Guilt & Galaxy Cake

by Nancy McGovern

  "Is that why my throat is so sore and it hurts to breathe?" Brandon's voice was raspy.

  "I'll call the nurse." Rachel rose, but Brandon gripped her hand.

  "Wait," he said. There was an urgency in his voice. "My clothes; do you know what happened to my clothes?" He looked down at the light blue hospital gown he was wearing and grimaced.

  "This is no time to worry about fashion," Rachel said, a tinge of annoyance in her voice. "You're lucky to be alive, Brandon. If it wasn't for us being at the right place at the right time—"

  "It's not that!" Brandon's voice rose, and was interrupted by a series of coughs. "Rachel, go check my pockets, please!"

  "What-why?"

  "I'll tell you later, but go now! Now!" Brandon looked increasingly distressed, and Rachel put a hand on his shoulder and stroked his hair to calm him.

  "Brandon, relax, there's no need to—"

  The door opened and Scott stepped in, looking grim. Brandon gave Rachel's hand a desperate squeeze. "Please!" he pleaded.

  "Alright. I'll go. But you have to lie very still and not disturb yourself, ok?" Rachel said, looking into his panicked eyes. "Promise me that, Brandon?"

  "Yes, I promise, just go!!"

  Rachel nodded, and brushed past a confused looking Scott with a, "I'll be right back."

  The hospital's corridors were deserted. Rachel looked at her watch and sighed. The meteor showers were supposed to last until eleven p.m., and it was ten thirty. No chance they'd get to see it now. Still, that was the least of her concerns. She looked around for a passing nurse and finally went to the receptionist. After some confusion, she was sent to the storage room, where a clerk looked among rows and rows of cubbies before shaking his head.

  "It's not here yet," the clerk said. "Normally in a case like this, we put items in storage and hand it back to the patient upon checkout. Of course, we don't accept any liability for valuables."

  "Isn't there an inventory of the items or something?" Rachel asked.

  "Well, it's not under his name," the clerk said. "But maybe if you describe what he was wearing, I can help?"

  "Um, he was wearing a light blue button-down and a pair of dark jeans," Rachel said. "Pretty basic stuff."

  "Well, I can't really help with—"

  "Oh and wait, he was wearing a watch too. It had a dark blue face, and a brown leather band with a blue stripe in the middle."

  The clerk raised his head, squinting into the distance. "Hmmm. Yes. I think I saw something like that . . . but . . . it was wet, right?" Rachel nodded.

  "Right. So it's in the back room, probably. Come on." The clerk didn't bother to lock the room, simply headed out and made a gesture for Rachel to follow. They reached the back room, and the clerk gave a little "tsk." A few plastic bags were on the floor, and one had been upended. The pile of clothes on the floor looked soggy even from a distance.

  "Is this it?" The clerk used a toe to nudge the pile.

  Rachel looked down and nodded. She recognized the clothes. "What are they doing on the floor?"

  "One of the other staff must have done it." But the clerk looked uneasy as he said it. "We can just pick it up, can't we?"

  Rachel combed through the clothes and paused as she saw that the pants pockets were inside out. Brandon's wallet was missing. "His wallet," she muttered.

  "It's here, behind the door." The clerk gave a little smile as he picked up a brown wallet lying there.

  "How'd it get there? Someone's been through Brandon's clothes," Rachel said.

  "Well, there's still money in this wallet and cards," the clerk said, handing it over to her. "So clearly it's not a thief."

  "No. Not a thief. Someone who was looking for something." Rachel frowned. But what? She had to go back and ask Brandon. "Did you see anyone here in the last two hours? Anyone at all?" she asked.

  "I started my shift an hour ago." The clerk shrugged. "But . . ."

  "Yes?"

  "No." The clerk shook his head. "Sorry. I can't remember. I had my earphones in and was listening to heavy metal—it's a habit—I think I remember someone passing me when I came in, but I can't be sure if it was a nurse, or a doctor, or just a random visitor. I can't even remember if the person was a male or female."

  Rachel groaned. "Thanks for your help," she said, struggling not to sound sarcastic.

  "At least his wallet's safe," the clerk pointed out. "Besides, the hospital doesn't accept any responsibility for valuables, we aren't liable for—"

  "Yeah yeah, I know," Rachel said, waving him aside. "It's just that there's someone out there who is liable for Stan Stickman's death, and I think he or she's gotten away with a piece of proof that could have put them behind bars."

  *****

  Chapter 14

  The First Draft

  Brandon's face fell when Rachel handed him his wallet and nothing else. Some color had returned to his face, although he still looked frail and sick in the loose hospital gown. His hand shook a little as he took the wallet from her.

  "Nothing else?" he asked, sounding disappointed.

  Rachel shook her head. "What happened, Brandon?"

  Brandon looked across at Scott, who was sitting on a chair near the door. Scott shrugged as if to say, "go ahead."

  "I was walking the cliffs," Brandon said. "I got pushed off them by someone. I can't remember who. I think they hit me on the head first, to make sure I didn't survive."

  "The doctors say you're a very lucky man." Scott nodded. "Somehow, the cold water lessened the flow of blood from your wound, and actually helped you survive. That, and the fact that Emily knew CPR and we were able to get you here on time. A lot of luck went into you surviving."

  "This is horrible," Rachel said. "Who could have wanted to kill him?"

  Scott didn't reply, only shaking his head.

  "I suppose I might as well tell you the full truth now," Brandon said, raising his eyes to the ceiling to avoid looking at Scott.

  "Yes, that'd be best." Scott had a small scrap of paper upon which he had scribbled down notes, he looked up from them now. "It's no coincidence that Stan Stickman's house is at the edge of those cliffs, is it? Or are you still going to stick to your story about 'going for a walk?'"

  Brandon grinned. "Sharp, aren't you? Don't miss much."

  "I knew you were lying the second you started," Scott said. "Why?"

  Brandon groaned and clutched his head, for a second, his body stiffened as though a wave of pain were going through it. Then he relaxed. "Sorry," he said. "My painkiller's probably wearing off."

  "I'll call the nurse," Scott said, "as soon as you tell me the truth."

  "Scott!" Rachel looked horrified. "Don't be cruel. Call her now."

  "This conversation is part of my investigation, Rachel. He'll be fine. You can go call her if you like. I'm staying put."

  "No, I'd rather have Rachel here." Brandon reached out and linked his fingers through Rachel's hand. Rachel instinctively took a step back then stopped herself. Whatever had happened in the past, Brandon was in pain and needed her right now. She'd be a monster if she didn't give him a minimum amount of human comfort. She saw Scott's eyes traveling from her to Brandon, with no emotion showing on his face.

  "Stan was working on a new book," Brandon said. "He said it'd be the last book he ever wrote. He planned to retire after it."

  "Wow," Rachel said, and with a shudder, she realized that it had in fact been the last book he ever wrote, just in a way that Stan Stickman hadn't anticipated.

  "It was a memoir," Brandon said. "Now Stan had a lot of rituals in his life. One of them was to write the first draft of any book on loose-leaf paper. Another one was not showing people what he was writing until he'd finished at least two revisions of the book."

  Scott nodded. "I read an interview of his where he said making people read the first draft of your book is like force-feeding them raw, unseasoned chicken. The meat of the story's right there, but the lack of refinement will turn your stomach."

&n
bsp; "Exactly." Brandon nodded. "He also told me he was disgusted with the predatory nature of modern publishers. You know Harper Lee?"

  "The author of To Kill A Mockingbird? Of course."

  "After she wrote To Kill A Mockingbird, Harper Lee never published another book. For whatever reason, she just never could. She did have the draft of another novel, she just didn't think it was good enough to release and refused to let publishers get their hands on it simply on principle. So they waited until she was too old to object and released the book anyway."

  "Wow." Rachel's eyes widened. "If that's true, it's shocking."

  "It is true, or so the rumor says. Stan was furious when the new book was published anyway. He told me that she should have just burned the first draft rather than letting any publisher get their hands on it."

  Scott cocked his head. "And that's what you were doing with Stan's book?"

  Brandon nodded. "I knew that if Dorothy found out about the autobiography she would want to sell it to the highest bidder possible. I knew Stan would have hated that. Out of respect for him, I wanted to throw it into a bonfire and make sure no one ever saw it again."

  "So you broke into his house?" Scott asked.

  "I didn't exactly break in." Brandon protested. "I'm still technically a tenant, aren't I? It wasn't illegal for me to go there. I just kept getting the feeling I was being watched. I knew where Stan liked to hide his first drafts. Another weird ritual of his; he tied it with rubber bands and kept it in the air vent above his desk so that the cleaning lady wouldn't peek at it."

  Scott whistled. "Whew. No wonder we didn't find it."

  "He was pretty diligent about privacy." Brandon nodded. "He didn't even have an email account you know! In this day and age, and he hardly trusted computers either." Scott nodded, writing all this down.

  "Well, anyway, while I was in the house, I kept feeling like someone was watching me. It was eerie," Brandon said. "I got the manuscript out of the vent and went looking for matches. When I didn't find any, I decided to walk on the cliffs and throw the sheets into the ocean. That way, they'd wash away and the world would never know about them."

  "And that's when you were attacked?" Scott asked.

  Brandon nodded. "Whoever it was, they were fast and sneaky. I didn't even feel them creep up on me. Next thing I knew, I was in the water and trying desperately to get ashore. Then I lost consciousness, and you know the story better than I do." He took a sudden breath, and looked at Scott with new eyes. "You saved my life," he said, as if this had just dawned on him. "You actually saved me."

  "Emily saved you. I just tugged you back to shore." Scott waved this off. "In any case—"

  "I didn't even thank you!" Brandon looked almost tearful. The events of the day, and the medicines he'd been fed were catching up to him. He looked dazed, as though he were about to pass out again.

  Scott stood up, realizing this, and looked out of the door. He called a passing nurse to come check upon Brandon.

  "I guess the manuscript is gone." Scott sighed. "It washed away while you were drowning, probably."

  "No!" Brandon exclaimed, even as the nurse bent over him to check his pulse. "I had it on me in a sealed plastic bag. The water wouldn't have damaged it! It was in my jacket, I'm telling you. Someone came into the hospital and stole it!"

  "That's impossible. I would have noticed if you had a book in your jacket," Scott said.

  "Would you?" Rachel asked. "You were so focused on saving his life, I'm sure you don't even remember what clothes he was wearing, let alone what was in his pockets."

  Scott opened his mouth to protest, then shut it. "That's true," he said.

  "I went down to storage to see if they had his clothes, and it looked like someone had rifled through them," Rachel said. "Scott, if Brandon's telling the truth, we might have lost the one thing that could solve the mystery. The manuscript might have had a secret that someone would kill to keep buried."

  "If," Scott said.

  Brandon looked confused. "What?"

  "If Brandon is telling the truth." Scott repeated, emphasizing the first word. "Then yes, we might have lost a major clue."

  Rachel looked down to see what Brandon thought of this, and realized that his hand had gone limp in hers. He had passed out.

  "Scott, you don't really think he's lying! Do you?"

  "I keep my mind open to all possibilities. Right now, this manuscript is like Schrodinger's cat. It may or may not exist. I'll make sure to ask questions to the staff about who came through here, though."

  "Good luck with that." The nurse sighed, looking up from Brandon's pulse. "Security's pretty lax here. Management is so low on funds that half the security cameras aren't working and haven't been replaced. We've actually had issues for the last six months, but complaining hasn't done any good. Why, your killer could have waltzed in, stolen the book, and waltzed out without anyone seeing him."

  "That's terrible" Rachel said.

  "That's life in a general hospital." The nurse sighed. "We had some mayoral candidates come by recently to do the usual photoshoot—kiss some babies, shake some hands. I raised the issue then, and got promised the moon. I don't know if anyone will actually deliver, though. Politicians forget their promises as soon as election day ends."

  "Ain't that the sad truth." Scott sighed. He looked at his watch, then frowned. "Rachel, can I talk to you outside for a moment please?"

  Rachel looked uncertainly at Brandon, and the nurse smiled at her. "Don't worry. He's not going to wake up until morning."

  Rachel nodded, and followed Scott outside. "Brandon isn't lying," she told him flatly as soon as he turned around to look at her. "I've known him eight years, I would be able to tell if he was lying. I'm sure of it. That manuscript is out there somewhere. The killer either stole it for his personal gain, or because he doesn't want it to be released."

  "Rachel, I told you before, I don't talk to family or friends about cases. Stay out of this and trust me to handle it, please."

  "But you just said—"

  "I just said I'm not ruling out any possibilities," Scott replied. "Brandon had a story, but no evidence that the manuscript exists. I'll chase all the leads I have, but I'm not going to blindly believe him."

  "He's telling the truth!" Rachel exclaimed.

  "Maybe. Or maybe you're blinded by affection. Or maybe he's become a good liar since you left him." Scott shrugged. "Can we stop discussing this now?"

  "I just can't believe you'd call Brandon a liar. So what are you implying—that his head wound is self-inflicted and he was just pretending?"

  "It's awfully lucky that we were right there to save him, don't you think?" Scott asked. "He'd heard me ask you to come the other day. Maybe that's just a coincidence too."

  "Scott, I think you're letting your own personal dislike of Brandon cloud your judgment," Rachel snapped. "This isn't fair, the way you're treating him!"

  Scott's eyes seemed to cloud over, and his jaw clenched. His chin tilted up. "You can think what you like," he said. "We're not discussing the case anymore. One more word and I walk away."

  "I-" Rachel saw how serious he looked, and her head bowed. "Fine. What did you call me out here for?"

  "I wanted to show you something," Scott said. "Come on." He began walking up the stairs, and motioned for her to follow. She wasn't as fit as him, and he didn't seem to realize it. By the time they were at the fourth floor, Scott was still breathing normally, while Rachel had to restrain herself so as not to gasp for air. Scott paused at a nondescript door and opened it. He looked at his watch once more, and then, holding her hand, took her through the door.

  They were on the roof. Solar panels and a water tank sat in one corner, and the concrete floor made their footprints echo as they walked. Rachel was confused until she saw a thin sheet with paperweights on all four corners and two cans of soda in the center.

  "I figured we missed it on the beach, but I wanted you to catch the last of the meteor shower," Scott said. "Somethin
g's better than nothing, right?"

  Rachel felt her heart melt. In the middle of all the confusion, Scott had somehow found the time for this incredibly sweet gesture and probably slipped one of the janitors a fiver to borrow the sheet. He sat down cross-legged, and held out his hand. Accepting it, she sat next to him. He clinked his can of Coke with her can of orange soda, then popped it open. Rachel found it even more endearing that he'd remembered her favorite drink. She suddenly felt rather small for picking a fight with him. His body language told her he was still angry at her accusation, and maybe she had been a little hasty in calling him unfair. Either way, he was leaning as far away from her as possible. She longed to link her hand in his, but didn't quite dare.

  Scott's smile broadened suddenly, and he pointed a finger at the night sky above them. Bolts of white light shot through the sky. Rachel felt her breath catch. She'd seen shooting stars before, but nothing like this. The meteors all seemed to originate from one point, and then shot away, parallel to each other across the inky sky. She tried to trace one from beginning to end but found that the light was extinguished far too quickly.

  "Gone in the blink of an eye." Scott smiled, as the meteor shower died down.

  "Just like us all, one day," Rachel said, feeling unreasonably sad as she watched him out of the corner of her eye.

  *****

  Chapter 15

  The Right Book

  Tricia was behind the counter reading James Joyce's Finnegan's Wake when Rachel walked into the bookshop the next day.

  "Oh, hey Rachel." Tricia smiled and placed her book facedown on the counter. "I'm glad you came by. I've been meaning to drop off the check for the galaxy cake at your place for a while now, but I keep forgetting. Will you stay here a second?"

  "I didn't come here to hound you for the money, honestly." Rachel grinned. "But I'll take that check all the same."

  "You better. It's too bad no one ever got to eat that cake, but it was still a work of art. You deserve to get paid for the effort you put in."