A maroon-jacketed porter came up to him.
“Can I help you, sir?”
“Thanks, no, I’m fine. I’ve found what I’m looking for.”
The porter followed his line of sight and grinned.
Zellie hadn’t noticed him yet, so he indulged the impulse to stare at her, surprised by how strongly the sight of her affected him.
She saw him, smiled, rose and approached. There was no doubt about it, she took his breath away. It was everything—the shape of her face and her smile, her curves, the way she moved. There was a perfection he would have found it hard to describe simply in words.
“Hello, there,” she said. “Is everything all right?”
“Yes. Yes. Fine. Good to see you.”
She tilted her head.
“You have a strange look on your face.”
“Do I?” I’m in love with you. “I didn’t realize it.”
“Well, it’s good to see you, too,” she said. “How did things go today?”
“I had a very interesting meeting with the coroner, and I burgled a house for the first time.”
“Did you now?”
“Yep. I had a look around Dr. Gavin’s place.”
“The letter?”
“No, unfortunately, no letter from Dr. Zyman, but I did come across an extremely interesting letter pertaining to the interim dean.”
“Really? I want to hear all about it, but first you need to meet someone. Actually, you already know her.”
She took his hand and led him toward the alcove. Able to see the woman now, Jack recognized her, and his heart sank a little. It was Daphne Gavin.
“Hello, Daphne,” he said, extending his hand.
She beamed him a smile.
“And hello to you, too, Jack Forester. How nice to see you again.”
“You the same.”
In truth, Jack had never expected to see her again. Back when Colin was dying and the scandal erupted, he’d kept an open mind and avoided the gossip. True or not, the whole thing was tragic. Despite Jack’s loyalty to Dr. Gavin, he’d always suspected that at least part of Jim’s antipathy toward Daphne was related to the extreme grief he felt over his son’s illness, as if Daphne were somehow to blame. The times Jack had met her at the Gavins’, she’d been pleasant enough, but there was something world-weary and calculating about her that prevented a sincere connection.
Distracted by his thoughts, he missed what she had just said.
“Beg your pardon?”
“I said, the last time I saw you, Jack, was at Colin’s funeral.”
“I’m sure you’re right.”
“Aren’t you looking well.”
With a nod, Jack returned the compliment. Daphne had always been a stunning woman—it wasn’t hard to understand why Colin had fallen for her. She had to be in her mid-forties now, but was more attractive than ever, dressed tonight in black stiletto heels and an off-white pantsuit that did justice to her athletic figure and tan. He glanced quickly from her to Zellie, and noted the differences. What Zellie may have lacked in the glitz department, she more than made up for in something he found more interesting and yet hard to describe, something genuine and serene.
Daphne was very talkative, and it was obvious by the way Zellie looked at the older woman that she liked her. As they took seats back in the alcove, Daphne went on to describe how she’d gotten into town the day before, and that she’d heard from the porter there was a writer staying at the hotel doing an article on Jim, and so she’d taken the liberty of introducing herself.
“I assumed Zellie would want to talk to his next-of-kin.”
“It was kind of you to go out of your way,” Zellie added.
“My pleasure, sweetheart. It’s strange, but I feel like we’re old friends.”
“It’s true,” Zellie said, smiling at Jack.
“And then, I was delighted when Zellie mentioned she knew you, Jack. I’m just amazed nobody’s snatched you up yet. But what’s your medical opinion about Jim? I saw him a little while ago, and he looked terrible. Is the old man going to pull through?”
“All we can do is hope,” he said, then added in a darker tone, “I’m having trouble getting in to see him.”
“Zellie mentioned that. Why is Dr. Witner being so harsh about visitation? I don’t understand.”
“That’s a good question. Witner did say he’d meet me at five this evening and escort me into the room, but I was tied up with something.”
Daphne’s expression turned worried.
“Can I tell you two something about Dr. Witner?” she said, lowering her voice.
Jack and Zellie exchanged glances.
“Please do,” said Zellie.
“I have deep concerns about him caring for my father-in-law.”
“You’re not the only one,” Zellie said.
“Oh, really?”
“Yes.”
“Interesting. But for me, it’s more than just his medical skills,” Daphne insisted, leaning forward. “He is so incredibly ambitious, and I think he may be unscrupulous. I’d lost touch with things around here for the past couple of years, but when they called me about Jim’s accident and I learned that Bryson Witner was the acting dean, I was shocked.”
“You say accident, Daphne,” said Zellie. “You don’t think he tried to commit suicide?”
“I have serious doubts about that,” she said, her voice dropping even lower. “You, too?”
“Very definitely,” Zellie agreed.
“Thank God, I’m not alone, then.”
Zellie looked at Jack and held his eyes for a moment, as if asking him something. Then she turned back to the other woman.
“Daphne, I think we should share some things with you.”
“Zellie,” Jack said, “now might not be the best time.”
“Oh, please,” Daphne cried. “If you’ve got some information about what’s going on, please give it to me. I am seriously worried.”
“I think it would be okay,” Zellie said, glancing again at Jack. “I really do. We could use some help.”
Jack thought for a moment, then decided to set his misgivings aside. He smiled at her and nodded.
For the next several minutes, Zellie outlined what they knew and what they suspected. Daphne’s expression grew increasingly solemn, her face draining of color.
“Good Lord,” she finally whispered. “Are you thinking of going to the police?”
“Not quite yet,” Jack said. “It would be easy if we could find the letter from Dr. Zyman.”
Daphne eyed both of them in turn, her gaze fierce.
“I want to help. And I think I definitely can help. Believe me, I am so glad you told me. But I’m afraid we’ll have to save anything more for later. That young fellow coming our way is my attorney.”
Jack saw a dark-haired man wearing a light-gray suit striding toward them.
“Your attorney?” said Zellie.
Daphne flushed slightly.
“It’s a long story, hon, but don’t worry—I’ll tell him nothing of this. I promise you, I’m going to try and have another physician be assigned to care for Jim. I’ll do all in my power.”
“There you are,” said the man, coming up next to them.
He was young—Jack guessed him to be about twenty-nine or thirty. He couldn’t have been a lawyer for long. Daphne introduced him only as Mr. Mitchell, and Mitchell energetically shook their hands.
“Nice to meet you, very nice to meet you. Dr. Forester, what kind of a doctor are you?”
“Emergency medicine.”
“Awesome. You even look like George Clooney. So, do you work at New Canterbury Hospital?”
Jack nodded. There was something about the man that made him want to step back for breathing space.
“By any chance were you working in the ER when Dr. Gavin was brought in?”
“Mr. Mitchell,” said Daphne sternly, “not now.”
Mitchell looked at her quizzically. Daphne picked up
her purse.
“Zellie and Jack, I have to go now. I’ll be in touch with you tomorrow morning. Mr. Mitchell, let’s leave these nice people in peace.”
* * *
As he drove through snow flurries to the Bonadonnas’, Jack described his meeting with Annabel Singh, and the unexplained bruises on McCarthy’s shoulders. Then he told Zellie about his visit to Gavin’s house, and Witner’s reference letter from Harvard.
She stared at him with an astonished smile.
“Watson, I’m impressed.”
“Why, thank you, Holmes, but I don’t think I’ve got the stomach to be a professional cat burglar. I just about stroked out when the radiator came on. Bang.”
“I’m sure you underestimate yourself. I wish I’d been there. You had much more fun than I did.”
“No luck with that Society of Carnivals business?”
“Society Carnivalis,” she corrected. “Nada. No reference to anything remotely relevant came up in all the search engines. I even called my friend at the New York Public Library. Zilch.”
“Sorry you struck out.”
“So it goes. Now we know Bryson Witner has a history of mental illness. I’m not surprised. Excellent work.”
“What now?”
“I think we need some more details about this mental breakdown.”
“I agree, Zellie. Listen, I’ve stayed close with a classmate of mine from med school who works at Harvard now. I’m going to call him when I get home.”
The snow was coming down thicker now, the windshield wipers slapping furiously. He leaned forward and slowed.
“I’m curious about something,” he said.
“What’s that?”
Jack risked a glance over at her.
“What was your sense of Daphne?”
“Well, when she first knocked on my door, it was like—who is this woman? Then, when we sat down and really started talking, I liked her. I like her a lot.”
“Interesting.”
“She’s been through some very tough times. She’s a survivor.”
“She told you about Colin and all that?”
“The whole thing. She broke down. I can’t even imagine what it would be like—your husband dying, being accused of betraying him, being pushed away at the final hour.”
“I remember it as being very ugly. Do you think she was innocent?”
“Jack,” she said, reproachfully, “I’m not sure that’s even the point. Whether she did or didn’t, turning her away was not right.”
“I don’t disagree.”
“Did you know Colin well?”
“Not really. He moved in very high circles.”
“Daphne told me she’s forgiven her father-in-law. She understands he was acting protectively.”
“I give her high marks for that.”
“The only thing that surprised me was the lawyer. She hadn’t said anything about that earlier. I wonder if she’s planning to sue the hospital.”
“Wouldn’t be unlikely, I guess. An act of gross negligence occurred. Somebody’s going to get a settlement.”
“Does that mean you’d get sued, too?”
“Probably.’
“No wonder she didn’t want her attorney hanging around you.”
“If I do, believe me, I won’t take it personally.”
She reached over and squeezed his arm.
“In any case,” she said, “we’ve got another ally now, and that’s good.”
“What’s the old saying—the enemy of my enemy is my friend?”
They were getting close now, the road winding downhill. The Jaguar broke into a skid, and Jack steered out of it.
“Sorry ’bout that,” he said. “This baby is a little squirrely on ice. After Thanksgiving, she goes up on blocks till spring.”
“I love your little car,” she said. “My only complaint is the size. I’m a little claustrophobic. I wish we could put the top down.”
“Now?”
“It might be fun.”
“You’re right. We’re dressed warm enough for how fast we’re going, and the snow would go over us in the slipstream.”
“I’m game if you are,” she said.
Jack found a wide shoulder, pulled off, fastened down the top and handed her a blanket and a stocking cap from the boot. Then they continued the drive, both with large grins, ignoring the stares from the few cars coming up the hill, snowflakes swirling overhead.
Five minutes later, they coasted into the hamlet of Stanwick Grove. During the summer season, Stanwick Grove had a thriving cottage rental business and hosted several music festivals, but now most of the buildings were dark.
“Almost there,” he said, glancing at his watch. “We’re a little early. I wanted to show you something first. One of my favorite places. It’s on the way.”
He stopped in front of an old stone church, got out and raised the top. Then he led Zellie to the church door and retrieved a key hidden under a flat stone to the right of the threshold.
“The pastor’s an old friend of the family,” he explained.
The air inside was cool but comfortable. Jack flipped on a light switch.
“It’s beautiful,” she said. “How old?”
“A hundred and fifty years. It was the first stone structure in the region. German settlers build it.”
“I’ll bet the stained glass is lovely in the light,” she said. “Do you go here?”
“When I was a boy I did.”
“But not anymore?”
“Not often, no. Someday, if I’m around long enough, I’ll probably come back.”
“You sound like me,” she said.
He was standing barely a hand’s-breadth from her. Her eyes sparkled in the dim light.
“I like things like this,” she said.
“I thought you would. But there’s more, unless you’re getting cold.”
“No, I’m fine.”
He opened a door behind the altar and turned on another light. He let her go first, and they began climbing a stairway that ran along the inside walls of the steeple.
“Something you should know about me,” she said over her shoulder. “I don’t like bats.”
“That’s okay, I don’t think more than a few thousand live up here.”
“Thanks. I’ll pretend I didn’t hear that.”
The stairs ended on a wide circular platform where a ladder continued up to the bells.
“You don’t expect me to go up that, do you?” she said.
“No,” Jack assured her. “This is the destination.”
He went to a large rectangular window and slid open the wooden shutter. The lake was visible through the falling snow, a wide swath of darkness outlined by an irregular scattering of lights.
“If it were clear, we could see all the way up to the northern outlet,” he said.
Stepping close to her right side, he pointed out the lights of Deepwater Marina to the south and indicated the area of the far shore where Witner’s house lay.
“The cave where Bob McCarthy died is about three miles up in that direction, north of Witner’s place. The Bonadonnas live on this side, just around that point.”
“There aren’t many lights on the far side, are there?”
“No, the western shore is pretty remote.”
“So, Dr. Witner likes his privacy.”
“And he’s got plenty of it. The Bonadonnas’ is where I keep my own little sailboat,” he added, changing the subject.
“Do you sail a lot?”
“Never enough. I love it.”
“Jack, this really is neat.”
“Zellie,” he said after a moment, turning to her, “I need to tell you something.”
She wasn’t watching his face. He touched her shoulder and waited for her to swing toward him.
“I want to say something to you,” he repeated.
She studied him. “I heard you.”
“I need to tell you…I’m in love with you.”
He was not at all sure what response to expect. He hadn’t planned to say this when he’d stopped at the church. Or had he? His heart pulsed as her gaze broke away. Then he noticed tears forming in her eyes.
“Hey, listen,” he said, suddenly awkward. “I’m sorry.”
She sniffed and turned farther away.
“Don’t say you’re sorry,” she said.
He grabbed in his pocket for a handkerchief.
“It’s clean,” he said. “And okay, I’m not sorry.”
“Thanks,” she said, taking the handkerchief. “It’s not you. I have a trust problem.”
“I wouldn’t say it if I didn’t mean it. I can’t imagine hurting you.”
“You say that now,” she said.
“I swear on my life.”
“How many women have you made this confession to?” she demanded, looking back full into his eyes.
He opened his mouth to respond, but she put finger on his lips.
“No,” she whispered. “Don’t answer. That’s not a fair question, and I don’t care anyway.” She stepped close and raised her face. “Kiss me instead.”
XXIX
Awakenings
As she searched in a drawer for a misplaced stapler, the Surgical Intensive Care Unit ward clerk recognized something that didn’t belong.
“Oh, shoot,” she said. “So, that’s where it went.”
It was a much-folded envelope addressed to Dr. Gavin. Someone had handed it to her the night he was admitted, having found it in his overcoat pocket. She’d meant to give it to the security guard along with Gavin’s wallet and keys, but she’d set it aside for safekeeping and forgotten about it. It had been a crazy night.
Rather than risk misplacing it again, she popped up to the seventh floor on her next break and handed it to the nurse sitting at the desk in the hallway, explaining what had happened. The nurse told her not to worry, that she’d handle it.
* * *
During dinner, Daphne Gavin and Auren Mitchell talked about the next day’s meeting at the university, but Daphne’s mind was elsewhere, pondering the story Jack Forester and Zellie Andersen had shared with her. That letter from Zyman to her father-in-law had huge implications. If it still existed, it had to be found. She brushed off Mitchell’s offer to go out for drinks. He was getting way too friendly, anyway.
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