The Girl Next Door

by MacDonald, Patricia

  “Nina,” said Patrick. “Are you in there?”

  Nina started, and looked at him. “What? Yes.”

  “You didn’t say a word the whole way down here.”

  Nina turned and looked at him. “Patrick, does Gemma ever drive the Jag?”

  “Sure,” he said. “Though I don’t give her a lot of opportunities. Why?” He opened the car door and started to get out.

  Nina got out of the car, closing the door behind her and locking it. “She never told me that you didn’t have the Jag today. That it was at your house.”

  “Why would she tell you that?” he asked.

  “Maybe the garage guys just left it and she didn’t know,” Nina mused aloud.

  “Nobody just leaves a Jag,” Patrick scoffed. “That’s a lawsuit waiting to happen. Somebody has to sign for it. Do you know Jimmy’s room number?”

  Nina shook her head. “Um … He was in ICU. Let’s check there first.”

  “Fine,” said Patrick. He took the lead, opening the hospital doors for her and checking with Patient Information. They still had Jimmy listed in ICU, and the woman at the desk gave Patrick directions through the hospital to the Intensive Care Unit. Nina trailed after her brother, grateful that he was taking charge.

  Patrick was already talking to a nurse at the ICU nurses’ station. Nina thought about Jimmy, who had been in the motel room but hadn’t been shot. Patrick came up to her and shook her by the upper arm.

  “Hey, I think this is good news. They moved him to a private room.”

  Nina blinked at him. “They did?”

  “Yeah. Here’s the number. We have to walk back around to the elevators.”

  “Okay,” said Nina. “You lead the way.”

  Patrick did so, impatiently pushing the elevator button a half dozen times before they heard the ping that meant it was arriving on their floor. They stepped in and rode up to Jimmy’s new floor, then walked down the hallway, checking over the doors for his room number.

  “This is it,” said Patrick.

  While Nina would have peered inside first, Patrick strode in. Nina followed him and saw Rose and George Connelly, sitting, talking quietly at the foot of Jimmy’s bed. They both looked up and then rose to greet Nina and her brother. Brief hugs were exchanged, and then Nina and Patrick looked toward the bed. Nina felt a sudden letdown to see that Jimmy looked exactly as he had when she’d left him earlier in the afternoon.

  Patrick grimaced at the sight of his brother. “Oh my God,” he said. “James.”

  Rose got up and joined them, looking at the young man in the bed. “The doctor was just in and we talked to him. He said there’s three possibilities. If Jimmy comes out of the coma, he may recover. Or he could just slip away from us.”

  “What’s the third possibility?” Nina asked.

  Rose reached out and touched Jimmy’s hand, avoiding the part that was black and blue where the IV needle was taped. “He could stay like this. Possibly for a very long time.”

  Patrick shook his head. “Oh my God,” he said. “Jimmy, you idiot.” But when Nina glanced at him she saw tears in his eyes.

  Nina turned to George and Rose. “Why don’t you two go home and get some rest. You’ve been here for hours. Patrick and I will stay with him for a while.”

  “Oh no,” said Rose, sitting back down next to her husband. “We’re fine. We just took a break a while ago. Your wife was here, Patrick, and she stayed with Jimmy while we went down to the cafeteria.”

  “Gemma was here?” he said.

  “She just left a few minutes ago,” said Rose. “Anyway, we need to stay because we’re expecting Anthony. He’s flying in from Boston to be with his brother.”

  Patrick reached out and rubbed his hand over Jimmy’s burr haircut. “That’s good of Anthony,” he said.

  George got up and said, “Here, let me get you two a chair.” Before they could protest, he was out in the hallway questioning a passing nurse.

  Nina’s stomach growled and she felt the headache returning. She wanted to be alone to think. “Rose, what time does the cafeteria close, do you know?”

  Rose looked up at the clock. “You’d better hurry,” she said. “You can just make it.”

  “Patrick, I think I’m going to go down there and get something to eat. Can I get you anything?”

  Patrick shook his head. “I ate with Lindsay,” he said.

  “I’ll be back soon,” said Nina. She left the room, making note of the number and the location, found an elevator, and rode to the basement, where the hospital cafeteria was located. It was painted a muted aquamarine and had all the warmth of a fish tank. There were only a few tables occupied, and the cafeteria workers were beginning to wipe off the empty tables and put up the chairs. Nina grabbed a yogurt and a bottle of juice, paid the cashier, and sat down not far from a couple who were sitting silently, eating off trays.

  Nina started to eat the yogurt, and it felt good going down, but she also was glad to be away from Jimmy’s room in a spot where she could sit and think. Her hands shook as she lifted the spoon to her mouth and tried to remember everything she’d heard about the shooting today. It was some kind of madness to suspect Gemma just because she’d had access to the Jag and lied about it. What reason would Gemma ever have had to shoot Calvin Mears and the other guy? None. There was no reason. It was not as if Calvin Mears had seen Gemma leaving their house that long-ago April night. Gemma had no reason in the world to kill Marsha. Thinking back on that afternoon, she remembered Marsha urging Patrick to take Gemma out to celebrate. Nina’s mother had always been more than kind to Gemma. She’d always felt sorry for the girl who was forced to live with a father and a stepmother who didn’t really want her around. No, there was no reason. Everything that day had been perfectly normal. Nina and her mother had talked about what a great student Gemma was, and what a help to Patrick. And then a thought struck Nina. A thought that made her feel faint. The newspaper her mother had pulled off the coffee table in the living room when she fell, dying of her wounds. Gemma’s picture had been on the front page that day, for receiving the Delman Prize.

  The couple at the other table stood up. The woman had her back to Nina. Nina could see that she had frizzy brown hair cut into a shag. The man had blond hair and a bulldog face. Nina took a last bite of her yogurt and stared at the pair. She was sure she knew them from somewhere. The man picked up the trays to bus the table. The woman, whose coat was hanging over the back of her chair, picked up the coat and put it on. On the front of the coat was a large laminated button with a photo of two girls in Christmas party dresses.

  Omigod, thought Nina. Of course. She stood up, still holding her yogurt, and approached their table shyly. “Mr…. Mazurek?” she said.

  The bulldog-faced man scowled at her suspiciously.

  “My name is Nina Avery,” she said. “You testified at my father’s parole hearing. Duncan Avery.”

  The man’s furrowed face broke into a broad smile. “Oh yeah. Hey there. Hey, honey. This is Doc Avery’s girl, remember? Did you meet my wife, Carla?”

  Mrs. Mazurek looked at Nina with narrowed eyes, as if she couldn’t really remember her, but she smiled all the same and extended a hand. Nina put the spoon in the yogurt in her left hand and shook hands with both of them.

  “So,” Mazurek said, nodding. “Are you here to see the doc? We just come from his room, but we didn’t see you up there.”

  “I’m sorry?” said Nina, shaking her head slowly.

  “Dr. Quinteros,” said Mazurek, looking at her curiously. “You didn’t know he was here?”

  Nina felt suddenly weak. “Andre?” she whispered.

  “Oh yeah. I figured you were here to see him. He told me he needed that cop’s address in Seaside Park because of something to do with you … or your dad. I don’t know. Anyway, he got caught in a shootout over there. The doc’s lucky to be alive.”

  30

  NINA grabbed the sleeve of his coat. “I didn’t know anything about thi
s. What happened? Is Andre all right?”

  Stan shrugged. “He was pretty groggy when we were up there. Well, he’s been through a hell of a lot today. He was in surgery this afternoon. Then they had him out in the recovery room and he hurt himself trying to get up, so they had to go back in and sew him up again. I figured you knew about it.”

  Nina’s stomach was churning. She had to force herself to remain calm. “I didn’t understand what you said. What did this have to do with me?”

  “Just this morning,” said Stan. “He asked me to find out the address of this cop named Jenkins in Seaside Park. Something to do with your father’s murder. So I called around and got it for him. The next thing I know the doc left work. A couple hours later we get a call at the prison that Dr. Q is in surgery. Apparently, he went looking for this cop’s nephew in some sleazy motel in Seaside Park. Some guy came in and shot at them. The nephew’s dead. The other one’s here in the hospital, too.”

  Oh my God. Andre! she thought. He did it for her. He tried to find Calvin Mears for her. A Puerto Rican guy got shot, Mrs. Jenkins had said. A Hispanic man, someone else had said. Gemma. She had asked about the condition of the Hispanic man. And Nina had never even put it together that it might be a doctor of Mexican descent.

  “Are you all right, honey?” asked Carla Mazurek. “You look a little green around the gills. Do you want to sit down? Stan, let her sit.”

  But Nina waved away their concern. “Where’s his room?” she asked.

  Stan peered at his wife. “What was it, hon? Three …”

  “Three ten,” said Carla promptly. “But they wouldn’t even let me go in. They let Stan go, but I had to wait in the lounge.”

  “Thank you,” said Nina. “Thank you both.”

  “You can’t just go up there,” Stan warned her. “You have to have …”

  Nina was not listening. She tossed her yogurt into a trash bin near the door and began to run.

  THE elevator door opened on three, and Nina quickly looked at the room number guide and rushed off to the right. Down the hall she saw an armed cop in full uniform standing outside the door of one of the rooms, his hands clasped over a clipboard in front of him. Without even looking at the number, she knew. That was Andre’s room. They were protecting him. He was a witness to the shooting and he was still alive. She exhaled a deep sigh. He was still alive.

  She walked up and spoke politely to the officer. “Excuse me,” she said. “Is this Dr. Quinteros’s room?”

  The officer studied her with an unsmiling stare. “The patient in this room is not allowed to have visitors,” he said. “Not unless they’ve got clearance.”

  “I really need to see him,” said Nina. “He’s … he’s my fiancé,” she said.

  The cop picked up the clipboard and studied it.

  “Name?” he said.

  “Susan …” she blurted out.

  “Susan what?” he asked.

  Nina blushed, realizing she had been caught out in her lie. She didn’t even know what Susan’s last name was. “Look, I’m sorry,” she said. “That was stupid of me. I’m not really his fiancée. I’m a friend. A good friend. In fact, he’s in there because he tried to … do me a favor.”

  “Name,” the cop repeated stubbornly.

  “My name is Nina Avery …”

  The cop ran a pen down the list of names on his clipboard. “I’m sorry, ma’am,” he said. “You’re not on this list.”

  “But … if you would just stick your head in there and ask him, I’m sure he’d tell you that he wants to see me. Please, could you just ask him?” Nina knew she could be seductive when she wanted to be. She summoned all her powers of persuasion and tried to win him over. “Please.”

  The cop glared at her. “You are not on the list,” he said. “And if you don’t move along now, I’m going to have to get somebody up here to escort you out of the building. Is that clear?”

  Nina closed her eyes for a second and pictured Andre’s face. His fierce, intelligent eyes, which seemed to be able to look into her heart. She thought she had driven him away the other night. But it turned out that he had simply decided to take on her problems and tell her about it afterward. You did this for me, she thought, and you don’t even know I’m here. But I’m not going to leave until I see you and let you know … She took a deep breath and nodded. “Okay,” she said. “I get it. Okay. I’m leaving.”

  The cop watched her go suspiciously. She started back down the hall in the direction of the elevators, trying to think of some way she could get in. When she reached the nurses’ station, she stopped. The nurse behind the desk was fairly young and had long shiny curls.

  “Hi,” said Nina.

  “Hi,” the nurse said pleasantly.

  “I love your hair,” said Nina. “It’s really beautiful.”

  The nurse smiled and patted her healthy curls. “You wouldn’t want to have to wash it every day,” she said.

  Nina forced a smile. “No, I’m sure. Listen, can you tell me how Dr. Quinteros is doing? I’m a friend of his, and they won’t let me in to see him.”

  “I’m sorry,” said the nurse. “We’re not permitted …”

  “Well, how can I get my name on that list of visitors? I mean, we’re really close and I know he would want to see me.”

  “I’m sorry,” said the nurse. “We have nothing to do with that. That’s a police matter.”

  Nina wanted to pound the desk in frustration, but she controlled herself. “Look, if one of you is going in there, could I give you a note to take to him, just to let him know I’m here?”

  “I’m sorry,” the nurse said, a slight chill in her tone. She swiveled around in her chair, reaching for some charts on the wall beside her desk.

  All right, Nina thought. Plan B. Not that she had a plan B. She stepped away from the desk and looked down the hall toward Andre’s room. The cop was still standing there, barring the door, staring straight ahead. Halfway down the hallway was an exit sign over a stairwell, and beside that was a lounge across the hall and one door down from Andre’s room. Nina thought about it for a minute. She knew very little about Andre’s life, but there were bound to be other people whose names were on that clipboard list who might come to visit him. If I wait in the lounge, she thought, and keep an eye on his room, maybe I can waylay one of the “approved” visitors as they are going in and explain it to them. Somebody who looks sympathetic. It was worth a try. She went and got a drink from the fountain and then slipped into the lounge.

  It was a small room with a sofa and two chairs. There was a magazine rack with some dog-eared issues of Newsweek and Ladies’ Home Journal, and a bunch of LEGOs scattered on the wall-to-wall carpeting. A TV was on in the corner, the laugh track blaring. There was no one else there at the moment. She was glad of that. She didn’t feel like making small talk. Besides, it was immediately clear that she could not watch the door to Andre’s room without the aid of a mirror, and she knew how strange that was going to look. She rummaged in her satchel and pulled out a compact. She opened it and moved her chair so that she could see the room in the mirror with her back to the door. It could prove to be a tedious wait, but it was worth doing. She only wished that Stan Mazurek hadn’t already been and gone. She realized now that he’d been trying to warn her about this situation when they were talking in the cafeteria.

  Nina held up the compact and looked into it as discreetly as possible. She couldn’t really do anything else but sit there, and she was wondering what in the world she was going to do to pass the time. She couldn’t read, or call anyone on the phone. She glanced at the TV in the corner occasionally, but only for a second. Then she resumed her vigil.

  All at once, she saw the stiff cop moving and realized that someone was coming toward the door. This could be her opportunity. She sat up and stared hard into the mirror. But then her shoulders slumped as she realized it was only a nurse. She could see the side of the nurse’s smock, and her painfully thin arm and bony wrist supporting a sm
all tray.

  The nurse moved the tray to her other hand as she reached for the doorknob with flashing, beringed fingers. Nina sighed, and then suddenly, a shock went through her like a lightning bolt. For one moment, the nurse was reflected in the tiny round mirror as she opened the door to Andre’s room. It was only a glimpse, but in that glimpse Nina recognized the pale, narrow face. And in that second, all the doubts that had been nagging at her, swirling in her mind, coalesced.

  Nina jumped up from her chair with a cry and bolted out the door. The cop’s head swiveled at the sudden movement and he glared at her as she crossed the hall. “That woman that just went in there,” Nina cried. “You have to stop her. That’s not a nurse. I know her. I know who she is.”

  The cop put his hand on his holster. “I told you before that you can’t go in there. What are you doing still hanging around?”

  “Did you hear me?” Nina cried. “That is not a nurse who just went in there. She’s …” Nina hesitated to say it. But it was too late for hesitation. “She’s the one. The one you want.”

  “Get away from this door,” growled the cop.

  “Are you going in there?” Nina demanded.

  “I’m warning you, lady …”

  “Then I am,” said Nina. He reached out to grab her, but she spun away from him and lunged for the door. She found the doorknob and turned it, pushing the door in.

  The cop drew his gun. “Stop right there.”

  “Not a chance,” said Nina, and she burst into the room.

  31

  GEMS flashed as the hypodermic needle, poised in one bony, beringed hand, punctured the IV tube that snaked down from the hanging bag and emptied through a needle into Andre’s hand. Andre lay in the bed, his head tilted to one side, his eyes closed.

  “Gemma, don’t!” Nina cried.

  Gemma, dressed in a blue nurse’s smock and pants that ballooned around her skinny frame, looked up and met Nina’s pleading gaze with an implacable stare. For a moment she flinched. Then she looked at the officer brandishing a gun who had just overtaken Nina.