Death Waits in the Dark Page 10

I had already received a new dose of morphine when he returned a couple minutes later, looking rumpled and surprised. “Lena? I thought you were sleeping.”

  I waited until the nurse left, then beckoned him toward me. “I think someone was in the room. He was in the doorway, just standing there, and I spoke to him and the nurse called out from the hall, and he went scuttling away. But he was there in the doorway. I know it.”

  Sam studied my face. “I won’t leave again. Don’t worry; you can go back to sleep.”

  “Where did you go?”

  He sighed. “I was restless, and sort of hot, so I went down to get some ice water, and then I took a quick walk outside. I was just coming back in when I got your text.”

  “Did you see anyone? Someone in blue scrubs, hurrying out of the building? Someone you recognized?”

  He shook his head. “Not many people around right now, and I have to confess I wasn’t really studying faces.”

  “Who could it have been?”

  He shook his head. “I don’t know. But no one’s going to get in now. You can be sure of that.” I studied Sam in the dark room; his rumpled hair, his worried face, the determined line of his mouth. “Are you in pain?” he asked.

  “Yes, but she just gave me something. I think it’s starting to help.”

  “Good. Go to sleep now. I’ll watch over you.”

  “I know,” I said.

  Before I fell asleep I saw him standing by the window, typing rapidly into his phone.

  * * *

  • • •

  LATER IN THE morning Allison and Camilla helped with the final paperwork that the hospital required, and Sam sat close to me, sipping a cup of coffee. His gaunt face and hollow eyes told me he hadn’t slept.

  “You need your strength, too, Sam. Go home and take a nap.”

  “I will, when you’re home and comfortable. You had a nightmare last night.”

  “I did? How do you know?”

  “You cried out. I was afraid you were experiencing the wreck again. I got up and touched your hair, and you calmed down.”

  “Did I say anything?”

  “You said something about angels and saints, and an evil spirit.”

  “Wow. That was some good morphine, I guess.”

  Sam gave me the ghost of a smile, and a nurse came in to adjust my IV. She spoke briefly to Allison and then said, “All right, Lena, we’re ready to wheel you down.”

  “How long will this take?” Sam asked.

  The nurse patted his arm. “The doctor thinks about three hours, maybe less. Then Lena will be fixed up and on the mend.”

  “Let’s go,” I said.

  Sam and Camilla each gave me a kiss, but only Allison was allowed to walk with me down the hall and into the elevator that led to the surgery floor.

  * * *

  • • •

  IT COMES BACK slowly, one’s consciousness. I saw a blue wall with a calendar on it, then nothing. Then the blue wall again, for a bit longer this time. I heard someone shouting a name: “Carol! Carol!” I wondered, in a vague way, where Carol was. I saw the blue wall in more focus now and tried to make out the picture on the July page. It seemed to be an amorphous rock, but it eventually sharpened into the image of a puppy.

  A nurse’s face appeared before me. “How are you, Lena?”

  Good question. “Okay.”

  “Do you feel nauseated?”

  “Uh—no. Just tired.”

  “You’re doing great. Let’s just check your vitals; the doctor will come to speak with you shortly.”

  “Okay.” I stretched my toes at the foot of the bed, my awareness returning in waves. It was over. I was mended. Was I? I glanced down at my left arm, currently swathed in a white bandage. “Why isn’t it in a cast?”

  “That comes later, hon. Right now you’ll just have that bandage on.”

  “Okay.”

  “Are you in any pain?”

  To my great relief, I was not. “No.”

  “Good, good.”

  “Who’s Carol?” I asked vaguely.

  She smiled and patted my arm. “People call out all sorts of things here in the recovery bay. You heard Mr. Caldwell saying his wife’s name. You said one, too.”

  “I did? Was it Sam?”

  “No,” she said. “I can’t recall just now—sort of a strange name.”

  “Huh. I have no memory of it.”

  “People are still unconscious in recovery. It was coming from somewhere deep inside. You stay there and relax, and Dr. Salinger will come to speak with you.”

  I closed my eyes until I felt a presence standing beside me. Dr. Salinger, my healer, stood there looking casual in her surgical scrubs, her short blonde hair spiking around her head like a halo. “Hello, Lena. Do you feel all right?”

  “Yes.”

  “The operation went well. It was an extreme break, a compound fracture, and I did insert some pins in there to be sure that the bone stays in place while it heals. We’ll remove the pins in about a month. I’ll cast the arm tomorrow; all you need to do today is relax, watch some TV, have a nice hospital meal—no, I swear, the food is really good here—and let your body start the healing process.”

  “Okay.”

  “I want to be clear: This was a severe shock to your system, and your body needs to recover physically and emotionally. You might experience depression, anxiety, bursts of emotion, or exhaustion.”

  “Sounds great,” I said, and she laughed.

  “Luckily, I saw that you have a whole army of people to be certain that you receive the proper rest and care.”

  “Yes. I’m lucky.”

  “You are.” She patted my good arm and said, “I’ll leave my contact information with the nurse. If you have any problems or questions, call my office.”

  I thanked her effusively. She said that someone would wheel me back to my room and I could see my “fans,” but that she didn’t want them to stay long.

  This made me feel like crying, and she said that was exactly the type of emotional symptom she had been talking about.

  * * *

  • • •

  AN HOUR LATER I was in my room, sitting up in bed, and ready to eat lunch. Allison had washed my face, brushed my hair, and dabbed some ointment on my lips. The food on my bedside table smelled remarkably good, and Allison said it was a positive sign that I was so hungry.

  She pushed the tray so that it jutted over my bed and took the lid off to reveal chicken nuggets and French fries. “A child’s meal,” I said. “But it looks delicious.”

  My left arm was in a sling and still felt rather alien to me, but I was pain free and euphoric.

  “By the way,” Allison said. “The only reason Sam isn’t breathing down your throat right now is that I made him go home to take a shower. Frankly, I think he was bumming you out.”

  “He was afraid, Allie.”

  “I know. So was I. I can tell you now, Lena, you did not look good when they wheeled you in here. I almost had a heart attack.”

  “You hid it well.”

  She leaned close and stroked my hair. I had already devoured a chicken nugget, and a French fry protruded from my mouth. “I didn’t want you to be afraid,” she said.

  I bit the fry in half. “I was, but it helped a million percent that you were here. I love you.”

  “I love you, too. And I can’t tell you how happy it makes me to see you wolf down that food.”

  I laughed. Then I said, “Oh my gosh, my dad! Can you dial him for me, Allie?”

  Allison did, then handed me the phone. I heard my father’s voice, anxious and breathless. “Dad? It’s me. I just got out of surgery a while ago. I’m fine. I feel a hundred times better.”

  My father bellowed his relief into my ear and assured me that he would be o
n the next plane whenever I felt up to having a visitor. Just hearing his voice was like powerful medicine in my bloodstream. I chatted with him for a few more minutes, finally assuring him that I would get several days of rest and then contact him again.

  “Sounds like someone loves you a lot,” said Allison when she hung up the phone.

  “And I love him. He’s my only parent, and I’m his only child.”

  The door to my room opened and Camilla walked in, holding a giant sheaf of roses. “Oh, Lena, you look wonderful!” she said.

  “I feel good. The more I eat, the better I feel.”

  Allison found a vase in a closet, and she filled it with water for the roses. Camilla darted forward to give me a kiss, then started tucking the roses into the vase like a careful florist, her eyes studying me now and then.

  “Adam plans to smuggle you some food from Wheat Grass very shortly.”

  I raised a finger in the air. “I shall eat it!”

  Camilla and Allison giggled.

  Then Allison sobered slightly. “Lena, last night you told Sam you saw someone in your room. Do you recall that?”

  I squinted at the idea. Someone in the doorway, someone in scrubs . . . “Not really. Just a vague memory, like a dream.”

  “Well, Sam was very concerned, so we consulted Dr. Salinger. She said it is in fact possible, when someone has an extreme injury and is on morphine, to experience mild hallucinations. She said it’s likely no one was there, especially since the nurse on duty saw nothing.”

  “Makes sense,” I said groggily.

  “That doesn’t mean we won’t be vigilant. No one’s going to get anywhere near you.”

  “Good.”

  She patted my feet. “Now that Camilla’s here I have to rush out. But you can page me if you need me. Love you.” She blew me a kiss and speed-walked out of the room.

  Camilla started to say something about my injury, but I held up a hand. “I just went through all of that with Allison, and I don’t want to end up crying with each new person who enters. I have more pressing business with you.”

  She looked amused. “All right. May I sit on the bed?”

  “Please. There, I made room. Oh, those roses are lovely. Thank you.”

  “What is our business?”

  I stared until she met my gaze. “Last night when everyone was in the room, you were very angry, talking to Doug, practically spitting at him. What were you talking about? And don’t say you don’t remember.”

  She nodded. “All right. Now that you’re feeling better I think you should know exactly what I said. I told Doug that he needed to get a list of everyone who was in Wheat Grass yesterday afternoon and check all of their cars, because one of them was going to show terrible damage to the front end.”

  “What?” I pointed a fry at her. “Why do you assume it was someone from Wheat Grass? I mean, a lot of us left at the same time, but—”

  “Lena, before we left, I stood up and said that you and I wouldn’t rest until we found the truth about Carrie Wyland and cleared James Graham’s name. Twenty minutes later you and I were sent flying off the road in a terrible collision.”

  I thought about this. Hadn’t I felt a malevolence in that room? What if it had been palpable emotion? After all, someone had been angry enough with Jane Wyland that he (or she) had killed the poor woman. And Jane, too, had promised to uncover secrets.

  I dipped my fry in some ketchup. “I hate to think that someone could do something that violent and then just drive away.”

  “I hate to think it, too. And I hated to see you looking like a poor broken bird on that stretcher. It was horrible, Lena. For a moment I thought you—well, anyway.” She looked out the window, and I couldn’t see her face. Eventually, she said, “I’m afraid I came on a bit strong with Doug, but he was angry, too. We all were.”

  “So you don’t think this accident could have just been a random case of road rage?”

  “No, Lena,” she said, her dark eyes meeting mine. “This was just rage.”

  9

  Have you ever noticed, Camilla, that a tiny thing can make you think differently about a person? One small detail can shift your perspective, and after that, no matter how you might try, you can never see that person the same way again.

  —From the correspondence of James Graham and Camilla Easton, 1971

  CAMILLA SAID SHE would return after checking on the dogs; I asked her to bring James’s letters with her. Meanwhile I’d indulged in a brief nap and waked to ponder a rather boring cup of Jell-O until Adam smuggled in a piece of Wheat Grass chocolate cake. “Don’t tell,” he said as he bent to kiss my cheek. He told me he had to leave again, but that he’d left some other food in a bag on my side table. “Do you know what, Lena? I think of you as a daughter.”

  I was glad Dr. Salinger wasn’t around to see my reaction to that statement. I clasped Adam’s arm while he dabbed at my eyes with his handkerchief and promised to come back soon.

  He passed another figure in the doorway and I said, “Sam, you should have gotten some sleep.”

  “Sorry to disappoint,” said a familiar voice, and I saw that the visitor, though very like Sam, was not Sam.

  “Cliff!” I said. “You didn’t have to—”

  “Of course I did,” he said brusquely. “I would have last night, but I was on duty. And as we speak Doug Heller is turning this town upside down. I’ll be joining him soon, but I had to see you.”

  “You’re sweet.”

  “Let me help you with that. You’re spilling all the good stuff.” He took my fork from me and fed me a piece of my cake as though I were a child.

  Because the cake was good, and because I was suddenly tired, I submitted. “Thank you for coming. I’m afraid I won’t be able to go running with you for a long time.”

  He patted my hair with a big hand. “You don’t know that. See how you feel in a couple of weeks. Hey, don’t be sad.”

  I shook my head. “My emotions change approximately every thirty seconds. The doctor said to watch for that. I just had a weird burst of depression.”

  He patted my head again, and I laughed.

  He said, “Take it from a guy who was shot in the chest not that long ago. The body heals at an amazingly rapid rate. You really won’t believe it. Considering the severity of your wound.”

  “I still can’t comprehend it. One minute I was talking to Camilla, and the next—”

  His eyes were sympathetic. “You’ll go over it in your mind a million times. Part of the healing, I guess—coming to terms with what happened. But one good thing came out of it. You can see how many people love you, and they realize just how much you mean to them. Aw, hey. Let me find a clean napkin.” He dabbed at my eyes.

  “Cliff?”

  “Yeah?”

  “I’m so glad Sam has you. But I’m glad I have you, too. You’re my friend.”

  “We’ve been through a lot together, kid.”

  “I’m full now.” I leaned back against my pillow. “Would you finish that cake?”

  “Already on it,” he said with his mouth full.

  I laughed, then closed my eyes. “Why did they do it, Cliff? Even if they thought somehow they wanted to kill Camilla and me, well, that’s not a very surefire way, is it? As we know, because we’re both still alive.”

  “We’ll find out,” he said with a dark look. “We hope to have someone in custody today.”

  My eyes flew open. “What? You have a suspect?”

  “No. Just a whole lot of determination.”

  “You know, your boss was at lunch with us that day. Rusty.”

  “Yeah? How come?”

  “He was an old friend of Jane Wyland and Adam and James and all those guys. Back when they were young they hung out together. You and Doug might want to chat with Rusty, get his take on things. Maybe he has a
suspicion.”

  Cliff’s brows creased; for a moment he didn’t answer me. Then he said, “Yeah, sure thing. I’m sure he’s already on Doug’s list if he was at Wheat Grass yesterday.”

  Another figure loomed in my doorway, and I said, “Your doppelgänger is here.”

  Cliff turned to greet his brother, and Sam West, looking clean and slightly less tormented and holding a small stuffed giraffe, walked into the room. Cliff stood and welcomed his brother with their habitual hug, then went to the door. “Lena,” he said. “We’ll find this person. Very soon.”

  “Okay. Camilla and I are going back to the letters. I’ve got nothing to do but read in here. I’ll be like Inspector Grant in Josephine Tey’s novel. Do you know the one I mean?”

  Cliff looked at his watch with elaborate ostentation, and I laughed. “Stop it. It’s a famous mystery. The Daughter of Time. This Scotland Yard inspector is confined to bed after he breaks his leg. He’s bored, so he decides to solve a case of history—the crimes of Richard III. Whether or not he killed the princes in the tower. You know?”

  Now Cliff looked interested, as did Sam. “Do you own this book?” Cliff asked.

  “Yes. And I’m sure Camilla does, too. You come and borrow it.”

  “I will.” He blew me a kiss. “See you later, slugger.”

  Sam moved toward me and handed me the giraffe. “Happy recovery,” he said.

  “Thanks. I’d offer you a bite of cake, but Cliff ate it.”

  Sam’s smile was distracted. “How do you feel? Are you sure it’s all right for you to eat?”

  I sat up. “Sam. You don’t need to worry about me anymore. I think it made you sick.”

  “Lena—”

  “No. No more of this morbid stuff. We’ll talk about it in three weeks when we’re running around town and this is all behind us. Okay?”

  He hesitated, toying with the edge of my blanket. “Sure, okay.”

  I looked at the giraffe, which was adorable. “This is lovely.”

  Sam said nothing. His skin still had a grayish look in the shadowy room.

  I wanted to hold his hand, but I had an IV in one arm and I hadn’t summoned the courage to do much with the other. I pursed my lips, and he kissed them. I said, “I know this must have been hard. After your family, and Victoria, and Cliff. And then me.”