by Susan Slater
“That’s enough. I can hear you down the hall. Ms. Conlin does not need a crowd. If you are family, you may visit, one at a time. The rest of you, out. There’s a lounge around the corner to your left.” The nurse stood in the open door, arms crossed. “I mean it. Now.” The cop on duty stood at her elbow.
“I’m her mother—”
“Then you can be the first one to visit. Ten minutes and no more. It’s late.”
As Ben walked past, she lowered her voice, “I’ll call if there’s a change.”
“Thanks.”
Ben nodded to Roger and continued out the door. How upsetting. If those in a coma could hear, know what was going on around them, this little show of familial love could slow down recovery. Obviously, the fiancé’s rights had been trumped by Mom, but he was leaving anyway. There was no way he was staying with the others there. What rankled was Wayne’s presence. Once again, Ben felt the elation of knowing that, not only did Connie not call upon Wayne to draw up her last will, she hadn’t even named him executor of the estate. Take that, mister macho attorney man. Ben gave a chuckle.
Chapter Nineteen
Ben watched the night desk clerk put the envelope of Connie’s papers in the safe behind the counter, along with Julie’s engagement ring. There would be plenty of time to go through the legalese later, with Julie. Right now, he was a zombie. But nothing a good night’s rest wouldn’t cure. Their room was on the second floor and the last thing Ben remembered was sitting on the edge of the bed to take off his boots. He didn’t even remember getting off the elevator. When the phone rang, he was still fully dressed, minus one boot.
“Yes?”
“Dr. Pecos. Sally Ornsby, ICU nurse. Ms. Conlin is awake and asking for you.”
“I’ll be there in five minutes.”
Five-thirty a.m. Had he really slept for six hours? It didn’t feel like it. He exchanged a much wrinkled cotton dress shirt for a black pullover sweater, found underwear, clean socks, jeans, jumped in and out of the shower in record time and was out the door. He retrieved one engagement ring and one stack of papers from the hotel safe before heading for his vehicle.
He hadn’t parked the truck under a light and now wished he had. Julie would have insisted on it. The passenger-side window sparkled in a thousand scattered pieces on the sidewalk and curb. The hotel was in the heart of downtown. A random act? He was vaguely surprised that the hotel didn’t have monitored surveillance equipment, but he hadn’t seen any guards walking around.
He pulled open the driver’s side door. Someone had littered the floorboards with everything from the glove compartment, under the seats, and the side pockets on the door panels. What a mess. Didn’t look like anything was taken. Even his CD collection hanging behind the visor was intact—as was the player in the dash. No, there seemed to be something else that had prompted this break-in, but for the life of him, he didn’t know what he had that was of value. And who would have thought he did? He didn’t have time now to either report it or worry about it.
+ + +
Ms. Ornsby met him at the nurse’s station. “I don’t know how to reach the parents but thought you might want some time by yourself anyway.” She smiled. “In-laws, never easy.”
“Thanks. That was really thoughtful. How is she?”
“Of course, I don’t know Julie but I’d say she’s well on her way back to us. Said she was hungry. I always think that’s a good sign. All vitals are strong.” She patted Ben’s arm. “I just know this is going to have a happy ending.”
“I think you’re right.” He smiled, acknowledged the double thumbs-up from the cop by the door, and entered Julie’s room.
“Ben, listen to me. Connie isn’t dead. I saw her. She warned me to get out of the house right before the explosion.”
“Whoa. Julie, easy … you hit your head …”
“I know what happened. I went back to the house because I’d forgotten the Storyteller. Then Connie’s doctor called—did you know Connie was murdered? And then the house blew up.” Julie had propped a pillow behind her head and was leaning on an elbow. Typical. Ben couldn’t help but smile. In a coma or charging along at a hundred-ten miles an hour, he knew he liked this better—even if he sometimes had to run to keep up.
“Yes, to all of the above. But could I interject that I love you? I was scared out of my mind.” He put the folders on the edge of the bed then sat down and put his arms around her. “I never want to lose you. This was way too close.” He kissed her forehead, tilted her chin up, tenderly kissed her on the tip of her nose, her mouth, then held her. “I don’t want to be without you … ever.”
Her arms went around his neck and he buried his face in tousled red curls and heard her say the words that almost made his heart stop. “I love you so much. I had to come back to you.”
“As to Connie helping you—”
The door opened and the white lab coat announced a doctor before any introductions were made. “Well, Ms. Conlin, looks like you’re on the mend. Nurse Ornsby caught me before rounds. Bruce Barker, here.” He moved to shake hands with Ben. “Let me do a quick exam and go over some things … husband, I’m assuming?”
“Almost.” Julie held up her left hand and noticed her bare finger. “Oh, no.”
“Oops—I almost forgot. Nurse Ornsby thought it might be better off in the hotel safe overnight.” Ben pulled the ring from his pocket and slipped it on Julie’s finger. “That’s better.”
“We’ll get you moved out of ICU right after breakfast. Three or four days of observation and if things continue at the present rate, you’re out of here by the end of the week.”
“Way too long. I have too much to do. Give me something for this headache and I’ll be fine.” Ben was amazed at how good she did look. And patience wasn’t a long suit.
“I’m leaving a script for 800 mg Motrin every seven hours in your chart. But I can’t dismiss you. There’s some question about your safety, let alone your health.” Dr. Barker inclined his head toward the guard at the door.
“I’m more of a sitting duck here than at the hotel. I could always walk out AMA.”
“Against Medical Advice? I certainly wouldn’t suggest it. Insurance companies take a dim view of that action.” Clearly, Dr. Barker was becoming perturbed.
“Give us a few minutes to talk.” Ben took Julie’s hand. “I’m sure something can be worked out.”
“I’m sending in the lab team for an update—a round of tests. We’ll know more then. But no more wild talk about leaving until we know what we’re up against.” Dr. Barker scribbled on the chart and left—seemed relieved to be leaving, Ben thought.
“Not trying out for patient of the year?’ Ben couldn’t stop a grin from spreading across his face. Julie had never been known for being easy if her opinion differed from others. “A concussion is nothing to mess with. Get through today, find out what the test results say, rest this evening and then if you’re still determined and nothing’s changed, we’ll shoot for release by noon tomorrow. Okay?”
“Okay.”
Ben was surprised at the easy victory but knew better than to question it. “We’ve got a lot of paperwork to go over and we might as well do it here. Bet you didn’t know that we’re executors of Connie’s estate.”
“I saw it but couldn’t believe it. What happened to Wayne? Or Byron?”
“Don’t know. I think Connie chose people she knew would be sympathetic to her wishes. And that wouldn’t be your pal or ‘the children’.”
“I remember the will was new—some firm in Denver drew it up, right?”
“Yeah, and that alone is a slap to Wayne. I’m wondering how much Byron and the rest know about this turn of events.”
“We were supposed to meet at the office around noon. Want to go in my place?”
“I suppose I should. I’d like to go through the papers before I enter the lion’s den. You eat breakfast, get the tests out of the way and then we’ll have an hour or two before I need to meet the … fam
ily. I almost said, enemy.”
“I think enemy is closer to the truth.”
“Oh yeah, I almost forgot. Want a real teaser?”
“Such as?”
“What would you say if I told you I was ninety-nine percent certain that Em is Connie’s son?”
“You’re not kidding, are you? You know what? I think you’re right.” Julie sat up, winced, and leaned back again. “Ben, it must have been Em that I saw. Em in Connie’s clothing. He was the one who warned me, told me to get out of the house. But what was he doing there right before the explosion?”
“Good question.”
“Just looking at the big picture—God, I hate that term—we’re dealing with the death of the caretaker by letter bomb, complete with Connie’s fingerprints, Connie’s own murder by strangulation, and the leveling of her house.” Julie sat up—this time without flinching.
Nothing like a new challenge to bring her around, Ben thought and had to smile.
“What’s funny?”
“Nothing’s funny. I was just thinking how well you respond to a little mystery.” He reached over, pulled her to him and kissed her, but she immediately pulled back.
“Ben, I’ve been thinking. I don’t want to tell the police that I think I saw Em. I can’t do that.”
“I know, and I don’t know what to say. I thought he’d taken off last week. He told me he was going back to Kansas—or home.” Ben sat down on the foot of the bed. “Julie, exactly what do you remember about the person who warned you? Like what was she or he wearing? Was she wearing a scarf or a hat or sunglasses—?”
“Sunglasses! Big, sort of wrap-around dark ones. Come to think of it, I’d never seen Connie with a pair like that.”
“Hair?”
“Drawn back, dark, maybe in a bun.”
“Do you recall the clothing?”
“That’s why I thought it was Connie. Remember the outfit Connie wore at dinner—wine velvet pants, cropped just above the ankle? And a big satin shirt in a slightly lighter shade?”
Ben nodded. He did remember. Noticing clothing wasn’t his thing but that night, the contrast between his hostess and the woman he loved was stark—the light and the dark, both breathtakingly beautiful.
“Well, that’s what the person had on.”
“This isn’t my category of expertise but isn’t that more of an evening outfit?”
“Exactly. But it doesn’t rule out Em. And I think the person was barefoot. I know I didn’t hear anything until I saw movement—a shadow off to my left. Unless the person wore rubber-soled shoes or was barefooted, those tiles would echo every step.”
“Did you recognize the voice? Could you swear it was like Connie’s? At least, a good imitation?”
“That’s just it. The voice was familiar. But it was hushed, a whisper really. I couldn’t swear to anything—only that I’d heard it before.”
“Not much to go on.”
“Wait. I remember something else. The squash blossom necklace—a huge one.”
“The person was wearing a necklace?”
“Yes. Small stones—maybe petit point—but a deep blue, in huge silver castings.”
“Had you ever seen Connie wear it?”
“No. But she had a vast collection of jewelry. It seemed old, like something she would own. A collector’s item.”
“I think we have to tell Lieutenant Samuels. Just what you’re relaying now, nothing more.”
“You don’t think I need to mention Em?”
“Let’s not for now. I’d like to try and find him. As an executor, that sort of falls under my duty.” But smacks of withholding information—no, not information, speculation. There wasn’t a law for withholding that.
“Ben, if Em knew he was her son, he’d know he would inherit at her death. The police might make a case for him being her murderer.”
“But she was already dying. It was only a matter of time.”
“If he knew that …”
“I think he showed up in New Mexico because of Connie—either she contacted him or he was on a parental search of his own.”
“The timing is just too coincidental for the search to have been solely his.”
“I agree. Let’s take a look at what Connie left us. Maybe there’ll be answers. I’m not sure what this is but I threw it in.” Ben held out the black address book. “It’s seen better days.”
“The morning Connie died, I found it in her bedroom—in the fireplace. It looked like she’d burned some documents and this was spared.” Julie leafed through a few pages. “Looks like an ordinary address book to me.”
“In Connie’s handwriting?”
“Wow. I wasn’t thinking. No, it’s not. This isn’t her writing. Strokes are too broad, heavy, much too masculine. She had a curvy—almost spidery, sprawling hand.”
“Skip’s, maybe?”
“I wouldn’t know, but it would be easy enough to find out.” Julie thumbed through the book again. “At least, it’s alphabetical. Look, under ‘C’ is Connie’s number—home and cell. Not her name, just the number.”
“If the book were hers or Skip’s, why list her own number? Just for the hell of it, see what’s there for ‘Rs’ or ‘Ms’.”
“Nothing of interest under R—at least, I don’t think so. A lot of this looks like code. Letters, like initials but mostly just phone numbers. Hmmm, there’s a penciled note under ‘Merritt’—‘cl. shrnk for #’ and then this number, (620) 845-4343. The number’s in ink. Maybe added at a later time.”
“Merritt is Em’s name. Robert Emmett Merritt.”
“Call shrink? Do you think this is the number of the psychiatrist who was treating Em before he came here? Maybe someone got it for Connie—maybe the person who owned this book?”
“Makes sense. I’ll see if the area code 620 is Kansas or Oklahoma.”
“But whose little black book? And why did Connie have it?”
“I’ll give the number a try when I get out of the meeting with Byron. I’d like to think that will give us some answers.”
“And you’ll come right back here and tell me everything?”
Ben leaned down and kissed her. “I have a feeling my life would be worthless if I didn’t.”
+ + +
Ben was going to be five minutes late. Traffic, never a given, had been especially congested, but he doubted anyone would leave before he got there. Lieutenant Samuels had in all likelihood chatted with either Byron or Wayne … or both. With copies of all the papers, he would notify the office—make the documents available. Ben could assume Wayne and the family now knew Julie and Ben were primary players. He took a deep breath. This wasn’t going to be pleasant.
Not one CdeBaca family member had called to inquire about Julie. It had been on the news. There was no excuse for knowing … and not responding. These people were so callous. At least Wayne came to the hospital with the Conlins—but there must be a hidden agenda. What was Wayne going to gain by toadying up to Julie’s parents?
Ben pulled his truck into the parking lot in front of the office. There were exactly four cars lined up in front of him. Byron, Wayne, Cherie? One appeared to be a rental. Seemed odd. Would Jonathan drive a rental? He wouldn’t, as the Jeep that pulled up to his right attested. There was Jonathan in all his scruffy glory. Ben called out a hello as he got out of the truck but was ignored. Jonathan was already heading to the front door.
“I had hoped we’d see Julie here.” Byron met Ben in the foyer. “We were all shocked at what happened. Thank God, she was able to escape. Terrible shame about the house.”
“Yes, a tremendous loss. Julie was fortunate.”
“Will she join us later?”
“No. She’s still in the hospital under observation. The concussion is going to keep her grounded for a couple more days.”
“Sorry to hear it. Have you met Arnold Baxter?”
Ben shook his head. Why was the name so familiar?—of course, the law firm in Denver. Looked as if they had sent
a representative. Byron seemed to be taking it well—only the intermittent twitch along his right cheekbone gave him away.
“Let me present Mr. Baxter, then.” Byron stepped to one side and motioned for a short, balding man in an ill-fitting brown leather jacket and jeans to join them. “Ben Pecos, Arnold Baxter.”
The handshake was firm even if the man seemed too rumpled to be a professional. Certainly not the same GQ perfection exhibited by Byron and Wayne. Ben had no idea that dress shirts came in chartreuse with a sort of satin finish.
“I’ve asked to meet with everyone in the boardroom. I’m glad you could join us. My best wishes for Ms. Conlin’s quick recovery. This is just all so unfortunate. A truly sad time.” Arnold’s eyes showed concern and caring.
Acting? Or for real? Ben couldn’t tell but felt himself soften toward the man. After all, he represented Connie’s interests. Didn’t that put him on the right side? Ben knew he’d need all the support he could muster.
Cherie was already at the table along with Jonathan. She seemed intent on reviewing a stack of papers in front of her—scanning one and handing it off to Jonathan before picking up another.
“Well, all principals seem accounted for. We’re missing Ms. Conlin, of course, but I will advise her of our discussion.” Arnold Baxter pulled several documents from a briefcase behind him. Satchel and jacket matched in color and scruffiness. Ben wondered if the weathered Stetson hanging from a peg by the door was also his.
“Now, I believe all of you know that Ms. CdeBaca named Ben Pecos here and Ms. Conlin as the executors of her estate. I will act as a guide—just to make sure all Ms. CdeBaca’s requests are met.” Arnold smiled at the group, but any intended warmth or reassurance was lost to the hostility that hung in the air. It was absolutely palpable, Ben thought. But he seemed to be the only one who noticed.
Cherie was withdrawn, and gazed out the window. Her dark hair was mussed—escaping from a wide silver barrette and falling forward across her face. Too bad her line of cosmetics couldn’t erase the bags under her eyes. She looked tired.
