by Robin Caroll
“My mother’s mother?”
Alena nodded. “Da.”
The two women stared at one another. Julian couldn’t imagine what Sophia had to be feeling. On top of being attacked, she’d just learned she’d lost her mother. The mother who’d lied to her about the grandmother standing in front of her now.
“Why did Mamochka tell me you were dead?”
“Dead?” Shock buried itself in the harsh lines of Alena’s face. “She told you I was dead?”
Sophia nodded. “She told me you died before I was born. When she was still pregnant with me.”
Alena snorted. “She lied.”
“Obviously. Again I ask you, why?”
“I do not know.” Alena shrugged and looked over her shoulder.
Julian didn’t miss the deceptive body language.
Neither did Sophia. “I think you do.”
Alena shook her head and looked past Sophia to the monitors with all the cords and wires attached to Sophia. The steady droning beep beep beep and the humming of the humidifier were the only sounds in the room.
“I think I’d like for you to leave.” Charlie’s smooth voice split the silence.
Alena shot her stare to Sophia. “Ne, MIlaya Moyna. Do not send me away.”
“Then tell me why Mamochka lied about you being dead.” Sophia frowned. “And stop calling me that. I’m not your sweet.”
Julian cocked a brow at Charlie, who gave an answering
single-shoulder shrug.
“I think my Nina and me had a misunderstanding. It is why she lied to you about me being dead.” Alena gripped the bed’s bar with both hands. Her gnarled knuckles whitened.
“What kind of misunderstanding would make Mamochka so upset with her own mother that she’d tell me you were dead?”
Alena looked at Julian, then at Charlie, then finally back at Sophia. “Now is not good time to discuss.”
“Mamochka is dead. There isn’t a better time for you to tell me why she let me believe all my life you were dead. What did you do to her?” Charlie spoke without inflection, but the pain and anger behind Sophia’s words were clear. Tears seeped from her swollen eyes and trickled down her cut and battered face.
Alena shook her head. “Oh, MIlaya Moyna, we should grieve together. It is not good to be so sad all alone.”
“I told you to stop calling me that.” Sophia shook her head. “I want you to go. Now.”
The machine closest to the bed began to beep a little faster.
“Sophia, I do not want to upset you.”
She wouldn’t look at Alena. “Just go.”
Dr. Rhoads rushed into the room. “That’s enough questioning. My patient needs her rest.” A nurse trailed him, a syringe in her hand. She shot the contents into Sophia’s IV.
“Everyone out, please,” the nurse said while the doctor reviewed the machine’s printouts.
“I come back tomorrow. Maybe be better time for you.” Alena blew Sophia a kiss.
Sophia’s lips moved, but Charlie didn’t speak. She mouthed at her again, faster this time.
“Because I don’t want to tell her something you might regret later,” Charlie told her.
“You need to leave now.” No mistaking the emphasis from the good doctor.
Julian nodded, then met Sophia’s eye. “Thank you. We’ll come by tomorrow and give you an update. Don’t worry about anything. I have officers stationed outside your room.”
She nodded, but a little slower than she’d been responding. Whatever they’d given her was already taking effect.
Julian led Charlie into the hall. “I don’t want her room left unguarded. Period,” he told the uniformed officer sitting just outside the door. “This wasn’t a random act of violence. This was directed at the young woman in there and her mother. They were looking for something specific, and I have no way of knowing yet if they got it. If they didn’t, chances are they’ll come back to her to find it. No one is allowed inside without my express permission except medical personnel, me, and my partner. Understood?”
The officer nodded. “Yes, sir.”
Julian and Charlie walked to the elevator together. “She’s a strong one,” Charlie volunteered. “One of the stronger ones I’ve seen, given her circumstances.”
“Yes, she is.” Julian had been impressed with her poise under such circumstances. It was hard to believe she was only twenty-one. He’d read her file while he’d waited for her to wake up following surgery. He hated to admit he’d been captivated by what he’d learned about her. She certainly hadn’t lived a charmed life, not by any means, but the young woman had proven she was special.
“It’s none of my business, it being your case and all, but Julian, I read your crime scene notes so I would be prepared before seeing her. Whoever attacked her thought they’d killed her along with her mother. They left her for dead.” Charlie stepped off the elevator into the lobby of the Arkansas hospital.
“I know, and I know where you’re going. If they find out she’s still alive, they could come after her again. She saw them. She can recognize them.” Julian strode to the automatic double doors. They whooshed open, blasting him and Charlie with the late June heat. “And that makes her a liability to them.”
3
Sophia listened to the clanking of the empty lunch trays being reloaded onto the carts. She’d slept soundly, at least to the best of her recollection, although she suspected the medication they’d given her last night had been part sedative. It would explain her feeling of grogginess earlier this morning, but she felt much better now. The steady hum of the humidifier running had become strangely comforting.
“Good afternoon. I promised you I would get you cleaned up today, so here I am,” the shift nurse, Katie, was younger, and chipper. Her constant monologue was strangely soothing to Sophia as she bustled about filling a plastic bin with water and opening a bed-bath supply pack.
“You’ll feel so much better after you’re cleaned up, I promise you.” Katie laid a towel across Sophia’s chest. “Those men doctors don’t get how a lady can feel one hundred times better just after getting washed up. It’s in our DNA, I think.” She set the bin on the adjustable table and wet a washcloth.
“Now, I know you can’t talk just yet, so I’m going to have to watch your expression to see if any of this is too uncomfortable for you. If something doesn’t feel comfortable, just make a sour face and I’ll stop, okay?” Katie’s smile was as open as her personality.
Sophia nodded.
“Great.” Katie daubed at Sophia’s face with a lukewarm cloth. It felt . . . nice. Sophia closed her eyes and relaxed back against her pillows.
“See? I told you this would make you feel better.” Katie continued bathing Sophia’s face, rinsing the cloth every so often in the water bin. She bathed her face, her neck, and to her shoulders, then gently dabbed at her scalp. It was heavenly.
“Much better. Let me go change the water and I’ll wash the bottom part of your hair with real shampoo.”
Sophia opened her eyes just in time to see the water in the bin. Murky. Was she that filthy?
Water ran in the bathroom, mingling with Katie’s humming. For the first time since she woke up, she wondered what she looked like.
Katie returned, still smiling and chattering. She washed Sophia’s hair from the nape of her neck down, then conditioned it and combed it out. She finished giving Sophia a sponge bath and helped her into a clean gown, washed her feet and put lotion on them before covering them in a fresh pair of socks, then brushed Sophia’s teeth. “There, you must feel all better. You look like
you do.”
She did feel better, but she was also tired from all the exertion. Who would have ever thought Sophia Montgomery, dubbed the Energizer Bunny for her enthusiasm in practice as well as in competition, would get worn out just from getting a bath and clean clothes?
“Your doctor will do rounds soon. I’m sure he’ll be quite impressed with how much better you look,” Katie rambled as she picked up
the items from the bath.
Again, Sophia wondered just how bad she looked. She glanced around the room and didn’t see a mirror anywhere. Was she that scary looking? Was her face all scarred up? The men had taken her mother and her career already. Had they left her yet another constant reminder of their hate? Of their rage?
Lord, help me! I don’t think I can get through this. I feel like I have nothing left. Please, help me feel You around me.
“There.” Katie straightened the covers over Sophia. “You get a little rest now. Getting all prettied up can wear a patient out. I’ll see you later.” Katie left, pulling the door almost closed behind her.
Sophia leaned back against the fresh pillows Katie had fluffed. Her mother used to fluff her pillows the same way every night when she’d tucked her in and they’d said prayers together. Sophia stared at the ceiling, fighting back the overwhelming grief strangling her as physically as the bulky man had. She needed something else to think about.
Sitting up straighter in the bed, she struggled to remember what Mamochka had said about her mother, Alena. Over the years, Sophia had stopped asking about her grandmother, because her mother said she’d died just a few weeks or so before Sophia had been born.
Sophia knew her mother and grandmother hadn’t agreed on Mamochka’s marriage to Sophia’s father, but from what Mamochka told Sophia, her mother had come around after Mamochka had gotten pregnant with Sophia.
Although, now that she thought about it, Sophia couldn’t recall seeing any photos of her grandmother in any of Mamochka’s pregnancy albums. There were pictures of Nina and Lance Montgomery in various stages of the pregnancy: getting an ultrasound, decorating the nursery, setting up the crib . . . but there wasn’t even a single shot of Nina’s mother in all the photos. Not even in the pictures of the baby shower.
What was the real story? What was the truth?
Sophia turned as Detective Frazier and Charlie Wallace knocked on the door. “May we come in?” Julian asked.
She nodded, taking advantage of her alertness to check out the detective. Oh, he was as handsome as she’d remembered, but there were specific traits she’d missed yesterday. Like the way his jaw and chin were so well defined. The depth of his dark eyes. The cord of muscles bunched in his neck. The way he walked with an uneven gait, almost a ragged swagger.
Having a mother who’d owned a dance studio and had once been the prima ballerina of the Russian ballet, Sophia appreciated the way people moved. She liked grace and fluidity, but there was something to be said for a masculine posture. Especially one as distinct as Detective Julian Frazier’s.
“How are you feeling today?” he asked as he moved beside her bed. Even his voice sounded deeper today.
“Better,” she mouthed, and Charlie spoke. Sophia smiled at Charlie and mouthed, “Thank you, Charlie. It’s nice to see you again.”
“Nice to see you, too.” Charlie grinned at her. “You look better.”
“Oh, so it’s not nice to see me?” Julian teased.
She smiled at him, happy she could make the facial gesture today without the sharp, shooting pain. Then again, maybe it was the drugs, too. “It’s nice to see you as well, Detective,” she mouthed.
Charlie didn’t say anything.
Julian looked at her over his shoulder. “What’d she say?”
“Nice to see you, too, but nicer to see me.”
She did not!
Julian laughed and turned back to Sophia. “Charlie’s such a notorious liar. Don’t worry, I don’t believe you said it.”
She smiled a little wider.
Julian cleared his throat and his face took on the familiar serious appearance. He held a folder as he pulled the chair closer to her bed. “I’m sorry to bother you, but to catch whoever did this, I need as much information as I can.”
She nodded. She wanted nothing more than to see the men punished for what they’d done to Mamochka . . . to her.
“I need you to look at some photos from your mother’s house, if you can. Just to see if you can make out if anything is missing.”
“I’ll try, but I don’t live there. I’d only been visiting for a week before they . . . well, just before,” she mouthed and Charlie spoke.
Julian flashed a reassuring smile. “It’s okay. Maybe something will jump out at you. Okay?” He took a couple of eight-by-tens from the folder.
She nodded.
He held the first one up for her to see. It was a shot of the front entry area. Where the attack had started. Sophia sucked in air and closed her eyes, not prepared for her gut reaction to seeing the crime scene.
“It’s okay. Take deep breaths. Just focus on the individual things you see in the picture. Is there something missing?” Julian’s voice was smooth. Soothing.
She exhaled slowly and opened her eyes. The photo was of the front door and entry. In the picture, the front door was ajar, the nicks and scrapes from the men’s forced entry visible. Sophia moved on to inspect the rest of the photograph. The entry table laid on its side, the once delicately intricate vase now shattered in pieces across the wood floor.
The two men charging into the room with knives. Mamochka sliding across the floor. Running to help, but not getting much traction on the slick floor. Being grabbed by the hair—the pain of my head jerking backward, then flying through the air into the living room. Landing. Hard. My head clunking against the stone fireplace edge. Shooting, stabbing pain going down my neck into my spine. Fear grabbing me in the gut.
“I didn’t hit my head on the chair leg like I thought yesterday. I hit the fireplace.” Something about hearing Charlie say her words aloud made them more powerful. More meaningful.
“It’s okay.” Julian held the photo. “Just concentrate on this one picture. Is there anything missing?”
She focused. “The table’s turned over. The vase is broken. I can’t remember anything else there.”
“Good.” Julian flipped to the next picture and held it up for her to see. “What about here?”
The picture was of the living room, taken from the angle of the entryway. The wide-angle view had captured the entire room.
Sophia let out a deep breath.
“Just take in it pieces. It’s okay.” Julian rested his elbow on the bed beside her as he held the photograph for her to study.
She nodded and concentrated. Maybe if she just broke it down, like Julian suggested, she’d be okay. She focused on just the left corner of the picture. The edge of the armoire holding extra blankets, then the open doorway into the dining room and kitchen.
The armoire still stood, probably too heavy for them to flip over easily, but the drawers were crushed on the floor beside the piece of furniture. Blankets and afghans were ripped and lying in ruin on the broken wood.
The artistic tapestry that had hung over the doorway into the dining room had been ripped from the wall and scattered over the floor. The little table just inside the dining room that held Mamochka’s heirloom sterling tea service lay crumpled on the floor. Pieces of silver, bent and deformed, were strewn all over the floor. Several scuff and scrape marks pocked the beautifully polished wood floors.
“I can’t tell if there are any pieces of the silver tea service missing, but I see several, so I don’t think they were after the family heirlooms.”
“Good. You’re doing great.”
She pressed on. The next part of the photo was the little wall between the doorway to the dining and kitchen area and the first floor-to-ceiling window. The flat screen television was smashed on the floor. A little painting that had hung over the television with the art light attached, a painting one of Mamochka’s dance students painted for her years ago, was cut from the frame, sliced and lying in pieces on the floor.
The destruction . . . the violence. “Where is it, Nina? We can make the pain stop.” The skinny blond wearing the absurd ushanka—absurd because it was June in Arkansas . . . put his knife to Mamochka’s throat. “You’re going to die anyway, but we can stop t
he suffering. For you. And her.” He nodded at Sophia. She arched her back, trying to knock off the bulky man straddling her.
“No?” The skinny man sighed, then nodded to the bulky man.
He got off Sophia, and she sucked in a deep breath, but before she could even think of how to move away from him, his heavy boot stomped on her right hand. The bones crushed as pain like Sophia had never felt before surged up her arm. She screamed and thrashed, but he only applied more pressure.
“Stop!” Mamochka yelled.
“Then tell us where it is. You control how much she suffers, Nina. Where is it?”
Sophia didn’t realize she was crying until Julian softly wiped her cheeks with a tissue. “I’m so sorry, Sophia. If there was any other way to get this information, I’d do it so as to not bother you, but you’re our only witness.”
The gentleness in his tone almost made her cry harder. But she was tough. She had to be. Countless coaches had drilled it into her head. Only the toughest and most determined could win. And she was determined to see whoever did this to them punished.
Lord, help me be strong.
She sniffed and smiled at him. “It’s okay. It’s just remembering
. . . not having my mother here . . . well—”
“I understand. And we appreciate you doing this. It helps the case more than you know.”
She let out a huff. “Okay. I remember they kept asking my mother where something was. I don’t think it was in these pictures if they were asking where it was. I mean, if it was visible in the room, they wouldn’t have to ask where it was, right?”
Julian nodded. “Probably, but we need to be sure. And you might notice something else in the photos we don’t even know could be a clue.”
“Okay.” She focused back on the photograph.
The curtains covering the floor-to-ceiling windows facing the backyard were ripped, frayed material remnants clutching to the rods. The long, thin tapestries on either side were ripped apart and lying on the floor.
The two couches in the center of the living room, in front of the fireplace, along with the coffee table and chair with ottoman, were broken, ripped, and wrecked in the photograph. The beautiful Oriental rug in the center of the room was cut up, and the crystal chandelier lay shattered on the floor.