by Debra Webb
“You remembered nothing about the cut-and-paste letters until your brother mentioned them?”
“Nothing.” She wanted to scream in frustration. “As soon as he mentioned them pieces of memories returned. I could see the letters. One said something like ‘I know the truth, do you?’ There was another that demanded how I was going to let this happen. If there’s more, I can’t remember them.”
He held her gaze but said nothing. What was there to say? Her dreams made no sense. The way the memories returned was unreliable at best.
Finally she had to look away. “I don’t know how I thought I could practice law again.” She closed her eyes and shook her head, then took a breath and dared to meet his steady gaze once more. “Sorry. I’m usually a little stronger than this.”
“You’re plenty strong, Natalie.”
Why oh why did he have to look at her that way? As if he appreciated what he saw...as if he wanted more than to talk.
“Would you just...” Good grief, what was she thinking? She looked away.
He took her face in his hands and turned her eyes to his. “I would.”
Her next breath deserted her as his lips lowered to hers. He brushed her mouth with his so very softly once, twice and then he kissed her slow, deep and deeper still. She leaned against him, relishing the feel of his warm body.
His fingers delved into her hair, angling her head just so to deepen the kiss.
And then he stopped. Every part of her protested. He pressed his forehead to hers. “We have work to do.”
She licked her lips, savored the taste of him. “Yes.”
For once, she wished he was wrong.
Chapter Eleven
Wenonah Road
2:00 p.m.
Clint parked at the curb in front of the house belonging to Imogene Stuart. “You do understand this is crossing a line. The firm will fire you for a move like this.”
She nodded. “For all intents and purposes, they’ve already fired me.”
“There will be damage to your professional reputation,” he reminded her.
She turned to him. “I have to do this. I need to know.”
He nodded. “I can do this part without you. You don’t have to—”
Natalie placed her hand on his arm. “I need to do this.”
Clint emerged from the car and went around to the passenger side to meet her. His instincts moved to the next level. He took a long look around the neighborhood. He didn’t see anything that looked out of place, but he felt it.
They were being watched.
Narrowing his focus, he scanned for any sign of a dog. The home was a small bungalow from the first quarter of the last century, bordered by a neat yard and a picket fence in need of a fresh coat of paint. A quick search had shown that Imogene’s husband passed away less than a week before the Thompson-Rison Medical trial. The twenty-year-old Dodge parked on the street was registered to the owner of the house, which hopefully meant she was home.
He climbed the steps behind Natalie, keeping an eye out for whoever was watching them as well as for a dog. He liked dogs but they often didn’t like him. As a cop he’d run into more than his share of unfriendly ones. There was always the chance that perps trained their dogs to dislike cops on sight. Maybe he’d have better luck as a private investigator.
Natalie opened the wooden screen door and knocked.
Television noise suggested someone was at home. The curtain in the window to the left of the door moved just enough for the occupant to have a look. It paid to be careful these days, particularly for a woman at home alone.
The door opened a crack. “No solicitors.” Female. Brown hair streaked with gray and a pair of glasses that shielded accusing eyes glared at them.
Clint gifted the lady with a smile. “We’re not solicitors, ma’am. We need a few minutes of your time to—”
“I have my own church, so just take it on next door. The heathens who live there could do with a sermon.”
Natalie said, “Mrs. Stuart, my name is—”
“Wait.” The door opened a fraction farther. The older woman scrutinized Natalie a bit more closely. “I know who you are.” Her lips tightened in anger, then she said, “I have nothing else to stay to you.”
When the door would have closed, Natalie braced a hand against it and stuck her foot in its way. “Please, Mrs. Stuart. This is very important.”
Whether the lady of the house allowed them in or not, Clint was impressed. This was the side of Natalie Drummond that had gone dormant with the brain injury. He was glad to see a glimmer of the fighter she used to be.
The door opened wide. “I’ll hear what you have to say because I’m a Christian. Come on in.” Stuart turned her back and shuffled to the sofa.
Natalie exchanged a look with him before going inside. Clint followed, closing the door behind him.
“Thank you, Mrs. Stuart. This is—”
“Clint Hayes.” He extended his hand to the lady. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, ma’am.”
Openly suspicious, she accepted the offered hand and gave it a shake. “We’ll see about that.”
He smiled. “I suppose we will.”
“Take a seat.” She reached for the remote and muted the television.
Clint waited for Natalie to be seated first, and then he took the remaining chair.
“Mrs. Stuart, I’d like to ask you a few questions about the Thompson case.”
Stuart had a kind face but there was nothing kind about the fury that contorted her features just then. “Why would you come back here now? It’s done. I told you all I had to say the last time we talked.”
Clint watched Natalie’s face. She seemed surprised at the woman’s words.
“I was on the legal team for your employer, I’m sure we spoke many times, Mrs. Stuart.”
Stuart’s gaze narrowed behind her glasses. “I’m talking about the private conversation we had. The one where I answered a certain question you had asked me.”
“I don’t understand,” Natalie pressed. “What private conversation?”
Stuart got to her feet. “I don’t know what you think you’re doing, but I’m not going to jail for what I was forced to do by your firm so you just get out of my house right now.”
“Please,” Natalie kept her seat, “let me explain.”
Clint kept quiet. If he got involved at this point Stuart would likely feel pressured.
Openly reluctant, Stuart took her seat once more.
“Before the trial I was injured.” Natalie gestured to her head. “A brain injury. I was in the hospital for weeks and then in rehab for months after that. I’ve only recently started to work again.”
Gaze still narrowed in suspicion, Stuart asked, “Is that why I didn’t see you at the trial? I kept expecting you to do something. But I never saw you again after we talked.”
A cold, sick feeling twisted in Clint’s gut.
“Yes. I was in the hospital fighting for my life.”
Stuart’s face softened. “I didn’t know. I just figured they shut you up the way they did the rest of us.”
Natalie glanced at Clint. The worry on her face told him all he needed to know. She wasn’t sure what was coming and she was terrified it would be news she didn’t want to hear.
“Can you tell me what question I asked?”
“Don’t see why I can’t.” Stuart took a big breath. “You asked if anyone instructed me to change my story about what happened in Mr. Thompson’s room that morning.”
Natalie waited for a long moment before she responded. “Will you share your answer with me again?”
Stuart shook her head. “No way. They made me sign one of those papers that says I can never talk about it again.” She frowned. “You can’t remember?�
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Natalie shook her head. “I’m sorry. I don’t remember.”
Stuart nodded. “That’s a real shame.” She stood once more. “I wish I could help you, but I’m all alone now. As you know I lost my husband to cancer. His treatments took a lot of money. My retirement from Rison Medical is all I got. I can’t risk losing it or having them come after me in a lawsuit.” She took a big breath as if trying to shore up her courage. “You should leave now and don’t come back.”
Natalie stood. Clint did the same. Stuart was afraid to talk and he got that. Anything she did or said posed great risk to her livelihood. If his theory about what happened to Natalie was correct, Stuart’s life could be in danger, as well.
Natalie hesitated at the door. “Mrs. Stuart, is there anything at all you can say that might guide me in my search for what really happened.”
Stuart hesitated for only a few seconds. “Look at the evidence you have. That will tell you all you need to know. You had it before the trial, maybe you still do.”
“I don’t have any evidence beyond what you saw presented at trial.”
“Yes you do. I gave it to you.” She shook her head, “I tried to tell you with those anonymous letters warning you to do something, and then I called. After that we met in person and I gave you what you needed to make things right. I did all I could do two years ago. I can’t help you now.”
Stuart ushered them onto the porch and closed her door.
“At least now we know who sent the cut-and-paste letters,” Natalie said wearily.
“That’s something.” Clint scanned the street. Coming here may have been a mistake. If this was where Natalie had come just before her fall...then whatever it was she’d been told at the time was why she ended up at the bottom of those stairs.
Moss Rose Lane
Hoover
5:15 p.m.
“THIS IS TOO RISKY.”
Natalie reached for patience. Clint wanted her to stay at his office with Jess but she couldn’t do that. “We can’t be sure she’ll even talk to me,” she argued. “I won’t risk scaring her off with a stranger.”
Clint stared out the windshield of his Audi, his profile turning to stone. He’d told her he suspected they were being watched but he hadn’t spotted a tail since leaving the Stuart home. Natalie wanted to hope he’d been wrong about their being watched, but she felt confident his instincts were far too good for such a mistake.
“No memories were triggered when I was at Mrs. Stuart’s home,” she urged when he remained silent. “That’s not a good sign, Clint. It means those memories may be lost forever. If there’s no chance of my recalling what she’s talking about, I have to find it another way. This—Mrs. Thompson—is the way. Maybe the only way.”
He turned to her, his dark eyes nearly black with frustration or something on that order. “They are watching us.”
“You can’t be sure. You said you hadn’t seen—”
“You worked at your firm for four years before your injury, you are well aware of how smart and cunning those guys are. Whether we spot their eyes or not, they are watching us.”
He was right. There was no point in denying the assertion or his perceptive skills. She supposed she should be afraid but somehow she wasn’t. She was out of a job anyway, but if anyone at her firm was responsible for her fall...
Natalie couldn’t assimilate the concept just now. Seeing this investigation through required all her cognitive skills. “Let’s give them something to worry about.”
Before he could argue, she opened the door and got out. She surveyed the street, giving whoever was watching a perfect view of her face no matter where they were hiding. Clint slammed his door, darting a hard look in her direction. He recognized exactly what she’d done.
Mrs. Thompson lived in the same home she had shared with her husband. A classic brick ranch with a big yard and perfectly manicured shrubs. Natalie was halfway up the sidewalk when a big dog raced around the corner of the house, barking for all it was worth.
She froze. Clint stepped in front of her. “Good boy.”
The dog obviously didn’t feel the same. He growled.
Clint crouched down and offered his hand, palm down.
“Do you think that’s a good idea?” Natalie held her breath as the dog she now recognized as a golden retriever eased closer to Clint.
“You’re just protecting your kingdom, aren’t you boy?”
“Jasper!”
Natalie looked up. Mrs. Thompson stood at the front door. She produced the biggest smile she could manage and waved to the woman. “Mrs. Thompson, it’s Natalie Drummond.”
The dog trotted up the two steps onto the porch. Clint pushed to his feet and started that way. Natalie moved up beside him, hoping Thompson wouldn’t shut the door in their faces.
Watching their approach, Thompson scratched Jasper behind the ears. “I remember you. You’re one of those lawyers who cheated me and my family out of what we deserved.”
Natalie would have preferred to deny the charge. Instead, she crossed the porch and stood before her accuser. “I guess I am. This is Clint Hayes, my associate.” Natalie didn’t want to frighten her by mentioning the term private investigator.
Thompson glanced at Clint. “What do you want?”
As if a gust of cold wind had swept through her soul, Natalie remembered the devastated wife during her deposition. The images and the voices poured through her, stealing her breath and at the same time sending her heart pounding. She and her husband had been married for twenty-five years. Being a wife and mother was all she had ever known. She had three children in college at the time, ranging from a freshman to a senior. The whole family had been devastated. Natalie felt ill at the idea that she may have been a party to compounding that devastation.
Summoning her wits, Natalie said, “I want to know what really happened in that hospital room.”
Rather than startle Thompson as Natalie had thought the statement would, it seemed to enrage her. “How dare you come back here after two years and stir that pot again. I told you the last time you stood on my porch what really happened and you promised to make sure the truth came out in that courtroom.” She shook her head. “I don’t know what your game is, lady, but I want you off my property. Now.”
Natalie’s knees felt weak. “You’re saying I came to your home before the trial and discussed the case with you?” That alone was a career-killing move.
“You damned sure did.”
As if sensing the shift in the tension, Jasper growled. His mistress called him down.
“Mrs. Thompson, can you tell me the exact date I came to your home?” Natalie’s pulse raced, her heart pounded so hard she could scarcely hear herself think over the roar of her own blood.
Thompson’s gaze narrowed. “Something happened to you, didn’t it? I remember seeing you on the news.”
Natalie nodded. “I was in the hospital for a long time.” She had no desire to discuss her injury a second time today.
Thompson ushered her dog inside. “Come on in and I’ll look it up.” She went on as they followed her into the house, “I think it was the day before the trial. I even told my lawyer but I don’t think he believed me since you never returned any of his calls.”
She gestured to the sofa. “Sit. I’ll get my calendar.”
Natalie and Clint settled on the sofa. He appeared focused on taking in the details of the room. Mrs. Thompson’s walls were filled with family photos. A portrait of her husband was centered on the wall above the television. A cross hung on one side of the portrait and an angel hung on the other. Natalie’s heart pressed harder against her sternum, threatening to burst from her chest.
“Here we go.” Thompson came back into the room carrying a standard wall calendar. She sat down in what Natalie suspected was her favorite chair and fl
ipped through the pages. “So...” She studied the page. “You came on Sunday around five o’clock the evening before the trial.”
She passed the calendar across the coffee table. Natalie, hand trembling, accepted it. She looked over the page and all the notes Thompson had scribbled on the blocks that represented days in that month. Her throat tightened when she read her name penciled in as Thompson had said.
With monumental effort, Natalie returned the calendar to its owner.
“Will you tell us what you and Ms. Drummond discussed that day?”
Thompson shifted her suspicious gaze to Clint. “She wanted me to repeat what happened to my husband. I told her, same thing I told everyone who asked because it was the truth. After his procedure, I stopped by the cafeteria for coffee and a breakfast sandwich. The nurse was supposed to be taking care of my husband. She was supposed to get him back to the room and into bed.”
She paused a moment, the memories visibly painful. “My husband said he told her he needed to go to the bathroom. She helped him to the toilet but then she got a call on her cell. He kept waiting for her to come back but she didn’t so he got up and tried to get to bed on his own. He fell in the bathroom and hit his head on the shower curb. I guess she must have heard him because she rushed in there and helped him up and to the bed. When I walked in he was talking and seemed to be okay so the nurse didn’t act worried.”
The lucid interval. The death of actor Liam Neeson’s wife had made the term a household one. Thompson had repeatedly mentioned what she’d seen on television and read in magazines and, she claimed, the staff ignored her.
“They killed him. Not only did the nurse let him fall, they ignored my concerns about checking his head with an MRI or something until it was too late.”
“Mrs. Thompson, did I say anything to you the day I came to your home that made you believe I possessed knowledge or evidence that confirmed your allegations?”
Clint sent Natalie a questioning look. He didn’t have to say a word. With that question she had crossed the point of no return. She had just implicated herself in a possible fraudulent act—not to mention she’d broken attorney-client privilege.
