Her Dying Breath Read Online Free Page A

friendship, in winning Amelia’s confidence.
    She drove straight to Amelia’s complex, expecting guards and a hospital atmosphere, but the facility looked more like a condo development than a mental care hospital. Flowers garnished the flower beds flanking the front door, a pair of crystal wind chimes dangled from the awning, and the door was painted Williamsburg blue, lending a homey appearance.
    She’d managed to pilfer the address from a sheet of paper she found in Jake’s desk when she tried to corner him for more information, so she checked the numbers on the units: 23B.
    She parked in front, then checked the surrounding area, but again didn’t see a guard or Sadie’s car. Hoping her impromptu visit would pay off, she hopped from her BMW, tucked her notepad and mini-recorder in her shoulder bag, then sashayed up the sidewalk to the front portico. She tapped the knocker twice, then waited, but seconds passed with no answer, so she punched the doorbell.
    Again, no one answered. Curious, she peeked through the small windows on each side of the door. From that vantage, she saw a comfy-looking living room with a myriad of artwork on the walls, then an adjacent studio, with paint tubes filling the shelves and blank canvases lined up along the wall.
    A series of morose paintings of Slaughter Creek were stacked to one side. One depicted the graveyard by the old river mill, where Blackwood’s body had been buried before he’d risen from the dead. Another showed twin girls, each locked in a dark prisonwith blood dripping down the walls. Then another must have reflected the basement torture room where Blackwood and his staff had conducted their hideous experiments in the sanitarium. Wires and electroshock machines dotted the black background.
    A dark, hollow tunnel that seemed to go nowhere had been painted on another canvas. In the center of the tunnel, a lone hand suggested a lost child desperately reaching for help, her tiny fingers curled over the end in an attempt to claw her way out.
    A shudder coursed through Brenda. She’d heard that Sadie used art therapy techniques with her patients and realized Amelia was working out traumatic memories from her past in the paintings. Maybe Amelia would allow her to photograph some of her pieces as part of a personal profile.
    She rang the doorbell again, then peeked through another window, but the rooms were dark, and no one answered the bell.
    Deciding that Amelia wasn’t home, Brenda walked down the sidewalk. A series of gardens lay to the left, an immaculately maintained array of roses, azaleas, and daylilies, with cozy seating nooks carved through the walkways; at the center, water gurgled in a two-tiered fountain with a bird feeder beside it.
    A middle-aged woman sat reading a book on a bench, while other residents strolled through the bird sanctuary. A clearing with several outdoor tables offered areas where patients congregated to chat, read, play cards and chess. Easels had been erected in a corner of the garden, and another set of tables held lumps of clay that four residents were pounding and molding into their own creations.
    Brenda didn’t spot Amelia, so she gravitated to the middle-aged woman reading
Wuthering Heights
. “Excuse me, ma’am. I’m looking for Amelia Nettleton.”
    The woman glanced up as she turned the page, a small frown puckering her brow. “Amelia left a couple of days ago.”
    Brenda rubbed the leather strap of her bag. “Do you know where she went?” Maybe to visit Sadie?
    “No, I sure don’t. But I heard she saw that horrible news story about that man named Arthur Blackwood being arrested. Amelia got upset and ran out.”
    Brenda drew a deep breath. “Are the patients free to come and go at will?”
    The woman looked offended. “Of course we are. This is not a prison.”
    Brenda bit her lip. Surely family members were notified when a resident left, especially one who’d once been considered dangerous and had an arrest record, like