All She Ever Wanted

by Barbara Freethy

  Natalie sucked in a gasp of air. The hospital gossips had done a good job. "I didn't do that, either."

  "You worked at the university health center, did you not?"

  "Yes, but I didn't steal or dispense any drugs improperly."

  "Can you prove that?"

  "I don't have to prove it. The accusations are in a novel, a book that's supposed to be fictional entertainment."

  Rita stared at her for a long moment. "You're an excellent doctor, Natalie. I don't want to lose you, but I think you need a break, a few days off to sort through this. You can start that break now."

  "You're right, I am an excellent doctor," Natalie said fiercely. "And this book is nothing but bullshit. The police investigated Emily's death when it happened. It was ruled accidental. The case was closed. There were never any charges or even a hint of suspicion about my job performance at the health center." A rush of anger filled her as Rita remained unmoved. "I can't believe you're allowing a novel to sway your opinion of me. We've worked beside each other for three years. You know me, Rita. You know what kind of person I am, and even more what kind of doctor I am."

  "And you know me, Natalie. I do what it takes to keep this department running smoothly, and right now you are causing a huge commotion. I also got a call from Bennett half an hour ago. He wants me to make this go away."

  That was typical of the hospital administrator. "I didn't do anything wrong."

  "I'm sure you didn't, but you need to find a way to resolve this issue and repair your professional reputation. I don't have to remind you that a physician must be above all scandal. Especially a female doctor. Fix this."

  "Dammit," Natalie swore as Rita left her alone in the examining room. She couldn't believe the impact the book was having on her life. As she gazed around the room, noting the familiar machines and instruments, she felt a terrible fear that she might lose it all. The hospital was her home. The doctors and nurses were her family. Her career was everything. She told herself that it couldn't happen, wouldn't happen. She was guilty of nothing. But apparently she was going to have to find a way to prove that. She had to do what Rita said and fix it.

  * * *

  Cole stared at the copy on his desk. He'd already read it twice and it still didn't make sense. His cousin Marty sat in the chair in front of him. A thin, wiry, nervous type in his early twenties, Marty didn't usually deliver copy personally to Cole's desk, yet here he was today, clearing his throat every thirty seconds and running a hand through his hair, obviously worried about Cole's reaction. He had good reason to be.

  "What is this?" Cole asked in a quiet voice that barely contained his anger. He looked at Marty, having the sudden urge to hit him. He was tired. He hadn't slept all night, trying to figure out the puzzle of Malone, the novel, Emily's death, and Natalie's involvement.

  "We have to cover the story," Marty said in a tight voice. "It's news."

  "It's old news. Emily died ten years ago."

  "I know that, but the book is happening now. I wish you'd given me the heads-up on this. I was completely broadsided when a source told me that Entertainment Tonight is running a preview of tonight's lead story with the tagline What really happened to Emily Parish, daughter of the Parish publishing dynasty?"

  "Shit!" After his conversation with his father the day before, Cole had known the story was about to blow up. He'd just hoped to have a few days before it exploded, enough time to locate Malone. Apparently, that wasn't going to happen. Who the hell had called ET? Where was the buzz coming from? He knew it wasn't coming from Natalie or himself.

  "This brief article gives just enough detail to keep us in the game," Marty said.

  Cole ignored that as he leaned back in his chair. "I want to stick with no comment for the moment."

  "We can't do that. The integrity of the paper is at stake. We can't let every other news organization cover the story of one of our own." He paused, uttering a nervous cough. "You know we've been slipping the past year. Every day our circulation numbers go down a little bit more. We have reporters all over the world, but hardly anyone covering our own city. And now this. If we refuse to print information about this book, it might put us over the edge."

  Cole heard every word Marty said. But this was Emily they were talking about.

  "It's the best way to tell our side of the story, to let the world know we're conducting our own investigation," Marty argued.

  He knew Marty was right. They had to put out some sort of statement and this was the best compromise. "Fine, run it. But we'll have no further comment until we speak to the author of the book."

  As Marty left the room, Jack Hinkley walked in. Jack was a fifty-year-old private investigator who worked for the paper on occasion and most recently on finding Malone. He shut the door behind him and sat down in the chair across from Cole's desk.

  "Malone has disappeared off the radar," Jack said bluntly. "He has canceled all scheduled appearances. His publicist claims she resigned yesterday afternoon when it became clear to her that Malone may have misrepresented himself and his book. She says she doesn't know where he is or even where he came from. Apparently, their entire contact was by phone or e-mail."

  "His publisher must know who he is. His agent?"

  "All of his business correspondence was sent to a post office box. His phone is being picked up by an answering machine. The copyright for the book is held in the name of a corporation with a tax ID number. I'm unraveling that trail as we speak, but it's clear that this guy set out to hide his true identity. There's no question about that."

  Of course he had. Malone had plotted this scenario out carefully, even going so far as to disguise himself. As much as Cole wanted to forget Natalie's suggestion that Dylan was involved, Cole had to admit that the whole thing had a Dylan flair to it. Not that he could imagine any reason why Dylan would write such a book. Unless Dylan held Natalie responsible for Emily's death. Had he written the book to punish her for a crime he felt she'd gotten away with?

  "Malone is a slippery bastard, but I'll find him," Jack continued, drawing Cole's attention back to the problem at hand. "In the meantime, I did some checking on that other name you gave me last night." He referred to his notes. "Drew McKinney." He paused and looked at Cole. "He's come a long way from his trailer park roots in Modesto. His father has a history of gambling. His mother is a hairdresser. They don't live well, but McKinney does. He's a successful, ambitious lawyer who married into a good family."

  "I know all that. What I don't know is what he's been doing for the last year."

  "Traveling a great deal. He's in Los Angeles now."

  "Where Malone supposedly is," Cole said with a nod, remembering Natalie's conversation with Laura the evening before. "Try to find out if any of his other business trips coincided with Malone appearances."

  "Already on it. I'll be in touch when I have more answers. Anyone else you want me to look into?"

  Cole hesitated, wondering if he should mention Dylan; then he shook his head. Dylan was his best friend. If there was any investigating to be done, he would do it himself.

  "Okay, then." Jack got to his feet. "You know, Emily was a great kid. I remember her sitting at your father's desk drawing pictures. It's a tragedy what happened to her. I'll do anything to help make this right for your family."

  "Thanks, I appreciate that." As Jack left the room, Cole's cell phone rang. A chill ran through him as he saw the number. He did not want to take this call, but he knew he'd only be postponing the inevitable. "Hello, Dad? Are you home?"

  "No, I'm at the hospital," his father said. "We were mobbed by reporters at the house. your mother collapsed when they asked her about Emily's ... murder." Richard Parish's voice shook with grief and rage. "I thought I told you to take care of this before we got back."

  "I'm trying," Cole said, but he knew the answer wasn't good enough for either of them.

  "Try harder." His father hung up on him before he could ask which hospital.

  Cole hoped to G
od it wasn't St. Timothy's.

  * * *

  Natalie sat in her car in the hospital parking lot for a good five minutes. Part of her wanted to return to the ER and persuade Rita to let her work out her shift. Being a doctor was what she did best. The hospital was her refuge, her safe haven—a haven that had just been invaded by the press. Where on earth had they all come from? What had happened between last night and this morning to alert the media? Maybe Cole had some idea. He was the media. Which made her wonder—had any of those reporters been from the Tribune? Surely Cole wouldn't cover the story, would he?

  But wouldn't he have to? He was a news man, running the biggest newspaper in town. More than anyone, she knew he took his duty to family and the family business seriously. If it came to a choice between the family and her, there was no doubt in her mind which way he'd go.

  Starting her car, she pulled out of the parking lot. She wasn't accomplishing anything by sitting, and she hated to be idle, which made going back to her apartment a very unappealing idea. It would be quiet there, too quiet. And it wouldn't serve any purpose. She needed to make a move. Take action. Fix things, as her boss had suggested.

  But first ... she needed a friend. It had been a long time since she'd expressed that need to herself. Over the years she'd told herself that relying on anyone was just plain stupidity. Her mother had let her down numerous times, not to mention the other relatives who had passed in and out of her life as quickly as they could. She had to remember that she was fine on her own. She got into trouble only when she let herself care, when she opened herself up—the way she'd done with Emily, Laura, and Madison, and especially with Cole. He'd knocked down her guard wall as if it were made of marshmallows. She'd let him all the way into her life and her heart, and she'd paid a dear price for those few months of love. It had taken her a while to build the wall back up and she'd thought it was strong and impenetrable. Now it was shaking again.

  She'd caught a glimpse of the life she used to have with her girlfriends and with Cole, and she was hungering for that life like a woman who'd been on a diet for too long and had suddenly seen a luscious piece of chocolate cake. Just one bite, she told herself, one more conversation or two, that's all she needed. She wasn't going to see Laura just because of friendship; she needed to talk to her about the journal.

  Her rationalizations continued all the way down the highway to Laura's house. Natalie considered turning around more than once, but here she was driving through the quiet tree-lined suburban neighborhood of Atherton. She parked in front of Laura's beautiful home, got out of the car, and walked up to the front door. As she raised her hand to the doorbell, she paused, hearing the sound of music coming from inside. It was so sweet, so familiar. Laura was playing the flute.

  Natalie had always loved to hear Laura play. It was as if she blew out all her insecurities and doubts and was left with nothing but serenity, peace. And everyone who was listening got caught up in that peace. The music stopped and Natalie rang the bell. The door opened a moment later.

  "Natalie," Laura said with a smile. "What a nice surprise."

  "I know I should have called first, but there were reporters at the hospital and I had to get away."

  "There were reporters where you work? That doesn't sound good. Come on in." She motioned Natalie into the house, shutting the door behind her.

  "I heard you playing just now," Natalie said, catching sight of Laura's flute on the coffee table in the living room. She walked into the room and picked it up. "This is the one you had in college, isn't it?"

  "Yes, I just started playing again a couple of days ago. I'm definitely rusty."

  "You sounded great."

  "Really?" Laura asked, an insecure note in her voice. "You're not just saying that? Because you don't have to say that. I haven't played in ten years. I'm sure it wasn't great."

  "You were always a natural with the flute. The only classical concerts I ever sat through were ones in college that you insisted we attend."

  Laura grinned. "I was trying to get you a little culture."

  "I needed it. So why haven't you played all these years?"

  Laura took the flute out of Natalie's hand and set it back in its case. "There wasn't time or room in my life for music after Drew and I got together. First there was the wedding. That took most of my senior year to plan. Then we wanted to have kids right away, and Drew was going to law school, and life was crazy. I let it go. It wasn't like I was ever going to have a music career."

  "You were good enough to have a career."

  "I probably wasn't good enough. But even if I had the talent, I never had the drive. Back then I had it in my head that finding a husband, getting married, and starting a family were what I needed to do."

  Natalie nodded, remembering many long discussions on that very subject. They'd tried to slow Laura down, tell her to take her time. She didn't have to do it all right away. She had time to be young and foolish. But while Laura had had her friends' voices in one ear, she'd had her mother's voice in the other, telling her she needed to find a good man, because she wasn't smart enough to make it on her own. Natalie had never cared much for Laura's parents on the few occasions that they'd met, mainly because they were always tearing Laura down, making her the butt of jokes. "You let your family influence you too much," she said now. "You were always smarter than your parents gave you credit for."

  "Maybe I wasn't. Look where I am now, in this perfect house, with my perfect family, and I'm not happy." She blinked rapidly, her mouth starting to tremble.

  "Laura, what's wrong?"

  "Everything's wrong. It's supposed to be right, but it's not. And I don't know what to do."

  Natalie took Laura's hand and pulled her toward the couch. "Let's sit down, and you can tell me what your choices are."

  "I don't know what my choices are," Laura complained. "That's the problem. I feel like I'm trapped, and I did it all to myself." She paused. "I looked for Emily's journal like you asked, Natalie. I didn't find it, but I did find some other stuff." Laura drew in a deep breath and continued. "There are weird deposits and withdrawals in my bank account. You have to understand that I don't do the banking. Drew does. He pays the bills, too. He's always been big on being the provider. I have so much else to do that I never fought him on it. But I started going through our statements, and I don't know where this money is coming from or where it's going."

  Natalie didn't like the sound of that, but she was trying to be a friend. "It could be legitimate, bonuses at work."

  "Yes, you're right. I know he gets bonuses on big cases, so it could very well be that. I just don't like the fact that he never mentioned any bonuses or big withdrawals. Fifteen thousand dollars goes in, then it goes out. What did he pay for? I can't follow a trail."

  "Maybe you should just ask him."

  "He won't be back until tomorrow. I don't want to do it on the phone. Frankly, there are a lot of things we need to talk about, but Drew is so touchy lately. I can't say anything right. I think it's possible he's having an affair."

  "I hope that's not true."

  "It's my fault. I try to keep myself in shape, but I eat too much, and—"

  "Stop," Natalie said, cutting her off deliberately. "If Drew is cheating, it has nothing to do with you, and everything to do with him. I don't care if you've gained five pounds or fifty pounds. You can't blame yourself for your husband's actions."

  "You always see everything in black and white, but it's complicated," Laura said, a bit of a familiar whine in her voice.

  "You make it complicated, Laura."

  "That's probably true." Laura hesitated, giving Natalie a searching look. "Do you think people can fall out of love? Or do you think real love lasts forever?"

  Natalie didn't know how to answer that question. "I'm not an expert on love, Laura, but I think it takes a lot of work to keep a relationship going. There are going to be good times and bad times through the years."

  "I was listening to some talk show," Laura sai
d, "and they had on this woman who'd been married for forty years, and they asked her what her secret was, and she said, 'We never fell out of love at the same time. There was always one of us trying to hang on.' I think I'm the only one right now trying to hang on. In fact, sometimes I think Drew wants me to ask him something or push him in some direction. He wants an excuse to get mad or have an affair or walk out on us, because he can't do it for some selfish reason. My parents love him to death, but they wouldn't like it if he abandoned me. On the other hand, if they thought I'd been the one to screw up, they'd probably take his side." Laura sighed. "I'm sorry. You don't want to hear about my marital problems."

  "I don't mind. I wish I could give you some brilliant advice, but I don't know anything about what it takes to make a marriage work. The one thing I do know is that you have to make yourself happy, Laura. You can't rely on someone else to do it for you. You can't keep looking for support or reinforcement from people who don't want to give it to you. You have to give it to yourself."

  Laura stared at her through serious eyes. "You are so smart."

  "No, I've just had more experience with non-supportive people in my life. It seems to me that you're so busy worrying about taking care of every one else that you've forgotten to take care of yourself. Maybe you should do something just for you."

  "It's funny you should say that. I saw an ad for auditions for the local community orchestra. It's a small-town thing. The orchestra plays at the recreation center on weekends and during the holidays."

  "Are you going to try out?"

  "I shouldn't."

  "I think it's a great idea."

  "My daughters will think I've lost my mind."

  Natalie shook her head. "I imagine they'll be really proud of their mother. Kids want to be proud of their parents. I know I always wished my mom would make a life for herself instead of depending on some guy to make it for her."

  "You'll never make that mistake," Laura said with a smile. "You'll never live your life for some guy."