Rude Awakening

by Susan Rogers Cooper

  She walked into the room and was dumbstruck. It was almost exactly how she imagined. She could see Miss Kitty, that lady from those old Gunsmoke reruns on TV, sitting in this room waiting for Marshal Dillon to show up. It was indeed a four-poster bed, all carved with flowers and such, and it was indeed at least four feet off the ground. In fact, there was a little stool next to the side of the bed – a two-stepper for the lady of the room to use. The beautiful bedspread was a blue willow design, as was the wallpaper. She thought some might think it a little busy, but Holly thought it was classy and beautiful. There was even a dark wood hutch against the wall, carved with the same kind of flowers as the bed posts, and the glass doors showed blue willow patterned dishes – a platter and a soup tureen, and a beautifully shaped coffee server with little matching cups and saucers.

  She turned and looked at Dalton and the look on her face was pure joy. He couldn’t help but smile back.

  JEAN

  ‘Oh my God,’ Jean said, when Milt came home with his theory. ‘You really think it was one of his women?’

  ‘I don’t know, honey, but it’s as good a place as any to start. Anyway, can you help me find out where some of those you talked to are now?’ Milt asked.

  ‘Let me get on the Internet, do some research,’ Jean said, and headed for her office in their son’s former nursery, leaving Milt to finish supper and get John settled. She wondered how Milt would manage to end up frying the salad she’d started for dinner, and smiled.

  There was absolutely nothing on Greta Schwartzmann Nichols, but there was an entire website for Melinda Hayes, who was now Melinda Hayes Solomon. She was now a day trader and mommy of two, and even if she had a nanny, Jean couldn’t see her following Emil Hawthorne to Oklahoma to help him wreak vengeance on an old colleague.

  LeeLee Novotny had committed suicide three years ago. That information took Jean’s breath away, and she had to sit for a while and contemplate her own guilt in LeeLee’s demise. She’d done the best she could for the young woman, found her all the help she could find. Jean decided to lay blame where it belonged: at the feet of LeeLee’s mother and Emil Hawthorne.

  After searching the web for what seemed like, and was, hours, Jean finally gave up and went to bed, where Milt was already fast asleep and snoring.

  The next morning, Jean called DeSandra and asked her to push back her nine o’clock appointment, telling her she’d be in late. Then, informing Milt he would be taking John to preschool, she sat down in her robe with a cup of coffee and resumed her search. The first search was of her own memory, then to her alma mater for a list of the medical school graduating class that she was in.

  She wrote down three names of graduates who had gone on to be interns with her. Two had been in the psych rotation. And one of them, Jean was pretty sure, was the guy who had told the rest of the group of Greta’s identity. His name was Eric Loeman and he hadn’t gone into psychiatry. He was an oncologist now living in Houston and working at MD Anderson.

  She found both his home and office number and dialed the office number first. A secretary answered and told her that the doctor was at the hospital and would be returning calls in the afternoon. Jean left a short message: ‘Just tell him I was an intern with him in Chicago, and I need to speak with him urgently.’ She gave her home and cell number and headed in to work.

  DALTON

  Dalton’s job this Tuesday morning was to check on Holly Humphries and to keep tabs on her all day. That’s what Milt said to do and that’s exactly what Dalton intended to do. That it wasn’t a terrible assignment did enter Dalton’s mind, but he pushed it aside with the intention of doing his job without enjoying it.

  He drove his squad car up to the Longbranch Inn and parked, getting out and going into the lobby and up to the desk. ‘Hey, Mavis,’ he said to the lady behind the desk, ‘could you call up to Miz Humphries room and tell her I’m here, please?’

  ‘Holly?’ Mavis said. ‘She’s having breakfast in the dining room.’

  ‘Thanks,’ Dalton said and ambled into the dining room. The dining room, like the rooms upstairs, had been redone in the early 1990s, and it boasted a turn of the century (the other century) décor that included imitation gas lamps on the walls, flocked wallpaper and lacy-looking plastic table cloths. They hadn’t bothered with the floor because they ran out of money after doing the rooms upstairs, and it was still the same linoleum tile that had been there since the last remodel in 1952.

  It took Dalton a minute to find Holly in the large dining room, as almost every table was taken. The Longbranch Inn made a slam-bam breakfast, and that was a fact. Finally, he saw her in the corner by the stuffed five-point buck and headed her way. She looked up and saw him and smiled. He smiled back. He couldn’t help himself. Besides, he was just being polite.

  ‘Hey, Deputy!’ Holly said. He noticed she was wearing those khaki short things from yesterday and the white shirt, and they looked really good with her coloring – her olive complexion and reddish brown hair and those green eyes that shimmered like emeralds under the lights of the hotel dining room. ‘Join me?’ Holly asked.

  ‘Thanks,’ Dalton said, his face turning red as he took a chair facing the dead deer. ‘Sheriff said I was to be at your service today, Miz Humphries, so anything you wanna do . . .’

  ‘Oh! Don’t you have more important things to do?’ she asked and then her face paled. ‘Or does he still think I’m a suspect?’ Tears sprang to her eyes and she put down her fork on the plate, her Longbranch Inn morning special – two eggs any way, ham, bacon and sausage, hash browns or grits and a choice of toast or a biscuit – totally forgotten.

  ‘Oh, no, Ma’am!’ Dalton said, willing to do anything to dry the tear in her eye. ‘I think he’s punishing me for causing so much trouble . . .’

  ‘I’m your punishment?’ Holly said, the tear not drying up a bit.

  ‘Oh, no, Ma’am! I didn’t mean that! The sheriff may think it’s a punishment,’ Dalton said, turning a magenta, ‘but I sure don’t think it is.’

  ‘Oh,’ Holly said, and smiled. Dalton smiled back. ‘Why don’t you call the waitress over and join me for breakfast, Deputy?’

  ‘Sure thing, Ma’am, and you can call me Dalton,’ he said.

  JEAN

  Jean arrived at the office and had half an hour before her next appointment. Anne Louise was also between patients, so they sat in the coffee room discussing the horrors of the past two days.

  ‘I can’t believe you had to go through all this, Jean. I’m so sorry,’ Anne Louise said.

  ‘Thank you. It’s been an incredible experience. I’m just so thankful no one got hurt. I mean, none of the children or . . .’

  Anne Louise reached across the table and patted Jean’s hand. ‘I know, honey. That louse Hawthorne’s dead, but we’re not counting him.’

  ‘Did you know him, back in Chicago?’ Jean asked her partner.

  ‘Only by reputation,’ Anne Louise said. ‘He was a genius, they said.’

  ‘He was,’ Jean agreed. ‘But so were Svengali and Machiavelli, and hell,’ Jean said, laughing slightly, ‘they say even Ted Bundy was smart.’

  Patting Jean’s hand again, Anne Louise said, ‘Just try to put this out of your mind. For now, anyway. When you have time to get perspective on it, then we’ll sit down for real and have a session, OK?’

  Jean nodded. ‘You’re right,’ she said. ‘I need to just let it percolate.’

  ‘Thatagirl,’ Anne Louise said, standing up and hugging Jean. ‘I’ve got some paperwork to do. We’ll talk later?’

  ‘You bet,’ Jean said, and watched her friend walk out the door. Suddenly, she felt very lonely.

  HOLLY

  Holly was delightfully surprised to find out how much there was to see in Longbranch and the rest of Prophesy County. There were some cute boutiques and antique shops around the square in downtown Longbranch, and Dalton even took her up on Mountain Falls Road, where the sheriff lived. She could hardly believe this was just two miles fr
om where she’d been held captive and where she and Eli had wandered in the woods like Moses and the lost tribe of Egypt. (One of her foster ‘moms’ was a lay preacher for an Evangelical church, and it was amazing how much she absorbed in what, thankfully, turned out to be a very short stay.)

  ‘But we won’t go to his house,’ Dalton said. ‘Nobody home and, anyway, I want to show you the falls. We never did get there the other night.’

  They passed the sheriff’s house and Dalton pointed down the long driveway. ‘See it back there?’ he said. ‘White stucco with a flat roof?’

  ‘Oh yeah!’ Holly said. ‘It looks like something you’d see in New Mexico or something.’

  ‘Yeah, real exotic for this area,’ Dalton said. ‘But it’s real nice inside.’

  ‘I guess I’ll have to take your word for that,’ Holly said.

  ‘Let me show you the falls,’ he said, and started the car rolling down the hill.

  They got to the bottom on the far side of Mountain Falls Road, and Dalton pulled into a large flat area. ‘This used to be an RV park,’ he told her. ‘Until we had a real bad tornado and this whole area got flooded. It was really something.’

  He got out of his car and walked around to open her door, but she’d already done that. They bumped into each other as she was getting out of the car.

  ‘Oh, sorry—’ Holly said, just as Dalton was saying, ‘Sorry.’ They both stood there for a few seconds, so close they were almost touching and then Dalton quickly backed up. ‘Sorry, Ma’am.’

  ‘No, that’s OK,’ Holly said. ‘I’m just not used to guys opening doors for me. The guys in Tulsa, at least the ones I know, don’t exactly have manners.’

  ‘Well, that just proves they weren’t raised right, Ma’am,’ Dalton said.

  There was an awkward silence and then Holly put on her super-cheerful voice and said, ‘Now, where did you say those falls were?’

  JEAN

  Luckily, Jean wasn’t with a patient when Eric Loeman, the oncologist from Houston, called her back.

  ‘Hey, Jean?’ he said when her got her on the phone. ‘What the hell? I can’t believe I’m hearing from you after all this time! How you doing?’

  Jean wondered if he really remembered her or if he was just trying to be slick. She remembered him as being the slick type.

  ‘I’m doing great, Eric. How are you?’ she asked.

  ‘Great, great. Head of my department here at Anderson. Married a Miss Texas runner-up. Got three kids. My oldest is going into medicine like his old man, and my daughter, well, if she ever gets through with all this beauty pageant business, I hope she’ll get serious about a career!’

  ‘The reason I called,’ Jean said, breaking in before she had to hear about the wonderfully planned future of the third child, ‘is about Emil Hawthorne.’

  ‘Good God, haven’t heard that name in a while. He still in a coma or did he finally die?’ Eric said.

  ‘Actually,’ Jean said, ‘he woke up from the coma—’

  ‘Jesus H Christ on a bicycle! You serious? How long?’

  ‘Eight years—’

  ‘Mother Mary and Joseph! Can you beat that? So how’s he doing? Got all his faculties? I mean, that would be a real shame for a guy like that to wake up and be stupid, know what I mean?’

  ‘Ah, well, he seemed to have all his faculties, but he’s dead now.’

  ‘You just said—’ Eric started.

  ‘I know. He was fine for about six or seven months, then someone shot him.’

  ‘No shit?’ Eric said. ‘Who?’

  ‘We don’t know,’ Jean said. ‘Eric, the reason I’m calling—’

  ‘Who’s we?’ Eric asked.

  ‘I’m sorry?’

  ‘You said “we don’t know”. Who’s we?’

  ‘Oh,’ Jean said. ‘My husband and I. He’s the sheriff for the county where Hawthorne was shot. Anyway, Eric, the reason—’

  ‘You married a sheriff?’ Eric demanded.

  ‘Yes . . .’

  ‘Where?’

  ‘Where what?’

  ‘Where is he the sheriff?’

  Jean sighed. She’d forgotten what a prick Eric Loeman was. ‘Prophesy County, Oklahoma. Now, Eric—’

  ‘Oh, Jesus!’ Eric said and laughed. ‘You mean Baja Texas, don’ja? I can’t believe you live in Oklahoma! You were so good! I thought you’d be in New York by now. You still in psychiatry?’

  ‘Yes, I’m still in psychiatry. I run the hospital’s psych wing here and have a private practice—’

  ‘Bet you got a lot of nuts in Oklahoma, huh?’ Eric said and laughed again.

  ‘Eric,’ Jean said, her voice a little more abrupt than she meant for it to be, ‘I’ve got a patient in just a few minutes and I really need to ask you some questions. It’s for the case.’

  ‘No shit. Shoot!’ Eric said.

  ‘You remember that girl who had been Hawthorne’s assistant before me? Greta Schwartzmann Nichols?’

  ‘Oh, yeah! She was banging him. You didn’t ever bang him, did you?’ Eric asked.

  ‘No, Eric, I didn’t! Now, do you know where Greta might be now? I couldn’t find her on the Internet . . .’

  ‘That’s ’cause she changed her name,’ Eric said.

  ‘She got married?’ Jean inquired.

  ‘So to speak. She’s now Sister Mary something-or-other. Last I heard, she was working at some Catholic hospital somewhere.’

  ‘You’re not sure what her name is now?’

  ‘No. Wish I could help you. Can’t even swear that it’s Mary something. Just that it’s not Greta anymore.’

  ‘Well, thank you so much, Eric—’

  ‘Hey, it was great talking to you, Jean! We need to stay in touch. Give me your numbers—’

  ‘Oh, damn, my patient’s here! I’ve got your number, Eric. I’ll give you a call!’

  ‘Great—’

  Jean hung up the phone.

  HOLLY

  It was beautiful. Oak and pine and other trees Holly didn’t recognize surrounded a crystal-blue pool. She couldn’t believe she’d been so close to this the other night, but then she figured, under the circumstances, she probably wouldn’t have appreciated it the way she did now.

  Large boulders rimmed the pool, some flat enough to sit on. What with spring rains and snow run-off, Mountain Falls Creek was swollen this year. The falls themselves, while certainly not Niagara quality, were running hard and fast, filling the pool to capacity and running off to the lower part of Mountain Falls Creek, which changed its name to Lazy Creek a half mile down.

  Holly sat on the flat rock next to Dalton, their bodies almost touching. She was beginning to really like this big, slow-talking deputy. He had a sweetness she wasn’t used to, and an old-fashioned way about him that made her feel like a lady, a feeling she usually only got when acting.

  Wild flowers filled the grassy areas around the pool, and she saw Dalton lean down from the rock for a moment, then come back up with a daisy in his hand.

  His face turning its usual red, he handed the flower to her without a word.

  For the first time in her memory, Holly felt her face grow hot, and wondered if Dalton’s condition was contagious. ‘Thank you,’ she said.

  Dalton nodded his head.

  Holly decided they needed to leave, right that minute. Because otherwise, she figured, in about two minutes she was going to jump his bones.

  MILT

  Jean called me with the information about Greta Schwartzmann Nichols. Looked like a dead end to me and I told her so.

  ‘You forget I’m a Catholic in good standing, Milt,’ she said. ‘My dad and the Archbishop of the Chicago Diocese are golfing buddies. If Greta did take her vows, I’ll find her.’

  I shook my head. ‘Babe, I don’t doubt you for a minute,’ I said. ‘Call me when you can.’

  We said some mushy stuff and then she hung up. I wandered into Emmett’s office and sat down.

  ‘Talk to me,’ I said to my oldest friend
and head deputy. ‘Tell me what the hell’s going on with our dead perv.’

  Emmett leaned back in his chair, elbows out, hands clasped behind his head. ‘Well, now, what do we have here? Jean discovers a doctor who’s doing it with under-age patients and turns him in. He goes tooling off in his Corvette – ain’t that always the way? Some dumb-ass doctor gets to buy a Corvette, and law-abiding peace officers such as ourselves get stuck with Jeeps and Tauruses? – Anyway, he wraps his Corvette, vintage I found out, around a tree or a lamp post or something, ends up in a coma for eight years and comes out of it like it was the next fucking day. Then decides he’s going to seek revenge against the woman who turned him in and caused all his problems, as far as he’s concerned. Am I up to speed so far?’

  ‘Doing good,’ I informed him.

  ‘So he does his rehab, hires a – excuse the expression – actress, in what seems like an ill-conceived plot to get back at Jean. His plan being that he’s going to kidnap Johnny Mac. How’m I doing?’

  ‘Giving me the shivers,’ I admitted.

  ‘So this so-called genius with the ill-conceived plot winds up kidnapping the wrong kid and tries to convince the – excuse the expression – actress he hired that the kidnapped boy is all part of a movie plot. Did I actually hear the girl say she thought the kid was “method acting”?’ Emmett asked.

  ‘She said it to my face,’ I admitted.

  Emmett shook his head. Then went on, ‘But she finally wises up and our so-called genius ties up both the girl and the little boy and sits around with his thumb up his ass. Why?’

  ‘Waiting for instructions?’ I suggested.

  ‘My point exactly,’ Emmett said.

  ‘Well, we already figured there had to be someone else in on this, Emmett. The man is dead, after all, and it certainly wasn’t natural causes, and if it was suicide, he was a genius, at least at hiding the gun.’

  ‘No, now, Milt, we figured there was someone else in on it, sure. But didn’t you think it was a subordinate? Someone working for Hawthorne?’

  I thought about it. ‘See your point,’ I said. ‘Maybe it was the other way around. Now Hawthorne was the one with revenge on his mind, but maybe the other person had other ideas. Ransom?’