“Thank you for coming, Jared.” Her voice faltered when she looked into his eyes. Sorrow for the loss of his friend was there, but so was something else. An unmistakable longing. Her heart constricted as she broke their gaze and looked straight into the eyes of Hal Woodstone, who stood right behind Jared.
Had Hal seen the look Jared gave her that evening? What did he think? That she’d been unfaithful to Eddy with his own best friend and chief? Was that why Hal had called her a cheat “just like Lily” Saturday night at their ill-fated dinner? The memory of his words slammed against her with the force of a blow. She actually crossed her arms as though to ward them off. Then why had he pursued her and proposed?
Chapter Nine
Royce stared unseeing through her backdoor window at the dark yard, then focused on Devon’s bowl in the kitchen corner. Devon probably had been hungry. That must be why he’d eaten whatever food laced with a drug some wicked person had given him. He was a trusting dog despite his act with the FBI men in the garden earlier. Even though he was not home, she poured the pellets of his favorite dog food, discovered by trial and error, into his bowl. Probably a superstitious plea to fate that he would be back home tomorrow.
Her stomach rumbled, reminding her she hadn’t had any food since her early morning bagel and it was now past six o’clock. She opened the refrigerator again, half expecting the phone to ring, as though it were activated by the refrigerator door. But it was silent while she took out the leftover tuna salad from—when? Saturday lunch, so long ago it seemed now. Added bread, lettuce, and mayonnaise, carrying them to the kitchen table. Too much trouble to cut up a tomato. She poured a glass of water and was about to sit down to eat when she remembered she hadn’t looked over her mail for a couple of days.
She brought the stack of envelopes and a letter opener to the table, nudging the waste basket over with her toe. Mostly advertising flyers, utility bills, credit card bill, an envelope with her name and address handwritten. But slitting the heavy linen-finish envelope, she found it was a charity solicitation. Maybe if they economized on stationery they’d have more money for their cause.
She was swallowing the last bite of her sandwich when the doorbell chimed in the silence. Who—oh, please let it be Palm. She hurried through the hall and opened the door as the bell chimed again. Her face must have showed her apprehension.
“Easy, Royce. I’ve no news of Palm.” Jared Granite reached to touch her arm.
“Thank God, Jared. I was afraid…”
“I could see it. Didn’t think of that. I should have called, let you know I was coming.”
“Come on in. You haven’t found any trace of him?”
He waited while Royce led him into her comfortable living room before saying anything further. He took a seat on the sofa. The same sofa he and Eddy had shared while watching football games on their days off. “Royce, tell me what you know about Fern Rock.”
Bewildered, she could only stare at the chief. “Tell you about who—? I’ve never heard of a Fern Rock.”
“You got a call from her this morning.” He stated it as if there were no denying the fact.
“Do you have a tap on my telephone line?”
“What did she say to you?”
“Jared Granite, are you accusing me of something?”
“Royce, I don’t like this any more than you do. But I have got to know about this woman. I don’t want to take you to the station. Lord knows, it’s been bad enough having Woodstone down there, threatening to sue everybody.”
“I would think you’d be out looking for Palm instead of harassing his father.”
“Royce, you’re a cop’s wife…widow. You know how an investigation goes. We have to check everything and everyone.”
“I only know Bert’s dead, Palm is missing, and the longer he’s gone, the more afraid I am something has happened to him. And so is his father. Why were you questioning him?”
“Let me ask the questions, Royce.”
“Is Hal still at the station?”
“No. He said he was going to the hospital to check for himself whether Palm might have been brought in. No one trusts the police, it seems. Now. About Fern Rock?”
“What in God’s name has this Fern Rock, whoever she is, got to do with anything?”
Sighing, the chief opened up a little. “She was beaten, apparently left for dead, last night or early this morning. She’s in Fall Creek General ICU, not in good shape.”
“But I don’t know any Fern Rock. Why do you say she called me?”
“Because the hospital outgoing-call log shows your number is the one called from the phone the nurse was surprised to find in her hand. They didn’t expect her to regain consciousness.”
“Why don’t you ask her who she is?”
“She’s in a coma again. And it doesn’t look good. So who is she?”
“I don’t know—oh, wait!”
He pounced. “What is it?”
“The phone did ring this morning, or nearly noon. After I heard about Bert’s murder on the radio, I came inside to clean up before driving to headquarters to see you. I thought there was no one on the line, then a whisper—I could hardly hear it. It sounded like my name. That’s all.”
“You’re sure? Nothing else?”
“Well, the whisperer said it twice, I asked who was there, then somebody else said something. I’m not sure of the words.”
“What do you think they were?”
“Maybe ‘you’re too weak, let me do it,’ something like that. Then the line went dead.”
“Think, Royce. She must have had a reason for calling you.”
“She had no ID? Who found her? About how old is she?”
“Maid at the Fall Creek Inn found her.”
“Can you describe her?”
“The name doesn’t ring a bell at all? Somebody you and Eddy knew before you came to Fall Creek, maybe?”
“I’m sure I never heard it. She’s about my age then?”
“By her face, it’s hard to say.” He nodded at Royce’s involuntary grimace. “And more. Some defensive wounds, broken left index finger and arm. Bruised kidneys, ruptured spleen, two skull fractures.”
“Such savagery.”
“Yeah. Looks like her assailant wanted to inflict as much pain as possible.”
“Do you believe he meant to kill her?”
“Hard to say at this point. But the doc said, yeah, about your age, late thirties.”
“Thanks.” She gave a weak smile.
“For what?”
“Never mind. Just, I’ll never see thirty-nine again.”
He waved his hand. “Close enough. Natural blonde hair at the roots, dyed dark brown. Around five feet. Some traces of flower tattoos visible on the left ankle.” He looked at her questioningly. “Nothing?”
Royce shook her head. “Nothing.” She hesitated. She didn’t really want to do what she was about to ask. “Is it possible for me to see her?”
“Maybe tomorrow. I’ll try to get the docs to okay it.”
“So she was registered as Fern Rock.”
“Sounded like a fake, but I hoped you’d know something, maybe recognize the description. We’ve put it on the network, prints to the TBI, FBI.”
“When she registered, did she say where she was from? Did she have a car?”
“No. And no car. We’re checking taxis, buses. Registered as a local, but the desk clerk said she’d never seen her.”
“Did the clerk see anyone go to her room? Get any calls?”
The chief laughed shortly. “Bucking for a job, Royce? No and no. She made a couple of outside calls. She walked to the mail drop box once, only time she was seen out of the room.”
“She arrived when?”
“Friday, about noon. Just walked in, far as the clerk could tell.” He rubbed his chin. “If you remember anything else, Royce, call me, day or night. I want this bastard. And I’ll call you in the morning if it’s okay for you to see her.”
&nbs
p; “You’ll let me know if you find Palm, won’t you?”
“I expect you to let me know if you hear from him, Royce.” Granite squared his shoulders and looked at her. Then he had the grace to look slightly embarrassed. “I have to say this, Royce. Don’t leave town without letting me know.”
At a loss for words for the second time that day, Royce stared at her husband’s old friend and former partner. She had apparently been mistaken in what she saw in his eyes at the funeral. If Jared Granite had feelings for her, he was certainly not allowing them to get in the way of his job.
An awkward moment passed, then Jared stood, glancing around the room. “Devon outside this late?”
The question brought back her anxiety and fear for her furry friend. Granite must have noticed the change. “What’s happened?”
“Somebody poisoned him. He’s at the vet’s.”
“Damn. Poisoned him? Is he okay?”
“Dr. Loper can’t be sure yet. He has to run tests. He’ll call me.”
“Sure hope so. You keep your doors locked, Royce, with Devon not here. And file a report tomorrow.” The stern police chief demeanor was gone, and the warm friend she was accustomed to was back.
After a few more words, Royce closed the door as Jared descended her front steps, his still trim body stiff and erect.
Purely from habit, she returned to the kitchen and placed her few dishes in the dishwasher. Jared warned her not to leave town? Because the woman named Fern Rock had called her? Who could the beaten and battered woman be? And how had she engendered so much hatred in the person who beat her? And most of all, why had she, if it had been she, called Royce?
Fruitless to speculate, she decided, walking over to her desk. The letter from the bank lay on top of the reduced pile of mail. She slit the official-looking envelope.
“Royce Henderson Thorne,
You are receiving this letter per our policy of verifying that we have your correct address and personal information in our files.”
The message was from the customer service department of the bank where Eddy had opened the secret account in her name. It went on to inform her that if all was correct, she need do nothing.
“But you might wish to register for an online setup with us which would enable you to check the status of the account at any time.”
The letter went on to say that the bank’s people and resources were available to help her in any way they could.
So she advised herself, do something useful, take care of business. She took out the forms and began to fill in the answers required.
Name? Two lines of choices for title—Miss, Ms., Mrs., Señorita, Señora, Mademoiselle, Madame.
What was it in the return address of those French postcards sent to Eddy’s grandmother after her husband’s death? Mademoiselle Elle something?
Had Eddy and his father modeled themselves after Eddy’s grandfather, chasing after women, married or not? Like her own father. Did any man exist who did not give in to temptation?
Stop it. Don’t go there again.
But the train of thought was persistent. Only its focus changed. Was she selfish to let the money remain unclaimed in the account when Palm could use it? No, she could not bring herself to openly acknowledge what Eddy had done. Besides, Hal would probably try to bully him out of the money. She’d heard Hal’s tactics often enough over the years.
Royce laid her pen on the bank account form, as the possibility she had been repressing all day reared its ugly head again. Had she made a dreadful mistake? Since she’d never told Palm the truth and given him the money Eddy left for him? And suppose he didn’t return? At least not alive? What then? He would only have known a father who didn’t seem to care for him.
Late last fall, she had been clearing out annual beds and pruning shrubs while working out a plot problem she’d encountered with the book. She leaned back on her heels, and her gaze caught on the opaque plastic-covered ribs of the greenhouse. It squatted beside the rows of bedding plants and nursery buckets of sparsely leafed Bradford pear and flowering plum saplings as yet unsold. The business had always been Woodstone’s life, to which he devoted far more love and energy than his son could claim.
Hal’s voice penetrated the greenhouse wall. “Hell, yes, we need money. With two of us putting our backs into the expansion I’ve got planned, we’ll make money!”
Palm must have made some answer. Then Hal lashed out again. “You think I don’t know why you want to work for Morrell? You want to drool over his bitch of a wife.”
Royce gasped at Woodstone’s cruel words. Did the dominating Hal still have proprietary feelings for Thelma Morrell, whom he’d dated briefly, even though as far as Royce knew he’d never divorced Lily? And Thelma had been married to Bert for years. The door of the greenhouse burst open, and Palm ran out. She kept very still, not wanting him to know she had heard, but she needn’t have worried. He didn’t look left or right and disappeared around the Woodstone house. She heard the starter on his Chevy truck grind, then catch, and he drove away. She was sure Hal’s words had been driven by possessive jealousy. Palm had a girlfriend, a young woman on the police force, which probably didn’t sit too well with Hal either.
She shuddered, clenching her pen. Horrible things did happen. Eddy’s sudden death. Bert’s murder. The woman at the inn, now lying in a coma, maybe dying. There must be people who cared about her. Would they ever know what happened to her? Royce did not look forward to seeing the woman, but if there was the slightest chance she could help identify her, she had to go.
With a weary sigh, she gave up the effort to deal with her mail. She would finish the form for the bank tomorrow.
Ignoring Jared’s warning, she switched on the floodlights and went out the back door. Leaning on the deck railing, her gaze swept the yard as lilac bushes and tree trunks cast shadows of purple and indigo. Though always respectable, her neighborhood had not been chic when she and Eddy first bought the house. A few Mom and Pop businesses had been interspersed with working-class single homes and larger houses divided into apartments.
Palm, an exuberant, happy young boy, was often in and out of their house as he grew up. When he was about eight, he nicknamed Royce his “next-door mom.” She tried, with little success, not to harbor additional animosity toward the departed Lily, who having a healthy son, chose to walk away from him.
Eddy worked long hours and over the years advanced from patrolman to sergeant. Jared was over often before he left for the Marines. They occasionally had dinner with Hal and his dates and had him and Palm over for Independence Day barbecues.
Now the well-paid X generation was moving in, renovating old homes, and driving businesses out, though they had failed with the Woodstone nursery/greenhouse. She closed her eyes for a moment. They snapped open when a rustling sound reached her ears. For the third time that day, Chrys Wynter’s slender form slipped through the gap in the hedge.
“Oh, Royce, there you are.” Chrys’s hair was tousled, almost in tangles. She kept biting her lower lip, from which all traces of lipstick had been eaten away. She wore ivory silk pajamas with a matching robe, collar half inside the neckline. Royce met her as she flung herself into one of the garden chairs with no regard for the effect of its dew-dampened plastic cushions on the delicate silk.
Royce knelt beside the chair. “What is it, Chrys? Are you ill?”
“I still haven’t been able to reach Mom. I have a reservation for the six o’clock flight to Atlanta in the morning. I missed the last Sunday night flight. Can you keep an eye on the Sage house for me until I get back?”
“Of course. And I’ll drive you to the airport.”
“Thanks, but I’ll drive the Porsche and leave it in the secure parking area. That way it will be there when I—when we get back. I’m going to bring Mom back with me.”
“If you’re sure. But stay with me tonight. I hate for you to be alone when you’re so worried.”
“Mom might call the house. I want to be there.”
“Isn’t there family or a friend you can get to check on her for you?”
“No. There’s just the two of us.”
“Has she been ill recently?”
“She did say she’s been feeling tired. Not having the shop open as many hours.”
“What kind of shop is it?”
“Gift baskets, some silk flowers, a few small knickknacks, you know. A tiny shop actually.”
“You helped out with it?”
“When I was growing up. I loved helping her. But she insisted I study hard. She wanted me to go on to college. She encouraged me to try for scholarships.”
“She must have been very proud of you.” Royce stroked the girl’s slender arm, feeling tense muscles.
“I dreaded telling her I wasn’t going to college.”
“I’m sure she tried to understand.”
“She was disappointed. But I’d taken business courses and worked summers and after school for Marc and Amanda. They wanted me to stay on full time with them. Said they depended on me, had me trained.” Her long pink nails tapped on the arm of the chair. She lifted her arm and combed her disheveled blonde hair with her fingers, shook her head, and shifted in the chair.
“How did you meet the Sages?”
Chrys smiled. “The yuppies came to Buckhead. Started renovating the old buildings. Upscale homes and condos, offices.”
“Marc and Amanda followed them?”
“Their practice was just heating up. They took a suite in one of the refurbished buildings near Mom’s shop.”
A sudden breeze rustled the limbs of the trees and lifted the hem of Chrys’s filmy robe. She shivered.
Royce rose briskly. “Come inside, Chrys. You’re getting chilled in that outfit. I’ll make tea.”
Chrys rose obediently and followed her onto the deck. When Royce touched the switch just inside the kitchen, darkening the floodlights, only landscape lights and a quarter moon illuminated the garden, washing the deep purple of the lilacs to a pale lavender. Eddy’s beds of white Shasta daisies made a pale splash near Devon’s kennel. The rear section of the Woodstone greenhouse next door which was dark earlier now glowed, apparently lit by a light on a timer.
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