Read Blood Stains Online

Authors: Sharon Sala

Tags: #Suspense

Blood Stains (3 page)

BOOK: Blood Stains
13.46Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub
ads

Once out of the parking area, she merged onto the westbound lane of the Gilcrease Expressway and began keeping an eye out for Highway 75.

It was nearing five o’clock. Before long, the highways would be packed with people on their way home from work. She wanted to be checked in before the traffic got too bad. It would have been great to have her sisters for backup, but they were on their own quests for answers.

With one eye on the traffic and the other on the road signs, she slipped into the lane that took her onto Highway 75 southbound. At that point she began watching for 7th Street. Within a few minutes she exited west onto 7th. After that, it was no time at all until the seventeen-story hotel appeared on the horizon. That was when it hit her. Despite her earlier resolve, there was no escaping the fact that she’d flown halfway across the country to try to solve a murder.

The weight of responsibility kept getting heavier and heavier. By the time she pulled up in front of the hotel, her hands were sweating. She’d spent the last few days in a fever of anxiety, and now that she was finally here, exhaustion and nerves were about to take over. Anxious to get to her room before she crashed, she left her car at valet parking, grabbed her bag and headed inside.

The lobby was light and airy, with an underlying buzz of activity, but she couldn’t focus on anything but the reception desk ahead. She had no memory of registering, but when she found herself in an elevator and headed for a room on the sixth floor with a key card in her hand, she had to accept that it had happened. Her stomach growled, reminding her that she hadn’t eaten a real meal all day, but the thought of food made her ill. Tears were building at the back of her throat, and there was a knot in her belly that was growing by the minute.

Murder. I witnessed my mother’s murder. Why don’t I remember? Didn’t I love her? If I loved her, wouldn’t I have remembered what happened to her? What heinous life did I live that would make me block it all out?

Her hands were shaking as she reached Room 604. She thrust the key card into the slot and pushed her way inside, locking herself in as she went.

The quiet within the room was like a slap in the face. Now there was nothing to distract her from where she was or why she’d come. She pushed her bag against the wall, crawled on top of the bed and curled herself into a ball. By the time she closed her eyes, the room was spinning. Reaching over her head, she found a pillow, dragged it against her belly and buried her face as the tears began to fall. Sometime later, she fell into a long, exhausted sleep.

Maria was dreaming that her phone was ringing but she couldn’t find the receiver to answer. After several rings, she finally woke up enough to realize it wasn’t a dream. The loud jangle was a rude awakening from what had been a long, dreamless sleep. Still groggy, she reached for the receiver, fumbled it and then let it drop to the floor.

“Dang it,” she muttered, before she finally picked it up. “Hello. Hello?”

“Good morning, Miss Slade. This is the front desk. We have a delivery for you. May we send it up?”

Maria glanced at the clock. Morning? She’d slept all night in her clothes? Then she realized what he was saying.

“A delivery? For me? Are you sure?”

“Yes, miss. Maria Slade.”

“Okay…yes…send it up.”

“Thank you,” he said, and disconnected.

Maria began scrambling, smoothing down her hair and her clothes, then trying to find her purse for tip money. She hardly remembered coming into this room, let alone what she’d done with her things.

Finally she found the purse on the floor beside her suitcase and grabbed a couple of dollars just as a knock sounded on the door. After a quick look through the peephole to assure herself it was a hotel employee, she opened the door to a bellman carrying a bouquet of flowers.

“Just put them on the table,” Maria said, then stood aside.

He paused on his way out the door. “Is there anything else I can do for you?”

“No, I’m fine, but thank you,” Maria said, and handed him the money.

“You’re welcome,” he said, pocketing the bills as he left.

She locked the door behind him, then headed for the table and plucked the card from the flowers.

Remember, you’re not alone. I’m only a phone call away.

Bud.

Maria’s vision blurred as she clutched the note to her breast. Even though Bud Tate had been her father’s friend and employee, to her, he was the brother she’d never had. There was a part of her that wanted to grab that bag she had yet to unpack and retreat to the safety of Montana. Being here was frightening in many ways, but Andrew Slade had not raised them to be cowards. Nor had he kept those journals without reason. She knew what she had to do. For twenty years someone had gotten away with murder. It was past time for justice.

She slipped the card into her purse, her eyes narrowing as she looked around her room. When her stomach suddenly growled, reminding her that she hadn’t eaten a meal in nearly twenty-four hours, she knew it was time to get down to basics. After calling room service to order breakfast, she went to unpack. Within a couple of hours she had showered and changed and had a meal in her belly. Armed with a city map and her journal, she headed out the door.

Thanks to the help of the GPS in her rental car, Maria quickly found out that the address she was looking for was in what the locals called North Tulsa, which she was beginning to believe was the back side of hell. It was the most depressing area of a city she’d ever seen. Other than the occasional bondsman, pawnshop, or gas station, nothing was thriving. She’d seen only one grocery store, and it looked like it was on its last legs. There had been businesses here at one time, because the names and signs were still on the buildings, but the windows were boarded up and covered with graffiti. It was an area in its death throes, which she found horribly sad. She wondered if it had been this way when she’d lived here twenty years ago, or if this was something new.

The absence of commerce would have led one to assume that people would be hard to locate, but it was just the reverse. Traffic was moving swiftly along the streets, while people standing near alleys and on certain street corners seemed to be doing a brisk drive-by business.

Maria didn’t want to think about what they were probably selling, but it was beginning to occur to her that coming down here alone had been a rash idea. Given the gang-related signs spray-painted on every flat surface, the people on street corners who watched her passing and the noise levels of the stereos in the cars that passed her, she would not have been shocked by the sound of gunfire.

She pulled to the curb in front of the address Andrew had given her and killed the engine, then looked around.

This was supposed to be the boardinghouse where she’d been living with her mother—the place where Andrew had first met them—only there were no hotels of any kind in sight. Just more empty, boarded-up buildings. Frustrated, she picked up the journal again and leafed to the pages that recorded her mother’s death.

Blood was bubbling from the corner of her lips. I’d seen a man die from a punctured lung before. I recognized the death rattle. Even though the ambulance had been called, I feared they would be too late, and your mother, Sally, kept calling my name.

I knelt at her side and took her hand. “I’m here,” I told her. Her grip was surprisingly strong considering the fact that she was dying, yet she kept repeating one phrase over and over. “You have to hide Mary. Take her away with you.” I looked around and saw you standing in the shadows of the hallway, your eyes wide and fixed on the blood pooling beneath your mother’s body. You weren’t moving. You weren’t crying. You seemed to be in shock. At that moment, Sally choked and her eyes rolled back in her head. I thought she was gone. Becky Thurman, the woman who lived across the hall and the woman I learned was your babysitter, came running in. She screamed, then started weeping, asking what happened. Sally gasped, then started muttering, “She saw, she saw.”

I was still trying to grasp the fact that she was still alive when Becky asked, “Saw what?” Your mother pointed to you. “Mary saw him shoot me,” she said. Then she looked straight into my eyes. “You’re a man of God. Hide her…without me she’ll have no one. If the cops know she saw, they’ll drag her through the courts. He’ll find her and kill her, just like he killed me.”

I was horrified. I told her I couldn’t possibly take you, but she was begging and begging. I saw her fading. I felt her terror. Finally I gave in and promised I would make sure you were safe. Then she died.

Becky was a lifesaver. She grabbed a small bag, packed it with your clothing and toiletries, handed you a stuffed rabbit and dashed across the hall with you just as the police were coming up the stairs.

She hid you in her room, while I stayed behind to meet the police, since I was the one who’d called. Later, after they were gone, she put you to bed at her place. I stayed over in Tulsa for two days to finish my revival. I prayed about you every night, and by the time I left town, I was convinced I was doing the right thing. You went with me without a word of complaint. Becky said you hadn’t cried, hadn’t spoken a word.

You wouldn’t for nearly a month, and then, when you did, it was as if you’d been reborn after coming to me. You took everything I said and did at face value, and began your life over. I guess it was a coping mechanism.

Maria sighed. It was like reading a piece of fiction about someone else’s life.

My God. How did I forget this?

She glanced around the neighborhood, eyeing the trio of men standing on the corner, then the storefronts. The problem was, with all these empty buildings, there was no one here she dared to question. As she started to drive away, she noticed a cross on a building a couple of blocks away, with a few people going in and out. A street mission. Ignoring her instincts to get out while the getting was good, she reached for the ignition and drove the two blocks down.

John 3:16 Mission.

The name said it all, Maria thought as she put the car in Park. The scent of cooking food was in the air as she emerged. According to a sign on the window, they were serving free lunch, which explained the number of people who kept going inside.

She hit the remote, locking the car as she walked toward the door. The car horn beeped to indicate success, and the sound caught the attention of a group of men standing near the entrance to a nearby alley. One of them whistled beneath his breath, then called out to her.

“Hey, bitch…you lose somethin’? I got what you need.”

The others laughed as their friend grabbed his crotch.

Lord help me,
Maria thought, and kept her head down and her eyes averted as she walked into the mission. The black-and-white floor tiles were cracked and stained, and the furniture was a mishmash of styles and colors. But there was an air of comfort within as she paused near the door to get her bearings. Maybe it was the corn bread she could smell coming from the kitchen, and maybe it was the rich sound of gospel music coming from a CD player sitting on a shelf.

Humanity in an assortment of ages and sizes was already forming a line along one side of the room, waiting for the meal to be served. She took a deep breath and headed for the sound of human voices, trying not to react to the stares she was receiving. Being the only woman in the room amped up her anxiety. The fact that she was also the only Caucasian made her feel that much more vulnerable.

All of a sudden there was a voice behind her.

“Welcome to the house of the Lord.”

Maria flinched, then turned abruptly to find herself face-to-face with a tall, skinny black man. He was wearing an African print shirt over a pair of faded blue jeans, with an ivory cross hanging from a thin strip of leather tied around his neck. Except for a halo of gray hair that stretched from ear to ear around the back of his head, he was bald. But his voice was soft and deep, and when Maria looked into his eyes, the tension she’d been feeling disappeared.

His gaze was rock-steady as he smiled.

Without thinking, she smiled back.

He eyed her clothes, the finely tooled leather of her purse, then arched an eyebrow.

“I’m guessing you’re not in need of food, so how can I help you, miss? Are you lost?”

Maria’s smile shifted. “In a manner of speaking…I guess I am.”

“Did your car break down? Do you want me to call for a tow?”

“No, no…not that.”

“Then how may I help you?”

Maria sighed. “I’m not sure how to start.”

“At the beginning is usually best. So let’s start over. My name is Henry.”

“My name is Maria Slade.”

“Then come and sit with me, Maria Slade.”

He cupped her elbow, pausing to make sure she accepted the gesture, then motioned toward an empty table near the back of the dining room.

She nodded gratefully, her anxiety easing with every passing minute. As soon as they were seated, a young teenager appeared carrying two cups of steaming coffee. He placed them on the table near Henry’s elbow, challenging Maria with a cold, angry stare, which upped her anxiety again.

“Thank you, Tyrell,” Henry said.

The boy shrugged, then walked away with a swagger in every step.

Henry saw Maria’s expression and felt obliged to add, “The boy’s all right. Got a man-size chip on a kid-size shoulder. Gonna take him a few years of livin’ on the right side of the Lord to get it off, but we’re workin’ on it…me and him.”

Maria allowed herself a short moment of grief. Henry reminded her of her father, which made her stifle an urge to weep. But she hadn’t come for comfort. She had questions that needed answers, and this Henry seemed amenable enough.

“Thank you for taking the time to talk to me.”

“Certainly,” he said. “As you were saying…I believe you were lost?”

Maria nodded. “My father died last week.”

Henry’s face softened into such an expression of empathy that it was once again all Maria could do not to cry. “I am sorry for your loss,” he said.

“Thank you, but his death triggered a lot more than grief. After he died, I learned I was not his daughter by birth, and that, until the age of four, I lived with my mother in a boardinghouse called the Hampton Arms. Twenty years ago, it was a couple of blocks east of here. I flew into town to…I don’t know…visit my past? Only the place isn’t there anymore.”

BOOK: Blood Stains
13.46Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub
ads

Other books

Sovereign's Gladiator by Jez Morrow
The Director: A Novel by Ignatius, David
One Last Night by Lynne Jaymes
Lifting the Sky by Mackie d'Arge
Black by T.l Smith
Cowboy Jackpot: Christmas by Randi Alexander
Mackenzie's Mountain by Linda Howard
In Danger's Path by W. E. B. Griffin