Dying for a Clue

by Judy Fitzwater

  “Fine,” Anne Marie said, slipping off the stool and heading for the bedroom. She was back in no time with her purse and her checkbook.

  “How much do you need?”

  “I’m not sure. Round trip airfare for three, money for expenses...”

  “Will five thousand be enough?” Anne Marie asked, writing out the check without giving Jennifer an opportunity to answer.

  Jennifer swallowed hard. The Robbinses had had their yearly bonus deposited on August 14. It seemed ironic that she was being offered that money, in effect, to find out who had been making those very deposits.

  She took the check. It had been made out to “The Johnny Zeeman Detective Agency.” Crumb. That meant she’d have to get Johnny to cash it. But she couldn’t very well ask the woman to void it and make out another to her personally. And she certainly didn’t have the authority to take money on her own.

  She slipped off the stool, and Anne Marie walked her to the door. “The girls still don’t feel safe going back to campus. While we’re gone, could they stay…”

  For the first time since she’d met her, Anne Marie smiled.

  Chapter 31

  Thank God for her Monday night writers’ group! It gave her something to do while waiting for Johnny Z to finally get in touch with her. He had to endorse that check before she could make the plane reservations. She’d left messages at his house and at his office, and still nothing.

  She’d waited past the time she usually left for group. And Sam hadn’t shown either. Diane and Valerie moped through their homemade macaroni and cheese and Caesar’s salad. They liked it better when Sam cooked. He fixed beef.

  At least now that she was at Monique’s, she could momentarily shelve Diane’s problems and find her center again. It seemed like her own life had gotten lost in the shuffle. Diane dominated her every waking thought. And she wasn’t the only one. Valerie, Anne Marie, Sam, even Johnny, seemed so tangled in this mess, none of them could function normally. Well, surely by the time she got home, she would have heard something.

  She glanced at her watch. It was a full twenty minutes after seven, and they were still waiting on April.

  They heard a bump at the door. Leigh Ann jumped up to get it. April, her hair uncombed, waddled in straight to the couch.

  “Sorry,” she declared, bracing herself on the sofa arm and lowering herself carefully onto the cushion.

  “You all right?” Jennifer asked, noting that April hadn’t brought a single snack bag. Something was definitely amiss.

  April nodded distractedly. “Go ahead. I’m sorry I made you all wait.”

  “That’s all right,” Monique assured her. “Leigh Ann was just about to share a new project with us.”

  Leigh Ann reclaimed her perch on the sectional and then opened and closed her mouth twice before taking her work out of her folder. “You know I’ve written historical romance before, but this is something totally new for me—”

  “No disclaimers,” Monique reminded her.

  Leigh Ann nodded, and began reading.

  “‘From the moment their eyes met at last evening’s ball, Adeline knew that Joseph, the darkly handsome and rakish young Romanian Count, could never be an ordinary lover. But what could he possibly be doing here, standing in the dim light of the doorway of one of London’s seedier pubs?’

  “‘Startled, she caught her breath. She should never have been out so late. It was unseemly for a young woman of her station, so recently married, to go anywhere alone, especially at that late hour, but her mother had taken ill, the servants were out, her husband away on business, and someone had to go to the apothecary.’”

  “The servants were out?” Teri interrupted. “What century did you say this was?”

  “Save it,” Monique warned, and Teri settled down.

  “‘His gaze caught her own,’” Leigh Ann continued, throwing Teri an ugly look. “‘It stopped her cold. Something was not right. Her breast heaving with fear, she gathered her skirts, bunching them at her waist, terrified of the night, terrified of the lone man, terrified of herself. Yet, she could not tear herself away from that one stolen glance.’”

  With all that terror, Jennifer thought, Leigh Ann’s story was beginning to sound more like a horror story than a romance.

  “‘Joseph kicked off from the wall and slowly, lyrically, flowed toward her. He lifted her hands, pulling them from the rich brocade of her skirts, and brought them first one and then the other to his lips.’

  “‘She swooned, even as her lips parted in a faint “no,” her head falling against his muscled chest. He held her tightly. She relaxed against his strength, mesmerized, her eyes drifting shut, safe, secure, until she realized something was amiss. Her ear, pressed against the soft gauze of his shirt, heard nothing. The soft thump of a beating heart was not there!’”

  Not a good sign.

  “‘Adeline struggled back as Joseph’s lips parted, his head rearing back in a demonic grin, his inch-long incisors glinting in the dim light. She screamed as he plunged his teeth into the milky white flesh of her—’”

  “Whoa!” Teri interrupted. “Your hero is a vampire?”

  Leigh Ann gave her a look that would have killed a normal person.

  It only encouraged Teri. “Hello! Your hero doesn’t have a heart!”

  “Technically, no, but that doesn’t mean he can’t be a good person.”

  “Yes it does,” Jennifer insisted. “She’s married, and there’s no way you can justify adultery and still have it be a romance, even if she’s mesmerized. Besides, he just tore her throat out. How romantic is that?”

  “Two teeny-weeny wounds. That’s all. They won’t even leave a scar.”

  “Kind of a ‘love’ nip, huh?” April added, back to her old self. “By the way, I think you should reconsider using the word demonic. Not very heroic. And those teeth! Unless they’re retractable, they make this guy totally unattractive. I don’t care what else comes with the package.” She shifted uncomfortably.

  “You all right?” Jennifer asked.

  “Uh-huh,” April managed, her teeth clenched. “Just give me a second.”

  Monique ignored April, obviously upset with Leigh Ann. Her face had taken on a purplish hue. “And your market research shows...” She raised a powerful eyebrow.

  Leigh Ann licked her lips. “Vampires are all the rage, surely you know that. Ever since Anne Rice—”

  “Oooh, Tom Cruise and Brad Pitt,” April cut in, apparently all better again. “If anyone could make vampires sexy, even with that hair—”

  Teri nodded. “Lose the hair, but a definite improvement over Bella Lugosi.”

  “Different era, different style. I’m sure Lugosi was quite chic for his time.” Jennifer couldn’t believe she was defending the sex appeal of a horror icon.

  “No no no!” Leigh Ann insisted. “Joseph is just an extreme version of the alpha male. Some recent books—”

  Monique shook her head. “The movie April cited is several years old, and so is the public’s interest in vampires. Who knows how long that trend will run?” She cleared her throat. “Need I remind you? You’re an unpublished author, Leigh Ann—”

  Yeah. As if she—or any of them—might have forgotten.

  Leigh Ann jutted out her chin. “I prefer the term pre-published.”

  “Fine. While you remain in your pre-published state, let me caution you to play it safe. What we’re seeing in the stores right now has been a good two years in the making. Add another year for you to write your book plus a year to get it through production, assuming it’s bought as soon as you finish it, and you’re already four years behind those recent books before you even start. Better stick with tried and true themes that are always around, at least for your first sale.”

  The business of writing could be so depressing. Jennifer had seen it get in the way of the art before. It could kill the joy of it, and if they weren’t getting paid, why were they writing if not for the joy?

  April made
a loud “Sssssst” sound by sucking in air hard against her teeth. Her eyes squinted shut and she had a pained expression upon her face.

  “You sure you’re all right?” Jennifer asked.

  “Uh-huh,” April repeated in a tone higher than before. Then she relaxed, blinked, and looked almost normal. “Go ahead,” she insisted.

  Must have been a cramp.

  Jennifer looked back at Leigh Ann, who had thrown herself into the plumpness of the sofa. She couldn’t see Joseph as a hero—heartless, diabolical, cold—but some women, good women, did fall for men like that, and it wasn’t her story to tell.

  “Write whatever you want,” Jennifer told her, fully aware she was bucking Monique’s authority and that there would most likely be a price to pay. “If this is the story that speaks to you, then write it. But if you’re doing it only because someone else has done it, you don’t stand a prayer.” It was the best advice she had to give, and the only advice that made any sense.

  Teri jumped in. “But if you’re writing romance, don’t forget we gals have certain ideas about what make our men appealing. The need for regular blood transfusions ain’t one of them.”

  April rolled to one side and pushed herself up. She managed to get her feet firmly under herself and stood, swaying a little. “Don’t mind me. You all go ahead. I’ll be back in a minute.” She tottered down the hall toward the bathroom.

  “I hope she’s all right,” Jennifer said.

  Teri nodded. “She’s fine. Some kind of Braxton-Hicks something or other. When I talked to her earlier today, she told me she’d been having them all morning.”

  “Braxton-Hicks? Oh my...” Monique was on her feet.

  “What?” Leigh Ann demanded.

  “Braxton-Hicks are false labor pains,” Monique explained. “You don’t have Braxton-Hicks when you’re past your due date.”

  Teri licked her lips, her eyes wide. “You don’t mean...”

  Jennifer caught up with Monique, who’d already made it to the powder room and had her ear pressed to the closed door. She shushed Jennifer, who suddenly seemed incapable of forming a whole word.

  Leigh Ann and Teri were right behind them.

  “Yo, April,” Teri called out, wedging herself between Monique and Jennifer and pounding on the door. “You all right in there?”

  Leigh Ann slapped at her, but Teri totally ignored her.

  “April?” Jennifer called, finding her voice at last.

  April’s words were muffled through the wood. “I think I could use some help in here.”

  Chapter 32

  What struck Jennifer most about the whole birthing process was how, like death, no matter how many people were around a woman, she had to do it alone.

  “Can we see her?” Teri asked Jennifer again, like a little kid tugging on a grown-up’s sleeve.

  Teri had surprised them all by being the one who’d taken charge when they opened that bathroom door and realized if they didn’t get an ambulance to Monique’s right away, they were all about to become unlicensed midwives. Teri had made the 911 call, calmly giving directions, and then relayed what they were to do over the phone.

  Jennifer secretly suspected that her calm was a desperate attempt to keep that phone in her hands, so she wouldn’t be called upon to do anything else. Not that there was all that much to do, except smooth April’s hair, run a wet washcloth over her forehead, hold her hand, and tell her everything would be fine.

  Her water had broken, but the paramedics made it in less than five minutes. All that was left was to usher them in and then follow the ambulance to the hospital.

  “Craig will let us know when it’s time for us to go in,” Jennifer assured Teri. “April needs a little time with him and Jonathan and the baby. As a family. Besides, her mom and dad are in there, too. And her brothers and sister. We’re second string.”

  “More like third or fourth,” Teri declared.

  “You can go home if you want,” Jennifer told her. “I know April will understand.”

  “Go home? After we practically delivered that child ourselves? You’ve got to be kidding. The least she can do is name her after us: Teri Jennifer Leigh. Sounds good, don’t ya’ think?”

  “You left out Monique.”

  “So?”

  Teri didn’t even live with a pretense of fairness.

  “Why don’t you read something?” Jennifer suggested. “Or catch up to Leigh Ann and Monique at the snack machine. Who knows what they’ll bring back.” Or when, especially with Leigh Ann checking out the interns. “If Craig comes out for us, I’ll give you a holler.”

  Teri nodded and took off down the hallway, leaving Jennifer alone for the first time all evening. She’d called to let Sam and the girls know that April’s little girl had made her debut, so they wouldn’t worry. She had no idea what time she’d get home. It was close to two in the morning, and she was exhausted. Again.

  She opened the bag she always took to critique meetings and fished inside for something to occupy herself with. Her hand landed on the folder from the fertility clinic, the one Monique had gotten during their office visit. She’d looked through it, shoved it in the bag, and forgotten all about it.

  Inside was a questionnaire like the one Monique had refused to fill out, along with some newsletters proclaiming the clinic’s miraculous achievements, and a brochure that described the various procedures with gross little line drawings and, of course, a fee schedule. This was definitely not a poor man’s game. Another sheet listed the success rates and how they were to be interpreted—read manipulated. And still another told about the physicians and their backgrounds.

  She scanned down through Paul Collier’s credentials. Pretty impressive. On paper. So were McEvoy’s and Sullivan’s. She found Donald’s name near the bottom. He’d been the last to join the group.

  Washington, D.C., jumped out at her as if it’d been printed in bold-face type. She sat up as though she’d been stung by a bee. That’s where Donald had worked before coming to Macon. She never would have caught it if Sam hadn’t given her that little geography lesson. Could he have been there fourteen years ago? Johnny had said something about a scandal concerning some of Donald’s patients. Her hands trembled against the paper. Could the Turners have been those patients?

  Teri thrust a cold can of ginger ale into her hand, and Leigh Ann dumped a package of chocolate donut gems into her lap.

  “Jeez, Jen. What’s wrong? Did something happen to April?” Teri demanded, plopping down next to her on one of the slick molded chairs.

  “No. She’s fine,” Jennifer insisted, stuffing the folder back into her bag and trying to get her face out of crisis mode.

  “Then what’s up with you? The baby’s born, and the mom’s out of recovery. Most natural process in the world, I’m told. Not that I ever intend to find out. Did I miss something? For a minute there you looked really scary.”

  She’d found the link. Or had she? So what if Donald had lived in the same general area as the Turners? It hardly explained how Diane got from that house in Bethesda to his brother’s clinic. If, indeed, she actually was Cat Turner.

  A lean, smiling Craig emerged from the hallway carrying a sleepy, towheaded Jonathan snuggled against his daddy’s neck, his chubby little thumb slipping from his lips as his eyes gave in to sleep. He was undoubtedly the cutest ragamuffin of a two-year-old Jennifer had ever seen. Every time she was around him, he weakened her resolve. Writing didn’t compare to the miracle that would someday be her Jaimie.

  “The family’s finally cleared out, and April wants to see you guys,” Craig announced, beaming. He shifted his son to his other shoulder.

  They all stood, and Jennifer reached out for Jonathan. Craig gratefully handed him to her. He’d probably been holding him all night.

  The toddler briefly opened his eyes and then settled into Jennifer’s arms as though he belonged there. Then Jennifer, Teri, Leigh Ann, and Monique followed Craig back to April’s room.

  They found her
propped up on pillows, both more exhausted and more radiant than Jennifer had ever seen her. She looked like she’d been hosed down and left to dry, but her face...it glowed. In the crook of her arm was a bundle that wiggled and squirmed. Framed by a pink blanket was a tiny, wrinkled face with a perfectly formed doll-like nose. Her impossibly small hands stretched out, fingers splayed and then snuggled back. Then she hiccuped a brief squeal of displeasure and yawned. Suddenly two dark eyes opened, assessing the crew and her strange new world.

  April grinned. “Got somebody for you all to meet.”

  Leigh Ann touched the blanket. “April, she’s precious. Would you look at all that dark hair, and in a family of blondes, too. You takin’ after your Aunt Leigh, sweetie?”

  “You can’t tell what color my hair’s going to be yet,” Monique said in a cooing kind of baby-talk voice, bending over the bed. “My little eyes could even turn brown for all we know, couldn’t they?” She offered her pinky to the baby, who grabbed onto it. “Yes, they could.” She grinned and shook the tiny fist attached over her fingernail.

  Maybe Monique wasn’t quite the ogre Jennifer had her pegged.

  Teri dug at the bottom of the blanket and uncovered a foot. “How does something that puny grow so big?” she asked.

  “You want a closer look, Jen?” April asked.

  “That’s all right. I can see from here,” she said from the foot of the bed, cradling Jonathan’s head against her shoulder. “I’ve kind of got my hands full right now. She sure is gorgeous.”

  “Isn’t she though,” April agreed, beaming. “You know, she’s not even two hours old, and I already love her more than my own life.”

  That’s how nature had planned it. That bond, so strong, so surprising to a first-time mother. Had Beverly Hoffman experienced it when her son was born? Was that why she had agreed to help Diane? Had she resented Paul Collier for taking her child even if she’d agreed to it in advance? Even if he’d fulfilled his promise to put her through school and give her a job?