“I promise,” Emma said, giving him a firmer push, “that I’ll come and get you as soon as Amanda is settled. She needs her rest.”
“I always tell her that.”
“I know you do. And I know how much your concern means to her. But . . . she cannot rest with you hovering at her side, asking her every ten seconds how she is.” There was a firmness in her tone that he had never heard from Emma before.
He waited in the chapel.
“Thank you,” Amanda Frey said. “He means well, he really does, but he doesn’t see the connection between all of his requests and this.” Her eyes began to close; the quiet was so peaceful. She was infused with warmth and as she fell asleep, a kind of tingle . . .
THIRTY-EIGHT
As soon as Jon walked in the door of the sheriff’s office the dispatcher called out:
“That you Sheriff?” And without waiting for a response: “San Diego PD on the line.” The phone on his desk began to ring.
He put the package of evidence for the crime lab on his desk and picked up the phone.
“This is Sheriff Scott,” he said.
“Sheriff, I’m sorry it’s taken us so long to get back to you on Louisa Tyler . . .”
“What have you got?”
“Okay, let’s see.” The rustle of papers came clearly over the line. “Next of kin, Thomas and Mary Fletcher, her parents, are currently traveling in the Far East. Her sister, Vanessa Fletcher, has been notified, and is probably headed your way. Mrs. Tyler had led an exemplary life, from all accounts.”
“And?”
“Not so Wendall Tyler.”
Jon grabbed a pad to write while the papers rustled some more.
“Mr. Tyler has a few near misses. An assault charge dismissed on technical irregularities in the arrest—not us, by the way—a drunk and disorderly, no-show witness and the arresting officer had lost his notes . . . unbelievable.”
“Anything else?”
“When we were looking for the family, a neighbor told us that Tyler had recently been hospitalized for mental problems. No verification of that, but who can tell?”
“Why on earth would she put up with that?” He remembered the wedding picture, the glow on her face.
“Who can tell? Anyway, there’s nothing outstanding on him; he might have cleaned up his act.”
“Or gotten better at it.”
The other cop laughed. “Even odds.”
“Well, this gives me a place to start.” He tossed the pen on the desk. “Thanks.”
He hung up the phone and leaned back in his chair to think.
Earl knocked on the opened door.
“Jon? Got a minute?”
“What is it?”
“Look what I found.” He upended a paper bag and a woman’s shoe landed on the desk.
“Louisa Tyler’s missing shoe.” He looked at Earl. “Where did you find it?”
“Out along the lumber road, in the bushes. I was half-afraid for a minute that Nora was going to be attached to that; I’ve about had my fill of dead bodies.”
“I know the feeling.”
“So what do you think it means?” Earl was gazing at the shoe as if he expected it to talk.
“How far away from the accident scene did you find this?”
“Over two miles.”
“It doesn’t look like it’s been chewed on, like an animal found it and carried it off. So . . . it looks like Louisa Tyler was only wearing one shoe when her husband put her in the car.”
“I looked around a bit, didn’t see any signs of a struggle or anything.”
“I don’t think a woman who thought her husband was giving her a tender little neck massage would put up much of a fight. And death was instantaneous.”
“You think he did it.”
Jon nodded. “Did you get anyone to go over to the hospital to stand guard?”
“Andy’s there now, and I got Eric Wilson to take the second watch.”
“I thought Eric was living down the mountain?”
Earl shrugged. “Well, he’s back now.”
“All right, things are under control then.”
“Still no sign of Nora,” Earl said. “I wonder where she got to?”
“No telling.” Jon stood and picked up the package from his desk. “I’m going to drive down and give this to Calvin so he can ship it out first thing in the morning. And then I’m going home to sleep.”
“Anything special you want me to do?”
“Just keep a lid on it.”
He was so tired by the time he got to the house that he drew the blinds without a moment of regret at shutting out the sun and the clear blue sky.
He fixed a drink while waiting for the shower water to get hot enough and tossed it down in one swallow. The liquor burned his throat pleasantly and as he got into the shower he was beginning to feel the tension ebb.
There were so many details, so much work to be done. Finding and notifying next of kin on David and Candice Burroughs. Filing reports, obtaining the crime lab reports. Keeping it all up in the air, missing nothing.
And Nora Samuels to add to it all. The fact that a little old lady could successfully elude a police search was bothersome. She could be anywhere by now.
But as he lay down on the bed and closed his eyes it all slipped away and he was asleep.
THIRTY-NINE
“Excuse me.” A well-dressed woman approached the nurse’s station. “I’m looking for a Dr. Rachel Adams?”
“Dr. Adams is in her office,” Emma replied. “Back down the hall and to your left. Is she expecting you?”
“I don’t think so. Thank you for your help.”
Emma watched her for a moment and then returned her attention to the charts, preparing for the afternoon.
“Dr. Adams?”
Rachel looked up at the woman standing in the doorway. “Yes, I’m Rachel Adams.”
The woman entered the room, holding out her hand. “I’m Vanessa Fletcher, Louisa Tyler’s sister.”
“Miss Fletcher?” She took the woman’s hand. “I’m very sorry for your loss.”
“Thank you. I only heard last evening and I came as soon as I could. A gentleman at the sheriff’s office told me I should talk to you.”
“Would you like some coffee?”
“No, but if you don’t mind, I’d like a cigarette.”
“Go right ahead.” Rachel watched as Vanessa Fletcher arranged herself in a chair and took out a cigarette from a gold case, tapping it smartly before placing it between her lips.
She lit it with a thin gold lighter and took a deep draw. “Thank you,” she said as she exhaled. “I needed this.” She gestured with the cigarette.
“What can I do for you?”
“The police only told me that there’d been an accident, and that she was dead. My parents . . . our parents are vacationing, one of those tours. I’ve wired ahead to their next confirmed stop and I expect they will call me to find out the details.” She held her hands out. “I have none.”
“I see. Your sister was involved in an auto accident on Thursday night, with her husband Wendall. She was dead at the scene and our first impression was that she had been killed in the crash.” She paused but Vanessa Fletcher was silent, waiting patiently. “On autopsy, we found that she had in fact been killed before the accident occurred. Her neck was broken.”
“And Wendall?” Vanessa Fletcher squinted through the smoke drifting up from her cigarette.
“He has been in a catatonic state since shortly after the accident. He doesn’t respond to stimulus and he doesn’t speak.”
“How convenient for him.” The words were clipped and she put one cigarette out, quickly lighting another.
“That’s not for me to judge,” Rachel answered and got up to pour herself some coffee.
“Let me tell you a story. Louisa was born when I was fourteen. We’ve never been very close but she was a pleasant enough girl, and I was fond of her. My parents, who had been eagerly awa
iting my eighteenth birthday so that they might begin to travel alone, were fond of her. But she never fit in. Wendall was her childhood sweetheart, an irritating boy on his best days.” She paused, her eyes flashing, to puff furiously on the cigarette. “She was obsessed with him.”
“Obsessed?”
“She refused to see him for what he was.”
“Which is?”
“A fortune hunter.” A look of smug satisfaction. “You might not guess by looking at her, but Louisa was an heiress. On her last birthday she assumed control of her inheritance from our grandparents.”
“You think he killed her for her money.” It was not a question.
“It’s obvious. She made him her beneficiary and now she’s dead.”
“Tell me about Wendall.”
“He’s crazy.” The stone face held a hint of fear. “He’s been in and out of institutions since he was sixteen.”
“What type of institutions?”
“Mental.”
“Do you know if he’s been seeing a psychiatrist? It would be very helpful to me to talk with someone who knows his background.”
“I’m sure he does, off and on, but I don’t know the name. I try to stay away from him.” She shuddered.
“You’re afraid of him,” Rachel said.
“All of us are. He has a terrible temper. When he loses control there’s no stopping him. He once beat up a man nearly twice his weight—put his face through a plate glass window.”
“But your sister loved him. Were there any signs of trouble between them?”
“She wouldn’t tell anyone even if there was. Louisa was rather old-fashioned. She would rather die than . . .” Her voice trailed off.
“You know that there may not be sufficient evidence against your brother-in-law.”
“Ex-brother-in-law. I think I can speak for the family; if he does get off, and it wouldn’t be the first time, he can have the money. It would be worth it to be rid of him.” She stood and turned toward the door. “I’ve made arrangements for my sister’s body to be picked up. Thank you for your time.” She paused at the door. “If I were you, I’d be very careful in my dealings with Wendall Tyler.”
The afternoon wore on. She discharged Peter Thomas and Tina Cruz, watching as Tina cradled Baby Boy Cruz protectively in her arms.
“Susan, I thought you were off this week-end,” Rachel said to the nurse as she signed the discharge orders.
“I was, but Laura called in sick. Poor thing, Emma said she sounded terrible.”
“Something must be going around.” She handed Susan the charts.
“Well, at least it’s quiet right now. Mrs. Frey is sound asleep—she didn’t even wake up when I removed the needle. Mr. Dunn looks better.” She looked across at the guard outside Tyler’s room. “Anyway, why don’t you get out of here for a while? Emma said you’ve been here since early this morning.”
“I was just thinking the same thing. I’ve got to go into town and buy something for dinner or I won’t eat.”
“You don’t think Dr. Adams will bring you a fish?”
“I hope not. Anyway, he’s not due back until tomorrow morning.” She handed Susan the stethoscope. “If I work it right, the refrigerator will be so full of food there’ll be no room for fish.” She wrinkled her nose and turned off down the hall.
FORTY
“Rachel won’t be disappointed if you don’t bring home a fish?” Joyce sat up in the bed, pulling the covers along.
“She hates fish.” He ran a finger along her arm.
“Isn’t that kind of sneaky, pretending to go fishing?”
“No.” He kissed her elbow. “This is more fun anyway.”
“Then why didn’t you tell her where you were really going?”
“She wanted me to get some rest, and if she knew where I was . . . she’d know I wasn’t resting.” He pulled her back down on the bed.
“Nathan.” Joyce laughed. “Let me get my breath.”
“In a minute.”
“Look at that; the sun is going down. You’ve been in bed all day.” Joyce got up and put on a terrycloth robe.
Nathan sighed and sat up. “It’s age, I guess.”
“What’s age?” She regarded him suspiciously.
“A few years back it would have been until the sun came up.”
“God, you’re smug. Now get out of bed—I’m the one who worked all night. If I can get up, so can you.”
“Heartless woman.”
“Of course I am, you ripped it out.”
He followed her into the kitchen, pulling his pants on. “God,” he said, stretching, “I feel like a new man.”
“So do I,” she said into the refrigerator.
“What? Dissatisfaction? Would you care to accompany me back to the bedroom?”
She turned to face him. “I want to get married.”
“Ah, that again.”
“How long has it been, Nathan?”
“I know, but . . .”
“Four years.”
“Joyce, this isn’t the time.”
“It’s never the time. Never. You’re busy with the hospital, the patients, Rachel’s problems, it’s always something.”
“You knew when we started that it had to be this way,” he reminded her.
“Do you love me?”
“You know I do.”
“No I don’t know. I can’t read your mind. I don’t know what you’re feeling. There was a time, not so long ago, when I thought you started this just because you needed nurses.” A tear rolled down her face. “I’m tired of being alone.”
He crossed to her and put his arms around her. “You’re not alone.”
“Yes I am, when it counts.”
“But there’s still so much to be done.”
“It’ll never all be done. You’ll always be working on projects, always tied up with details and plans . . . and I know that it’s important to you. But what about me?”
“I love you.”
“Yes, in the dark, where no one can see. We don’t even go out together.”
“I find it a little ludicrous to think of dating at my age.”
She moved away from him, her arms at her sides, her chin tilted upward. “All right, you don’t have to marry me, but at least let me move into your house. Make it public. Everyone does it.”
He brushed the tears from her face, smiling gently. “I’m not . . . we’re not . . . everyone.”
“Nathan, I love you. From the moment we first met. But I want more. And if you can’t give it to me, I’m going to have to leave.”
A slight frown on his face. “This is not a good time. And Rachel . . .”
“Rachel is a grown woman. She’s bound to find someone of her own, and she’ll be gone again. You told me that she lived with her fiancé—she certainly will understand about us.”
“You’re right, of course.” He took her hand and led her over to the table, sitting down on a chair and pulling her onto his lap. “There are other things. Our ages, for instance. I’m fifty-five, you’re a very young thirty.”
“People don’t care about those things anymore.”
“This is a small town.”
“I’ll put gray streaks in my hair.”
He laughed. “And a shawl and a cane?”
“Whatever it takes. But I don’t think anyone will care. It’s just you and me.” She kissed his mouth and he could taste the salt of her tears.
“You’re sure,” he asked.
“I want to be with you.” She kissed him again, and ran her fingers down his naked back. Then she stood and put out her hand to him while loosening her robe with the other.
“It may be rhetorical,” he said, getting to his feet. “Tonight could be the end of me.”
“There are worse ways to die.” She took him in the bedroom and closed the door.
FORTY-ONE
Rachel walked along the narrow aisles in the general store, trying to determine if she’d forgotten anything whi
le Calvin Price rang everything up at the front. It was an entirely different experience, shopping in the tiny store. No convenience foods but in place of them, Calvin stocked fruits and vegetables put up in jars by the local housewives.
And the smell in the store was heavenly, home-grown herbs and spices and fresh bread made at the restaurant down the road.
There were bolts of material along the back wall, and a glass-covered display case filled with local curios.
Now, with Calvin boxing her groceries, she made her way back to the display case and leaned over to look in. The case was lined with a black felt-like material, and the items were arranged in groups. Arrowheads. Small semi-precious stones, and some clay figures.
“Anything you like?” Calvin had come up beside her.
“Those figures—can I see them?”
He pulled a ring of keys out of his apron pocket and looked them over intently before selecting one and fitting it into the lock. It was the right key and he folded back the glass door.
She reached in and picked up one of the small forms, turning it over in her fingers. It was very light and fragile, and the features were fine-drawn. A wolf. She looked at the others.
“Where did you get these?”
“Guy came by, a while back, sold them to me.”
“Someone from around here?”
“Nope. Never saw him before.”
She picked up a second figure, a coiled snake, its fangs meticulously delineated.
“These are very good. Did he do them himself?”
“Never asked.” Calvin nodded at the figures. “Want ’em?”
“How much?”
“Maybe . . . ten bucks each.” His eyes shifted.
“All right.”
“You want all five?” He was as close to being startled as he would ever get.
“Yes. Do you have a box, or something sturdy so they won’t be crushed?”
“I’ll look in the back.” He disappeared through a door to the right.
She gathered up the remaining tiny figures—a bear, a hyena and a lizard—and took them to the front of the store.
It was some time before Calvin reappeared carrying an empty cigar box. “Found it,” he said simply and put it on the counter in front of her.
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