by Edie Ramer
The nurse was either a liar or a sadist. Cassie felt like a cartoon character flattened by a steamroller. “I’m fine.” She blinked at Erin. “Shouldn’t you be in school?”
Luke reached for Erin’s shoulder, but his hand stopped an inch away and pulled back. “I told her what happened to you.”
“You shouldn’t—”
“Erin would’ve heard about it on the bus.”
She gave a sliver of a nod—the slightest movement set off stabs of pain. Of course he’d told Erin before someone else did. Probably Erin had heard about most of her mother’s activities through tabloids, gossip shows and other kids at school.
“She insisted on coming. She wanted to make sure you were all right.”
Tears prickled Cassie’s eyes but she forced a smile. She hated being weak and pathetic. “I’m sleepy now but I’ll be back at your house talking to Isabel in no time.”
“You see, Erin.” Luke’s hand came down again, this time brushing her blonde wisps of hair before retreating. “She’ll be fine.”
Erin gazed up at him, her face not showing any expression, a duplicate of his.
“What did the Sheriff say?” Luke asked.
Cassie made a face. “The deputy in charge thinks someone played a joke on me.”
“A joke?” Luke’s shoulders seemed to broaden, his legs bracing, his neck shortening like a fighter. “Is the deputy a nut job?” He looked like he wanted to march over to the sheriff’s, grab someone by his badge, and toss him into the nearest toilet.
A wave of tiredness swept over Cassie. “The nurse told me there was a six-car accident with one semi hauling hazardous material on the highway this morning. Most of the deputies went there. I got the one who was left.”
“They sent you a leftover deputy?” A muscle in his cheek twitched.
She couldn’t handle anger now. The only thing she could handle was ten hours of nothingness. “I’m tired. Go away and let me sleep.”
A small cry caught Cassie’s attention. Erin. When she ordered Erin’s father to go away, in extension she’d ordered Erin to get out too.
“I wish you could stay all day, Erin” she said quickly, “but I’ll be sleeping. It would be boring.”
“That’s okay. I like being bored.”
Luke made a choking sound. Cassie’s heart twisted for him, but she kept her gaze on Erin’s tense face.
“I’d feel obligated to stay awake and entertain you. I’ll sleep better if you’re in school. All right?”
“Okay.” Erin gave Cassie a wobbly smile.
“How is school now that you’ve made friends with Diana?”
Erin looked down at her hands. “It’s...good.”
“Why the hesitation?”
Erin bit her lip and backed up. Cassie closed her eyes. She was pushing too hard. Right now she was too tired to analyze her own emotions much less Erin’s.
“We’ll let you sleep,” Luke said. “And don’t worry about taking care of yourself when you leave. You’re coming to our place.”
Cassie snapped her eyelids up, ignoring the avalanche of pain the small movement set off, like tiny buzz saws cutting at her nerve endings. “What?”
Luke pressed his hand on her shoulder, and only then did she realize she’d pushed up on her elbow.
“You need someone to take care of you. You shouldn’t be alone.”
“Are you nuts? There’s no way I’m staying at your house.”
“You damn well are, and I’ll tell you why.” He leaned over her, his eyebrows slashed together, his mouth scowling. “First, someone broke into your motel room. Second, someone poisoned you. Do you want to see if the third time’s lucky?”
“Just go away.”
“I think that’s quite enough.” The nurse stood in the doorway, her tone acid. “You’ll have to leave now.”
Luke straightened and nodded at Erin. “We better go.”
Erin remained staring down at Cassie. “I know you don’t want to stay because of my dad, but please come. I’ll take care of you. If you come, I promise I’ll be good.”
“The patient needs her rest. Do I need to ask you to leave again?”
“Erin, we have to go.”
Erin’s lower lip trembled. As she started to turn, Cassie saw the sparkle of tears in her eyes.
“I’ll come.” The words forced their way out of Cassie’s throat, out of her gut.
Erin’s lip stopped trembling, her eyes glowed. “Tonight? Will you come tonight?”
“I don’t...” Cassie looked at the nurse.
The nurse smiled like a pro. “It’s possible she’ll be released sometime today. The doctor will be doing his rounds this afternoon and he makes that decision.”
“Daddy, we need a bed for Cassie’s room.” Erin squeaked with pleasure, sounding like a normal ten-year-old talking to a father she cared for and trusted.
When Luke didn’t answer immediately, Cassie glanced at him. From his expression, it looked as if someone had kicked him in the stomach. Or maybe in the heart.
“We’ll go shopping,” he said, his voice husky.
“I won’t have to go to school?”
“I’ll drop you off after we go shopping. What do I know about picking out furniture for a lady’s bedroom?”
The smile Erin sent him could’ve lit up a blacked out auditorium.
Cassie closed her eyes to hide the tears welling up. Their footsteps headed toward the door.
“You don’t know much,” Erin said. “The stuff in my bedroom is awful.”
Their voices receded. As Cassie slipped off to sleep, her last conscious thought was wondering what she’d gotten herself into.
Trouble, she was sure. Trouble with a capital L.
Chapter Forty-one
Luke stalked into the corner office with the slatted widows and oak half paneling that belonged to the mid-twentieth century. Sheriff Uffingham glanced up from the papers on his desk, reminding Luke of a bassett hound with his sagging jowls and the dark circles under his eyes. A computer monitor to the sheriff’s left on his l-shaped desk glowed solid blue. By his scowl, it was evident he didn’t like interrupting his day to talk to a guitar player with a notorious past.
“There’s something about the Taylor case you can’t tell my deputy?” he asked, his voice booming like a bass guitar.
Not waiting for permission, Luke took a vinyl covered chair with wooden arms that looked as if it had been in the room a few generations before he was born. “When I talk to a deputy, I like one who’s old enough to shave.”
The sheriff rubbed his hand over his droopy jaw. “Mr. Rivers, we’ve been in a payroll freeze for two years now, during which five of my most experienced deputies left. We’re doing the best we can.”
“This isn’t a traffic crime, Sheriff. It’s a poisoning.”
“An alleged poisoning.”
The muscles on the back of Luke’s neck tightened. He didn’t like the look on the Sheriff’s face, as though he pitied Luke. “What do you mean?”
“My deputies have been hard at work, contacting witnesses who were at the tavern last night and the restaurant earlier on.” The sheriff picked up a pen and tapped it on the desktop. “Look, this is an ongoing investigation. I don’t need to tell you a damn thing.”
Luke thought of asking Uffingham if he’d prefer to talk to his lawyer, but he could practically hear his lawyer’s porny voice in his ear. “When two men get into a pissing contest, that always means money for me. Piss away, Luke, piss in every corner you can find.”
“I respect what you do,” he said, choosing his words carefully, “and don’t want to give you any trouble. But when Cassie gets out of the hospital, she’ll stay with my daughter and me. I need to know what to watch out for.”
“Like I said, we’re doing what we can.” Uffingham set the pen down carefully. “She was in a packed bar where anyone could have spiked her beer.”
“That’s it? Nothing else?” Then what the hell had the sheriff bee
n insinuating?
Uffingham’s sigh was as heavy as the moon. “Since you’re concerned about your daughter’s safety, I suppose I can talk about a hypothetical case you might find of interest.”
Luke sat back in his chair. “Hypothesize away.”
Resting his elbows on the chair arms, Uffingham steepled his fingers and gazed up at the ceiling. “Consider this. A woman is sitting in a bar, people surrounding her. Someone drops crushed up medication in her drink...yet not one person notices.”
Luke’s spine straightened. “Studies have shown people don’t notice other people’s actions. You know this better than I do.”
“That’s just a small part of my hypothesis. There’s more.”
“What about the motel room break-in? She didn’t report it, but—”
“We know about it. The alleged break-in, where the door was locked and nothing taken.”
Although the office was on the cool side, Luke felt his skin heat. “Why would she make this up?”
Uffingham speared his gaze straight between Luke’s eyes. “I’m talking about a fictional person in a fictional town reporting a fictional crime. Got that?”
“Got it.” Luke heard his clipped tones with the combination of anger and concern that would fit a rap song. “What’s the fictional reason?”
“Let’s say this fictional person has an unusual occupation. She talks to...vampires. Someone hires her to come to this fictional town to interview this supposed vampire and get him to leave his former home. Let’s say about this time another vampire talker published a book about her profession.”
Uffingham leaned back and opened a drawer. He pulled out a book and dropped it on the desk top, the same one Luke had bought at the mall.
Cassie knew about the book. What the hell did that prove?
“Now let’s say the book is doing very well. Reese Witherspoon is optioning it for a movie.”
He waited, as if expecting Luke to jump up, slap him on the back, and say, “You’re so right. You must be a fucking genius.”
“So?”
Uffingham’s only sign of disappointment was a small shrug. “So, maybe she thinks about writing her own book. She can’t do the same thing the other woman did. But she’s working for a famous client. That might get her a contract. But wait! If she can show she’s in danger, all the better.”
“That’s bullshit.”
“Is it? Just look at her record.”
Luke sat up. “Record?”
“Background.” Uffingham waved his hand. “She’s been staying under the radar until now. My guess is she’s been waiting for the big one.”
“You mean me.”
“We’re talking fiction here, remember? Your fictional counterpart. A celebrity. She’s an opportunist and your counterpart is an opportunity waiting to be exploited.”
Luke glowered at Uuffingham’s hangdog face. “There are holes big enough in your hypothesis to fly a 747 through it.”
“That’s one hypothesis. I’ve got another.”
“I bet you do.”
Uffingham grinned, as if Luke had complimented him. “Maybe this vampire talker has a psychiatric problem. You’ve heard of people like this. They’ll say anything to get attention. That they talk to vampires. That their fictional rooms are broken into and nothing taken. Or so the fictional motel owner told the fictional law enforcement agency days after the alleged fact.” His grin dropped, and lines deepened on his forehead. “They’ll say someone tried to poison them—even when the evidence is against them.”
“She’s in the hospital. How much more proof do you need?”
“It’s a common heart medication. Not hard for anyone to get.”
“Maybe so.” He pictured Cassie and her don’t-you-fucking-feel-sorry-for-me defiance. “But you haven’t convinced me.”
“Here’s some more fictional background.” Uffingham gave him a pitying look. “Maybe she was telling ridiculous stories about vampires last night, and it was real clear she enjoyed the attention.” He held up his hand, deflecting Luke’s defensive comments before he made them. “And let’s go back further. Maybe she’s been seen in the library, taking out books on the alleged dead vampire.”
“It’s called research.”
“Maybe she’s been at the county building permit office, looking up records of this house.”
Luke jerked, then deliberately stilled his muscles and made his face blank. “She’s investigating a haunted house. Looking up old records is a good idea. I don’t know what that has to do with anything.”
“That’s because you’re not working a con. Cons cover all the angles. In addition, one of the fictional patrons in the fictional bar reported seeing her at the clinic after hours. The next day samples of the drug subsequently found in her system were reported missing.”
“This fictional patron also tell you I was with her at the clinic? She wasn’t stealing drugs, if that’s what you’re getting at.”
“You swear to that?”
“Yes,” he answered, not taking his gaze from Uffingham’s bassett hound face.
“She didn’t go to the bathroom once? In my experience, women usually do.”
Luke didn’t blink. “No.”
“I still have the one telling part left.” Uffingham leaned over his desk. “When contacted by phone, the alleged vampire talker’s parent said his daughter is a disturbed individual and has been since childhood. He said his late wife, the girl’s mother, had a psychiatric problem, and it’s his opinion that the condition is genetic.”
“That son of a bitch.” Pain radiated from Luke’s hands up his forearms. He glanced down and saw he was clutching the chair arms, his knuckles white, his veins sticking out. He loosened his hold.
“That may be.” Uffingham’s mouth turned down. “Or it may be he’s telling it like it is. With all this racked up against the fictional vampire talker, and only a hospital visit in the other column, you can see why my people aren’t out chasing after fart fumes. This doesn’t mean we stopped investigating. It just means our focus has changed.”
Luke felt like a block of ice. He nodded and pushed himself up.
“You satisfied?” Uffingham asked.
“Yeah.” Luke walked away. He was satisfied the sheriff’s department was run by fucking idiots.
Chapter Forty-two
Cassie felt half-alive, as though part of her soul had wandered to another, more interesting body while she was out, and wasn’t thrilled about the body coming back to life. She didn’t blame it. She wouldn’t mind being in a different person’s body either.
She reclined under a turquoise quilt with lime green flowers. Erin hovered next to the bed, her brow worried and her lips pinched. Cassie forced a smile, conscious that Luke’s bedroom was across the hall.
“Is the bed comfortable?” Erin asked.
Cassie nodded but the worried pucker between Erin’s brow didn’t smooth. “I feel like the princess without the pea.”
Erin’s face lit up, and she pealed with laughter. Cassie felt a tug of love and pride. Erin was going to be beautiful when she was grown.
“I picked this bed out,” Erin said. “I picked out everything.”
Even as Cassie smiled, tiredness pressed down on her, thick and smothering, and it was an effort to speak. “It’s a great bed. Do you mind if I sleep?”
Her eyes closed, and she drifted to sleep aware that Erin watched her with concern. She didn’t feel like the Princess with the Pea anymore. She felt like Sleeping Beauty.
Who needed a prince when she had Erin?
***
The smell of food and a footfall woke her to a dim light, night already falling. Tricia helped her to the adjoining bathroom, then set a plate on a tray table in front of her loaded with mashed potatoes, applesauce, peas so soft they squished, and a veggie burger. Cassie thanked her, picked at the mashed potatoes and applesauce, pushed the tray table away, snuggled down, turned onto her side and slept heavily.
No dreams,
no nightmares, no ghosts.
A noise woke her, and she sat up in the dark room, straining to hear. Only the hum of the furnace came to her ears. It felt as if hours had passed, and she had no idea what time it was. She had to pee so she slipped out of bed and felt her way to the adjoining bathroom, stubbing her toe twice, shivering in her Tweety Bird T-shirt with matching boxers.
When she was about to turn off the bathroom light, she heard the noise again, like a mouse crying.
“Isabel?” she whispered. She tilted her head. Only the furnace. She mentally mapped out the path to the bed and turned off the light.
Two steps out, she heard it again. Probably some weird house noise, but it sounded like a live creature. She shuffled toward the hall door, missing it and feeling her way on the wall until she reached the wooden jamb.
Twice during this time the noise came.
In the hallway, she gazed straight ahead, where she knew Luke’s door must be. An ache rose in her. It would so easy to keep walking until she reached the closed door. To feel for the handle. And then...
She shook her head and turned down the hall. She couldn’t identify the sound, but it wasn’t coming from Luke’s room. It was a sound of suffering, of pain. It resonated inside her, and she could almost name the sound—
It came again. She felt along the wall until she reached a door. Her hand slid across the wood and her fingers curved around a handle. She turned it and pushed. A nightlight shaped as a fairy sent a glow over the small figure rocking back and forth beneath the ruffled bedspread, blonde hair spread over the pillow.
Cassie made her way to the bed. Put her hand on the thin shoulder. “Erin?”
A face wild with grief gazed up at her. “My mom’s going to kill herself. She told my dad. I heard her. And she hasn’t emailed me. Something’s wrong, I know it.”
“Oh, honey.” Cassie brushed her hand over Erin’s head, the blonde hair soft under her fingers. “You should tell your dad.”
“No!” she whispered explosively. “He’ll know I listened. He’ll be mad at me. He won’t call her anyway. She said mean things to him.”
“Honey.” Cassie slid to her knees on the fluffy rug. She shivered, wishing she could wrap it around her shoulders.