by Cathryn Fox
Of course, as she drove out of the hospital parking garage, she realized she hadn’t a clue what she meant by haunting the man. But it felt good saying those words to him. What she really needed to do was prove she was no murderer. There must be some way to find out what really happened the night Don died.
Bonnie waited in the doorway, arms folded, when she arrived home. Never a good sign.
“Where have you been? Everyone has been calling looking for you! Did you lose your cell phone? Al called. Laura called. And Harry called. He told me what happened.” Bonnie followed her inside the kitchen as she squeezed past the woman. “They were needlessly worried and I told them so. You’re the last person who would jump from a bridge.”
That comment made Roxanne stop in her tracks. “I’ll call Laura right away.” She unceremoniously plopped into a kitchen chair and fished for her phone from her bag. She bit her lip, but had to ask. “Did Barry call?” She wanted to talk to him. Not about their fund-raising project and not about Lindy.
“No. But everyone else did.”
“Shit.” Roxanne put her head down on her arms on the table in front of her as she listened to her cell ringing on Laura’s end. There was no answer. She clicked off without leaving a message. She didn’t want to talk to anyone but Barry. She wanted to go to him and lose herself in their lovemaking for the rest of the night—and all the next day for that matter. Maybe even forever.
What the hell was she thinking?
She felt Bonnie’s glare on her back and lifted her head, dry-eyed. And glad. She was very glad that her temporary insanity was over with. Almost glad about the murder accusation shoe dropping. She felt relieved. She’d known it would happen sooner or later and now that it was out there, she could fight it.
“Bonnie, I could use a drink. How about you?”
“You going to tell me about it? Or do I have to guess where you’ve been all this time?” Bonnie’s concern showed through her annoyance. Roxanne felt touched. She noticed Bonnie’s bleached curls were particularly unruly as the woman poured them each a dose of Courvoisier from the Baccarat decanter. What had that been doing on the kitchen counter?
“I’ll have to tell you because you’ll never guess.” Roxanne accepted the glass and downed the entire healthy amount of liquid as if it were medicine. She never drank. But it felt warm right now and she could do with some warmth. She looked at Bonnie. Bonnie was not a warm person. But right now Roxanne could feel the heat radiating from the woman. Or was it just the Cognac?
“You were at Barry’s?” Bonnie sat opposite her, still looking annoyed.
“I wish. No. I was at the TV studio quitting my job. Of course Hank was very nice about it. The police hadn’t been there yet, so he didn’t realize the extent of the problem. He’d brushed aside all the speculation about the wrongful death suit—especially since it had such a positive affect on ratings. Besides, he never believes anything the media says since he knows better.
“He said to look him up again when things blew over. He told me he knows I’m no murderer. Wasn’t that nice? I thanked him.” She paused and chuckled at Bonnie’s deepened frown.
“But I’m not going to count on that job when I get out of jail in ten to fifteen,” she added. And then Bonnie laughed too.
“Quit being so maudlin. I’m sure they’d give you time off for good behavior,” Bonnie pointed out and then poured more brandy into their glasses. They had to laugh now—or cry.
Aah, the wonders of alcohol. “What did Al want when he called? Did he come up with a surefire defense yet?”
“Who knows? But Laura had some interesting things to say about Dr. Evans. Everyone at the hospital knows about your abrupt departure. And right in the middle of the big fund-raising campaign too.” Bonnie shook her head as if in disbelief. But Roxanne knew that her cynical mind could be surprised by none of this.
Wondering at Bonnie’s purposely abbreviated version of Laura’s message, Roxanne decided to call Laura again. This time she got her.
“Roxy, where have you been?” Laura sounded breathless.
“I’m waiting.”
“I’ve been down in the accounting office with Harry all afternoon. The last check I wrote on the account bounced. Our account with the bank for the special project is bone dry. They said down in the accounting office that they’d transferred the money into the building project account per order of Dr. Evans. He that the research fund account owed money to the building account per an agreement between you and him.
“Bottom line is, we have no cash and it will be a couple of weeks before the pledges start coming in. I don’t think we can wait that long to confirm the airtime. We already scheduled it and the shoot too. You didn’t tell him he could have the money for his building project, did you?”
Roxanne felt cold rage grab her muscles and wind them like weapons ready for launch.
“I never made any such deal with him. I never told him he could have the money or even borrow it.” She took a breath. Time to think. Time to calculate a trap. “What does Harry think about this? He saw the paperwork for the fund-raising event. He knows there was nothing in the documents about giving money to the building project.”
“Harry thinks Evans blackmailed you into giving it to him before he fired you today. I’m so relieved to hear that you weren’t forced into signing anything.”
“Then it’ll be easy to track the money and prove the impropriety.”
“Nothing is easy. Something doesn’t add up. He could get into big trouble spending the money on something the donors were falsely asked to give for. Especially the larger pledges.”
Roxanne stood and paced around the kitchen table while Bonnie sat sipping her drink and watching as if she were at a show.
“So how much exactly are we missing?”
“I’m out 750k. Harry said he would get Accounting on it right away to track down and report on all the transfers into the building account—not just from yours. And all the expenditures too. He’s suddenly suspicious that Evans might be embezzling. In the meantime, what do I do about all the cash I need? Right now? I need 200 grand by tomorrow to keep the campaign going. Any ideas?”
Roxanne thought for only a split second before she came up with several ideas. “Laura, you’re forgetting. I don’t work there anymore.” Laura didn’t make one sound on the other end. Roxanne’s mind ticked with precision as all effects of the brandy vanished.
“You’re on our own, but if I were you, I’d check the big pledgers and call them for early donations. I’ll make a few calls of my own. Personal calls. I know of one person in particular who might be able to come up with the money fast. I’ll get back to you.” Roxanne ended her call with Laura knowing they both felt better. Her new mission revitalized her. Nail Evans. Save the Dr. Oki Research Fund. Not necessarily in that order.
She would call Barry. He told her more than once that he’d rather give her a check. She hoped he meant it.
Roxanne placed the call but there was no answer and his voice mail message box was full. She rummaged through her bag and pulled out her Celtics schedule. They were in town all week.
“Back to work so soon?” Bonnie had been busy cooking and she came back over to sit down now.
“Looks that way, doesn’t it? Unofficially. Wasn’t much of a paycheck anyway.”
“No. Since you were chief volunteer in charge of the volunteers.” Bonnie shook her head and rose again to finish cooking. The woman never did get why Roxanne spent so much effort on her volunteer work. On her way past Roxanne’s chair, the woman did something she never had before. She bent and kissed Roxanne on top of her head and patted her cheek. Then without a word, she moved on to her chores.
Astounded and wordless, Roxanne stared at the woman’s back for several seconds before she realized there were tears in her eyes. For the second time today.
It was difficult to be too distressed about her situation when she was discovering what wonderful friends she had. Roxanne shook her head and wi
ped her cheeks. Then she stood.
“Call me when dinner is ready,” she said over her shoulder to Bonnie in an unsteady voice. She hurried upstairs to her room to work before the old woman could catch her weepy state.
After several fruitless phone calls and a lot of wasted time cajoling donors, Roxanne found herself pacing the floor in frustration. Where the hell was Barry Dennis when she needed him? She wished to God she’d never given that fortune back to Penelope now. She could have used that money for this project.
Just as she and Bonnie were about to sit down to eat dinner, the doorbell rang. She hoped it wasn’t another reporter as she walked down the hall to the front door. She opened the door and saw Al standing there. Roxanne’s pulse spiked for the third time that day. This could not be good.
Chapter Seventeen
BARRY STEPPED off the practice court, grabbed the towel dangled in his direction and wiped the sweat from his face. For a light shoot-around, practice had seemed hard to him. He couldn’t imagine how he was going to feel for the game that night. The groan inside him almost escaped. They had a West Coast road trip coming up next week. They needed a couple of wins now before they left.
“Hey Barry, you looked pretty rough out there again today. How’s your daughter doing?” a reporter asked as he made his way to the locker room. It was about the millionth time he’d heard a variation of that comment followed by a variation of that question.
He turned to face the reporters. He wondered if he looked as tired as he felt. “Lindy’s okay. She’s progressing as the doctors expected. But she’s still hurting. Same as before.” He’d said nearly the same words dozens of times a day every day for what seemed like forever now. Telling too many people who didn’t really care. He felt like telling them all to go to hell, but he didn’t. Instead, he whipped the towel down from around his neck and pushed through the locker room door, listening to the rest of the questions fired at his back without bothering to answer them.
He changed and showered in record time. Without thinking. It was the only way he could function anymore. He blasted out the side door of the gymnasium into the parking lot, shivering in the bitter cold of the New Year’s Eve day.
As he hurried to unlock the door of his black Caddy with his bare frozen fingers, he heard the crunch of footsteps behind him and swore under his breath. He was about to turn and lay into whichever reporter it was, when Dave spoke.
“Jesus, you’re in a hurry. Where the hell you going? Got a hot date with Roxanne?” Dave stood waiting for his answer.
“It’s fucking cold out here. Get in the car, will you?” Barry felt relief that it was Dave. He realized suddenly that he needed to talk. He needed to do more than talk, but he pushed those thoughts to the back of his mind in the same corner as Roxanne.
“What’s up? Dave asked as he settled into the roomy seat and rubbed his gloved hands together. Barry started the car to let it warm up and faced his friend.
“I haven’t seen Roxanne. Or Lindy. Since Christmas.”
“Yeah? What the hell’s going on? If you haven’t seen either of them, then there’s no damned excuse for your fucking poor performance at practice. What gives?” Dave didn’t even bother trying to mask his concern.
“I’m not sure. I don’t think it’s such a hot idea for me to see either of them. Roxanne’s trouble—and getting worse all the time. And Lindy, well to tell you the truth Dave, she needs more than I can give her. Maybe she’d be better off with Paul Paris. At least they know each other. And I don’t know what the hell I’m doing.” He pushed his fingers through his cold wet hair. That was an understatement.
“Is this some kind of cop-out?” Dave challenged.
Barry had asked himself the same question many times. But he loved his daughter. That much he was sure of. The rest—how to be a parent—that was a mystery. And she needed someone now, someone capable and ready to say the right things to her, to comfort her. Paul seemed to be able to do that. Hell, they’d lived under the same roof for five years.
“Yeah. Maybe it is,” he told his friend. “Look, I love Lindy, but I’ve never been a father to her. I’m more like her uncle, always have been. And I don’t know how to change that right now.” Barry stared ahead. He blew his warm breath onto his icy fingers.
“Have you mentioned this to your lawyer?”
“No. He’s a friend of Roxanne’s and she’d crucify me if I backed off the custody suit. Not that I should care what she thinks. But I do.”
“So what are you going to do?”
“Play basketball. It’s the only damned thing I know how to do.” He looked at his friend and Dave shook his head.
“And what about Roxanne?”
“Forget her. I’d like to see her and screw her till I drop.” He heard the wistful note in his own voice. He could almost smell her. Barry shook the thought from his mind.
Dave laughed. “What you need is another woman. If I’m not mistaken, that’s frustration I hear. Why don’t you let me fix you up with someone?”
“When?”
“Tonight.”
“You’re on.”
When Barry arrived home, he found his cell phone and several more messages from Roxanne. She’d been calling him for four days. He decided he finally better call her back. At least he knew what to tell her now.
He tapped her number and let it ring four times. As he was ready to click off, he heard her voice.
“I got your messages.” His voice was tight. He forced himself to relax. Sinking back into the plump cushions of his couch, he put his feet up and stretched out. Twirling an unlit cigarette between his fingers, he waited.
“Yeah. I gather from your overwhelmingly quick response that you’d rather I keep this call short.” She paused. But he didn’t bother to correct her impression. If she even wondered why he hadn’t called for days, she didn’t show she cared.
“I need some money for the fund. There’ve been some problems.” Her tone was clipped and cool. Professional. More so than usual when she talked shop.
And it burned him up. Anger flamed in him so that he thought he actually felt its heat in his face. He ought to calm himself, think before he said anything. He exploded.
“You fucking call me day and night for days and it’s all because you want my fucking money? What the hell do you think I am?” What the hell was he? Was he supposed to go on being a machine, churning out money and playing basketball until there was nothing else left?
There was silence for what seemed like forever on the other end of the line while Barry waited, strung taut.
“I don’t know what you are. That’s for you to decide. All I know is the game is off. As of right now. And I need $750,000 for Dr. Oki’s fund. Now. Today.” Her words were colder than cool this time. Hostile.
And the game was off. The slam to his gut couldn’t have felt more real than a jab from Ali himself. The stinging started and he could tell it wasn’t about to let up. What did he do now? What did he say now? He’d wanted to end it with her himself, hadn’t he? She was doing him a favor, even if it felt like she was kicking the shit out of him.
“You can have the money. See me after the game tonight.” He pressed the end button and tossed the phone. Even if he’d won the game by default there was no mistaking the sound of defeat in his voice.
The answer was yes. He was supposed to go on churning out money and playing basketball. Like a machine. Because that’s all he was capable of.
He sure as hell wasn’t capable of handling Roxanne. He thought about that and as it sunk into his brain that he was admitting defeat, the phone rang. He sprung up to retrieve it, surprised that his first reaction was to hope it was her again.
But it wasn’t Roxanne.
“Mr. Dennis, this is Dr. Oki at Children’s Mercy Hospital. I’m calling about Lindy. We have to schedule her for a final radical skin grafting operation and we’d like to do it next week. When can you come in to discuss it?”
The doctor’s words added a naus
eating feeling to his already bruised gut, which Barry thought might make him physically ill if he didn’t do something quick. He stood. Swiping at the sweat on his brow, he spoke into the phone with a shaky voice and snapped the cigarette held in his fingers in half.
“Doc, is she going to be okay?”
“We think so. But this is a difficult thing to go through for the patient. It’s very painful. To optimize the outcome it would be a good idea for you to come in and see her, talk to her…”
He wondered irrationally if Roxanne had put him up to this. Then he remembered his schedule.
“I won’t be around next week. We have a road trip to the West Coast for two weeks. Can you possibly postpone this?”
“It’s possible. Can you come in now for a conference? We’ll talk about the schedule. Mr. Paris will be here, as will Lindy’s maternal grandparents. The plans must be agreeable to everyone. We are at a crucial stage in her treatment where family involvement becomes most important.”
Barry hesitated to frame the question that was on his mind. He wanted to ask if Roxanne would be there too. Then he decided of course she wouldn’t be. She wasn’t family.
“I’ll be there. I have to go to the bank anyway. Looks like you guys are running low on money.” He strived for a light note but he wasn’t sure why he’d say something like that to Dr. Oki.
“Barry, we here at the hospital are all very grateful for your generosity, especially the other children and their parents.”
“Sure, Doc. It’s nothing. Glad to do it. Really. See you in an hour.” He signed off. The sweat coated his face in a light film. The fury simmered just below the surface. Roxanne made him insane with her demands. But he couldn’t exactly blame this on her.
