Men Made in America Mega-Bundle
Page 112
“Do you know where he went?”
“Drove to Savannah.”
Hmm. Savannah was near enough to Atlanta for Cox to drive over in an evening. Veronica had talked to him the night before, too. What if he hadn’t been calling from Florida? What if he’d been right here in Oakland?
VERONICA TUGGED her jacket around her shoulders to ward off the chill of the January wind and glanced over her shoulder to see if someone was following her. She thought she’d seen a black car behind her on the highway, but it hadn’t turned in to the hospital. Maybe it was only her imagination.
She intended to see Arlene Baits and question her about her birth. Somehow talking to the people who’d known her parents made her feel closer to them.
All night she’d tossed and turned on the sofa, thinking about her grandmother’s journal and her reaction to the death of her parents. Which doctor had treated her after they’d died? If Arlene Baits had helped deliver her, maybe she had been around when she was taken in for trauma and could give her some answers.
If she had to, she was prepared to visit the former police chief and ask to see the records on the investigation of her parents’ deaths. After finding out how much her parents loved her and each other, she couldn’t make herself believe the murder-suicide theory. Or that she had hurt them.
And if she’d seen the real killer, whoever it was had gone free, because she’d been afraid.
She might have been a traumatized little girl twenty years before, but now she was a grown woman and an attorney. Justice hadn’t been served, and if getting her memory back was the key to finding the person who’d ripped her childhood to shreds, she was determined to face it, no matter how painful.
The small county hospital was a buzz of activity when she entered. She had a little over half an hour before she’d have to be at the office, and she’d promised to meet Tessa Jones, Eli’s daughter, for lunch.
She still hadn’t understood the woman’s phone call this morning and her insistence on the meeting. She seriously doubted Tessa wanted to talk about her taxes. Certainly Eli had all his children’s financial matters well in hand. Distracted with her thoughts, she almost ran into an orderly pushing a wheelchair with an older woman sitting in it. It reminded her of her grandmother. And her reason for being there.
She scanned the nurses’ station and spotted a friendly looking young woman. “Hi, I’m Veronica Miller. I’d like to see Dr. Arlene Baits.”
The girl held out a clipboard. “Fill this out, please.”
Veronica smiled. “No, I’m not here as a patient. I need to speak with her.”
The young woman pointed to the waiting area. “I’ll see if I can find her.” She checked the clock. “It’s just about time for her shift to end. She’ll probably be out in a minute.”
Veronica stared at the faded yellow paint on the walls and thought about Nathan. Had he found out who’d broken into her apartment and written the threatening message?
“Ma’am, Dr. Baits can see you now.”
Veronica followed the young woman to a small lounge where the doctor waited.
“Dr. Baits, I’m glad you could talk with me.”
The older doctor turned around, sloshing hot coffee over the rim of her cup. “Oh, my.”
“Are you okay?” Veronica asked, approaching cautiously.
The woman recovered, her hand trembling as she placed the coffee on the table and settled into a chair. Veronica sat down beside her. “Seeing me upsets you, doesn’t it, Dr. Baits?”
“Please call me Arlene,” the woman said, patting her gray hair in place. “That’s what your mother called me.”
“Really?” The thought of this woman and her mother being friends warmed her and slightly settled her jangled nerves.
“Yes, you look so much like her, dear. It’s uncanny.” Dr. Baits took a sip of coffee. “You have the same dark hair and those eyes. I always thought your mom was a beautiful lady.”
“She was,” Veronica said, her throat closing. She took a moment to get her emotions under control. “And you delivered me?”
The older woman nodded. “Sure did. Course I delivered half the babies in the town back then. Wasn’t as many specialty doctors around, you know?”
“I suppose not,” Veronica said, studying the woman’s neatly trimmed nails.
“So what can I do for you, dear?”
Veronica’s voice came out barely above a whisper. “You can tell me about my mother.”
The woman smiled gently. “She was a sweet young thing. Delivery went fine, although a little long. Thought Robert was going to wear the floor out with his pacing.”
Veronica laughed. “Did you treat me as a child?”
“Oh, yes. But you were a healthy little thing. Never had much more than a cold or an occasional bout with the flu.”
“And my parents—they loved me?”
A look of surprise crossed Dr. Baits’s face. “Of course they did, child.”
The lump in Veronica’s throat grew. “Dr. Baits, were they happy together?”
Dr. Baits paused, her forehead furrowing. “They had a good marriage, a spat here and there, but nothing big, you know.”
“They wouldn’t have killed each other, would they?”
The sudden silence was deafening. Dr. Baits fidgeted in her seat, folding the cuffs of her lab coat.
“I have to know the truth, Dr. Baits. I know I was with them when they died, but I don’t remember it.” Veronica paused, then went on in a more heated voice. “Maybe I’m grasping at straws, but from everything I heard about my parents, they weren’t the volatile type. I read my grandmother’s journal. I know my parents loved each other, even though they got married because my mom was already pregnant.”
Dr. Baits shifted, her hands toying with the cuffs of her coat again. “I didn’t know you knew about that. What else did you read in the journal?”
“Not enough,” Veronica said. “That’s why I’m here.” She sensed the doctor didn’t want to discuss the forced marriage. Perhaps she thought she’d get in trouble for lying about Veronica’s premature birth. “I can’t believe their death was a murder-suicide,” Veronica continued.
The warm hand that covered Veronica’s was both gentle and strong. “I never believed that, either,” Dr. Baits finally said.
“I have these nightmares. And I see this shadow. I think it’s a vision of somebody else who was there.”
“You know that for sure?”
Veronica shook her head in frustration. “I can’t see the face. But I was hoping you might have known if either one of my parents had any enemies. Who could have killed them?”
Dr. Baits sighed. “I don’t know, child. I really don’t. It was a sad, sad time.”
Veronica stood and wrapped her arms around herself. “Were you the one who treated me after they died?”
Dr. Baits cleared her throat. “Yes, I was here. But you were in shock. Severely traumatized. We called in a specialist.”
“Was it someone here on the staff? Are they still here?”
Dr. Baits nodded. “A man named Dr. Sandler. You probably don’t remember much about him. He evaluated you, but you moved away before he finished treatment.”
“No, I don’t remember him. But I have to talk to him,” Veronica said. She glanced at her watch, remembering her luncheon appointment.
“He’s on the fifth floor,” Dr. Baits said.
Veronica thanked her and rushed out the door. A long elevator ride later, her stomach was roiling. As she sidled off the elevator, she checked the nurses’ station.
“Dr. Sandler’s with someone right now,” the nurse said, checking her calendar. “Then he has patients scheduled the rest of the day. I can give you an appointment tomorrow.”
“That would be fine,” Veronica said. “Ten o’clock.”
“Ten’s good,” the nurse said, scribbling the time in the appointment book.
Veronica exhaled, feeling as if she’d finally made a start. Then a fami
liar face caught her eye. “Nathan?”
He was sitting in the waiting area, his fingers steepled, his brows drawn in concentration. When he spotted her, his face registered surprise. “What are you doing here?” he asked.
Veronica stopped in front of him. “I was going to ask you the same question.”
“I—”
The nurse cleared her throat. “Detective Dawson. Dr. Sandler will see you now.”
Chapter Ten
When Veronica’s eyes narrowed, he wondered if she’d somehow guessed his agenda. Guilt nagged at him, but he wasn’t prepared to tell her the truth. “I came by to check the profile of a perp in a case I’m working on.”
“Oh, well…of course.” She looked embarrassed, and suddenly he felt like a big heel for lying to her. But what was he supposed to say? I came by to find out about you, to talk to the psychiatrist who treated you when you were a child.
“Your turn?” he said, quickly recovering.
She chewed her bottom lip, and he could tell he’d caught her off guard. “I had a checkup downstairs, that’s all. Thought I’d say hello to Dr. Sandler, see if he remembered me.”
She was lying. He had no idea why, but the fact that her voice squeaked slightly and her pulse was jumping in her throat gave her away. Relief momentarily filled him. If lying about this was so difficult for her, perhaps she’d been telling the truth about everything else that had happened to her.
But the realization she would lie to him also infuriated him. Couldn’t she see he was trying his damnedest to help her? Why didn’t she trust him?
“I see,” he said, not bothering to hide his skepticism. “And did everything check out okay?”
“Yes, well…” She checked her watch in a nervous gesture. “I’ve got to get to work. I’ll see you later.”
Definitely. Nathan watched her tug her jacket around her and rush away, the wind whisking her hair around her face in long wild streaks of ebony, her long legs gliding like a dancer’s. He wanted to have her wrap them around him.
Hell, he wanted to bury his hands in her wild tresses and sink himself inside her—in spite of the fact that she didn’t trust him or that he didn’t know whether she was lying about the attack. He’d never felt this way before, beguiled to the point of not caring if he lived on the edge, so turned on by one woman that his judgment was starting to feel impaired.
And that was dangerous.
He rubbed the base of his spine and hip. He knew the possible consequences of losing his objectivity. He had the scars to prove what happened when a cop let his personal feelings get in the way of his professional code. A siren wailed in the distance, reminding him he’d actually come here on business, to find out more about Veronica, not just to lust after her.
Dr. Sandler met him at the door. “Hi, I’m Detective Dawson. I called earlier.”
“Yes, come on in.” The tall, lanky doctor ushered him into a small office and motioned toward a chair. Nathan eyed the leather chaise lounge and wondered if he should lie down and ask for therapy—he had to do something about this emotional stuff going on inside him. If the investigation were over, it would be different, but he still—
“Detective, you wanted to talk?”
Nathan glanced up to see the doctor watching him with avid curiosity. He realized his silence had been more revealing than he’d intended.
“I need some information about a case I’m working on.”
The doctor removed his glasses and twirled them around with his fingers. “If this is about a patient, you know files are confidential.”
Nathan nodded. “I understand that. But she’s not a patient now. It’s someone you treated years ago.”
“Still—”
Nathan held up a hand to stop the protests. “We can speak in hypothetical terms if you want, but I have reason to believe this woman is in danger. And I think it may be related to her past.”
The gray-haired doctor crossed his long legs and linked his hands around one knee. “I see.”
Encouraged, Nathan went on. “Her name is Veronica Miller.”
A twitch in the doctor’s left eye was his only reaction. “I heard she moved back to town.”
“Yes, and ever since she has, she’s had some strange things happening to her. Someone broke in and attacked her, left several threatening messages.”
“Oh, my,” Dr. Sandler said, shaking his head. “It was bad enough what the poor child went through years ago, but now someone is trying to hurt her.”
“I’m afraid so,” Nathan said, realizing the man truly seemed concerned. “And I need to know as much as you can tell me about her condition after her parents were killed.”
“Haven’t you read her files? I gave an in-depth statement to the police years ago.”
“I did. But I wondered if she gave you any clue, no matter how small, about who might have killed her parents.”
“No.” Sandler’s word was emphatic.
“Are you sure?”
“I’m certain.” Dr. Sandler’s gray eyes narrowed. “I hated all the gossip about the child and would have done anything to have saved her from the ordeal she went through.”
“Do you remember anything strange, anybody who showed up to visit her at the hospital that seemed odd?”
The doctor scratched his chin in thought. “Not that I recollect. Her grandmother came immediately, Dr. Baits, Daryl Scroggins, the police chief back then, and the Jones family. Eli came every day, practically kept a vigil till she came out of shock. Even missed a debate, everyone thought that was real decent of him. And his mother was here almost as much.”
“How did you diagnose Veronica’s condition?”
“It was a classic case of childhood trauma. I told her grandmother I wasn’t sure she’d ever remember what happened. Her grandmother seemed to think it was a blessing.”
“And you?”
“I’ve always been of the theory that the mind remembers things when the person is ready to accept it. However, I do think a loss such as this can have devastating effects on a person.”
“How so?” Nathan started to scribble in his notepad.
“There are all kinds of latent effects. Schizophrenia, multiple personality disorder, paranoia, to name a few. In some cases if the person isn’t treated, they may become delusional. There’re a variety of psychotic behaviors a traumatized child may show later in life.”
“Is it possible the person might actually do things to harm themselves?”
“It’s possible.” Dr. Sandler unfolded his long legs. “The conscious mind has its own way of taking care of repressed issues. It’s unpredictable. Varies with each case.”
Nathan didn’t like what he was hearing.
“Do you really think someone’s trying to hurt Ms. Miller now, after all these years?” Dr. Sandler asked.
“As a child, Veronica witnessed the murder. If the murderer is still in town, he may be afraid her memory will return.”
“I see. Well, I hope you find the person, then, before he hurts Ms. Miller any more than she’s already been hurt.”
Nathan shook Dr. Sandler’s hand and left. The doctor had confirmed two of his theories. One, it was possible Veronica could be doing these things herself. And two, if her parents’ case wasn’t a murder-suicide, but a double homicide, the threats to Veronica could be very real. He wasn’t sure which one frightened him more. He was still concerned about her former boyfriend, too, who was supposed to be in Savannah.
Things seemed to be growing more complicated. And he was determined to find the answers—before Veronica was hurt again.
AFTER WADING through her morning paperwork and talking with the retirement community about the problems the elderly people had complained about, Veronica had a major headache nagging at her temple. She was ready for a nap, not lunch with Tessa Jones. She hadn’t talked with Eli since his last visit, since he’d subtly suggested she not date his son, the future senator. Her feelings were still hurt, and all morning she’d wondered
what Tessa had in store for her. Did she want to warn her to get out of Dodge, too?
“I’m taking the afternoon off,” Louise said, poking her head in Veronica’s office. “I made some fresh tea if you want some.”
“Thanks.” She shuffled a few papers and remembered about having the locks changed. “Did you get that new locksmith on the phone?”
“Yep. He said he’d meet you at your place at five.”
“Great, thanks.”
“And Ms. Jones called and said she’ll see you at that little French café around the corner.”
Veronica had a cup of tea to calm herself, then checked to make certain her hair was in place as she headed to meet Tessa. After she’d left the hospital, she’d tucked the windblown mass into a topknot and added a jacket to look more professional for her meeting. Visiting with Tessa was intimidating and she wanted to look her best. A few minutes later she found Tessa waiting at a corner table.
Tessa beamed as Veronica walked over to greet her. She was wearing a stunning green silk dress and green suede heels. Her gold bracelets jangled as she shook Veronica’s hand.
“Hi. Great café.” Veronica indicated the simple French decor of the restaurant.
“I love this place,” Tessa said, settling down in her seat again. “The wines are fabulous. And they have a divine French onion soup.” She nodded toward an already-filled glass. “I took the liberty to order us a glass of wine.”
She normally skipped the wine for lunch, but Veronica didn’t want to offend Tessa, so she simply smiled and sipped the Chablis. “The food smells heavenly,” Veronica said.
“It is.” After they ordered quiche and salad, Tessa unfolded her napkin and toyed with the long gold loop dangling from her ear. “I thought we should get to know each other.”
“Really?” Veronica couldn’t hide her surprise.
“Yes, Daddy’s talked about you for years. And Gerald mentioned he took you to lunch the other day.”
Oh, boy—here it comes.
Instead Tessa gave her a sugary smile. “Since you’re Father’s goddaughter, I figured that makes us kind of like sisters.”