Stalked

By K. M. Winthrop

A Menacing Specter in the Night

Temporally confined to a wheelchair, Charlotte Manchester was looking forward to trading New York’s ice and snow for a relaxing vacation in sunny Florida. Mark Winsted, her brother’s charismatic young assistant, was all she needed to make her holiday complete. But her plans didn’t include the deranged intruder, who is terrorizing her brother’s family with threats and violence—violence that leads to gruesome ritual murder. Despite her disability, Charlotte searches for clues to the stalkers identity. Her efforts become crucial when she realizes the stalker has chosen her to be his next victim.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Xlibris US
• Release date: Sep 26, 2018
• ISBN: 9781984543974

Book preview

Copyright © 2018 by K. M. Winthrop.

Library of Congress Control Number:   2018909070

ISBN:                Hardcover              978-1-9845-4399-8

                          Softcover                978-1-9845-4398-1

                          eBook                     978-1-9845-4397-4

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the copyright owner.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to any actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

Any people depicted in stock imagery provided by Getty Images are models, and such images are being used for illustrative purposes only.

Certain stock imagery © Getty Images.

Rev. date: 08/06/2018

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Contents

Prologue

Chapter I

Chapter II

Chapter III

Chapter IV

Chapter V

Chapter VI

Chapter VII

Chapter VIII

Chapter IX

Chapter X

Chapter XI

Chapter XII

Chapter XIII

Chapter XIV

Chapter XV

Chapter XVI

Chapter XVII

Chapter XVIII

Chapter XIX

Chapter XX

Chapter XXI

Chapter XXII

Epilogue

banyan-tree-1049021_1280.jpg

Banyan Tree

Prologue

The silent figure, cloaked in black, crept up to the window and gazed into the room, hands clenched, face contorted.

She was there, beautiful, voluptuous.

Evil!

Totally unaware she was being watched.

Totally unaware of the destiny that awaited her.

The stalker stared at her, trying to control a consuming rage. Watching as she removed her dress, her slip. Watching as she removed her bra. Breathing heavily, chest heaving when she slid her panties over her hips and let them fall to the floor. Watching her move across the room naked. Lithe, sinuous, her rounded breasts firm and pert, bouncing ever so slightly in rhythm with her step.

She stood in front of the mirror primping, preening, examining herself. Her lovely face, her porcelain complexion, her body bathed in the soft light. Removing the pins she shook her head, letting her dark hair fall to her bare shoulders in velvet curls.

She smiled her approval at the image before her.

She adorned herself in a silken garment that clung to her, emphasizing the curves of her body.

The watcher stared at her, agitation building to a crescendo, breath quickening, pulse pounding at the sight.

* * *

Harlot! Slut!

Minion of the evil one.

Whore!

I see your wickedness.

I see your darkness.

I see the evil in you.

I smell the stench of your sins.

Daughter of Satan!

Your fate awaits you.

You cannot escape my wrath.

Jezebel!

You will meet your doom.

You will descend into the pit of fire.

You will scream in agony.

You will beg for mercy.

I will not hear your pleas.

I am the demon of the darkness.

I am the angel of the abyss.

* * *

After a moment the light was extinguished and watcher stepped away from the window, melting into the darkness.

Chapter I

My eyes wandered over the sea of faces for the hundredth time while I told myself it was just like Ralph to be late. If, indeed, he hadn’t completely forgotten he was supposed to meet me.

The airport was teeming with people arriving to escape the harsh northern weather. The colder the winter, the larger the larger the crowds. People were rushing to start their vacations in the sun. Everyone was jockeying for position, jostling and pushing, determined to be the first in line at the luggage turnstile, the car rental desk, or the taxi line. At the same time everyone was shucking off their heavy winter clothing which was hardly needed in South Florida.

I had long since removed my winter jacket and crammed it into my computer case. It was a chilling fifteen degrees and threatening freezing rain when I left New York. When I got off the plane at Miami International I was welcomed by a sunny, breezy afternoon and temperatures in the mid-seventies.

Happy as I was to be there, I was feeling more and more uncomfortable sitting alone in the crowded waiting area while hordes of people swarmed around me.

Normally I don’t mind crowds, in fact I rather enjoy them. People fascinate me. I enjoy looking at their faces, watching their interactions. However, on this occasion I felt conspicuous sitting alone in the giant terminal. I felt that all eyes were staring at me. At any other time if my dear big brother forgot to meet my plane I would simply rent a car and drive to the house myself. However the circumstances I found myself in at the moment were anything but normal.

Had the situation been normal I wouldn’t have been at the Miami airport searching the sea of faces for my dear brother. I would have been sitting in a classroom at Colby College. Despite the fact that the weather in Miami was warm and sunny instead of heaven knows how many degrees below zero in Maine, I would have preferred to be in school.

However over Thanksgiving vacation, some friends and I drove to Canada to get in some skiing. We were definitely having a red-letter time both on and off the slopes until, half-way down the intermediate trail, I collided with another skier who definitely belonged on the bunny hill. By the time we finally reached the bottom of the slope we had four broken skis, one broken leg, (his), two cracked vertebra and a seriously twisted spine, (mine) plus two concussions, (his and hers). I wasn’t released from the hospital until ten days before Christmas. I returned to our New York Apartment in a wheelchair with strict orders to stay off my feet for at least eight weeks and give my damaged nerves and muscles an opportunity to heal.

I also received a lecture on how lucky I was that my injuries weren’t a lot worse.

Funny, I didn’t feel lucky. Eight weeks may not sound like a long time to some people, but to an active young woman of twenty it was an eternity. By the middle of January, I was bored out of my mind and feeling incredibly sorry for myself.

Still, I greeted my brother Ralph’s invitation to fly down for a visit with mixed emotions. We had never been close, mostly due to age and distance. Ralph was fifteen when I came along, much to the surprise and embarrassment of our middle-aged parents. He went away to college before I started kindergarten. I was only six when he and Jeannine were married. Ralph graduated from college the following year and they moved to Miami where Ralph took a job with an architectural firm.

But the major reason I was reluctant to visit was my sister-in-law Jeannine. I really didn’t know her that well and I didn’t have a logical reason for the way I felt. It was more a reaction to the relationship, or I should say the lack of a relationship, she had with my mother. Mom and Jeannine weren’t close which I found surprising since Mom usually got along with everybody. Despite her weekly telephone chats with Ralph and my nephew Bradley, she rarely interacted with Jeannine. Their exchanges were cordial but brief. There were no long letters or gossipy phone calls. Just dutiful and, from what I could tell, gratefully short visits every summer. I had no idea why Mom felt the way she did but I did know she was not Jeannine’s biggest fan. I was also fairly certain the feeling was mutual.

Since I’d been working on summer internships the past three summers I hadn’t accompanied Mom on her summer visits. I only knew Jeannine when I was a young teenager and she never gave me a reason to dislike her. She was always polite and gracious although she also tended to be distant and preoccupied. Other than meals I rarely saw her, preferring to spend most of my time at a nearby beach.

I was also concerned that my condition might cause problems. I was fairly independent as far as bathing and dressing were concerned but I wasn’t sure what obstacles I might find in Ralph’s home. The last thing I wanted was to be a burden.

But I couldn’t help being enticed by Ralph’s description of the warm sunshine, the sea breeze, and the surf rolling up to the seawall at the edge of the lawn. I also envisioned myself floating in the heated swimming pool on the terrace instead of rolling around our apartment, bored out of my mind. Despite my misgivings on the subject it didn’t me take too long to decide a vacation in Florida was exactly what I needed.

Sitting in the crowded terminal, I was beginning to wonder if I made the right choice. I managed to find a quiet corner out of the heavy traffic flow where I could wait. I must have looked as lost and abandoned as I was feeling because several people, mostly older, motherly type women, came up to me to inquire if I needed help. Putting up a good front I smilingly thanked them for their concern assuring them that my family was meeting me and should arrive soon.

I only wish I felt as confident as I pretended to be.

My back was aching badly from the long hours of sitting. First there was three long hours at the JFK gate waiting for the weather to clear. This was followed by another three hours on the plane and now I was sitting in my unyielding chair in the MIA terminal. All these seats were a little bit short on cushioning causing my personal seat to be a bit on the tender side. I wanted nothing more than to lie down and take the weight off my spine. Briefly, I entertained the idea of taking a taxi to Ralph’s house. Then I visualized the difficulty involved in transporting two suitcases, my laptop case, and my chair thirty miles by taxi. It made sense to discard that solution in favor of a telephone call.

I should have thought of that in the first place.

Which is when it occurred to me that Ralph might be trying to call me. Calling me without success, I realized, since I shut my phone down while I was on the plane. I reached into my purse for it and pressed the button to fire it up.

But before I could call Ralph’s number, a dark-haired man of about twenty-five approached me.

Miss Manchester? I’m Mark Winsted, your brother’s assistant.

I looked up into a pair of soft, dark eyes. He peered down at me from beneath arched brows and long lashes that had to be the envy of every woman who laid eyes on him. His face was pleasant, high cheekbones and a firm, deliberate set to his jaw. But his mouth was gentle and he smiled easily as he spoke, flashing a row of white teeth. He was about six feet tall, although he seemed much taller as he towered over me. His white sport shirt accentuated broad shoulders that tapered down to narrow hips.

I think ‘hunk’ would be the appropriate word to describe him. I decided it was just possible my vacation might be a lot more interesting than I anticipated.

Ralph asked me to apologize for not coming himself but he got tied up in a stuffy business meeting. Sorry I kept you waiting so long but I got a late start and the airport approach road doubles as the world’s longest parking lot. What’s more, I’ve been looking for somebody who resembles Ralph. You look absolutely nothing like Ralph, he added as his eyes passed over me.

It was a quick appraisal, polite but thorough. I couldn’t take offense, especially since I’d been doing a bit of an evaluation myself. Just as thorough but, I hoped, a tad less obvious.

He was right. I didn’t look like Ralph, and not because he’s male and I’m female. My brother takes after the Cornish Manchester side of the family, stocky physique with sandy brown hair, dark eyes, and sturdy, ruddy features. I resemble the French Beauleauxs, petite build, wavy auburn hair, deep green eyes, and fair complexioned with a light sprinkling of cinnamon freckles.

My brother’s assistant interrupted my thoughts. Let me take your baggage checks. I’ll have your luggage brought to the car. Uh, do you need—?

I can manage, I said, quickly cutting off his somewhat embarrassed question while I released the brakes on my chair. When we reached the car I pulled the arm free and eased into the seat.

Skiing? Mark inquired with a grin as he slipped into the seat beside me.

I nodded and briefly described my accident.

He remarked, You ought to try water skiing next time. You’ll find the water is a lot softer when you come in for a landing.

I returned his smile. I was well aware my chair would prevent things from progressing. But after weeks of convalescence a little harmless flirting couldn’t hurt.

I’ll take that under advisement. Of course when you land in the water there’s always the possibility of being greeted by a passing shark. You know—lunch?

He laughed. It was a pleasant, genuine laugh.

Touché.

You said you were my brother’s assistant? His tastes seem to have undergone a radical change since the last time I saw him.

Not necessarily his tastes.

It was an off handed remark. His tone was light-hearted, non-committal. But there was something in his voice that seemed to suggest there might be a problem between my brother and his wife.

Mark said nothing further. The look on his face indicated that he may be concerned he said too much already. I was understandably curious but I quickly decided against asking him to elaborate. If something was wrong, I’d find out about it soon enough.

The yawn I stifled wasn’t completely artificial. I turned and looked out the window.

We had turned off the main road from the airport, taking what Mark described as the ‘scenic route’ since the highway was a zoo this time of day. Instead we drove along the city streets through the suburbs just south of Miami.

The scenic route was an accurate description. On either side of the street were rows of neat houses sitting on plots of thick grass that remained lush and green even in mid-January. The Azalea bushes in front of the houses were in bloom with thick purple, pink, and white blossoms. On either side of the street palm trees swayed in the brisk breeze. The landscape was also spotted with trees laden with purple or white, orchid-like blossoms. Here and there a citrus tree stood on a front lawn bending under the weight of its golden fruit. Beyond the houses on the left hand side of the road, I could see an expanse of clean white sand and the rolling surf of Biscayne Bay.

As the miles rolled by, the houses grew larger. They were set farther back from the street and they stood on more expansive pieces of property. By the time we crossed the bridge to Bayside Village the houses had grown to estate size. The walls surrounding them were higher and the grounds encircling the houses were professionally landscaped. The paved road narrowed into a picturesque brick lane that was lined with royal palms. If Ralph was living in this neighborhood, I thought, my brother had really come up in the world.

You haven’t been here before, have you? Mark asked, as though reading my thoughts.

No. The last time I visited was four years ago and they were still living in Beach Park.

This area was originally settled back in the twenties when people had more money than they had sense. When the market crashed they lost their money and, as a result, they lost their homes as well. During the depression, most of these houses were closed up, abandoned or sold for taxes and they fell into disrepair. Recently a lot of young professionals started moving into the area. They bought up the properties for a song and are restoring them the way your brother and his wife are redoing The Phoenix.

The Phoenix?

Jeannine’s idea. The house is named after the bird, not the city. You know, the one that dives into the flames and then is reborn, rising up from the ashes? She says the name is symbolic of the restoration that she’s doing to the house.

He caught me covering another yawn and grinned. I guess I do go on a bit, don’t I?

I’m sorry, that wasn’t a comment on the conversation. It’s just been a long trip. Is it much further?

Just around the next bend.

But even the luxurious homes we had passed before failed to prepare me for Ralph’s estate. The Phoenix stood behind an eight foot stone wall on what must have been three acres of land. The high wrought iron gate opened automatically when Mark pressed what looked like a garage door opener and closed after us as we drove toward the house. The grounds were beautifully landscaped, flowering bushes and clusters of small palm trees strategically placed on a manicured lawn. Beyond the house the waters of Biscayne Bay sparkled in the sunlight. The house was a large Florentine building built of stucco bricks and decorative terra cotta with white marble trim. It was almost completely hidden from the street by a huge banyan tree that stood on a grassy island which was encircled by the driveway.

I was definitely impressed.

If you think it’s beautiful outside, wait until you see what Jeannine has done to the inside. Mark said as he pulled to a stop in front of the front door.

Even before he shut off the engine, the door opened and a gray haired man with a hawk-like nose emerged. He was about five seven, formally dressed in a butler’s uniform—black trousers, long sleeved white shirt and black vest with a gray bow tie. His angular frame was slender and he looked like a good wind would blow him away.

Welcome to The Phoenix, Miss Charlotte, he said stiffly as he opened my door. It’s so good to see you again. No, no, don’t do that, he added quickly as I reached for my computer case. I’ll get that for you.

He removed my chair from the back seat and set it up by the car door so I could slide onto it.

Mrs. Manchester is waiting for you in the solarium.

Take care of the car and the luggage, Andre, Mark directed as he got out of the car. I’ll see to Miss Charlotte.

Once inside Mark gave me a quick tour. He was right. The grounds were only an appetizer compared to the house itself. The house was extraordinary.

The main building was three stories high with a single story wing stretching out on either side. The front door, on the west side of the house, opened onto an entry foyer. There was a formal parlor on one side and an appropriately stuffy library on the other. Beyond them a wide hallway ran the full length of the building.

On the east, bay side of the hall, there was a dining room and a small breakfast room with French doors opening onto the terrace. Also on the bay side was a well equipped kitchen, a utility room, and a mud room that also opened onto the terrace. A broad, ornate staircase as well as a small elevator led to the second floor. The larger wing to south end of the house held the family bedrooms, two rooms on the eastern, bay side and two on the west. The master suite was at the end of the hall. The smaller north wing was a bright, comfortable solarium with windows on three sides. On the roof of the solarium a balcony with an ornate stone railing opened off a ballroom that occupied most of the second floor of the main house. In addition there were two small offices and a bedroom for Ralph’s assistant. Another smaller staircase led to the servant’s quarters on the third floor.

To the north of the house was a detached three car garage with a small chauffer’s apartment on the second floor.

It occurred to me I would need a GPS to find my way around.

I knew Jeannine studied interior design in college and, as I looked around, her artistic talent was quite evident. The furnishings, carpeting, draperies, paintings, even the bric-a-brac were precisely coordinated. The colors either blended or contrasted perfectly, depending on what was needed. It looked like a layout from House Beautiful, or perhaps I should say Mansion Beautiful.

But there was something missing. I couldn’t put my finger on it, I certainly couldn’t define it, but something was definitely missing.

Charlotte, my dear, how nice it is to see you. It’s been much too long. Jeannine greeted when we entered the solarium. We were so sorry to hear about your accident but the bright side is it actually got you down here for a visit. Now you just sit back and relax. I know the airlines don’t serve meals anymore so you must be famished after that long trip. I told cook prepare a light lunch for us. Bettina will serve it in here, if you don’t mind. You remember Bettina, don’t you? I think she was with us the last time you visited.

She stopped and thought for a moment then nodded, Yes, I’m sure she was. before she continued. After that long trip it will be so much more comfortable for you in here than the breakfast room. Of course in the summer we usually have our afternoon tea out on the terrace, but it’s a bit chilly for us this time of year. Let me ring—

She sighed and shook her head slowly.

"Oh how silly of me. I forgot. I sent Bettina into town with that cousin of hers to get something decent for her to wear. Her name is Emma. She’s really a sweet girl, competent and hardworking, but you’d think she would have some decent serving uniforms, wouldn’t you? She’s been with us for three months now and from what I’ve seen she only has the two uniforms to her name. And they’re not really suitable.

Emma will look after you while you’re here, Charlotte. She’s fresh from Ireland. It’s really a matter of convenience, you know. The quality of help you get around here is absolutely unbelievable. Lazy, rude, ill-trained, and heavens, you wouldn’t dare trust them near the silver. This house is really too big for Bettina to take care of by herself although she does do an excellent job. Now Emma will be able to help her. I was sure they’d be back in time for lunch but—

She sighed wearily.

"Now I have to ask Andre serve and he absolutely hates it.

Mark, you will join us, won’t you?

He nodded and offered to help me onto the couch. I was grateful for the gesture. The couch was far more comfortable than my rigid chair and the extra cushioning was very much appreciated.

Jeannine glanced about her and I fully expected her to pull a bell cord to summon the butler as they do in all those old English movies. I must admit I was slightly disappointed when, instead she picked up the telephone and instructed Andre to ‘serve tea in the solarium."

Tea, as Jeannine called it, was a unique experience. Individual pots of piping hot tea, tossed salad, and finger sandwiches as well as an assortment of fresh fruit.

She was right. I was starving. The lunch was excellent and I did justice to it.

Unfortunately the atmosphere was not as palatable as the lunch. Andre’s service was efficient, albeit somber. Mark appeared to be withdrawn and he was monosyllabic. Jeannine acted the gracious hostess, chattering gaily the whole time, although I would be hard pressed to remember a word of what she said. I’m embarrassed to admit I had to fight to keep from dozing off through the entire experience.

Oh, Charlotte, Dear, how thoughtless of me. Why you must be exhausted! she gushed finally, snapping me alert. You really must lie down and rest for a while. Oh, but those girls aren’t back yet. Heaven only knows what they’re up to. I don’t know who I’m going to get to—

I can do for myself, Jeannine, I put in quickly before she could embark on another of her rambling mental field trips. Mom and I don’t have help, you know. You’d be surprised how self-sufficient I can be."

Yes, of course.

She stared at me for a moment as though she wasn’t quite convinced that I could possibly do anything for myself. Then she glanced over her shoulder, apparently mulling the problem over in her mind. Finally, her eyes brightened when she thought of a solution.

I’ll call Andre and have him take you to your room—

I’ll be glad to show her, Jeannine, Mark volunteered as he got to his feet. I think Andre left for Bradley’s school. I imagine he’ll stop by the mall to bring the girls home as well. I told him to put Charlotte’s things in the rose room. It’s spacious and it will be easy for her to get around. Is that all right?

She thought for a moment before she nodded slowly.

Yes. That will be perfect. Of course I haven’t had a chance to redecorate that room yet but I’m sure she’ll be quite comfortable there. It will be ideal for you, Charlotte. It overlooks the bay and the French doors lead directly onto the terrace.

I’ll deliver her safely to the door. I was about to go up to the office anyway. I have a few things to finish up before Ralph gets home.

Without waiting for any further discussion, he helped me back into my chair and wheeled me from the room.

Poor, Jeannine, he chuckled when we were out of earshot. She spends hours trying to figure out how to get people to do things when she could probably do them herself in ten minutes. If she’d sent Andre to do the marketing like she usually does on Wednesday we’d probably still be sitting in the car."

That’s not nice, I scolded, trying vainly to stifle a giggle.

Still, I could hardly argue the point with him. I was thinking the same thing myself.

I was beginning to feel awfully sorry for you back there. You looked like you were forcing yourself to stay awake.

I was, and just between you and me, I was losing the battle. I only hope Jeannine didn’t notice.

His voice was short. She didn’t.

He stopped in front of the first door on the long hallway and pushed it open.

This is the rose room, he announced, as he wheeled me inside. "Your bags are in here but they’re not unpacked yet. Emma will take care of that as soon as she gets back. The door beside the bed leads to the bathroom you’ll be sharing with Bradley. It adjoins his bedroom too and he’s not used to sharing. If you want privacy you might want to lock the connecting door to his room while you’re using it.

If you need anything the phone beside the bed has an intercom. Just lift the receiver and Andre will answer. Dinner’s at six so I’ll leave word with Emma to wake you at five. Jeannine insists that we all dress for dinner. I’ll see you then.

And with that he left the room, quietly closing the door behind him.

Chapter II

It was quarter to six when I wheeled myself into the solarium where the family gathered before dinner. I felt fresh and rested. It’s amazing what a hot bath, a change of clothes, and a few hours sleep can do for a woman. Jeannine and Mark were already there, relaxing over before dinner apéritifs. But my dear brother was still among the missing.

My disappointment must have shown on my face because Jeannine said, I’m afraid Ralph won’t be home tonight, Dear. His meeting lasted much longer than he anticipated. He has this other business thing scheduled for the crack of dawn tomorrow morning so he’s going to stay in town tonight. You were asleep when he called and I didn’t have the heart to wake you. He asked me to apologize for him.

I forced a smile, trying to hide my disappointment.

I know how important these business things can be,

Jeannine was about to say something and from the expression on her face I seriously doubted it was going to be praise for my brother’s devotion to duty. But she quickly censored herself when my nephew Bradley walked into the room.

The last time I saw Bradley he was only seven, a bright boy but quiet and reserved with a tendency to pout. I should have made more of an effort to get to know him but I knew Mom wanted to spend as much time with him as possible. And then, of course, there was the beach. Somehow that was a greater draw for a sixteen year old than a nephew.

Now Bradley was the image of Ralph when he was eleven. Slender, an inch or two taller than I am, with a promise of height in his future. His longish hair was dark and wavy like his mother’s but he had Ralph’s hazel eyes and firm jaw line. When he used it, his smile was undeniably my father’s. I could only hope he inherited the impish personality that went along with it. In his white uniform shirt, dark gray slacks, and conservative school tie he looked more like a Wall Street executive than an eleven year old boy.

Good evening, Aunt Charlotte.

I sighed. He sounded like a Wall Street executive as well. His greeting was as formal and stiff as he was when he sat down. Head up, torso arched and erect, shoulders back, hands properly folded in his lap.

I’m so happy to see you. I hope you’ll enjoy your visit with us. We’ve been looking forward to it.

Jeannine beamed as Bradley recited the carefully rehearsed speech and I felt a pang of sadness pass through me. Jeannine was obviously raising him the same way she decorated the house—perfect style and in perfect taste. I now realized what was missing in the house and, worse yet, what appeared to be missing in Bradley. Everything was on the surface, a façade, just as superficial as Jeannine herself. There was no warmth and no depth.

I’m glad I could come, I smiled, suddenly feeling very uncomfortable.

I’m usually pretty good with kids. After spending the last three summers interning at a camp for emotionally at risk children, interacting with kids came easy to me. I never felt uncomfortable or at a loss for something to say, maybe because I was as much of a kid as they were. But I didn’t have the slightest idea how to approach my only nephew. I resisted the impulse to fall back on the adult’s old standby