“Oh, okay, Irma,” Tally hissed.
“And don’t say my name! Has the Mayhew girl regained consciousness?”
“No, Deirdre’s still—”
“Tally, keep your voice down!”
“Oh yeah.” Tally went back to her hissing whisper. “No, she hasn’t. Word is that she’s in a coma.”
“A coma!”
“Yeah. She knocked the dickens out of her head. She fell into an open grave! I think that is so yucky! Seems the grave had been dug for a service this morning and covered with a piece of plywood, but someone—probably some teenagers who were out tearin’ around last night—moved the plywood. I think the cops found tire tracks and a beer bottle near the grave and—”
“Tally, I don’t care about any of that!” Irma snapped. “Is there a chance Deirdre could die?”
“I dunno. I’m still in trainin’. The doctors don’t consult with me. They think all I’m good for is emptying bedpans.” Tally sounded deeply offended and her voice rose. “They think they’re God Almighty. They’ll go nuts if Deirdre dies and proves they can’t really save anybody.” She paused. “What do you want to know all of this for?”
“Her father and I are… involved.”
Tally gasped. “Really? Are you sure? I heard he didn’t even look at anyone since his wife died.”
“Tally, lower that voice! And yes, Ben and I are deeply involved. We’re simply keeping our relationship quiet for now.” Mentally, Irma dared Tally to challenge her again. “I just didn’t want to keep calling him because he’s so busy with Deirdre.”
“Doin’ what? She’s out like a light.”
“I needed the information, Tally. I’m concerned, that’s all.”
“Well, if you two are an item, why don’t you come and be with Mr. Mayhew? He’d probably appreciate it.”
“I told you we’re keeping our affair a secret. Besides, I have a terrible cold. I wouldn’t want to give it to Deirdre or anyone else.” Irma coughed and blew her nose to give her story credence. “Thanks for telling me about Deirdre and don’t tell anyone I called.”
“Why can’t I tell anyone you called?” Tally twanged, but Irma had already hung up.
Irma slogged back into the living room and picked up the paper again, her gaze moving back to the story about Deirdre. Chyna wasn’t mentioned, but the way news traveled around here, half of the people in Black Willow already knew she’d been the one to find Deirdre. They’d be thankful. They’d respect her. Hell, Chyna might even become some sort of hero.
Irma raised her head and smiled slowly. Yes, Chyna might be a hero unless people got the impression she’d found Deirdre because she’d already known exactly where to look for her. And how would she know that if she wasn’t responsible for Deirdre’s abduction and near death?
5
Chyna sighed and rolled over in bed, reaching for Scott as if he’d slept beside her for years. But the other side of the bed was empty. She glanced at the bedside clock. Four-fifteen. He couldn’t be gone, she thought with a mixture of disappointment and embarrassment. He wouldn’t have just had sex with her, waited until she drifted off to sleep, then left. Left, how about escaped before anyone saw his car in her driveway? Oh God, he wouldn’t have, not after the things he’d said to her. Not after the tender yet passionate way he’d made love to her. Or would he? She’d cared about him for so long, had she been imagining he actually felt something for her other than momentary lust?
At that moment, Scott opened her bedroom door and walked softly to the bed. He was barefoot and wearing only jeans. In the dim light of first dawn, she could see his soft smile. He slipped off the jeans, then crawled into bed next to her and took her into his arms.
“Where have you been?” she asked, trying to sound casual.
“I had a nightmare,” he said quietly. “They’re frequent these days. I went downstairs, tossed cold water all over my face, and had a glass of warm milk.”
“Warm milk? You wild man.”
“I know.” He made a face. “I hope that piece of information doesn’t get loose at the Whippoorwill. I’ll never be able to set foot in there again.”
Chyna reached out and touched his moist, flushed face and his damp hair. “I thought you were gone.”
He frowned. “Do you want me to leave?”
“Oh no!” She’d sounded frantic. “Of course not,” she said in a more normal tone.
He smiled again, drawing her closer against him. “Good. Because at this moment, I’m happier than I’ve been for years.”
“You are?”
“I am. Cross my heart and hope to die.”
“Don’t say that!” Chyna snapped.
Scott pulled back, looking deep into her eyes. “It’s just a phrase.”
“I know, but…”
“But what?”
Chyna buried her left hand in his thick, black hair, placing her cheek next to his. “I just don’t want to think about dying right now.”
Scott laughed softly. “Neither of us is going to die, Chyna. Maybe I’m the one with second sight today, because I’m certain we’re going to be together for a long, long time. At least, if I get my way, we are.”
Chyna relaxed, feeling as if her warm, naked body were sinking into his. “Then I hope you get your way, because I
believe it’s what I want more than anything,” Chyna murmured as his lips closed over hers.
“Satisfaction … oh no, no, no! I can’t get no …”
Chyna jerked awake, the words drumming in her head. The song by the Rolling Stones. The off-key voice. The good-looking man on the ladder. Gage Ridgeway!
Scott lay deep asleep beside her. His black hair had tumbled over his forehead, and one of his arms lay across her waist. His mouth was open slightly. The creases she’d noticed in his forehead and around his eyes seemed almost invisible in the morning sunshine. Except for the narrow, healing scars on his cheek and jaw, he looked the way she remembered him almost ten years ago—handsome, calm, at peace. She hated to wake him, but they needed to go someplace. Now.
“Scott,” she whispered, not wanting to startle him. He remained motionless. “Scott,” she murmured. Nothing. Finally, she said, “Scott,” aloud while gently shaking his shoulder.
“Sleepy,” he mumbled. “Ten more minutes, Mom.”
“I am not your mother,” Chyna said, a bit louder this time. “It’s Chyna.”
“Chyna,” he slurred. Then his eyes flew open and he looked at her in shock. “Chyna Greer!”
“Yes, it is Chyna Greer. So glad you remembered who you slept with last night.”
He was fully awake now and blushing slightly. “I didn’t mean I didn’t remember; it’s just…” Scott blinked a couple of times, looked at her closely, then said, “Thank God. For a minute I thought you were still a teenager.”
“Well, I’m not. Everything’s perfectly legal, although I think Michelle is a bit put out with you for taking her side of the bed.”
“Sorry, Michelle,” Scott called to the dog who lay on the floor. Then he leaned over and kissed Chyna. “Did last night really happen or did I just have the best dream of my life?”
“It really happened and it was wonderful.”
“We should have done this sooner.”
“Oh, I agree. I’ve only been fantasizing about it for around sixteen years.”
“That long, eh?” Scott grinned. “I made myself wait until you were legal before I started fantasizing.”
“And then did nothing about it.”
“I move slowly. Slowly and deliberately. And then … I pounce!” Scott did indeed pounce on her, tangling her in sheets and his arms, kissing her cheeks, her neck, her lips. “You beautiful, fantastic woman. Girl of my dreams.”
“O Man of mine.”
They were giggling at their own absurdity when Scott suddenly turned serious and shushed her. “Rex is in the house,” he hissed. “I heard him when I got up earlier.”
“For your milk, I remember.” Sc
ott blushed. “And you think Rex, the Playboy of the Western World, would be shocked that you spent the night with me?” Chyna grinned. “He’s probably relieved. I believe he thinks I’m some strange creature who has no interest in sex, only books and hard work.”
“Well, you certainly aren’t the latter, I’m thrilled to say. Wait until I tell my mother!”
“Scott Kendrick, don’t you dare!” Chyna laughed, then grew solemn. “My mother wouldn’t have minded, as long as I wasn’t a passing fling….”
Scott’s eyes widened. “I thought we got that straight a few hours ago.”
“I know what we said, but one night together doesn’t mean you owe me anything, Scott.”
“How about if I want to owe you something? I told you—”
“You could have been light-headed from the warm milk.”
Scott pulled the pillow from under his head and acted as if he were going to hit her with it. “Will you quit bringing up the warm milk?” She giggled. “How about if I want to give you everything I can, Chyna? Of course I’m probably scar-
ing you, talking about giving you everything as if you even want everything, or anything, from me, especially since I’m not exactly at my peak—”
Chyna kissed his neck. “Scott, quit babbling.”
“Babbling?” He drew back as if affronted. “I’m pouring out my heart and you say I’m babbling?”
Chyna began floundering out of bed, tossing back her thick hair, stepping over Michelle, and reaching for her robe. “I didn’t mean ’babbling.’ I loved every word.”
“I could tell.”
“But I woke you up for a reason. I dreamed of Gage Ridgeway.”
“Oh great. You were in bed with me and dreaming of Gage Ridgeway.”
“We have to see him because the dream has something to do with Deirdre.” Chyna pulled a pair of jeans out of the closet and slid them on. “You said he lives near the cemetery. He dated Edie Larson and she went missing.”
Scott squinted at the bedside clock. “Chyna, it’s seven-thirty. You want to go see Gage at seven-thirty?”
“Yes.” She struggled into a turtleneck sweater, realized she had it on backward, and turned it around. “I can go alone if you’re too sleepy.”
Scott threw back the covers. “I am not letting you go to Gage Ridgeway’s house alone when you obviously think he had something to do with Deirdre’s abduction. Maybe we should call the police.”
“And say what? That I had a dream about Gage? I don’t think so.”
“What did you dream? Did you see him holding Deirdre prisoner?”
“No. I saw Edie Larson. She was with a man, arguing with him. Then I saw Nancy Tierney. She was lying naked on a bed and a man was standing over her. In both scenes, I saw the girls clearly, but the man was fuzzy. I kept struggling to see him and suddenly I did. He was up on a ladder, cleaning leaves and debris from a gutter. He was singing ’Satisfaction.’ Scott, that happened the day after I got home. I
heard singing, looked out, and Gage was cleaning the gutters and singing ’Satisfaction’!”
“And what are we going to do?” Scott was fastening his own jeans and reaching for a sweater. “Make a citizen’s arrest? Drag Gage into the sheriff’s office, where he’ll spill his guts without asking for a lawyer?”
“We’re going to sit on him for a while. Where are my boots?” She didn’t notice Scott’s quizzical look as she located the boots in a corner. “I have a feeling Gage won’t be in his house or anywhere else around here much longer.”
“You mean he knows Deirdre’s been found. She’s unconscious, but he’s going to take off before she wakes up and accuses him?”
Chyna frowned. “I’m not sure. I don’t know exactly what’s going on.” She closed her eyes and shook her head. “All I know for certain is that I feel compelled to go to Gage’s house.”
CHAPTER NINETEEN
1
The sun shone softly on the Black Willow Cemetery. In the daylight, the place looked sad but benign with its gravestones and flower offerings for the dead all set in carefully maintained grounds. Chyna thought of how it had looked last night—vast, moon-bleached, and cold. She shivered. She could not rid herself of the image of Deirdre’s slender, crumpled body lying at the bottom of an open grave.
“I’ll never be able to look at that place the same again,” Chyna said.
“You should be proud of yourself,” Scott countered. “Without you, Deirdre would have lain there all night and maybe died of exposure.”
“I felt her being taken, Scott. I should have been able to find her then, before she spent a night God-knows-where, a prisoner, and got free only to wander around blind and freezing and then fall into that grave.” She shuddered. “I wonder if she’s still unconscious.”
“I guess we’ll find out when we finish whatever it is you have in mind for Gage.” Scott turned off the highway onto a side road leading to the Ridgeway farm. “You still haven’t told me your master plan.”
“That’s because I don’t have one. I’m waiting for inspiration to strike.”
“Well, can you do anything to speed it along? Because we’re half a mile from Gage’s house.”
“Don’t rush me. You’re making me nervous.”
Scott looked at her, half in amusement, half in astonishment. “I know you think Gage probably took Deirdre. Are you suddenly getting nervous about how we’re going to capture him and turn him over to the police?”
“I didn’t say he took Deirdre.”
“You didn’t say it, but I assumed…” Chyna looked at him. “I guess I shouldn’t assume anything where you’re concerned.”
“Where my power, or ESP, is concerned, you shouldn’t assume anything. Even I can’t assume anything,” Chyna replied, thinking of the things she’d said to him in the night. “Where my emotions are concerned … well, I know myself fairly well. I mean exactly what I say.”
“Oh.” She heard the poorly muted relief in his voice. “I’m glad you know where you stand emotionally.” He looked straight ahead. “I’ve heard Gage doesn’t like uninvited visitors and he keeps a shotgun by the door. He might not take too kindly to our just dropping by before eight in the morning. I really think we should call the police.”
“Considering that Gage was a suspect when Edie Larson disappeared, I assume they went to Gage’s right after Deirdre was found,” Chyna said.
“So he might already be in custody.”
Chyna shook her head. “I don’t think so. And don’t ask me how I know because I don’t know how I know. I’m not even sure I know.”
“That was too complicated for me. I’m not going to ask anything else,” Scott said in a resigned voice. “I’m just going to take orders like a good soldier. I know when I’m out of my league.”
“You’re not out of your league.”
“Oh yeah, I am. Way out. You’re the one with the connection to the Powers That Be.”
Chyna grinned. ’The Powers That Be. I’ll remember that. It sounds a lot better than ’the Spirit World.’”
Scott slowed down as they passed the large red barn and drew near the large two-story white house with green shutters. The place looked like it had been freshly painted in the summer and everything was in perfect repair, just as Chyna would have expected of a Ridgeway Construction owner. Gage’s truck was parked in front of the house, and sparrows and cardinals took turns at a bird feeder a few feet away from the porch.
“Ready for the assault?” Scott asked, putting the car in park.
“I thought we’d just knock on the door first,” Chyna said. “If we assault, Gage might get out that shotgun, and all we have is a flashlight.”
“Excellent point.” Scott turned off the car. “Sit still. I’ll open the door for you and, once again, I go up to the door first like a true man protecting his woman.”
His woman. Chyna felt a thrill run through her, but she tried not to beam at him. No sense acting like I’m sixteen, she thought, even though sh
e felt sixteen. And happy. And in love.
Scott opened the car door with a flourish and she climbed out. He gently pushed her behind him as they climbed up the porch steps. Scott knocked and they stood, both staring at the door as if they were ready for it to fly open to reveal a wild-eyed man holding a shotgun. Instead, there was only silence.
“Knock again,” Chyna said. “Louder, but not loud enough to scare him.”
“Yes, ma’am.” Scott knocked. They waited, both beginning to glance around the well-swept porch, the old barrels obviously used as planters in the summer, a gray wooden rocking chair sitting at the corner of the porch where Gage could look out over acres of land bearing no crops. “One more time?” Scott asked.
“Yes. A little louder.”
The knock. The wait. No answer. “He’s not here,” Chyna said, reaching beyond Scott and turning the doorknob. The door opened. “He left without his truck or without locking his house door.”
Chyna pushed the door open and leaned inside. Scott pulled
her back. “We can’t go in there, Chyna. It’s private property and we aren’t law enforcement officers with a warrant.”
“Of course we’re not law enforcement officers. We’re concerned friends. There’s nothing wrong with concerned friends stepping into someone’s house and calling for him, especially when the friends are afraid something bad has happened.”
“Something bad?”
“I told you, Scott. I dreamed about Gage and I woke up feeling like something wasn’t right. Maybe that feeling meant he’d been the person who took Deirdre. But maybe it meant something else, like he’s in danger.”
“From whom?”
“From someone who thought he took Deirdre when he didn’t. Maybe from the person who did take Deirdre.”
“I thought you believed the person who took Deirdre is the same one who took Zoey and Edie and Heather.”
Last Seen Alive Page 29
