by Judith Rolfs
He bristled. “I suppose one could call it that. So?”
“Quite a shift of focus to computers.”
“Yes, and it turned out I had a natural affinity. I started manufacturing and selling hardware, then software. My timing for entering the field couldn’t have been better. In a perverse way, I owe everything I’ve achieved to Lenora. The outcome but not the circumstances of my dismissal brought me a great deal of happiness. Hardly a reason to shoot someone.” A shadow crossed his face. “Except…”
“Except what?”
“My wife Sheila’s dilemma...” His eyes darted toward the door. “But that’s a separate issue.”
“What do you mean?”
He sighed. “At the time of my expulsion from the counseling program, Sheila was three months pregnant. She’d started spotting. The doctor wanted her to stay off her feet. With me clinically depressed and unable to work, Sheila had become our breadwinner. I took out a loan, but it wasn’t enough. She insisted on keeping her job.”
“Despite the strain?”
“Financial debt was a source of fear for her.”
A tap on the door interrupted us. We turned as a lithe, five-foot, obviously athletic woman strolled in. A whiff of gardenias flooded the room.
She gave Hartford a peck on his cheek. “So this is where you’re hiding. Our guests are asking for you, darling.” She turned to me. “And you are?”
Hartford straightened as he introduced her. “Sheila, this is Ms. Trevor.”
Her hand stayed at her side so I didn’t extend mine. How could her eyes reflect ice while the tone of her “Hello” was so sweet? I shivered.
Her thin lips enlarged by dark orange lipstick curved into a slight smile. Her deeply tanned skin contrasted starkly with her blonde hair. Had he told her previously about my coming?
“Dr. Trevor was in the area and stopped by to discuss our recent trip to Lake Geneva. We have a mutual acquaintance there.”
Can facial features become concrete in seconds? It seemed hers did as her eyes became daggers. She eyed me up and down like a slab of beef.
I sucked in air, pulled my shoulders back, and gave Sheila my best smile, envying her tight tummy. She probably did forty abdominal crunches a day. “Did you enjoy your visit to Lake Geneva?”
“Loved the resort. We didn’t see much of the town.” Her words dripped out like a politician’s.
A memory of my senior year popped into my brain—the clicky cute cheerleaders.
“Excuse me, I must get back to our guests. Hurry please, darling.” Sheila stretched out the last word reminiscent of Ava Gabor. “May I say you’re coming any minute?”
He nodded. “Absolutely dear.”
Sheila swirled out, but her gardenia trail remained.
The way Hartford gazed after her spoke of his affection.
I let out a deep breath. “You were elaborating about Lenora’s decision to dismiss you from the graduate program being hard on your wife as well?”
“Sadly, soon afterward she miscarried.”
“I’m sorry.”
Anguish was visible in his eyes. “We thought there’d be other kids, but she was never able to conceive again. It was rough at first. Eventually, Sheila had to have a hysterectomy. She still blames Lenora for her childlessness. I wanted to adopt, but Sheila wanted children of our own. It’s harder than ever for her as she approaches menopause.”
And she saw a chance for her to get even, but I didn’t say it aloud.
“Sheila pours herself into our animals. Treats them as if they’re children.” He cocked his head to one side. “I’m not sure I’d have been a good dad.” He diverted his eyes and swallowed hard.
I looked away.
Hartford composed himself and resumed. “Dr. Trevor, my subsequent success eliminates any motive to shoot Lenora, although I will admit in an earlier timeframe, I’d have liked to kill her, if I were the killing type, mind you. I wasn’t then, and I’m not now. Do you believe that?”
“Frankly, I don’t know what to think.”
“Well then, that’s your problem. It’s regrettable the timing of Lenora’s accident, but it’s unrelated. I used my trip as an opportunity to apologize to Lenora in person. She was fine the day I left and appreciated that I’d come.”
“Lenora’s cleaning lady heard you yelling. What was it that you argued about?” I was begging the question, but it might get me more information.
“She mistook me with someone else.” Hartford drummed his fingers on the desktop. “We didn’t have a cross word. I expressed my gratitude.”
I wanted to test his anger potential. “Your wife’s distress gave you a motive for revenge. Sheila, too. Might this have festered into a motive for revenge in your wife? I’m not saying she pulled the trigger, but she could have hired someone. Your visit might have stirred up her pain again.”
Hartford glared at me. “Don’t go there! Sheila didn’t shoot anyone nor did I.” His face turned deep red. “It’s time for you to leave, Dr. Trevor. You’ve overextended your welcome. The maid will show you to the door.” Hartford marched out and summoned his maid.
So much for ruling him or his wife out as a suspect.
CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE
Nick and I arrived home after midnight. I slept well until seven a.m. when I hugged my children who greeted me happily jumping on our bed. They warmed my spirit as much as the emerging sunshine beaming through the skylights.
Jenny flopped next to Nick while Tara and Collin sat on the edge and chattered.
“I don’t like it when you go away,” Jenny announced. “But I like having Aunt Joy and Uncle Dave play Monopoly with me and Scrabble with Collin. Aunt Joy always wins.”
“I’m glad you had fun, but I missed you, precious kiddos. Get dressed now. On the way to school I want to hear more.”
I savored the children’s reports and regretted having to drop them at school.
My first client called, saying she’d be late. Fine by me. I could use some quiet time.
I opened my purse Bible to Hebrews, Chapter 11 for a nugget of spiritual nourishment. “Faith is the assurance of things unseen.” Good memory verse I noted. I repeated it several times as I awaited a call from Tucker.
A decision had been made to try to wean Lenora from the ventilator. The doctors wanted to see if she could sustain her own breathing. Today would be the test. Lord, You are still a healing God. Fervently, I beg you to heal Lenora. As I prayed, my eyes noticed a spot on my office wall where the paint had gobbed.
Ellen flitted in. “Your husband’s on line one.” Soundlessly, her rubber-bottomed shoes turned back to the waiting room as I reached for the phone.
“Hi, sweetheart. I got some info on Lenora’s group of ex-cons from our PI. He found every recently released ex-convict she aided except one gal they couldn’t track down. All the others have a solid alibi for the night Lenora was shot, and there’s no apparent motives to link any of them with Lenora’s shooting.”
“Who’s the one he can’t find?”
“Name’s Sarah Nichols.”
I made a note on my iPhone. “Thank him for me. He’s been a huge help. You, too, by the way. Maybe my friend, Inspector Jarston from the Dells, can find something on this gal.”
I strolled out to Ellen’s desk and rattled off her explicit TO DO list. I took a deep re-focusing breath and returned to my office to review notes on my next client.
Tucker buzzed an hour later. “Good news.’ He sighed. “Lenora’s off the ventilator.”
“Great! Hey, you sound exhausted.”
“It’s been stressful, that’s all. Her lungs are maintaining a steady oxygen level. There’s no guarantee she can sustain her own breathing, but the doctors are hopeful.” I detected a tremor in his voice.
“I’ll stop by the hospital on my way home.”
“The nurse said it takes about twenty-four hours for the effects of the drugs to wear off. She may not even remember the shooting because of being in a coma. Do
n’t expect much.”
“I’d still like to see her as soon as possible.”
“She won’t be herself for a while. Promise you won’t upset her by mentioning the shooting.”
I agreed.
He hung up.
I bowed my head and whispered aloud, “God, thank You. If not today, hopefully the questions surrounding the attack upon Lenora can be answered soon.”
My thoughts returned to Nick’s phone call. Who was this ex-convict, Sarah Nichols, who had completely disappeared into society so that none of her family or former acquaintances knew where to contact her? And why? Had she returned to a life of crime? Was she involved in Lenora’s shooting?
I punched in Detective Jarston’s number and waded through two screeners to him. It helped to have friends in high places—sort of a friend, sort of a high place, anyway. I’d met him when he was a detective in the Wisconsin Dells area, and we worked together to solve Albert Windemere’s murder. He now handled special assignments in semi-retirement, not that he was old, probably mid-sixties.
His gravelly voice barked, “To what do I owe this surprise?”
“I notice you didn’t say pleasure,” I bantered.
“Implied, of course, but I need to know the nature of this contact before I become ebullient.”
I laughed. “I haven’t heard that word in a while.” Jarston loved the English language, the longer the word the better. Why a five-letter-word when he could come up with an eight or ten-letter one? And the quicker the repartee, the better.
“Let me guess. You’re involved in another murder?”
“An attempted one.” I told him about Lenora’s shooting.
“You seem to have a flair for attracting intrigue. I hope you’re limiting your involvement to paperwork and phone calls. You know how I feel about women in police work. There’s no reason for…”
I interrupted. “Chivalry lives as long as your blood flows. I’d simply like to tap your information network for a female ex-convict we can’t trace. Sarah Nichols is her prison name. It appears she’s gone to some pains to conceal her identity.”
“Why?”
“That’s what I want to know. A hunch is all I’ve got.”
Jarston harrumphed. “Hunches are usually a waste of time. How long ago was she released?”
“Three months ago.”
“We’ll do what we can.” Jarston used the plural pronoun like royalty. “It may take a while.”
“This is urgent. Can you speed? Like twenty-four hours?”
“I can’t promise, but I’ll try.”
“You’re a dear.”
“Maybe a buffalo, never a deer.”
CHAPTER FORTY
When I stepped off the hospital elevator on the fifth floor, memories slammed into my brain. I’d spent enough time in hospitals while our son was treated for leukemia to despise the hubbub of medical machinery, the somber hushed voices of family members, and the scurrying of staff that never stopped. It simply changed pace from daytime rush to nighttime slow and names and faces of people were new.
I worked my way through these emotions as I strolled down the hall, wishing I were in my back yard or any safe, familiar place.
Did everyone feel as if they ought to tiptoe when they entered intensive care? I did. A male nurse glided past me on noiseless rubber soles, a reminder for me to quiet my walk on high heels.
Despite Tucker’s tentative good news, it took courage to stick my head into Lenora’s cubicle. Could she sustain breath, or would death take her from us?
The intrusive, tubal ventilator invasion remained in the room although the connection had been removed. Lenora lay on her back, eyes closed, looking surprisingly composed within her frame of metal bars. Clumps of hair matted close to her face, which was the color of putty.
Tucker dozed in a chair at Lenora’s right side but awoke when I entered. He greeted me with a frown. No wonder, I’d disturbed his nap.
I slipped over to Lenora’s left side and gently covered her hand with mine as my words tumbled out. “Hi, my dear friend. You had us scared.”
Lenora’s eyes fluttered open. “Jennifer?” Her words, soft as light rain, were delivered with a weak smile.
I patted her hand and exhaled in relief. “You recognized me. You’ve made my day.” Thank You, Jesus.
She lifted a finger in response.
“This is no way to take a vacation,” I said gently.
Tucker gestured me aside. “Don’t strain her. She’s still disoriented. The doctor expects her memory of recent events to come back gradually, if at all. She has no recollection thus far and must stay very quiet,” he warned. “I’ll leave you alone a few minutes.” He sauntered out.
I returned to Lenora’s side. For the first time, I glanced at the hospital décor. The walls were a pretty shade of robin’s egg blue. Everything seemed more cheerful now.
I pulled a chair close, longing to ask if she had any idea who shot her or why. Those answers would wait until she was stronger and could think clearly.
“You’re looking amazingly well for having been through such an ordeal.” I squeezed her hand.
“Thanks for all you’ve done. I owe you big time. Tucker told me you’ve been a saint.” She pressed my hand ever so slightly.
“Nothing you wouldn’t have done for me. Just get better now, okay?”
She sighed. “Jennifer, I can’t remember anything about the night of the shooting. It’s so frustrating.” She started to cough.
So much for not bringing the subject up. “It’ll come back in time.” I stroked Lenora’s arm.
A nurse, middle-aged and hefty, charged in, and leaned across Lenora’s bed to check the IV. She input data into the computer using the bed tray as a desk and then addressed me. “You may have a brief visit but don’t tire her. She’s very weak.”
When the nurse left, Lenora motioned me closer. “Tucker thinks Kirk did this, but he couldn’t have. I’m sure.”
I smiled wryly. “After meeting him, I agree it seems unlikely.” I wanted to ask about her relationship with Tucker but couldn’t risk something potentially upsetting.
“How I wish I knew who was responsible.” She spoke so faintly I put my ear next to her lips. A shadow of distress crossed her already pale face. She twisted her head on the pillow. “Everything’s so hazy. Do you suppose it could have been a hunter, a chance thing? Why would anyone want to shoot me?”
I recalled my visit with Thomas Hartford. Some people have reasons. “You’re getting better; that’s the important thing now. When will your doctor let you go home?”
“They won’t give me a date yet. How’s Kirk dealing with all this? I’m concerned for him. I never for a moment believe he’d hurt me.”
“Kirk’s been through the wringer but hanging in there. He’ll be thrilled to hear you’re getting better. He asks about you whenever I see him.” I smoothed back the strand of black hair that had fallen across Lenora’s forehead.
“He’s very sweet.”
Tucker returned and settled in his chair. He opened his newspaper and began reading.
Suddenly Lenora shuddered. “I had a strange dream. It was so real. I remember it vividly like a vision. I want to tell you about it.”
“Yes?” I leaned in.
“People talk about near death experiences, seeing a powerful light, smelling beautiful flowers. Do you believe in them, Jennifer?”
“I’ve read such stories. And I believe some are true.”
Her voice trailed off. “Well, my experience wasn’t pleasant but seemed quite real. Jesus took me to hell, not to stay, but to see what was going on.”
Tucker interrupted, “Lenora, please don’t talk if this distresses you.”
“No, I want to tell Jennifer. The sight broke my heart. Fortunately, Jesus never left my side. I remember a gray mist, an odor of burning flesh, and thousands of people trying to dodge flames. As I watched, worms ate through an incredibly beautiful woman’s flesh, leaving a blackene
d skeleton. And it happened over and over; time was frozen. The woman cried piteously, ‘Help me.’ It was horrid.”
Tucker closed his newspaper. “Lenora, are you sure you want to continue with this?”
She nodded. “I begged Jesus to get the people out. He looked at them lovingly and said in the saddest voice I ever heard, ‘I gave them every chance, but they refused me.’ A handsome young man engulfed in flames stood next to this woman. He said, ‘I thought my intellect and prosperity made me superior. How foolish.’” Lenora shivered. “Jennifer, I must confess, I’ve felt that way at times.” Her voice grew softer.
Tucker fidgeted in his chair. “Lenora, let’s talk about this when you’re stronger.”
Her eyes flitted in his direction. “You simply don’t like to hear about anything supernatural, Tucker.”
I sat speechless and entranced. Had she really seen hell? The mind played strange tricks. But Scripture said that people do see visions. John, the beloved apostle of Jesus, wrote about his in the book of Revelation. I inclined toward believing Lenora.
“I intend to tell everyone I meet about the reality of hell.” Lenora continued. “I pray I’ll recover my strength and be able to influence even more lives.”
Tucker stood. “You’ve already done your share.”
“Nonsense. There’s more to do.”
“And you will help,” I patted Lenora’s arm, “but right now you need to sleep.”
Lenora murmured. “I am tired.” She leaned back and closed her eyes. I arranged her pillows, swept a few strands of hair back from her forehead, and pulled up the cotton bed cover.
“You’re such a dear friend, Jennifer. Thanks for coming,”
“I’ll be back soon now that you can have visitors.” Her breathing was already deepening as I reached the door.
For a moment I felt infused with joy. Lenora was still in physical and emotional distress, but the healing miracle had happened. She was breathing independently. I’d witnessed her restoration for myself.
Then the dark thought returned, the one that haunted my waking hours.
Until we found out who shot Lenora, she’d never be truly safe again.