Return to Sender

by Fern Michaels

  “Really? I never knew.” Lin held the dress up and looked in the mirror. “This will do. Now what about shoes?” she asked, suddenly in party mode.

  “I have the perfect pair. Now, let’s get on the stick. I want to make a statement when we walk through those doors. I can’t believe we’re going to a party that college men are attending! Gawd, this is so much better than Dalton High,” Jolene said to Lin.

  Three days later they were in the backseat of some guy’s Camaro on their way to the party.

  “This is so…exciting! I can’t believe I’m here. Thanks for inviting me,” Lin said.

  “Isn’t this better than reading that dirty novel you brought?” Jolene teased.

  After they arrived, Jolene held a small packet out to her. “Here, take this and put it in your purse.” Jolene handed Lin a compact of Maybelline face powder.

  “I feel like Cinderella at the ball,” Lin said as they walked through the maze of apartments.

  Jolene dug around in her purse. She removed a small foil packet and gave it to Lin. “Just in case.”

  Lin blinked in surprise, then turned crimson. “What? Where did you get this?”

  Jolene took her by the elbow, steering her up the sidewalk. “From my father’s medicine cabinet. I have six. Just in case.”

  Lin stopped in the middle of the sidewalk. “I don’t think I’ll be needing this.” She held out the condom packet. When Jolene refused to take it, Lin crammed it in her purse, praying that she would remember to toss it aside before they got to the party.

  It wasn’t like she was going to give up her virginity to the first guy she met.

  “Never say never, Lin. These guys are good-looking, at least the ones I’ve met are. They have good names, and their families have lots of money. It wouldn’t be such a bad thing if you were to have a fling, you know?” Smiling jauntily, Jolene eyed her friend.

  Lin rolled her eyes. “Yes, it would. First of all, that’s the furthest thing from my mind. Secondly, I’m saving myself for the man I marry.”

  Jolene took Lin by the hand and hurried her along. It was already nine. She didn’t want to be that late. “Come on. We’ll talk about this later. I want to make a grand entrance, all eyes on me. Us.” She shot Lin a sheepish look. “You know what I mean,” she finished flatly.

  Lin nodded, shivering as she raced along the sidewalk. “Do you know anyone at this party?” she asked.

  Jolene laughed. “Yeah, a couple guys. How do you think I managed to finagle an invitation? I told you this party is the crème de la crème. They’re very particular about who they invite, or that’s what Mark told me.”

  “That’s it?”

  Lin heard the music blaring, peals of laughter, and car doors slamming. To her it looked more like a party for the governor or something. Limos lined the cul-de-sac as they dropped guests at the entrance to the giant complex.

  “Jolene, this doesn’t look like just any party to me.”

  “It’s college boys, remember? These people are rich, rich, rich. Even richer than my parents—and they’re swimming in the green stuff. Don’t worry. They put their pants on the same way as you and me.”

  If Jolene thought her words reassuring, she needed to think again. “Rich” intimidated Lin.

  Three hours later Lin was sure she’d met the man she was going to marry. They had sex in someone’s bed. She spent the next four days with the man of her dreams, Nicholas Pemberton.

  Lin took another sip of her cold coffee. While she didn’t regret having Will, she regretted giving herself to the man who had fathered him.

  Her life had turned into a ticking time bomb, and any second her lies would explode, revealing her for what she was. There had to be a way to unravel them without hurting Will.

  Chapter 15

  Evan hurried to his office. He’d spent two hours examining Nicholas Pemberton. Until the lab results came back, he would be as stumped as the ER doctor. He’d questioned Mrs. Pemberton repeatedly, but she’d been too upset to offer any valuable information. He suspected she knew more than she was telling, but at that point there wasn’t anything to support his suspicions. He’d always relied on his gut feelings when he couldn’t come up with a logical solution to something that eluded him.

  Excited at the prospect of seeing Lin again, he entered his office, only to find it completely dark, with no sign of either Lin or Will. He switched on the lights.

  “Lin, Will,” he called, knowing there wouldn’t be an answer. Expecting them to wait two hours had been ridiculous.

  Maybe they were in the cafeteria. He turned off the lights and locked the door before he galloped downstairs.

  He searched the room. Except for a few tired-looking residents, it was empty. No Lin or Will. He’d known they wouldn’t be there, but he’d hoped maybe he was wrong.

  Evidently they had gotten tired of waiting. He couldn’t blame them.

  Evan returned to the ER for one last look to make sure they were really gone. He knew he was being ridiculous, but he wanted to make sure they were truly gone before he went home.

  The nurse manning the desk saw him and smiled. “If you’re looking for the woman and the boy, they raced out of here like the place was on fire the second you went through those doors.” She nodded in the direction of the double doors to the triage area.

  Perplexed, Evan questioned her. “Did she say anything? Leave a message?”

  “No. But I can tell you this, the way she dragged that kid out of here, there was something going on. Maybe hospitals make her sick or something.” The nurse laughed at her own joke.

  “You’re probably right. Do me a favor. If she or her son shows up, call me.” He knew she had a list of all the numbers where he could be reached.

  “Sure thing.”

  Evan thanked her, then stepped out into the brisk night air. The temperature had dropped by at least fifteen degrees. Shivering in spite of his leather jacket, Evan thought perhaps he should move to a warmer climate. The few times a year he was able to escape to California, where he surfed and loaded up on sunshine, were no longer enough. He’d think about it later. Right then he needed to sleep for a few hours before starting all over again.

  As usual, there was a cab waiting. He slid into the backseat, giving the driver his address.

  “Hey, I’ve taken you home before. You’re that doc that was in the paper, aren’t you?”

  Would he ever reclaim his anonymity?

  Evan shrugged. “That would be me.” He didn’t want to engage in conversation; all he wanted was to sleep. And dream about Lin Townsend.

  “Ten million bucks. I’d donate myself if I could,” the driver said. “I read the requirements in the paper. I’m too damned old.”

  “That’s the way it is,” Evan commiserated.

  When they pulled in front of his building, Evan gave the driver a generous tip and hurried to his apartment on the sixth floor. He dug his keys from his back pocket and unlocked the door. A part of him had hoped he’d find Lin waiting for him in his apartment, but she had no idea where he lived. He was acting like a stupid teenager—another indication he needed to sleep.

  Spying his mail on the hall table, he scanned through it, saw nothing that required his immediate attention, and headed for a hot shower.

  Like the dutiful wife she wanted to appear to be, Chelsea stayed at Nick’s bedside in the ICU for the limited time he could have visitors. When appropriate, she’d cry loudly, sniffling as though she herself were about to die.

  Chelsea surmised she’d missed her calling. She felt she was far better at acting the role of a distressed wife than she’d ever been as a “real” wife. It was the money she loved. And the sex, even if it had been infrequent. She enjoyed her position in society as Nick’s wife.

  Chelsea figured she would enjoy being Nick’s widow so much more. Life imitating art, or was it the other way around?

  She watched him. Tubes were attached to every orifice in his body; a heart monitor bleeped, reminding
her the son of a bitch was still alive. She’d been sure the overdose of sleeping pills would’ve killed him already. The doctors had yet to make a diagnosis, though she knew they were waiting on the lab results. Of course, she knew the pills would show up in a toxicology report. She’d prepared for it.

  Lost in thought, Chelsea jumped when she heard the door open. The ER doctor. She couldn’t recall his name.

  “Mrs. Pemberton, can I speak with you?”

  Sick to death of crying, she summoned up another bout of tears for the doctor’s benefit. “Of course.” She wiped her eyes with a tissue.

  “If you could step outside.” He motioned to the door.

  Chelsea grabbed her bag and another handful of tissues from the box on the stand next to the bed in which, she hoped, her husband would soon die. If only the good doctor could read her mind, she’d be on her way to prison. Laughing inwardly, she couldn’t wait to get this done and over with. She had big plans for Nick’s money, soon to be her money.

  All was quiet here in the ICU except for the monitors and the swishing sounds coming from the machines that kept some of the patients breathing.

  Standing outside of Nick’s room, she waited for the doctor to tell her what she already knew.

  “We’ve got the results from the lab. I’m afraid it looks as though your husband overdosed on a sleeping pill and an antidepressant. Ambien and Ativan.” He let the statement hang in the air.

  Chelsea mustered up the required look of shock, then disbelief, then the tears. After a minute or so, she blotted her eyes for the umpteenth time. “This…this doesn’t surprise me.” She sniffed pitifully.

  “What makes you say that?”

  “It’s…I’m not sure if I should say anything. Nick likes to keep family problems in the family, where they belong.” Chelsea paused, waiting for the expected coaching from the doctor.

  He didn’t disappoint her.

  “Mrs. Pemberton, now isn’t the time to withhold information that could possibly save your husband’s life. You must tell me if there are issues in your family. I’m a doctor. Anything you tell me remains confidential.”

  Just as she’d expected, so predictable.

  “Well, I suppose if it helps poor Nick. His mother committed suicide when Nick was little more than a toddler. She took an overdose of pills, just like Nick. He says he doesn’t remember her, but he must. He’s chosen to end his life in the same manner!” With more sobbing and tissue wiping, Chelsea continued her act while waiting for the good doctor to reply.

  “Tragic as it may seem, suicide seems to run amok in some families. Certainly I’m not saying this is hereditary, but often people who are suffering mentally or physically, as is the case with your husband, will follow a pattern. Did Mr. Pemberton indicate he was upset this evening?”

  If only she could tell him about the seduction.

  “He was very quiet. It was early when he went to bed, but since becoming ill that was normal for him. I kissed him good night and went about my business. I spent some time reading, watched television for a while, and then I went to bed. I woke up to go to the bathroom around eleven thirty or so. Something didn’t feel right. You know what I mean? It was as if something strange had permeated our house. When I finished in the bathroom, I peeked in on Nick. He appeared to be sleeping. I went over to his bed and adjusted his blankets. He just looked odd to me. I felt for his pulse, but it seemed weak. I know I’m not a nurse or anything, but something told me to shout at Nick. I did several times and got no response. That’s when I dialed nine-one-one.” Chelsea liked this story even better than the one she’d told to that sexy-looking Dr. Reeves. Maybe when this was all over, he would offer her some sympathy.

  “I’ll have to report this to the police,” the doctor said.

  “What? Why would you do that? I told you this was to be kept in the family! Nick would never want this made public. Why, his name would be sullied more than it has been already with those nasty accusations in the paper! No, no, you absolutely cannot do that. You said this would remain confidential, and I expect you to keep your word,” Chelsea shouted, not caring that she was drawing the attention of the staff at the nurses’ station.

  “I understand how you feel, Mrs. Pemberton. However, as a doctor, I am required by law to report an attempted suicide. This won’t be reported in the news media, if that’s what you’re worried about. Mr. Pemberton’s condition seems to be improving. It is my hope that he will come out of this with little or no lasting physical side effects.”

  There was no way in hell Chelsea was going to allow a stupid doctor to ruin her life by saving Nick’s! She didn’t have an alternate plan yet, but by God, she would come up with one. If she had to get drugs from a pusher to finish off her husband, she would. First, she had to prevent the doctor from contacting the police. The Pemberton name had received enough bad press to last a lifetime. The last thing she needed was some nosy-ass cop prying into their private affairs. Showing her temper would get her nowhere with this doctor. She’d kiss his butt just a little until she came up with another plan.

  “I’m sorry. I’m just…shocked. I never thought Nick would resort to something like this. I knew he was unhappy because of his illness, but…” She wiped her eyes again. “Could you wait and report this after I talk to Dr. Reeves?” She held her breath, waiting for his answer.

  “I don’t think that should be a problem. Dr. Reeves will be in his office in a few hours. Why don’t you go down to the cafeteria and get something to eat? You’ll need to keep your strength up for the next few days. When Mr. Pemberton realizes his attempt was un successful, he’ll need your support. I would suspect he’ll want you by his side as he confronts whatever caused him to attempt taking his life. If you’re sick, you won’t be doing either one of yourselves a favor.”

  Chelsea thought the long-winded doctor would never shut up.

  She didn’t care about eating—hell, she’d consumed three cranberry scones while waiting for Nick to kick the bucket. But she needed to think, to plan her next move. “Yes, I think I will. Some tea would be nice.” She almost choked on her own words.

  “Good. I’ll have the nurse page you if there’s any change.”

  “Thank you. Now, where is the cafeteria?”

  The “good doctor” gave her directions. Once inside the elevator, she said every dirty word she knew and repeated some. Nick could not live! He’d remember her seduction, remember the tea. The man might be sick, but he was far from stupid. She had to do every thing in her power to prevent that from happening. There were more pills at the penthouse. Maybe she could get them and crush them up and cram them down the son of a bitch’s throat. And if that didn’t do him in, then she’d shoot him—in self-defense, of course.

  She began to formulate a new plan. Each time she thought about Nick fighting for his life, she almost laughed out loud. The man had never had to go without, didn’t know what it was like to wonder where his next meal was coming from. When she’d met him at the party all those years ago, Lady Luck had been shining down on her. Granted, Nick wasn’t even close to the most perfect husband, but she wasn’t a perfect wife, either, and had no problem admitting it to herself. Add the fact that she had already been pregnant with another man’s child, and she couldn’t have picked a better man for the job of becoming her husband and the “father” of her child.

  Chelsea poured lukewarm water into a Styrofoam cup, then dunked a Lipton tea bag inside. She paid the tired-looking cashier before she headed back to the ICU waiting room, where she’d have to stay until she was allowed back in Nick’s room.

  Her mind clicked. When she’d been rummaging through her bag, searching for change to pay for her tea, she’d found the bottle of Xanax her doctor had prescribed for her a month ago, when she’d claimed she was having anxiety attacks. She’d filled the prescription, tossed the bottle into her bag, and forgot about it, be cause she’d refused to take a drug that might push her out of control. That she still carried them around was a m
iracle. Maybe, just maybe, those little pills would be the answer to all her problems. They couldn’t watch her all the time.

  Relieved that she’d come up with a backup plan, she entered the elevator, pushing the button that would return her upstairs, where she could continue playing the role of anxious wife.

  When the elevator doors opened, Chelsea thought she’d pushed the wrong button. The three nurses at the desk were standing in front of the desk. Chelsea thought they looked threatening, and her heart started to pound.

  “We were just about to come and get you, Mrs. Pemberton,” the older of the three nurses said.

  Chelsea’s heart pounded harder as she prayed that Nick had succumbed to the drug overdose. Summoning a look of fear, she tried to make her tongue work, but it refused to do her bidding.

  Suddenly all three of them started to smile.

  Nurses didn’t smile when there was bad news.

  “Is he…awake? Is he okay? Did something happen? Is he going to be okay?” Chelsea sobbed.

  “As soon as they finished pumping his stomach, he woke up,” the charge nurse said cheerfully. She made it sound like everyone should get their stomachs pumped from time to time.

  Chelsea tried to remember how many bullets were left in the thirty-eight revolver that she’d bought from a junkie years ago. One would be enough.

  “That’s wonderful,” Chelsea cried. “I prayed so hard. God must have heard my prayers.”

  “Your husband has been asking for you, too. We were just about to page the cafeteria.”

  Chelsea smiled at the women. Right now the last thing she wanted to do was rush to her husband’s bedside. It wouldn’t be pretty, she thought, because Nick would have no qualms whatsoever when it came to turning her over to the police. Unless, of course, he didn’t realize what had happened.

  “Uh…I need to use the ladies’ room first. Tea…tea…makes me…Please…tell Nick I’m on my way,” Chelsea sputtered.