He swallowed and his lips moved. I rummaged his coat pocket for the voice synthesizer and pressed it to his throat.
“What-what-hap-pened?” Sheldon’s eyes searched. “I-can-not-see.”
“I’ll get an ambulance,” said Lorna. She patted Leonard’s shoulder. “Stay here.” She hurried off.
“Mr. Frampton,” said Shephart. “I’m a police officer. You are badly injured. We have summoned help. While we wait I need to talk to you. A man is in jail for a murder that he did not commit. Your statement could correct a horrible injustice.”
“My-rights.”
“If you recover, this statement won’t be used against you.”
“Shel-ly,” said Frampton. “Shel-ly-did-it. Poor-Anne.”
“For God’s sake, Frampton,” said Leonard, with a break in his voice. “Why?”
“I-loved-them-both. Anne-and-Shelly. My-fault. I-grabbed-the-wheel. Mother-told-me.”
“Anne Frampton?” said Shephart.
“Shel-ly-loved-her-too. A-fraid-she-would-leave. Anne-could-talk-so-mean,” said Frampton. He closed his eyes and his head fell to the side.
I patted the hand I was holding. “Hang on, Sheldon. Help is coming.”
“Was-hard-for-Shel-ly,” said Frampton without opening his eyes or turning his head. “Her-life. So-hard. Lived-with-aw-ful. De-cis-sions. She-did-not-want. She-did-not-make.”
Sheldon opened his eyes and turned his face to Shephart—squinting and blinking as if the light had returned. With his free hand he patted Shephart’s bent knee.
“Shel-ly-is-gone. She-told-me. Be-fore-she-left. She-was-sor-ry.” He closed his eyes. Tears plowed the furrows under his eyes and he made a sigh that turned to a cough. Blood ran from the corner of his mouth. “She-told-me. Not-to-be-lone-ly. Not-to-be-sad. She-said. Some-times. You-just-have-to. Start-over.”
Mr. and Mrs. Deliveryman/Andy—God knows who they were—left in the black wagon. Sheldon got the white wagon with the lights on it. Brian Hemmings rode with him. I left Leonard and Lorna sitting in Annie-fannie’s studio—clinging to life and one another—watching the wind and rain drive the waves from Lake Michigan to expend themselves on the shore.
The man from Washington departed without comment. Matty left a note in the Jag. “I’ll be at my desk in the morning. Bring the money. There’s a form you have to sign.”
I dropped Bart Shephart at the Detective Bureau and headed for my office. My car had been dropped off with a new windshield in place. The keys were supposed to be under the mat, but the doors were locked. What the hell, the Jag needed one more ride.
I pulled off the blacktop at the end of the lake and looked across the water to my house. The sun lay dim and low in the clouds that threatened from the west. For now, the lake rested without a ripple. Lights from the house reached across the water in reflected streaks to point my way home.
The card I’d bought for Wendy lay heavy in my pocket—the little boy and girl on the cover. I took it out and read aloud, “When you’re young at heart/Life is forever new.” I took out my pen and wrote, “Let us begin, again.”
Dying Embers Page 31