by James, Sandy
He flipped through a few pages of his notebook, looking for the information he’d dug up about lupus. “You mean the antibodies your body makes against your own DNA, right?”
She nodded.
“How could you possibly know you’re not making antibodies any more?”
“I made my doctor run my blood work again. They’re gone. My body isn’t at war with itself any more. No more swollen joints. No more toxic fatigue. No more renal failure.” Cheryl ran her fingers through her hair again. “And my hair is growing back.”
Josh scribbled a few notes as he went down the long list of symptoms of lupus. The disease itself was mysterious, often plaguing people for years before they figured out what was wrong. He’d discovered it wasn’t especially fatal, but that severe cases could be. It seemed the worst problem was that the poor person’s immune system lost track of its job. Instead of battling foreign invaders like viruses, it created antibodies that liked to launch attacks against different parts of the body. Skin. Joints. Organs. “I thought you were on dialysis. Ross said your kidneys were shot, that you might need a transplant.”
She smiled wide enough Josh could see her gums. “Sarah fixed my kidneys. They’re wonderful. No sign of disease. None. Nada. Nil. ”
“I get your point.”
“Zippo,” she added with a saucy smile.
Reading through the list of diagnostic tests, Josh could see why Sarah might have chosen Cheryl as a client. Lupus had to be a scam artist’s dream for a disease to “cure.” There really weren’t any definitive blood tests other than a test called an ANA. And even if that test came up positive, a person might not have the illness, just as if the test was negative, lupus might still exist. “When was the last time you had an ANA run on your blood?”
Her smug grin told him the answer was recently and that the test had been negative as well.
“You’re just going to have to accept this,” Cheryl insisted. “Sarah cured me. She cured my lupus.”
Laurie Kennedy came into the room, carrying her infant daughter against her shoulder as she pat the baby’s back. Josh hoped his cousin would quickly join his side of this ridiculous argument.
“How’s it going?” Laurie asked.
“I’m good. Do you still talk to Libby?” Josh asked.
“At least once a day,” Laurie replied. “We’ve grown...close.”
He felt parental guilt sweep through him. Laurie had been the one who cared for Libby in the last days of her mother’s illness. Josh had been so focused on Miranda, he often wondered if Libby felt neglected. It was nice to know Laurie had been looking out for his daughter. She was obviously still doing so. At least Libby would have a female figure in her life to help her through adolescent ups and downs.
Laurie let her gaze shift between Josh and Cheryl. “How are you two doing?”
“I told you he wouldn’t believe me,” Cheryl said, pointing an accusing finger at Josh. “Tell him, Laurie. Tell him I’m well.”
Laurie sat down on the couch next to Cheryl and settled her sleeping daughter in her arms. “She’s well, Josh. At least she thinks she is. Ross and I are holding back judgment.”
Josh stared at his cousin for a moment. The woman might be a gifted psychologist, but she was also empathic, having the peculiar ability to discern another’s emotions by looking in the person’s eyes or touching his skin. He wondered for a moment if her particular choice of words betrayed what she really felt about Cheryl’s healing. “Ross thinks the woman ripped you off, Cheryl,” he said.
Laurie nodded. “But I’m not convinced either way yet. I mean, look at her,” she said as she inclined her head at Cheryl. “She’s feeling much better.” The baby stirred and began to fuss. Laurie put her daughter back against her shoulder. “Shh, Jill. Shh.” The little girl quickly settled back down.
“I’m feeling wonderful,” Cheryl added, her voice a little softer. “Never better. I’ve been sick for so long, I’d forgotten what it feels like to have energy, to be able to do all the things I wanna do.”
Josh frowned, knowing this interview had officially ended. Cheryl wasn’t going to let him dig any deeper. She was too convinced Sarah had healed her. “It’s a shame you couldn’t meet Sarah, Laurie. You might have been able to tell if she was lying.”
“Maybe,” Laurie replied, “but not always. It’s hard for me to know for sure if someone’s lying. Besides, I think the most important thing here is that Cheryl feels better.”
He shook his head. “No, the most important thing is that this woman stole five-thousand dollars from Cheryl and pretended to heal her disease.” Why did those words sound so harsh when he applied them to Sarah Reid? Josh just couldn’t reconcile that type of blatant theft with someone with those soft, hazel eyes.
What was wrong with him? He’d never let his feelings get in the way of research before. Once he went after a story, it was damn the torpedoes, full steam ahead. Yet here he sat, honestly hoping that what Cheryl said could be true, while all the while knowing it was impossible.
Cheryl jumped to her feet and folded her arms over her breasts. “I’m getting sick of you talking trash about Sarah.”
“Sit down, Cheryl. Please.” Laurie gently reached up to put a hand on her sister-in-law’s waist, cradling her daughter with the other.
“Only if he stops saying Sarah ripped me off.”
Cheryl leveled a chastising stare at Josh. So did Laurie. He was half-surprised Jill didn’t join in. He found himself outnumbered and would have let out an exasperated sigh if he hadn’t thought it would piss them off. There were still so many questions he wanted to ask Cheryl, but she wasn’t going to help him if he didn’t rein in the pit-bull reporter part of his personality. “Fine. I’ll behave.”
Cheryl sat back down and grabbed her tea, glaring at Josh over the top of her glass.
Josh decided to try a different approach. If he couldn’t get Cheryl to accept that she hadn’t honestly been healed, perhaps he might at least persuade her to talk about the experience itself. “What did Sarah do to heal you?”
Cheryl quickly warmed to that topic. “She had me sit in a chair next to her, and we just talked for a few minutes. She helped me relax. Then she stood up, pulled me to my feet, and gave me a hug. Just a hug.” Tears formed in Cheryl’s eyes, one slipping slowly down her cheek. “It felt like...like...she pulled me out of my own body. Like an out-of-body experience or something. I could...hear her, you know, her thoughts. Like we were talking, but we weren’t. Things went kinda hazy for a few moments then she let me go and fell back down in her chair while I just stood there.”
Focusing on her choice of words, Josh frowned. “Fell into her chair?”
She nodded. “Like a big rag doll. I seriously think she was asleep when her sister showed us out of the room.”
“No shouting, ‘Hallelujah’? No prayers? No blessing?” Josh asked. Nothing about the way Sarah operated followed the same course as other faith healers—with the exception of the payment that was required at the end. “When did she ask you for the money?”
“Sarah didn’t ask me for anything,” Cheryl said as she wiped away another tear with the back of her hand. “She never said a word. She was too out of it after she healed me. Her sister asked. Hannah wanted me to write her a check when we were leaving.”
“A check? Wasn’t she worried you would stop payment when you found out you’d been ripped off?” These people were the stupidest scam artists he’d ever heard of. They didn’t ask for payment up front. They didn’t ask for cash. They took a damn personal check. So why in the hell were they still making so much money?
“I wasn’t ripped off, Josh. You’re pissing me off.”
“I just can’t believe she took a check.”
Cheryl nodded with a smug smile. “Yeah, a check. A personal I-can-stop-payment-if-you-rip-me-off check.”
Josh rubbed his chin and thought about the implications.
“Why would I stop payment when Sarah cured me?” Cheryl
asked. “I would have given her more if I had it. Ross should have given me some more money for her. From the looks of her house, Sarah could use it.”
None of this added up in Josh’s analytical mind. Sarah Reid didn’t play by the grifter rules. Point in fact, she did absolutely everything wrong.
He had interviewed twenty separate people who had come in contact with Sarah Reid. Their ages ranged from five to seventy-nine. Some were black, some white. There were a couple Hispanics and one Asian. Men. Women. Children. Cancer. Lupus. Lou Gehrig’s disease. None of it seemed to make a difference. None of it really mattered.
Not a single person Sarah “cured” seemed sick anymore.
And none of them wanted their money back.
Josh didn’t want to think about all of it too hard. Because if he did, he might have to admit that he might actually have run across the genuine article.
Was Sarah Reid for real?
Chapter 4
Armed with fresh information, and desperately hoping that the ridiculous conclusion he’d drawn was wrong, Josh made the trip back to Indianapolis. The journalist in him hated not knowing the truth. The widower in him hated thinking he’d missed a chance he could have used to save his wife.
With a stubborn shake of his head, he pushed aside the notion that Sarah was the genuine article. Josh’s logical mind just couldn’t open up enough to allow that thought to take root. He lifted the tarnished knocker and pounded it against the door.
The wait seemed interminable, and his own anxiety at confronting Sarah began to cloud his judgment. Although realistically not more than a minute or two passed, it felt like an hour before Hannah Fanning opened the door.
“You’re back,” she said with a melody to her voice that made him feel like she was flirting with him. “Welcome. Come on in. Do you still want to write about my sister?” He had no idea why she seemed so thrilled to see him.
Josh nodded. “I’d like to speak to Sarah, if she’s available.”
Hannah nodded enthusiastically. “She’s in the sunroom. I’ll take you to her.”
As he was led through the old house, Josh tried to use his well-honed observation skills, the ones that had deserted him so thoroughly the first time he’d met Sarah Reid.
The floor of the foyer was a little warped, the hardwood seemed dank and dusky. The brown scatter rug was tattered, fraying on the edges. Floral wallpaper peeled away from one corner, faded with time, and cobwebs dotted the outdated pattern.
As he followed Hannah through the living room, he noticed the large fireplace that dominated the room. The red brick was dusty, the mantel bare. No knick-knacks. No picture frames. No mementos. That seemed kind of sad. A large couch with threadbare upholstery faced a small television. Josh couldn’t see a DVD player or a VCR. And was that really a pair of rabbit-eared antenna? Didn’t those go out with the Carter administration?
The familiar sunroom was a few degrees warmer than the rest of the house and appeared much more inviting. Red cushions sat in the big white, wicker chairs, and petite wood tables stood at their sides. Flowering plants in a kaleidoscope of colors rested all around, sitting in pots and hanging from macramé holders mounted to the walls and ceiling. A small botanical garden.
Josh found Sarah sitting with her legs curled under her, her eyes closed, her face turned to the late morning sunlight streaming in through the enormous window. Dressed in jeans and a soft, cable knit sweater, she didn’t seem to register that anyone else was in the room. Perhaps she was napping as she bathed in the sun’s rays like a contented feline.
Hannah opened her mouth, but Josh gently put a restraining hand on her forearm and shook his head. Hannah knit her brows for a moment, considering him closely. Then, with a swift nod, she turned and left him alone with Sarah.
The sunlight gave Sarah’s face a warm glow that had been missing the last time he’d interviewed her. Her cheeks were lightly flushed, her lips slightly parted in obvious enjoyment. He stared at her face, unable to look away.
Her nose was pert with a sprinkling of freckles, her lips the most delightful shade of pink. Her dark eyelashes seemed particularly long and delicate even though she didn’t appear to be wearing make-up. Instead of the tight ponytail she’d sported before, Sarah’s blond hair spilled to her shoulders, lightly brushing each. The rays of the sun highlighted a tint of strawberry-blond in her shiny locks. Josh smiled, wondering if a hot temper accompanied that smattering of red.
She’s too thin. He again noticed the dark half-moons under each of her eyes. Her long, graceful neck met collarbones that seemed a bit too pronounced against her scoop-necked mint-green sweater. As her hands rested palm-up in her lap, Josh couldn’t help but note how slender each delicate finger seemed. She was a nail biter.
For a long moment, the urge to grab her up and take her someplace where she could rest, eat, and regain her health overwhelmed him. A downright primitive need to protect this woman raced through him as he tried desperately to wrestle it down.
Josh reminded himself she might be a grifter, a woman who stole from others. Why didn’t that seem to matter? Why didn’t knowing what she truly was displace his desire to comfort and guard her? He shook his head, trying desperately to put such notions aside. They refused to shift very far.
He lost track of time as he stood there simply gawking at Sarah. As her eyes fluttered open, Josh could feel the flush spread across his face. Not from embarrassment at being caught staring, though that was a tad humiliating. No, the heated response was from his physical reaction to her beautiful face.
She took his breath away. Large, doe eyes considered him as she tilted her head in clear curiosity. The corners of her mouth slowly rose in a grin, creasing her right cheek with a small dimple. She lifted a fragile hand to smooth her hair behind her ear. It was such an utterly feminine action, his heart warmed at the sight.
Josh wanted her, physically responded to her. He was entirely disgusted with himself.
“Mr. Miller. You’re a persistent man,” she said in a soft voice that reached out to him like a lover’s caress.
“Joshua,” he blurted out before scolding himself for caring what she called him. “Call me Joshua.”
A smile lit her face. Her eyes appeared almost green in the sunlight. “We’re back to that, then, are we?”
He nodded, feeling like a twelve-year-old with his first crush.
What in the hell was wrong with him?
“I was hoping I could ask you a few more questions,” Josh finally said as he pulled his notebook out of the tan canvas bag slung over his shoulder. If he got down to business, this whole awkward ordeal might be quickly over. Then he’d be able to put Sarah Reid out of his mind and out of his obviously dim-witted heart.
A quiet chuckle escaped her lips. “Why on earth would I want to answer any more of your questions?”
He couldn’t help but laugh right back at her. “You didn’t really answer any of them last time. I asked. You evaded.”
Her smile bewitched him.
“May I ask you a few—?”
“No.”
“No?” he asked as he arched an eyebrow over her rapid and scolding response.
“No, Joshua.”
He sighed, his mind turning over what other tacks he could use to breach her reticence.
“At least, not here,” Sarah suddenly added.
“Excuse me?”
“I might consider answering a few questions, but not here. I want to go outside. I need some fresh air. Some sunshine. I’m walking to the park.” She let her gaze wander back to the window. “I don’t have a client this morning.”
Curiosity got the better of him. “Why no client?”
“She died last night before her father could get her here.” He could hear the sadness in her words. Sarah turned her face to look at him. The same sadness was plain in her eyes. “So, now I selfishly get to go to the park and enjoy myself. If you choose to tag along, who am I to tell you not to?”
Josh shoved
his notebook back in his bag. He reached out to offer his hand to help her to her feet and, having expected a rebuff, was a bit surprised she lifted her hand in response. Her fingers hovered over his outstretched palm for a few moments before she rested her fingers in his hand.
Before wrapping his fingers around hers, he was struck with how small her hand seemed and how cold her flesh felt. That troubling inclination to protect her flooded his mind again. This time he couldn’t brush it aside. He also found, to his chagrin, that he didn’t want to let go of her hand once she found her feet.
Sarah turned to face him, first staring at their joined hands, then lifting her chin to stare into his eyes. Josh wanted to drown in her. Her hazel eyes, her sweet face, her fragile body. The unexpected desire washed over him in waves. He hissed when he breathed, unable to stop himself. Her eyes widened before she slowly withdrew her hand and awkwardly let it drop to her side.
“You don’t have to go—”
Josh wouldn’t let her finish the thought. “How far is the park?” he asked, trying to talk about something else, anything else that would help him sweep away his disturbing attraction.
“Just a few blocks.”
“I’ll drive us,” he offered.
“I’ll walk.”
“We’ll walk.”
Sarah smiled up at him before turning and leading the way out of the house.
They stopped long enough for him to throw his bag in his rental car. Josh told himself he could remember anything important she said; he didn’t really have to write it all down. Then he realized that was a lie thought up to make himself more comfortable with the fact that he wasn’t acting at all like a reporter. Hell, he was acting like a tongue-tied teenager walking his latest infatuation home from school.
Sarah nodded her head toward the closest intersection. “It’s up that way.” She began to pace away, surprisingly fast for someone who seemed so tired. Josh fell in step beside her. She turned her face to smile at him. “It’s been a long time since I’ve been outside for more than a few minutes.”
