by Lisa Jackson
“I thought we were going to go shopping this afternoon,” she said lamely. Brian never went with her, unless it was to see old friends. He still kept up with Anne Reade, and she had a feeling maybe that’s who’d been on the cell.
“No.” He was abrupt. Then, maybe hearing himself, he said, “Why don’t you go? I’m just going to stay here and keep an eye on the news.”
“You’re really worried about Tanner?” she asked in a small voice. She’d just assumed Tanner would recover, but clearly Brian didn’t feel the same way.
“Aren’t you? Based on the reporting?”
He was looking at her as if she’d come from another planet. “Well, of course I am. I just don’t know who would do that. Maybe . . . maybe someone after drugs? From the clinic?”
“Did you hear me talking on the phone? That’s what I said.”
“Who were you talking to?”
“Ron.”
Ronald Kiefer. The ex-principal of West Knoll High. For some reason, she’d been certain it was a woman on the other end of the line. Anne Reade, maybe. Or Clarice Billings, possibly. Or maybe even one of Zora’s classmates . . . ?
“I hope Tanner recovers,” he said.
“Yeah . . .”
He lifted his brows in that “Anything else?” look, and Zora shook her head and walked toward the garage, hearing his office door close behind her. She wanted to double back and listen in some more, but he was onto her now, and if he caught her a second time, she doubted he would shrug off her interest.
Tomorrow, she told herself. She would see Tanner for herself.
* * *
Ellie’s cell phone buzzed while she was on her laptop, tucked into a small anteroom at the station that was used by personnel who didn’t have actual desks. Space was at a premium, and twice while she was writing, someone looked in to see if the room was available. She would lock the door, if she could, but, alas, it was considered a common-area room.
Glancing at the number, she saw it was Joey. “God,” she muttered, looking over her words. It was a chronicle of Tanner’s life. She wanted to be the first to write a personal background story and therefore make a case for being the one to present it on air. She didn’t have time for Joey right now.
But, Jesus. Both Joey and Michael were always in trouble, and Mom and Oliver had just given up on them. Ever since they’d both fallen deep in lust with Nia Crassley and damn near killed each other over her. Luckily, in true Crassley style, Nia, after having sex with both of them, though not at the same time—God, she hoped not at the same time—had moved on to a local West Knoll businessman who’d since gone belly up after Nia and her sticky-fingered family had sucked him dry of all his material possessions. That was the truth of the Crassleys. They were all awful. Ellie had told both her brothers to get rid of her and get out of West Knoll, and she was pretty sure they’d done neither.
Bzzzz. Bzzzz. Bzzzz.
It was an irksome alarm-sound ringtone she’d designated for both of her brothers.
“Hey, there,” she finally answered, gathering her annoyance under control. Her eyes were still on her narrative. Too folksy? She hadn’t had a folksy relationship with Tanner, but she wanted to infuse the story with warmth. She thought of Delta, and her expression fell into a scowl. This was her fault. If she hadn’t actually stabbed him, she was involved somehow, Ellie just knew it.
Joey greeted her, “Fuck, Ell, that doctor friend of yours was stabbed in his clinic!”
“I know. Was there something else? I’m trying to put the last finishing touches on—”
“Nia’s pregnant. Doesn’t know if it’s me or Michael.”
She sat back into her chair. “What about that other guy you said she was seeing?”
“She ditched him three months ago.”
“And you and Michael took up with her again?” She was practically shrieking. Her brothers were morons. Morons! She loved them fiercely, but they were absolute idiots.
“She’s hot” was the somewhat sullen answer. “What are we supposed to do? Turn her down when she comes crying to our door?”
“Well, no. Of course not. I wouldn’t want you to do that,” she said sarcastically.
The twins lived in an apartment together. They’d both dropped out of college and gotten jobs with a local moving company. The idea of a ménage à trois with Nia was starting to sound far more likely than she’d hoped.
“We’re going to tell Mom and Dad. Just wanted to let you know if Dad kills us, that’s why.”
“Get a paternity test. That girl . . . that whole family are grifters, cheats, and thieves. Make sure the results are yours. Just, for once in your life, be careful.”
She clicked off. She didn’t have time for this shit right now. Tanner was in the hospital, and Delta had put him there. She was going to prove it.
She worked for hours. Went home. Worked on it some more.
By the following morning, she had a well-written report on Dr. Tanner Stahd, if she did say so herself, and she was determined to read it on camera. That meant getting the okay from Rob, and she wasn’t quite sure what that was going to take. Sleeping with him? He was tight with the wealthy wife, but maybe given the right incentive? Coco had accused her of trying to sleep her way to the top, and though Ellie had been outraged, it had mostly been for show. If she wanted to use sex to get ahead, so be it. Didn’t mean she didn’t like the guys she slept with; she did. Sure, it would be terrific if Rob would put her on screen on merit alone, but that was a pipe dream.
Nevertheless, she went into the station and waited in Rob’s office with her story. “Read this,” she told him when he entered a few moments later, thrusting the pages at him.
Rob took them, glanced through the first few paragraphs, and his brows lifted. “Okay,” he said.
“Okay?” she asked cautiously. Was this the green light?
“Looks good, so far. Go over to the hospital. Get an update. Maybe Stahd’ll wake up and give you an interview.”
She thought about Zora’s lackluster response to trying to get the three of them inside Tanner’s room. “I’ll be lucky to get a toe inside his room.”
“You sell your talents short, Ellie. If anyone can get inside that hospital room, it’s you.” He snapped the paper with his fingers. “And these friends you all grew up with? Take some with you. A whole class reunion. That’s a good story.”
Chapter 17
Now . . .
BBBBEEEEEPPPPP!
The ominous sound of the flatline jolted Zora’s pulse as she stood just outside the door of Tanner’s room with Ellie and Amanda. Everyone had started running, and they’d been shooed from the room.
Zora moved back out of the way with Ellie and Amanda, huddling near them.
Ellie was spitting mad. “She tried to kill him!” she declared.
The alarm and the frantic activity surrounding Tanner were driving Zora crazy. She wanted to clap her hands over her ears. Ellie wanted to blame Delta for the attack on Tanner. “We don’t know that,” Zora reminded her, then, “Are you going to be reporting on this?”
“No.”
“I just thought—”
“Let’s wait till we find out what happens,” Amanda broke in.
She stood to one side in a gray suit teamed with a white blouse with a long, loopy bow that was out of date and yet looked fantastic on her. Zora wondered if she should have worn something similar; she felt a bit overdressed compared to her friends . . . though maybe friends wasn’t quite the right term. Ellie was in slacks and a conservative dark blue blouse, while Zora was in her Louboutins and her black Saint Laurent dress with the ruched neckline. But, hell . . . no one was paying any attention. It was all about rushing people and lights and that horrible BBBBEEEEEEEEEPPPPP.
Tanner . . . not Tanner . . .
“I’m going to find out who did this to him,” Ellie declared.
“You just said it was Delta,” Amanda reminded.
“Then I’m going to prove it was her,”
she corrected.
The policeman who’d been on guard, but who’d clearly been a bit in awe of Ellie—he’d recognized from the news—and had let them in because of it, had practically pushed them away from Tanner and into the hall when the beeping started. Now he stood by, as if unsure what they were going to do next. Zora wondered herself. She was glad to be out of the closeness of the room; she’d felt like she might pass out. But now they were just waiting . . . for what? She didn’t like the beeping. It was too urgent.
Amanda looked at the door they’d just exited as if there were a whole scenario going on inside her head—thoughts and ideas about what she’d just seen that she apparently didn’t want to share.
“Is he going to live?” Zora quavered.
“Grow a pair,” Ellie snapped at her.
“That’s so mean. I just wanted to know what you thought.”
“If he dies, he won’t be able to tell what happened,” said Amanda.
“I’ll find out from Delta,” Ellie said tightly.
“Try to avoid torture during your third degree,” Amanda suggested.
Ellie snorted.
“Do you think . . . she’ll be arrested?” asked Zora.
“If there’s a God,” Ellie said shortly. She was digging in her purse for her cell phone.
“Do you think we’re like . . . cursed?” Zora whispered.
“Oh, for God’s sake.” Ellie shook her head and walked away, holding her phone to her ear, waiting for a call to go through.
Zora gazed after her. Ellie really was tense, whereas Amanda seemed to never lose her cool. Zora felt bad and weird about everything, and it didn’t help that Brian had retreated to his office again like a turtle. She really needed somebody to talk to. Someone like Bailey, but Bailey was gone.
“We lost Carmen, and then Bailey, and now Tanner is fighting for his life,” Amanda said soberly. “We’re pretty unlucky.”
Ellie turned back around, apparently still waiting for her call to connect.
“Is she leaving?” Zora asked.
“I don’t know.” Amanda’s eyes narrowed as she looked at Ellie, who clicked off her phone in disgust.
“Do you think Delta did it?”
Amanda answered, “I’m not as convinced as Ellie.”
“He said ‘Dee,’ ” Zora reminded. “You heard that, right?”
“Yes.”
Ellie stalked back over to them as Zora asked Amanda, “Are you . . . staying around?”
“I want to know if he lives or dies,” she responded.
“He’s not going to die,” Zora whispered.
“Did you hear the monitor?”
“Yes . . .”
“What do you hear now?”
Zora could have answered, “My own heartbeat,” her pulse was thundering so hard through her veins. “The beep. It’s loud.”
“They’re working on him,” Ellie snapped.
“I don’t hear anything but the beep,” Zora said.
And just like that, the beeping stopped.
Zora’s hand flew to her mouth in horror.
“They’ve stopped trying,” Amanda said shortly, her head cocked, listening.
“He’s not dead,” Zora beseeched her.
“That’s a pretty good clue he is,” Ellie said. Both she and Amanda stood stock-still, their expressions tense.
“Bu . . . but . . . that can’t be!” Zora blubbered.
“Jesus,” Ellie said. She looked shocked.
For the first time, Amanda really focused on Zora. “Are you okay? You look like you’re going to fall over.”
“I’m okay,” she said, but her head was spinning.
“I’ll give you a ride home.”
“I’m—”
And then the door to Tanner’s room opened, and the nurse who’d given them such hard looks came out, her expression resigned. She didn’t even react to Zora, Ellie, and Amanda hovering outside.
“Is he . . . okay?” Zora asked in a tremulous voice.
The nurse regarded them soberly and said, “The doctor will be talking to the family.”
“He’s gone,” Ellie said bluntly.
“Come on,” Amanda stated grimly, and she steered Zora toward the outside door.
* * *
After dropping Owen with her mother—Delta was afraid to take him to pre-K, afraid of what he might learn as she hadn’t yet found the words to say Tanner had been attacked—Delta arrived at the hospital in time to see Amanda walking out of the building hand in hand with Zora. She watched them head toward a black Lexus SUV—Amanda’s car, apparently, as Amanda unlocked the doors and made sure Zora was in the passenger side, then walked around the front of the vehicle to the driver’s side.
What did that mean? Nothing good.
Her hands were clasped on the wheel. Her fingers frozen. Her whole body clenched. Yesterday she’d left the police station and headed to Smith & Jones, where her dad had put his arms around her and called her Delli, and she’d broken down and completely lost it. Her father’s on-and-off slips into the beginnings of dementia hadn’t been on display since Tanner’s attack, which was a blessing. Her mother had comforted her, too, and offered to take Owen for the night, but Delta had needed to have her son with her, though it had shaken her when, later that evening, after she’d explained that even she couldn’t see daddy at the hospital just yet, Owen had looked up from his meal of macaroni and cheese and asked, “What happened to the knives?”
“What do you mean?” she’d asked, stunned.
“Those aren’t the same ones.”
He was six. How much could he know? A lot, she realized and felt the noose tightening. “Those are new ones” was her lame answer. She hoped to God he wouldn’t remember exactly when the knives were exchanged. It was so ridiculous. She should have never been so stupid. Her main character in Blood Dreams, Lynda, would never have panicked in such a ridiculous way.
And the police knew she was lying about the knife. Tia and Amy had made certain of it. She was going to have to come clean. She could put the original knife block back. It was still in the attic, and she could just blame her inaccuracy on stress, or something, but now Owen had seen the change.
“How could you be so stupid?” she asked herself now as she watched Amanda’s black SUV pull out of the lot. Had she and Zora come to see Tanner? Undoubtedly. Had they gotten in? Past the police officer?
Her cell phone started ringing. LAURELTON GENERAL read across her screen.
She gazed at it in bewilderment for a moment, but a part of her knew what was coming, and her heart started a hard, erratic beat. “Hello?” she answered
“Mrs. Tanner Stahd?” a female voice asked.
“Yes.” Her voice was strangled.
“I’m calling for Dr. Evanston. This is Nurse Alice Song. Is it possible for you to come into the hospital?”
“He’s dead, isn’t he?”
“I really think you should come in and talk to Dr. Evanston.”
“I will. Tell me he’s alive.”
“It would be best, if you came in. . . .”
Delta checked out. Just checked out. One moment, she was listening; the next, her gaze, through the windshield, was watching a plastic bag dip and weave against a frisky little breeze. Up and down. Whipped around. Flung to the ground. Caught up again.
Nurse Song didn’t have to tell her. She already knew.
“I’ll go straight to the morgue,” she said, her voice robotic.
Nurse Song didn’t argue with her.
She hung up and sat in her car and watched the plastic bag some more.
* * *
McCrae woke up late to Fido’s wet, rough tongue licking his face. He scrambled awake, looking for the time. “What took you so long?” he declared to the dog, jumping out of bed and into the shower. When he got out, Fido was waiting for him by the bathroom door. His breakfast was late.
McCrae fed him and grimaced at the time: 9:50 am. No one would get on him about being late after
the all-nighter he’d pulled the night before. It was just that he had a lot of things to do.
He heard a message come in on his way to the station at the same time his cell started ringing. Seeing that Quin was calling, he answered the line first. “McCrae.”
“Tanner Stahd just passed away,” Quin said.
“Oh . . . shit . . .”
“You’re coming in?”
“On my way.”
“Corolla just called. Check your messages.”
McCrae was struggling to accept the news that Tanner was gone. He read his text and saw it was from Corolla, saying he’d allowed Ellie O’Brien, Zora DeMarco, and Amanda Forsythe into Tanner’s room just before he died, but he’d been there too, and he could swear they’d never gotten near him. The doctor had decreed that Tanner’s injuries were just too severe for him to recover, and the body was in the hospital morgue. Delta Stahd was already there.
If he hadn’t been so close to the station, he would’ve turned around and gone to Laurelton General right then. As it was, he wheeled into the lot and jumped up the back stairs two at a time. For some reason, he’d believed Tanner would be all right, even with the seriousness of his injuries. Impossible to imagine that he was gone forever.
And now it was a homicide.
Who killed him? Why had they done it?
He needed to find out the motive. He didn’t believe Delta had murdered him, even if Quin acted like she was the prime suspect. It just didn’t ring true to him that Tanner had been killed over a crumbling marriage or a workplace affair. Yes, it was a crime of passion. The multiple chest wounds told that story. But Delta stabbing her husband over and over again? He couldn’t see it. The motive had to lie elsewhere, but where and with whom?
He ducked his head into Quin’s office and said, “I’m going to the hospital.”
“Sit down a minute.”
McCrae was already a half step away and had to reverse himself.
“Just for a minute,” Quin reiterated, gesturing to the one other chair in the room.
McCrae did as his superior had suggested, though it was way outside of Bob Quintar’s playbook. The man didn’t have talks with coworkers at his desk, or anywhere else. He was quiet and methodical and occasionally had to take a meeting, but his way of working was with minimal conversation. Not that he couldn’t carry on a meaningful conversation when called upon, but his day-to-day modus operandi was to speak as few words as possible.