“No, so I just let myself in.”
“You let yourself in! You have a key to Penny’s house?”
“We have a key, Diana. Have you forgotten that Penny gave us a key in case she ever locked herself out or lost her key?”
“Now I remember. I don’t suppose you noticed anything odd when you were in the house.”
Simon looked reluctant for a moment, clearly not wanting to discuss something troubling. Then he gave up. “First of all, I must say that I, too, noticed a difference in Penny the last two weeks she was here. Each day she was quiet and distracted. On Monday, her hands trembled so much she could barely work at the computer. I was going to ask her on Tuesday if there was a problem, but that very day Willow got sick.”
Simon took a deep breath. “The day I went to Penny’s house with the food, I put the cold items I’d brought in the refrigerator, set everything else on the kitchen table, and wrote her a note. As I left the kitchen, I noticed four or five large, packed boxes in the living room. Then I glanced at that awful recliner Penny had gotten at a yard sale. Her birthday is in two months, and I’d planned on buying her a new recliner—something sturdy, very comfortable. . . .” Simon’s voice trailed off and he swallowed hard.
“I remember the recliner,” Diana said quickly, knowing her great-uncle would be deeply embarrassed if he broke down in front of Clarice.
Simon promptly regained his composure. “There was an end table next to that awful chair. I saw an object lying on the table.” Simon took a deep breath again then lowered his voice. “It was a very nice Glock 23 handgun, clean and loaded.”
3
The phone beside Clarice’s chair rang. All three of them jumped and Simon shouted, “Good God!” Then he flushed at betraying his nervousness.
“I gave Tyler Raines this phone number,” he muttered before snatching up the handset and barking a loud, “Hello!” Diana watched his handsome, hawklike face relax slightly. He closed his eyes before saying, “Thank God. Where is she?” Diana was nearly tugging on his arm by the time he hung up after saying, “Thank you, Tyler. You must be exhausted. Forget about the car—we’ll deal with it tomorrow.”
“Did he find Willow?” “Is Willow hurt?” Clarice and Diana asked at the same time.
Simon took a deep breath. “Clarice, you were right. Willow was in the woods. Unfortunately she saw the explosion. She saw her mother . . . on fire.” Simon paused. “Afterwards she went deeper into the woods, scared to death and refusing to answer the police or paramedics who were calling for her, but Tyler found her. He didn’t say how. He said the paramedics looked her over and she seems perfectly fine—physically, that is. Still, they want her to spend the night in the hospital for observation.”
“I’ll go to her.” Diana stood up. “I’m sure she needs somebody she knows.”
Simon frowned. “I doubt if they’ll let you see her until morning.”
“I don’t care. I’ll ask someone to tell her I’ll be there all night. That might be some comfort for her.”
Clarice began to fumble, trying to rise from her chair. Diana noticed the woman looked exhausted. She also seemed extremely unsure of herself. “Clarice, I’ll show you to your room and get you some nightwear,” Diana said.
Clarice gave Simon and Diana a weary smile. “I accept your hospitality with gratitude.”
“No gratitude needed.” Simon offered Clarice his arm to help her up from the chair. “Diana will have you fixed up in no time. We have a housekeeper—a young woman named Nan Murphy. Her mother has worked for me for years but she had a mild heart attack, so Nan is taking her place for a while. Her demeanor is less than warm, but she does arrive on time. She’ll be here in the morning.”
“Just get up when you please,” Diana added. “We don’t have a routine. If you’ll show Clarice to the bedroom, Uncle Simon, I’ll run upstairs and get something of mine for her to wear.”
Ten minutes later, Clarice sat on the bed in a large, soft gray and dusky blue bedroom. “This is lovely, Diana! Simon said you decorated it?”
“Yes. You should have seen it before—all velvet, tassels, valances, dried flowers under glass. It was my great-grandmother’s room during the last months of her life. I didn’t know her. I’ve heard she was rather stiff and formal, though, not at all like her daughter, my grandmother, who raised me after my parents died.”
“Your grandmother was the sister Dr. Van Etton seems to have loved so much.”
Diana smiled. “Yes. They quarreled constantly and enjoyed every minute of it. They seemed as different as night and day, but underneath, they were very similar. Simon was heartbroken when she died four years ago. He never married, and I’m afraid I’m the last of his family. That’s partly why I moved in with him. He would never admit to being lonely, but he was and it showed. Simon had always loved to entertain. He threw big parties for every possible occasion, but after Grandmother’s death, he never even had a small dinner party.
“Two years ago, I was divorced, living in a small apartment and making do with a tiny bedroom for a darkroom. Simon did me a great favor by inviting me to live here, but he seemed to think he was the only one benefiting. He kept promising not to act like a parent and assuring me that this was a big house and he wouldn’t get in my way.” She smiled. “Not too long after I moved into the house, I asked Simon if I could redecorate this room.”
“You did a fine job. The gray and blue are beautiful with the yellow and russet accents. You have excellent taste, Diana.” Then she looked dubiously at the nightwear Diana had brought for her. Diana always slept in one of her many mid-thigh-length T-shirts. The only other thing she’d been able to find was a bright pink nightgown and robe with chiffon flounces and satin ruffles at every opening, embroidered all over with bunches of cherries.
“When I was married, my mother-in-law desperately wanted grandchildren,” Diana said. “She gave me this negligee for Christmas the last year of the marriage. I believe she thought it would drive my husband wild with passion.” Diana paused. “One of the last good times he and I had together was after his mother left and I tried it on for him. He said all I needed was a crown and a wand and I’d look like Glenda the Good Witch in The Wizard of Oz. We both howled with laughter.”
Clarice smiled and held up the mass of chiffon and satin. “Well . . .” Her smile faded. “I was going to say something nice about it, but I can’t think of one thing.”
Diana couldn’t help giggling. “I like your honesty. I’ll get you some proper nightwear tomorrow. What do you prefer—pajamas or a nightgown without ruffles and embroidered cherries?”
Clarice looked at her in surprise. “I wear short nightgowns so I won’t trip over them, but I’ll be going home tomorrow.”
Diana said gently, “Your house suffered quite a bit of damage. You’ll need a second home for a few days, and Uncle Simon and I would love having you.” The woman looked unconvinced. “Frankly, Clarice, I think your presence would be good for Simon right now. He and I are close, but having someone nearer his own age to talk to at a time like this would be a blessing for him. I would really appreciate you staying.”
“In that case, I’d be delighted.” Clarice smiled, then her expression turned quickly to one of concern. “Diana, you don’t need to play hostess to me. You’re terribly anxious to go to the hospital and see Willow. You’ve been fidgeting with your hair and your watch for the last ten minutes. Please go. I’ll be fine.”
Diana had been sitting in a small boudoir chair and she almost jumped up, saying, “I do need to see Willow, and you need to get some rest. Promise me not to look at yourself in the mirror once you’ve donned that lovely gown. If you do, you really won’t be able to sleep!”
4
Diana left Clarice’s room and discovered Simon had abandoned the library. Maybe he’d gone to look for the walker. Or he may have decided to search for the walker tomorrow morning and simply retreated to his own bedroom, she thought. He had exhausted himself trying to keep Clar
ice from dwelling on Penny, but Diana knew that his own mind had not wandered far from the young woman. For the three of them, the chatter, the liquor, the comforting ambience of the library had merely formed a thin veneer under which lay the shattering knowledge that Penny had suffered unspeakable injuries and probably would not live.
Diana had washed her hands and soot-smudged face when she arrived home, but she did so again and changed her blouse before going to the hospital. She pulled her long wavy hair—smelling of smoke—into a ponytail, brushed her teeth, swiped gloss on her dry lips, and put some drops in her eyes—bloodshot from smoke.
As Diana left the house and got behind the wheel of her car, she felt oppression descend on her. She wished she could cry, which might be a release—poor, at best, but at least a slight release. She couldn’t do it, though. Her tears had spilled at the site of the explosion and now her emotional landscape felt arid and bleak, like some of the vast deserts in Egypt she’d seen years ago.
Traffic was light at this time of night—or rather, morning—giving Diana a better chance to think. The gun. Ever since Simon had revealed he’d seen a loaded gun sitting by Penny’s chair, Diana hadn’t really been able to concentrate on anything else. She was certain Penny would not have left the gun out if Willow had been home, but Willow had been in the hospital. Diana imagined Penny sitting in the old recliner at night, tensed, all the lights on, the gun beside her, waiting for . . . For what?
Penny never seemed to be afraid of living without a man in the house. Diana hadn’t asked her if she owned a gun, but Penny had known Simon owned a collection of guns and kept a gun in his room, insisting that Diana keep one, also. He believed in defending one’s home—not depending on a security company or the police.
Diana deftly maneuvered the narrow, hilly roads of Huntington’s large recreational and residential Ritter Park. In record time, she pulled into the well-lit hospital parking lot. She ran toward the glass-front emergency room and dashed through the doors, her mind filling with dread at the condition she might find Willow in. She nearly hurled herself against the reception desk.
“Willow Conley,” Diana burst out. “I’m here about Willow Conley.”
A nurse with brown hair nodded absently and continued to read the scrawled handwriting on a chart. She put the chart in a rack and slowly looked up at Diana, her blue eyes set in a long face showing fatigue. “Sorry, but I didn’t want to break my concentration. How can I help you?”
“Willow Conley.” Diana leaned on the counter and casually held two fingers over her mouth. She didn’t want to take a chance of blowing the smell of liquor into the nurse’s face. “She’s a little girl, five years old, who witnessed a house explosion and saw her mother on fire. The mother is Penny Conley. They’re both here. Or were.” Diana watched the nurse’s eyebrows rise. Diana knew she was talking at a rapid-fire rate, as she always did when she was upset, and tried uselessly to slow down.
“I’m sure Penny has already been taken to the burn ward, but Willow was hiding in the woods so thank heavens she wasn’t burned. Someone found her and took her to the paramedics. He phoned us—the man who found her, not the paramedics—and said she seemed all right, but the paramedics were going to bring her here in the ambulance, so I think she could only have arrived about half an hour ago,” Diana ended breathlessly.
The nurse spent at least five seconds looking into Diana’s bloodshot eyes before asking in a cautious tone, “Are you family?”
“No. Penny and Willow have no family.” Diana forced herself to take a deep breath and try to sound more calm and competent. “I mean, Penny and Willow have no family anywhere nearby. Penny works for my great-uncle, Dr. Simon Van Etton. He’s a retired professor of archaeology. I live with him. My name is Diana Sheridan. Simon and I are the closest people Penny and Willow have to relatives in this part of the country.”
Diana had no idea if the last part of her statement was true, but she did her best to look trustworthy. She wouldn’t allow herself to blink as the nurse’s intelligent gaze probed her face, obviously deciding whether to believe her. Diana knew she must look awful—messy hair, skin pale from shock and dry from recent washings with strong hand soap, her lower lip swollen from nervously pulling it between her teeth.
The woman finally seemed to make up her mind in Diana’s favor. “Willow Conley is still being examined, Ms. Sheridan.”
“I see.” Diana tried to sound calm. “Which examining room?”
The nurse looked regretful. “I’m afraid you can’t go in. As you said, you’re not family.”
Diana’s artificial poise vanished. “But I’m the closest thing to family Willow has!” She hated the shrillness of her voice but was helpless to quiet it. “I mean, I’m the closest thing Willow has to family except for her mother! She needs me. Please!”
“I’m very sorry.”
“Yes, but—”
“Rules are rules, Ms. Sheridan. You can’t see Willow Conley.” Diana drew back, wanting to be angry, but aware the nurse realized Diana would have argued for at least ten minutes unless cut off firmly. “Now try to calm down because the doctor needs to ask you a few things about Willow,” the woman went on crisply, not giving Diana a chance to interrupt. “We know nothing about her except what the paramedics told us.”
Diana forced down her ire, telling herself the nurse couldn’t be as emotionless as she looked. The woman had to maintain her composure even if Diana couldn’t maintain hers. Allowing herself to get visibly disturbed over every patient who came into the emergency ward wouldn’t be good for the patient or the family, not to mention the nurse’s own well-being. A nurse prone to hysterics wouldn’t last long in the profession.
Diana felt her frustration begin to ebb before she said in a softer tone, “I’m sorry if I sounded unreasonable. Of course you couldn’t know anything about Willow because Tyler Raines doesn’t know Willow. Or Penny.”
The nurse’s eyebrows rose again. “Tyler Raines?”
“The man who brought in Willow. I’m sure he spoke to you as soon as he could after Willow arrived.” The nurse continued to look at her quizzically and Diana felt her frustration level rising once more. “He’s early thirties, at least six feet tall. He has blond hair and blue eyes. He had on jeans and a T-shirt. He would have been dirty because he helped the firefighters at the site of the explosion. . . .” Diana trailed off, watching a vertical line form between the nurse’s eyebrows. “Maybe he didn’t give his name—”
“Ms. Sheridan, no one came with Willow Conley. The paramedics who brought her in said a man handed her over to them, and then he drove away.”
“Drove away?” Diana asked faintly. “He just drove away from the site of the fire?”
“Apparently, if that’s where the child was found. The paramedics said he didn’t even give his name.” Diana stared, surprised, as the nurse continued. “Now if you’ll have a seat in the waiting room, I’ll let you know when the doctor who is examining the child can speak to you.” Diana continued to stare at the woman, unable to close her mouth completely as shock ran through her. “Ma’am, if you will please just have a seat—”
“Yes. Okay. A seat. I’ll have a seat,” Diana said vaguely. She turned away from the reception desk and ambled toward a crowded waiting room, her mind whirling. Tyler Raines had called, told Simon he’d found Willow, and that the paramedics had said Willow seemed physically fine. He had appeared to be so concerned about Willow earlier that Diana had been certain he would come to the hospital and find out what the doctors had to say about the child.
But he hadn’t. Tyler Raines had simply handed over the little girl to the paramedics at the explosion site and disappeared into the night.
CHAPTER FOUR
1
Diana didn’t know Tyler Raines, but he hadn’t struck her as the kind of man who would give a traumatized five-year-old girl to strangers, even if they were paramedics, then just abandon her. Driving Simon’s car. Surely, he could have waited to see if the chil
d he’d seemed to care about was all right. Instead, he’d vanished as quickly as he’d arrived. Why?
Because he couldn’t do anything for Willow? Because he hadn’t wanted to get involved? Diana wondered. That’s certainly not how he’d acted when he helped at the scene of the raging fire, when he’d insisted on driving her and Clarice home, when he’d rushed straight back to Penny’s house so he could search for the little girl. Why would he be so hellbent on finding Willow, then not wait to see what the doctors had to say about the child’s condition? Why . . .
“Ms. Sheridan?” Diana jerked slightly in surprise. A slender man wearing a white coat and wire-rimmed glasses stood in front of her. His face was young, but streaks of gray laced his brown hair, and fine wrinkles surrounded his kind, dark-gray eyes. “Nurse Trenton at the desk tells me you’re here about Willow Conley.”
“Yes. How is she?”
“First of all, I’m Doctor Evans.” He sat down beside Diana, his expression sober. “Ms. Sheridan, I don’t mean to be rude, but what is your relationship to Willow Conley?”
“None.” He blinked at her. “I mean, I’m not a blood relative, but I’m her mother’s closest friend. I know there are hospital rules—Nurse Trenton reminded me—but I’m the only person available to come tonight.”
The doctor smiled. “Usually we do abide by the rules, but there are always situations calling for exceptions. I think this is one of them.” The doctor’s manner immediately became cool and analytical. “Willow shows no signs of physical trauma—no burns, lacerations, or even bruises. However, I’ve ordered several tests to rule out internal injuries, especially because when I was examining her, I saw she’d had an appendectomy on Tuesday.”
“She just came home this morning.” Diana realized it was after midnight. “Or rather, yesterday morning.”
“Willow’s incision looks fine—no tearing, no signs of infection. Still, we want to be sure all is well with her, especially after such recent surgery.” Dr. Evans paused. “Before the appendectomy, Mrs. Conley listed Simon Van Etton as the person to call in case of emergency if she was not available.” He paused, adding reluctantly, “I know Mrs. Conley is in the burn unit. I caught a glimpse of her when they brought her in, but I didn’t treat her.”
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