Текст книги "Powdered Murder "

Автор книги: A. Gardner

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Текущая страница: 13 (всего у книги 14 страниц)

The chair lift was still high enough that falling would cause serious injuries or even death. I studied the look on John's pale face as best I could from a distance. He clenched his jaw and wrinkled his entire face. He was holding onto Lila with all his might. In the meantime, Lila was furious she hadn't fallen. With her free, dangling arm she clawed at John's fingers. He cried out, but his yells were muffled from behind the glass.

Sheriff Williams was already outside watching from above. I ran back towards the bride's room and to the open patio. The cold stung my face as I stepped back into the snow. My body shivered. I hadn't fully de-thawed from my first adventure in freezing temperatures.

"Hang in there, son." The sheriff was shouting encouraging words at John. "Hold her steady."

Lila screamed. Her shrieks shot up and down the canyon and I thought they might cause a mini avalanche. She swung her body again and this time she was successful. I let out a yelp, and my lungs felt like they had been squeezed to half their size as I watched her plummet into the snow. Sheriff Williams went running towards her. She was still a good ways up the mountain. High enough to do some damage, but low enough that whether or not she was alive would be unclear until someone checked her pulse.

Bebe had followed me and stood at my side. She buried her face in her hands, hiding tears. As she wiped her cheeks, her gaze steadily wandered down to the ground beneath us. She froze just like she had the moment she saw Donna's body. My eyes darted to the spot she was staring at. Lights flashed uncontrollably from every direction at the base of the resort. Like the wedding party upstairs, the press had also seen the whole thing.

"Let's hope she's not dead," Bebe quietly muttered. "Otherwise, the world is going to hate this town."

CHAPTER TWENTY THREE

By the time John Slagger was back on the ground, another ambulance had arrived and more medics were making the trek up the snowy mountain to meet the sheriff. His son, Murray, staid near the hotel keeping the press under control and shouting no comment as they rattled off lists of ridiculous questions. Bebe retreated back to the wedding party to offer words of comfort to Patrick's frail mother, and Joy prepared a private room for family to wait and receive word about the bride and groom's conditions.

John's hand shook so hard he shoved them into his coat pocket. He looked at me as a medic who'd stayed to wait for him checked his pulse and listened to his breathing. John hung his head, and bit the corner of his lip. When we finally made eye contact again his eyes were glossy as if he was holding back tears.

"I thought there was hope for her," John said to me. "She seemed so bright when she left."

"Left where?" I asked. I folded my arms, wondering why he'd been admitted to The Cove in the first place. He seemed perfectly average. Then again, no one would have suspected Lila would've shot her fiancé and herself to make it look like she wasn't guilty. "Are you talking about The Cove? What is that? A rehab center? An insane asylum?"

"It's an experimental rehabilitation facility for patients struggling with severe personality disorders," he answered. "It's reserved for people like Lila who deal with their disorders under public pressure."

"So you aren't a patient there?"

"What?" He chuckled. "No, I'm a psychologist. Lila agreed to do her post-therapy followups with me. She skipped her last one. I kept calling her to reschedule, it is vital to prevent relapses you see, and she told me to just meet her here."

"So that day when you approached me–"

"She wouldn't return any of my calls," he responded. "The hotel wouldn't cooperate. The townspeople I spoke with wouldn't point me in the right direction so I stuck around hoping she would eventually reply."

"She stopped taking her medication," I informed him.

"I figured it out when I heard there had been a suspicious death." He scratched his forehead and rubbed his eyes. "I didn't sleep a wink when I overheard it was a bridesmaid."

"Why didn't you go straight to the sheriff?"

"I had to be sure before going around disclosing private medical information," he said discreetly. "One of the reasons she recovered so well was because the media has no idea she's bipolar and severely paranoid."

"So Franco knew," I said out loud.

"Her assistant?" John asked me. "Yes, I think he did."

I thought back to how upset Lila had been about Franco's book deal. She had been so furious she'd ripped out a couple pages and sneakily had taken them back to her room. He must have been planning on exposing the details about her illness. He couldn’t do that if he was in jail for murder.

"All this time he thought she was taking her pills."

"If I would've known about this," John responded. "I went through every exercise in the book. I even listed off all the things she still had to live for and she still jumped. I knew the moment she ran for that ski lift she was toying with the option of jumping." He pressed his lips together to keep himself from saying any more.

"You did what you could," I said, not knowing whether or not my words would comfort him. I thought I would give it a try anyway. He dug the toe of his boot into the snow.

"But was it good enough?" His voice was quiet and stained with regret.

"It was." I allowed myself to take a deep breath of the mountain air surrounding us. The events of this morning had gone by so quickly and happened so suddenly I was already sore from my muscles being tense the entire time. "She knew what she did, John. I'm not sure if she was sorry about it, but she was fully aware that she'd killed her friend Donna. She also shot her fiancé. Worst of all, she shot herself to make it look like he was guilty instead of her."

"All cries of desperation."

The medic who was examining John speedily checked his blood pressure and then nodded, giving him the okay to leave.

"Do you think she's alive?" I asked as the two of us steered clear of the flashing lights coming from the photographers’ cameras. John shrugged.

"I honestly have no idea. I didn't see her move after she fell, but that doesn't mean she wasn't breathing." He pulled a hand out of his pocket. It still shook as if he'd been stuck with a syringe of adrenaline. He stuffed his hand back in his pocket, glancing at me. His cheeks went rosy when the two of us entered the hotel. The warm air from the heaters swept over my skin like a soothing bath.

"A little tip," I suggested. I hoped I could put John's mind temporarily at ease by lightening the mood. "Ada is really into cats." John slowed his paced and looked at me curiously. It took him a second to get up to speed and realize I was now addressing his bakery crush.

"Is she really?"

"Cats and beads," I said. "Oh and Andy Warhol."

"Good to know." John grinned at my statement. I succeeded in filling his mind with something other than doubt.

Joy met us near the dining room. My stomach felt sour when we followed her through the staff hallway and up the staff only staircase to meet the rest of the wedding party. It reminded me of what Lila had said about how I stuck to the same old habits. She was right. I even took the same path to the bathroom when I was at work and ate the same thing for lunch every day. Chicken or ground turkey on a bed of spinach with cucumber slices, cherry tomatoes, and a scoop of rice.

"The Jayes are getting ready to go to the hospital," Joy informed me. "I thought you might want to drive them there."

Patrick's mother, Anne, was standing nearby. Her husband sat in an armchair with a stern look on his face while his wife stood staring out the window. Her eyes followed each snowflake as it gracefully fluttered to its resting place in the snow. Her slim arms were folded against her torso, revealing a figure that seemed a tad malnourished. I knew as soon as we were alone in the car together she would want to know everything, and I didn't know what I was going to tell her. The whole truth or half of the truth. Patrick would never forgive me if he found out his mom was lying in a hospital bed in the room next to his.

"Sure," I volunteered. "I'll take them."

"Good." Joy stuck out her jaw like she sometimes did when she was preventing herself from speaking too freely. "Mom and Dad went home and they're going to stop by the Jaye's house and pick up some of Patrick's things."

"What about Bebe?" I asked.

"I suppose she can wait around here for when Franco comes back," Joy replied, shrugging. "I'll get the kitchen to send Anne with a to-go bag."

Joy left my side and the void was instantly filled by Bebe. She was still biting her nails and studying my expression. She adjusted the hem of her bridesmaid dress so that her sparkly heels were visible. Even in the midst of deadly nuptials she had fashion on the brain.

"Okay spill," she said quietly. Her eyes passed over me and she twisted her mouth. I needed to change before making the long drive to the nearest hospital. "What happened, apart from the wind tossing you around like a rag doll?"

"I plan on running a comb through my hair."

"Good plan," Bebe responded. "But first you have to tell me what happened out there. I have to be prepared for tomorrow."

"What happens tomorrow?"

"This place will be crawling with press wanting to get the inside scoop," she answered. "I need something juicier than no comment. Essie, this place is going to be front page news."

Finding Donna's killer was all I wanted from the moment we'd found her body. Now that I had, I was hesitant to share what I'd learned. For some reason I was feeling guilty for blatantly shouting to the world what Lila really was, especially when the world had such fond memories of her. I didn't want to spoil her memory.

"I better get moving on that comb situation then," I joked.

"She didn't jump for no reason." Bebe's voice changed. It sounded sorrowful. She took a step, leaning against a wall for balance. "I knew she had issues but…" Bebe gently dabbed her eyes. "It just shows you how short life can really be, doesn't it? The things we thought were important suddenly aren't that important anymore." She sniffled.

"Yes, she had issues," I confessed. "We all do. Unfortunately some of us can't help but … snap."

"I should have been nicer to her," Bebe confessed. "I should have been a better friend and kept my mouth shut that one time she told Celebs Daily magazine that I'd had butt implants."

"Why would she say a thing like that?"

"I took a spinning class for a whole month without her." Bebe thought about it for a second and sported a private smile.

"Hold onto those memories," I said softly. "I suck at always seeing the good in people, but I try."

"You see way more than the good." Bebe laughed lightly. "You see everything there is to see. Everything." She held up her wrist, flashing her silver cuff and therapeutic wristband.

I still wasn't sure if noticing more than most was a good thing, because sometimes it roused my curiosity so much it got me into trouble.

Is it a talent, or am I just nosey?

"I need to get changed." I left it at that, knowing eventually Bebe would hear the whole story. First, I had something more pressing to do. I thought of Patrick lying alone at the hospital. I was desperate to see with my own two eyes if he was alive and kicking.

CHAPTER TWENTY FOUR

The smell of rubbing alcohol filled my nose. I walked with Patrick's parents to the hospital waiting room designated for family and close friends. We were informed by a nurse Patrick was in the middle of surgery. Our car ride through the winding mountain roads took longer than I'd anticipated because of the snow. The car ride was mostly silent. I guess the Jayes had decided they weren't ready to know yet what had really happened. Maybe they wanted to hear it all from their son?

The white, blank hallways and the bright lights weren't something I was used to. I'm the type of person who, despite my regrettable years spent with extra flab, only visits Doc Henry once a year for an annual check-up. Anne Jaye walked towards an open sofa, semi-confident in her stride. She looked as if she'd been down this very hallway a thousand times, and I realized it was likely true. We were in her territory now. After Patrick had told me about her ailment it was hard to look at her the same. She was so kind and such an angelic woman, it was a tragedy she of all people had to leave us all too soon. I avoided thinking about it for too long because it made my eyes start to water. I helped Anne onto the couch.

"Oh, thank you," she said kindly. "Why don't you sit right here next to me."

I'd planned on pacing back and forth until my feet hurt which would not have taken long if I'd still been wearing the heels that went with my bridesmaid dress. I'd rushed to change into jeans and a conservative turtleneck before we left the resort. I'd brushed the snowflakes and bits of ice out of my damp hair, and wiped off all my smeared makeup. I was back to looking plain like I used to before I got my training job, minus the embarrassing muffin top.

"Sure." I accepted her invitation and sat beside her.

"Patrick so wanted to get married," Anne began. "That poor boy."

"I know he did, but this is probably for the best."

"Lila was a nice girl the few times we spoke," she continued. "But she wasn't really right for Patrick."

"Well, they're both famous." I folded my arms, playing with the edges of my sweater with my fingers. "Not a lot of people have that in common with him."

"Fame is not what he needs." Anne gently shook her head. She glanced up at her husband, still silent, who had settled in a chair across from us. "He needs someone solid standing next to him. A true partner."

"Oh, we'd all like someone like that, Mrs. Jaye."

"Someone like you perhaps?" She raised her eyebrows and gave me a look that made me want to confess to her all of my dark secrets. She paused long enough that I had to stop and wonder if she knew more about Patrick and I than she was letting on.

"Me?" I finally said. "Me and Patrick?"

"Uh-huh." She paused again and studied my expression. She was trying to trick me into saying too much. I did the same exact thing sometimes with clients like Martha who lied through their teeth about how many portions of dessert they'd eaten over the weekend. If I paused long enough and stared hard, most of them decided to confess. Maybe it was because they felt like I already knew the truth. It was like Anne already knew everything.

"Patrick, your son?"

"That's right," Anne went on.

"We hardly speak anymore," I admitted.

"But the two of you were such good friends growing up." She rubbed the palm of her hands on her dress. "I wish you both would stop being so stubborn."

"Mrs. Jaye, whatever feelings I had or may have had for your son don't matter anyway. He doesn't feel the same." I cleared my throat. "Hypothetically, of course."

"Of course." The side of her mouth widened with a twisted smile. "But you know I don't believe you."

I laughed uncomfortably.

"Patrick has always been a giver," she added. "No matter how many times I tell him how proud I am to be his mother he always reaches for something more. He wanted so badly to start a family of his own. To give me the gift of a grandchild." She clasped her hands together and placed them in her lap, exchanging looks with her husband. "We only want him to be happy, single or married it makes no difference to us."

"I'm sure he knows that deep down," I said.

"I hope he does." Anne nodded and turned towards a stack of magazines in the corner.

The three of us sat impatiently for what felt like hours. Patrick's dad continually tapped his shoe on the shiny floor and chewed on a toothpick he had snagged from the coffee cart that had come by a couple of times. Anne didn't eat or drink. She thumbed through a few magazines, but mostly she kept her mouth shut and bowed her head. She looked like she was praying, and she most likely was. Being from the South, the Jayes attended church every Sunday in their best attire. I ended up walking laps around the third floor to keep my anxiety in check. My heart had raced so fast that I could feel the blood blasting through my veins. I would have run a few miles if the hospital had a gym I could've used. My phone was on silent in my pocket. After my tenth text from Joy I'd informed her I would contact her as soon as there was any news. Since then, I kept my phone snug in my pocket.

When a group of nurses walked past talking about today's special in the cafeteria, I glanced at the time. Our day had progressed rapidly, and it was now near dinner. We really had been waiting hours for the slightest bit of news. Finally we were approached by a man in a long, white lab coat. His name tag identified him as one of the emergency room surgeons. Anne jumped to her feet so fast I was nervous she might faint from the blood rush to her head. I let her and her husband stand in front of me.

"Are you the Jayes?" the surgeon asked with a straight face.

"Yes," Patrick's dad answered.

"He's doing just fine," the surgeon replied. He kept his expression blank in spite of the fact he was delivering good news. "The surgery went well. He's been moved to a recovery room, and can start seeing visitors."

“Oh, thank you, doctor." Anne was so appreciative she couldn't contain her gratitude. She stepped forward and hugged the man in the lab coat while he looked at her, confused.

"Two at a time, please," the surgeon instructed, eyeing me in the background. "If you may."

"Go ahead," I whispered. "I'll wait out here."

I took Anne's spot on the sofa, and watched as one of the nurses coming in for the night shift switched on the television and changed it to the local news station. She smiled at me and then took an empty desk at the nurses' station.

I listened to a weather update. Snow. Snow. And more snow. I sat up straighter when the woman on the screen mentioned Bison Creek. I gulped. The media had already caught onto the story. My eyes darted up and down the hallway, but it was mostly empty and I seemed to be the only one paying attention.

"It's a sad day for fans of international model and actress Lila Clemton," the newscaster announced. "Some are calling it a freak accident and others are gravely concerned for the fallen actress’s psychological welfare, but what remains true is that she has been air lifted to a specialty hospital in Denver, Colorado and we have been told she is in critical condition."

I bit the inside of my cheek. Lila was still alive and there was a possibility she might pull through. I wasn't sure what to think about the news because I wasn't sure what to think about Lila. She had a debt that needed to be paid if she survived and I would forever be looking over my shoulder if she was eventually released from custody someday.

The newscaster continued with an aerial view of Bison Creek and Pinecliffe Mountain Resort. It was only a matter of time before someone grabbed a hold of what had happened to Donna. I stood up and took a few steps closer to the TV. The pictures of Bison Creek made it look so small. There was a picture of Canyon Street and Mrs. Tankle's book shop, along with a few other local business. I nearly burst out laughing when they played a video of Sheriff Williams, tailed by his son Murray, exiting the hotel and shaking his head instead of making a public statement. Bison Creek was now on display for the world to see.

"Essie," a voice said quietly. Patrick's parents had made their way back to the sitting area. "Go on back. He's been asking for you." Anne beamed when I shot her a look of surprise.

"Really?"

They both nodded.

"He looks well," Anne commented.

I quickly and quietly walked towards Patrick's private room. My heart pounded and my palms were damp. When I came to his door, my limbs were tingly. I imagined myself in the room staring into his dark hazel eyes. I knock lightly as I entered and the tingling didn't go away.

Patrick was lying in a stiff bed wearing a hospital gown. A light blue blanket covered his lower half and bandaging material stuck out from underneath his sleeve. He tried to sit up when he saw me but groaned from the discomfort.

"Don't hurt yourself," I said, smiling. There was a chair next to his bed that looked like it was placed there specifically for me. "Your mom moved this chair, didn't she?"

"So you've caught on," he replied. He spoke softly, taking long breaths in between sentences like it was tiring to speak.

"Did you tell them what happened?"

"I will." His eyes followed me as I approached his bed and sat beside him. "In due time. My publicist is already all over me telling me not to mention a thing about it until I get home. Anyone could be listening in here."

"How are you feeling?" I asked. My eyes darted to his chiseled forearm and immobile hand. It was close to the edge of the bed.

"I'm not covered in snow so that's a plus." He chuckled. "My parents told me about Lila."

"I'm really sorry, Patrick."

"I gave that relationship all I had," he said quietly. "I should've listened to old Snowflake on this one." If Patrick was well enough to bring up his dead childhood cat he swore was still wandering Canyon Street at night, then he was definitely on the road to recovery.

"Snowflake?" I said, watching the grin on his face grow wider. "Really? You've just come out of surgery for a gunshot wound and you want to discuss the habits of a deceased feline?"

"What can I say? She's my guardian angel cat. I should have followed my gut instinct about the wedding. None of this would have happened." He tried to move his hand towards his face, but he stopped suddenly and groaned again. It was painful for him to use the arm of his injured shoulder.

"How were you to know all this would happen?"

"I should have seen the signs," he muttered. "She started asking me where I was all the time. Who I was with. Why I didn't tell her I loved her enough. Staying up all night. I just thought it was anxiety from all the wedding stuff. She used to trust me a lot more."

"How do you feel now?" I asked. I said it in a general way, but really I wanted to know how badly his heart had been crushed, and if there was ever a chance someone could come along and pick up the pieces.

"Tired and … kind of lonely."

"You've got me." It was a bold thing to say, but I meant it. I glanced down at his hand again. This time he moved it towards me and I reached for it, letting our fingers intertwine.

"They say I've got to be here for a while." He scanned his new living quarters which consisted of a modest bathroom decked out with a shower seat, two sitting chairs for guests, and a rolling table for meals.

"What will you do when you get out?"

"Start fresh I guess," he sighed. "In the house I bought. The one I told you about."

"Work should be interesting tomorrow," I responded.

"Hey, Essie," Patrick said softly. His gaze wandered down to our bonded hands before he looked at me again. He swallowed hard enough for me to hear it. My chest went tight when I noticed his breathing had increased. It was hard to hide because he had on a heart rate monitor that gradually beeped a little faster. He was suddenly nervous.

"Yes, Patrick."

"Can I … take you out for a coffee?" He paused and waited the same way his mother had done in the waiting area when she quizzed me about our relationship. "In the near future," he added. "When I can actually move my arm."

"I don't drink coffee," I teased. "I've given up caffeine. New Year's resolution." At first, Patrick's eyes went wide. He was so nervous it took him a few minutes to catch on that I was only kidding. "But I drink tea?"

"Right." He exhaled, sounding relieved. "I forgot. You’re the Head Trainer."

"It took me years to get that job," I continued. "I can't just throw it all away for the first hot thing that walks through my door."

"So you find me attractive?" he retaliated. I knew Patrick was kidding, but I still felt my cheeks go warm. I tried so hard not to let myself blush that blushing was inevitable.

"Oh … uh…"

"Relax," Patrick responded. "I'm just having a little fun."

"I knew that," I lied.

"Obviously, you do think I'm attractive."

"Patrick," I scolded him. We were back to our usual middle school games which had been a roundabout version of truth or dare, but mostly truth. Of course, neither of us ever gave straight answers. Now as adults nothing really seemed to have changed. I still found myself stuttering to say the right things, and over-thinking what to say so I didn't embarrass myself.

"I'll tell you the truth if you tell me the truth," he continued. "Pinky swear?"

"Save it for tea time," I answered.