“Mais oui. Let me get you a copy, too. It won’t take a minute.”
After Fontaine withdrew, Brousseau rolled a pen that he’d been using for note taking between his palms. “I believe the transfer of funds shows that the attempted murder . . . pardon me, Caitlin, I meant to say the alleged attempted murder, was premeditated.”
“Don’t know about that,” Spense said. “But it definitely shows Rose has the means to flee the country.”
“If it was, in fact, Rose who transferred the money.” Caitlin twisted a piece of her hair and then tucked it behind her ear. “We’ve had one Rose sighting already that turned out to be Lilly. And doesn’t it seem odd that a father would leave the money to one of his daughters instead of dividing it between the two?”
“My guess,” Spense said, “is that the funds were supposed to be split up. Since the money went to ‘Anna Parker’ neither Rose or Lilly would have a tax liability.”
“Rose Parker is a cold one.” Brousseau shivered. “Tries to kill her husband on their wedding day and steals an inheritance from her sister as well.”
“There’s a mountain of assumptions in that statement, Jacques,” Spense said.
But if half of them were true, Caitlin had read Rose all wrong.
As promised, Fontaine returned quickly with a death certificate and a passport for Anna Parker. The passport photo was of Rose Parker, confirmed by the dimple in the right cheek.
They thanked him and took their leave.
Before heading back to town, Brousseau pulled Caitlin to the side. “Your theory that Rose may have acted in self-defense simply doesn’t hold up anymore. Why would she empty out a bank account and move it to the Caymans unless she was planning on a shoot and run? Unless new evidence comes to light, it’s time to call off the hunt.”
“If you’re so sure she’s guilty why would you stop searching for her?” Caitlin asked.
“Because I believe Rose Parker is sitting on a beach in the Cayman Islands even as we speak. If she’s no longer in Tahiti there’s nothing more for us to do. And though I admit I was curious about Tommy Preston’s veracity after I heard the Pamela Jean story, I have yet to hear proof this Pamela Jean person ever existed. All the evidence supports the straightforward hypothesis that Rose Parker Preston is a criminal deviant whose motives we will never fully understand. So now, if you’ll excuse me, I have to go break the news to Lilly that her sister not only made up the story about this Pamela Jean to steal her fiancé, but now she’s cheated her out of her inheritance and fled the country. Unless you two would like to do the honors?”
Spense flipped his cube in the air and stepped into the conversation. “I think you should hold off on that, Brousseau. We only found out about Pamela Jean on Thursday. Dutch and Gretchen have put out feelers in Riverbend regarding the woman, but it takes time for leads to come in. And if Rose Parker is indeed sunning herself in the Caymans right now, then who the hell set a horde of bees after Caity and me and sabotaged our climbing rope?”
“Spense makes good points.” Caity faced Brousseau. “But so do you. My suggestion is we keep our options and our minds open. You’ve already said you were going to send a team to look for evidence that someone tampered with the rope and its anchor. While they’re at it, your men could take another look around for Rose in the area around Mana Falls. On our end, we can continue working the Pamela Jean angle. Because if Tommy Preston really did beat a prostitute to death, I’d say that would shine a whole different light on this investigation.”
Chapter 23
Six Months and Three Days Ago
Riverbend Memorial Hospital
Riverbend, Texas
“I’m here to see Pamela Jean,” Rose said firmly, keeping her chin high and her gaze level with the woman in green scrubs. A practiced liar, Rose’s nerves didn’t usually get the better of her when presenting a fake identity in order to gain admittance somewhere she wasn’t invited, but today her mouth was dry and her stomach clenched. Today, she had to work to keep the flutter from her voice—not because she felt guilty about deceiving the woman who stood before her, hands on hips, at the nurses’ station on Pod 4B at Riverbend Memorial, Jessica Prosper RN—but because the identity Rose was currently stealing belonged to her own sister.
Which meant Rose had entered unchartered territory.
She was taking a sledgehammer to an unbreakable Parker rule.
Never lie to family.
She threw her shoulders back.
This was for Lilly’s own good. Even if Lilly didn’t want to know what this was about, Rose did. Lilly was love-struck blind when it came to her fiancé, but Rose had caught the distinct whiff of something rotten in Denmark the first time she’d met the man. The truth was, Tommy Preston reminded her of Papa: all charm and warm handshakes, white teeth and humble smiles. And like Papa, Tommy could carry on a conversation with your aunt Dee or the CEO of a Fortune 500 company and convince them both they were the most fascinating people in the room.
Rose had spent her entire life hanging with con artists, and she recognized a suit cut from the same cloth when she saw one. So when she had accidentally come across a cryptic message on Lilly’s cell from one Pamela Jean—no last name—you don’t know me but it’s urgent we speak about Tommy—Rose simply could not let it go.
Lilly had brushed off the text, claiming it was likely a jilted ex who wanted to poison her against her beloved Tommy. Lilly had deleted the message, blocked the sender, and sworn her undying loyalty to the man she was about to marry. Furthermore, in a tone with more authority than Rose had ever heard her muster, Lilly had instructed Rose to stay out of her business.
Stay out of her business?
Pamela Jean had asked Lilly to visit her in the hospital.
Lilly was the only family Rose had left, and she’d be damned if she’d ignore a message from a sick woman regarding Lilly’s too-good-to-be-true fiancé.
Tommy might look like the perfect man, but if Rose had learned one thing from Papa, it was to trust her gut over her eyes.
Things aren’t always what they seem.
“Where can I find Pamela Jean?” Rose repeated confidently, praying that Jessica Prosper would not ask her for the patient’s last name.
The nurse’s eyebrows, which were two shades darker than her unkempt sandy hair and suffered noticeably from too many years of amateur waxing, raised suspiciously. “Name please.”
She was about to answer I don’t know when she realized the nurse was asking for her name, not Pamela Jean’s surname. She met Jessica’s eyes. “Lilly Parker. I got a message that my friend was ill.”
The woman swept her with an assessing gaze.
Rose hadn’t been in too many hospitals, but when Papa was ill, she didn’t remember the staff being this picky about visitors. Maybe Jessica was one of those people who had a thing for HIPAA regulations. “Would you like to see some ID?” She had one of Lilly’s many driver’s licenses in her purse, and she could easily pass for her sister to a stranger.
Jessica’s posture shifted out of soldier mode. “That’s okay. You’re just as PJ described you. And I suppose if you’re not you who you say you are, she’ll clear it up quick.”
Rose didn’t see how PJ could clear anything up, if, as she’d claimed in her text, she and Lilly had never met. If all Pamela Jean had to go by were photos of Lilly with Tommy in the society pages, Rose had nothing to worry about. Unless PJ was discerning enough to notice which cheek was dimpled or which twin had an upturned nose, this was going to be a slam dunk.
Jessica swiped her badge on an entry pad and a set of double doors opened. She motioned for Rose to follow her through them. “I should warn you, PJ’s appearance may shock you, but we’re doing all we can to keep her comfortable. She might be loopy from all the pain meds. Normally, I’d say come back later, but she’s been asking for you since she was brought in yesterday. She’s very anxious to see you, and I’m hoping your visit will lift her spirits.”
Rose made no
reply.
The less conversation she had with Nurse Jessica, the less chance there’d be of the nurse realizing that Rose had no idea who Pamela Jean was, or that Rose wasn’t the sister PJ wanted to see.
Jessica stopped in front of room four fourteen. Rose, taking a quick moment to evaluate her surroundings and note the location of the stairwell in the event she needed to make a speedy exit, tilted her head in puzzlement. She supposed it wasn’t unusual for the desk clerk to be absent from her post, but it was eerily quiet on the pod.
“Low census. We’re closing this unit and moving everyone to the east side.” Jessica smiled. “We’re still waiting on a room to open up on Four East for Pamela, but you’ll have at least a few minutes before we have to move her. As soon as a room becomes available, though, I’m afraid you’ll have to leave.”
Rose wasn’t sure if this was a stroke of good luck or bad. On the one hand, no one was likely to be eavesdropping on what she suspected might be a delicate conversation. On the other, they might have to cut the conversation short. “How long do you think I have before they come for her?”
“Absolutely no idea. We have to wait for a discharge on the other side. If I could predict when the doctors will show up for rounds, I’d be the most popular kid on the block.” Jessica adjusted the stethoscope around her neck. “If you’re worried about being alone with her, don’t be. I’m right here if you need anything.”
Jessica headed to a mobile desk and powered on a computer. “Don’t tire her out.”
“I promise I won’t.” On a deep breath, Rose knocked on the door of room four fourteen.
No answer.
She looked to Jessica, but the nurse’s attention was lasered onto the computer screen in front of her.
Rose peeked her head in the room and saw a woman lying in bed, covers tucked beneath her chin. One eye was swollen to the size of a lemon, and bruises covered her cheek on the same side.
Rose’s chest tightened.
More than a twinge of guilt assailed her.
This wasn’t like lying to a greedy mark.
This woman was gravely injured.
Do it for Lilly.
Rose slipped into the room and quietly closed the door behind her. As she approached the bed, the woman opened her good eye and groaned.
Rose stepped closer. “Pamela Jean, it’s me, Lilly Parker. I came as soon as I got your message. Is it all right if I’m here? Do you feel up to a visitor?”
Another groan.
Rose had no idea if the woman even realized she was in the room or not. But whatever PJ had to tell Lilly, for her to have found a way to get a message to her under these circumstances, it must be important. Rose picked up a chair that had been propped against the wall and relocated it to Pamela Jean’s bedside.
Then she sat, waiting, while Pamela Jean’s chest rose and fell and rose and fell.
A half hour passed, and then finally the woman opened her eyes again, though one was barely a slit. “Thirsty.” Her voice was cracked and dry, as were her lips.
From a tray table, Rose poured water into a paper cup and stuck a straw in it.
Pamela lifted a black-and-blue hand with an IV attached, motioning for the cup.
“I’m going to raise the head of your bed, first, if that’s okay.” The last thing she wanted was for PJ to choke on a cup of water.
“P-please,” Pamela Jean said.
With a light touch, Rose pressed the button to incline the bed into a sitting position. A mechanical whirring accompanied the little upward jerks of the bed.
Pamela Jean gasped.
“Oh my God. I’m so sorry. I’ll get your nurse.”
Pamela Jean reached out and gripped Rose by the wrist. “Is it you, Lilly? Don’t go.”
“Yes, it’s me. I have to find your nurse right away. Just hang on. I think you need more pain medicine.”
“No. Just water. The pills make me too sleepy to talk.” She struggled to sit higher in the bed. “Please don’t leave me.”
Whatever doubts Rose had about coming here suddenly vanished, as did the sound of beeps that had only a moment before seemed like they were coming out of a loudspeaker, and the smell of antiseptic that had been so pungent it had made her nose burn. Suddenly, she could see and hear only Pamela Jean. “I won’t leave you. Not until you say it’s okay.”
Pamela Jean nodded and touched her throat. “Hurts to talk.”
Rose placed a pillow behind her back, and held the paper cup steady while she sipped from a straw. “Better?”
“Much.”
Her eyes rolled up, and for a moment, Rose’s heart stopped beating. But then Pamela Jean took another sip of water and continued in a scratchy voice, “I have something important to tell you.”
“What happened to you?” Rose had to ask.
Pamela Jean looked away, and then back. Her swollen eye oozed some kind of ointment. A tear from the other eye dribbled down her cheek.
“Was it an accident? Were you in a car wreck?”
Pamela Jean shook her head, grimacing from the obvious discomfort. “No.”
Rose cringed from a sympathy pain of her own. “I know I promised not to leave the room, but I really do think I should get Jessica—your nurse.” She leaned over, looking for a call button.
“No this is only for you. You have to promise not to tell.”
Rose nodded.
“Say you promise.” Pamela strained forward. “If he finds out I told you, he’ll kill me.”
Rose sat down hard in the bedside chair.
“I—I promise.” She wasn’t sure if she could keep Pamela Jean’s secret or not, but she needed to hear whatever the woman was so desperate to tell her—to tell Lilly rather. Afterward she could evaluate what to disclose and whether or not to drag her sister down to the hospital to meet PJ.
“Don’t. Marry. Him,” PJ said, emphasizing each word with surprising determination.
This was one strong-willed woman. And she’d been through a terrible ordeal, clearly. But she was heavily medicated, probably confused, and like Lilly had suggested, Pamela Jean might very well be a jilted lover with ulterior motives.
“Look.” Rose lowered her voice, just in case Jessica was outside the door. “I don’t know you, and you don’t know me. I’m so sorry for whatever you’ve been through. If you need anything at all from me, all you have to do is ask. But you can’t say something like don’t marry him and leave it at that.”
PJ’s head dropped back onto her pillow. She looked fragile—like a deep breath could crack her ribs. Lilly kept hearing Nurse Jessica’s admonishment in her head. Don’t tire her out. “You need to rest, and I can’t stay much longer. So if you can give me a good reason not to marry Tommy, you’d better do it now.”
“He did this to me. And he said he’d kill me if I told anyone.”
“Tommy Preston?”
She nodded.
Rose’s knees turned to water. “He beat you up and said he’d kill you if you told anyone what he did?”
PJ tore at her gown. “Yes, or what I know about him. But I had to warn you. I can’t live with myself if I don’t.”
Rose’s head felt like a balloon on a string. She didn’t have a good opinion of Tommy Preston, but this wasn’t the revelation she’d expected. She’d been prepared to hear about scandals, infidelities, dirty business dealings, and such, but not this.
And Lilly had been dating him for months. Her sister might be naïve, but she was neither stupid nor reckless. If Tommy had ever hit her, Rose was certain Lilly would have shared that with her. She looked at the floor, and then back up at Pamela Jean’s split lip and her swollen eye. Her arms tattooed with bruises. She took a deep breath. No matter how badly she felt for this woman, she wasn’t going to lie. There was too much at stake. “I’m not sure I believe you.”
“I wish I’d never seen anything. I wish I didn’t know anything.” More tears leaked out. “But maybe he won’t hurt you. You’re not a hooker so . . .”
/> Pamela Jean was a prostitute, not a jilted ex. Could she be telling the truth?
“I’m sorry I bothered you. But now you know.” The woman shrank back against the bed, small, and defeated. “Lilly . . . .” Her voice didn’t trail off so much as disappear. Her eyes rolled back and closed.
A monitor sounded a loud alarm.
The hairs on the back of Rose’s neck lifted and her stomach knotted.
Jessica rushed into the room. She listened to Pamela Jean’s chest with a stethoscope, then silenced the monitor by hitting a button.
“I didn’t mean to . . . Is she going to be okay?” Rose asked.
Jessica looked at her sternly, but not unkindly. She lowered the head of the bed, and tucked a semiconscious Pamela Jean under the covers. “You’d better go.”
Clearly. But Rose now regretted telling PJ she didn’t believe her. She should have given her a chance to tell her story. A hooker wouldn’t care if Tommy married another woman, and an ex-girlfriend wouldn’t pretend to be a hooker. “When can I come back?”
“Tomorrow if you like. Just check in with me first. She put you on her list.”
“List?” This just kept getting weirder. “You have to be on a list to see her?” Like she was the president or something.
“PJ is on do not name, do not publish status.”
“I don’t understand.”
“She requested that her name not be made public—or her room number.”
“You mean because she’s afraid of someone.”
“I mean she’s do not name, do not publish. But you’re on her approved list. I can update you on her condition if you call. Or leave me your number, and I’ll have her doctor contact you if you’d prefer.” She checked the monitors and then her watch. “I’ll give you two minutes.”
Nurse Jessica adjusted the blankets and left the room, closing the door behind her.
Pamela Jean muttered something unintelligible.
Rose clutched the side of the bed, leaning over Pamela Jean, her body shivering with a sick feeling of dread. “I’m sorry I didn’t believe you.”
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