Bethany lay curled up on one of the couches, fast asleep.
‘Poor dear. She must be exhausted. She has hardly left her husband’s side. I’ll just set this basket down. I’m right here if you need me.’ She hurried away to a small oak desk tucked into the corner.
Still, Bethany slept.
I didn’t have the heart to wake her, so I stood by the window, enjoying the view.
‘Sarah?’
Bethany lifted the hamper onto the sofa next to her, removed the Thermos, and poured coffee into one of the white mugs Mrs McDougal had packed. She cradled the mug in her hands and took a big sip.
‘How is he?’ I sat on the couch opposite Bethany.
‘He had a compound fracture in his femur, I’m sorry, his thigh bone. They’ve repaired it, and it should be fine. But he hit his head and has a subdural hematoma – I’m sorry, medical jargon – a bruise, if you will, underneath his skull. It’s swelling, putting pressure on his brain. He will require surgery, in all likelihood. He slips in and out of consciousness.’ Tears filled her eyes, but she wiped them away. ‘Thank you for coming down. You’ve been such a help. Mrs McDougal said that she couldn’t have got by this past week without you.’ Bethany unwrapped one of the sandwiches. ‘How’s Minna? I’m sure she’s found out about the accident. I’ve been so worried about Matthew that I haven’t given much thought to anything or anyone else.’
I hesitated.
‘What’s happened?’
I told her about Minna’s supposed suicide attempt.
‘I imagine she’s saying she didn’t do anything, and it was Gregory all along?’ She must have read my expression, for her face softened and she touched my arm. ‘Sarah, Minna is not stable. She never has been. She thinks that Gregory’s come for his revenge. The man’s dead, I promise you. Things have gone too far. I blame my husband’s newfound obsession with the occult. He has risked so much, and I’m afraid he will lose the respect of his peers. Did you know he wanted to write a paper about Minna’s psychic ability and submit it to a medical magazine? He would have been ruined. I swear, Matthew and Minna and their ghosts. It’s beyond reason.
‘I understand why you empathize with her. If I were in your shoes, I would feel the same way, but she’s not like you, Sarah. I imagine you feel as though you have been manipulated. You have been – by a master, no less. A woman pushed Matthew in front of that bus. I saw the whole thing. She had on a coat, scarf, and sunglasses, so I couldn’t see her face. But later, during the confusion, I saw Minna. I recognized the coat. She did it. I am certain.’
‘But Minna wouldn’t hurt Matthew.’
‘You don’t know that, Sarah. You don’t know half of Minna’s history. We don’t discuss patient histories out of respect for their privacy.’ The tears came now. She buried her face in her hands and sobbed.
I moved close to her to put a comforting hand on her back, but changed my mind at the last minute and pulled my hand away. Bethany did not seek solace. She sought release. When her tears were spent, she took a wrinkled handkerchief out of her pocket and wiped her eyes.
I reached over to squeeze her hand, but she waved me off, rebuking my effort. She took a deep breath before she stood up and tucked the small bag that held her change of clothes under her arm. ‘I’ll just go and change. Do you want to sit with Matthew for a few minutes? He is down that hall, third door on the left.’ She walked away, her back ramrod straight, her step strong and sure.
* * *
Dr Geisler had a private room. He lay on his back with his leg elevated in a traction device. A long dresser that took up one wall held a large bouquet of flowers. His room had a nice window with a view of the park. The afternoon fog had started to roll in, bringing a misty drizzle with it.
I sat down next to Dr Geisler and took one of his limp hands in mine.
‘Hello,’ I said. I didn’t expect a response, but kept on talking all the same. ‘It’s not the same without you. I’ve been working away. I might have your book finished before too long.’ I glanced towards the door, and when I was sure that Bethany wasn’t lurking, eavesdropping on our conversation, I spoke. ‘I’ve seen Alysse. She came to me in a dream and told me she wants me to find something. She took me to the old schoolroom the other night.’
‘Sarah?’ Dr Geisler asked. His eyes opened for a second, then fluttered closed again.
‘I’m here.’
He squeezed my hand.
‘She’s dangerous. Be careful.’ His lips were dry and cracked, his voice hoarse from lack of use. I wanted to shake him, make him drink water and tell me what to do.
‘Who’s dangerous?’
‘No,’ Dr Geisler cried out. He shook his head from side to side.
‘Tell me who, Dr Geisler. Who’s dangerous?’
‘Minna.’ Dr Geisler smiled. ‘Alysse.’ He then became still, his breathing steady and sure.
‘Dr Geisler?’
Bethany came into the room. She set the bag, now filled with the clothes she had been wearing, on the floor and hurried to her husband’s side.
‘He spoke to me.’
‘What did he say?’
‘He said “She’s dangerous”. When I asked him who he was talking about, he said “Minna”, and then he said “Alysse”.’
She bent over him, touching his cheek with a gentle caress. ‘That’s perfectly normal. He’s been rambling for the last few hours.’
I stood up so Bethany could have my seat. She handed me the bag of dirty clothes, which I would carry back to the Geisler Institute for her.
‘Thanks for coming, Sarah. Tell Mrs McDougal thanks for the food.’
‘Would you like for me to bring you more clothes tomorrow? It’s no trouble.’
‘No. If they do the surgery tomorrow, I’ll come home for a few hours. I’ve got things to tend to and Matthew will need me when he wakes up.’
‘Would you like me to come here and wait?’
‘Thanks, but I think he just needs to be left alone so he can rest. You understand?’
‘Of course,’ I said. ‘You’ll call us if anything changes?’
* * *
I had a restless afternoon. Dr Geisler’s impending surgery had us all on edge. Brain surgery – just the thought of it scared me. Zeke spent the afternoon in physical therapy, which left him too exhausted for visitors. Mrs McDougal didn’t need my help in the kitchen. She had piled her hair on top of her head and held it in place with a mother-of-pearl comb. Tiny pearl earrings hung from her earlobes. Her cheeks were flushed, not from rouge, but from anticipation.
‘You look lovely. Are you expecting company?’ I watched as she took three succulent-smelling shepherd’s pies out of the oven and placed them on the workspace.
‘I used potatoes and some beef stock. It should stick to the ribs, even though there is no real meat in it. Your friend, Cynthia, telephoned while you were gone. She is taking you to dinner. She said you are to be ready at seven.’ She untied her apron and hung it on the hook by the back door. ‘She’s too forward for my liking, but she’s a good friend and anyone can tell she’s got as much sense as any man. You could do with some fun. Now run along. You’ve just enough time to bathe and change before she gets here.’
Chapter Thirteen
I had just pinned my shabby felt hat into place when Cynthia rapped on my door and let herself in.
‘At least look as though you’re glad to see me, Sarah. I know you were looking forward to listening to Rex Stout expose Axis lies on the radio, but I’ve come to take you to dinner and a movie. Plus I’ve brought you a gift.’ She set a hatbox on my bed, opened it, and withdrew a hat made of blue felt.
‘You must stop with all this gift giving. You’ll spoil me rotten.’ I sat at my vanity, as Cynthia stood behind me, pinning the new hat in place.
‘My dear, I owe my career to you. If you hadn’t given me that interview last October, I’d still be working the switchboard at the paper. Consider it payment in kind. There.’ She secured the hat and a
rranged the veil so that it fell over my forehead, stopping just above my eyebrows. ‘What do you think?’
‘It’s beautiful. Thanks.’
‘Promise you’ll toss that old one in the rubbish bin where it belongs. This one will go well with that navy coat of your mother’s – the one you never wear because you are saving it for special occasions. I don’t mean to be so blunt, Sarah, but I’m speaking the truth and you know it. You go out of your way to look dowdy. The time has come to smarten yourself up. Wear the coat, get rid of those unflattering rags. You have some beautiful clothes. Wear them.’
Under Cynthia’s watchful eye, I took the navy coat from the wardrobe and slipped it on.
She sighed as she fingered the fabric. ‘Cashmere. That tailored waist is so flattering. Good. Now, we are going to have a steak and then see The Lady Vanishes at the Golden Gate.’
‘A steak?’ I had got used to the idea that I may never eat another piece of meat again.
‘I did a favour for the chef at Joe’s. He is holding a steak for me. We can split it and have creamed spinach, mashed potatoes, and martinis – several martinis. Won’t it be divine? Let’s go, darling. Grisham is waiting for us.’
* * *
The afternoon fog had turned to rain by the time Grisham pulled up to the front of Original Joe’s. He double-parked in front of the restaurant, blocking an entire lane of traffic, which caused the cars travelling behind us to creep to a stop. Horns blared, but Grisham took his time getting out of the vehicle. He opened Cynthia’s door and helped her from the car, his hand lingering just a second too long on the small of her back. Then he offered his hand to me and helped me out into the rainy night. A line of people – mostly soldiers – queued up for a table.
‘They’ve got a lot of nerve backing up traffic like that,’ said a sailor who had his arm in a sling.
An older man stood next to him, his eyes riveted on Cynthia. ‘A dame with legs like that can do anything she wants.’
They broke out laughing.
Grisham drove away, leaving us standing on the sidewalk contemplating the queue for a table. At this rate, it would be hours before we could get in.
Cynthia grabbed my arm and ushered me around the crowd to the front of the line. The sailors joked and slapped each other on the back as they laughed at themselves.
But on closer look, I couldn’t miss the silent desperation in their eyes, the look of unadulterated fear that lay there. They were going to ship out soon, and every single one of them realized that they may not be lucky enough to come back to their loved ones.
The maître d’, a broad-shouldered Italian man dressed in an elegant black suit, took one look at Cynthia and swept us into the restaurant, much to the dismay of the people who waited for a table.
We followed the man through a warren of tables to a booth in the back.
Once we were seated, he leaned forward and explained, ‘I can’t let anyone else see the beautiful piece of steak I have for you. It would cause problems. You understand?’
‘Of course, Joey, thank you for seating us so quickly. I feel privileged, indeed.’ Cynthia flashed the smile that had garnered her numerous favours and had seen her out of many a difficult situation. Joey gave us a nod and left, as a busboy delivered a basket of fresh sourdough bread and what looked like real butter. Soon our waiter came with two martinis.
He set the drinks down with a flourish. ‘Compliments of the house.’
Joe’s had earned its notoriety with its signature dish, Joe’s Special, scrambled eggs, spinach, and ground beef, which the after-hours crowd ordered to soak up the alcohol they’d consumed while dancing to the big bands that played at the nearby clubs. The food here was expertly prepared, the portions generous.
‘So spill the beans, Sarah. You look like the cat that ate the canary. You’ve been grinning since we picked you up. I take it all things are well with Zeke?’
‘Things are well, no thanks to your newspaper.’
‘Nick Newland, the reporter who wrote that story, got himself in a lot of trouble with that article. The assistant editor approved it, and nearly lost his job over it. Zeke works for Wade Connor, and Wade Connor is off limits. I’ve tried to write about him more than once, but the big boss won’t let us near him. Wade Connor came to the paper after the story hit. He went right into the executive offices, and before you know it, the reporters who were staked out at the Geisler Institute to get pictures of you and Zeke were called in. Nick Newland got a talking-to.’ She lit a cigarette, took a deep puff, tipped her head back, and blew the smoke out. ‘Men like Wade Connor and Zeke are involved in things that we don’t need to know about. They are soldiers, really, fighting the war in their own way.’
The waiter served us salads of iceberg lettuce topped with Thousand Island dressing. I took a bite, savouring the sweet tomato taste.
Cynthia sipped her martini.
I almost choked when Nick Newland approached our table. ‘Miss Forrester?’
My delicious salad turned to chalk in my mouth. I swallowed and set my fork down.
‘I’m sorry about the headline, Miss Bennett, but’ – he cast a glance at Cynthia as he spoke – ‘I’ve got a job to do, and unlike some people, I remain objective.’
‘What’s that supposed to mean?’
‘Miss Forrester, you know that Sarah Bennett’s story isn’t over, but rather than follow up and continue to report professionally, you’re having dinner with the woman about whom you should be writing. That leads me to believe you have lost your objectivity.’
‘Listen here, Newland,’ Cynthia said. ‘You don’t know what you’re talking about.’
‘You got a lucky break because of your father’s connections. Why don’t you stick to the fashion shows and society events and leave the real reporting to the professionals?’
‘Mr Newland, you couldn’t write your way out of a wet paper bag. I’m the one with the byline. I’m the one with the office, an office I earned with hard work.’
‘Do you believe that?’
Cynthia’s face took on the most frightening look of calm I had ever seen. She leaned back and crossed her legs. She studied Nick Newland’s face, as if looking for some redemption there. Then with a lift of her finger and nod of her head, two men with arms the size of tree trunks appeared out of nowhere.
‘This man is harassing me,’ Cynthia said. ‘Kindly show him to the door, boys.’
They each took hold of one of Nick’s elbows, lifted him off the ground, and carried him towards the door. He didn’t even struggle, but the look he shot Cynthia before they hauled him away made my blood run cold.
I picked up my martini. Just as I finished it, a waiter swooped the empty glass away and set another one down in front of me.
‘I take it you and Mr Newland don’t see eye to eye?’
‘He’s a hack. Forget about him.’
Our waiter delivered our steak, a beautiful fillet, served over a bed of sautéed spinach. A fluffy mound of mashed potatoes completed the meal. My mouth watered as I picked up my fork, and for the next twenty minutes, neither Cynthia nor I spoke. We sat in our booth, content, savouring every bite as though we were eating our last supper.
As if choreographed, we both pushed our plates away at the same time.
‘Divine,’ Cynthia said to the waiter who hovered as the busboy cleared our plates.
‘Coffee?’ the waiter asked.
‘Yes, please. And two brandies.’
We saw The Lady Vanishes, a Hitchcock film based on the novel The Wheel Spins by Ethel Lina White, one of my favourite authors. I couldn’t focus on the movie. My mind wandered to Zeke, Minna, Dr Geisler, who lay in a hospital bed facing brain surgery, and Detective Morrisey.
Cynthia pinched my arm. ‘Sarah, are you even listening to me?’
‘Ouch.’ I cried out, surprised to discover that the credits were rolling, and people were filing out of the theatre.
Outside, night had fallen and the gentle rain had turned int
o a steady downpour. Grisham waited by the taxi. The minute he saw us, he opened the door, and helped us in.
‘Grisham, you’re a godsend,’ Cynthia said.
We were quiet during the ride to the Geisler Institute. When the taxi stopped in front, we sat in the car for a minute, listening to the rain as it pelted on the roof.
‘Thanks, Cynthia, for the hat, the steak, for everything.’
‘No need for thanks, Sarah. That’s what friends do.’
I girded up to face the downpour and had just started to scoot out of the car, when Cynthia said, ‘I know something’s going on, Sarah. I hope you know that if you’re in trouble, you can trust me. Wade Connor and Zeke are up to something and it has to do with Minna. I just want you to be careful. I’m a phone call away.’
‘Thanks,’ I said.
Cynthia had a job to do. She had been a great help to me during the trial. She had kept her promises and wrote an open-minded and honest story about Jack Bennett and me. But she was on the hunt for a story, and since Wade Connor and Zeke were safe from Cynthia’s inquisitive nature, it went without saying that she would turn her attention to Minna. I stood in the rain for a moment as Cynthia’s car drove away. She watched me through the rear window, a knowing look on her face.
* * *
The weeping started the minute I shut the front door. I took a moment and focused, using the technique Dr Geisler had taught me, until it diminished. Chloe’s banker’s light glowed, shining a circle of light on the wooden desktop. Shadows filled the corners of the foyer. The blackout curtains had been pulled, shrouding the house in silence. Rather than heading up the stairs that led to my room, I took the staircase to the hospital wing for some much-needed drops of morphine. Since my bottle was broken, thanks to Alysse, I would have to rely on the mercy of the nurses.
The desks in the hospital wing were empty, but a mug of steaming tea sat on top of one, alongside two stacks of files. The other desktop also held files in a pile so tall it threatened to topple. I recognized Eunice’s cardigan wadded up on the chair. I padded down the hall towards Zeke’s room, thinking about Alysse and her admonishment for me to find it!
The House of Secrets Page 15
