Leaning back on his chair, Sylvester gave Dana a long, penetrating stare. “Mrs. Cole—”
“Dana,” she insisted with a cold smile.
“I’m sorry. Dana, what you don’t understand was the sentiment at the time. Everyone was calling for Dr. Harry Nichols’s head. They were grumbling about how the act was not only heinous, but also cowardice because he’d waited until she was asleep to kill her. A few said it was a crime of passion because he’d blown off her face in a jealous rage. Rumors were circulating that he couldn’t stand other men looking at his wife.”
She gave the lawyer a narrowed glare. “The gossip was coming from people in Hillsboro. Wasn’t the trial held in Greenville?”
He nodded once. “Yes.”
“I’m certain most Greenville residents knew nothing about Dr. Harry Nichols or his wife Alicia. Weren’t all of the jurors from Greenville?”
“Yes.”
“I’m not buying your argument, Mr. Wilson. You did my father great injustice. You accepted his case, knowing you couldn’t win it. Your specialty is litigation, not criminal law. In other words, you handed him the rope he needed to hang himself.
“Did you take the case for the money or for the notoriety? Which one was it? Whether my father was found guilty or innocent, you still got your money.”
Muscles in his jaw throbbed noticeably under his smooth dark-brown skin. “What are you implying, Mrs. Cole?”
Her eyes darkened with rage. “I’m not implying anything. I telling you outright that you were incompetent.”
Sylvester rose gracefully to his feet. “I believe this conversation has come to an end.”
Dana stood up. “You’re right, Mr. Wilson. My father might not be alive, but I’m going to reopen his case and if it takes every penny that I have, I’m going to make certain you lose your right to practice law in the State of Mississippi.” She offered him a sensual smile. “You can send me a bill for your time.”
Turning on her heel, she walked out of the conference room, leaving Sylvester staring at her straight back. He waited several minutes, and then picked up one of several phones on a side table. He dialed a number, drumming his fingers on the table.
“Guess who came to see me,” he said when he heard a familiar voice. “Dana Nichols. She says she’s now Dana Cole.” A feral smile crossed his face. “Ain’t that nothing?” he remarked, lapsing into dialect. “Now, ain’t she just like her momma. They must have a thing for doctors. She’s planning to open her old man’s case. Hell, yeah, she can request it. There’s no statute of limitation for murder. I suggest you take care of her before she opens a barrel of snakes. The one that escapes just might be poisonous.” He held the receiver to his ear, nodding. “I’ll ask her if she’s willing to do it. If she’s anything like her momma, she’ll probably say yes. I’ll ask her, then get back to you. I know. We don’t have much time.”
Without a parting greeting, Sylvester Wilson hung up. Something had told him twenty-two years ago not to accept the Nichols case, but he had needed the money. He’d had an underage pregnant girlfriend at the time who was threatening to tell his wife about their extramarital affair. The grubby little whore didn’t want the baby, but money. Money he didn’t have. He’d accepted Harry Nichols’s fee, given his girlfriend money for an abortion, and a thousand dollars for her to forget she ever knew him.
However, it was years later that he found out that Thelma hadn’t had the abortion. She’d taken his money, moved to Chicago, and given birth to a baby girl. One who, she wrote to tell him, looked exactly like him. Thelma lived in Chicago for twenty-two years before she decided to come back to Mississippi.
She came to see him, and he was shocked at how good she still looked. And he had to admit his daughter was quite an eyeful, too. Twana looked like him, but she was her mother’s child. Both of them had hustling in the marrow of their bones.
Tyler sat on a stool at the end of the examining table, adjusting a gooseneck lamp. The young woman was a new patient who’d told the social worker her mother had kicked her out of the house because she couldn’t keep a job. She was twenty-one, a high school dropout, had just gotten out of an abusive relationship, and Tyler would now have to tell her the results from her latest urine sample—she was pregnant!
“Miss Singleton, please move a little toward me, and relax your knees.”
She scooted closer to the edge of the table. Tearing open a prepackaged vaginal speculum, Tyler inserted the instrument, dilating her vaginal canal. He examined her vaginal walls and cervix. His nurse handed him a cotton-tipped applicator, and he gathered a culture for a routine Pap smear. He handed the nurse the applicator and she prepared the slide, which would be sent to an outside lab for testing.
He removed the speculum, applied a lubricating jelly on the examining glove, gently inserting a finger into her vagina. With his other hand, he pressed along the lower portion of her abdomen as Twana moaned softly.
“I’m trying not to hurt you,” Tyler said, offering her a comforting smile. “It’s almost over.” He felt her ovaries. “One more and we’re done, Miss Singleton. Now I want you to take a deep breath, and then let it out slowly.” Her chest rose and fell under an examining gown at the same time he inserted his middle finger into her rectum and his index finer into her vagina.
“Do you really have to do that, Dr. Cole?”
“Yes, because I need to get a better feel of the back wall of your uterus. I can also check for hemorrhoids and other growths known as polyps.” He extracted his fingers, removing his gloves. “You’re done.” Rounding the table, Tyler patted her shoulder. “The nurse will help you to get dressed, then I’ll see you in my office.”
He was still entering notes in Twana Singleton’s chart when she walked into his office. She was petite and very pretty. A soft curling natural hairstyle was flattering to her perfectly rounded face. Her large brown eyes gave her the appearance of being perpetually surprised. Her attire was totally inappropriate for daytime wear. A skintight skirt, which showed a lot of thigh, and an equally tight tank top were better suited for the clubs many young people favored.
Rising to his feet, he came around his desk. “Please sit down, Miss Singleton.” She took the chair he indicated, crossing her shapely legs.
Tyler sat down opposite Twana, his expression impassive. He’d stopped counting the number of patients who believed they were flirting with him. The fact that he now wore a wedding band apparently was not a deterrent.
“Are you certain you had a period last month, Miss Singleton?”
Her eyes shifted upward as she appeared deep in thought. “I think so.”
“Are you very sure?”
Her tongue darted out, and she ran it over her lower lip in a seductive gesture. “I think so,” she repeated.
“I’m asking you about your period because the results of a urine test indicate you’re pregnant.”
Twana shook her head. “That can’t be true, Dr. Cole.”
“Our test detected the presence of HCG, human chorionic gonadotropin, a hormone found in early pregnancy.”
Twana leaned forward, displaying her large breasts. “Don’t you understand I can’t be pregnant, Dr. Cole? I don’t want to be pregnant.” She jumped up, heading for the door. “I can’t talk about this.”
Tyler was right behind her as she ran down the corridor toward the exit. He caught up with her in the crowded waiting room. “Miss Singleton, please come back.”
Turning, she pointed an airbrushed finger at him, her face contorted in rage. “You stay away from me! I want nothing to do with you!” She spun around on her heel, opened the door, and walked out, slamming the door, so hard the glass rattled.
There was complete silence in the waiting area as all eyes were focused on the tall man with the white lab coat. Tyler looked at his patients, seeing shock and uncertainty in their gazes. It was a full thirty seconds before he turned on his heel and retreated to an examining room.
He saw eight patients th
at day, but only one stuck in his head—Twana Singleton. He’d had women deny their pregnancies almost up to the time they were ready to deliver. It was apparent Twana would become one of those women.
Twenty-six
Dana couldn’t pull her gaze away from the typed report prepared by a medical examiner twenty-two years ago. He listed the cause of death as two bullet fragments lodged in the frontal lobe and one in the neck, which had severed an artery.
One entry in particular got her complete attention. Alicia Nichols was pregnant at the time of her death—estimated gestation period: twelve weeks.
Tyler had guessed correctly. Alicia was pregnant when she was murdered.
Burying her face in her hands, she tried bringing her fragile emotions under control. Harry Nichols’s strident voice invaded her thoughts: How can you still do it now that I have proof?
Now Dana knew what the proof was. Her father had found out his wife was pregnant—by another man.
If it wasn’t Harry’s baby she was carrying at the time—then whose was it? She read the report over and over until she’d memorized every typed word.
Lowering her hands, Dana sat on the slider, staring out into nothingness with unseeing eyes. The sun had passed over, indicating it was late afternoon. It was time she went home. And it was also time she told Tyler of her suspicions. Her period was more than ten days late. What surprised her was that Tyler seemed oblivious to her physical condition.
A slight frown appeared between her eyes. They hadn’t made love in more a week. She was usually in bed and asleep when he slipped in beside her, and when she woke up the space beside her was empty.
She stood up at the same time the tiny phone in her purse rang. Retrieving it, she answered the call, her heart racing uncontrollably when she heard Tyler’s voice.
“Come home, Dana.”
“What’s the matter, Tyler?”
“Now!” His voice reverberated in her ear.
Her temper exploded. “Don’t yell at me!” The words were forced from between her teeth.
He cursed. Words she couldn’t understand—violent curses in Spanish.
“Tyler, talk to me—in English!”
“Dana, baby. Please come home.”
She nodded even though he couldn’t see her. “Okay. I’m on my way.”
Her heart was pumping so fast she felt light-headed as she locked up her grandmother’s house and walked to her car. Her hands shook, and it took several attempts before she was able to turn the key in the ignition.
It was Thursday, his late night at the clinic. Why was he home? The whys followed her as she tried to stay under the speed limit. The last thing she needed was to be stopped for speeding.
She turned off onto the private road leading to her home. The word slapped at her. Home. The large house overlooking the Mississippi was her home, yet she spent more time at her grandmother’s house than in her own house. She only stayed when there was a delivery of another piece of furniture; other than that, she stayed away.
She hadn’t notified her boss that she wouldn’t be returning to her position at the Chronicle, or her landlady that she would come and clean out her apartment. All of her energies were focused on clearing her family’s name. And if she did prove Harry Nichols hadn’t murdered her mother, what would it change? It wouldn’t bring him or her mother back.
She’d come back to Hillsboro to bury her last surviving relative, and had fallen in love with a sexy, passionate, patient man, marrying him within two weeks of their meeting.
Now, she was certain she carried his child beneath her heart—a child who would carry on the bloodlines of generations of Nicholses and Suttons. The spirits of Harry, Alicia, and Georgia were still alive in her and in her baby yet to be born.
Tyler was waiting for her when she pulled into the garage. One look at his face told her something was wrong. She got out of the car, quickening her pace until they were face-to-face. Lines she’d never seen before were etched in his forehead and alongside the length of his thin nose.
“What is it?”
He stared at her for a full minute. “Come in and I’ll show you.” She followed Tyler into the house and into the library. “Sit down. Please.”
She sat on the love seat facing the flat-screen television mounted on the wall. Her gaze followed his fluid stride as he walked over to his desk and picked up a white business-size envelope. He returned to where she was sitting, handing it to her.
“I found this pushed through the slot in the door after someone called me at the clinic telling me I should go home and pick up a package that should be of great interest to me.”
Dana stared at the envelope. There was nothing written on it. “What’s in it?”
Tyler drew his lips back over his teeth. “Open it and find out.”
Staring at the envelope, she turned it over and pulled out a single sheet of paper. Her eyes widened when she read the cut-out letters glued haphazardly on the paper: DOC—TELL YOUR WIFE TO STOP SNOOPING OR YOU WILL END UP LIKE NICHOLS.
Dana stood up, the paper falling to the floor. “What’s going on, Tyler?”
His eyes widened until she could see their raven depths. “You tell me, Mrs. Cole.”
Her fingers curled into tight fists, her nails biting into the tender flesh of her palms. “You think I have something to do with that piece of garbage?”
Closing his eyes, Tyler breathed in and out through his mouth, struggling valiantly not to lose his temper. He opened his eyes, staring through her. “I don’t know what to think right now. I wanted to show it to you before I call Billy Clark. I wanted to give you the opportunity to open up to me before the law gets involved.”
Her mind refused to register the significance of his statement until he picked up the telephone, asking the operator to connect him to the sheriff’s office.
Picking up the tiny purse she’d left on a side table, she threw it at his head, missing him by inches, the contents spilling over the floor. “How dare you!” she screamed uncontrollably.
Taking two long strides, Tyler caught her wrists, tightening his grip when she attempted to free herself. “I dare, Dana, because I don’t want anything to happen to you.”
She tried pounding his chest. “Nothing’s going to happen to me.”
“Didn’t you read it? Really read it? It’s not an invitation to a formal dinner party. It’s a death threat.”
Her brow creased in worry. “Death threat?”
“Yes, baby. It says you will end up like Nichols. It’s not specifying which Nichols—Harry or Alicia.”
Tyler led her back to the love seat, sitting and pulling her down beside him. “I need you to tell me what you’ve uncovered about your mother and father before Billy gets here.”
“Not much.”
“You say not much, but someone else probably thinks you’re close to uncovering the truth. Which means Harry did not kill your mother, and that the murderer is alive and living in Hillsboro.”
“You were right,” she began. “My mother was pregnant when she died. She …” Her words died on her tongue when the phone rang.
Tyler got up to answer it. The natural color drained from his face, leaving it a sickly yellow under his tan. Dana rose as if in a trance.
“What is it?” she asked as he ended the call.
“Billy says he has a warrant for my arrest. He says one of my patients claims I raped her.”
Dana felt the room spinning, but she didn’t faint. She refused to faint. Reaching for Tyler’s hand, she held it in both of hers.
“No, no, no.” She didn’t recognize her own voice. She held him until the doorbell rang. It was then she stood up and walked with her husband to the door to meet Billy Clark.
The news of Tyler’s arrest had everyone shaking their heads. People stood around in small and large groups, discussing what they believed was the truth: Twana Singleton had come to the clinic late one night, complaining of pains in her abdomen. Even though Dr. Cole said it was after ho
urs, he agreed to see her. He waited for her to undress, and then he forced himself on her. She only came back a few days ago because she suspected she was pregnant. He pretended he didn’t know her because his nurse was present. But then he confirmed that she was pregnant. He told her because he was married she had to get rid of the baby. Twana broke down, crying pitifully because although she’d been raped, she didn’t believe in abortion. There were at least five people in the clinic’s waiting room who overheard Twana tell Dr. Cole to stay away from her, that she didn’t want to have anything to do with him.
Dana longed to tell the ignorant gossipers that Tyler would never agree to see a patient without a nurse present, that he would never rape a woman.
Billy Clark had apologized profusely when he had to read Tyler his rights. But he’d spared him the humiliation of handcuffing him. Dana had called Eugene Payton even before Tyler was in the police cruiser, asking him to represent her husband. Eugene had instructed her to meet him at the Greenville Court, and to make certain she brought her checkbook.
It took less than four hours, but after being arraigned, Tyler was released after Dana posted a fifty-thousand-dollar bond. She’d written a check from the account she’d set up with the proceeds of her inheritance.
Tyler was home, but he hadn’t returned to the clinic. The judge had ordered him not to return until after a grand jury heard the charges against him.
She and Tyler were married, living under the same roof, but they could’ve been strangers. Tyler moved out of the bedroom, preferring instead to sleep in his library. She waited for him to finish in the kitchen before she entered to prepare her own meals. Whenever their gazes met, Dana felt his enmity radiating from the depths of his coal-black eyes.
After three days cooped up in the house, she felt as if she were the one under house arrest. Swinging her legs over the side of the bed, she headed for the lower level. The fish she’d prepared the night before had triggered an uncommon thirst.
Homecoming Page 26