Diana grabbed a light jacket and her tote bag, which she’d never gotten around to cleaning out after her trip last week. She casually descended the stairs and walked into the library, where Simon and Clarice now were watching a mystery show on the gigantic high-definition television that Simon had bought the previous year. They both looked up when they heard Diana’s keys rattle.
“Going somewhere?” Simon asked.
Diana didn’t intend to tell them that she was worried about Nan. If they thought there was cause for worry, they would immediately begin trying to talk her out of going to the Murphy home. Simon would suggest asking the police to check on Nan, although Diana knew that the police would not find the fact that a young woman wasn’t answering her cell phone a little after nine o’clock reason enough for sending a patrol car to her house. Diana hated lying to them, but if she told the truth, then overcame their objections and left for Nan’s, their enjoyment of the television show would be ruined by their concern for her, and for the first time in forty-eight hours, they both looked relaxed and almost happy.
“I have a sudden craving for ice cream,” Diana lied blithely. “Also, a tabloid. Maybe two. I’m woefully behind on what all of my Hollywood friends are up to these days. I think I’ll go to the convenience store and do a little shopping. I’m also restless, so I might ride around for a while before I stop at the store. Is there anything I can get for you two?”
Clarice immediately turned worried eyes to her. “Are you sure you should go out alone, dear?”
“I can’t let fear of Jeffrey Cavanaugh make me a prisoner, Clarice. Besides, I don’t think he’ll try anything else tonight. Even he knows better than to push his luck.”
“Is your cell phone charged?” Simon asked.
Diana smiled. “Charged and located in a convenient pocket in the lining of my bag.”
“Well, all right. What kind of ice cream are you craving?”
“Uh, cherry swirl. Clarice, do you like cherry swirl?”
“I rarely eat ice cream, but tonight cherry swirl sounds delicious.”
“Get a gallon,” Simon ordered. “And none of the cheap stuff.”
“I wouldn’t dream of it.” Diana smiled. “Be back soon.”
The night air was warm but lacking the humidity of Friday evening. Diana took a deep breath. Although it was late August, she thought she could smell the coming autumn. She loved fall, when the leaves changed colors and the mornings became crisp without being cold. Tonight the stars were so bright they almost twinkled, and the iridescent three-quarter moon glowed. Neither the warm air nor the panoply of light could ease Diana’s sense of dread, though. She had a dark feeling that the Nan she had seen today—the Nan she had never seen before—might do something to herself. And all because of Glen, Diana thought furiously. All because of the unprincipled, deceitful man whom Diana had been seeing for months. How glad she was she’d never let the relationship become intimate, but that’s probably what had sent him looking for sex in an easy target like Nan.
And Penny? She wasn’t an easy target, Diana thought as she swept down the narrow, curvy road through Ritter Park. Why had Penny become involved with him? Clarice had said she’d first seen Glen come to Penny’s house about two months ago. And how old was the baby that Penny carried in her wreck of a body? Two months. Was the baby the reason she was running away? Diana had no idea how Penny felt about abortion, but she was certain that if Penny decided to have one, it would not be something she could do without guilt. Maybe she couldn’t do it at all.
The Murphy house sat on an acre of land west of Huntington on a knoll overlooking Interstate 64. The house and land had belonged to Nan’s paternal grandparents, who’d bequeathed both to their son and made him promise not to sell so much as a foot of the land. After Nan’s father died when she was seven, Mrs. Murphy had told Simon that she wished she could sell half the land for money she desperately needed, but she’d made the same promise to her husband that he’d made to his father.
Diana turned onto the short, neglected lane leading to the house Nan shared with her mother. She passed two houses with lights burning in the windows, another one that sat in darkness, and finally reached the Murphy house at the end of the lane. Two lights shone in the house that wasn’t much larger than Penny’s—one light in what Diana guessed to be a bedroom, and another filtering dimly from farther back in the house. Diana pulled in the driveway behind Nan’s old Pontiac, took a deep breath, and walked up the two steps leading to the front door of the ugly yellowish-green house.
She knocked. No one came to the door, but Diana heard music playing loudly inside. Perhaps Nan hadn’t heard her, she thought, and knocked again. Still no answer, but Diana knew Nan must be inside. So why wouldn’t she come to the door?
Diana glanced around. The moon and the stars did not seem to shine as brightly on this drab little lane, and the other two occupied houses looked far away. Diana felt her palms grow wet, and suddenly she knew that she should not have come alone to this relatively isolated spot at night, but she’d had no choice. After Jeffrey’s demonstration this afternoon, she couldn’t ask Simon to leave Clarice alone in the house with Willow. Her only real friend lay dying in the burn unit at the hospital and her “boyfriend” was not an option.
Leaving wasn’t an option, either, she told herself, even though she wanted to make a run for her car and get away from this place. When had Nan become a priority with her? After what happened to Penny, Diana mentally answered herself. She hadn’t taken Penny’s anxious tone seriously enough Thursday night on the phone. She wasn’t going to make the same mistake with Nan.
Diana twisted the doorknob. To her surprise, the front door swung open. Music washed over her. Barry White sang “Never, Never Gonna Give You Up” in his fathomless, seductive voice as Diana stepped into the small living room dimly lit by a hall light. To her right, a long, sagging couch huddled beneath a wildly flowered slipcover, and beside it was a well-worn recliner. The coffee table looked as if it might tumble over with its load of magazines, tabloid newspapers, dirty cups and glasses, a couple of bodice-ripper romance novels, and two heaping ashtrays. No doubt before Nan’s mother left for Portland the previous week, the room had been spotless.
She called out loudly, “Nan!” but received no answer. Diana felt like an intruder, and hesitated actually searching the house for Nan, but she thought if she’d come this far, she should make an all-out effort to find the girl before returning home.
Diana glanced at the front door and decided to leave it open. Somehow, the open door made her feel less like a trespasser. It also made her feel less cut off from the rest of the world, she admitted to herself, although that world was oddly dark and quiet. She called for Nan again then decided to check out the room with the light—the room she was certain was a bedroom.
She left the living room and started down the hall, noticing the pull-down stairs that led to the attic. The attic light funneled through a narrow hole in the ceiling and down the stairs, and a dusty suitcase sat in the hall. Perhaps Nan had retrieved it from the attic and made a second trip up those stairs.
Diana stuck her head into each of the small bedrooms and found them empty. She called for Nan again but still received no answer, and sighing in frustration, she decided to check out the attic. As she grasped the side of the stairs, she felt as if a raindrop hit the top of her head. Diana reached up and touched the side part in her hair. Wet. She pulled her hand away and looked at it. Red. Then another drop landed on her temple and rolled lazily down her face. She wiped it off with the back of her hand and looked up to see more drops falling, faster and faster.
Diana’s heart beat harder. Her first instinct was to run out of the house, get in her car, and leave as fast as possible, but she couldn’t. Nan was hurt—maybe fatally, maybe not. If she wasn’t dead, Diana could not run away from an injured girl who could bleed to death.
Diana began to climb the steps, dread settling over her like a heavy cloak. She thought about
calling 911, but she could not tell them anything except that someone—or something—was bleeding in an attic. She needed more information. She wouldn’t linger. She wouldn’t actually go into the attic. If she could just peep over the edge of the flooring . . .
At last, she was high enough. The naked bulb in the center of the room lit up the shabby attic as if it were a movie set, showing layers of dust, cobwebs, torn insulation, years’ worth of discarded furniture, and knickknacks sitting on the grit-covered floor.
Diana saw all of this within five seconds. Then she climbed one more step, her feet still on the ladder, her sweating hands gripping the attic floor. She glanced to her left, from where the blood had dripped on her. Shock dealt Diana a hammer blow as she looked at Nan Murphy, lying inches away from the attic opening, her vacant eyes fixed on Diana, a long gash nearly severing her neck, a pool of violent red spreading around her and oozing toward the attic opening.
Raging fear sucked the air from Diana’s lungs. She couldn’t have screamed even if it would have helped. She felt dizzy and held tightly to the edge of the attic floor for a moment, trying to regain her equilibrium. Starting to hyperventilate, she carefully stepped down onto the next stair and loosened a hand from the edge of the attic floor to place on the stair rail. Suddenly Diana heard a rushing noise before a burst of dust and dirt flew into her eyes, blinding her. Then she heard an almost inhuman grunt as someone placed a shoe against her chest and thrust. Her sweating hands lost their hold, and the steps seemed to disappear. Diana heard herself screaming thinly as she crashed to the floor of the hall.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
1
“Diana! Diana!” A voice called faintly down a long, dark tunnel. “Diana, can you hear me?”
Yes, I can hear you. She thought she said it aloud, but the voice asked again, “Can you hear me?” A man’s voice. Deep. Familiar. Coming closer to her through the tunnel. Closer. “Diana!”
“Tyler?” she managed barely above a breath. “Tyler . . .”
“Thank God!” A hand smoothed her hair away from her face. Lips gently touched her cheek. She waited for the lips to touch her again, but instead he asked, “Can you open your eyes?”
With great effort she lifted her eyelids, which felt as if they weighed five pounds each. Through her blurred vision, she could see him leaning over her, his blond-streaked hair falling forward around his tanned face, a line forming between the dark eyebrows over his laser-blue eyes. “Where are we?” she asked foggily.
“You don’t remember?”
“N-No. I think I was looking for someone. . . . Yes, that’s it. Who was I looking for?”
“It doesn’t matter now. I want you to lie still.” She promptly tried to lift her head, and Tyler snapped, “I said lie still, dammit!”
“Don’t be mad,” she mumbled. “My head hurts.”
“I’m sure it does. And I’m not mad. I’m worried. Now don’t move while I call nine-one-one. We have to get you to the hospital.”
“Okay. Whatever you want, Tyler.” She smiled weakly at him, ignoring his command not to move and running a shaking finger across his cheekbone. The last thing she remembered was saying dreamily, “Just don’t leave me. Don’t ever leave me. . . .”
Diana recalled nothing about the arrival of the ambulance, her ride to the hospital, or her admittance to the emergency room. Slowly she became vaguely aware of a light shining in her eyes, someone placing her body over hard rectangles before somebody else called, “Take a deep breath, hold it, and don’t move.” Finally she felt a sharp pain in her wrist, opened her eyes, and yelped, “Ouch!”
A pair of kind, dark-brown eyes looked at her through glasses. “Ah, you’re back with us, Ms. Sheridan.”
“Have I been somewhere?” Diana asked fuzzily. “I don’t remember going anywhere.”
“Right now you’re in the hospital.”
“Oh,” Diana said without alarm. She looked at him closely. “I know you.”
The doctor smiled. “Indeed you do. We met Friday night when you came to be with your friend’s daughter, Willow.”
“Willow . . . Willow.” Diana looked at the ceiling for a moment then said in triumph, “Willow Conley, and you’re Dr. Evans!”
“Very good! Do you remember what happened to you earlier this evening?”
Diana frowned. She felt as if she was trying to dig barehanded through concrete covering the memory of the evening, and it was too much for her. “No. I don’t remember,” she said with growing agitation. “Why can’t I remember?”
“Don’t be upset. It’s only natural.”
“Natural not to remember what happened a few hours ago?” She tried to sit up but a nurse gently pushed her down. “Just lie quietly, dear. You have no reason to be afraid.”
Diana looked up at the woman with intelligent dark-blue eyes. “Nurse Trenton!”
“Right again!” The nurse smiled at her. “I was at the desk the night you came to see Willow. You were upset with me because I wouldn’t let you go to her immediately because you aren’t family.”
“Rules are rules,” Diana said in a perfect imitation of Nurse Trenton’s voice.
Miss Trenton and Dr. Evans looked at each other and laughed.
“She hasn’t lost her sense of humor,” Dr. Evans said.
“But I’ve lost a big chunk of my memory,” Diana mourned. “I can’t remember this evening and it scares me. I’m here all alone and I hurt and I’m scared!”
Dr. Evans glanced at his chart then said gently, “You aren’t alone. A young man came with you. He’s been very worried about you. Tyler Raines. Do you want to see him now?”
Diana looked at Miss Trenton. “May I? He’s not family.”
Miss Trenton laughed again, her cheeks turning pink. “My goodness, I didn’t know I sounded like such a tyrant!”
“Not a tyrant.” Diana smiled. “Just firm. And I would very much like to see Tyler.”
A moment later, Tyler Raines entered the room almost tentatively. Although her vision was slightly blurry, Diana could see his eyebrows drawn together in worry. He didn’t look at the doctor or the nurse—just at Diana. “Hi, there,” he said awkwardly. “How do you feel?”
“Fabulous. I’d like to leave here and go out dancing. I’d also like to know what happened to me.” She held out her hand. Tyler stared at it in bewilderment for a moment then seemed to realize that she wanted him to take it in his own. He stepped closer to the examination table and enfolded her hand in both of his. “Tyler, what happened?”
Tyler looked at her uncertainly before he said, “You had a bad fall.”
“A fall? Down the steps at home?”
“Down steps, but not at home.”
“Well, where?”
“I think Tyler should tell you what happened later.” Dr. Evans smiled at her. “Most patients can’t wait to find out what’s wrong with them.”
“I’m the exception to the rule, but I guess you’re going to tell me anyway.” Diana sighed. “Fire away.”
“First of all, you have a concussion. You have what we call a goose egg on your head. It needed three stitches but we only cut a small square out of your hair. You have so much hair, the bald spot will never be noticed.”
“Why do I have a concussion?”
“We told you—you fell down some stairs.”
“Doctor?” Tyler said, sounding alarmed.
“It’s all right, Mr. Raines. This is to be expected.” Dr. Evans looked at Diana. “Concussions can result in confusion, nausea, headache, blurred vision, loss of short-term memory, and perseverating, which is the repetition of a question that’s already been answered several times.”
“I don’t feel nauseated,” Diana said. “I have a headache.”
“And we’ll give you something for that headache in a few minutes,” the doctor said patiently. “As for your other injuries—”
“Oh no, not more,” Diana wailed.
“Yes, I’m afraid so.” He picked up her left wri
st and turned it slightly. She yelped in pain. “You have a sprained wrist. You landed on it and I’m surprised it isn’t broken, but the X-rays tell us you were lucky. We’ll bandage it tightly and you will use it as little as possible. You are right handed, aren’t you?” She nodded. “Then the injury to the left wrist shouldn’t cause you too much trouble. And you have one more injury,” Dr. Evans said.
“Oh no,” Diana groaned.
“It’s called a hip pointer. We see it a lot in football players. It’s caused by a direct blow to the pelvis, more specifically, the iliac crest. The bony ridge you can feel along the waist and the overlying muscle are bruised. We took X-rays and you’re lucky again, since there’s no fracture. You’ll need rest, ice applications, and anti-inflammatory medication.”
“And I’ll be just like new?” Diana asked hopefully.
“In time. Don’t rush your recovery. Don’t forget the ice packs.”
“We can give you handouts explaining all of these conditions and their treatment,” Nurse Trenton said to Tyler.
“I’d appreciate that.” He gave her his drop-dead grin—deep dimples, white teeth against tanned skin, twinkling eyes—the full package. The nurse’s color heightened.
“Am I done?” Diana asked. “I’d really like to go home now.”
The doctor frowned. “We’ve finished with your tests, but it would be safest for you to spend the night in the hospital.”
You Can Run... Page 21
