Jennie coughed and yelled for help again. This time Sarah joined her. “Here, put this over your head,” Jennie said, reaching for her beach towel. They spread it over their heads and shoulders. Minutes passed like hours as the girls continued screaming for help, their cries muffled by their makeshift mask.
An alarm sounded. Voices shouted orders. “Someone’s in there!” came a man’s voice from outside the cabin.
“Uncle Tim …!” Sarah yelled, then started coughing. Smoke filled the room. Jennie’s lungs ached from the heat.
“Stay back!” someone shouted. The door crashed open. Tim appeared with wet blankets. He threw one to Jennie and wrapped the other around Sarah. With one arm around each of them he half-dragged, half-carried them outside and away from the burning cabin.
After depositing them on a patch of grass, Tim lit into Jennie. “What were you thinking of, taking Sarah into a broken-down shack like that? Are you out of your mind?”
Jennie couldn’t have responded even if she’d wanted to. Her chest, throat, and lungs felt as if they were on fire. Every time she tried to breathe she’d go into a coughing fit.
“No!” Sarah cried, her voice raspy. “It wasn’t Jennie’s fault.” Sarah gasped for air between coughs. Jennie took her hand and squeezed it, well aware of what the admission had cost her.
The paramedics loaded the girls onto stretchers and stuffed them into a waiting ambulance. They checked pulses and blood pressures, slipped oxygen masks over their noses, and hooked them up to IV’s.
For the next hour the emergency room buzzed with excitement-not about the fire, but about the girls trapped in the cabin. About one girl in particular who, after two years of silence, had regained her voice. Jennie hadn’t been able to speak to Sarah since the fire. Aside from the doctors and nurses, Maggie, Tim, and Carl floated around her as if she were a rare and delicate porcelain doll. Not that getting close to Sarah would have done much good. Neither of them had been able to talk without breaking into bronchial spasms.
The girls were transferred out of emergency into separate rooms on the third floor. Jennie had hoped they’d put them in the same room, but Sarah’s family, the nurse told her, had insisted on a private one. Once they were separated, Jennie realized how much danger Sarah was in. And it wasn’t the smoke inhalation that worried her. If Sarah’s memory was right, one of the men with Sarah had murdered John Stanford and was now after them.
A deep breath triggered the bronchial spasms again. Got to quit thinking, McGrady. It’s distracting. Concentrate. Short even breaths. Even the pain medication she’d been given didn’t help when the spasms started. All it did was make her sleepy.
After the nurses had settled her into bed, then checked the IV and the oxygen tubing, they let Gram in. She pulled a chair up next to the bed and sank into it. Gram looked tired. Her beautiful salt-and-pepper hair had a limp, wash-me-now look. Jennie started to reassure her, then sank back into the pillow. If she tried to talk, the coughing would start again.
“Shhh,” Gram whispered. “You just rest. Whatever you have to say will keep until tomorrow.”
Would it? Jennie wasn’t so sure. She needed to tell Gram about the gray suit and something else … She closed her eyes for a moment and must have drifted off. “Helen?” Maggie’s soft voice floated on the air and into Jennie’s consciousness. “Would you like a ride back to the island? The doctor has assured us that the girls are going to be fine. Sarah’s sleeping, and we thought we’d go back, get a good night’s rest, then come back in the morning.”
“That sounds good, but …” Gram frowned and glanced at Jennie. “Will you be all right?”
Jennie nodded and squeezed Gram’s hand. It would be best. Gram needed rest much more than Jennie needed company.
Maggie and Carl approached her bed. “Sarah’s doing fine. She said to tell you thanks,” Maggie said.
Carl leaned against the side rail and took hold of Jennie’s hand. “Jennie,” he said, his light blue eyes gazing directly into hers, reminding her of pale aquamarine gemstones. “I want you to know that Maggie and I don’t blame you at all for what happened. In fact, we’re grateful to you. The doctor told us that your quick thinking may have saved both of you.”
Jennie frowned. What quick thinking?
She didn’t say it, but Carl must have understood. “Staying low and using that towel to cover your heads was a smart thing to do.” He smiled and straightened, then patted her hand. “Thanks to you, neither of you was seriously injured.”
“It was no big deal,” Jennie whispered. “I’m just glad she’s okay.”
Gram leaned over the railing and kissed Jennie’s cheek. She lifted her hand from the bed rail and stroked Jennie’s hair. For some reason, it reminded her of something Mom would do. The thought released a tear that escaped her eye and slid down the side of her face, onto the pillow. Get a life, McGrady. You’re too old to get all mushy.
“You’re sure?” Gram asked. Jennie gave her the best I’ll-be-fine smile she could manage and nodded again. Gram started to leave, then paused at the door. “I’ll be back in the morning. Call me if you need me sooner.”
Jennie took a sip of the water from the cup at her bedside and glanced at the clock over the door. Seventhirty. Strange. It felt like an eternity since she and Sarah had entered the cabin, since she’d smelled the kerosene.
Suddenly Jennie felt as though her veins had been infused with ice water. In all the excitement, she’d almost forgotten. The fire had been intentionally set. Who had meant to kill them?
At least she knew one thing for sure. Angel Delaney wouldn’t be able to blame Scott for this one. She was more convinced than ever that the person who killed Delilah, sent her and Gram over the bridge, and set the fire was the same person who had killed John Stanford. And if Sarah was right, the killer was either her stepfather or her uncle.
Jennie tried to reconstruct the scene in her mind. Carl had been the last person to see them. But they were out of his sight when they left the path. Tim had stopped beside the cabin. Had he seen them? Had he sneaked up on them and overheard Sarah? Had he been the man in the gray suit?
Jennie shivered. Maggie and Carl had gone home, but they hadn’t mentioned Tim. Had he gone too? Or was he still with Sarah? With no one around, he could put a pillow over Sarah’s head, suffocate her, and do the same to Jennie. Everyone would think they had died of smoke inhalation.
Stop it, McGrady. Tim pulled you out of the fire. He saved your life. Besides, you’re in a hospital. No one’s going to hurt either of you. Not with all the nurses running around.
As the door to her room opened, Jennie brushed the thought aside before it could expand into an unreasonable fear.
Fear? Had she said fear? The man who entered her room sent an explosion of terror ripping through her. The call button, McGrady. Hit the button! She reached over the edge of the bed until her hand connected with the cord. Slowly following it down, she felt for the small button at the end and pushed.
Tim shifted from one foot to the other and glanced from Jennie’s face to the floor. “Hi.” He looked more like a teenager getting ready to ask for a date than a murderer.
“Hi,” she croaked and leaned back in the bed. It could be a trick, McGrady.
“Look, I don’t blame you for being afraid of me. I … ah … haven’t been very nice to you.”
Not nice? That’s the understatement of the year.
“Anyway,” he said, stepping closer. “I just wanted to apologize. I know you were just trying to help Sarah. I overreacted and I’m sorry.”
“It’s okay. Ahh … it’s a good thing you came along. Thanks for pulling us out of the fire.”
“Don’t thank me. Your grandmother engineered the rescue. I just followed orders. If I’d done it my way, all three of us probably would have been killed. She made me take in the wet blankets and wait till the doorway was
cleared.”
Right. Or maybe, if Gram hadn’t come along you would have stood there and let us fry. Jennie remembered her first impression of Tim Hudson. He seemed sincere now, but Jennie still didn’t trust him. Ask him about the suit. The command echoed through her head. Are you crazy? she argued.
“It’s just that I’m nuts about that kid,” Tim was saying. “Sarah’s the only niece I have and … well, she’s like my own daughter. It’s pretty great about her being able to talk.” Tim reached up and brushed his fingers over his mustache, then shoved his hands into his pockets. “Has Sarah told you anything … I mean, about her father’s murder?”
Jennie shook her head. Why had he asked that? Is he afraid she knows too much?
“I’m sorry,” he continued. “You can’t talk very well right now either. It’s just that …”
The eyes, McGrady, look in his eyes. Gram had often told her she could tell a lot about a person from their eyes. When she looked directly into Tim’s chocolate-brown ones, she saw sadness and warmth. Still, he could be acting. Ask him about the suit. Yeah, right. And just how am I supposed to do that? “Yo, Mr. Hudson, what color suit were you wearing the day Dr. Stanford was killed?” That could get me killed. No, she had to be more subtle.
“Do you ever wear gray?” she croaked out. Good going, McGrady. That was about as subtle as a two-ton truck.
He looked at her like she’d just escaped from the mental ward. “Gray? No. Makes me look like a candidate for the morgue. Why?” He took a step toward her and frowned. “This has something to do with Sarah, doesn’t it? What did she tell you?” Flashes of anger replaced the warmth in his eyes. Jennie’s heart leaped into her throat. He lifted his hands from his pockets and reached for her.
“Hi!” Anna, the evening-shift nurse popped in. “Oh, hello,” she bubbled, turning to Tim. “I didn’t mean to interrupt, but I’ll have to ask you to step out for a moment while I check her vitals.”
Tim lowered his arms and stepped back, sending Jennie a we’ll-finish-this-later look. Jennie gulped. Not if she had anything to say about it.
“Did you need something?” Anna asked, turning off the call light.
“Ah … the bathroom,” Jennie whispered, “I need to use the bathroom.”
After a shaky trip, she climbed back into bed. Anna checked her vitals, which, Jennie discovered, was short for checking a patient’s pulse, blood pressure, temperature, and respirations. The nurse jotted the information on the chart and asked, “How are you feeling?”
“Better,” Jennie answered carefully, so as not to upset her throat again. Surprisingly, she did feel better. Her chest was less constricted, and she could breathe almost normally.
“Would you like some Jell-0? Might soothe your throat. We need to get more fluids into you.”
“Sounds good.” Not wanting to be left alone again she asked, “Is Mr. Hudson still waiting?”
Anna disappeared for a moment then stepped back into the room. “Nope, sorry. I guess we took too long. I thought he might be in with Sarah, but he’s not. Must have gone home with the others.” She left again, and a few minutes later returned with two cups of green Jell-O. “Hope you like lime.” She crinkled her nose. “Prefer raspberry myself, but it’s all gone. If you don’t like this, I’ll see if I can get a different flavor from the kitchen.”
Jennie shook her head, ripped the lid off, and downed the contents of one cup, then started on the other.
“Keep that up and we’ll be able to get rid of your IV.”
After Anna left, Jennie leaned back against the pillows, but she kept her hand on the call button just in case. Not that it did much good. Tim could have easily killed her if he’d wanted to. But he didn’t. And he doesn’t wear gray. He could have lied. But there was no reason to. She thought about his olive skin and brown eyes. He probably would look terrible in gray. Come to think of it, Carl Layton probably wouldn’t look too good in gray either. It would be great with his eyes, but his skin was too dark …
The niggling thought that had bothered her so much when she was around Carl edged into the periphery of her mind. He’d had a tan the first day he arrived at the research center, but not when she’d first seen him, at the airport. She closed her eyes and tried to remember. His skin had been as washed out as hers. She hadn’t paid much attention, but then nearly everyone in Oregon, unless they made regular trips to the tropics or tanning booths, was pale by the end of winter. Had he been wearing a gray suit? She closed her eyes, trying to remember. No, he’d had on a light blue shirt and dark slacks. Which proved a big fat nothing. Tanning quickly wasn’t reason enough to suspect someone of murder, especially someone as nice as Dr. Layton. Still …
The puzzle pieces flitting through her mind blurred and faded. Something important still hung on the edge of her consciousness. Something to do with the bridge. Jennie closed her eyes, but her mind refused to clear. She finally gave into the exhaustion and slept.
“Miss McGrady?” Angel Delaney’s voice broke through the barrier of sleep. Jennie opened her eyes. “I just came by to see how you were doing.” She paused and gave Jennie a worried look. “And to tell you we think we know who started the fire.”
“It was Tim Hudson, wasn’t it?” Jennie whispered, still not trusting her throat to behave itself.
“No. We think it was Scott Chambers.”
The words slammed against Jennie’s heart like a sledgehammer. “But that’s impossible,” she rasped.
“He’s here, in the hospital.”
“Not anymore. He escaped this afternoon, about thirty minutes before the fire started. If it makes you feel any better, he probably didn’t know you were inside. Most likely he wanted to give the research center more bad press.”
Angel folded her arms and leaned over the railing. “Look, I know this is tough for you, but you’re going to have to face facts. The kid’s a loser.” Angel straightened and stepped away. “I have a hunch he’ll try to contact you, especially when he finds out you were inside. If he does, call me.”
Jennie frowned and looked toward the wall. Angel was wrong.
“I mean it. Harboring a criminal is a crime. What I’m trying to say here, McGrady, is that I don’t care what your grandmother does for a living. If either of you are protecting Chambers, I’ll take you in.”
“I haven’t seen him.” Jennie’s voice cracked.
Angel’s stern look softened a little. “Hey. I know this is rough for you, him being your boyfriend and all, but it happens.”
“He is not my boyfriend,” Jennie argued. “He’s a friend, that’s all.” The realization surprised her, but it was true. Somewhere along the line, Jennie had resolved her struggle. She felt as strongly about Ryan as she had two weeks ago when he’d kissed her for the first time. Scott was just a friend. But that didn’t mean she wasn’t concerned.
After Angel left, Jennie dropped back against the bed. Her throat and lungs still hurt, but not nearly as much as her heart. Scott couldn’t have done all those things.
But suppose you’re wrong, McGrady? You’ve been wrong before. What if Sarah is wrong too? Her dad’s murder might not have anything to do with what’s been happening here. After all, what evidence did they really have to tie them together? A paranoid uncle. A stepfather who tans easily. A neurotic child who’s been a silent witness for two years. Sarah was convincing, but she was also confused.
Jennie sighed and took a deep breath, sending her into another round of coughing. She was just recovering when Anna came in to “disconnect” her. The nurse took out the IV, removed the oxygen, and helped Jennie into the bathroom again.
Once the initial dizziness wore off, Jennie was able to stand without wobbling like an unbalanced top. Except for her sore lungs and throat, she felt almost normal.
Anna took her for a short walk down the hall where she learned that Sarah’s room, 319, was just across the hall
from hers.
Ten minutes later, Anna steered Jennie back to her room and helped her back to bed. The exercise left her weak and shaken. Her lungs burned, and she felt more like she’d run a hundred-meter dash than having taken a leisurely stroll down a hospital corridor. Next time, she’d go farther. If there was a next time. Why are you doing this to yourself, McGrady? You’re fine. Nothing can happen to you here.
While she waited for her breathing to return to normal, Jennie loosened her hair from what had once been a neat braid and now looked like a bird’s nest. Her hair still smelled like smoke. She brushed it and used the rubber band to tie it in a ponytail.
Jennie felt restless, unsettled—as if she had to do something but couldn’t think what. Finally, she called Gram. No answer. Worry forced its way into her restlessness. Why wasn’t she home yet? It’s only eight-thirty, McGrady. They probably stopped to have dinner. On impulse she called Debbie, who told her Gram hadn’t come back. Jennie left a message to have Gram call and hoped she would get it before it was too late.
Too late for what? Jennie asked herself. She wasn’t sure. It was only a feeling—her intuition sending out a warning. Jennie shook the feeling off and eased out of bed. Since she couldn’t talk to Gram, Jennie decided to check on Sarah. She slipped into the pink sock-slippers and the pink-and-white-striped hospital robe that Anna had brought for her earlier walk. The hallway was empty, except for a nurse at the desk who seemed engrossed in reading a patient’s chart. Jennie stepped out of the room and pulled the door closed behind her, then crept across the hall and into Sarah’s room.
The room was dim, lighted only by a night-light near the floor. Strange. There should have been a light on by her bed. “Sarah?” Jennie whispered, willing her eyes to adjust to the darkened room. When there was no answer, Jennie tiptoed closer. Sarah was gone.
19
Don’t panic, McGrady. She has to be here somewhere. Jennie checked the bathroom, then hurried to the sliding glass door at the opposite end of the room that led to the visitors’ hallway. No one. Her heart hammered inside her chest. Where is she?
Silent Witness Page 13
