Save Me: A dark romantic thriller (Novel) (11 page)

CHAPTER 20

A half hour later, Ashley respectfully excused herself to use the lavatory.

The perfumed bathroom had a crystal chandelier, a hot tub, and brass faucets. Ashley also discovered that the medicine chest (surprisingly, it wasn’t locked) was thoroughly stocked with prescriptions.

Was it normal for an orthopedic surgeon to have, in the privacy of his own home, this many drugs? Brad seemed to have as many, if not more, narcotics in his personal supply than Kitty Woo.

It didn’t take long for Ashley to decide which brand of painkillers she wanted to thieve, a bottle that, on the white label, read morphine. She had only one concern, would Brad and Eve notice it missing?

The prescription was in Brad’s name, apparently for a recent back injury, although Ashley did not remember him complaining about an ailment. Regardless, she resolved that it didn’t matter whether her brother-law or his wife noticed the morphine gone. If Brad needed more, being a physician, he could write himself another prescription.

After shoving the morphine into her pocket, Ashley snuck past the Ferguson’s housekeeper (Nelly was feeding Kimberly formula) and then went back out to the pool.

***

“Could I offer you more champagne?” Dr. Montgomery asked, hovering over Ashley’s lounge chair like a tan, shirtless waiter. So much for considering her off limits.

“No thanks. I have a long drive ahead of me.”

“Mind if I introduce myself?” He had perfect pearl-white teeth. “I’m Gary . . . Dr. Gary Montgomery. And you’re?”

“Ashley.”

“Hi Ashley. So you’re Brad’s sister-in-law?”

“The one and only.”

“Would it be all right if I sat down?” He pointed to the chair next to her.

“I’m not looking to date anyone,” she quickly explained, before he could be settled. “So don’t even waste your time.”

Perplexed, the thirty-something plastic surgeon, uttered, “Whew! Hey now, why don’t we tug on the reins here, Sybil? What makes you think I’m trying to pick you up?”

Ashley shook her head. “If that’s not what you’re doing, then what is it that you want?”

“Ever hear of being polite?”

“Pleeeaassse!” she said, smoothing coconut suntan lotion on her arms. “I may not be a Harvard graduate. However, I do know a thing or two about how guys like you treat women.” With him sunbathing beside her, it was like being on a train or plane, next to a passenger who will not keep out of your ear.

“Really? And how is it that guys like me treat women?”

“You wine and dine them. Treat them like a princess, so you can get them into bed. Then one day, when you get tired of them, you go out and find someone else . . . Happens all the time.”

With his California blond hair, blue eyes, and washboard abs, Ashley couldn’t deny that Dr. Montgomery was attractive. The problem was he wasn’t her type.

“I think you have me figured all wrong,” he disagreed, after describing how, in Beverly Hills, he had provided his services to the stars, he wouldn‘t name them specifically. “Men like me are too busy to play games like that. If I found the right woman, I’d be looking for something long term.”

“That’s quite touching,” Ashley remarked, biting down on her lower lip. “Except I thought you said you weren’t trying to pick me up.”

“I’m not. The term ‘pick up’ is cheap. All I’m attempting to do is get to know you. Surely you don’t think there’s anything wrong with me wanting to become acquainted with a lovely woman, such as yourself?”

Tuning him out, Ashley reached into her beach bag and extracted the paperback she had brought with her. A novel by Nora Roberts.

Frustrated at being ignored, Gary Montgomery cleared his throat. “We’re not all bad people, you know.”

“Excuse me?”

“Us men . . . We’re not all bad people.”

Now where was he going with this
? Ashley wondered. “I’m sorry,” she said. “You seem to have me lost. I don‘t know what you‘re implying.”

He elaborated that he knew what had happened to her. And that he had heard about rape victims, how they commonly developed an irrational fear of the opposite sex.

“Look,” she said, distrustful. “You’re not privy to special information. I’m sure everyone here knows what happened to me. And I have to tell you, Dr.-”

“Ashley,” Brad called from the pool. “Is Gary bothering you?”

Before she had time to respond, Ashley felt someone tap her on the shoulder. It was Nelly, the housekeeper. “The baby has had an accident,” she said with a Scandinavian accent.

“An accident?”

The maid nodded. Her face was strained, as though she’d just gotten a whiff of something putrid.

“Oh!” Ashley finally understood. “That kind of accident. No problem. I have an extra pamper in my bag.” When she stood up to get it, the tiny bottle of morphine accidentally fell from the pocket of her Khaki shorts. The pill bottle landed on the cement near her chair.

Both Nelly and Dr. Montgomery noticed. Their bowled over expressions seemed to suggest, Uh oh! What do we have here?

“They’re headache pills,” was all Ashley could think to say. Quickly, she bent down and retrieved them. “I’ve been having a lot of migraines lately. Lucky for me,” she held up the prescription, “these work like a charm.” Without adding to the lie, she walked away and went inside to get Kimberly cleaned up.

***

Near Ashley’s vacant lounge chair, Dr. Montgomery and Nelly exchanged notes. Neither believed the pills that had fallen from Ashley’s pocket had been prescribed for headaches.

Nelly, unparticular, based on what she had learned from her employers, suspected that Brad’s sister-in-law was possibly taking something for depression.

Toward sunset, when Ashley was leaving the party, Dr. Montgomery ran after her.

“Hey, where are you going?” he asked, leaning his blond head in the car window. In the backseat, Kimberly looked on with mild interest.

“I’m heading home,” Ashley replied, peering over her shoulder, preparing to back out of the driveway.

“So soon?”

“Yes. I’m afraid so.”

“Why though?” The doctor glanced at his gold Rolex. He was now wearing a preppy collar shirt. “It’s only seven o’clock. The night is young.” His overpowering cologne wafted into the vehicle.

“I have to be up early,” Ashley explained. Then she thought, Is this guy stalking me? “Plus, I would like to get my baby to bed before it gets dark.”

He was unmistakably disappointed. “But they’re serving dinner in a few minutes. Why don’t you at least stay and have something to eat? The buffet they’re loading out by the pool is going to have a lot of great stuff. Leg of lamb. Steaks. All types of steamed vegetables. And you should see the desserts. If you love cheesecake, this is the place to be.”

“I’m well aware of what they’re serving,” Ashley said, unable to back out with him clutching the car door. “Eve made me a take-home platter. A big one. See?” She showed him the Styrofoam container. In it, there were two medium rare steaks, one for her and one for her mother. “So I’m not missing out. Now I really must be going . . . Would you kindly take your hand off of the door?”

“Before you go,” he persisted, keeping his hand where it was, “let me give you my number.” From his breast pocket, he produced a silver fountain pen. “I’ll give you both my cell and the number to my office. Although I would prefer you didn’t contact me at work. My receptionist has enough to do, without having to keep tabs on my personal life.”

“Are you hard of hearing?” she snapped. “Haven’t I made myself abundantly clear that, between us, there isn’t going to be any love connection?” Angrily, she crumpled the slip of paper, and then tossed it in his face. “Does no where you come from mean yes? Or is it that you think I might be playing hard to get? Which is it, asshole?” Ashley went to put the car in reverse, yet still could not back out, because he wouldn’t relinquish his grip.

“Asshole?” he remarked, sighing. “Do you really think that kind of language is necessary? We’re both sensible adults. Why lower yourself to that sort of adolescent mentality?”

“Zip it already!” she argued, punching the dashboard. “I’ve listened to you for long enough. Now please step away from my car. Or else I’ll run your damn foot over.”

“Not until you agree to go out on a date with me. Just one date.”

Why wouldn’t this jerk take her seriously?
That’s it. She had had enough! Suddenly she yanked the glove box open, and then grabbed her revolver.

“I said get away from my car!” Ashley shoved the barrel underneath his chin. “Can’t you take a hint, mister? I don’t want to talk to you. I don’t want your phone number. I don’t want anything to do with you.”

Staring at the gun in shock, the plastic surgeon swallowed the lump in his throat, “What the . . . have you lost your mind? Don’t point that thing at me. If you want me to leave you alone, I’ll leave you alone.” Apprehensively, he stepped away from the Toyota.

“I wouldn’t have had to resort to this,” she hollered, finally able to back out. “If you would have just accepted the fact that I’m not interested. Isn’t that what my brother-in-law told you by the pool?”

As she drove away, Ashley made the tires squeal.

“Don’t you worry now, honey,” she said to Kimberly, when she had reached the end of the block. “Everything’s fine. Your mommy just got into a disagreement with that mean man. That’s all.”

“What did you say to her?” Eve asked Dr. Montgomery when he came back inside the house.

In the adjoining ballroom, one of the Ferguson’s guests, a man with fancy rings on his fingers, was playing their baby grand piano. An enthusiastic audience looked on with full concentration; most of the people had cocktails or hors d’oeuvre in their hands. After each song concluded, the crowd respectfully applauded.

“Yeah. What happened out there?” Brad wanted to know. “Why did my sister-in-law peel out like that?” They were staring at the driveway through the front door.

“She‘s crazy!” Gary explained, still stunned. He wiped his feet on the indoor mat. “All I did was try to get her to go out with me. It was quite innocent; I can assure you. The next thing I know your sister-in-law has a gun pressed against my Adam’s apple.”

“Get out of here!” Eve said, shaking her head in disbelief. “Are you serious?”

“Yes! She threatened to shoot me dead, right there in your driveway.”

Horror-struck, Brad paused for emphasis. “Where did she get the gun?”

“From her glove compartment.”

Eve glanced at her husband and said, “That’s interesting. I wonder how long she’s had it.”

Brad shrugged. “I haven’t the foggiest idea. Ashley never mentioned to me that she had gun. Though, I don’t blame her for having one. If you were ever assaulted Eve, I’d want you to carry a weapon as well.”

“What are you doing?” Eve asked Gary. He had his mobile phone pressed to his ear.

“I’m calling the cops. Your sister-in-law just threatened my life. I‘m pressing charges.”

“No Gary!” Brad snatched the phone from his friend’s hand. “Put that down! We don’t need to involve the authorities. This wouldn’t have happened, Gary, if you didn’t hit on her. You told me you were going to lay off.”

“Okay, Bradley, so I wasn’t exactly forthcoming. That still didn’t give her the right to stick a gun in my face. They ought to throw your sister-in-law in a nut ward.”

When he entered the scrumptious-smelling bakery and caught his first glimpse of her, it brought back that unforgettable night. The field. The horror. The heartache.

And initially Troy Young did not think Ashley Ferguson was thrilled to see him. She had a hardened expression on her face, which, in his mind, seemed to indicate,
What is he doing here? And how did he find out this was where I work?

“Hello Ashley,” Troy greeted her courteously, stopping near the cash register: Ashley was preoccupied cleaning the glass counter with Windex and a paper towel. “You’re looking good these days.”

“Thank you.” Strangely, she did not bother to gaze in his direction.

“So. It’s been a while since we last spoke. How‘ve you been?”

“Me? I’ve been okay. No permanent scars.”

“I don‘t have any permanent scars either,” he said, attempting to make her laugh. “My head must be made of cement.” Troy watched her tear another paper towel from the roll. “How long have you been working here?”

“I started in February.”

He sighed. Troy was tempted to ask why she hadn’t kept in touch; Ashley had promised she would. Then he resolved not to get too personal.

With his arms folded, he began to pace. There seemed to be a hundred sugary treats to choose from: brownies, pies, cakes, cookies, pastries.

“Are you the only person on duty right now?”

“Correct. On Wednesdays, I always work by myself.”

Grrrh! What was wrong with her?
Why was Ashley treating Troy like an old acquaintance that she wanted nothing to do with? Didn’t she remember that he wasn’t her enemy? That he too could have been murdered behind the shopping mall?

“What time are you open till?” He jiggled the car keys in his pocket.

“Four. Why?”

“No reason unparticular. Just wondering.”

“Have you decided what you wanted?” she asked, still shunning eye contact.

“No. Not yet. You guys have so much stuff; I don’t even know where to begin.”

An American-style bakery, Stella’s had been around since the early 1940’s. It was a favorite hot spot among the locals.

Troy, however, hadn’t been to this bakery in years. So why was he here now? Because Ashley’s mother, whom he barely knew, had begged him to come. The weekend before Claire Whittaker had stopped in Crown Jewel and had told Troy that her daughter was down in the dumps. She went on to explain that Ashley, a few months ago, had entered group therapy. Then had suddenly stopped going because she had decided it wasn‘t for her.