Lauren's nose scrunched. "You're going to tell him that? Whoever did it at school's really gonna get into trouble."
"I just don't want . . . anyone hurting you."
She regarded me, her lips pressed. Doubt flicked across her face—and it pierced to my soul.
"I don't like you sick. It makes you . . ." Lauren shook her head.
I worked to give her a reassuring smile. "I'm going to the doctor tomorrow."
"You've just been at the hospital for three days."
"I know but . . . this is a different doctor."
"Will he make you better?"
"She." I swallowed. "Yes. I think so."
Lauren bit the inside of her cheek.
"Why don't you watch TV up in my . . . upstairs? Since I need to make the call from here."
Her eyebrows rose. "You're gonna let me watch TV in your bedroom?" For some reason lying on her parents' king-sized bed to watch TV had always been the ultimate in decadence for Lauren.
"Yeah. Just for now. Before you go . . . do I have sunglasses?"
She gave me a look. "They're in the kitchen."
"Oh. Right. Could you get them for me?"
She headed to the kitchen, stopping at the threshold to check the floor. In seconds she returned. I put the sunglasses on. Ah. So much easier on my eyes.
"Can I go upstairs now?"
"Yeah. Close the door, okay?"
"Okay." Lauren swiveled and trotted off before I could change my mind.
I adjusted my aching neck against the pillow and looked dully at the card. For a moment I couldn't think how to hold it to see the number and dial at the same time. Wouldn't I need a third hand for that? Such a problem. I closed my eyes, fighting to logic my way through. If I couldn't even do this, how was I going to convince Jud to listen?
Up and down my legs I felt those strange little muscle twitches, like bugs wriggling under my skin. I read the first two numbers off the card and hit the buttons on the receiver. Repeated with two more at a time. Finally a phone rang on the other end of the line.
"Jud Maxwell."
For a split second, fear nearly made me hang up. "Hi. It's J-Jannie. McNeil."
"Yes, Mrs. McNeil."
"I . . . There was a tick in Lauren's backpack. In a little . . . bottle. He had to put it there."
"A tick?"
"A deer tick. They carry L-Lyme. I saw online what they look like."
Jud made a sound in his throat. "You and Lauren okay?"
Just great. "Uh-huh."
"Do you have this bottle with the tick inside?"
"Yes. No."
"Which is it?"
"The bottle, yes. But I dropped it. The t-tick fell out. Can't find it. Looked all over." A chill knocked down my spine.
"You can't find it?"
"Had L-Lauren look. Everywhere in the kitchen." My voice crimped. "We have to f-find it. It could bite her!"
Silence. I could imagine his thoughts. How convenient for me to have lost the main piece of evidence. If Brock heard of this he'd be furious. I could only imagine his ravings. I couldn't deal with that. Not on top of everything else.
"P-please. You have to believe me."
Jud's chair squeaked. "So you have the bottle, correct?"
"Yes."
"Okay. I'll come over and get it, and we can talk more about this. All right?"
My eyes burned. "Yes. Thank you."
"Give me, say, twenty minutes."
"Okay." My finger hit the off button. The phone fell against my stomach.
Thank You, God. Thank You, thank You.
Surely Jud would find the tick. Then he'd believe me completely. Brock would have to believe me. He'd come home . . .
I lay staring at the ceiling, entertaining desperate dreams of all my problems fading away. Then I dropped back into hard reality.
How would I get up to answer the door when the detective arrived?
Chapter 24
HE DROVE DOWN THE STREET AS A SUIT-CLAD MAN STEPPED onto the house's porch and reached for the doorbell. The man was too far away for him to tell who it was.
His foot jerked off the accelerator for a split second, then he regained his equilibrium. No need for concern, no matter who it was. He was just a man driving by in an unknown car. Besides, the dark toupee and mustache concealed his features.
The door of the house opened, and the man disappeared inside.
It was a heady thing, being a savior. Few were called, fewer still up to the task. In every Lyme patient's story he read on the Internet, in every Lyme patient's face he saw at rallies on TV, he saw Elyse. Heard her voice.
"Promise me you'll change it for others."
This world was full of injustice, yet so many sat on the sidelines and did nothing. This disease, these Lyme wars were costing people their quality of life, some their very lives themselves. It required focus, genius to accomplish what he had done. What were a few sick lives to save the masses?
As he drove past the house, he dared no more than a glance at it.
Had she found the tick yet?
His lips curled. What a sight that would be when she did.
Try to catch me now. Try to keep me from your precious Lauren.
Chapter 25
I'D MANAGED TO SIT UP ON THE COUCH. I SQUINTED THROUGH the window to watch for Jud Maxwell's car. I'd opened the shades, which didn't help my eyes any. But I wanted to reach the front door before Jud rang the bell and alerted Lauren. Thoughts trudged through my muddied brain—plans on what I could say, what I could do to make the detective do something. That tick had to carry Lyme. And what else was it—three coinfections? Which meant it would be proof of what Stalking Man had done to me. Even Brock would have to believe my story.
My body so wanted to lie down. The mere idea of walking to the door exhausted me.
Finally I saw a car pull to the curb. The detective got out, carrying something. A kit? And his tape recorder. Somehow I managed to push to my feet. Against the floor my cane made a hollow, indignant sound. The sound of my heart. My life.
When I pulled back the door Jud Maxwell was reaching for the bell.
Despite the sunglasses, the sun hit my eyes like a wall of fire. I squeezed them shut. "Come in." I stepped back, washed in déjà vu of this same scene mere days ago. The detective stepped inside. "Please follow," I gasped. "In here. Need to sit down."
"Are you feeling any better?"
His voice came from behind as I made for the beckoning couch. "Worse. I see a doctor tomorrow."
"You've seen a lot of doctors lately."
"None that could help."
I dared not look back to check his expression. If he still thought I was faking all of this, I'd never convince him of anything.
"Please. Sit." I half-gestured toward the armchair and slumped onto the couch. Laid my cane across the cushions.
He remained standing. Set his kit and recorder on the coffee table. "Where's the bottle?"
My mind blanked. I stared at him, all too aware of long seconds clicking by. Heat pulsed in my cheeks. The mental fog made me feel so utterly stupid. It would be impossible to explain to someone the lack I felt in my brain. Synapses as useless as unplugged electrical cords.
Then, suddenly—they connected. "In the kitchen. Some . . . where. You can see."
Jud's eyes lingered on me for a moment, a hand on his hip. The knot of his dark blue tie lay askew. The tie didn't match his suit all that well. Did Sarah not dress him? The way I always dressed Brock, matching his ties to suits. He was never any good at that sort of thing.
The way I used to dress Brock.
A sob rolled up my throat. I thrust it back down.
Jud opened his kit and pulled out two whi
te gloves—the kind used to gather evidence. The sight of them turned my stomach. This was my house. Now it had become a crime scene.
He disappeared into the kitchen. His footsteps stopped. Moved again.
Silence.
Had Alicia matched Brock's tie this morning? How had he even known which ones to pack? How could he manage without me?
Jud returned wearing the gloves. In one hand was the vial, cover and all. Had I put that top on? Maybe Lauren had done it. "This it?" He held it up.
I nodded, my thoughts lingering on Brock. "Still empty."
Oh good, how smart that sounded. What did I expect—the tick to morph back inside through the plastic? My eyes shut. This was a mistake. I never should have called the detective. He'd walk out of here thinking worse of me than before.
Jud opened the kit and pulled out a small paper bag. He dropped the vial inside, folded over the top and pulled a pen from his pocket to label it. He set the bag on the table. "I saw your daughter's backpack. You said the bottle was in there?"
"In the . . . small zipper part in front."
"Did you look through the rest of her pack?"
I blinked. Why hadn't I? "Once I saw the tick I—"
"Understood. Let me bring it in here, and we'll go through it, okay?"
"Okay."
Jud went to the kitchen and returned, carrying the backpack with both hands. Moving the paper bag and recorder to the floor, he set the pack on the table. Squatted down. One by one he pulled out the items that symbolized my Lauren. Textbooks, notebooks. Pens. A tiny stuffed animal. An old invitation to a birthday party she'd already attended. A hair clip, notes from her friends. Half a candy bar in its wrapping. An old test, graded B. My heart clutched at each item. Every one spelled trust and innocence, my daughter's life now strewn in pieces on the floor.
Brock, how could you leave her?
The backpack lay empty. Jud ran his hand inside each zippered section. He stood, arching his back, and spread his hands. "Nothing else out of the ordinary."
"No."
Jud thought for a moment. "You say you dropped the tick. In what area?"
"The kitchen. By the table. W-would you look?"
"Yeah."
Once again he disappeared. After a time I saw him through the pass-through window, bent low. I sagged on the couch like a half-stuffed ragdoll, my thoughts bending from the tick to Brock and back again. Sudden anger steamed up inside me, rattled around my ribs, then petered away. No energy to sustain it.
I don't know how long I waited. My eyes found the clock twice, but they looked through it, the time not registering. What did it matter anyway?
Jud appeared. "I've looked all over and can't find it."
Of course he wouldn't. Why should anything go right for me today? "It's really small."
"Yeah. Easy to miss."
I raised my eyes to his. Did he believe me?
"You'll keep looking for it?"
I nodded. You bet I would.
"If you find it I want you to put it in something and call me right away."
"I will."
Jud took off the gloves and put them in his kit. "Where's your daughter?"
"Upstairs. Watching TV in my room." I rubbed my chin with the back of my hand. My knuckles twinged, making me wince.
He sat down in the armchair. "I need you to tell me everything about the tick. When you first saw the bottle. How you dropped it. Everything. I'll record your story. All right?"
My story. Not the facts. A Freudian slip? I nodded. Waited in silence while he readied the recorder and spoke our names and the date into it.
"Okay, tell me what happened."
I told him. With halting words and a mind that twisted and stuttered, I related finding the bottle, then dropping it. My falling down. Lauren's and my desperate search for the tick. "But I didn't tell her what it was. Just called it a b-bug." I swallowed. I couldn't talk much more. It was so tiring. "Sh-she wanted to know if it would . . ." My eyes fell to the recorder. I could feel my lungs struggling to suck in air. "When they . . ." I floundered, then tapped my teeth. "Bugs that . . ."
Jud frowned. "Bite?"
"Yes. Bite. I said it could. So we had to find it."
He nodded. "All right. Anything else?"
My gaze drifted to the fireplace. How long since we'd had a fire? Last winter. Brock had made it.
Brock. Come back to me. I have to get you back.
I shook my head.
"Okay." Jud leaned over and turned off the recorder. "Thanks. Now I need to talk to Lauren."
My muscles tensed. "Why?"
"I need to hear her side of the story about the bottle. And I need to ask her if she saw anyone she didn't know around her backpack today."
"But she's already scared enough. I don't want her . . ."
He looked at me, an unreadable expression on his face. Compassion? A blend of pity and judgment? "I understand. But you've called me with this news, and now I have to follow it through."
"Don't tell Brock." The plea just blurted out. "Please."
Jud's eyes held mine. He tilted his head in a half nod. "I'd like to take her in the office where I met with you and your husband, if I may."
"Not here? With me?"
"I need to talk to her alone."
I focused on my lap. Alone. Of course. To see if her answers corroborated her crazy mother's story. "Would you call her down? I can't . . ."
He walked behind me into the hallway, to the bottom of the stairs and called Lauren's name. After two tries I heard the door to my bedroom open, sounds from the TV waft out.
"What?" Her response was clipped, wary.
"It's Detective Maxwell, remember me? I was here the other day to talk to your parents. I'd like to talk to you now, all right?"
A long pause. I could feel Lauren's hesitation. Here was one more thing in an already strange day. A strange week. "Okay." A moment later her feet hit the hall floor.
"Let's go in your dad's office, okay?"
Another pause. "Mom?"
The discomfort in her voice pierced me. I should get up, demand to be with her. "It's okay, honey. You go talk to him."
Their footsteps faded behind me. I heard a door shut. Once again I waited, my body listing over, my mind at half-stun. I longed to return all of Lauren's things into her pack. She would not be happy to see them gone through like this, so scattered. But I couldn't get down to the floor. And my last bit of energy was waning.
I moved my cane to the floor. Lay down and closed my eyes. How was I going to take care of Lauren by myself, day after day?
About twenty minutes later Lauren and the detective emerged from the office to stand over the back of the couch, gazing down at me. I tried to sit up, embarrassed to be lying down in Jud's presence. But my body wouldn't budge.
"It's okay." He waved a hand at me. "Stay where you are."
I looked at Lauren. "You all right?" She was eyeing her possessions on the floor without an ounce of surprise. "We had to—"
"It's okay, he told me." She shrugged. "I'll put them away later."
I turned a questioning gaze on Jud. He lifted a hand as if to say I have a way with kids.
"Mom, can I go back upstairs and watch TV?"
My eyes searched her face. Was this stoicism, or had Jud truly put her fears at ease? "Sure."
Lauren trotted off. Jud came around the couch. "Please." I gestured toward the armchair. He took it. With great effort I pulled myself to sit up. "Well?"
He leaned forward, legs apart, hands clasped between his knees. "She told me what happened. She told me everything you did. Except, of course, she came on the scene after you'd dropped the bottle. So she never actually saw you pull the bottle from her backpack."
Point taken. Once again my story could be suspect. "Did she see anyone at school?"
"No. But when I pressed her she did remember that she'd left her backpack lying on the grass near the parents' pick-up area. She happened to find a cell phone lying on the grass and ran to turn it into the office."
That was Lauren. Ever honest. Caring about someone else's loss. I shook my head. "If she hadn't done that, he maybe couldn't have—"
"True. Or maybe he'd have tried some other way."
I fixed Jud with a look. "You believe me? About all this?"
"There's no doubt in my mind you're very sick. And I haven't been happy about not being able to spend more time on your case. I've done some research online about this disease and the so-called Lyme wars. Just so I could understand the context. I've also checked into Lyme symptoms. Yours seem right on the money."
He'd taken the time to research? My eyes welled, I couldn't help it. "Thank you." The words came out a raspy whisper.
Jud hesitated, as if searching for delicate words. "However, I still don't have much to go on in this case. And meanwhile we're getting all this pressure on the local burglaries. I'd love to have a bit of hard evidence so I could show my superior this case deserves more of my attention."
I could only nod. At least . . . this.
He pointed toward the bag. "I'm going to take that vial to be tested for fingerprints. I'll let you know what we find. Which reminds me, I need to get yours and Lauren's prints so we can rule them out. I brought what I need to take them in this kit."
My relief fizzled. "Lauren's prints? What do I tell her? What did you tell her?"
He tapped his thumbs together. "We all want to shield our kids. I understand that. I got two of my own. But in this case, Lauren already knows funny things are going on. I think it's better to tell her the truth than allow her imagination to run wild. Kids know when you're lying."
I thought of my childhood. Yes, they did.
"I'll be going to Lauren's school tomorrow. I want to alert her principal about the possibility of someone harassing her. I don't need to tell them the whole story. But if this guy's really out to harm Lauren, we need to have precautions in place."
Over the Edge Page 14
