That would be remedied within the hour. As for the rest, they’d see.
The taxi she’d requested arrived only a few minutes late. The driver was courteous and knowledgeable – a real treat after some of the other cab rides she’d had – and soon deposited her at a nice hotel midway between the train station and Dev’s residential address. As she paid the friendly clerk for a room, Adele realized how far she’d come since leaving home, not only in terms of miles.
Before, she’d been isolated and afraid, though she hadn’t recognized it as fear then. Now, though trepidation sometimes hit, she could go into a strange city filled with people she didn’t know and be confident in her ability to interact and have a good time. She still liked her solitude, of course, treasuring the quiet moments in hotel rooms and sleeper cars. But she wasn’t lost without it. In fact, she had more designs waiting impatiently for her loom than she’d ever felt before.
No matter how things turned out with Dev, this trip had been worth all the time, effort, and money she’d spent on it.
With that thought, Adele let herself into her room and opened her suitcase. The dress she’d bought in Los Angeles for too much money, and without knowing why, would finally be worn. It would have been perfect for her date with George, but something had stopped her before she ever really considered it. No, not something, someone. And George had known she hadn’t worn her best, despite having no knowledge of the dress meekly folded in her suitcase.
Now she pulled it out and marveled at herself for buying it in the first place. It was simple, almost plain, and completely white. She was usually drawn to more colorful things, the natural result of being an artist, she supposed. But this classic white sheath had captured her attention the moment she walked into the store, and she’d bought it without even wincing at the price. It needed ironing after two weeks in her suitcase, so she set to work.
By the time she finished ironing, showered, shaved, moisturized, and dressed, butterflies had invaded her stomach. When she looked in the mirror one last time, though, she appeared her normal calm self, not even flushed. The only color on her was the Vegas purse. Its palette of bold colors didn’t match but it didn’t look bad, and anyway it was the only purse she owned. She gave herself a bolstering nod, then left to meet her taxi.
The ride was short and silent and she soon found herself standing on the sidewalk in front of a nice two-story house, the taxi pulling smoothly away. Not giving herself any time to think herself out of it, Adele strode up to the door and rang the bell, dimly hearing it chime inside.
No one came.
She tried it again, and again no one came.
The butterflies faltered, then flapped maniacally when a voice said, “He’s out.”
Adele turned around to find the speaker, an old man leaning on his next-door porch rail, head cocked curiously. After processing his brief statement she gathered the mental acuity to ask when he might expect his neighbor to return.
“Don’t know,” was the laconic reply. “His brother picked him up. Didn’t say where they were going.”
“I see,” she said past the sinking feeling in her chest. Of course there had always been a possibility he wouldn’t be home, but she hadn’t thought of it once. She’d been too busy worrying about her nerves, his reaction, her reaction. Now what should she do? There was no telling when he’d return, or if he’d even come back that day. She should have asked the taxi driver to wait, but just as with Dev’s potential absence, she hadn’t even considered it.
She sighed and headed back down the walkway. All those other stops came in handy now; she knew there had to be a coffee shop or restaurant or even a grocery store nearby, and now that the butterflies had gone she realized she was hungry.
“Where you goin’?” the neighbor’s voice interrupted her thoughts and she started, having completely forgotten his presence. It was a miracle he sounded only curious and not offended. She’d been unintentionally rude.
“To find somewhere to eat,” she answered, turning back to him as courteously as she could manage. Then, her recent experiences having trained her well, she said, “Do you have any recommendations? I’ve never been to Atlanta before.”
His bushy white eyebrows rose and he cocked his head to the other side. “La Mongerie’s not bad. A bit fancy, but it’ll do. Just go thataway,” he pointed down the street, “cross Ponce de Leon, and it’ll be on your left.”
She smiled and thanked him, relieved at least to have a destination. Once she got there she could try to figure out her next step. But before she walked very far, the neighbor spoke again.
“I can take a message, if you want.”
Adele stopped. A message? What would she say? “Hi, I’m your pen pal whom you’ve never met, just thought I’d drop by” seemed a little juvenile, if honest. Pushing that unhelpful thought aside, she considered the problem in earnest. Finally, after ascertaining that the neighbor – Don, he informed her – really wouldn’t mind passing on a message if he saw Dev, she said, “Tell him Adele came by and…she’ll try again tomorrow.”
“That’s it?” he asked skeptically, peering at her with bright eyes.
“That’s it.”
He shrugged. “Alrighty, then. Enjoy your meal.” Then he waved her off, settling himself into a wooden rocking chair and watching as she walked away.
~~~~
Don had been right: La Mongerie was “a bit fancy,” but that didn’t hurt the food at all. Her meal was delicious, and concentrating on that gave her a nice respite from her otherwise whirling thoughts. Once she’d finished, though, she’d had no excuse not to think about her earlier failure and where to go from there.
If only she had a cell phone, even one of those prepaid ones, she could have left her number with his neighbor. But she didn’t, and Dev’s number was unlisted. Phones were out. Perhaps she should have written about a meeting time…but that would have been no guarantee, either, since he couldn’t return an answer she’d be sure to get. Anyway, looking back at what she should have done in the past was useless. She had to figure out what she should do now. At least she’d finally made it to Atlanta, and had a sort-of address at the hotel.
Adele sat up straight. That was it! The hotel! She could let him know at which hotel she was staying, and at the very least the desk would be able to take a message if he contacted her there.
Glad to have finally reached a sensible solution, Adele gathered her purse and left the restaurant, headed back toward Don and his message-taking abilities. The butterflies were back, though not so frantic as before. It was more like one small moth fluttering around, excited and nervous about this new plan.
At the intersection she waited impatiently for the light to change, watching for the moment the walk signal lit. There wasn’t as much traffic as when she’d come the other direction, but she wasn’t taking the chance of crossing before she was supposed to.
On the heels of that thought came the sound of screeching brakes, too close for comfort. A bright red convertible was swerving dangerously down the avenue, brakes squealing but seeming to have no effect on its speed. Cars honked, pedestrians shrieked, and Adele scrambled back from the curb, heart kicked into high gear and her brain screaming that the car was coming right at her, it was going to hit her, she wasn’t fast enough—
Her back hit a wall and she flung herself to the side just as the car crashed into the corner beside her, brick and glass and metal exploding everywhere. She hit the ground hard, her purse flying up to smack her in the face, but it protected her from the shrapnel, a little, so she didn’t mind too much. Once the jolt of her hard landing passed, she struggled to her feet again and moved away from the still-running car, shaking from head to toe, having to use the wall for balance. People were running every which way, some pulling people away from the wreckage, others rushing toward it. One of the latter grabbed her arm and hustled her further up the sidewalk, his strong grip the only thing keeping her upright. They stopped a few yards away and she saw his lips
moving, heard a jumble of noise that made no sense.
He gripped her harder and moved his mouth again, then his eyes widened and she followed his look, the world sort of swimming as she turned her gaze down. There was his arm, his wrist, his hand, gripping her just above the elbow, covered in red. A lot of red. It spread across his other hand where it suddenly joined the first, his grip so hard it was hurting her. The pain throbbed through her and she opened her mouth to tell him to stop when her hearing returned.
“…try to stop the bleeding. Here, sit down,” she felt herself sliding to the ground. “Ma’am, do you understand me? Your arm is bleeding; do you hurt anywhere else? An ambulance is on its way…”
The rest of his words faded away and she looked into his face, confused. His lips still moved but she couldn’t hear him. She frowned and tried to concentrate, realizing at last that he was asking if she hurt anywhere besides her arm. It took a few tries and a lot of frowning, but finally she was able to say, “No. Just my arm. What—?” Then she looked at her arm again, saw the gash she’d missed before. Her blood chilled and the edges of her sight went black, both sensations encroaching faster and faster so that she didn’t have time to say anything more than “But I haven’t found Dev” before darkness took her.
Chapter Six
But Lancelot mused a little space;
He said, ‘She has a lovely face;
God in his mercy lend her grace,
The Lady of Shalott.’
“Well?” asked his brother as he climbed back into the car, grimacing as the movement pulled at his still-pink bullet wounds. Galahad whined in the back seat as if he, too, wanted to know the answer.
“She might have come in on the morning train, but no one’s saying.”
“Even with your badge?”
Dev grunted. “Even with my badge. They want a warrant.” Which wasn’t happening, since his was a personal search. Damn scruples.
“Damn,” Geoff echoed his thoughts. “So what’s our next step?”
“Try to figure out where she’d go first if she did arrive today: my house, the hospital, a hotel, a restaurant…”
Geoff slid an incredulous glance his way, his black hair and blue eyes in a clean-cut face almost a mirror image of Dev’s. They were easier to tell apart since he’d been in the hospital, the weight he’d lost coming back slower than he’d expected. “How do we figure that out?”
“I’m guessing a hotel,” he said instead of answering. Unless she’d worked up her courage on the train, she’d probably need the small stop before making her way to his house. God knew it had taken her long enough to cross the country. He’d been waiting impatiently ever since the first postcard found its way to him.
“So…”
“So we call a few hotels and ask for her room.” Tedious, but he’d also bet she’d found a place close by, which narrowed it down. “Don’t you ever watch any cop movies?”
“Yeah, but you always roll your eyes and disparage their techniques. I didn’t want to assume,” Geoff teased and he laughed, knowing it was true. He was a terrible guy to watch cop movies with. “So while you’re calling these hotels, am I driving anywhere?”
“You said something about Mom and Dad’s, we can do that now. Then home, I guess. We can’t exactly cruise around and look for her.” It was amazing, but he’d yet to find a single picture of her as an adult. That’s what came of living alone, without a social media page or driver’s license. Then again, he did his best to keep pictures of him from anyone outside the family.
The first several places he called were all no-gos, but just as Geoff pulled into his driveway the clerk at the Shellmont Inn said, “Would you like me to try her room, sir?”
“Yes,” he said, ignoring the way his heart leapt. He waved at Don from the passenger seat, glad Geoff was savvy enough to catch his tone and keep the car running. If she was there, they’d pull out again soon enough.
He listened to the silence of being put on hold and watched his neighbor amble his way off the porch, feeling a faint surprise behind the suspense of the call. Don wasn’t the type to walk over and jaw, but there was no doubt he was headed for them.
“I’m sorry, sir, she’s not answering. May I take a message?” The clerk’s voice was smooth and professional and startling after the lengthy silence.
“Yes,” he said past his disappointment, and gave his name and number. He ended the call as Geoff turned off the car, levering himself out of his seat just in time to meet his neighbor.
“Girl came by,” Don announced without preamble. “Adele. Said she’d try again tomorrow.”
“You’re kidding,” Geoff said as he came around to stand with them, which was more than Dev could manage. Somehow Don’s having seen her made it seem real, made her seem more real. She’d still been a phantom when he’d found her hotel, but now…
“Nope,” Don was saying. “She the one you been writin’ to?” He winked at Dev, another surprise. “Don’t blame you. Real pretty.”
“What?” he finally said, then to cover the way his thoughts were floundering, he hurried on in his best cop voice, “What does she look like? Describe her to me.”
“About yea high,” Don made a motion around the height of Dev’s chin, taller than the old man. “Great legs. Real pretty.” Geoff’s elbow dug into his ribs.
“Hair color, eye color…” he prompted, digging back.
“Blonde and blue. Real pretty.”
“With great legs, I know,” he said, irritated by his neighbor’s appreciation of the woman he’d been wanting to see for months. He fended off another elbow jab from Geoff. “What was she wearing? Where did she go?”
“White dress. Asked about a place to eat, so I sent her to La Mongerie. ‘Bout forty-five minutes ago,” he volunteered.
Dev lost his breath even as Geoff sucked air in. “You think she’s still there?” his brother asked in a whisper.
“Could be,” Don answered, and that was enough for Dev. He took off down the sidewalk, grateful that he’d healed enough to jog normally, at least.
“Wait!” he heard, but he didn’t. Geoff could catch up if he wanted to. And he did, a minute later, informing Dev in a few breathless words that he’d left Galahad in Don’s care until they got back.
“Thanks,” he said, too focused on his goal to bother with more.
They were a block away when someone smashed their car into the building across from La Mongerie.
~~~~
Cursing, praying, Dev ran toward the crash site, noticing on the way that several people were already talking to 911 operators. Traffic was stopped, people leaping out of their cars to pull unlucky pedestrians away from the wreckage, a group of men gathering around the driver’s side of the destroyed car. He and Geoff separated, his brother joining the horde getting people safely away and he going to the driver.
He had to bully his way to the man’s side, but this time his badge proved useful. Incredibly, the man seemed unhurt except for a large red mark on his face where the airbag hit him, but Dev wouldn’t let him move until he established that it seemed to be true. It always amazed him, how some of the worst accidents for the car had little effect on the people inside it. Still, he stayed with the driver until the EMTs came and took over, gladly passing off responsibility to those on duty. Only after he’d let his fellow officers know what he knew – not much – did he look around for his brother.
“Dev!” he heard, and found Geoff waving from further down the sidewalk, where he’d corralled several witnesses. He nodded and started toward him.
“Are you Dev?” someone asked suddenly, and he turned toward the question.
It was a man, no one he’d ever seen before. His hands were covered in blood that apparently wasn’t his, as he was being nodded off by another EMT.
“Yes,” he answered cautiously. “Do I know you?”
The man shook his head. “No. The lady,” he gestured back to where the EMT was helping his partner transfer someone to a stretcher
, his body blocking Dev’s view. “She said something about looking for Dev. Did she mean you?”
All of his blood turned to ice and he strode over to the EMTs, staring down at the woman – a blonde woman dressed in blood-stained white – they were securing. As though he were listening to someone else, he heard himself telling them who he was, asking about the woman’s ID, heard them say she’d had nothing with her name on it but a credit card, that the name on that was Adele Fitzpatrick.
It was her.
She was unconscious, in a neck brace, and covered in blood, but they’d managed to slow the bleeding to a trickle. She’d live. Was he related? they asked.
No, but he planned to be.
That was good enough to get him into the ambulance with them, though his badge probably did more. Still, they let him on and told him to try to get her to wake up, find out if they needed to worry about a brain injury. So he braced himself beside her and leaned over so she’d be able to see his face when she woke up, holding her hand because it made him feel better. Her skin was cooler than it should have been, but that’s what blood loss and shock did.
“Adele,” he called, unsure whether coaxing or commanding would work better. He’d try coaxing first. “Adele, sweetheart, I need you to open your eyes. Come on, Adele, honey, you can do it. Just open your eyes so we can make sure you’re okay.” Her fingers twitched in his, her eyes moving behind her eyelids. He took a breath and continued, praying all the while. “Alright, honey, that’s it. Wake up, Adele. Open your eyes, sweetheart.”
And miracle of miracles, she did.
~~~~
Death was an awful adventure, Adele decided. Not awfully big, unless you counted the size of the pain, but definitely awful. Terrible. Altogether un-fun. And it was dark, too. She couldn’t see anything, but she could feel, oh, boy, could she. Her arm throbbed, her head ached, her whole body felt like one big bruise. If she didn’t know better, she’d think she was still alive.
The Silent Isle Page 3