Hunter's Quest

Chapter Eighteen

The Brightley Retreat Center, home to the Better Living Group, as well as several other civic organizations, was a large, rambling, two-story brick building surrounded by a wide lawn on three sides, enclosed in a six-foot-high brick wall. Kristie guided the rented Buick through the open wrought iron gates and tried to keep her breathing even. The air conditioning ran full blast, but sweat gathered at her temples and she worried it would ruin the makeup. The false eyelashes felt weird every time she blinked, and she wondered if they'd stay on.

She'd been struggling with her nerves ever since she'd seen Jason pull her car off to the side of the road a half mile back. She could communicate with him at any time through her cell phone and the wire he'd helped her tape to her chest, under the blouse, but it would still take him a few minutes to get to her if she needed him, a critical few minutes when all sorts of things could happen.

She almost parked in the gravel lot at the side of the building then decided Christine Helzburg wouldn't. Instead she pulled the car to the front door, stopped there, and got out. Fortunately no one was watching, since she almost stumbled on the way in. She'd never worn heels more than two inches high before, and they changed the way she walked into a sashay that actually fit the role as long as she didn't totter too much.

She strode into The Retreat Center and into the office on the left. There was something about wearing designer clothes, even if they were a sleeveless sweater in brilliant pink with patterned pink and white cropped pants, that produced a strange kind of confidence. Her boring, bland clothes had never inspired the knowledge that people would notice you and speculate about who you were and why you were there. It was disturbing and oddly exhilarating at the same time.

"I'm Christine Helzburg," she announced to the woman at the desk. "I called yesterday to say I was coming."

Kristie badly wanted to look around and check for people watching her too closely or approaching her, but it wouldn't be in character.

"Oh, yes," the woman said. "I've got you right here. If you'll just fill out this information sheet for us, I'll get one of our volunteers to show you to your room."

"Could she give me a quick tour of the place? Not that I won't end up getting lost anyway. My husband keeps telling me I'm the only person he knows who can get lost trying to find the bathroom in my own house." She let her expression darken for a moment, then sighed.

"Yes, of course," the woman answered. "I'm sure they wouldn't mind." The woman handed her a clipboard with a form to fill out on it. Kristie looked at the first line, wrote her fake name on it, then wondered what to put where it asked for address. She didn't dare hesitate too long, so she just started making it up as she went on, hoping the area code she listed looked right and no one would have occasion to try to use the phone number, at least not while she was there.

"How do you handle donations?" she asked.

"Any way you want," the woman said. "We can take cash, checks, debit, or credit cards."

"Can I give that to you tomorrow? I'll have more coming into my account then."

"Of course."

A tall, gangly young man, no more than twenty, arrived but stopped in the doorway. Kristie handed the clipboard back to the woman at the desk, who reached into a drawer, extracted a key, looked up and said, "Hi Tom. This is Mrs. Helzburg. She's in 35. Could you take her there and then maybe give her a quick tour of the building and grounds?"

Tom nodded shyly and asked if she had any luggage. He followed Kristie out to the car, offered to park it for her, and fished her suitcases out of the trunk. He cheerfully led the way down a short hall, to the left, down a longer hall and then around a corner to the right.