by Judy Alter
“You okay?” the nurse asked.
“Yeah, just upset. I mean that anyone could do this to her…”
“Why didn’t you tell her your name?” the nurse asked.
“She thinks I’m responsible for part of her trouble… or all of it,” Susan said humbly. “I don’t guess mine is the face she’d want to wake up and see. We’ve got to call her family.”
“Already done,” Jake said. “I called the office when I learned about her. Didn’t want to get their hopes up, but they’ll have to back up your ID.”
Susan and Jake stayed in Decatur most of the day. Brandy’s parents proved to be a college psych professor and his psychologist wife. They arrived mid-afternoon, having driven straight and hard from Oklahoma City, and Susan both liked and pitied them immediately.
Linda Perkins took one deep breath when she saw the battered condition of her daughter and then went immediately to the girl’s bedside. Holding Brandy’s uninjured hand tightly in one of her own, she used her other hand to lightly stroke the swollen, bruised face, barely touching its surface and yet transmitting through her fingers a great love for this girl. “Brandy,” she crooned softly, “it’s me. You’re okay, sweetheart, you’re okay. I’m here… and I won’t leave.”
Ned Perkins spoke to his daughter too, his tone soft and encouraging, but he hadn’t the endurance of his wife, and after a few minutes of reassuring the comatose girl of his love, he had to step into the hall.
“Hard, hard,” Susan said. “I’m so sorry.”
Ned Perkins shook his head. “You don’t know the half of it. She’s the baby of the family—three older brothers and two sisters, and she’s the only one who was always… I mean always in trouble. Linda and I have asked ourselves if psychologists’ children are like the cobbler’s child, but that’s not it. The others are fine. And Brandy was the most loved of children… I don’t know what unhappiness drives her.”
Susan realized he didn’t know the full story of what had happened, what Brandy had been involved in, and she wasn’t about to tell him. It wasn’t her place. That duty, she thought wryly, belongs to Dirk Jordan, in spite of his clear lack of compassion.
Linda Perkins had brought a bag of things—an apparently beloved stuffed bear, a tape deck and some tapes that she played softly for her daughter, slippers and a robe so that she herself could comfortably spend the night at her child’s bedside.
“We’ll move her to Fort Worth to the medical center tomorrow,” Ned Perkins said. “They tell us she’ll get more sophisticated care there.”
Susan and Jake left for Oak Grove about five, begging the Perkins to tell them if and when Brandy recognized them.
“We will,” Linda said simply, “and thank you for all you’ve done for our daughter.”
Susan was struck as though by a knife. All she had done for Brandy was stir up trouble. But then she thought of the Jacksons, Missy’s parents, and their very different reaction to tragedy, their instant accusation rather than appreciation.
Not knowing Susan’s insecurities, Linda went on, “Brandy’s favorite older brother will meet us in Fort Worth tomorrow, and the sister she’s closest to. I think between us, we can bring her around.”
Neither Susan nor Jake spoke on the long drive back, both lost in the enormity of what had happened to Brandy. At Susan’s house, Jake came in to see what Aunt Jenny had for supper. “Nothing,” the older woman said. “I had no idea when you’d be back. But I can scramble some eggs and fry some bacon.”
“Do it, woman,” Jake said, trying to lighten the moment.
Susan stared at him as if he’d lost his mind, but Aunt Jenny began to cook, and they were all three soon eating breakfast for supper, none of them speaking, except Aunt Jenny, who from time to time muttered, “That poor girl. Who could have done that?”
“Kenny Thomas,” Susan said with conviction.
About nine, Jake yawned ostentatiously and said he guessed he’d better go home. Aunt Jenny excused herself to go to her room, and Susan knew she was giving them some privacy. She also knew Jake wasn’t interested.
“I’ll call first thing in the morning,” he said, brushing her hair lightly with his hand in a gesture of affection.
Several awful possibilities of what could happen between now and morning flitted through Susan’s head, but she pushed the thoughts aside.
Once he was gone, Susan again had that spooky feeling of being watched. She called Ellen, both to report on Brandy and to check on Vicky.
“She slept all day,” Ellen said. “I called the hospital, and they sent an intern over with a shot of something that put her out like Lottie’s eye. She’ll be better when she wakes, and I can give her sort of good news. Susan?”
“Yeah?”
“Get some rest. Is Jake there?”
“No, he went home. I told him we’d be all right.”
Chapter Fifteen
Jake called so early the next morning even Aunt Jenny wasn’t up, and Susan was grumpy as she answered the phone, fearing that high-pitched voice again. Instead, Jake began talking a mile a minute. Kenny Thomas had tried to kill Brandy in the hospital and had been arrested.
“Whoa, slow down. What happened?”
“Jordan put out word that Brandy was conscious and talking…”
Before Susan could rush in with “Wonderful” or any such, he went on. “It wasn’t true. It was a trap, and Thomas fell for it. Snuck into the hospital, stole some scrubs, and went in pretending to be, oh, I don’t know… intern, resident, orderly. Anyway, he dismissed the mother and the nurse and thought they’d left, so he talked to Brandy for a minute. Can you imagine? He’s about to kill an unconscious girl, and he talks to her? Then he tried to smother her with a pillow. The nurse, who was really a lady cop, cuffed him and read him his rights on the spot. He’s charged with the murder of Missy Jackson and the beating and attempted murder of Brandy Perkins.”
When she should have been grateful and relieved, Susan was angry. “I wish you’d told me last night. I might have slept.”
“You can sleep now, Susan, safely,” Jake said patiently, pushing aside his own anger.
“Is she awake?” Susan asked.
“No, but they think that will come soon. I… I gotta get to work. I’ll talk to you later.”
Susan hung up the phone slowly. It was over. Jake thought it was over. But she knew it wasn’t.
* * *
Brandy Perkins’s parents were at her bedside when she first began to show signs of regaining consciousness. Linda Perkins stroked her daughter’s forehead and murmured gently to her.
“Mom?” the voice was weak and faint.
“I’m right here, sweetie. So’s your father. Everything’s going to be all right.”
Brandy drifted back into unconsciousness, and her parents kept their vigil.
Dirk Jordan, notified that the patient had spoken even if ever so briefly and softly, came directly to the hospital. Ned Perkins met him in the hall.
“Didn’t you ask her who beat her?” Jordan demanded, the expression on his face showing clearly that he couldn’t imagine that wasn’t the first thing Ned Perkins said to his daughter.
“No,” the father said calmly, “we told her we love her.”
“I’ve got to see her,” Jordan said, turning toward the door to Brandy’s cubicle.
Ned Perkins put out a restraining arm. “She’s asleep again. When she wakes and the nurses feel she’s capable, we’ll ask her.”
Jordan clamped his teeth together, his mouth forming a straight line. “I’ll wait.”
It was late afternoon before Brandy was awake long enough to answer any questions. Even then, the doctors insisted that her parents might ask about the attack, but Jordan could not be in the room. “You’re a stranger to her, man,” the doctor said. “We can’t have her frightened at this point.”
But when asked who beat her, Brandy whispered, “Kenny.” Then with a wail, she added, “Why did he hurt me so much?”
&
nbsp; “He won’t ever hurt you again, Brandy. He’s in jail. Forget about him for now.” Linda Perkins was alarmed by the sudden strength of her daughter’s reaction. Ned Perkins reported the answer to Jordan, who seemed satisfied for the moment.
“I’ll need to talk with her at length as soon as that’s possible,” he said.
“Days,” the doctor told him, “days from now. Not soon.”
* * *
Susan was home alone that afternoon, sitting in her usual place on the couch in the family room, staring at the five o’clock news. The room was almost dark, Susan apparently having refused to turn on the lights. A knock on the door and then Jake slid open the door to the deck. Since she was supposedly no longer in danger, she hadn’t locked it.
“Susan? May I come in?”
“Of course,” she said.
“It’s over, Susan. Brandy’s conscious, and she named Kenny Thomas as the one who beat her. Jordan’s dismissed all charges against you.”
“Doesn’t a judge have to do that?”
“That’s a formality. You’re cleared, Susan. It’s over.”
“Did that Kenny confess to killing Missy?”
“No, but Jordan says he’s the right man, just like you always said.” Jake shifted from one foot to the other, as though uncomfortable that he had not believed her all along.
“I guess,” she said but her tone lacked conviction. It seemed too sudden, too hard to believe. The turmoil that had disrupted her life couldn’t end so suddenly and much more quietly than it had begun. Something in the back of Susan’s mind was sending out warning signals—she just couldn’t make sense of it all.
“Where’s Aunt Jenny?” Jake seated himself in the overstuffed chair but sat on the edge.
“Judge Jackson took her to that new B&B in Mineral Wells for dinner. She left something in the oven for me.” Susan paused a moment, then “They’ll be late getting back.”
“I got to go back to the office,” he said lamely. “You be all right?”
“Sure,” she said dryly.
He stood up and took two steps to her side, leaning down to kiss her on the forehead. “Tomorrow, we’ll talk. We’ll go someplace… maybe for dinner, and we’ll talk.”
“I’m never going to The City Restaurant again,” she said emphatically.
He almost grinned. “Me neither. Just remember,” he said as he left, “it’s over.” On his way out the door, he flipped the switch to turn on the outdoor floodlight. “At least you’ll have a little light from outside,” he told her.
After a while, Susan hobbled to the kitchen and poured herself a glass of wine. Then she turned off the television and sat back down on the couch, still not turning on any lights. It grew dark, and she sat there, puzzling. If it was over, why didn’t she feel relieved? Well, there was still Jake to worry about—what would happen when they talked? And tenure—she hadn’t thought about Zane Grey or even about teaching for a week or more. Could she just call up Dr. Scott in the morning and announce she was coming back on campus? Not likely. Probably the suspension would have to be formally lifted.
When the phone rang, she lifted it hesitantly. If Kenny Thomas was safely in jail, this shouldn’t be another threatening phone call. But if this was that same voice telling her she had to die, then it meant Kenny Thomas wasn’t the one. Her hand on the phone, Susan knew why she felt uneasy: she didn’t believe it was over, no matter what Jake and Dirk Jordan thought.
“Susan Hogan,” she said, putting as much force into her voice as she could muster.
“Ernie Westin here, Susan. Just wanted to see how you are.”
Caution crept into Susan’s voice. “Fine, thanks, Ernie. And you?” Surely Ernie isn’t part of a plot against me. No one would take academic rivalry that far. Not even toad Ernie.
The real reason for his call came out. “I hear they arrested someone for the murder of Missy Jackson. Just wanted you to know how relieved I am. ’Course I always knew you didn’t do it.”
Then why, she wanted to ask, did you work so hard to make Scott think I was guilty? She thought a long minute and then gave up on tolerance, forgiveness, patience, and good manners. She knew this call was prompted by Ernie’s need to get himself on the right side of any problem… and he’d been on the wrong side all along. “Ernie, you know you wished all along that I did do it, that I’d be gone from Oak Grove. And you did everything you could to make me look bad with Dr. Scott.”
There was silence at the other end of the phone, so she went on. “You probably put yourself on the wrong side, Ernie, because Dr. Atwater believed me all along. I suspect he’ll have something to say to Dr. Scott… and perhaps Scott will pass it along to you.”
After a long pause, Westin replied in a voice that clearly reflected anxiety. “Susan, you… you misunderstand. I have always supported you…”
She hung up the phone, tired of listening to him. Remember, she told herself, about forgiveness and letting go. Carrying a grudge against Ernie Westin isn’t going to do you any good. You’ve got more to worry about—like who really killed Missy and what you can do about Jake.
It was now full dark, but still she resisted lights and wasn’t interested in Aunt Jenny’s dinner. She sat on the couch, every once in a while hearing a car go by outside on the distant street. Once she thought she heard that same noise that had frightened Aunt Jenny but she told herself it was her imagination.
When the sliding glass door was eased open, she knew it wasn’t her imagination.
“Dr. Hogan?” Eric Lindler asked.
Susan knew immediately why it wasn’t over. Aunt Jenny had been right.
“Eric? What are you doing here? There’s no crisis, nobody missing—in fact, they’ve found Missy’s murderer. And Aunt Jenny’s not cooking tonight. And me? Frankly, I’m not in the mood for company.” She was babbling.
“It’s not over, is it, Dr. Hogan? Mr. Phillips was wrong.” His voice was cold and distant, lacking that boyish enthusiasm with which he had always filled Susan’s house.
She decided it would be better to stand up. She wasn’t going to be a willing victim to a baseball bat while cowering on a couch. She turned toward him, reaching for a crutch at the same time. It would be her only weapon of defense.
Eric was faster than she was. He crossed the room in a flash and with one well-aimed, deliberate kick at her good leg, knocked her to the floor. Then, with a cruelty that she couldn’t believe, he stepped—hard!—on her broken leg at the ankle.
Susan heard the bone crack, felt an incredible wave of pain accompanied by nausea so strong that she was sure she going to throw up right there on the floor. In spite of her effort to be quiet, she whimpered—she knew she did.
“Sorry, Dr. Hogan,” he said, but there was no apology in his voice. “I had to be sure you wouldn’t be trouble.”
After a few minutes, the pain had not subsided but she had become more steeled to it—or maybe greater fear had lessened her concentration on the pain. She couldn’t move much without jarring the ankle and reawakening the pain that was not to be stood, but she could turn just enough to see Eric.
He had seated himself at the table, as though he were waiting for dinner. In one hand he held a butcher knife, but she saw no baseball bat.
She wondered vaguely which was worse—bat or knife—and decided, almost with a hysterical giggle, that it didn’t matter. “What are you going to do, Eric?” she asked, knowing the answer to the question full well.
“I’ll have to kill you,” he said simply. “You and your aunt. Where is she?”
“Gone,” Susan lied. “She’s gone home, back to Wichita Falls.”
“That’s not true,” he said calmly. “She’s gone to Mineral Wells with the judge for dinner. Don’t lie to me, Dr. Hogan, or I’ll kick your ankle again.”
“How do you know where she’s gone?” Susan asked, curiosity for a moment overriding fear.
He grinned, looking proud of himself. “I have a spot in the crawl space under your house.
I spend lots of time there, listening to what’s going on.”
“That’s how you always knew to appear when something had happened?” And that’s why I always felt we’re being watched!
“Right.” He nodded in satisfaction and began tossing the knife back and forth in his hands.
Susan watched in horrified fascination as the beam from the outdoor floodlight occasionally glinted off the knife. The blade was long, tapered, and looked very sharp.
“Eric, if you kill me and Aunt Jenny, then what? You can’t stay here and go to school and pretend to know nothing about it. Everyone will suspect you.”
“No, they’ll think that man that Missy worked for did it. I know about him.”
“He’s in jail right this minute, Eric.”
He advanced toward her. “I told you not to lie to me again, Dr. Hogan.”
She almost winced, feeling another blow to her ankle coming, but she kept her voice calm. “No, Eric, call the Fort Worth jail. He’s there. He was arrested yesterday, and Brandy identified him as the man who beat her.”
“Brandy identified him?” His voice raised in interest. “They’ll think he killed Missy, too.”
“You killed Missy,” Susan said flatly.
He got up, agitated for the first time, and began to pace the floor. “Yes, I had to. She was dishonoring herself, going against the strictest of the commandments. ‘Thou shalt not commit adultery.’ And she was selling herself—selling herself”—his voice rose in hysteria—“I had to do it. I followed her to Fort Worth one afternoon, watched while she went into a hotel with a man. I hot-wired your car—I know how to do lots of things like that—and I took my baseball bat with me because I knew what I was going to find. When she came out of that hotel, I convinced her to get in your car. Then I pulled her behind the hotel, hit her in the head with the bat and just kept hitting and hitting. I remember feeling I had to beat the evil out of her. I had to do the Lord’s work.”
