She kept chewing her chicken, but I saw the change in her, instantly. Shit, I thought. Her eyes, to this point rather vague and soft, were sharp, attentive behind her glasses. But she didn't say anything.
"My cousin-Rob Morrison-is a cop. He says everyone calls the town The Edge. He's got a little house very close to the cliffs. You look out the window and think you're on a boat. If you keep staring at the water, pretty soon it feels like you're really on a boat rocking back and forth. Have you ever heard of the place? Do you know anyone from there?"
Would she lie?
"Yes," she said, "I have, and yes, I do."
I nearly fell out of the booth I was so surprised she'd admit it, to me, a perfect stranger. Well, maybe that was why she'd admitted it-I was a perfect stranger. There was no reason to distrust me.
I said, "Do you know my cousin?"
"Rob Morrison? No, I don't believe I've ever met him."
"You wouldn't forget him if you had-he's a triathlete, a hunk."
She sighed deeply, her hands over her breast, and rolled her eyes. No one in the known universe could ever believe her to be nondescript. She sparkled. "No, sorry. I know the Bartletts-Jilly and Paul Bartlett."
"Small world," I said, wondering if my voice was shaking. "I know them as well." I took a bite of coconut soup and said, "You're a bit younger than Jilly, so you didn't go to school together. How did you two meet?"
"We met about five months ago when she was here in Salem, at the library. We got to talking. She was looking for articles on infertility. I asked her about using the Internet, offered to show her how to go about it in the library, but she said that computers were beyond her. I saw her once or twice a week ever since then, sometimes here and sometimes in Edgerton. I met Paul about three months ago for the first time."
I sat back against the dark red vinyl of the booth. I picked up my fork and fiddled with it. Jilly told Laura that she didn't know anything about computers? Why had she told Laura that lie? Jilly was a whiz at computers, always had been. And what was this about infertility? Finally, I said, "So Jilly was your friend."
"Yes."
"You weren't Paul Bartlett's mistress?"
She cocked her head to one side, sending her beautiful hair spilling over her left shoulder nearly to her plate. "What is this, Mr. MacDougal? Did Jilly send you here? What's going on?"
"Ms. Scott, I lied to you. I'm not a professor at Willamette University. I don't know a thing about Latvian drug wars. I came into the library specifically to meet you. My name is Ford MacDougal; I didn't lie about that. I'm Jilly's brother. She's in the Tallshon Community Hospital, in a coma."
She dropped her thick-bowled white spoon into her soup. She turned perfectly white. I thought she was going to pass out. I was halfway out of the booth when I managed to stop myself. She was fine. I was the one who was the mess.
"I'm sorry I lied to you but I'd do it again no matter what I felt about you." If my boss heard me say that, he'd have laughed his head off.
She got hold of herself. "My God, Jilly's in a coma? That's crazy. No, it's impossible."
"Why?"
"I just saw her Tuesday night over in Edgerton."
Chapter Seven
I hadn't felt so stupid since my high school English class when Mrs. Zigler told me Wuthering Heights wasn't a fancy district of London.
I stared blankly at Laura Scott, and eventually my mouth moved. "You were with Jilly and Paul on Tuesday night?"
"Yes, it was a party of sorts, at least that's how they billed it. I had to leave so I don't know what happened after I was out of there."
"Who all was at this party?"
"Well, it was just Paul, Jilly, and I. I understand that other people were supposed to be coming by. When I left it wasn't very late. You see, Grubster-my cat-is on medication and I had to get home to give him a pill. But that's not important. Tell me about Jilly. What happened to her? Is she going to be all right?"
"She's in a coma. No one knows much of anything about her chances for recovery."
"But what happened?"
"She drove her Porsche off a cliff, landed in twenty feet of water, and a cop managed to pull her out. She told me a short time ago that you'd betrayed her. What did she mean by that?"
She shook her head, sending her hair perilously close again to her chicken satay. "What a strange thing for her to say. That's why you came to meet me? To see if I'd somehow betrayed your sister? I don't know what you're talking about. I just don't know." She was suddenly very still, staring down at her dinner plate. "It just doesn't make sense. She was an excellent driver. I can't believe it. She was laughing the last time I saw her. Did someone force her off that cliff? Was it an accident? Was she hit by someone?"
Even I, the cop, hadn't first thought that someone forced her off the cliff. Why had Laura? "No, she went flying off a cliff some ten miles north of Edgerton just before the junction east back to 101. It would appear that she was trying to kill herself."
"How could she possibly have survived that?"
"As I said, a cop saw her go over and managed to pull her out before she drowned. No one disagrees that it was a miracle."
Laura Scott slowly rose and stared down at the platters still piled high with Thai food. She shook her head and stuck her hand in her purse. She pulled a fifty-dollar bill out of a very fat wallet and dropped it beside her soup bowl. She said, not looking at me, "She was always driving that car too fast, hooting and hollering, yelling at the top of her lungs. She liked danger, she told me. She said driving the Porsche at a hundred miles an hour was like flying, only without having to wear a parachute. Jilly wouldn't try to kill herself. She lost control of that damned Porsche. I want to see her. You said she was in Tallshon?"
"Yes, that's where she is." I rose to stand beside her. I lightly touched my fingers to her forearm, holding her still for a moment. "Before we go anywhere, tell me the truth, Laura. Are you or were you sleeping with Paul?"
She looked up at me like I'd lost my mind. "No," she said, "of course I wouldn't sleep with Paul. That's ridiculous."
I realized I was still touching my fingers to her forearm. I didn't stop. I didn't want to lose the connection to her. "Paul says you were his lover up until last month. Then he said he broke it off. And Jilly told me you had betrayed her."
She shook off my hand. I thought for a moment that she was going to smack me, but at the last moment she held herself back. "No, I didn't sleep with Paul. He lied. Why? I don't know. As for Jilly claiming I betrayed her, I don't know what she meant."
"Why would Paul lie?"
"Ask him, damn you. I'm going to see Jilly."
"I'll drive you."
"No," she said. "You've done quite enough."
I couldn't believe it. Laura was here, standing beside Ford. I saw her as clearly as I saw Ford. I couldn't believe it was that betraying bitch, Laura. But it was. She was here and I saw her. She was saying something to Ford. What was she telling him?
I felt my flesh crawling, felt bile rise in my throat, felt the fear begin to wash through me, and yet I felt nothing at all. I was apart from her now and she couldn't hurt me. She was coming closer, and she was saying my name over and over. Why did I still feel the fear so strongly?
I wanted to scream that I would kill her, but I couldn't. Why in God's name was she here with me? How could she still have the power to terrify me? It shouldn't be happening. She should have been long gone by now, nothing more than a stupid memory. She was reaching out her hand to touch me as she spoke to Ford. I couldn't stand it.
"Her eyes are open. Look at that. Her eyes are open!"
"They usually are," Ford said. "It doesn't mean anything."
I felt her fingers touch my shoulder. Her fingers were cold as death.
I screamed.
I whirled around so fast I nearly landed on my butt. My heart was pounding out of my chest. I was at Jilly's side in an instant, shouting over my shoulder, "Laura, get the nurses, quick. And the doctors too.
My God, hurry! Move it!"
I gathered Jilly up in my arms and pressed her tightly to me, trying to hold her steady. She was heaving against me, flailing her head from side to side, and she was screaming-screams that came out like low harsh bleating sounds. It sounded like someone was torturing her. She ran out of strength fast and slumped against me. I was relieved because I was afraid she would hurt herself. Very gently, I laid her back against the pillow. "Jilly," I said as I leaned down and kissed the tip of her nose. "No, don't close your eyes. Keep looking at me. Stay awake. Don't fall back asleep. You might not wake up again. Jilly, you've got to stay awake. Do you understand?"
"Yes, I can hear you, Ford," she said to me. Her voice was wispy, thin as a piece of paper, almost too faint for me to hear.
I patted her cheek, stroking my fingers through her hair. She felt alive, solid, back with me. I felt ready to burst with relief. "Good." I leaned closer. "Listen to me, Jilly. You were in a coma for four days. You've come out of it. You'll be just fine now. Jilly, keep your eyes open. Blink at me. Yes, that's good. Can you see me clearly?"
"Yes, Ford. I'm so glad you're here."
Her brain was all right, I was sure of it. Jilly was back with me, all of her. There was awareness in her eyes and she was staring hard at me, willing herself to be here, and she was. "You're the only one who still calls me Ford," I said, and kissed her cheek.
"You've never been Mac to me. I'm so thirsty." I quickly poured water from the carafe into the small glass on the table beside her bed and held her up while she sipped. I wiped the water off her chin when she finished drinking. She cleared her throat, swallowed a couple of times, and said, "When you first walked through that door I couldn't believe it. You were real, unlike all the others. To have you here was wonderful. I felt so alone."
I wasn't really surprised that she'd seen me, that she'd heard every word I'd said, seen the expressions on my face. Actually she could have told me what I'd eaten for breakfast, that she'd tasted it right along with me, and I wouldn't have doubted her for a moment. I said only, "I was real? Unlike the others? What do you mean exactly?"
"Oh, yes," she said, and managed a small smile. "You were very real. The others weren't. Everyone else who came in here was a white shadowy thing, but not you, Ford, not you. You were all here. You touched my hand and I felt warmth. Thank you."
I wasn't surprised, but I did wonder if I hadn't gone off the deep end after the car bomb in Tunisia.
Psychic communication with my sister? I wondered what the FBI profilers would say about that.
I heard shouting and running feet. Two nurses and a doctor all tried to squeeze through the doorway and into the room at the same time. I nearly laughed, remembering the Three Stooges.
Things quickly degenerated from there.
Dr. Sam Coates had a 1930s black pencil-thin mustache and a bald head. He said, "We'll be running lots more tests, but given how she appears now, I'm just about ready to say she's pulled through this with no physical or mental deficit." He sounded all cool and professional, but I could tell he was pleased beyond anything, the nurses too. They were hopping about beside him, nodding, smiling, looking ready to burst into song, probably the "Hallelujah" chorus. Dr. Coates continued, gesticulating with his hands, unable, I guess, to keep himself quiet, just like the nurses. "It really is a miracle, you know, Mr. Mac-Dougal. No other way to say it. A miracle and we were all here to witness it. I've seen this complete recovery before with a drug overdose, but not after a head trauma. I'd begun to believe she wouldn't wake up."
He stuck out his hand and I obligingly shook it. I was grateful to all of them. Jilly's room was filled with people. Maggie and Paul had arrived not fifteen minutes before. I watched Dr. Coates shake Paul's hand.
He nodded to Laura Scott and said to Maggie, "Sheriff. Now, I suggest all of you go home. Mrs. Bartlett will sleep soundly until morning. Go home."
"But what if she doesn't wake up again?" I asked, terrified when I'd seen Jilly close her eyes, her head falling to the side.
"Not to worry," Dr. Coates said. "Trust me on this. A coma's like a nightmare. Once you wake up, it's over. Memories of the nightmare or the coma might remain but it rarely comes back. Really."
Maggie said, "You're wrong about that, Doctor. Nightmares do come back."
Dr. Coates just shrugged. "Sorry, I'll have to dig up another analogy."
"It's still great news," Maggie said, and shook his hand again. She said to Laura, "Why don't you come home with me? It's pretty late."
"No, thank you, Sheriff," Laura said. "My cat needs his medication. Also I have to work tomorrow." She walked to Paul, and I wondered if she was going to hit him. But she didn't. She just frowned at him for a moment, then stepped back. I watched her walk out of the room. I was right behind her. I said over my shoulder to the doctor, "I'll be back in a moment."
I waited until Paul and Maggie were out of hearing distance, then I gave Laura's hand a tug and stopped her. I pulled her over to a window. "You said you weren't sleeping with Paul. Either you are a remarkable actress and liar, or you're really not sleeping with him."
"I'm a decent actress and liar when I have to be. One more time, Mac. I didn't sleep with Paul. I can't imagine sleeping with Paul."
I believed her and that raised more questions.
"Ask Paul."
"Yes, I will." I forced myself to walk away from her. I stopped to look out the window at the cloud-strewn dead sky. A stand of spruce stood beside the parking lot, thick leaves rustling. The wind was rising. It was pitch-black out there.
I heard her walking toward me. I could feel her. She vibrated with life. I wondered what she'd feel like if I touched her, really touched her.
"Good night, Mac. I'm glad Jilly woke up." She lightly patted my cheek, turned, and walked away. I watched her push open the exit door and ease through a small crowd of off-duty hospital personnel and a couple of late visitors. I couldn't stop myself. I came up behind her, my hand out to stop her when she suddenly turned back to me and said, "I understand from the sheriff that you're FBI. You're a big federal cop. She said you were here to help find out what happened to Jilly that night. Ask her. Find out what happened. Then tell me, please. You might consider believing me about Paul. Actually, truth be told, the only man I've met in the past year or so that I'd even consider going to bed with is you. Good night.
Grubster is waiting for his pill. Nolan has probably torn the bars off his cage."
"He's sure been on those pills a long time," I called after her.
"Now you're a veterinarian? Give it up, Mac. I'll be back tomorrow to see Jilly."
"Why didn't Paul call you to tell you what had happened to Jilly?"
"I don't know," she shouted back, not turning. She kept walking. "Ask him. He's your damned brother-in-law. Don't you know him?"
I let her go. What else could I do? I watched her walk to her car without another word, without a backward glance at me. She was looking down as she walked, her shoulders slumped. I stood in the middle of the parking lot, staring after her until her Toyota turned out of the gated opening and disappeared into the night.
I found Paul in Jilly's room, sitting beside her bed, holding her hand. "I wish they'd kept her awake," he said.
"It's like she's back in a coma. It's like she's gone again. I don't care what Dr. Coates said. I don't think any of them know much of anything. Why didn't you stop them, Mac?"
"She had a killer headache, Paul. They hadn't expected her to fall asleep so quickly, but Dr. Coates said it wasn't anything to worry about. Knowing the hospital routine, they'll be here to give her a shot in the butt at about three A.M."
"Yeah," Paul said, looking up at me. "You'd know, wouldn't you? How long were you in the naval/hospital in Bethesda? Two, three weeks?"
"Too long, however long it was," I said, knowing that it was exactly eighteen days and eight hours. "I don't like to think about it. Jilly's awake now, Paul. Everything will be all right." He looked so p
ainfully hopeful that I dropped my hand to his shoulder and squeezed. "Jilly's back with us. She'll tell us exactly what happened. It's over now, Paul." He looked like he was going to cry. For the life of me, I couldn't bring myself to demand that he explain Laura.
"Well, you look tired yourself, Mac. It's been a long day. You've been pushing yourself too hard. Why don't you have the doctors here check you out?"
I declined and sent Paul home. He looked ready to pitch forward onto his face. I'd nail him about Laura tomorrow. I wanted to know about the damned party on Tuesday night, the same night Jilly drove her Porsche off the cliff.
I realized that I didn't have to know any more about anything right now. Who cared what Paul had told me, what Laura had told me? It didn't matter. Jilly would live. She was the only reason I was here.
I was so tired my eyes hurt but I was too restless to sleep. I ended up wandering the hospital corridors, looking into every room that had windows, except for the morgue in the basement. I had a tough time dealing with the morgue anytime, but now, not a chance.
I went back to Jilly's room a little after one A.M., still wide awake, still restless. I sat down at the small table in front of the window, pulled out my notebook, and began to write. I wrote down what people had told me. I wrote down some of the questions I still had.
I laid down my pen. I shook my head. My written questions sounded like a soap opera. Was Jilly sleeping with some other guy? Who is Laura Scott, really?
I wrote one final question: Jilly's awake. What the hell am I still doing here?
When Jilly awoke at two A.M. I was in a semi-stupor, feeling a strong pull from my cracked ribs because I was stretched out in a long deep chair pulled from the doctors' lounge, alongside her bed. I was holding her hand.
"Ford?"
It was her voice and it sounded to me like old knotted threads, ready to unravel at the first pull. She spoke again, and I knew she'd heard the weakness in her own voice and was concentrating on sounding stronger. "Ford?"
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