The Runaway Read online

  “I didn’t become a psychologist to treat myself,” she said. “I did it to help people. I want to help Genevieve. She left me a voicemail begging me to get her out of this place.”

  “You should talk to your mother,” Dr. Chase advised her.

  “She won’t return my calls,” she admitted. “Nobody will help me help Genevieve. Will you, please?”

  He sighed and pushed his hand through his thick white hair. “If you wanted a recommendation for a job here, I’d be happy to give it to you,” he said. “But I can’t intervene in this other matter.”

  Tears stung her eyes, and she turned away from him, like she used to when he’d broached the subject of her dreams. She wished she’d never told him about them, but it had been part of a class assignment—one she wished she’d never done. But since she’d failed to be the perfect daughter her mother had wanted, she’d worked hard to be the perfect student.

  “I hear great things about you,” he said. “You’re very well respected, Rosemary. You could be really effective here.”

  She turned back toward him and snorted. “They won’t let me through the gates to visit my sister. You really think they’ll hire me?”

  “Dr. Elijah Cooke runs the place,” Chase said. “He’s an exceptionally intelligent man. He’ll see how much you could help some of the guests, more than even I could.”

  Her lips curved into a smile. “We both know the student hasn’t surpassed the teacher.”

  He chuckled. “I think that’s exactly what has happened, Rosemary.” He reached into the pocket of his long overcoat and held out a business card to her. “E-mail me your résumé, and I’ll present it to Elijah myself.”

  Tears stung Rosemary’s eyes again, but these were tears of relief. Despite his claim that he couldn’t help her, he was. He was helping her find another way inside the gates—as an applicant for employment.

  “Thank you,” she said as she took the card from him. “Thank you.”

  “Don’t get your hopes up,” he cautioned her. “Things may not turn out as you want.”

  * * *

  Dr. Elijah Cooke stood at the head of the conference table in what had once been one of the formal dining rooms—before his grandfather had converted the family home into a psychiatric hospital. Then it had become a ward filled with mentally ill patients before it had eventually fallen to ruin.

  During the renovation, Elijah had had the contractor— who was also his cousin—turn it into a conference room with the dark paneled walls and coffered ceiling restored to their former glory. Elijah wanted everything restored to its former glory. The manor and the family’s reputation.

  He gripped the edge of the long table as he stood to disperse the personnel he’d gathered for the morning meeting. The table, too, had been restored after David had found it in storage in one of the many outbuildings on the property. The chef, Jean-Claude Marchand, rose first from the table, intent on returning to his kitchen. Warren Cooke, his security director, filed out after him, probably heading to his other job as the sheriff’s deputy. Then Elijah’s business partner, Bode James, and his head fitness trainer, Heather Smallegan, filed out at his silent dismissal. The publicist, Amanda Plasky, hesitated for a long moment until Elijah shook his head. He didn’t have time for all her concerns right now. He didn’t have time for anything. But the psychiatrist, Dr. Chase, remained after everyone else had finally left.

  Gordon stayed seated in his chair, which was close to Elijah’s, maybe so close that he’d noticed the dark circles beneath Elijah’s eyes. He hadn’t slept well after his visit from the sheriff.

  When the door to the corridor fully closed, he turned toward Chase and asked, “What?”

  “She’s not going away.”

  “Who?” he asked.

  “Rosemary Tulle,” Dr. Chase replied.

  Elijah flinched. “How did you hear about her?”

  Nobody had mentioned her name at the morning meeting—on his orders. Not that all that many people knew about her trying to get inside to visit her sister. He suspected everybody knew about her sister, though.

  “She was waiting outside the employee gate this morning,” Dr. Chase informed him.

  He clenched his jaw so tightly he had to grind out the words, “She was warned about trespassing.”

  “She didn’t come inside,” Chase said.

  “But she tried.” He narrowed his eyes as he studied the older man’s face. “She got to you.”

  “I know Rosemary very well,” Chase said. “I knew her as a child and as a student.”

  He nodded. “That’s right. You know her family. That’s why Genevieve was here.”

  Chase flinched now. “I had no idea how it would all turn out.”

  “Of course not,” Elijah said.

  “I do know that Rosemary won’t go away quietly,” Chase said. “She’s not going to give up until she finds out what happened to her sister.”

  Elijah expelled a shaky breath. “But that won’t be the end of it, and you know it.”

  “I know,” Chase acknowledged.

  “She won’t be happy with what she finds out,” Elijah said. He wasn’t happy about it.

  If the truth got out, it could destroy everything he had worked so hard to restore.

  It would bring back all the old stories, all those horror stories ... and then no one would come to the hall. All the money and time he’d spent would be for naught.

  And he would be left with nothing ...

  Chapter Eight

  Rosemary stared down at the card she’d set on the table next to her laptop. Would this work? Or had Gordon Chase only been placating her so that she’d leave him—and Halcyon Hall—alone? No. He knew her better than to think she would go away without seeing Genevieve for herself, without making sure that she was all right.

  She had to be all right.

  “You’re here?” Evelyn remarked with surprise as she walked into the dining room.

  “I hope you don’t mind my using this for a work space,” Rosemary replied.

  Evelyn shook her head. “Of course not. I’m glad you’re here. When you were gone this morning . . .” Her voice cracked with concern as it trailed off.

  “I left a note,” Rosemary said. She’d taped one to her bedroom door, so that they wouldn’t be concerned. But because they’d probably suspected where she’d gone, they undoubtedly had worried.

  Evelyn’s face flushed. “I don’t mean to act like your mother. . . .”

  Evelyn actually seemed to care more about Rosemary than her mother ever had. Whenever her mother had seemed to care, it had been more about her own reputation than Rosemary’s physical or emotional well-being. Why in the hell had she ever trusted her with her baby?

  At sixteen, she’d felt she had no other options, though.

  “That’s probably why we don’t keep boarders,” Evelyn said. “Or it’s how we feel about the hall. . . .”

  “Have you had people live here who’ve worked at the hall?” she asked. “Or do they all live on the property?” If she was actually hired, she would hate to leave the sisters, too, but she was willing to do whatever she had to in order to see Genevieve again.

  “The owners live on the property of the manor, just like they always have,” she said.

  Rosemary needed clarification. “But aren’t the owners of the hall different than the ones who ran the manor?” After all these years and the ruins the property had fallen into, new owners must have purchased the property.

  Evelyn shook her head. “No. It’s the same family. Just different surnames but the same blood. The same money. The same power.”

  The same penchant for locking up young girls? Rosemary was right to be so worried about Genevieve.

  Evelyn continued, “We did have many of the construction workers stay with us while it was being renovated and some of the employees have lived here until finding more permanent housing. Most recently one of the groundskeeping staff lived with us.” Her brow creased slightly. �
��Teddy Bowers.”

  Rosemary wondered if it was the young man she’d seen by the gates the day before.

  “A fitness instructor stayed with us for a while, too,” Evelyn remarked, “before moving onto the estate. She was a very sweet girl. We warned her about working at the manor, but she didn’t listen. We haven’t seen her since she moved out.”

  “And the groundskeeper?”

  “He was never around much when he lived here,” Evelyn said. “So of course, we don’t see him anymore even though he was supposed to work on our gardens for us.”

  Rosemary glanced out the window at the ice-encrusted brown branches of the shrubs and flowers. “Maybe he’ll come back in the spring. . . .”

  “Maybe,” Evelyn agreed. But she sounded doubtful.

  “Where is Bonita?” Rosemary asked.

  Evelyn’s head tipped back as she looked up at the coffered ceiling. “She’s resting now. She got very upset this morning. . . .”

  A pang of regret struck Rosemary. “About me?”

  Evelyn shook her head. “About her baby ... she thought it was lost again even after I found the doll for her.”

  Rosemary furrowed her brow. “You don’t think she could be talking about something else ... ?”

  Evelyn sighed. “I don’t know what she’s talking about half the time. And neither does she.” She stepped closer to the table and sucked in a breath as her gaze focused on the laptop screen that displayed Rosemary’s cover letter for the psychologist position at Halcyon Hall. The older woman trembled slightly and stumbled back from the table. “I—I didn’t mean to look at your computer.”

  “That’s all right,” Rosemary assured her. She doubted anything would come of her application, but it was worth a try. Anything was worth a try to get into Halcyon Hall.

  Evelyn shook her head. “No, no it’s not. You can’t apply there. You can’t become part of that . . .” She trailed off, her voice choked with emotion.

  “Hall,” Rosemary finished for her. “It’s not what it once was.” Or so they claimed.

  Evelyn shook her head again. “They didn’t change the place. They just restored it to what it once was.”

  “It’s more of a rehab facility now,” Rosemary said. “And I’m a psychologist. I counsel people to help them work through their problems. That’s what Halcyon Hall does now.”

  Evelyn shuddered. “Is counseling really their only treatment? Not the kind of procedures they used to do, the things they did . . .”

  Rosemary wanted to deny that they still did those things, but she didn’t know for certain. Instead she asked, “How do you know so much about the place?”

  Tears glistened in Evelyn’s eyes. “Just like you, my parents put my sister in that place and wouldn’t let me see her.”

  Rosemary had already suspected as much. “Bonita was there.”

  Evelyn nodded now. “I think part of her still is. It must be—because the smart, sassy girl she’d once been didn’t come home—not after what they did to her.”

  Tears of sympathy stung Rosemary’s eyes now, too. She suspected a lobotomy might have been performed on Bonita, damaging the bright young woman she had been. But nobody practicing in psychiatry today used that archaic procedure. Halcyon couldn’t. Dr. Chase wouldn’t work there if they did.

  “They treat patients now with counseling and exercise and diet,” Rosemary repeated the website’s claim, trying to convince herself of that as well as Evelyn. “They focus on the body and the mind—on total wellness.”

  Evelyn shook her head. “I don’t care what they claim. It’s still the House of Horrors it always was. And you shouldn’t go there.”

  House of Horrors ...

  “You know why I have to,” Rosemary said. More than anyone, Evelyn had to understand.

  The older woman drew in a deep breath and nodded. “I wish I would have tried harder to help my sister.”

  “You must have been just a child then. . . .”

  Bainesworth Manor had been shut down long ago.

  “I knew she was in danger,” Evelyn said, her voice cracking, “just like you know your sister—”

  “Genevieve is not my sister,” Rosemary said. “I was just sixteen when I had her, so I let my mother and stepfather claim her as theirs. She’s my daughter.” Admitting it again gave her a sense of relief and pride and fear. Her child was in that horrible place.

  “Oh . . .” Evelyn murmured, her eyes warm with concern and understanding.

  “I will do anything to get my daughter out of there,” Rosemary continued.

  “That’s what I’m afraid of,” Evelyn said with a shaky sigh. “That you’ll do anything . . .”

  * * *

  “Sheriff, Miss Pierce is on line two for you,” Margaret called through the wall that separated the front desk from the rest of the office. “She sounds upset.”

  She must have been, or this deputy—unlike Warren—wouldn’t have interrupted his lunch—such that it was. The fries had already gotten cold. He dropped the soggy spud back into the carry-out box, wiped his hand on the already damp napkin, and reached for his phone. “What’s up, Evelyn?”

  Or maybe he should have asked what Ms. Tulle was up to, but he already had a pretty damn good idea. Rosemary wasn’t the only reason Evelyn called, though. Sometimes Bonita wandered off in search of her missing baby, and Evelyn needed help finding her. The older woman never made it very far from the boardinghouse, though, so he was able to help Evelyn.

  If only he could help Rosemary Tulle ...

  But her sister wasn’t missing. She knew exactly where she was, and that was the damn problem.

  “I’m worried about our new boarder,” Evelyn said.

  “What has she done now?” he asked. And why hadn’t the hall called to complain about her yet?

  “She’s applying for a job at that place,” Evelyn said.

  He chuckled at her tenacity. “I don’t think you need to worry about them hiring her,” he said.

  “I am worried,” Evelyn said. “She could have been killed yesterday.”

  He glanced down at the pictures he’d taken of her car before he’d stepped inside the station. The damage was severe. He hoped she’d taken out the insurance when she’d rented it.

  “She reported it,” he said.

  “So you’re investigating?” Evelyn asked. “It followed her here last night, you know . . .”

  His blood chilled. “What did?”

  “The vehicle,” Evelyn said. “It drove past the house, no lights on, as she pulled into the driveway. It followed her here.”

  “What kind of vehicle?” he asked.

  “Big—like the kind you drive,” she said.

  “An SUV?”

  “Or a truck,” she said. “I couldn’t see much of it with all the snow and it not having its lights on.”

  There was only one reason why someone would drive with the lights off at night—because he didn’t want to be seen. Who the hell was after Rosemary Tulle?

  He already suspected that it was someone from the hall. Elijah? No. He wouldn’t do his own dirty work. Warren driving one of the security vehicles? Or maybe David; he was the one who’d always done Elijah’s dirty work.

  But why go after Rosemary? What the hell had happened to her sister that they didn’t want her to know?

  Or maybe Elijah was right, and Deacon just wanted it to be someone from the hall.

  What if it was someone else? Someone from her past?

  Maybe it was about damn time he learned more about Rosemary Tulle.

  Chapter Nine

  Rosemary pulled the battered rental car up to the tall wrought iron gates at the visitor entrance. Would they call to report her for trespassing? Maybe this was all just a trick to get her arrested or ticketed. Maybe Dr. Elijah Cooke didn’t really want to meet with her.

  But for Genevieve, Rosemary had to take the risk of arrest or even worse—admittance to the House of Horrors. She opened the door and stepped out of the tepid war
mth of the battered rental car, so she could reach the intercom. Cold air blasted her. While there was snow on the ground, it wasn’t snowing today. It might have been warmer if it had been. Instead there was just the frigid cold and the gloom that seemed to perpetually hang over the island. Trembling with the cold, she pressed the button and before the person could greet her, she announced herself, “Rosemary Tulle to see Dr. Cooke.”

  “He’s expecting you,” the female voice replied pleasantly, and the gates rattled and whined as they slowly opened. That was when she noticed the camera in the stone wall, the lens pointed at the intercom panel. They had been watching her.

  Rosemary jumped back into her car, and before the gates could close and shut her out, she pressed on the accelerator and sped through them. The tires skidded on the slick driveway, and the rear of the car fishtailed, bringing the already crumpled bumper dangerously close to the pine trees lining the driveway. Thankfully, nobody stepped out of them today like the groundskeeper had the other day.

  The only shadows on the drive appeared to be from the trees and clouds, and the wrought iron gates as they drew closed behind her, locking her in. Would it be as difficult to leave as it had been to enter? Would she be stuck here forever like Genevieve . . . ?

  Her pulse quickened now—not with fear—but with anticipation. Surely, once she was inside the hall, she would be able to see her daughter and make sure she was safe and well. She had to be—or Dr. Elijah Cooke wouldn’t have had his secretary call Rosemary to schedule this interview.

  If anything had happened to Genevieve, he wouldn’t want to risk her discovering it. Unless ...

  Unless he wanted to stop her from trying to find out ... like someone had tried to stop her from returning to the island the other night. If the railing on the bridge had broken, she would have died.

  Could she have been lured here—not for a job—but for her death?

  * * *

  Damn it.

  Gordon was right. Rosemary Tulle was perfect.

  Elijah had already suspected as much from her cover letter and résumé. Anyone could pad those to look impressive, though, so he’d done some research on his own and had confirmed she was well-respected as a counselor and had already helped so many people.