Chapter Seventeen
DAVE AND I CHECKED out of the Lakeside Motel at eight the next morning and headed straight for Joe Fletcher’s office. He was there, with a square bandage on the back of his head, looking good otherwise.
“Heading out?” he asked.
I nodded. Dave, on his leash, sniffed at the base of the watercooler, but behaved himself. “My sister’s coming in on a ten-o’clock plane,” I said. “She’ll stay with Greer until she can leave the hospital.”
Joe looked sad. “You understand that Greer could be charged with attempted murder?”
“She didn’t poison Mr. Severn,” I said. “Her mother did.”
“Unless Alice confesses, or we can find some proof that she’s the guilty one, Mol—Greer is in big trouble.”
“I understand.”
“The boy,” Joe said. “Is he all right?”
I’d talked to Tucker around six that morning. “No change,” I said.
“I guess the news could be worse.”
I nodded, already edging toward the door.
“Take care,” Joe said, bending to ruffle Dave’s ears in farewell.
“You, too,” I answered. “And, Joe?”
“Yeah.”
“Thanks.”
He saluted, and I left.
Two hours later, in front of the Missoula airport, Jolie tossed her suitcase into the back of the Volvo, with Dave, and jumped in on the passenger side.
We headed for the hospital. Jolie called ahead for an update.
Greer was in surgery—her arm had been rebroken during her ordeal in the cellar at the Severn farmhouse. Leaving Dave with Jolie outside the visitor’s entrance, I took an elevator to the fifteenth floor, after getting the room number from the admittance clerk, intending to wait for Greer.
There were two policemen outside her door, but that wasn’t what stopped me in my tracks.
It was the woman, dressed in a neat navy blue suit and wearing high heels, who was talking to them. She looked so much like Greer that I didn’t need to ask who she was.
Seeing me, she fell silent, her expression curious.
“I’m Mojo Sheepshanks,” I told her, and the policemen. “Molly’s—friend.”
“Alice York,” Greer’s mother said.
One of the policemen cleared his throat. “We’re going to have to arrest you, Mrs. York.”
I opened my mouth. Closed it again.
“I’d like to see my daughter first,” Alice told the man. “Just let me wait here until she gets out of surgery and comes around. I’m not going anywhere.”
The cops conferred, then agreed. Alice wasn’t going anywhere. But they weren’t, either.
I followed Alice into Greer’s room.
“You confessed?” I asked quietly.
“Yes,” Alice said.
“Why did you let Greer—Molly take the rap for you?”
Alice stood with her back to me, staring out a window. “I was a coward,” she said. “When Molly ran away, I was glad she’d gotten out of that house. I only wish Tessa could have escaped, too. The gossip started almost immediately—everybody thought Molly had been the one to poison Fred, because of what he’d done to Tessa, and tried to do to her. I knew she’d land on her feet, so I let it ride.”
“Wasn’t it strange, staying there, in the same house where it all happened? Taking care of a man you’d tried to kill?”
“It was my form of penance,” Alice said quietly. “He ruined so many lives. Tessa’s, certainly. Rick’s, too. God, how I hated him. When he finally died, I wanted to dance for joy. I was free. I prayed Molly was, too. But Tessa and Rick? There was no turning back for them.”
I nodded, but said nothing. It wasn’t my place to tell Alice that Greer—Molly, to her—wasn’t out of the legal woods yet, even though she’d been cleared of Fred Severn’s poisoning. She’d shot Jack Pennington and, while Carmen would probably testify that it had been self-defense, nothing about it would be easy.
For one thing, there was bound to be a lot of ugly publicity.
I wondered if Greer was strong enough to stand the stress, or if she’d crack up, as Tessa had. Things like that run in families. Believe me, I know. I have the half brother from hell. And I’m not speaking figuratively here, either.
Greer was a long time getting out of surgery, and when she did, she was unconscious. Alice stood over her, holding her hand, her eyes brimming with tears.
I left and went downstairs to relieve Jolie of Dave-duty.
“Go home,” she said, handing over the leash. “I can take it from here.”
“What about your job?” I asked.
Jolie grinned. “I decided I was overqualified. I’ll be doing consulting work from here on out. Care to hire me? I’ll give you the family rate.”
“Please tell me you didn’t get fired,” I said. If she had been axed from the city payroll, it was my fault—I’d let the discovery of Alex Pennington’s dead body slip to Tucker, after all. And while I was pretty sure he wouldn’t have blown the whistle on Jolie, someone else might have overheard the conversation.
“Okay,” Jolie answered cheerfully. “I didn’t get fired.”
“You’re lying,” I accused.
“Don’t blame Tucker,” Jolie said, “or yourself. It happened because I’m not very good at taking orders, that’s all.”
I still felt guilty. I have a black belt in that.
Jolie touched my arm. “Go on back to Arizona, Mojo. Tucker needs you, and you need to get Mojo’s up and running. I’ll catch up with you when I’m sure Greer is okay.”
My throat tightened. I don’t like goodbyes, even when they’re temporary; all too often they turn out to be permanent instead.
I’d brought Jolie up to speed on the Greer situation on our way over from the airport. Now I added, “Her mother’s up there, in the room. She confessed to poisoning Fred Severn herself, so Greer’s okay on that score.”
Jolie nodded, looked wistfully down at Dave, probably missing Sweetie, but she didn’t say anything.
“Where are you going to stay, Jole?” I asked. “What will you do for a car?”
“I’ll rent one, Moje,” Jolie answered. I knew she wasn’t quite herself—there was something very wrong—but she wasn’t ready to tell me about it, or she would have. “And I can still afford a hotel, even if I am self-employed.”
“I didn’t get to tell Greer goodbye,” I said.
“I’ll give her your love, Moje. Just get going, okay?”
We hugged.
Dave and I got in the car and pointed ourselves south.
We were barely rolling when Tucker called. Instead of “hello,” he made a hoarse, strangled sound.
Oh, no, I thought. Please, no...
But I said, “What? Tucker, what?”
“He’s awake,” Tucker told me. “Danny’s going to make it, Moje. He’s drifting in and out, but he’s going to be okay.”
I had to pull over to the side of the road, I was shaking so badly. “Thank God,” I murmured.
“Amen,” Tucker said.
“Dave and I are on our way,” I told him.
“You can’t get here quickly enough to suit me,” he replied. “Call me again when you get within half an hour of Cave Creek. I’ll be at the apartment waiting for you.”
Emotion swelled in my throat. “I’ll hurry,” I promised.
“Don’t speed,” he said. “I’d hate to have to bust you.”
I laughed, but tears of joy were blurring my vision.
We said goodbye, and I wiped my eyes with the back of one hand and got back on the highway.
* * *
I WAS WITHIN a hundred miles of home the next afternoon when Gillian suddenly
appeared in the passenger seat. She folded her arms and gave me an accusatory look.
“It’s good to see you,” I said, and I meant it. I’d been worried about her.
She looked back at Dave, smiled at him with bleak affection and turned to me again, signing rapidly.
“Honey,” I told her quietly, “I don’t understand.”
Her whole body moved with the sigh she gave. And then she put both hands out in front of her and made a shoving motion with them.
“Danny,” she said laboriously, and pushed again, hard.
My blood went cold. “Are you saying somebody pushed him into the pool?”
She nodded.
“Who?”
She sat perfectly still.
“Gillian, were you there? Did you see someone push Danny into the pool?”
She shook her head.
“Then how do you know?” I asked, enunciating the words carefully.
She moved one hand, as though working a puppet. Making it talk.
“He told you?”
Again Gillian nodded.
“Does Danny’s dad know, or his mom?”
No.
I remembered my encounter with Danny the night before, in the rainy darkness. I’d told him he was dreaming, and the chances were pretty good that he didn’t remember the attack consciously. But a part of him did.
I pressed harder on the gas.
Gillian vanished, but not before I saw the pleading in her eyes.
Frantically I reviewed what Tucker had told me—that Danny had fallen into the pool, and Chelsea had rescued him. Who else had been at the Darroch house that day? Allison? Vince Erland? Who?
Allison would never hurt her own child.
Chelsea had been the one to save him, so she was out.
As for Vince, well, that was just frantic speculation on my part. If he’d been around, Chelsea would have called the cops.
A chill seized the marrow of my bones as a new realization struck me. The ghosts I’d met, with the exception of Beverly Pennington’s, had been benevolent. But suppose there was another kind?
Half an hour out, as promised, I called Tucker.
He was at my place, as promised, making spaghetti sauce.
“Tuck,” I said carefully, “did Danny say anything about—well—about what happened before he fell into the pool?”
“He doesn’t remember,” Tucker said.
“Could someone have—pushed him?”
“Moje, what are you getting at?”
“According to Gillian, Danny didn’t fall into the water, Tuck. Somebody shoved him.” I paused, gnawing at my lower lip. “Who was there when it happened?”
“Allison was inside, talking to her mother on the telephone. Chelsea and her friend Janice were on the patio.”
“No one else?”
“No, not as far as I know.” Tucker sounded worried again now.
The invisible-attacker theory was looking better and better. Or, more properly, worse and worse. “Where was Daisy?” I asked.
“In the house, with Allison,” Tucker said. I didn’t need astral travel to see him turning off the fire under the spaghetti sauce, shoving the pot off the heat.
“Go back to the hospital, Tuck,” I told him. “I’ll meet you there.”
“Room 1205,” he said. Then he ground out a hasty goodbye, and the call ended.
A little over an hour later I parked in the lot at Phoenix Children’s Hospital, rolling a window down for Dave, and raced inside.
I practically collided with Allison as I got out of the elevator on the twelfth floor. She looked haggard, even gaunt, and there were deep shadows under her eyes. Seeing me, she opened her mouth to speak, probably to protest my being there, but then some second thought must have struck her. She pressed her lips together, shook her head once and got into the elevator I’d just stepped out of.
I held the doors open, delaying her departure. “Allison,” I said, “where is Daisy? Who’s with her?”
She blinked, as if confused by the question. After all she’d been through, I figured she was probably running on emotional fumes. “Chelsea is. Why?”
“Go to her,” I said with an internal shiver. “And stick close.”
Allison’s eyes widened.
“Go,” I repeated, and stepped back so the elevator doors could close.
After standing there for a few moments, trying to hold on to my composure, I hurried to 1205, and found Tucker there, pacing.
Danny lay sleeping in a bed, still and small and pale, hooked up to various monitors, an oxygen tube running into his left nostril. Except for the three of us, the room was empty.
I went straight into Tucker’s arms, and he clung to me a little, burying his face in my hair. His cheek felt rough, since he hadn’t shaved, and I smelled spaghetti sauce on his T-shirt.
A murmured word from Danny sent us both whirling toward the bed.
I bent over him, stroked his hair back from his forehead, worked up what I hoped was a reassuring smile. “Hey,” I said.
“I saw you—” he croaked. “In my dream.”
I kissed his cheek, too choked up to speak.
“It was raining,” Danny went on.
I nodded. “It was raining,” I confirmed.
Tucker’s hand came to rest on my shoulder.
Danny closed his eyes, sleeping peacefully.
“What was he talking about, Moje?” Tucker asked, his voice very quiet, even for a hospital room.
I told him about seeing Danny the night before.
Tucker’s eyes filled with tears as he listened. “It was pretty close, wasn’t it?” he asked when I’d finished.
I bit my lower lip and nodded.
A movement in the corner of the room caught my eye, and I risked a glance.
It was Justin, and he looked scared and anxious.
I didn’t even try to pretend, for Tucker’s sake, that no one was in the room.
“She’s got the little girl,” Justin said.
My heart stopped, started up again. “Who, Justin? Where?”
“It’s a campground or something. North of here, outside Carefree,” he answered, adding a few details. I recognized the place, not so much from memory as by a visceral sense of already being there. “Mojo, you’ve got to hurry.”
I nodded, caught hold of Tucker’s hand and pulled, already moving toward the door.
“Stay here,” I told Justin.
Justin nodded, looking uncertain.
Tucker didn’t ask a single question until we’d gotten Dave from the Volvo and jumped into his SUV, with me chattering directions to the campground.
“Would you mind telling me what the hell’s going on?” he demanded, zipping onto a northbound freeway.
“Call the cops, Tucker,” I urged. “We’ll never get there in time.”
He grabbed for the radio and did as I asked.
“Tell me what’s going on!”
His cell phone rang before I could explain.
He answered, barking, “Darroch.”
Allison’s voice was a high-pitched buzz of energy. I couldn’t hear what she said, but I didn’t have to. I knew she’d gotten home and found Daisy gone.
The last thing I heard was Tucker shouting my name, and Dave barking frantically in the backseat.
I was out of my body again, speeding through a darkness much blacker than mere night.
Chapter Eighteen
I LANDED WITH a thump.
Daisy was huddled in the corner of a starkly lit public restroom at the campground, plainly terrified. “I want to go home,” I heard her say.
“We all want something, kiddo,” said Chelsea Grimes.
&nbs
p; I’d left my body behind, in Tucker’s SUV, and I knew I was invisible. Focused consciousness, and not much more. I longed for my fists, my feet, a way to fight. A way to save Daisy.
“My daddy will come,” Daisy said bravely. “He’ll arrest you and throw you in jail—forever.”
I tried to center myself around her, protect her somehow.
But I knew it was fruitless. I had no substance, no power.
“Maybe we shouldn’t do this,” Chelsea said, biting her fingernails. I wondered if Janice had pushed Danny into the swimming pool, planning to film his death with that damned video camera of hers. Chelsea must have panicked, and jumped in to pull him out.
“Like we could turn back now,” scoffed Janice, a dark figure. “You heard the kid. She’ll tell for sure, and if the cops get into your computer and find the website, we’re finished.”
Chelsea began to pace.
Outside the restroom a car door slammed.
“Somebody’s here!” Janice snarled. “Hurry!”
I tried to scream, but I could feel myself fading, losing my grip.
I was pretty sure I was dead.
I landed in Tucker’s SUV, and my own quivering body, with an impact that literally rattled my teeth and hurt in every joint and muscle, as if I’d fallen from the roof of a building and landed on pavement.
“Mojo!” Tucker yelled.
“Drive,” I managed to say as everything around me began to come slowly back into focus. I was soaked with sweat and shaking with chills. “For God’s sake, drive!”
“What just happened here?” he demanded. “Did you have a seizure or something?”
“I’ll explain later,” I said, wondering how long I’d been out of Mojo-central. We were speeding over the road into the campground.
Up ahead I saw a cluster of squad cars, light bars flashing.
But there was no sign of Chelsea or Janice.
No sign of Daisy.
“In there,” I gasped, pointing toward the public restroom, a small stone structure standing by itself in the desert landscape.
Tucker was out of the rig and running, practically before I lowered my hand.
I blinked, pushed open the passenger door and got out.
And then Daisy sprang out of a crowd of sheriff’s deputies, and Tucker dropped to his knees on the ground, opening his arms to her. She launched herself into them.
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