Time Heals Everything

by Linda Swain

  He waited, baring his teeth in a parody of a smile when Nick slowly shook his head. “I’m going to tell you. You see, it is not my life that needs to end here, it’s yours.”

  Disgusted, Nick turned away. “You don’t have the . . .”

  He had always heard that it was the shot that you didn’t hear that was the one to worry about. He felt the burn, saw the blood as it soaked his shirt, but when he turned, in a typically Nick-like gesture, he was smiling. “Well, I guess you have the balls after all.”

  Taking a staggering step, Nick moved, not towards the man who stood in shock staring at the pistol in his hand, but towards the gramophone and the thick record that was continuing to play. With his last move, he grasped the turntable, sending it crashing to the floor with him, as if he were trying to wrap Kat in his arms one final time.

  As he fell, the music finally stopped.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Tim had lost count of how many times he had polished the bar, scrubbed out the sinks, and shined the glasses until they sparkled. For two days, he had waited while the police investigated the boss’s disappearance. They checked all the usual places. Nick’s apartment had been turned inside out … they’d even gone over to Tim’s own place, scaring the hell out of Sandy, finally, he learned they were heading for the house that Nick had bought for Kat so very long ago.

  A small whimper caught his attention. Looking down, he saw Buddy staring at him with large sad eyes. “It’s okay, fella,” he murmured, picking the poor dog up into his arms. Remembering how Nick had always fed him bits of steak, Tim offered him part of his own lunch, watching as the dog ate for the first time since Nick had disappeared.

  Well, Sandy always did want a dog, and if Nick doesn’t come back soon, I guess she’ll be getting her wish. He sighed and tried to muster a smile for the dog, ruffling his scruffy fur. ‘Don’t worry, Bud. The boss will be back soon.”

  Lifting his head at the sound of Tim’s voice, those dark eyes looked at him sadly as if he knew something that Tim didn’t, but before Tim could react, the sound of the club’s front door opening snapped him to attention. He took a breath to announce that they were closed releasing it without saying a word when he saw that it was the detective in charge of Nick's disappearance.

  “You’re gonna want to come with me, Tim.” It took one look at the cop’s face to know it was bad – really bad.

  Tim gulped down the fear and tried to speak past the block of ice lodged in his throat. “He’s hurt, isn’t he? Wrapped himself around a tree after some damn drunk. What hospital is he in?”

  “It’s not the hospital I’ll be taking you to, but the morgue,” the detective replied quietly. “I’m sorry.”

  Shock set in as Tim looked around, still waiting for Nick to come whistling through the door. “But the club . . . I can’t just leave it . . . we’re expecting a full house.”

  The other man shook his head sadly. “Not tonight, lad . . .”

  Tim stumbled out from behind the bar, Buddy still clutched in his arms. If it hadn’t been for the steadying arm of the policeman, Tim would have fallen flat on his face. Well, I guess Sandy’s gonna get her wish about a dog after all.

  “How?” he asked, watching numbly as the cop kindly locked the doors behind them.

  “Can’t say for sure . . . He might have stumbled on a robber. Found him on the bedroom floor. One shot, through and through. If it’s any comfort, he didn’t feel pain . . . not for long.”

  “But . . . but who?” Tim stammered as he got into the police car. “The boss . . . he wasn’t stupid . . . no schmuck would have gotten him to drop his guard.”

  “Well, you told me yourself that the man had made a few enemies in his time – and besides, hadn’t you mentioned that he hadn’t been himself since that girl died?”

  Shaking his head, Tim ran names through his mind, comparing them to the mental list he carried of Nick’s sworn enemies. “Not possible,” he said his voice suddenly cold. “He wouldn’t have offed himself, so if someone got the drop on the boss, there was only one man who could’ve done it. Ashton Montserrat.”

  “We thought of that . . . the man has an alibi so tight, a gnat couldn’t get through. His housekeeper swears that the man’s been sedated since the funeral and his doctor will swear on the stand, if need be, that he hasn’t been capable of leaving his bed.” Stopping at a light, the cop’s hard eyes looked at Tim. “We’ll keep looking, but in the meantime . . . it’s up to you to identify the body.”

  Arriving at the morgue only a few minutes after they dropped Buddy off to stay with Sandy. Tim and the detective walked down the long white halls together, the smell of death in the air despite all the cleansers used to mask the scent.

  “Are you ready?”

  Nodding, Tim moved inside, watching as a white uniformed attendant opened a drawer, in which lay Nick’s body, covered from the waist up with a sheet. Walking to the cold table, Tim stared down at the frigid slab where Nick’s body lay.

  How young he looks, Tim thought. Nick’s features were calm, perfectly chiseled, almost as if he were sleeping.

  Instead of dead.

  “When can the body be released?” There was a hard note to his voice as Tim turned to the cop.

  “We’ll let you know. In the meantime, you go home . . . start making arrangements, since he has you listed as next of kin.”

  Slowly, methodically, that was exactly what Tim did. Discovering that the plot next to Kat was available, he paid cash, over-riding the fact that Ashton Montserrat had requested the plot for himself.

  No, you bastard, Tim thought as he watched Nick’s body placed next to Kat’s on the day of his funeral. This is one time that nothing on this earth is going to keep them apart.

  Epilogue

  April 2012

  Josie had been listening to this wild story of Jason’s for days. Each time she visited, from the very first day he had regained consciousness, he had been telling her of some woman named Katherine Collins and the sad story of her life. It was as if he had traveled back through time and had watched her life play out in front of him. She knew it was crazy, but he made it sound so real!

  She had asked the doctor about his strange fantasies, and though she had been assured that they were common after head injuries, and had, more than likely, been brought on by the constant presence at his side of the faded advertisement he had taken from the shop window, Josie was still unsettled about the whole matter. His attachment to that flyer, for one thing. It’s a miracle that either one of them survived his accident, but the first thing he asked about when he woke up was that poster, and that’s when he started talking about her. Josie wasn’t a jealous person; perhaps if she had been, his story might have been even harder to swallow. It’s all so darned weird.

  None of what the doctors said meant anything to Jason, however. He was convinced that his dreams were real, and his conviction was soon drawing Josie in. She had laughed nervously at one point, trying to deflect her interest, suggesting it would make a great movie. Jason had simply stared at her, his eyes frozen as if on something she couldn’t see.

  Finally, she had to know the end of the story. “Did they ever find out who killed Nick?”

  “Nope.” The calm, one syllable answer sent more chills down her spine. “Finally, it was assumed that it was one of the liquor distributors that Nick had roughed up, but even that could never be proven. When there were no more leads, it was put into a cold-case file and forgotten.”

  “But what happened to everyone else?” Josie demanded. “I mean, that poor dog!”

  For a moment, Jason shook his head. Leave it to his kind hearted Josie to worry about a dog that died long ago. “Buddy lived a long and happy life with Tim and Sandy,” he replied evenly, as though he’d been the one to oversee the canine’s entire life.

  “And the kid? What happened to him and that other man . . . Ashton?”

  “I couldn’t find much on Ash,” he admitted.

  It unnerved
Josie that he would use such familiarity with a man he had never met.

  Tapping the laptop that sat on a tray in front of him, Jason gave her a weak grin. “There are some references that allude that he left his son with Megan, the nanny, while he returned to France and was influential with the liberation of his country from the Nazis. But others say he retreated to his mansion, never to be seen again. Either way, from what I could find out about the kid, I guess he did all right for himself, ‘cause he became a doctor.” Tapping the laptop screen, he shoved it in her direction. “There is something I want you to see. Take a look.”

  The image on his laptop gave her chills. A grave mounded the crisp, green lawn. As Josie leaned forward, she read the inscription on the heavy, granite headstone.

  Katherine Collins Montserrat

  Time Heals Everything

  With a gentle sweep of his finger, Jason slid the view over to an image of yet another tombstone.

  Nicholas O’Connor

  Love Changes Everything

  Tears came to Josie’s eyes at the thought of the two lovers spending eternity side by side. Scrubbing them away quickly as a knock sounded on Jason’s door, she smiled warmly at the sight of the doctor who had attended Jason’s care.

  “Darling,” she began carefully, “this is the specialist . . . . Doctor . . .”

  “Montserrat,” answered a softly accented voice, a brow arching as Josie abruptly shut the laptop.

  Montserrat. It’s the same name . . . could it . . .? Nah . . . what are the chances of that? Besides, the kid was a cripple. This guy’s just an old man.

  The spring-green eyes wrinkled into a warm smile. “There is no need for such formality. I am mostly retired these days, so call me Anton, s’il vous plaît.” Crisply, he flipped open the chart, his eyes scanning various papers. “Your test results are all coming back normal. I see no reason for you to stay, provided that you take care when you return home.”

  Distracted, Jason barely paid attention to the doctor’s words as he stared at the unusual cane on which the doctor leaned. A reminiscent smile came to the elder man’s lips when he caught sight of Jason’s expression. “Ah, you like my cane, I see.”

  Jason seemed mesmerized by the elegance of the ornate wooden cane, topped with the head of a beautiful silver cat, inset with gleaming jade for eyes, and nodded only as an afterthought. “That’s really something. Where did you ever get one like that?”

  Anton laughed and touched it warmly, as if caressing an old friend. “This is the cane I have used since I was a young man. When I was a boy, I spent a period of time bound to a wheelchair, learning to walk much later than most. First, it was braces and then later, a cane. If it had not been for my late stepmother, I do not believe that I would have ever walked at all. This cane was a final gift from my father just before he . . . died. It was to remind us of someone we both loved very much.”

  “I’m sorry for your loss,” Jason replied automatically as something niggled at the back of his mind.

  Kat . . . Nick had always called her Kat . . . and that’s exactly what is on the head of that cane.

  Anton shrugged, his face warming with an easy smile. “He is hopefully with the one he loved the most and never forgot. Grief is for those of us left behind. He used to say that ‘time heals everything’, and I think that I believe him,” the doctor replied. Nodding, he turned to leave, his gait slow and measured, while the two young people waited breathlessly as the tapping of his cane faded with the closing of the door. From the hall outside, even though they could no longer hear his footsteps clearly, both Josie and Jason could hear someone humming the tune that even Jason now referred to as ‘Kat’s song.’

  That song. My God, thought Josie, it’s that song again. ‘Time Heals Everything.’ I need to find the sheet music to that . . . maybe I’ll put it in the act. Looking at Jason, a soft smile touched her lips. I think Jason would like that very much.

  Jason, for his part, was still staring at the door, thunderstruck. “I guess in a way, her song came true,” he replied shakily to Josie’s smile. “Time does heal everything.”

  # # # #

  A note from the author:

  I hope you enjoyed the story of Kat and Nick. It’s a story that has been haunting me for years, until I had to put it in print.

  Look for my next novel out in mid-summer, this time telling the story of a trained espionage agent on a new mission. But this time, his job isn’t to ferret out state secrets, but instead, to find the girl that has haunted his dreams. And what an adventure it takes both of them on! Here is an excerpt from Somewhere I’ll Find You.

  Somewhere I’ll Find You

  A new ebook coming soon from Linda Swain

  It took six rings from his cell to reach a corner of his sleeping brain. By the eighth, he managed to slide a hand out from under the blankets. He smacked wildly at the annoyance, finally gripping the phone on the walnut nightstand and pulling it under the covers with him.

  “Lo.”

  “It rang ten times.”

  In the dimness provided by the blankets still tucked over his head, Michael Sinclair winced at the smug tone of those four words before a yawn swallowed most of his handsome face. “Did?” he responded, foggily certain that most of his brain was still fast asleep.

  “Ten times,” the voice affirmed, with more of that complacent amusement which Michael’s jet-lagged brain did not appreciate. “One more ring and I’d have been calling hotel security. I was seeing you lying in a pool of blood.”

  “Not likely,” he managed as he snagged a pillow under his head. “Was fast asleep and bolted in. I’m not sure what time zone I’m in.”

  “It’s nearly eight o’clock.”

  “Where?” His voice was dark and husky as it rumbled deep in his throat.

  “In the sunny state of California.”

  By then, Michael had recognized the voice as that of Miles O’Brian, his oldest friend – and a man who was currently number one on his shit list. He yawned hugely again, and exhaled without bothering to cover the receiver. “All right then, now that you’ve identified both my present location and, presumably, your own … what are you doing in California, anyway? … I assume that you had a very good reason for waking me so early.” Smothering another yawn, Michael wished vehemently for a large cup of coffee, his hand sneaking out from beneath the covers to grab at the menu for room service, which waited conveniently nearby, on the bed stand.

  “I should think I do,” Miles replied smoothly. “The way I see it, you have exactly forty-five minutes to meet me for breakfast. That is, unless you’ve given up on finding that girl of your dreams.”

  Whatever else Miles had to say was lost when the cell slammed to the floor as Michael bolted from bed and sprinted into the nearby shower, praising the hotel gods as he did for providing the complimentary coffee pot and enough accessories to make a meager cup.

  Allowing the hot water to beat the last of travel exhaustion from him, his mind drifted back to the dream woman who had haunted him for the past six months. A beautiful woman with dark hair that swept over her shoulders and brown eyes flecked with gold. Someone that haunted his dreams, whom he only knew by her name. As determined as he was to discover if this woman had a presence in reality, finding her had proven to be a task even Hercules would have declined. Of course, being caught in the jungles of Brazil and then having to take a brief stint in Somalia hadn’t helped matters, either.

  His talent and training for security detail had been farmed out over the years to Interpol, the CIA, as well as other alphabet agencies. He had helped with his skill but now, he had both the reputation and the finances to do whatever he pleased. And what pleased him was finding this woman.

  The irony that it had been Miles, who had finally found her, was not lost on Michael while he quickly dressed. Only once, over a night of sour mash, had he ever divulged his secret of the dreams that persisted. It had been a confidence that he knew Miles would never breach – and now Miles w
as assisting him in putting this mystery to rest once and for all.

  A curious hush fell over the hotel restaurant when Michael strode in, a scowl creasing his brow. Filled with tourists, as the room was, Michael’s well-tuned radar turned their happy faces into possible hostages and casualties instead of the innocent pictures they provided. The scowl suited his face, with its sculptured lines and the slight imperfection of a nose that had been broken twice, the hard edge of his chin. Behind shaded glasses, under arching black brows, his eyes were cool and jade green. Those unusual eyes could hypnotize a woman with just a blink of dark-fringed lashes. Sliding into a booth, he looked curiously at his old friend.

  Despite the cool air, there was a flush to Miles’ florid face, while his watery blue eyes looked in disgust at the cup of tea that currently sat nearby. “One of these days,” he moaned, dipping a soggy bag, “the Americans may learn to make a proper cuppa.”

  “You should have ordered coffee instead.” Gazing casually at the menu, Michael gave the hovering waiter his order before leaning back against the leather booth. Years of experience had taught him that Miles had never been comfortable leaving his beloved country. And he would never, ever change. The lure of exotic places, or even crossing the pond to the U.S. was something he abhorred. So he could only be here now for one thing – the information Michael had been seeking. But did he have to wake me up so bloody early to share it? And if he had to, I don’t want any blathering. “Now,” Michael said aloud, humor and impatience battling in his eyes, “either you fill me in on why you chose to ruin any chances I might have had at lying-in today in a real bed, or I’m going to quietly, painfully, and with exquisite pleasure, strip the flesh from you until you beg for death.”

  A weak smile creased Miles’ thin lips. Although he knew that the threat was meaningless, he also knew that Michael was quite capable of carrying it out, and he wasn’t prepared to test the limits of his old friend’s patience. Reaching into a well-worn briefcase, Miles slid a folder across the slick surface of the table. “I believe you will find this interesting reading.”