Sanctuary. Faye Kellerman

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      As always, with love and gratitude to my family.

      And a special thanks to Eli Benaron and Yehoshua Grossgold for giving me a wealth of information and for being such terrific tour guides.

      Contents

       Cover

       Title Page

       Dedication

      Part 1: America

      Chapter 1

      Chapter 2

      Chapter 3

      Chapter 4

      Chapter 5

      Chapter 6

      Chapter 7

      Chapter 8

      Chapter 9

      Chapter 10

      Chapter 11

      Chapter 12

      Chapter 13

      Chapter 14

      Chapter 15

      Chapter 16

      Chapter 17

      Chapter 18

      Chapter 19

      Chapter 20

      Chapter 21

      Chapter 22

      Chapter 23

      Chapter 24

      Part 2: Israel

      Chapter 25

      Chapter 26

      Chapter 27

      Chapter 28

      Chapter 29

      Chapter 30

      Chapter 31

      Chapter 32

      Chapter 33

      Chapter 34

      Chapter 35

      Chapter 36

      Chapter 37

      Chapter 38

      Part 3: America

      Chapter 39

      About the Author

      Also by Faye Kellerman

       Predator

      Copyright

      About the Publisher

      1

      The call was a surprise; the reason behind it even more so. Though Rina had known Honey Klein née Hersh for years—the two girls had been classmates—she had never considered her a close friend. Their small Orthodox high school had had a student body of eighty-seven at the time of Rina’s graduation: twenty-two seniors—twelve boys, ten girls. Rina had been friendly with all the girls. But as the years passed, the two women had crossed paths only sporadically; the chance meetings had held nothing beyond pleasantries. Honey had married young to an ultra-religious Chasidic diamond dealer. She had four kids. She seemed happy.

      So when Honey asked if she and the kids might spend a week with Rina and her family in Los Angeles, Rina thought it strange. Her first thoughts were: Why me and why here?

      Peter’s ranch was located in the rural portion of the San Fernando Valley. The environs had wide streets and big commercial plots roomy enough for storage centers, wholesalers, and warehouses. Sure, the newer residential neighborhoods sprouted tract homes and apartment buildings, but there were still many ranches large enough to stable horses and livestock—parcels similar to Peter’s homestead, her homestead now. The area was LA’s last refuge of undeveloped scrubland, most of it hugging the timbered foothills of Angeles Crest National Park.

      Rina knew Honey had closer friends residing in the heart of the Jewish communities—in the Fairfax area, Hancock Park, or the newer westside area of Beverlywood. Honey had girlfriends who owned homes within walking distance of the Orthodox synagogues, of the kosher restaurants and bakeries. No one deeply religious stayed at the Deckers’ ranch because it was so isolated. But when Rina had mentioned the geography over the phone, Honey had brushed it off.

      “So it’s a little off the beaten track,” Honey stated. “I figured it’s about time I let the kids see the other side.”

      “The other side?” Rina asked.

      “You know … how the other half lives.”

      “This isn’t exactly a den of iniquity, Honey. I still cover my hair.”

      “No, no!” Honey protested. “I didn’t mean that. I’m not criticizing you. Who am I to judge? By the other side, I meant the fun stuff—Universal Studios, Disneyland, Knott’s Berry Farm, Grauman’s Chinese Theater with the movie stars’ footprints. Is that old relic still around?”

      “It’s called Mann’s Chinese Theater now,” Rina said. “You aren’t planning to take the kids to the movies?”

      “No,” Honey said. “Just the outside of the building. And the sidewalks with the stars in them. They’re still around, right?”

      “Yes.”

      “No, we’re definitely not going to the movies,” Honey said, quickly. “It would be too much for them. We don’t have televisions here. We don’t even have phones in the village. Well, that’s not true. There are phones in the produce store, the butcher shop, and the bakery. For emergencies. But we don’t have phones in the houses.”

      Rina knew lots of religious people who didn’t own television sets or go to the movies. She knew plenty of Orthodox adults who shied away from popular fiction and magazines like Time and Newsweek. The stories were too lurid, the pictures were prurient. But no phones in the houses was a first.

      “Since СКАЧАТЬ