No Sanctuary. Helen R. Myers

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      2

      Tyler, Texas

      Thursday, May 31, 2001

      Things had changed. Nestled in the luxurious dove-gray leather of Madeleine Ridgeway’s white Lincoln Town Car sent to bring her home, Bay struggled to recognize landmarks as she was chauffeured around Tyler’s Loop. If it hadn’t been for the road signs, she would have sworn she wasn’t even on 323. Gone were the woods interspersed with stretches of pasture that had first given the East Texas community its charming rural appeal years ago. In their place was row after row of shopping strips, large chain stores and enough fast-food joints to keep the stomach bulging and the wallet starved. As for traffic, Bay had seen less congestion this morning as they’d passed under I-35 by Waco—the current main expressway connecting Mexico to the heartland of the U.S.A. It explained the increase of apartments, though. With everyone shopping so much, who had the money for a mortgage?

      As her hymn-humming driver Elvin Capps wove his way between slower vehicles—most of them SUVs or pickups and all freshly washed—she dealt with a dizzying mixture of elation and alienation. “Is there a plan for street expansion or another loop?” she asked once the car stopped for yet another red light.

      Darkly lashed hazel eyes met hers in the rearview mirror and crinkled at their corners. “My, yes. There’s always a plan. There’s a plan to adjust the latest plan, and a plan to oust the people wanting to stick with the original plan. In the meantime the traffic gets worse, accidents more frequent, insurance rates skyrocket and—” He punctuated his opinion with a shrug and sheepish smile. “I’m no expert, ask Mrs. Ridgeway. Next to her church commitments, improving the roads is her biggest interest.”

      Then no doubt something would get done. Bay believed if Madeleine Ridgeway could get her out from under a murder conviction, unraveling the political and economic bird’s nest delaying a new multimillion dollar road system should be no problem.

      The congestion didn’t ease up once Elvin turned south on Broadway. Before they cleared the second traffic light, she witnessed several near collisions…and the city stretched onward.

      “Good grief!” Torn between a laugh and shout of warning as another impatient driver cut in front of them, she gripped the back of the front seat.

      “Don’t fret none,” Elvin drawled, stopping before the intersection that featured one of the Ridgeways’ gourmet grocery stores. “You’re in good hands. Jesus watches over this car.”

      As he went back to humming the latest gospel tune playing on the radio, Bay reconsidered his earlier advice that she fasten her seat belt. Back in Waco, she’d rejected the idea as too close a reminder of driving shackled in the back of a patrol car. To avoid it now she averted her eyes from the traffic to the growing city’s infrastructure.

      Discount department store, super hardware store, super furniture store…American corporations were making a killing on cheap imports. Bay wondered…did she have a future in this kind of economical environment? Why would anyone pay premium prices for her one-of-a-kind creations when they could get slapped-together facsimiles for a fraction of the cost? Of course, the dream of having her own business again, let alone focusing on her sculpture was just that, a dream that would have to wait until she could manage to simply support herself. What she needed to think about was would anyone want to hire her? She’d been forewarned by the warden at Gatesville that the media knew of her release and was treating it as top-story material.

      By the time Elvin steered the sedan past the electronic gates of the Ridgeway estate, some of Bay’s euphoria over being released faded under the weight of her cloudy future. When they stopped beneath the two-car-wide portico of the sprawling three-story structure, Bay, feeling less worthy than ever, got out before the cherub-faced driver could make it to her door. Elvin Capps seemed a genuine dear, comfortable in that middle-aged, barrel-chested way that probably made him a top candidate by organizations seeking volunteer Santas at Christmas. What won her approval was his unmistakable devotion to Mrs. Ridgeway.

      But as Bay eyed his crisp white shirt, khaki slacks and navy blazer, she experienced renewed doubt. For all of their simplicity, Elvin’s clothes were designer quality compared to her cheap T-shirt and jeans. She might as well be back in her orange jumpsuit. How did she face Mrs. Ridgeway looking like someone even her chauffeur would find tacky?

      “I don’t know about this,” she began. “Maybe I’ll come back after I get properly settled somewhere.”

      “You get in there and let her enjoy the reunion.” Brusque as he pressed the doorbell, Elvin was beaming as he stepped back to make room for her. “I’ll be here when you’re ready.”

      The door opened. A young Latino girl in a white uniform beckoned her inside, keeping Bay from questioning the latter half of his comment.

      The maid led her across the foyer to a door on the left. Softly knocking, she opened it and gestured for Bay to enter.

      On the far side of the high-ceilinged room sitting behind a huge rectangle of thick, smoky glass held up by a pair of marble elephants waited Madeleine Ridgeway. She sat framed in the mauve-ivory-and-silver decor, a sight to behold dressed in a silk tunic pantsuit that matched her platinum hair. Bay had never forgotten the elegance of the office; the woman had her gaping. Once Madeleine’s trademark had been her long, steel-gray mane coifed in a sophisticated bun at the nape, à la dancing legend Martha Graham. Today she wore it as short as a boy’s, as short as her own, and almost the same color. Bay had the oddest sensation that she was seeing herself in thirty years.

      “My dear.”

      Her mature alter ego rose from a gray leather chair similar to the car’s interior and swept toward her with arms wide. The women were twins in build now, too, except that Madeleine stood inches taller even without high heels. Despite her initial shock, Bay saw that time had been kind to her benefactress. Her skin was as luminescent as the six rows of pearls gracing her throat, complimenting well-defined features that held just enough secret humor in those clear blue eyes, only a shade darker than her own, to keep from looking severe. Madeleine’s smile broadened, diminishing the fine lines around lips painted a passionate burgundy. The life-size portrait on the wall behind her couldn’t compete with her flesh-and-blood radiance.

      “You made it. This morning I woke in a sweat dreaming they’d kept you.”

      As Madeleine drew her closer for an exuberant hug, Bay fought the impulse to reject. Displays of affection had been few and far between even before her incarceration, and that history compounded her awkwardness. But to her surprise, the harder Madeleine laughed and hugged, the deeper she felt a seeping warmth. It was a relief to finally break away before she turned into a blubbering fool.

      “Mrs. Ridgeway. How do I begin to thank you?”

      “Oh, don’t start.”

      “I have to. I owe you everything.”

      “I only did what I had to do for my own peace of mind.” Hands with rings on every manicured finger including the thumbs gripped Bay’s upper arms, while intelligent eyes held her gaze with as much concern as warmth. “How are you, my friend? You’ve cost me many a night of sleep from worry.”

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