Cast a Pale Shadow

by Scott, Barbara

  "Is that where it was found?"

  "Not exactly."

  "Do I get another hint?"

  "Calvary Cemetery. In the woods. Now, how do you suppose it got there?"

  He had all he could do to tread water in this world he'd just awakened to, and these cops wanted to play guessing games. "Could it be that I was beaten and robbed and the wallet tossed there by the thug? I could offer my bruised body as evidence for that story."

  "Yeah, except that it's full of money," Haskell said.

  Cole would have laughed but he suspected it would hurt too much. "Then it can't be my wallet. I've never had one that was full of money."

  Chancellor frowned at his attempt at humor. "And except that we have a body that points to another version."

  "A body?"

  "Yeah, buried in that very same cemetery. I don't suppose you care to admit you know whose body it is?"

  "Uh, well, a cemetery doesn't seem like an unusual place to find a body buried."

  "In an unauthorized grave," Haskell said. "It was the body of your father-in-law, Robert Kirk."

  "What? What did you say?" asked a small, frightened voice at the doorway.

  "Catch her!" Cole warned, but it was too late. Trissa was in a heap on the floor.

  "Must be a family trait," grumbled Chancellor. "The news affected her mother in the very same way." Haskell towed her roughly to her feet and tapped her twice on the cheek.

  "Don't touch her," Cole bellowed "Bring her to me." He didn't know why he wanted her. Bringing her close was no way to drive her out of his life. But she was supposed to be his wife, after all. He had to give a show of affection. Especially in front of two cops who were apparently questioning him about a murder.

  Haskell hauled her over and plunked her, not too gently, on the bed. Cole gritted his teeth with the pain that came with the jostling of the bed. When it subsided, he found that holding her tightly against himself kept it in check. "Ring for the nurse." He tucked a strand of her hair behind her ear and blew gently into it. "Trissa? Wake up, sweetheart. Trissa?"

  "Bad way to break the news, Haskell. How many times I got to tell you you're too abrupt?" Chancellor said.

  "How was I supposed to know the little gal was at the door?" muttered Haskell.

  Chancellor scowled at him and hitched a finger toward the hall to indicate it was time to leave. "We best be on our way. We got other stops to make. We were going to question your wife too, but she seems a bit overwrought."

  The nurse arrived and hurried off again for smelling salts. Chancellor touched a finger to his forehead as if he were tipping a hat, and sauntered out the door.

  Cole looked down at the warm, still bundle in his arms and frowned. It was a strange sensation to be holding this enchanting wisp of a woman-child so close. Ever careful to keep life at arm's length, he told himself it was just this once and for just this moment. As soon as the nurse came and as soon as she revived, he would see that Nicholas' little wife was on her feet and gone.

  Though the exterior charm of Nicholas Brewer was still intact in Cole's face -- and he was not above using it when the need arose to cajole a surly shop girl into better service, or to finagle an extra helping from a waitress or two -- he had none of Nicholas' prowess with women. In truth, he had no prowess at all and had long since ceased testing its presence.

  Nicholas, on the other hand, had no such restraints. He collected women like baseball cards. Cole had only to read their loving messages on their photographs to know that he treated them well while he had them. But then what happened to them? As always when that question surfaced in his mind, Cole shuddered and pushed it back down.

  The nurse returned, and Trissa resisted her efforts to hold the bottle of smelling salts to her nose, fluttering her hands against it. Her squirming next to him sent an odd sensation through Cole, not like pain at all. He held himself rigid and moved away from her just as she came to full consciousness and realized where she lay. With an embarrassed squeak, she scrambled out of the bed and smoothed her rumpled clothes.

  "All right now, dear?" asked the nurse.

  "Yes, I've had some upsetting news. And I guess I'm more hungry and tired than I thought."

  "It's no wonder. You've been here night and day. I think your husband will behave himself for us for long enough to let you go home and get some rest. Am I right, Mr. Brewer?"

  "The very thing I've been trying to persuade her to do."

  Trissa looked regretfully at Cole and sighed. "Very well. I'll go home when Augusta gets here."

  "Good," said the nurse. "In the meantime, I'll see if I can scare up a sandwich and a piece of fruit for you off one of these lunch trays. Aren't you going to eat any more of this, Mr. Brewer?"

  "Leave the pudding, I guess. And the coffee."

  The nurse whisked away the rest of the tray and left them alone. Cole ate the vanilla pudding in silence, letting its cool, smooth sweetness slide down his throat like a balm against his scorched senses. Trissa turned her back to him and gazed out the window.

  "I'm sorry about your father," he said at last.

  Her shoulders sagged. "And I'm sorry to hear you say that. Nicholas would not have."

  "Might he have... might I have killed him?"

  She whirled to face him and he saw that her horrorstricken eyes contained the very same question. She wanted hugging and holding and comforting, but there was no one to do that now. Now that Nicholas was gone. She flickered like a spark from a chimney, wavering on the brink of flying away. Or dying.

  Cole opened his arms to her -- a natural act, no more than any human would do for another human in distress -- and she flew into them. He did not know if it was a memory that stirred in him, or a fear, or a need, but he let his arms encircle her and he held her.

  *****

  Cole Brewer woke with his sweet, pretty wife asleep in his arms. Trissa's tear-streaked face was tucked against his chest and Cole's cheek nestled in her softly tousled hair.

  He reached with his free arm to his bedside tray, wincing with the effort to reach a napkin. Dampening a corner in his pitcher of water, Cole touched the dried tears from her face, just as Dr. Fitapaldi appeared in the doorway.

  "Trissa. Trissa, Dr. Fitapaldi's here." Trissa squeezed her eyes tightly and momentarily resisted his gentle awakening. But Cole ever-so-lightly tapped his finger to the tip of her nose and her eyes flew open. He did his best to resist the heart-melting smile she gave him. "Trissa, I think you've met Dr. Fitapaldi."

  Slowly, mindful of Cole's injuries, Trissa crept from the bed, self-consciously tugging at her skirt. "Excuse me, Doctor, this is the second time today I've been caught in a compromising position."

  "Sleeping, fully clothed, in your husband's arms is not what I would call compromising," Fitapaldi said. "I am pleased you two have resolved your estrangement."

  "Nothing is resolved," Cole said.

  "No," Trissa confirmed, shaking her head sadly. "Nothing." She clasped her arms tightly against her chest, took a deep breath, and let her words out in a rush. "In fact, we're in terrible trouble. My father has been found dead and Nichol -- we -- uh, no one knows what happened."

  "Dead?"

  "Murdered," Cole answered, his face like granite.

  "You can't think that--" Fitapaldi began. "No, it's not possible. Cole would not be capable of such--"

  "We're talking of Nicholas here, Doctor," said Cole. "Have you ever met him? How would you know what he is capable of?"

  "But -- even if..." Fitapaldi paused, tugging at his brows, thinking. "Look at you, surely the police could see this could be no more than self-defense!"

  "Yes!" cried Trissa, as if she now had the solution to the whole problem. "My father threatened him! I heard him. If anything, it has to be self-defense."

  Cole shook his head. "He was buried, they said. In an unauthorized grave. That seems a bit beyond the limits of self-defense."

  Trissa reached back to clasp Cole's hand as she turned toward Fitapaldi. "N
o! No, that couldn't be. He couldn't have done that. Nicholas is not a complete stranger to me. Not to me. He could never have done something like that. You have to believe me. I know him."

  Fitapaldi approached and put an arm around her shoulder. "I believe you, my dear. I believe you."

  Cole raised his eyes to the ceiling then shut them, unwilling to share in their theory or their confidence. "Could you get her home, Doctor?" he asked wearily. "She needs her rest. There is a long road ahead, I'm afraid."

  Before Fitapaldi had a chance to answer, Trissa said, "I should wait for Augusta. I'm sure she'll be here any minute."

  A woman Cole had no recognition of swept into the room and took Trissa's hand, giving her a motherly kiss on the cheek. "I'm sorry I'm late. I -- Oh, Trissa, honey, look at you. I should have insisted you come home last night. You look about ready to collapse."

  She turned to greet Fitapaldi and Cole. "Good afternoon, Doctor. And Nicholas! What an improvement! A little green around the gills still, but, really, you look like a whole different pers -- oh. I mean you're so much better."

  The woman Cole presumed to be Augusta dropped Trissa's hand to swoop down and engulf Cole in an eager hug.

  "Oh, I almost forgot! I brought you some candy, some of those wonderful sorbets from Crown's. I wanted to bring Mavrako's Chocolate but I was afraid that would be too naughty. Sour balls couldn't hurt anybody, could they? I know how awful this hospital food can be. These should kill the taste." She reached into the large purse she had slung over her shoulder and pulled out a white paper sack that she plunked into Cole's lap like a bag of gold nuggets. "And, oh well, I couldn't resist. Easter candy was half price. So I got you a dark chocolate bunny. Dark because it's got more vitamins and less sugar. But just a tiny bunny. Promise me you'll only nibble the ears first until you see if it agrees with you."

  Cole nodded dumbly as she delivered the chocolate bunny into his hand.

  "Now, if no one objects, I'm going to take this poor child home and tuck her in bed and make her stay there for at least twenty-four hours." She turned to shake a finger at Cole. "And you, you take advantage of that time to get well enough to come home. Everybody misses you but I told them they all couldn't come in here to visit. Hospitals are for recuperating, not socializing. Are you ready, Trissa, dear?"

  "Yes, Augusta. Dr. Fitapaldi, will you come by this evening? I need to talk."

  "I will."

  "Come for dinner, Doctor," added Augusta. "About six-thirty?"

  "Thank you. I believe I shall."

  "Good night, Nicholas." Trissa hesitated, one arm half in her jacket sleeve. Then she dropped the jacket to the floor where she stood and walked lightly and swiftly toward Cole. He read her intent but expected no more than a peck and primed himself to receive it.

  Trissa had more ambitious plans. She leaned over bracing her hands on the pillow on either side of his head, trapping him as effectively as the collar he wore around his neck. She made a slow circle of tiny kisses on his face, zeroing in on her mark. Cole's fingers flexed open and shut on the bed, poised either to push her away or delve into her hair and stroke down the back of her neck.

  When the true kiss began, a muffled grumble of surprise or protest escaped from him but was quickly lost in his effort to continue breathing steadily. But not even Cole's thick, tested, glacial wall of indifference could withstand the sweet, melting onslaught of this girl's determined kiss. His hands did reach up and hold her at last, if only for dear life. When she finally pulled away with a heartfelt sigh, he felt swamped in a befuddled mix of wonder, desire, and dismay.

  Suddenly, inexplicably shy and pink to the tips of her ears, Trissa glanced at her forgotten audience and stepped back to take the jacket Augusta held out to her. "Um, I'm sorry, Cole. It's just that I learned to kiss from a very good teacher, and I don't think he'd be happy if I let my skills lapse for want of practice." She flashed a winsome smile that held more than a trace of saucy mischief and was gone.

  "Amazing," Fitapaldi said. "I have to admire her resiliency."

  "A human roller coaster," muttered Cole, gingerly easing himself to the edge of the bed.

  "Should you be getting up?"

  "I have to. I feel like I've hit a brick wall."

  "I think you have. There will be no budging that girl now that she's made up her mind."

  "We'll see."

  Fitapaldi lent a shoulder while Cole boosted himself to his feet and took a few shuffling steps across the floor. Using a chair and the windowsill to support himself, he looked out at the blank, blue sky. "I don't remember any of it. I don't remember her. I don't remember her father. Hell, I don't even know what city I'm in."

  "St. Louis."

  "Yeah, that's right. That's what the police said. Jesus Christ, the police. Duncan's son also rises. It's what I always feared. Should we plead insanity and get it over with? It should be easy enough to prove."

  "You are assuming that you killed him. I don't think you did."

  "Yes, Dr. Jeckyl may not have, but what about Mr. Hyde?"

  "Do you really think that's how it is? You have a good side and an evil side and no conscience that bridges both?"

  "I don't know."

  "Would that girl have fallen in love with Mr. Hyde?"

  Cole pressed his forehead against the cool windowpane. "I don't know. I don't know."

  "I know. She would not have. There is no Mr. Hyde in you."

  "Does she love him?" he asked, in a low, flat voice, devoid of emotion.

  "Do you doubt it? She kissed you like that and you doubt it?"

  "I have nothing for her."

  "What do you think she expects from you? She wants to love you. That is all. Let her."

  Cole's whole body sagged. "I can't." He slumped against the windowsill and Fitapaldi assisted him back to the bed. "There is a lesson in all of this, if you care to note it."

  "What is that lesson, Cole?"

  "Above all else, a man must strive to cast a pale shadow. Otherwise the shadow takes over. Tell me, Doctor, am I the shadow now, or is he?" He smiled grimly when he saw that Fitapaldi had no answer. "How did you track me down here? We did not exactly part with promises to stay in touch."

  "You called me an ambulance chaser, I believe," Fitapaldi chuckled. "It's been a long, hard chase, but I finally caught up with you."

  "How long?"

  "Eight months. But you're wrong. You have kept in touch. And not all of your messages have been as cryptic as the last one." He withdrew a folded envelope from his pocket and handed it to Cole.

  Cole examined the envelope turning it over in his hand. It was a prop from a dream he only foggily remembered. To see it and hold it filled him with dread. "It's my handwriting."

  He opened it slowly, afraid of its contents, and what he read seemed to confirm his fear. "'I am not certain how long it has been since I've seen him. Maybe he is dead. Maybe I am. The day has grown so dark that I can barely see. Cole Baker'"

  "Maybe you should hold on to this for the trial, Doctor. Tangible proof of insanity. What does it mean? 'Maybe he is dead. Maybe I am.' Or does raving have to mean anything?" Cole carefully refolded the letter and put it back in its envelope. "I don't even remember sending it. Except in a dream."

  "You judge yourself too harshly. They are merely the words of a man trying to reach out from the darkness into the only light he remembers. You must have written it when your waking self still functioned as Nicholas."

  "My waking self? What an innocuous way of putting it, Doctor. Aren't you glossing over the facts here? The fact that I have no recollection of half of my life, the fact that I can wake, eat, sleep, breathe, and perform any and every type of depraved act then conveniently wash the slate clean by forgetting all of it?"

  "I have seen no evidence of depraved acts, Cole. Was one of those depraved acts saving a young woman's life? Not once but possibly twice?"

  "What do you mean?"

  "Trissa. You are kindred spirits, it seems. Her background
is different only in degree from yours. From the bits of the story she has given me and those I got from a counselor who spoke with her here, you -- or rather, the evil Nicholas -- rescued that girl from a suicide attempt after her father had--"

  "No. I don't want to hear it."

  "Why not? This letter you wrote to me, from out of the grip of your Mr. Hyde, is postmarked the day after she was admitted to this hospital suffering from injuries caused by that attempt. And a few days ago, as far as we can judge, Nicholas struck again. You went in that girl's place to meet her father despite threats to your own life and you were beaten to near death for your trouble."

  With some effort, Cole pulled his legs up from the floor and pushed himself back in the bed. His arm flung over his eyes to shield them, he shut himself away from Fitapaldi and any version of the truth that contradicted his own. "And maybe killed her father in the process. I'm very tired, Doctor. Could you crank down my bed and turn out the light as you leave?"

  "Very well, Cole, I will leave you for now." Fitapaldi shoved his hands in his pockets. "But I'll be back. And so will she. You're almost in sight of life now, Cole. You can't cast yourself adrift from it forever. I won't let you. And neither will she."

  "We'll see," was all Cole would say.

  Chapter Seventeen

  After a cordial dinner with Augusta and her housemates, Dr. Fitapaldi met with Trissa in the small, but charming second floor solarium. Her face felt puffy with sleep and her eyes still bleary from the time she had spent crying since he had last seen her. Still, she managed a welcoming smile, and when he stood and extended a hand to her, she tamed all but the slightest tremble in her grasp as he drew her in for a comforting hug.

  When they settled in two armchairs on either side of a tea table Augusta had loaded with cake, sliced fruit, and chocolate mints, Fitapaldi took up the snifter of brandy Augusta had brought him and Trissa sipped a cup of tea.

  "What must I do, Doctor?"

  "It will be a long road. And I must admit, though it may seem cold to call it so, that your father's murder is an intrusive complication."