“Willow, I tried calling you on your cell phone,” Graham said. “I understand you don’t like to talk when you’re driving, but this is important, very important.”
He glanced at Preston and hesitated, but he would not insult the man by taking his sister out into the hallway to talk to her in private. Besides, Preston needed to hear this, as well. “My investigator does not drive a dark sedan.”
Willow’s blue-gray eyes widened, and her face paled. She gave her brother a brief glance, then looked away.
The silence in the room quivered with tension.
“Does someone want to enlighten me?” Preston asked.
“I’m sorry,” Graham said. “I knew you were worried about Willow, so after the police took her in for questioning the second time, I called a private investigator.”
“But that was two weeks ago,” Preston said. “You never said anything to me about it.”
“He never told me, either.” Willow’s dark, well-defined eyebrows lowered.
“I wanted to do this quietly,” Graham said. “I didn’t want to upset anyone or get your hopes up. I also felt that the fewer people who knew, the less opportunity there would be for your stalker to get wind of the investigation.”
“So you do believe there’s a stalker?” Preston asked.
“I’m becoming more and more convinced of it. Larry, my investigator, said Willow’s car showed evidence she might have been rammed from behind. It isn’t conclusive, but it’s enough for me to be cautious.”
“What else is Larry doing?” Willow asked.
“He’s been doing background checks on our most recent renters.”
“I checked their references when I rented the apartments to them,” Preston said.
“Sure, you checked with their employers and their previous landlords, but you couldn’t have done a criminal background check,” Graham said.
“Has he found anything?” Willow asked.
“He has a few leads. I also asked Larry to keep watch over you when you were at the hospital, to see if anyone followed you from here.”
“And?” Preston asked.
“Your sister doesn’t make a habit of telling people when she’s going to be here.”
“So what’s this you said about Larry not driving a dark sedan?” Preston asked.
Willow’s eyes narrowed at Graham.
Preston turned to his sister. “Willow, what are you up to? Keeping secrets again?”
“Obviously I didn’t keep this one from the right person.”
Graham would never have believed his emotions could go from tender to provoked in the span of a few seconds.
“Has it occurred to you that I’m about to get out of this place tomorrow at the latest?” Preston snapped at her. “And that I’m not an invalid, and I don’t need to be protected from reality? It would help to know what we’re up against.”
Willow apparently realized Graham was irritated, because she had the wisdom to drop her gaze. “I’m sorry, Preston, maybe I should have told you, but—”
“Told me what?”
“I thought I saw a car following me in traffic a few times. I managed to lose it, and it never followed me out of town.”
“How do you know?” Preston asked.
“Because I’m not blind, okay? It isn’t hard to lose someone in Branson traffic.” She glanced at her watch and casually rose to her feet. “And now, if you’ll excuse me, I have other visits to make this morning.”
“Do you have somewhere you need to be?” Graham asked. “Because if you don’t, Larry’s on his way here, and I want you to meet him.”
She hesitated and once again looked at her watch. “I have an appointment a little later this morning. Right now, I’d like to visit Mrs. Engle. If you’ll ring her room when Larry gets here, I’ll come back, or meet you wherever you want.”
Graham couldn’t hide his surprise. She was actually being cooperative? “Speaking of which, how’s Mrs. Engle doing?” he asked. “I haven’t seen her in a few days.”
“She hopes to be able to go home soon,” Willow said, walking from the room with a wave. “I’ll see you all later.”
Preston groaned and rolled his head back on his pillow. “Graham, if I don’t get out of this place tomorrow I’ll go crazy. Willow’s going to be the death of me.”
Graham sat down in the chair she had vacated, glancing at his watch. Ginger was perfectly capable of spelling him this morning, at least for a while. He had a surgery consult later, but there was time.
“Remember those times you went out of your way to tell me what a wonderful person your sister was?” he teased Preston. “You’re saying this is the woman who’s going to be the death of you?”
“She’s been so bullheaded since she lost Travis and the baby.”
“Did it ever occur to you that her independence is an integral part of her grief process?” Graham suggested. “Maybe she feels she depended too much on Travis, and when he was killed, she lost that support. She wouldn’t want that to happen again.”
“No.” Preston sat up in bed and swung his legs over the side. “It hadn’t occurred to me.” He watched Graham for a long moment. Burn marks lingered on his arms, face and neck, but he was on his way to complete recovery. Even his eyebrows and mustache had grown back. “I have a feeling that might be changing in the future.”
“How?”
“I think she’s met someone else she can depend on.”
“She can depend on a lot of people. She just won’t do it.”
“Give her time,” Preston said. “I think she’ll come around. You’re a patient man.”
Graham nodded. He hadn’t been very patient with her this morning, but Preston was right—patience was exactly what she needed right now. The realization hit home that Graham cared enough about her to give her that patience.
His only question was how far she would stretch it.
Chapter Eighteen
Willow was visiting Esther Engle when she received the call from Graham. The private investigator had arrived.
As she reached Preston’s door once more, she checked her watch. She still had plenty of time to decide if she was going to meet with Sandi. She remained reluctant to do it.
She entered the room to find Graham and Preston talking to a man in a short brown leather jacket and jeans. He had dark brown hair, dark brown eyes and about a three-day growth of beard.
Where had Graham found this guy?
After cursory introductions, Graham invited her to sit next to Preston, who was dressed in pajamas and seated on the side of his bed. Except for the IV port still in his arm, which would be removed prior to his discharge, and the fatigue obvious in his face from lack of sleep, Preston appeared almost back to normal.
At least he was shaved, which was more than Willow could say for their so-called expert, Mr. Tough Guy.
“Willow told me something this morning that could have a bearing on this case,” Graham said. “This is the second anniversary of her husband’s death.”
Preston closed his eyes and groaned. “Willow, I’m sorry. I forgot.”
“That’s another reason I wanted all of us to have a brainstorm session today,” Graham said. “I may be totally off track, but we don’t have any other leads right now. These incidents have taken place awfully close to Travis’s death.”
“You think our perp might have some kind of hang-up about dates?” Larry said.
“You’ve been investigating under the assumption that someone was angry with either Preston or me for some reason to do with the rentals, or seeking revenge against Willow because of her husband’s actions on the job. We haven’t seriously considered the possibility that Willow is the direct object of someone’s hatred. She is the fulcrum for everything that’s happened.”
Larry’s heavy eyebrows lowered. “She’s an ICU nurse. Who could she have offended?”
Graham turned to Willow. “Do you remember any incidents on the job or off in which you might have upset some
one who might become vindictive?”
She stared back at him blankly. “As Larry said, I was an ICU nurse.”
“Exactly. Not all ICU patients live. Do you remember any patient deaths that might have taken place at this time of year? Possibly from the first of April and throughout the month?”
“I’ve had patients die, of course, but I’ve never been blamed for a death. I’ve never been named in a lawsuit.”
“No accidents took place on your shift? Nothing like that?”
“I was a nurse for thirteen years, Graham. There’s no way I could remember every case.”
“If we’re talking about someone wanting revenge,” Larry said, “that would probably be from something more recent, but not necessarily.”
“What about the dream, Willow?” Graham asked. “I can’t help feeling that’s significant.”
“Dream?” Larry asked.
Willow scowled at Graham. Did he have to share the most intimate details of her life with this stranger?
“She has a recurring nightmare about a corpse sitting up from his casket and chasing her. Willow, what if that isn’t a casket, but a bed in ICU? What if, as Ginger suggested, your subconscious is trying to tell you something important about who might be doing this to you?”
“Don’t you think I’ve already racked my brain over and over again with possible scenarios?” Willow asked.
“Try again. What might have happened on April first, April fifth, April fourteenth, April twenty-second, sometime before Travis died?” Graham asked. “Something might have happened on one or more of those dates that would cause someone to get revenge on you by killing your husband.”
“That makes sense,” Larry said. “If this perp’s into symbolism he might choose those dates to start a fire, kidnap children and ram Willow’s car off the road.”
She closed her eyes and tried to recall the details of the dream. She saw the white face, the casket, which Graham had suggested could be an ICU bed, the angry eyes, the pointing finger.
She had never seriously considered the casket in her dream could be anything but a casket. As always, the vividness of this morning’s dream had dissipated. However, she did recall the change in this one. There were bars between her and the monster. He was reaching out through the bars, his hands almost grasping her.
This morning she had believed those bars to be her own prison, but what if they weren’t hers, but the monster’s?
A memory teased the edge of her mind, impressions from a previous dream. Other people…innocent people…helpless people depended on her for protection…the rhythm of a heartbeat sang through the room in mechanical tones, a familiar sound she worked with every day…
“Helpless people depended on me for protection.” She opened her eyes. “Bars between us. April fool!”
Graham felt the sudden focus of Willow’s gaze on him. “What happened on April Fool’s Day?” he asked
“It wasn’t a dead patient at all, Graham. You were right.”
“What was it?”
“Several years ago I had an incoherent patient in a drugged state, which isn’t unusual. But while I was sitting with this patient the day after he was brought in, he started muttering details of a high-profile crime, and I knew Travis was working the case. We were dating at the time. I couldn’t just ignore his muttering and take the chance that innocent people could be hurt or killed, so I reported it.”
“How long ago was this?” Larry asked.
“About seven years ago, because I hadn’t turned thirty yet, and I hadn’t been dating Travis long. Though my testimony wasn’t admissible in court, the information I gave the police helped them secure enough evidence for a conviction. The police nicknamed him the April Fool, because that was the day he started talking to me.”
“Sperryville!” Larry exclaimed.
Willow blinked at him. “That was his name. How did you know?”
“I remember that case,” Larry said. “Everyone knew about it. I was working in K.C. then.” His dark eyes suddenly glowed with respect. “You were the one who helped crack that case? That was a crooked attorney we’d been trying to catch for years.”
“You were in Kansas City?” Willow asked.
“Sure was. The sleaze made his millions keeping organized crime members out of jail, and he didn’t mind getting dirty himself, often and with great enthusiasm.”
“In the end, he couldn’t keep himself out of jail,” Willow said. She frowned at Graham, then looked back at Larry.
Graham couldn’t miss the sudden apprehension in her eyes.
“Amazing he’s still in prison,” Larry said. “I’ve got some shots I’d like you to look at as soon as I can get them printed. Will you be available later?”
She glanced at her watch. “Uh, yeah. Later. Look, I have an appointment in a few minutes, but I should be around this afternoon. Call me on my cell.” She stood from the bed, lightly punched Preston on the arm, then looked at Graham and jerked her head toward the door.
He followed her out and closed the door behind them, leaving Larry and Preston sharing details of the April Fool, like big kids sharing details of their favorite comic book scenes.
“Where did you find this guy?” Willow asked, strolling in the direction of the window at the end of the hallway.
Graham fell into step beside her. “I met him a couple of months ago at a town meeting. He’s an ex-cop.”
“Did he approach you or did you approach him?”
“He gave me his business card after the meeting, then followed up a few weeks after that with a visit to the clinic. Willow, I checked him out—he’s got a clean record. Everything was in order.”
“Call me paranoid, but a clean record doesn’t necessarily mean the guy’s an honest, upstanding citizen. Don’t you think it was a little coincidental for him to suddenly be available when you just happened to need a private eye?”
“I don’t believe in coincidence. I believe he was a nudge from God.”
“Excuse me? We’re talking about the same God who let my husband and baby be killed? That God?” She reached the window first and stood staring out at the cars racing past on the highway below them.
He didn’t know what to say to her. He had prayed about this decision to use Larry—though perhaps Willow would say he hadn’t been quite as diligent in prayer as he should have, considering the fact that he’d neglected to tell her about Larry from the beginning.
“Willow, after what you’ve been through, I know it’s hard to trust again. I’m not going to lie and say I’d be able to do it. You can trust me, and I believe you can trust Larry. It’s a sure thing that you can’t do this on your own. Please, promise me you won’t try.”
She turned to him and as if on impulse reached up and gently traced her fingers across his jaw. “I’m sorry,” she said softly. “I can’t make any promises right now.”
Willow watched the rearview mirror as much as she watched the traffic ahead when she drove the short distance to Highway 65. She took the on-ramp and headed south toward Big Cedar, an exclusive resort ten miles south of Branson. Due to the traffic and her lack of familiarity with her destination, she’d known she would have to leave herself thirty minutes to find her way.
A car raced past her and cut into the lane in front of her. She pressed the brake, studying the car and trying to catch a glimpse of the driver inside. She couldn’t tell if it was a man or a woman, but it wasn’t a dark sedan—it was a red sports car.
Slowing even further, she allowed the car to pull ahead. If a car followed her out of town, she would have to lose it before she reached Big Cedar. Unfortunately, she could easily get lost if she tried, and end up on some dead-end back road.
She’d been to Big Cedar once since coming to stay with Preston, and that was only for Sunday brunch at the Worman House on the resort grounds.
The resort was tucked deep in the woods on the shore of a protected cove of Table Rock Lake. She knew the marina was nearby, but she wasn’t sure
how to get there by car. Preston had been driving when they came, and she had quickly lost her sense of direction on the roads that twisted and turned through the hills and forests. She couldn’t afford to do that now. She needed to find out what Sandi knew about the fire…and other things.
She glanced again in the rearview mirror as the four-lane highway became two lanes. Difficult to tell, but she didn’t recognize any of the cars.
Poor Graham. It must be difficult for a man like him to put up with someone like her. Was he doubting his sanity for taking her into his home?
Worse, would he doubt her sanity when he discovered whom she had come to meet?
Graham entered his private office at the rear of the clinic, already tired of the day, and it wasn’t even noon. If not for Ginger, he’d be busy, but for the time being she was in the treatment room with the only remaining patient.
He leaned back to stare out the window. The woods that surrounded this clinic on three sides—kissed now by spring green—had always been his favorite aspect of this location. He didn’t often have the chance to enjoy it, busy as the clinic had become since its inception.
This building and his own house were the only pieces of property on which he did not have a mortgage. Those mortgages had initially made him nervous—he owed the banks well over a million dollars for the rental properties from which he supported himself and the daily operations of the clinic. If necessary, he could borrow more money against them to make payments, but he didn’t want to do that.
He’d learned long ago, however, that he often had to do things he didn’t want to do in order to make the wisest choices for others. He was determined to do anything he could to keep this clinic up and running.
The phone rang and he picked it up, knowing Ginger was the only other staff in the clinic, and she was busy.
It was his ex-wife. He didn’t feel like another fight today of all days.
“Well, surprise, surprise,” she said by way of greeting. “I guess you didn’t expect to be hearing from me.”
Forgive. “Hi, Dena. Is everything okay?”
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