  But Maria wasn’t looking at her. She was staring at the wall at the foot of the bed. Elizabeth followed her gaze and her eyes filled with horror.

  Painted in slashes of crimson that matched the blood on the sheet was a message:

  LEAVE—OR THEY WILL KILL YOU AND YOUR BABY.

  Elizabeth started to tremble. It was a terrifying message that could no longer be ignored.

  * * *

  Zach shoved open the glass doors leading into the reception area of San Pico Community Hospital. A quick scan of the sterile interior said Elizabeth wasn’t there.

  “I’m looking for Maria Santiago,” he told the woman behind the front counter. “She was just brought in a couple of hours ago. Can you tell me which room she’s in?”

  Peering through a pair of tortoiseshell half-glasses, the stocky woman gave him the room number and pointed him down the hall in that direction.

  “Just follow the yellow line painted on the floor,” she said. “It’s past visiting hours, so I doubt they’ll let you in, but at least the nurses can tell you how she’s doing.”

  “Thank you.” Zach made his way down the corridor, passing uniformed nurses, and doctors in pale green scrubs. He kept hoping he would run into Liz but he didn’t see her, not until he pushed open the door to Maria’s room and walked in.

  Liz sat in a chair near the bed. Maria Santiago lay sleeping in the narrow bed, her face the same bone-bleached color as the sheet. With her black hair fanned out around her shoulders and her skin so pale, she looked more dead than alive, and guilt washed over him.

  He should have done something, should have forced her to leave the house. He had promised Raul. And he had promised Liz.

  She saw him then and came up out of her chair. Her beige slacks and print blouse were spotted with blood, her face nearly as pale as Maria’s.

  Walking toward him, she hooked a curl of burnished hair out of the way behind her ear and he noticed that her hand was trembling. He moved toward her, opened his arms, and she simply walked into them.

  “I’m so glad you came,” she said.

  He gathered her close. “I wish I’d never left.” He kissed the top of her head, aching for what she had been through, wishing he had been there when she needed him. “How’s Maria doing?”

  Liz glanced at the door and tipped her head in that direction, urging him out into the hall. Outside, they walked down to a small waiting area and sat down on one of the sofas.

  He reached over and took hold of her hand, encouraging her to tell him more about what had happened.

  Liz took a shaky breath and shook her head. “I thought she was going to die, Zach. If I hadn’t been there, she might have.”

  He laced his fingers with hers, felt how cold her skin was.

  “Maria’s lost a lot of blood,” she said, “but they were able to get the hemorrhaging stopped before the baby started to come. The doctor wants her to hold on as long as she can, give the baby as much time to grow as possible. He’s ordered complete bed rest.”

  She looked up at him, her blue eyes suddenly fierce. “Whatever happens, I’m not letting her spend another night in that house.”

  “No,” he said softly, tightening his hold on her hand. “She can’t stay there any longer. I’ll speak to Miguel.” He glanced around, realizing for the first time the man should have been there. “Where is he?”

  “Still in Modesto, I guess. The hospital called the motel where they were staying. Someone spoke to Mariano, but Miguel wasn’t there.”

  “I’m sure he’ll come as soon as he gets word.”

  “Raul was here until a few minutes ago. Sam Marston brought him over. He stayed until the doctor sent him home. He wouldn’t leave until he was sure his sister was going to be all right.”

  “But they’re pretty sure she will be.”

  She nodded. “Pretty sure. They’ll transfer her to the County Hospital in Mason if she has to stay very long.”

  “How about you? Are you all right? Some of the things you told me on the phone…I’m not sure I would be.”

  She bit her bottom lip, and he saw that she was fighting back tears. “It was the most terrifying thing I’ve ever experienced, Zach, like some kind of horror movie. It started like before…like the time you were there, but this time it got worse. I couldn’t move and neither could Maria. I suppose being so frightened is what brought on the hemorrhage, or at least that’s the logical explanation.”

  “But you aren’t sure that’s really what happened.”

  She shook her head. “I’m not sure of anything anymore.”

  “What about the message you said appeared on the wall?”

  She swallowed and glanced away. “The letters looked like they were written in blood. Leave—or they will kill you and your baby.” She shivered, crossed her arms over her chest against the cold air blowing down from the air conditioner.

  “Maria saw it, too, I gather.”

  “She just sat there staring at it, sitting in the bed in all of that blood.”

  “What happened next?”

  “I called 911, then I ran and got some towels. We used them to slow the bleeding. Then the ambulance pulled into the driveway and things got hectic. By the time the men ran into the bedroom, the message was gone.”

  “Gone? What do you mean, gone?”

  “It disappeared, Zach. As if it had never been there. The wall was completely blank. It was the same freshly painted white it was before.”

  Zach raked a hand through his wavy dark hair. “None of this makes any sense.”

  “Not unless you believe in ghosts. I saw her, Zach. Long blond hair, big blue eyes, wearing a little pink pinafore. She was there at the foot of the bed—and I could see right through her.”

  A shudder whispered through her. He didn’t believe in ghosts. Yet Maria’s brush with death made it clear they couldn’t ignore the things that were happening in the house any longer.

  “I’ll speak to Miguel as soon as he gets back to town. I’ll tell him his wife is moving out, whether he likes it or not, and he had better give some thought to moving himself.”

  “What about Carson? If Miguel moves out, Carson will fire him.”

  Knowing it was true, Zach released a frustrated breath. And even if he went to the guys at the farm labor union, it might not do any good. “Maria has to leave. No question. I can try to talk to Carson, but I doubt he’ll listen. So far, Miguel doesn’t appear to be in any danger, so maybe it won’t matter if he stays.”

  “Have you heard anything from that investigator you hired?”

  “He’s promised to call me tomorrow.”

  “I hope he finds something.”

  “So do I.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

  Elizabeth left the hospital sometime after two in the morning. Zach followed her back to her apartment to be sure she got home safely, but didn’t come in. She had asked him if he needed a place to sleep, but he said he had called ahead and reserved a room at t
he Holiday Inn.

  She wished she weren’t so disappointed. More than anything, after the terrifying events of the night, she wanted to fall asleep in Zach’s arms, to feel safe and secure, at least for a while. Perhaps he would have liked that, too.

  But until they both knew what they wanted, until they could deal with their feelings, whatever they were, staying apart seemed the wisest course.

  The clock in the kitchen read ten o’clock when the doorbell rang and Zach arrived at her apartment the following morning.

  “Murphy called,” he said as he walked into the living room. “I figured you’d want to know what he had to say and there are some things we need to discuss.”

  “I’m glad you came.” She just wished she weren’t quite as glad as she was. “The coffee’s on. You want a cup?”

  “Sounds great.” Following her into the kitchen, he sat down at the table while she poured him a mug of rich dark coffee. She placed the mug in front of him on the table, then sat down in a chair across from him.

  “So what did Murphy have to say?”

  “I told him we’d spoken to the police in Fresno and also the cops here in San Pico. Since the authorities don’t believe the victim came from anywhere in the valley, he’s been working his way south. He talked to the police in Santa Clarita then the authorities in the San Fernando Valley. He’s using the description of the little girl Maria says she saw, the same one you gave me last night.”

  “Does he know we’re looking for a ghost?”

  Zach shook his head. “I saved that little surprise for later. I figured he might not turn up anything and if he didn’t, it would probably be better if he never knew.”

  “But you said he called this morning.”

  Zach nodded. “About an hour ago.” He took a sip of his coffee and gave up a sigh. “Yesterday, Ian spoke to a friend of his in the FBI. Over the years, he’s been involved in a number of missing person cases. I guess he’s made some useful contacts. His friend spent the afternoon searching FBI cold case files, looking for children reported kidnapped in the years between 1967 and 1971.”