“No problem,” I agreed with a grateful smile. “And thank you. I appreciate your time.”
Swiveling around on bare feet toward the side of the house, he said, “Run along now and don’t speed down my road.”
I turned to go as well.
“Oh and missy, one more thing,” he said. “You didn’t hear this from me but I might recollect one of them fellers from the ME sayin’ she died of a drug overdose.” He looked lost in thought as he relieved his lip of more tobacco. “Tragic, ain’t it? What this world’s a-comin’ to?”
Tragic doesn’t begin to describe it.
“I’m not speakin’ to you,” Anna-Beth said after answering on the first ring.
I checked my mirrors and merged from the onramp back onto the highway toward Nashville, sliding in between two semi trucks. The story-high vehicles dwarfed my RX, casting my limited space on the road in sudden darkness.
“Why, what did I do?” I said, feeling the shadow falling deeper as it closed in around me.
“You hung up on me.”
“I did?” I looked for an opening in the next lane. “Oh, right. Sorry about that,” I said when the conversation we’d had on my way to lunch came back to me. “But in my defense, Cooper was scowling at me. She has a very menacing scowl.”
Anna-Beth snickered in spite of the fact she prided herself as master at holding a grudge. “Say your peace, Marlie, and be quick,” she said, regaining her curt tone. “I start rounds in about thirty seconds.”
“How do I get my hands on an autopsy report?”
She hesitated for an instant. “Generally, they keep those records at the county ME’s unless the person died in a hospital and the family asked the hospital to do it. Why, whose autopsy are you wantin’ to see? It’s not Gentry’s, is it?”
A gap in the traffic opened up and I changed lanes, relieved to feel the sun beating through my windshield again. “Um . . .” I’d called with the intention of finding out more about Unidentified Woman 1, but something in Anna-Beth’s tone had my super-curiosity-senses tingling.
“Marlie, don’t you think that’s a little weird?” she asked.
Yes, but I decided to go with her assumptions a little longer before correcting her. “I have my reasons,” I evaded.
“And those reasons would be?”
Here we go. Why couldn’t I ever just get a simple answer to a simple question? “Forget I asked,” I said, taking a quick look in the rearview mirror. Was I mistaken or was there a blue Jeep following me a half-mile back?
“Fine, but before you go hangin’ up on me again, you might be interested to know that Gentry’s autopsy was done here at Vanderbilt.”
My focus shot back to the road in front of me. “But the paper said that Gentry died instantly.”
“Well then, the paper was mistaken.”
“So, does that mean you can get it?” I asked though I didn’t know what I’d do with it if she could.
“I might be able to,” she conceded. “But the autopsy report is missin’.”
Suddenly, I was genuinely interested. “What do you mean, missing?” I pressed the phone closer to my ear. “How do you know it’s missing?”
Now I not only had a death certificate to locate but found myself becoming increasingly interested as to what had happened to Gentry’s autopsy report. Through the phone, I could hear a distorted voice in the background calling a code-blue over the hospital’s intercom.
“Well, one night I was working back-to-back twelve-hour shifts and had consumed way too much coffee, then found myself with nothin’ to do,” she said as if it were a normal occurrence. And since she was a medical student, I guessed it probably was. “I couldn’t sleep, so I snuck down to the morgue and went through the files, lookin’ for people I knew.”
“Really?” I frowned into my phone. “And you’re calling me weird.”
“I just have an inquirin’ mind, is all.”
“Nosey is what you are,” I corrected, wondering what that made me.
What was it Johnny had called me again . . . persistent? Yes, that’s right. I also remembered that he’d gone further to call me curious, tenacious, and . . .
Dangerous.
Chapter Fifteen
Darkness. As a child I had feared it, the uncertainty of what lay hidden in the space beyond the reach of my fingertips. In adulthood, however, there were times when the darkness was soothing as it settled around me, veiling the world and its unsolvable puzzles from sight. Tightening my arms over my chest, I settled back. The leather sofa creaked under my weight, echoing off the tall bookshelves.
Tonight I had only one fear—the past.
It was well after midnight and Daniel wasn’t home. I’d texted him hours ago to let him know that I’d allowed the boys to stay at a friend’s for the night, and so we had the house to ourselves. I had yet to receive a reply. I could understand how the anniversary of his marriage to Gentry would make him distant; but it was unlike us, in the month we’d been married, to go two whole days without even a phone call. And no matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t stop the image of him tossing his phone, and my call, unanswered to his passenger seat; or of Gentry’s beloved flowers lain carefully bunched in a white silk ribbon on an unmarked grave from rolling unabated through my mind.
Did today’s events have anything to do with Gentry’s death or the Iphiclesians?
The clock in the entry rang out again, this time with a single doleful bong. One o’clock and still no Daniel.
Where could he be? I whispered the question into the darkness. Then my mind zeroed in on a single possibility—the condo—my thoughts taking me back to the morning after the ball. To the conversation that had led us both to the same conclusion—that in some ways we were exactly what the other needed. To the first time I’d mistakenly allowed myself to consider that Daniel could be all mine.
Footfalls in the entry disturbed the quiet. I listened to the sound of Daniel’s uneven gate—an old baseball injury—growing more pronounced as his shoes met the tile floor. So, he wasn’t staying the night at the condo after all. Relief flooded my dark thoughts. He had come home to the only woman who fit nicely into his stringent parameters, to the only woman he’d brought home to meet his children, the woman he’d known full well could never replace his first love. But at least he was home.
Seconds later, the lamp on Daniel’s desk switched on. My eyelids reacted, slamming shut against the light, low by reasonable standards, blinding to one who’d grown accustomed to the night. While my pupils adjusted, I watched through fluttering lashes as Daniel turned his back to me and faced the portrait behind his desk. Without a sound, he swung the gold frame to one side, punched the keypad, and then pulled down on the handle. The safe popped open with a whoosh, slicing a sliver of light across the sleeve of his outstretched arm.
I felt like a stowaway who’d awoken on a ship bound to the unknown, trying to figure out how I’d gotten there. What should I do now? Call out to him, making my presence known? Of course I should, and twenty-four hours ago I would have. But that was before. Before he’d denied my call, before I’d followed him to a mysterious grave.
And so I waited.
Daniel retrieved a few folders from the briefcase he’d set on the blotter of his desk, transferring them to the safe. Before swinging the metal door closed again, he hesitated. I heard him sigh, his fingers moving to massage the bridge of his nose before changing his mind and edging the safe door open again. Reaching to the bottom of what looked like stacks of documents, he pulled out a brown marbled folder, the kind I would expect to see Top Secret stamped across the front, and cradled it as if he was about to flip it open and scan the contents.
Only he didn’t. He just studied the blank front fold, his shoulders rounded, his head hung forward. He pressed his palm flat to the folder. His hand hovered there a moment or two. Then, after what looked like a battle of conscience, he slid the folder back into the safe and slammed the door shut.
Digging my
teeth into my lower lip, I looked to the ceiling for another option. I’d already tried the boy’s, Daniel’s, and Cooper’s birthdays backward and forward. According to an earlier Internet search, this particular safe needed a six number combination to disarm. If I could figure out what it was, I’d be one step closer to knowing what was in that file.
Last night I’d waited in the dark study long after Daniel had gone upstairs and to bed, trying to puzzle out all I’d seen and done that day and how best to broach the subject with my husband. By morning I’d decided to start with the safest question—why had he driven his car the day before?
“Do I need a reason?” he’d said as he lifted me up onto the cool slate countertop of our master bath, pulled my legs around his hips and crushed his mouth over mine.
His lips were warm and impatient, driving back my concerns as lustful thoughts crowded forward. By the time his lips had dropped to explore my neck, I was quickly becoming dizzily incapable of coherent thought.
“But you never—” I’d started when his fingers, now exploring beneath my tank top, took a short detour to tickle the side of my ribcage. Giggling like a schoolgirl, I pushed at his chest, “drive your car downtown.”
He straightened, gazing down at me with an ardent look in those mysteriously dark eyes of his. “And you never talk this much when I’m trying to make love to you.”
I tried again. “I’m serious, Daniel.” But then the heat of his stare teased a shy smile from my lips.
“Oh, believe me, sugar, so am I,” he’d said, flashing me that wry, crooked grin of his, the one that made my belly feel all light and bubbly. I giggled again in spite of myself, and he lifted me off the counter.
My legs still locked around his waist, he headed for the bedroom. He wasn’t taking my inquiry as to why he’d driven his car the day before very seriously. And how could I blame him when every kiss, every touch of his fingers, had me turning to putty in his hands. He laid me onto the bed and slowly edged my top up and off.
Grasping futilely at rational thought, I said, “Well, if you would just answer my question maybe I’d stop talking.”
Tossing my tank to the floor, he pressed his lips to my belly and proceeded to work his way up. “Could you please repeat the question?” he said between kisses.
He was acting as if the forty-eight hours we’d gone without speaking had never happened, like the anniversary of his first marriage hadn’t changed a thing between us. And given that I wasn’t ready to admit I’d followed him, and the way his lips were delightfully gliding across my bare skin, I’d breathlessly relented.
“Forget it, it can wait ’til later,” I gave in, allowing the last inklings of concern to trickle from my mind.
Dropped, but not forgotten. Hours later, after Daniel had left for work, and the quiet emptiness of this house had closed around me once more, the questions vexing me from the night before were right where I’d left them—lying in wait for me. And since Daniel had masterfully avoided directly answering my queries with his heady eyes and tantalizing touches (I was so weak), I was taking matters into my own hands . . . so to speak . . . determined, now more than ever, to find out what he wasn’t telling me.
I punched in Daniel and Gentry’s anniversary and then felt myself flinch as I waited for the indicator light to change from red to green.
“See anythin’ interestin’?” a voice exploded out of nowhere. Rocketing back against Daniel’s desk chair, my hasty retreat caused the seat to swivel, throwing my hip against the desk. I caught myself by grabbing hold of the beveled edge.
A cunning smile had already begun to light the admonishment on his face.
“Geez Johnny, what are you doing here?” I spat, feeling a fraction of relief that it hadn’t been Daniel, or worse, Paul or Cooper. I was face to face with the man who both aggravated and intrigued me.
Tossing his head from side to side as if scolding me, his eyes were clearly laughing as he explained the reason for his unexpected visit. “Just lookin’ for a few of my missin’ files. They must have gotten mixed up with Gentry’s at one time or another,” he said, pointing across the room.
I tracked his steps across the wool carpet. Smooth with a casual saunter, his motion sent a whiff of cologne, spicy and pleasing, in my direction.
“How did you get in here?” I asked coolly, wondering what he would do with the knowledge that he’d caught me snooping. Blackmail sprang to mind.
He opened his hand and dangled a key ring from his fingers. “I’m practically family. I have a key, and I know the code,” he said, his gaze flitting over to the safe. “Do you?”
Even though it was obvious to him what I’d been up to, I wasn’t about to own to my perfidy, and not to Johnny of all people. “Of course I do,” I said, willing the embarrassment from my cheeks. “You should have called. I could have found what you needed and had it messengered over so you wouldn’t have had to waste your time coming here.”
As uncomfortable as I was with having him show up unannounced and finding me snooping, I knew Daniel would be furious that Johnny was poking about in his late wife’s things, not to mention alone with his current one.
Johnny let his keys fall into the pocket of his jeans as he moved toward a set of file drawers built into the underside of one of the bookshelves. He slid open a drawer.
“Yeah, I could have but then I wouldn’t have had the pleasure of conversing with you, now would I?” He glanced up briefly from where he’d begun riffling through the neatly organized folders. “I so look forward to our little interludes.”
He winked at me and my heart experienced a tiny flutter that I squelched faster than the instant it took for him to drop his focus back to his search. I snuck a peek at the indicator light on the safe and saw that it was still red. Carefully, I swung the portrait back into place. The steely-eyed gaze of the Civil War general mocked me with contempt. Turning back to Johnny, I watched the concerted look on his handsome face and thought about the conflicting signals he’d given off every time we’d met.
“I see, and just whom will I be ‘interluding’ with today? The charming, quick-witted Johnny, or the surly, black-hearted Johnny?”
He slid the drawer closed, pulled open another, and shook his head. “Sarcasm. Not a pretty face on you this early in the mornin’.”
Tiring of this “interlude” already, I wanted to get rid of him and rethink my plan. Moving out from behind Daniel’s desk, I leaned a hip against the edge and folded my arms.
“Sorry to disappoint you,” I said, giving my words a blunt edge. “Now, if you don’t mind, I have things to do.”
He pulled out a file, flipped it open, and turned a few pages before snapping it shut and tucking it under his arm.
“Oh, I’m sure you do,” he said, his gaze running the length of me from the scoop of my tight exercise top to the hem of my yoga pants—all that remained of the Tai Chi practice I’d intended to enjoy this morning before my obsession over the mysterious folder had gotten the better of me.
“And what will be your first order of business today, Mrs. Cannon? Another luncheon? A spa treatment?” He tapped his chin, then his face brightened as if finding the right answer. “Oh wait,” he snapped his fingers, “I know, a taping for ‘The Really Desperate Housewives of Green Hills, Tennessee.’”
Uninterested in dignifying that remark with a response, I curled one side of my top lip. “Right, I forgot about ‘ironic’ Johnny,” I said, disregarding the fact that, in part, his paradox appeared to be spot on. Trying to break into my husband’s safe took desperate to a whole new level. “And no, it doesn’t become you this early in the morning either.”
“Touché,” he said with a playful smirk and a quick glance at the swirling screen of my laptop. “So, what are you workin’ on, Marlie Evans-Cannon?”
Adrenaline-fueled panic had me struggling to keep from flinging myself atop my laptop. Instead, using an easy mosey, I strategically positioned myself between him and my computer. “I told you,” I
said, hoping to turn the conversation. “I’m not hyphenating my name.”
“I know, but I like the way Evans-Cannon rolls off the tongue, and since Daniel hasn’t given you the combination to his safe,” he pointed over my shoulder, “and it appears you’re tryin’ to break in anyway, I think you should reconsider.” He raised one eyebrow. “One never knows what the future holds. It doesn’t hurt to be prepared. To keep one’s options open.”
I glanced carelessly at my fingernails. “Again, none of your business,” I said, my words faintly hanging up on our close proximity. He was inches away but it was like I could feel every beat of his heart, every whoosh of breath as it rushed in and out of his lungs. “Now that you’ve found what you were looking for, I’m sure you have more important things to do than hang around doling out free legal advice to one so ungrateful she’s not going to heed it.”
“Maybe I’m not ready to go just yet,” he said, his eyes lassoing mine, pulling me deep into his stare. He held my gaze an instant longer before moving with surprising quickness, his hand reaching around my side to touch the mouse pad.
“What’s this?” he questioned, glancing over the search page. “Death certificates? What are you up to, Marlie Evans-Cannon?”
I sucked in a shallow breath. “What?” I asked, my mind reeling.
Johnny dipped his head toward the computer. Dutifully, my gaze followed his over to the screen and the PDF of a death certificate.
I groped for a suitable reply. “Family research, that’s all. I think I have some ancestors that may have come from around here.” I shrugged a shoulder like it was no big deal.
He gave me a careful look. “They were counting on this, you know.”
“Counting on what?” I asked though I shouldn’t have.
Replacing Gentry Page 13
