Eyes

by Joanne Fluke

  Jill could be a cop’s wife. She was strong, and she knew how the system worked. She would understand when he was on call, or if he had to work overtime. But she was married, and he really shouldn’t be thinking about her. Her husband was a very lucky man; Doug hoped he appreciated how special Jill was.

  He walked to the bookcase and took down Neil’s book. There was a color portrait on the back cover, and he sat down on the couch to stare at the man who’d married Jill. Neil was handsome, and he looked sophisticated. If Doug had been a movie director, he would have cast Neil Bradley as a distinguished college professor complete with tweed jacket, intense brown eyes, and a pipe that would have cost Doug a week’s paycheck. But Neil had money, now that his book was such a success. Jill had married a real winner. Still, it was odd that she never really talked about her husband.

  Doug had always been intrigued by puzzles, and he tried to put all the pieces he’d gathered into place. Jill hadn’t seen her husband’s book before it had been published. That meant they led separate lives; there were things they didn’t share. And Jill never mentioned her husband. It wasn’t that she kept her private and her professional lives totally separate. She had spoken of her parents on many occasions, and she’d told him stories about the friends she’d had in college. But she never talked about Neil unless someone asked her a direct question.

  Two negatives, but that didn’t necessarily spell trouble. Was there a third? Doug thought for a moment, and then he remembered that Jill kept a picture of her mother and father on her desk. There was also a picture of a family reunion, with aunts and uncles and cousins. But the last time Doug had been in her office, almost three years after she’d married Neil, he’d noticed that there was no picture of her husband.

  There was a fourth negative. Doug sighed as it came to him. Jill’s wonderful smile, the smile that had lit up a room in the past, had been missing for the better part of a year. Was her marriage in trouble? Or was he just grasping at straws, hoping that someday she’d be free to start a new life with him?

  * * *

  It was dark and they were in bed. Connie snuggled up to Alan’s back and sighed. Her stomach was queasy and her head felt weightless, like a balloon filled with helium on a string. Was she getting another of her headaches?

  She hadn’t had a migraine since she’d moved in with Alan. In the past they’d been horrible, keeping her flat on her back in bed for days, unable to eat or even open her eyes. This one seemed coiled, at the very top of her skull, like a rattlesnake ready to strike.

  She’d gone to the doctor several years ago, and he’d given her medication. There were warning signs for migraines—Connie knew them all. The doctor had told her to take a pill the moment she started to see the bright patterns of yellow and red start to swirl behind her eyelids.

  But the patterns weren’t swirling; they were flashing. And they were flashing in a regular rhythm. On, off. On, off. Keeping time like a metronome. Was this really a migraine? Or was it something else?

  Cautiously, Connie opened her eyes, but she didn’t experience the familiar flash of pain. And then she saw what was making the pattern, a red neon sign that was blinking on and off.

  Dew Drop Inn. Connie mouthed the words, but she didn’t say them aloud. Alan was a light sleeper and she didn’t want to wake him. But there was no place called the Dew Drop Inn near their condo. Where were they?

  On a trip. They’d taken a trip and they were in a hotel. But where had they gone? And why? Connie wished she could remember, but she felt completely disoriented, and her stomach was churning alarmingly. She took a deep breath, that seemed to help, and then she moved very slowly to the edge of the bed. Her mouth was dry. She was terribly thirsty. A glass of water might help.

  She reached for the light. There were always lamps on both sides of the bed in hotels. But she stopped as she touched the bedside table. A light would wake Alan, and he had trouble getting back to sleep if she woke him in the middle of the night.

  Connie’s bare feet touched the floor. She was surprised to feel the linoleum, not carpet. Alan didn’t like to stay in cheap hotels, but perhaps he’d been tired after driving all day and this had been the only place he could find.

  As she stood up, Connie’s head began to whirl. Uncomfortably woozy, she reached out for the wall to steady herself, realizing the source of her problem. This wasn’t a migraine. It was a hangover. She’d had too much wine with dinner. Alan must have decided to stop here because she was too sick to go any farther.

  Heat rose to Connie’s cheeks, and she knew she was blushing. How embarrassing! She hoped Alan wouldn’t tease her about this when he woke up. But perhaps he would have a hangover, too. She could hear him snoring; he only snored when he’d had too much to drink. It was a good thing they’d stopped here for the night and not attempted to drive any farther.

  As she thought about it, Connie became less embarrassed. At least she wasn’t the only one who’d gotten drunk. They’d have a good laugh about this in the morning, and they’d make a pact never to drink too much in the future. Connie knew she’d keep her promise. The way her stomach was rolling and lurching, she didn’t think she’d ever be tempted to drink again!

  She moved slowly, inching her way across the unfamiliar room. She didn’t want to stumble over any furniture and wake Alan. There had to be a bathroom. Every hotel room had a bathroom. All she had to do was find it and she could drink some water and take some aspirin.

  As her hand found a doorknob, she resisted the urge to giggle. She hoped it wasn’t the outside door! She didn’t have on a stitch of clothing, and she didn’t want to wander out into the hallway and have the door lock behind her!

  Connie pulled the door open and gave a huge sigh of relief as her fingers touched the inside wall. It was tiled.

  Definitely a bathroom. She stepped in, pulling the door closed behind her, and flicked on the light.

  The bright beam hurt her eyes, and she blinked several times. This was a perfectly nice bathroom, small but clean, with two plastic-wrapped glasses on the counter. Connie unwrapped one, ran some water, and found the complimentary basket of toiletries. It contained a small bottle of hand lotion, a matching bottle of shampoo, a new bar of soap, and a purse-size tin of aspirin.

  After she’d taken two tablets and washed her face, Connie felt a little better. She wished she could take a cold shower to clear her head, but that would be sure to wake Alan. It was best to let him sleep. He’d have to drive in the morning.

  Connie flicked off the light and opened the bathroom door. Alan was still sleeping; she could hear him snoring softly. She crossed the room very quietly and slid into bed, trying not to jiggle the mattress. She was just preparing to pull up the blanket when she felt Alan reach for her.

  “I’m sorry if I woke you.” Connie whispered in the darkness. “Go back to sleep, honey.”

  Alan was silent, and for a moment Connie thought he’d gone back to sleep. But then he chuckled and she felt his fingers on Connie sighed softly. His hand was so warm, and the way he was touching her made her hold her breath in anticipation. It was unusual for Alan to wake up to make love to her, but from all indications, last night must have been an unusual night.

  “What do you want?” Connie’s voice was light and playful. Alan like it when she teased him. And then she reached out for him, under the covers, and gave a little gasp of surprise. Alan was more than ready. He felt huge and hard in her hand.

  He groaned when her fingers closed around him, and Connie giggled. Alan loved it when she played with him. Her fingers circled, touching and then rubbing, and that was when something very unusual happened. Alan lifted her up until she was straddling him on the bed.

  “Honey! What are you . . . ?”

  But Connie didn’t have time to finish her question. Alan pushed on the back of her head and guided her mouth down to him. Connie was shocked and she gave a little giggle of surprise. Alan had never done anything like this before! He’d always preferred what she ca
lled “nice” sex, sex with the lights out in the missionary position, fondling and touching but nothing else. Tonight he wanted something more, and Connie was delighted to give it to him.

  He groaned as her tongue brushed against him and she giggled deep in her throat. This was going to be fun. She could hardly wait to see Alan’s reaction when she really got started.

  It was no less than Connie had expected. He almost went ballistic. And that was when Connie got her second shock. He grabbed her quite roughly by the arms and lifted her up in the air, positioning her directly above him and pushing her down.

  Connie’s mouth opened in a soundless expression of surprise. This wasn’t like Alan at all! He’d always been so concerned about her pleasure, asking her whether she was ready for him, and guiding himself inside her so gently. There was nothing gentle about Alan tonight. He’d changed, and Connie wasn’t sure she liked it!

  But she started to when he moved beneath her, lunging up with his body. He was like a madman, intent on that final pleasure, and Connie gave a little moan in the back of her throat.

  “Move, baby. Move it around for me.”

  His voice was hoarse, so thick with passion that Connie almost didn’t recognize it. Alan sounded like a stranger, and she shivered in excitement. This was a side of him she’d never seen before. The gentle man she loved had turned into an animal, raging with passion.

  He guided her hips in tight circles, and Connie moaned again. It felt fantastic. She began to move in wider and wider circles, riding him like a stallion.

  “Oh, yeah. That’s good! You got it now, baby!”

  Connie had the insane urge to laugh. Where had Alan picked up this dialogue? Had he been reading pornographic books, or watching X-rated films?

  But she didn’t have time to think about that for long. He reached out to grab her breasts, and all other thoughts were driven from Connie’s mind as passion began to consume her. There was no sense of time or even of decency. They were two animals, a male and a female, mating in a burst of heated arousal. She cried out. Once. Twice. Strangled little sounds that let him know she was reaching the pinnacle. And then his voice mingled with hers in a full-throated shout as they both gave voice to that crashing completion.

  They stayed there, glued together by the memory of what they’d felt, until he broke the spell. He patted her once, a friendly pat, nothing more, nothing less, and then he moved away to his side of the bed. Connie frowned as she heard him begin to snore again. Why hadn’t he said anything? Alan always told her he loved her after they’d made love. His silence made her feel bereft, as if she’d been used and then abandoned by the man she loved.

  Connie inched her way to his side of the bed. Even though he’d gone back to sleep, she needed to feel close to him. She cuddled up to his back, pressing her body against his and sharing his warmth, but she couldn’t seem to go to sleep. It was a reversal that puzzled her. Alan was the one who’d had trouble going back to sleep. She’d always dropped right off the moment she’d closed her eyes.

  She stayed there for long minutes, trying to doze, but her thoughts were a jumble of frightening images. Two policemen, their faces solemn, telling her something she couldn’t remember. A bed on wheels, traveling down a long, brightly lit corridor. The face of a man she didn’t recognize, seated behind a huge mahogany desk.

  It was no use. She couldn’t sleep. Connie slid to the edge of the bed and sat up. Even though she didn’t smoke, her mouth tasted like stale tobacco, and she was terribly thirsty again. She didn’t want another glass of lukewarm water. She needed something with bubbles to settle her stomach.

  In most hotels you could find a soft drink machine in the hallway. There would be an ice machine, too, and perhaps even some snacks. Now that she thought about it, Connie realized she was very hungry. A soft drink and some crackers would tide her over until it was time to eat breakfast.

  Connie explored the room in the darkness until she found her clothes. It wasn’t easy. Her skirt was near the dresser, her blouse was under the chair, and her suit jacket was in a heap in the middle of the room. She found her panties and stockings, but she couldn’t locate her bra. It didn’t really matter. She’d wear her coat and no one would know the difference.

  She dressed in the bathroom, where there was light. Her head was still spinning, so she had to sit down several times to keep from losing her balance. She slipped on her coat and her shoes, she’d found those in the bathroom, and at last she was ready to go.

  Money. She needed her purse. She just hoped she’d brought it in and not left it behind in Alan’s car. She opened the bathroom door a crack, so a little light seeped out into the room, and smiled as she spotted it on the floor. A moment later, after checking to make sure the door wouldn’t lock behind her, Connie stepped out of the room.

  She was outside! Her eyes widened as she saw a line of cars parked at the snow-covered curb. They’d stopped at a motel. She was very glad she’d found her coat as a blast of winter air made her shiver. She almost ducked back inside the room. But the frigid air seemed to clear her head a bit, and she really needed something to eat and drink.

  A sign pointed the way to the office, so Connie followed the arrow. The walkway was covered, and she swayed slightly as she made her way to the front of the building. There were three vending machines in a small, partially enclosed area; Connie smiled as she saw them. One held newspapers, another was a soft drink machine, and the third contained cellophane-wrapped packages of snacks.

  Connie opened her purse and unzipped the pocket she used for change. She had enough for a soft drink, but she needed one more nickel to get the crackers she wanted. She fumbled inside the purse, hoping some change had dropped to the bottom. That was when she felt an envelope and drew it out to see what it was.

  The envelope was plain white, and she didn’t remember seeing it before. She opened the flap and frowned as she saw it contained one crisp hundred-dollar bill. Why did she have a hundred-dollar bill in a plain white envelope?

  As she stared at the envelope, a rush of memories bombarded her. The policemen. Alan. Their baby. The way the Stanfords had rejected her. She pressed her hand over her mouth to stifle a scream. Where was she? Why was she here? And who was that man in the motel room?

  “Noooooo!” Connie’s cry was anguished, the wail of the mortally wounded. The Stanfords were right. She was nothing more than a highly paid whore. But the Stanfords didn’t matter. She didn’t care if they hated her. The only person who mattered to her was Alan.

  She was running then, across the snow-covered parking lot, to the highway that stretched out before her. Someone had to stop. Someone had to help. Someone had to take her to the hospital so that she could find him. She had to see Alan one more time, to gaze into his dear, dead eyes and beg for his forgiveness.

  CHAPTER 8

  The call had come in at midnight, a disturbance at Universal Hospital. A two-man patrol car had been dispatched, but they’d encountered a burglary in progress and they’d be delayed. The dispatcher had called Doug because he lived quite close to the hospital, asking if he’d drive over and check it out.

  Doug had been almost relieved as he’d dressed and hurried to his car. He hadn’t been sleeping anyway. Thoughts of Jill had kept him awake. He’d needed something to distract him.

  It was a short drive to the hospital, only ten minutes on the deserted streets. Doug parked in a red zone next to the emergency room door, then flipped down the visor so his police identification card would be visible through the windshield.

  A starched model of efficiency was manning the desk, tightly curled hair with streaks of gray, thick coke-bottle glasses, and a snow white uniform. She looked up as Doug came through the door and frowned disapprovingly. “Please move your car. You’re parked in a red zone.”

  “Sergeant Lake. Minneapolis PD.” Doug flashed his badge. “You reported a disturbance?”

  The nurse looked relieved, and she actually smiled. “They’ve got her cornered down at
the morgue. Jimmy? Take Sergeant Lake to the basement.”

  “I’m coming, Miss Applegate.” A tall, black-haired youth rushed up. When he saw Doug, he grinned. “Hey, Sergeant Lake. How’s it going?”

  At first, Doug didn’t recognize him, but then he remembered the collar he’d made two years ago. This was Jimmy Redwing, a young Sioux teenager, who’d fenced a stolen watch for drug money. Jimmy had been a skinny kid back then, with long hair tied back in a greasy ponytail. He’d had a real punk attitude, and Doug had doubted whether the system would work. But it looked as if Jimmy had cleaned up his act.

  “Hi, Jimmy.” Doug smiled. “I almost didn’t recognize you without the hair.”

  “Yeah. Miss Applegate cut it for me. She’s my work-study sponsor, and you have to look neat to get a job here. Come on, Sergeant Lake. I’ll take you to the morgue.”

  On the way to the basement, Doug learned a lot about Jimmy Redwing. He’d been sent to the Bar None Ranch, a juvenile facility in Anoka. It was a real, working ranch, quite a change of environment for an Indian kid who’d grown up in the projects. In addition to three squares a day and four hours of classes, Jimmy had learned to ride and care for his personal horse. At the ranch he’d learned to be responsible, and he was currently living at a halfway house where employer-sponsors interviewed the teenagers for part-time jobs. Miss Applegate had hired Jimmy Redwing; she was his sponsor.

  “So how do you like your job?”

  “It’s great.” Jimmy started to grin again. “Miss Applegate runs my tail off, but she lets me do everything. She says I’m a natural, and she’s getting me into the paramedic program.”

  “How about high school?”

  “I did that.” Jimmy’s grin grew wider. “She helped me study and I passed my equivalency test. I get off parole in January. Then I can start taking classes. It’s pretty expensive, but the hospital’s going to work out a schedule so they can hire me part-time.”