Silent Witness

by Patricia H. Rushford

  But what if it isn’t, McGrady? What if he doesn’t come back? Jennie slipped under her covers and closed her eyes and did the only thing she could do. “God,” she whispered, “keep Scott safe. And if you want him to come with us, then bring him back.”

  As it turned out, Jennie needn’t have worried. Scott was up and packed at six a.m. Jennie flashed him a smile to let him know she was glad to see him. He greeted them both with a half-embarrassed, half-guilty grin and took their bags. They’d cleaned the house and set it in order the night before, and after Gram made a final check, they piled into the convertible and headed north. Gram took her turn at driving first and since she wanted to interview Scott, asked Jennie to sit in the back and take notes.

  “Tell us how it all started, Scott,” Gram said, after they’d settled in for the long drive. “What would cause a high-school boy to become such an avid environmentalist?”

  “Actually, I’ve been interested in marine life for as long as I can remember. When I was about seven I saw this television special on saving the whales and decided then and there I was going to be a marine biologist when I grew up.”

  “You’ve been protesting since you were seven?” Jennie asked.

  Scott shifted in his seat so he could talk to both Gram and Jennie. “No, I didn’t get really involved until I decided to do a paper on dolphins. When I discovered how intelligent dolphins are and how well they relate to people, I decided I wanted to do something to help. I feel even stronger about it now that I’ve actually been in the water with them. There’s something … it’s hard to explain. It’s like they know things.”

  “You mean like intuition?” Gram asked. “I’ve read some articles about how they’ve rescued people at sea.”

  “Yeah.” Scott grew more animated as he talked. “But it’s more than that. It’s like they understand us. Anyway, you’ll see what I mean when you get in the water with them.”

  “Scott,” Gram said, “I can understand why you’d protest and lobby against senseless killing of the dolphins by fishermen, but why protest places like Dolphin Playland?”

  “That place is the worst. Dolphins shouldn’t be captured so they can entertain people at fancy resorts or perform circus acts. They need to be free.”

  “Really? When Jennie and I toured the facilities, we found it clean, and the animals looked happy and well cared for.”

  “Dolphins always look like they’re smiling … that’s what makes them appealing to people. But when they’re in captivity they tend to get depressed and are prone to illnesses. Places like the Playland claim to be educational and say they’re doing important research, but they’re really exploiting the animals. The owners are making big bucks, and I think it’s wrong.”

  “But what about the children that have been helped by dolphin therapy?” Gram asked.

  “Yeah, well. That’s the tough part, and I’m still struggling with that. Melissa makes it all seem so clear. I guess that’s why I accepted your offer, Mrs. McGrady. I’d like a chance to get a feel for what the research center on Dolphin Island is really like.”

  They talked about ecology and the environment until Gram stopped in Key Largo for breakfast. From there, Jennie drove through Alligator Alley in the Everglades while Gram worked on her computer and Scott slept in the backseat.

  When they reached Naples, Gram insisted they take a beach break. Jennie pulled into a beach-access park and the trio waded, ran, and collected shells for nearly an hour. After a quick stop for lunch, they were off again, this time with Gram at the wheel. As the distance to their destination shortened on the map, Jennie’s excitement grew. If Lisa’s information had been right, she’d soon be meeting Maggie and Sarah. She’d also be talking to Ryan. She frowned and guiltily turned to look at Scott, who was stretched out in the backseat, sleeping. She did like Scott, she decided—but she liked Ryan too.

  The weary travelers reached the toll booth at Sanibel Island at exactly one-thirty. Twenty minutes later they crossed the bridge to Dolphin Island. They drove for about a quarter of a mile along a road bordered by tall palm trees and thick green vegetation. Just past a sign that read “Dolphin Island State Park” they came to an enormous gate bordered on either side by a high fence. A small white sign at the entrance read, “Private Property.” Another sign, a blue one with official-looking white lettering, told travelers that this was the Dolphin Island Marine Research Center.

  “Wow, this place looks more heavily guarded than Fort Knox,” Scott offered.

  “Debbie told me they’ve had some vandalism lately,”

  Gram replied, pulling the car up to the guard posted at the gate.

  “Afternoon,” he said. “Can I help you?”

  Gram told him who they were, and he looked each of the three passengers over carefully, then checked his clipboard. Even though they’d done nothing wrong, Jennie was beginning to feel like an intruder.

  “Okay,” he said, punching a button inside the guard house, triggering the gate. “You’re clear. Just follow the main road until you get to the office. They’ll give directions from there.”

  The road wound through more shrubs and trees for another quarter of a mile, then opened up to a spectacular view of the Gulf of Mexico. A white sandy beach bordered a lush green lawn, then ended at a cluster of buildings and docks fingering toward the water. The road curved to the right and ended in a parking lot near a simple rectangular structure. Gram parked and the three made their way along the short graveled path. Before they reached the door, a tall, willowy woman with straight shoulder-length blond hair emerged, swept down on them, and threw her arms around Gram as if they were long-lost friends.

  “Helen, I can’t believe it. You’re finally here. It’s so good to see you again.” The woman backed away and turned to face Jennie and Scott. “And this must be Jennie.” Without giving her a chance to respond, she added, “I’m Debbie Cole. Oh, you do look like Kate and Jason. I mean, your hair and eyes.”

  Who was this woman? Jennie stepped back and bumped into Scott. His hands grasped her shoulder to steady her. “You know my aunt Kate … and my dad?”

  “Didn’t Helen tell you?” She cast Gram a teasing shame-on-you look. “Kate and Jason are old school chums of mine. Kate and I roomed together at the University of Oregon. I went there for two years before I transferred to UCLA.”

  Jennie glanced at Gram, who looked surprised that Jennie wasn’t aware of the relation. “Oh dear, I was certain I’d mentioned it.” She shook her head in disbelief. “I must be getting old. Memory isn’t what it usedd to be, I’m afraid.”

  Jennie laughed. “It isn’t old age, Gram, and you know it.” To Debbie she said, “She gets so involved with her writing, the whole world could fall apart, and as long as it didn’t affect her computer, she wouldn’t know what happened until she came up for air.”

  “Now, why doesn’t that surprise me?” Debbie slung an arm around Gram. “Must be a McGrady trait. Jason was the same way. Half the time he’d be late for our dates, and the other half I’d be lucky if he showed up at all.”

  “Dates? You dated my father?”

  “For almost a year.” Debbie shifted her glance from Jennie to Scott. “But we can talk about all that later.” She extended a hand. “You must be Scott. Welcome.”

  “Thanks.” He dropped his hand from Jennie’s shoulder and shook Debbie’s hand.

  “I don’t know if Helen told you or not,” Debbie said, “but you are a lifesaver. David, one of our trainers, came down with strep throat and pneumonia a couple of days ago. He won’t be able to come back to us for at least two weeks. We were shorthanded to begin with, so how about stepping in?”

  “Sure,” Scott replied, surprise showing on his face at the quick job offer.

  Debbie introduced them to her husband, Ken, who, in his white T-shirt and khaki shorts, looked so much like his wife they could have been twins. They were bo
th tall, thin, and tanned, and Ken wore glasses with round wire frames. His sun-bleached hair was longer than hers, and he wore it pulled back into a ponytail at the base of his neck. He had an easy smile and hazel eyes that twinkled, making Jennie feel like an old friend.

  Ken escorted Scott into the office to fill out employment papers. Debbie registered Jennie and Gram and gave them keys to their cabin. “We have five guest cabins on the compound,” Debbie explained as she led Jennie and Gram along one of the many paths that led from the office. “The two on this end are being renovated.” Debbie pointed to two rustic cabins that looked as though they’d been battered by a hurricane.

  As they continued on the path, they passed two more cabins, a small A-frame and a cottage, both built on stilts, which Debbie explained was to keep them above flood levels in a storm. As they walked by, Debbie lowered her voice. “These are both reserved by a family from Portland.”

  Sarah and Maggie. It has to be them. Jennie glanced in the direction of the cottage, hoping to get a glimpse of the pair.

  “You’ll get a chance to meet them at dinner tonight. Oh, that reminds me. We serve rather simple meals here, family-style in the main lodge. Ken and I are vegetarians, but three times a week we try to provide our carnivorous guests and employees with chicken, fish, or meat dishes. You’re welcome to join us, or, if you prefer, there are a number of excellent restaurants on Captiva and Sanibel.”

  “Carnivorous?” Jennie couldn’t help but be amused at the term. It made them sound like monsters.

  “Meat-eaters,” Gram said. “I think she’s hoping to convert us.”

  Debbie didn’t deny it; she just smiled. The trail ended at the last cabin, and through a scattering of palms, Jennie could see another expanse of beach. Debbie turned toward Gram like an excited child showing off a new toy. “I saved this one for you and Jennie. It’s a little more isolated, so you can hole away and write. It has a clear view of the water, and since it faces west, you can experience our spectacular sunsets every night.”

  “It’s wonderful, but are you sure?” Gram said. “I didn’t expect anything so glamorous.”

  “Well, it isn’t exactly the Ritz,” Debbie said. “It’s really pretty basic.” She unlocked the door and ushered them in. Light peeked in through the wooden shutters. When Debbie opened them, the afternoon sun poured itself all over the room. Jennie wasn’t sure what she had expected, and it took her a few seconds to adjust. Basic. Debbie had that right. In the living room, directly in front of the door, a beige-pink sofa sat parallel to the window to capture the view. On one side of it stood a brown vinyl recliner and on the other a wooden rocking chair with a floral-print pad. The furniture came equipped with two end tables holding matching ginger-jar lamps, and a coffee table. A throw rug decorated the dark-stained wood floor. To their right was a kitchenette with a small refrigerator, stove, and sink.

  “You can use the kitchen for snacks and tea, but it’s really not set up for cooking meals. The fridge works and I’ve stocked it with plenty of sodas, water, and juice. Got tea for you, Helen …” She paused to open a cupboard containing a variety of teas and a few cups.

  “You didn’t have to do that,” Gram said. “I can’t believe you’ve gone to so much trouble.”

  “It’s no trouble. Besides, it’s not every day a famous writer comes to stay—not to mention the mother of two of my favorite people.” Debbie glanced at her watch. “Oops, I’ve got an appointment in five minutes. Bedrooms are up there.” She pointed to the stairs opposite the kitchen. “And you’ll find the bathroom behind the stairs. Once you’re settled, feel free to wander around the compound. Here’s a map, and I think that’s everything … oh, did I mention there’s a road behind the cabins and a place to park your car?”

  Debbie descended the front-porch stairs and turned back to wave. “Have fun settling in. See you at dinner?”

  “We’ll be there,” Gram called, then closed the door and leaned against it. “Whew! I’d forgotten what a live wire that girl can be.”

  Jennie stretched and yawned, then offered to retrieve the car and bring in their suitcases. By the time Jennie had hauled the last bag to their bedrooms, Gram had prepared two tall glasses of lemonade and had them waiting on the patio. Jennie plopped onto the chaise lounge and closed her eyes. She was almost asleep when she heard footsteps on the gravel walk leading from the driveway to their cabin.

  “Hi,” a voice said. “Debbie just told me we had new guests, and I thought I’d slip over and meet you. I’m Maggie Layton.”

  8

  Jennie opened her eyes slowly, trying not to appear too eager. Questions crowded her mind, begging to be asked. Back off, McGrady, Jennie reminded herself, take it slow and easy. This woman doesn’t even know you exist.

  Gram rose and greeted their visitor, then offered her a chair. “I’m Helen McGrady and this is my granddaughter Jennie.” Maggie nodded at Jennie and smiled.

  Gram offered Maggie a drink and went inside to get another lemonade.

  After a moment of uncomfortable silence, Maggie said, “I know this is going to sound strange, but you two look familiar … have we met before?”

  This was the opportunity Jennie needed. Yes, at the airport in Portland, I overheard you talking about a murder … no, not yet. Not so fast. You don’t want to scare her away. “Well …” she stammered, “I guess that’s because we were waiting for the same plane at the Portland airport. I remember seeing you with a girl in a wheelchair.”

  Maggie clasped her hands. “Of course. You were with that adorable little boy.”

  “Attached to, is more like it. He’s my brother, Nick.” Jennie went on to tell her about Nick’s scheme to accompany them to Florida.

  “Oh …” Maggie leaned back in her chair and accepted the drink Gram handed her. “That is so cute. I remember when Sarah was that age.” Tears sprang into Maggie’s eyes and she paused to fumble in the pocket of her white sundress for a tissue to wipe them away. “I’m sorry. I’m afraid I get teary whenever I think about how Sarah used to be before …”

  Before the murder? Jennie wondered, wishing she could ask the question out loud.

  Maggie blew her nose and stuffed the tissue back in her pocket. “Listen to me. Here you’ve just arrived and are probably exhausted from your trip, and I start babbling about my problems.” She stood. “You must think I’m terrible.”

  Oh, no, she’s going to leave. Stop her, McGrady, say something. “No, not at all,” she and Gram answered together.

  “There, you see,” Gram added, “it’s unanimous. Now, why don’t you sit down and tell me about Sarah. What happened to her?”

  Bless you, Gram. Jennie leaned back and listened.

  “Sarah has been in a sort of semi-catatonic state for two years. She won’t talk or respond to anyone. The doctors think it’s a type of Post Traumatic Stress Disorder. She just sits there and stares as though she’s lost in some obscure place inside her head. It happened when her father … my husband John died. She was with him. It’s like something inside of Sarah died too.” Maggie shuddered and retrieved her tissue, then dabbed the inside corners of her eyes again.

  “So she really did witness the murder?” Jennie asked.

  Oops. Nice going, McGrady. So much for taking it slow.

  “How did you know John was murdered?” Maggie demanded, then just as quickly backed off. “I don’t know why I bother keeping it a secret. It was on television and in all the local papers. You probably saw it.”

  “Um … no. I … I didn’t mean to be nosy, Mrs. Layton …” she began. “But when we were waiting at the airport, my cousin and I overheard you talking to a guy named Tim.”

  Maggie shook her head. “That was my brother. He’s so paranoid about Sarah. Tim thinks the person who killed John is still out there. Since Sarah is the only witness, he’s afraid the murderer will come after her.”

  “I
can understand his concern,” Gram said. “I do remember reading about the case. As I recall, the police felt certain they’d solved it. Have any attempts been made on Sarah’s life?”

  “No. Nothing.” Maggie stared at the ice in her glass.

  “Tim insists that as long as Sarah doesn’t speak, she isn’t a threat. He’s convinced that the article in the paper about our bringing Sarah here for therapy triggered the bomb threat.”

  “How do you feel?” Gram asked.

  “I don’t know.” Maggie set her lemonade on the glass­topped patio table and rubbed her temples as if she had a headache. “I think Isaiah Ramsey was guilty. He was one of John’s clients, and the police found him the next day. He’d committed suicide and left a note. No one has ever tried to hurt Sarah. I just wish Tim could forget this nonsense. We all need to put the pain behind us and concentrate on bringing Sarah back.”

  “It must be difficult for you,” Gram consoled. “In a sense, you’ve not only lost a husband but a daughter as well.”

  Maggie nodded. “We, my husband Carl and I, are hoping that dolphin therapy coupled with counseling will help Sarah. So far, traditional treatment hasn’t helped much. Sometimes I think she’s drifting farther and farther away. I’m desperate to find an answer. That’s why we came here.”

  “That would be Dr. Carl Layton?” Jennie asked, trying to remember what Lisa had said about him.

  “Yes. Carl is a godsend. If it hadn’t been for him, I’d never have made it through this. He and John shared a practice … they’re both psychiatrists. In fact, Carl tried to stop the murderer and ended up getting shot. I just thank God every day that he didn’t die too.”

  “Excuse me, Mrs. Layton,” Jennie said, “but if Carl was shot, couldn’t he have identified the killer? And wouldn’t he be in danger too?”

  “Call me Maggie. Mrs. Layton always seems so formal. And to answer your question, not really. Carl said the killer was wearing a black ski mask. After the police found Ramsey, Carl couldn’t make a positive identification, but he had given the police a description of a jacket the man who shot him was wearing and it matched Ramsey’s. I’m not sure how to answer your second question. I’m satisfied that the police have the killer, so I don’t think either of them is in danger.”