Safe as Churches
PROLOGUE
She recognized his voice immediately. A cultured British accent, words spoken in low crooning tones with a rhythmic cadence that could lull one into sleep.
“You’re Opal’s True Gentleman.”
“I beg your pardon?”
Soothing. Refined. “Her True Gentleman. That’s the name she gave you.”
A deep chuckle. Then, “But you’re not Opal.”
“No, sweetheart. I’m Amber.” Quickly she flipped through her notebook. “We spoke quite some time ago. And you can talk to me now. I’d like that very much.”
A protracted pause. A small sigh. More nothingness. And finally, “You don’t understand.”
“Oh, but I do, darling. I understand a good many things. I understand that you need a special someone who shares your secret desires. I can make your dreams come true, but for that, you need to tell me what they are.”
“I can’t … I won’t … I won’t be unfaithful to Opal.”
Unfaithful? To Opal?
Silence at the other end. Was he still on the line? There was no dial tone, so he hadn’t hung up. What was he doing? She couldn’t hear him draw even a single breath, so he wasn’t doing that.
Then he cleared his throat. “Enough bullshit,” he whispered, the sound harsh, like a death rattle. “Where … is … she?”
It was as if a puff of frigid air burst through the phone. Despite her layers of clothes and the steaming cup of tea she held in her free hand, she shivered. Still, Amber didn’t want to lose him. For some reason, it had been a slow night. She glanced at the calendar. Long weekend. The married ones had gone away with their families. The single ones—God only knew.
How to play it? She kept her voice gentle, but sultry, like a coastal breeze. “Opal’s gone, sweetie. But I’m here, and I’m all yours.”
“Gone? What do you mean, ‘gone’?”
Enough already. She wondered if she should just hang up. She needed a pedicure and Jade didn’t look busy. Remove the Petal Pink and try a deeper polish. Burgundy. Or deep plum.
“Gone. As in ‘she’s not here anymore.’ But I’m more than willing to step in and take her place. Talk to me, honey. What have you got to lose, besides your inhibitions?” She rolled her eyes.
“Where can I find her? Tell me.” The cadence was gone now, the voice flat, disembodied, impersonal. The British accent had disappeared, too.
“You can’t find her, honey. Much as we’d all love to spend time getting to know you up close and personal, it’s against the rules.” A rule Amber might be willing to bend, but then, that’s what rules were for.
Another chuckle, this one sending a chilling trio of notes through the phone line. “If Opal’s not there anymore, then all rules are off. Now, I’ll only ask once more. Where is she?”
Amber signaled in the air, caught the attention of the supervisor then tapped an index finger on her temple, the universal sign for ‘psycho.’
More firmly than she’d intended, she said, “I don’t know where she is. Opal’s not even her real name.” Damn. She shouldn’t have said that. There went the credibility of the service, whose clients built their innermost fantasies upon a foundation of carefully constructed yet perfectly plausible lies.
Yes, of course I’m wearing stilettos and fishnets ... a rubber suit ... your mother’s apron.
Yes, of course that orgasm was real.
I can’t wait to hear from you again. You’re the best.
Whatever they wanted to hear.
She tried to backpedal. “I know Opal was special to you, sweetie, but the thing you’ve got to do now is jump right back into the game. Best thing for you.” She tilted her head back, relaxed her throat, closed her eyes and breathed into the sentence. “I know I can make you forget her. Won’t you let me try?”
“No.”
Amber sat up straight, eyes snapping wide open. A single syllable, yet it shot ice through her. The supervisor hurried over.
“I’ll find her,” the dead voice whispered into Amber’s ear. “It won’t be hard.”
The True Gentleman’s parting words sent the phone crashing to the floor.
“I already know where you are. Fat bitch.”
CHAPTER 1
“Hey, God?” Paige Rowan looked past the jagged tops of Sitka spruce into the clear Oregon sky. “You need a woman in your life. Meet Mother Nature.”
The morning sea fog had dissipated. A red-tailed hawk soared above the horizon. To the left, the Pacific surf was a blanket of low, white foam. In the other direction, a forest preserve, but the deer and elk were playing shy tonight. Paige breathed a deep lungful of evergreen-scented evening air and wasn’t worried about anyone thinking she was crazy for talking out loud. In the state park, most of the hikers had already eaten their picnic suppers and gone home. Parker, her chocolate lab, was accustomed to her communing with nature and left her to it. While her parents had certainly spoiled church for her, among other things, they hadn’t done enough damage to alienate her completely from believing in a higher power. She’d escaped before that could happen. Now she reasoned that if God did exist, He’d be out here, admiring the view.
Joshua repeatedly cautioned her about trudging through the forest alone. “I’m a careful hiker,” she assured him. “I stay on the trails. I don’t shortcut the switchbacks. I steer far wide of the cliff edges.” That wasn’t what he was worried about, he told her. To appease him, she carried a cell phone.
She was flattered Joshua worried about her. It could mean, as her friend Lani was fond of telling her, that their relationship might be stratosphere-bound. Still too early to tell, Paige told herself, but a nice thought to dream on.
“Besides,” she reminded him after another of his lectures, “I’m not alone. I’ve got Parker.”
“That hound? French kissing a criminal to death isn’t my idea of protection.”
Joshua had a point. Parker needed obedience school remediation. Though chocolate labs were reputedly an intelligent breed, Parker had missed out on something crucial in his lineage. His parents, Beauregard and Miz Lucie, must have been intellectually challenged too, a fact woefully absent on the pooch’s pedigree papers. So the dog demonstrated the talent for which he’d been named—snooping—and Paige amused herself with Nosey Parker, forgiving the creature his frequent brushes with stupidity. Right now the canine had his muzzle buried in underbrush of wild fern where he’d probably get a snout full of another dog’s poop. Paige tugged on the leash and the pair made their way further up the trail.
At the viewpoint, they stopped. Paige sat on the bench and shot water from her squeeze bottle into Parker’s mouth. Just over a mile out to sea stood Tillamook Rock Lighthouse. Terrible Tilly had been subjected to every form of nature’s fury. She’d been flooded, hit by a tornado, and pelted by sixty-pound rocks that had broken off during a storm. Despite the assaults, Tilly still perched proudly on her basalt island, where cormorants and common murres now nested. She was a grand old thing, and proof to Paige that survival was indeed possible in spite of a terrible history of adversity. Let others wax poetic about Haystack Rock, further south. To Paige, this was the most beautiful view along the coast and she never tired of gazing at the lighthouse. Her lighthouse.
She checked the western sky. No sign of bad weather. Still, it was probably time to head for home. She would loop back on the inner part of the trail until she reached the Indian Point parking lot; at home, she’d barbecue a steak, then grab a book and read on her screened-in porch, where she’d probably fall asleep listening to the wind sing through the hemlocks.
She tucked her water bottle into the Velcro holder on her belt and rose. Though distracted by the occasional twitter of a wren in the distance, Parker remained obedient, the six-foot leash slack as the dog trotted alongside. Paige stepped cautiously. There were no erosive cliffs on this part of the trail, but the ground was humped with huge gnarled tree roots, prime ankle-twisting terrain. She could hear Joshua now. “See? Didn’t I tell you not to walk alone?”
Paige rolled over plans in her mind for tomorrow, her day off. A bike ride along part of Route 101, maybe a little beachcombing for some razor clams. Grab an all-day breakfast in town and work it off with some weight-lifting. Her vacation was coming up soon, an ecotour in the San Juans with plenty of kayaking and cycling, so she needed to keep herself in shape.
Parker’s obedience was short-lived. He was whining now, straining at his leash, eyes riveted to a spot several yards ahead beneath a tangle of roots, mud and fern. A squirrel, Paige thought immediately, though she didn’t hear any movement. A dead squirrel, then. Trust Parker to track it down. Several times the dog had broken his leash, on each occasion returning home an hour or so later with a baby chipmunk or rabbit between his teeth. Paige’s back yard was a makeshift animal cemetery.
As they drew closer to the place where the path ended and the parking lot began, Paige caught sight of a patch of pale pink amid the muck near her Outback. A trio of black birds pecked at the mound. And the fresh air was tainted with something rancid. Spoiled meat. The dog was frantic now, yelping. Paige gripped the loop of the leash and dug her heels into the soft earth. “Steady, Parker. It’s okay, boy.”
But it wasn’t. Parker broke away from his restraint and barreled for the pinkish patch, scattering the birds. “Parker! Parker, stay!” she cried out. “Dammit, dog!” In her mind, she was really saying don’t touch it, boy. Please God, don’t touch it.
The skin between her shoulder blades prickled, the sensation of thousands of minuscule ants skittering across her flesh. She felt her heartbeat accelerate, heard the rapid drumming in her ears as she inched ahead. It’s a scrap of fabric. Pink fabric. Or a section of fiberglass insulation. Out here?
Parker’s big body blocked her view. Not until Paige stood alongside her dog did she see what she wished she hadn’t—a severed human foot.
She recognized his voice immediately. A cultured British accent, words spoken in low crooning tones with a rhythmic cadence that could lull one into sleep.
“You’re Opal’s True Gentleman.”
“I beg your pardon?”
Soothing. Refined. “Her True Gentleman. That’s the name she gave you.”
A deep chuckle. Then, “But you’re not Opal.”
“No, sweetheart. I’m Amber.” Quickly she flipped through her notebook. “We spoke quite some time ago. And you can talk to me now. I’d like that very much.”
A protracted pause. A small sigh. More nothingness. And finally, “You don’t understand.”
“Oh, but I do, darling. I understand a good many things. I understand that you need a special someone who shares your secret desires. I can make your dreams come true, but for that, you need to tell me what they are.”
“I can’t … I won’t … I won’t be unfaithful to Opal.”
Unfaithful? To Opal?
Silence at the other end. Was he still on the line? There was no dial tone, so he hadn’t hung up. What was he doing? She couldn’t hear him draw even a single breath, so he wasn’t doing that.
Then he cleared his throat. “Enough bullshit,” he whispered, the sound harsh, like a death rattle. “Where … is … she?”
It was as if a puff of frigid air burst through the phone. Despite her layers of clothes and the steaming cup of tea she held in her free hand, she shivered. Still, Amber didn’t want to lose him. For some reason, it had been a slow night. She glanced at the calendar. Long weekend. The married ones had gone away with their families. The single ones—God only knew.
How to play it? She kept her voice gentle, but sultry, like a coastal breeze. “Opal’s gone, sweetie. But I’m here, and I’m all yours.”
“Gone? What do you mean, ‘gone’?”
Enough already. She wondered if she should just hang up. She needed a pedicure and Jade didn’t look busy. Remove the Petal Pink and try a deeper polish. Burgundy. Or deep plum.
“Gone. As in ‘she’s not here anymore.’ But I’m more than willing to step in and take her place. Talk to me, honey. What have you got to lose, besides your inhibitions?” She rolled her eyes.
“Where can I find her? Tell me.” The cadence was gone now, the voice flat, disembodied, impersonal. The British accent had disappeared, too.
“You can’t find her, honey. Much as we’d all love to spend time getting to know you up close and personal, it’s against the rules.” A rule Amber might be willing to bend, but then, that’s what rules were for.
Another chuckle, this one sending a chilling trio of notes through the phone line. “If Opal’s not there anymore, then all rules are off. Now, I’ll only ask once more. Where is she?”
Amber signaled in the air, caught the attention of the supervisor then tapped an index finger on her temple, the universal sign for ‘psycho.’
More firmly than she’d intended, she said, “I don’t know where she is. Opal’s not even her real name.” Damn. She shouldn’t have said that. There went the credibility of the service, whose clients built their innermost fantasies upon a foundation of carefully constructed yet perfectly plausible lies.
Yes, of course I’m wearing stilettos and fishnets ... a rubber suit ... your mother’s apron.
Yes, of course that orgasm was real.
I can’t wait to hear from you again. You’re the best.
Whatever they wanted to hear.
She tried to backpedal. “I know Opal was special to you, sweetie, but the thing you’ve got to do now is jump right back into the game. Best thing for you.” She tilted her head back, relaxed her throat, closed her eyes and breathed into the sentence. “I know I can make you forget her. Won’t you let me try?”
“No.”
Amber sat up straight, eyes snapping wide open. A single syllable, yet it shot ice through her. The supervisor hurried over.
“I’ll find her,” the dead voice whispered into Amber’s ear. “It won’t be hard.”
The True Gentleman’s parting words sent the phone crashing to the floor.
“I already know where you are. Fat bitch.”
CHAPTER 1
“Hey, God?” Paige Rowan looked past the jagged tops of Sitka spruce into the clear Oregon sky. “You need a woman in your life. Meet Mother Nature.”
The morning sea fog had dissipated. A red-tailed hawk soared above the horizon. To the left, the Pacific surf was a blanket of low, white foam. In the other direction, a forest preserve, but the deer and elk were playing shy tonight. Paige breathed a deep lungful of evergreen-scented evening air and wasn’t worried about anyone thinking she was crazy for talking out loud. In the state park, most of the hikers had already eaten their picnic suppers and gone home. Parker, her chocolate lab, was accustomed to her communing with nature and left her to it. While her parents had certainly spoiled church for her, among other things, they hadn’t done enough damage to alienate her completely from believing in a higher power. She’d escaped before that could happen. Now she reasoned that if God did exist, He’d be out here, admiring the view.
Joshua repeatedly cautioned her about trudging through the forest alone. “I’m a careful hiker,” she assured him. “I stay on the trails. I don’t shortcut the switchbacks. I steer far wide of the cliff edges.” That wasn’t what he was worried about, he told her. To appease him, she carried a cell phone.
She was flattered Joshua worried about her. It could mean, as her friend Lani was fond of telling her, that their relationship might be stratosphere-bound. Still too early to tell, Paige told herself, but a nice thought to dream on.
“Besides,” she reminded him after another of his lectures, “I’m not alone. I’ve got Parker.”
“That hound? French kissing a criminal to death isn’t my idea of protection.”
Joshua had a point. Parker needed obedience school remediation. Though chocolate labs were reputedly an intelligent breed, Parker had missed out on something crucial in his lineage. His parents, Beauregard and Miz Lucie, must have been intellectually challenged too, a fact woefully absent on the pooch’s pedigree papers. So the dog demonstrated the talent for which he’d been named—snooping—and Paige amused herself with Nosey Parker, forgiving the creature his frequent brushes with stupidity. Right now the canine had his muzzle buried in underbrush of wild fern where he’d probably get a snout full of another dog’s poop. Paige tugged on the leash and the pair made their way further up the trail.
At the viewpoint, they stopped. Paige sat on the bench and shot water from her squeeze bottle into Parker’s mouth. Just over a mile out to sea stood Tillamook Rock Lighthouse. Terrible Tilly had been subjected to every form of nature’s fury. She’d been flooded, hit by a tornado, and pelted by sixty-pound rocks that had broken off during a storm. Despite the assaults, Tilly still perched proudly on her basalt island, where cormorants and common murres now nested. She was a grand old thing, and proof to Paige that survival was indeed possible in spite of a terrible history of adversity. Let others wax poetic about Haystack Rock, further south. To Paige, this was the most beautiful view along the coast and she never tired of gazing at the lighthouse. Her lighthouse.
She checked the western sky. No sign of bad weather. Still, it was probably time to head for home. She would loop back on the inner part of the trail until she reached the Indian Point parking lot; at home, she’d barbecue a steak, then grab a book and read on her screened-in porch, where she’d probably fall asleep listening to the wind sing through the hemlocks.
She tucked her water bottle into the Velcro holder on her belt and rose. Though distracted by the occasional twitter of a wren in the distance, Parker remained obedient, the six-foot leash slack as the dog trotted alongside. Paige stepped cautiously. There were no erosive cliffs on this part of the trail, but the ground was humped with huge gnarled tree roots, prime ankle-twisting terrain. She could hear Joshua now. “See? Didn’t I tell you not to walk alone?”
Paige rolled over plans in her mind for tomorrow, her day off. A bike ride along part of Route 101, maybe a little beachcombing for some razor clams. Grab an all-day breakfast in town and work it off with some weight-lifting. Her vacation was coming up soon, an ecotour in the San Juans with plenty of kayaking and cycling, so she needed to keep herself in shape.
Parker’s obedience was short-lived. He was whining now, straining at his leash, eyes riveted to a spot several yards ahead beneath a tangle of roots, mud and fern. A squirrel, Paige thought immediately, though she didn’t hear any movement. A dead squirrel, then. Trust Parker to track it down. Several times the dog had broken his leash, on each occasion returning home an hour or so later with a baby chipmunk or rabbit between his teeth. Paige’s back yard was a makeshift animal cemetery.
As they drew closer to the place where the path ended and the parking lot began, Paige caught sight of a patch of pale pink amid the muck near her Outback. A trio of black birds pecked at the mound. And the fresh air was tainted with something rancid. Spoiled meat. The dog was frantic now, yelping. Paige gripped the loop of the leash and dug her heels into the soft earth. “Steady, Parker. It’s okay, boy.”
But it wasn’t. Parker broke away from his restraint and barreled for the pinkish patch, scattering the birds. “Parker! Parker, stay!” she cried out. “Dammit, dog!” In her mind, she was really saying don’t touch it, boy. Please God, don’t touch it.
The skin between her shoulder blades prickled, the sensation of thousands of minuscule ants skittering across her flesh. She felt her heartbeat accelerate, heard the rapid drumming in her ears as she inched ahead. It’s a scrap of fabric. Pink fabric. Or a section of fiberglass insulation. Out here?
Parker’s big body blocked her view. Not until Paige stood alongside her dog did she see what she wished she hadn’t—a severed human foot.
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