“You really think so?”
“No doubt about it. Nicki hung out with me until nearly midnight last night. We did a lot of talking about it and she agrees.” Liz shoved the first box to her. “You start on the dresser. I’ll get another carton ready and tackle the closet.”
Amy’s stomach twisted as she stepped in front of the bureau where she’d found Hugh’s body. The pool of blood was gone. No telltale blood splatters remained on the wall or dresser, but she struggled to steady her hands as she pulled the first drawer open and felt the weight of Liz’s gaze.
“You okay, sweetie?”
Unable to find her voice, Amy resorted to a nod.
“Good. Don’t take time thinking about each item,” Liz suggested. “Take my word for it. Just toss the stuff in the box and be done with it.”
In less than a minute, Hugh’s socks, handkerchiefs, and underwear all found their way into the bottom of the large, corrugated container. Amy knew dealing with the contents of the second drawer would be much harder. Inside were sweaters Hugh hadn’t taken with him when he moved to the third floor: V-necks, crew necks, turtlenecks, a cardigan. As she removed each carefully folded sweater, she remembered how handsome and vital Hugh had looked in each of them.
Liz broke the lengthening silence. “Keep going, hon. You’re doing great. People will appreciate getting those things.”
About to answer, Amy stopped when something sticking out from beneath the drawer liner poked her hand. Puzzled, she shoved the last sweater aside and lifted the liner out of the way. A glossy 3 ½” x 5” paper lay beneath it. Although it was turned blank side up, there was no mistaking it for anything but a photograph. Its odd location indicated it had been intentionally concealed.
A single, hidden photograph. That it had been purposely concealed filled her with apprehension and a nagging suspicion. A photograph of Hugh’s mistress? Amy lifted it from the drawer, amazed at how heavy a piece of paper no thicker than a millimeter suddenly felt in her trembling hands.
Amy stood there, questioning the wisdom of turning the photo over. Did his lover’s identity even matter anymore? It troubled her that she might find herself subconsciously scanning crowds for the woman’s face the rest of her life. And what if she were to see her—what then? How would she deal with it?
Amy’s next thought made her stomach knot. Maybe she’d already seen her—at Hugh’s funeral, or at the luncheon afterward. Amy’s mouth went dry as, for five seconds more, she debated whether she truly wanted to know his lover’s identity. Once she looked, the image would be etched in her mind forever. If she destroyed the photo, unseen, her decision would be irreversible.
Amy bolstered herself with a deep breath and slowly turned the picture over. For a moment, she couldn’t breathe. She braced her back against a wall, sliding weak-kneed down its surface to the floor.
Liz rushed to her side. “Sweetie, what’s wrong?” Amy couldn’t speak. “What do you have there?” Liz coaxed the photo out of her fingers and looked for herself. “What the hell? Jessica? I can’t believe it. That little…” She put a hand on Amy’s shoulder. “Come sit on the bed. Better yet, maybe you should lie down for a while.”
Amy remained on the floor, clutching her knees to her chest. Head lowered, body shuddering, she shrugged Liz’s hand away.
“All right, hon, you stay there; I’ll come down by you.” Liz lowered herself to the floor beside her, shaking her head over the image in the photo.
They sat there in silence until Amy’s body unclenched and her head rested against the wall.
“How could Jessie do that to me, Liz? I trusted her. I thought of her more like a sister than a friend.”
“What are you going to do?”
“I don’t know. I need time to think.”
“You never can tell about some people,” Liz said. “I mean, I know Jessica’s no shrinking violet—she always goes after what she wants, but this?”
For several seemingly endless minutes, Amy sat in silence, Liz beside her, offering tissues as needed. When Amy stood, she took the picture from Liz without looking at it a second time; there was no need. The image was burned into her memory: Jessie’s naked body, her beautiful face turned over her shoulder as she looked toward the camera, her lush, blond hair cascading between her shoulder blades. Amy struggled to deal with conflicting emotions. If ignorance was bliss, her newfound knowledge was hell.
Shock giving way to fury, Amy ripped the picture to shreds and rushed to the bathroom. She threw the torn pieces into the sink and lit them on fire with matches she used to light the scented candles on the vanity. A tear fell and sizzled as it hit the flames.
At her side, Liz watched the torn strips of paper turn into blackened ash. “Are you all right, hon?”
With a brusque stroke, Amy wiped her tears away. “I’ll be fine. Live and learn, right?”
“Atta girl,” Liz said.
“What an idiot I am. How could I not realize what was going on? I saw the way Hugh looked at her, but I never thought Jessie would betray me that way—not in a million years.”
Liz scooped the ashes from the sink, deposited them in the toilet and flushed. “There. Right in the crapper where it belongs.” The remaining bits of ash in the sink, she rinsed down the drain. “Let’s get out of here. I’ll take the stuff you’ve already boxed up. We can tackle the rest some other time.” She ushered Amy out of the bathroom. “Hon, do you want me to stick around?”
Amy shook her head. “Thanks, but I need some alone time to get my head together.”
“Sure. Hey, tell you what. I’ve got some things to do. I’ll probably be busy the rest of the day, but when I’m done, you and I are going out for a little relaxation.”
“Thanks, but I’d rather not, Liz. I’d be awful company tonight, anyway.”
“No, no,” Liz insisted. “We’re doing this thing. You need to get out of here and relax a little—even if it’s only for a few hours. A change of scene will do you good, sweetie. I’ll give Nicki a call and see if she wants to come along.”
“Don’t bother. Nicki’s got a date tonight. She dropped by to borrow my mauve pullover.”
“The scoop-necked top with the ruffled tiers?” When Amy didn’t answer, Liz said, “Sorry. Don’t mind me. I just really love that one.” She interlocked the box’s top flaps and lifted it into her arms. “Okay, it’ll be just you and me. How does eight o’clock sound? We’ll go someplace nice, have a good meal, a couple of drinks to chill out, and it won’t cost you a dime. It’ll be on me.” Chattering non-stop, Liz headed through the hall, grappling with the awkward container as she hurried down the stairs to the front door.
Even if Liz had stopped long enough to give her an opportunity, Amy knew there was no point in arguing with her; there never was. “Wait, Liz,” Amy said. “Your jacket.”
“Oh. Throw it on top of this box, would you, hon? I won’t freeze between here and my car; I’m parked right outside.” Amy tucked the jacket between the container and Liz’s chin. “You take it easy while I’m gone, sweetie. See you about eight.”
Amy closed the door after her. Legs like lead weights, she walked to the couch. Her stomach felt like one solid knot. Tears stung her eyes as she lay on the couch in a fetal position.
She’d asked to be left alone, but hadn’t anticipated the overwhelming loneliness that followed Liz’s departure. Loved ones had been taken from her before: her father, mother, grandparents and others, even Hugh.
The loss of Jessica, however, created a new depth of grief. Still alive and well, Jessica, her most trusted friend, was dead to her.
24
Cold coffee and warm orange juice sat on the table in front of Amy the next morning. Head in her hands, she could feel her temples pulse. As she’d slept, her anguish had been stoked by lewd, alcohol-fueled images of Hugh and Jessica’s entwined bodies, the two of them sneering at her, mocking her heartbreak.
For Liz’s benefit, Amy had done her best to laugh and smile in all the righ
t places the night before, but her laughter had been hollow, her smiles transparent. The restaurant Liz chose, provided a lively atmosphere, and the food—what little Amy managed to eat—was delicious, but the bartender was heavy-handed. Unaffected by the potency of the drinks, or perhaps ignoring it, Liz urged Amy to match her round for round.
Her head continued to pound as she went to her landline and picked up the receiver. An exercise in futility. As she’d already done twice before, she hung up before entering the final digit of Jessica’s number.
Eyes red-rimmed, she poured her coffee and juice down the drain, her stomach growing queasier at the sight of the ugly color combination.
Desperate for a distraction, Amy went upstairs with a laundry basket in hand. Tears stung her eyes as she emptied the items from the bathroom and bedroom hampers—so little to wash these days. She felt incredibly alone, but refusing to give in to self-pity, she carried the wash downstairs to the kitchen and opened the basement door.
The phone rang as she was about to start down.
“Hello?” No reply. “Hello?”
“Um…hi, sweetie. Sorry. I got sidetracked for a second. How are you doing this morning?”
Amy wrapped her free arm around her churning stomach. “I’m managing, Liz…hangover and all.”
“Sorry about that, hon. Have you talked to Jessica yet?”
“I started to call her a few times, but couldn’t bring myself to do it.”
“Good. I still think your first instinct was right. Make a clean break. Sleeping with Hugh… Good grief. She doesn’t deserve another second of your time.”
Amy’s need to hang onto the few friendships that had withstood Hugh’s domineering opposition played Tug of War with her head and heart.
“There could be a reasonable explanation, Liz.”
“You’re kidding, right? I’ll stick by what I said last night. Even if Jessica managed to come up with some lame story, why chance letting her make a fool out of you again? You’re smarter than that.”
“I just can’t wrap my mind around this.” Amy fought the onslaught of tears. “It’s so hard to believe she’d do that to me.”
“I get that,” Liz told her. “It’s tough coming to terms with that kind of disloyalty.”
Amy choked back the lump in her throat and changed the subject. “I appreciate you checking on me this morning. You didn’t have to. I’m okay. Thanks, though.”
“That’s all right. I’m concerned about you and…” Liz paused. “Well...I’ve got a small favor to ask, too. Pretty crummy, huh?”
“No, of course not. What do you need?”
“I’m in kind of a bind this morning. My uniforms are all in the wash, and I forgot I’m out of detergent. I’d run to the store, but I’m behind schedule as it is.”
“Liquid or powder? I’ve got both.”
“Either’s fine. I wouldn’t ask, but my supervisor has a permanent case of PMS, so being late isn’t a good idea. Sorry to bother you, sweetie.”
“It’s no problem. I was just headed downstairs to do my laundry anyway. I’ll bring some detergent back up with me.”
“Great. I’ll be right over. If you want to leave the door unlocked, I can let myself in.”
“Sure. See you in a few.” Amy hung up, unlocked the front door and returned to the kitchen. Hoisting the laundry basket back onto a hip, she started into the basement.
Amy put her weight on the first step and gasped as she felt the tread collapse beneath her. She made a desperate grab at the railing, but it ripped out of her hand as she tumbled forward completely missing the second stair. The third step, like the first, gave way.
Spewing towels and clothing, the basket tumbled down the stairs ahead of her. Like a broken doll, her body twisted and thumped against each step, her head striking with a sickening thud as she reached the concrete floor below.
Grumbling to himself, Waverly turned onto Amy Conley’s street. “If the mountain won’t come to Muhammad…”
Following his interview with the man’s son at school the day before, he was anxious to interview Curt Retzinger. He’d put Waverly off, claiming he was too busy to come to the station.
Not one to let that stand in his way, Waverly had gotten up early and gone to the contractor’s work site. As bogged down as Retzinger claimed to be, Waverly expected to find him there. He wasn’t. Calls Waverly made from the site had gone directly to Retzinger’s voice mail. The waste of his time and gas was stretching his patience thin.
Waverly parked in front of the man’s house and knocked repeatedly on his door. Ringing his doorbell got no response. Retzinger was either dead asleep, just plain dead, ignoring him, or gone. He checked through the garage window. The only vehicle inside was a riding lawn tractor.
Annoyed, Waverly headed back to his car in time to see a woman hurrying up Amy Conley’s front steps. He watched as she let herself in. It took a few seconds for him to put a name to the face.
“Liz. Liz Dunlop? Dunwitty?” he mumbled to himself. “Dunham. Yeah. Dunham.”
Maybe he could salvage his trip after all. Touching base with Amy Conley again, might turn up something new. If that didn’t pan out, maybe the Dunham woman could offer something of use. He crossed the street and rang the bell. No answer. Waverly knocked. Nothing. Déjà vu… except this time he knew someone was inside.
“Gimme a break,” he grumbled. Waverly turned the knob and pushed the door open. “Hello?” he called. “Anyone here? It’s Detective Waverly. Anybody home?”
A dozen steps into the living room, he looked toward the kitchen and saw the basement door standing open. He walked closer. “Anybody here?”
At the open basement door, he poked his head over the threshold and saw Amy’s body lying twisted at the bottom of the stairs, her head in Liz Dunham’s hands.
His heart dropped to his stomach. “Don’t move her!” Waverly shouted. “Have you called 9-1-1?”
Her face lined with worry, Liz looked up at him and shook her head. “I came straight down to see if I could do something to help.” She set Amy’s head down carefully. “Make the call. Get someone over here now!”
Eyes still locked on the two women, Waverly pulled his cell phone out and called 9-1-1.
“An ambulance is on the way,” he said moments later. “How is she?”
“Her head hit hard. At minimum, she’s got a broken leg—maybe other broken bones, too. There could be internal injuries; I can’t tell. Can you find a blanket for me?”
Waverly pointed behind her. “Over there. On top of the dryer.”
Liz grabbed the folded blanket, shook it open and covered Amy’s twisted body.
From the top of the stairs he said, “I called out when I came in. Why didn’t you answer me?”
“Did you? Sorry. I didn’t hear you.” She finished tucking the blanket around Amy and looked up the stairs at him. “Maybe you ought to flag down the ambulance when it turns down this street.”
“They won’t have a problem finding this address, and I left instructions for them to let themselves in when they arrive. I’m coming down there.”
“You’ll break your neck,” Liz warned.
“You didn’t,” he pointed out.
He took another look at the stairs: first and third step broken, second questionable. He took a firm grip on the handrail and, using the stringer which supported the tread and risers, worked his way past the damaged stairs as Liz had to have done before him. At the fourth and fifth steps, he tested the sturdiness of the treads and, finding them sound, hurried down the rest of the way.
“How’d this happen?” he asked, crouching beside them.
“I have no idea,” Liz said. “I came in and found her like this.” Liz cocked her head toward the kitchen. “Listen. The ambulance.”
Waverly strained to hear the siren. “Yeah, I hear it now.” With little time to spare, he asked, “Ms. Dunham, have you touched anything…moved anything since you came down here?”
“Only the h
andrail, the same as you.”
“You seemed to be in a hurry when you let yourself in. Did you know something was wrong?”
“No. Amy and I had just gotten off the phone. I was in a rush to borrow some laundry detergent.”
Waverly heard voices and footsteps coming from the floor above. “Down here,” he shouted. “In the basement.” He turned back to Liz. “Do you have a key to this house?”
“No.”
“Then how did you get in?”
“Amy knew I was coming; she left the door unlocked for me.”
The ambulance personnel arrived at the top of the stairs.
“Watch those first steps,” Waverly warned them. “Getting down here isn’t too bad, but getting back up with a loaded gurney is gonna be tricky.”
The two men at the head of the stairs assessed the situation. The stockier of the two said, “If you’ll lend a hand, we can probably get it done without too much hassle.”
“No problem,” Waverly assured them. “Whatever you need done, just tell me.”
Liz stepped back as the EMTs made their way down with their equipment and took over. Several minutes later, Amy, her neck in a brace, was secured on the gurney.
Giving Waverly instructions, the shorter man moved to the end at Amy’s head. “My partner and I will take charge of the gurney while I back my way up the stairs. You follow us and take over my end while I work my way around those top steps. Once I’m back on the main floor, both of you can slide her up toward me. I’ll pull; you two push. That should work.”
Minutes later, they left the house and transported Amy to the ambulance. Waverly watched them load her inside as Liz grabbed the taller of the two EMTs by the arm.
“I’m a nurse at Abbott Northwestern and the closest thing to family this girl has. Could you take her there, please?”
“That’s where we were headed, ma’am,” he said.
She turned to Waverly. “I’ve got to go. I need to get to the hospital and find out how she is.”
“I have questions for you,” he said. They’ll take care of her whether you’re there or not.”
Targeted: A Ray Schiller Novel (The Ray Schiller Series Book 3) Page 16
