by Amy Isaman
The attendant sat her in the chair and asked her a few questions to which she gave mumbled replies. She kept squeezing her eyes shut and then opening them wide, trying to wake up. I loved her for that.
He paid more attention to me and the slice on my chin. My blood had completely soaked through Sean’s kerchief. “I fell,” I tried to explain. “Trying to get her into the car.”
“True story,” Sean nodded in agreement.
“We need to get that looked at,” he said tersely.
“No, I need a band-aid. She needs to be seen.”
“What’s she on? Looks like it’s wearing off.”
“She was given Diprivan, against her will. We need a blood test to prove it.”
“Well if that’s the case, she’s not going to need any Narcan. She’ll be fine. But we can look at your chin.”
The hospital attendant grabbed the handles of the wheelchair and began pushing Laurel toward the entrance. Narcan? Wasn’t that what they gave addicts for overdoses?
“Well, do you still need me?” Sean asked, hurrying to my side.
“Yes, we do. Please wait. There’s already more cash on the front seat.” He needed to take us to the Inn to pack, then directly to Heathrow.
We sat in the sterile white waiting room. It took only fifteen more minutes for Laurel to begin stretching, and when she looked at me, her eyes seemed slightly more clear but fearful. “Mom,” she whispered. “What’s going on?”
“What do you remember?”
She lifted her hands in confusion and looked around the waiting room. “This? Where are we?”
“We’re at the hospital. Do you remember getting here?”
She stared at me with a blank look.
“What do you remember?” It hadn’t even occurred to me that she wouldn’t recall anything. But it made sense, especially if she was on this drug since they grabbed her.
“I, well, we were with Darius to visit his grandma?”
“No, his aunt. Do you remember leaving there?”
She stared at the wall, thinking. Finally, she turned to me and spoke, her voice still faint and weak. “Yes. We drove away and ran out of gas. Right?”
“Do you remember anything after that?”
“Yeah. I walked, and somebody stopped to give me a ride, but right when I got to their car, they pepper-sprayed me. I tried to run, but I fell down and after that, I don’t remember.”
She pointed to my chin. “I think you need stitches.”
“We’re not here for me. We’re here for you.”
“Why? I’m just tired. Did they take me? How did you find me?”
I didn’t know what to tell her. I didn’t want to fill her in now and scare her to death. We also couldn’t call the police. And if I told her what happened and she said something to the hospital staff, they might call them anyway. They’d find Lucy, and I’d never get Laurel home. Anxiety roiled in my gut.
A nurse opened a door and called Laurel’s name.
“Laurel, not a single word. Please,” I whispered in her ear as I rolled her into the bowels of the ER.
♦♦♦
Laurel walked on her own toward the cab, albeit unsteadily, my arm wrapped around her waist.
“Ah, you look a hell of a lot better,” Sean said as he climbed from the cab, opened the door to the backseat, and offered Laurel his arm. “But you don’t,” he added, a wide grin on his face.
“Yes, I’m aware of that, thanks,” I mumbled, unable to speak clearly since a giant bandage covered the six stitches they sewed into my chin and the bottom half of my face was still numb.
“Who are you?” Laurel asked Sean. “Mom, will you please tell me what’s going on?”
We got settled in the car, but Sean didn’t pull out. He looked at me in the rear-view mirror, waiting for my answer.
“Sean, can you take us to The Silver Birch Inn? And then Heathrow?”
“What?!?” Laurel yelped. “We’re not leaving.”
“Yes. We are. I’ll explain on the plane.”
Confusion rippled across her face.
“Laurel, you’ve been gone for almost twenty-four hours.”
“But—”
“Don’t. Not yet.” I held up my hand, stopping her. “I’ll explain, but give me a minute. We’re going to the Inn to pack and to leave.” I prayed we could get on the plane before they found Lucy’s body. That would at least let me give Trent another hug and get my affairs in order before I came back here to be tried.
A sob tried to make its way up and out of my body, but I held it in. I would probably get even more time for leaving the country after committing a crime like this, but I didn’t know what else to do. I had to get Laurel out of here. Keeping her safe and away from this sordid mess was still my priority. I completely screwed the entire trip up by agreeing to help Darius find the cards, but at this point, I couldn’t go back and change that. Laurel was alive and safe. And really, that’s all that mattered. She had her whole life to live. I grasped her hand and held it tight for the rest of the ride.
The Inn looked as it always did. No police cars waited in front to take me in. I glanced up at the third-floor window but no longer had that strong sense of Déjà vu.
Exhausted, I climbed from the cab when the Inn’s front door flew open. “Do you have Darius?” Susan yelled down the steps.
My stomach fluttered. “Darius? No, he was here when we last spoke.”
“He left. To get Laurel, but it looks like you beat him to it. You didn’t see him?” She came down the steps.
“Yes, I’m found,” Laurel murmured, her voice still weak but the annoyance clear. “Don’t know where I’ve been, but I’m found.”
“I’ve tried to ring Darius,” Susan said. “But he’s not picking up. Are you sure you haven’t seen him?”
“I haven’t seen him, Susan. We’ve been at the hospital. I thought he was going to wait here, in case Collin came.” I reached into the cab to help Laurel out.
“Well, he didn’t. He went there, to their house.”
I stood and turned to look at her. “Why would he do that?”
“To rescue your daughter. Why do you think? We need to go find him.”
“Susan, I can’t go back there. I won’t. They drugged Laurel. They held her captive. I just want to get her home.” I bent back in to help Laurel out, but she looked exhausted. Instead, I turned to Sean. “Can you give me twenty minutes or so? I’ll be right down with our bags. Laurel can rest here.”
“Got it,” he nodded.
I climbed the Inn’s front steps with Susan dogging my heels.
“You’re just going to abandon Darius, then? He never abandoned you like this.”
I stopped in the front parlor and turned to face her. I spoke slowly, enunciating each word. “I’m not abandoning Darius. I have no idea where he is, and right now, I need to get my daughter safely home. We’re leaving.” As I turned to head up the stairs, I remembered the Yeats book and the Three of Swords. I pulled them from my bag. “Here, you can have this.”
She glanced at it. “A book? Why would I want this musty old thing?”
I opened it up to the back where she saw the Three of Swords glimmering in the light.
“Oh, well, fine then,” she stuttered.
I closed the book, pressed it into her hand, and slowly climbed the stairs to pack.
Chapter 34
BAM. BAM. BAM.
Blessed silence.
Bam. Bam. Bam.
Darius turned away from the incessant noise only to have a sharp pain shoot through his head, stunning him into an unpleasant wakefulness.
“Sir, wake up,” a voice yelled, followed by another loud boom.
Darius eased open one eye. The hammering in his head far worse than the banging noise. A police officer towered above him. Darius lay on a bench, leafy trees towering over him.
“Get up.” The voice grew louder. And then a billy club came toward Darius’ head and struck the bench right above him. B
am.
He flinched back and rolled himself into a sitting position, veritable icepicks shooting through his brain with every movement.
“You can’t sleep here.”
“Where am I?” Darius could see no familiar landmarks.
“Bloomin’ boozer,” the flattie mumbled. “I’ll need to see your ID.”
Darius thought back. No. Not drinking. The last memory he had was going to Collin and Lucy’s to get Laurel. Then, nothing. He reached for his wallet and handed the whole thing to the cop before patting himself down, feeling for the leather portfolio with the tarot card in it. He felt nothing. He reached for his phone in his jeans pocket. That was gone, too.
He’d lost the card, and he’d lost Laurel. He glanced at his watch. 4:30 in the afternoon. He’d been knocked out for hours. He felt the back of his neck, where a large goose egg protruded. Damn, that hurt. He lay back down and waited for the cop to return.
After a sobriety test, a check on his license, and a stern lecture on passing out in the park, the cop finally let Darius go.
“Wait,” Darius yelled at the cop, though it caused agony in his head.
The cop turned.
“Can you call me a cab?”
“Bloody nuisance,” the cop mumbled, but he did it.
♦♦♦
Susan met Darius as soon as the cab dropped him off on the sidewalk. “Darius,” she shrieked, throwing her arms around him and squeezing. “I’ve been in a panic. Tricia said that she never saw you, and she looked like hell. A big bandage on her chin. You didn’t answer your phone. I had no idea where you’d got off to or what those gits did with you.”
Darius froze in her embrace. “Tricia was here? At the Inn?”
“Yeah, she came back and packed.”
“By herself?”
“No, her daughter was with her. But they’re gone now.”
Darius glanced around as if looking for them, but he knew he wouldn’t see either Tricia or her daughter. “To another hotel gone? Or back to the States gone?”
“Back to California. She told the cab Heathrow.”
“How did Laurel look?”
“A little pale, tired, but she was coherent. That doesn’t matter. How are you? What happened to you?”
Darius groaned. “What do you mean it doesn’t matter? When did they leave?”
“A few hours ago. I’ve been going crazy with worry for you. I only knew you were going to Collin’s house, but you didn’t tell me where it was. Then, I remembered that I could track you. I saw where you were, and you left there before the tracking froze. It showed you in the Thames. I think your battery’s dead.”
“My battery and phone are probably in the Thames.”
“You have the card though, right?”
“Christ, Susan. Is that all you care about? No, I don’t have the bloody thing. My head hurts like hell, and Tricia’s left.” He stalked up the steps and directly to his apartment. Unfortunately, Susan followed.
“You’re a bloody fool, you know that? But she did leave you this.” Susan waved the Yeats book with the Three of Swords in his face. “And, there’s still one more card to find, right?”
Darius headed downstairs to his apartment. “Not now, Susan.”
Chapter 35
Six months later
I FINALLY LET GO of the anxiety that plagued me for those weeks following my return home. For weeks, I jumped at every knock on the door. I couldn’t eat, and it took five minutes of deep breathing to be able to look at the news online, or glance at a newspaper. I was sure I killed Lucy, but I found no evidence of that.
I searched every London newspaper daily for an account of the crimes I committed, or her obituary, but there’d been nothing. No obituary. No mention of Mr. Coates’ filing any reports of breaking and entering.
Nor had I seen any mention of the Visconti-Sforza tarot cards. I’d become a little obsessed with them when I returned home, reading everything I could on Bianca Maria Visconti-Sforza. And with everything I read, I kept wondering why I could find the cards? Why me? What was this connection we had? Or was there any connection at all? Had I been just lucky enough to choose a wardrobe with a hidden treasure to collapse into?
I hadn’t discovered any strange connections, but I now knew more about the history of Milan in the 1400s and the tarot than I’d ever known. I glanced at my new deck that sat on the coffee table. I’d studied the cards and the image of my reading. Somehow, the cards reflected the energy in my life and what was about to happen. I have no idea how, but if there was one lesson I’d learned, it was that following my instincts and letting go of my constant analysis of my world served me well.
I didn’t need to know the how and the why of my life. I didn’t need to have every single step planned out in order to keep me and my loved ones safe. I needed to trust myself and my instincts and take the next right step.
That was it.
But I hadn’t taken the next step with Darius. I spent more time than I liked to admit wondering what could have been with him, but I hadn’t contacted him because I was terrified of implicating him in my crimes.
I wandered to the kitchen early on a rainy Sunday morning, my favorite kind of day. The rain and fog somehow made letting all of my responsibilities go so much easier. This morning would be all about a cup of coffee and a book. A perfect Sunday morning.
A bit more relaxing than my new typical day.
After accepting that murderer would not be on my resume a few months after our return home, I’d been revisiting a lifelong dream that I’d had since I moved to San Francisco to go to college, opening my own art and antiquities gallery. Bret and I talked about it occasionally, but my steady job with the insurance company and the benefits it provided were so stable. We’d launched his architecture practice and the plan was always to get that stabilized, Then, it’d be my turn to open the gallery except we started a family, and he began to struggle with the depression and anxiety that ultimately killed him. Life had gotten busier and there was no time or energy to devote to it. I carefully wrapped that dream up and put it into storage.
When Bret died, I completely let it go.
As a single mom, terrified that I’d lose another of my loved ones, I removed anything remotely risky, or even fun, from my life, and I’d lost myself in the process.
Until London, where I’d been deeply reminded that no matter how much I tried to control life and keep everything perfectly balanced, I controlled exactly… nothing. So, why not try to resurrect my dream? It was my next right step.
Laurel had given me a print of the photo she took of me sitting in the storeroom with Darius just after we decided to search for the cards. I kept it tucked into my planner and looked at it almost daily. Darius leaned against the wall, watching me. I, too, was sitting on a box, leaning back and looking at a portrait. I looked strong, happy, with an expression and demeanor that I hadn’t seen on myself in years. Somehow, I looked more like me.
I was still working full-time in corporate, but every night and weekend, I was planning my escape from that life and into launching my dream. I was happy.
And today was a day to relax.
I’d been doing just that for an hour when my phone buzzed with an incoming Facetime call. It was Laurel calling me from half-way around the world. We’d returned home, and she loved my plan of opening the gallery. We decided to do it together, but she wanted to take a few months to travel and possibly find some international treasures for our new venture. She had some money saved, so why not?
Upon her return home, she’d be handling the graphics, website, and marketing for the shop.
“Hi, sweetie,” I said as soon as I answered. I loved these calls and seeing her face, even though she was thousands of miles away.
“Have you seen the paper?” She asked.
“Uh, not yet. Why?”
She held up a newspaper to the phone’s camera.
I squinted at the small screen. “What’s it say?”
�
�Oh, my gosh. Let me read it to you. Here’s the headline, ‘Missing Visconti-Sforza Tarot Cards Sold to the Morgan Museum.’”
She paused and stared into the phone, intently watching my response.
I was speechless, so she continued reading the article.
New York - In the fall of 1441, Bianca Maria Visconti wed Francesco Sforza outside the town of Cremona, Italy, a town which Bianca’s new husband received as part of her dowry. Sometime between the wedding and 1450, Francesco commissioned a hand-painted pack of Trionfi playing cards for his bride.
This pack of hand-painted cards is the forebear and original deck of what are now commonly known as tarot cards. The Morgan Library and Museum currently has the largest collection of this original deck, with thirty-five cards in their collection.
The remaining cards are held in the Accademia Carrara, in Bergamo, Italy, and thirteen are held in a private Italian collection.
There are four remaining cards that were thought to be lost: The Devil, The Tower, The Knight of Coins, and the Three of Swords. However, two of these lost cards, The Knight of Coins and the Three of Swords, have recently surfaced.
The Morgan Museum is proud to announce that they have acquired these cards and added them to their existing collection. The museum director, Cheryl Smith, declined to confirm the amount of the purchase other than to say it was “significant.” Ms. Smith did comment that she was familiar with the British dealer from previous acquisitions, and the cards have been fully authenticated by both the Morgan Museum and outside appraisers. She was, however, unclear as to how or where the cards originally came to light.
Ms. Smith is pleased to announce a new exhibit for the entire collection of cards which will open to the public on February 11. A private viewing for supporters and patrons of the museum will take place the evening of February 10.