Cast a Pale Shadow (28 page)

An aide came in bearing the dinner tray, his first real meal since Friday.

"Will you need help with this?"

"I'll help him, thank you." The girl who was his wife lifted the metal lids revealing a cream soup, mashed potatoes, something that might be stewed chicken. A study in off-white. He saw a fleeting tautness in her jaw as she grimaced at the food then turned to him and boldly lied. "Looks delicious. I'll bet you're hungry."

"And I'll bet I still am afterwards. Are there any utensils? A straw?"

"A straw?"

"Yeah, why dirty the flatware for this? Anyway, I may have need of the knife later. To slit my wrists."

She winced. "Don't! Don't even joke about that, Nicholas."

When she thought he wasn't looking, she slipped the knife from the tray into her sweater pocket. "Do you want to sit up? I can crank up your bed."

"Yes, please. It might make dinner easier."

He held his breath and masked the pain that came when he bent at the waist. "That's good enough," he finally had to gasp.

"Oh! Should I let it down some?"

"No, I'll be all right in just a minute." He pressed his hand to his side while the pain gradually faded. The look of distress on her face was worse than the twinge in his gut. "Do you plan to watch me eat?" he asked sourly.

"I-I was going to help you."

"I have managed to feed myself for some twenty-five years. I don't need your help."

"Oh." She looked as if he'd slapped her. "I'll take a walk then."

"Why don't you go home? I assume the dark circles under your eyes are not normal for you. Haggardness would not be his style." Cole did not have the courage to look at her again, so he would not see her flinch as his insults hit their mark. He lifted a forkful of the white, lumpy stuff to his mouth. It was tuna, not chicken. He curled his lips in disgust and set it down.

She picked up her purse and a book from the windowsill and walked toward the door. "You won't push me away whatever you do or say," she said quietly. "I love Nicholas. I love you, Nicholas. I won't give you up."

After she was gone, he took a few stabs at the mashed potatoes then shoved the tray aside. His last clear, waking memory was of a November blizzard and sliding into death in a snow bank by the side of a road. But he had not been lucky. It had not been death at all that found him on that desolate highway. It was Nicholas, the thief of time. Now he, too, had deserted, leaving the encumbrances of a wife and a history Cole did not know.

Everything, she said. Fitapaldi told her everything. He would have to ask Fitapaldi to tell the same to him. Why should he always be the last to know?

"Mr. Brewer?" Cole looked up to see a round, florid face thrust into his room. "You up? Detective Chancellor, St. Louis Police Department. We need to ask you a few questions?"

"Come in." He had the sinking feeling that a part of his missing history was about to be revealed to him.

"We've been here before. This here is my partner, Detective Haskell." Chancellor was the older of the two. His partner had a skim of a mustache on his long upper lip. Both detectives wore ill-fitting suits. Chancellor's was baggy and brown, Haskell's gray had frayed cuffs that sagged at the heels. "But last time, you were dead to the world, so to speak."

"As good a way to describe it as any I have thought of."

"The docs say you'll recover. That's good news."

"Yes, I understand they hate to lose patients. Too much paperwork."

"Ha! That's true enough. Same holds true for us. We're investigating a death right now, as a matter of fact, and already there's been a flood of coroner's reports, witness accounts, evidence sheets, you name it, to keep track of. That's why we're here, you see. We have a bit of evidence to pin down. Maybe it's a clue. Maybe it isn't. But we can fill in one more blank on the report if you'll help us out. He pulled a brown envelope out of his brief case. "Is this your wallet, Mr. Brewer?" A black leather wallet slid out of the envelope to the blanket at Cole's knees.

Cole picked it up and opened it. "It has my name in it."

"Yes. Would you want to guess where it was found?"

"I did not even know it was missing. I have not been myself lately." It was amazing how you could tell the truth even when you had no idea what it was.

"Where was the last place you think you had it?"

"I don't know. In my pocket, I guess."

Haskell, the young one, who had been silently probing his teeth with a toothpick to this point, glared at him. "Nobody likes a smart ass, Brewer. Where did you have it last?"

"Thursday," he tossed off the day that he had gathered from overheard conversations had been the day of his beating.

"I asked where, not when."

"I don't remember."

"Like to try the backyard of 3303 Christian Avenue?"

"Is that where it was found?"

"Not exactly."

"Do I get another hint?"

"Calvary Cemetery. In the woods. Now, how do you suppose it got there?"

He had all he could do to tread water in this world he'd just awakened to, and these cops wanted to play guessing games. "Could it be that I was beaten and robbed and the wallet tossed there by the thug? I could offer my bruised body as evidence for that story."

"Yeah, except that it's full of money," Haskell said.

Cole would have laughed but he suspected it would hurt too much. "Then it can't be my wallet. I've never had one that was full of money."

Chancellor frowned at his attempt at humor. "And except that we have a body that points to another version."

"A body?"

"Yeah, buried in that very same cemetery. I don't suppose you care to admit you know whose body it is?"

"Uh, well, a cemetery doesn't seem like an unusual place to find a body buried."

"In an unauthorized grave," Haskell said. "It was the body of your father-in-law, Robert Kirk."

"What? What did you say?" asked a small, frightened voice at the doorway.

"Catch her!" Cole warned, but it was too late. Trissa was in a heap on the floor.

"Must be a family trait," grumbled Chancellor. "The news affected her mother in the very same way." Haskell towed her roughly to her feet and tapped her twice on the cheek.

"Don't touch her," Cole bellowed "Bring her to me." He didn't know why he wanted her. Bringing her close was no way to drive her out of his life. But she was supposed to be his wife, after all. He had to give a show of affection. Especially in front of two cops who were apparently questioning him about a murder.

Haskell hauled her over and plunked her, not too gently, on the bed. Cole gritted his teeth with the pain that came with the jostling of the bed. When it subsided, he found that holding her tightly against himself kept it in check. "Ring for the nurse." He tucked a strand of her hair behind her ear and blew gently into it. "Trissa? Wake up, sweetheart. Trissa?"

"Bad way to break the news, Haskell. How many times I got to tell you you're too abrupt?" Chancellor said.

"How was I supposed to know the little gal was at the door?" muttered Haskell.

Chancellor scowled at him and hitched a finger toward the hall to indicate it was time to leave. "We best be on our way. We got other stops to make. We were going to question your wife too, but she seems a bit overwrought."

 The nurse arrived and hurried off again for smelling salts. Chancellor touched a finger to his forehead as if he were tipping a hat, and sauntered out the door.

Cole looked down at the warm, still bundle in his arms and frowned. It was a strange sensation to be holding this enchanting wisp of a woman-child so close. Ever careful to keep life at arm's length, he told himself it was just this once and for just this moment. As soon as the nurse came and as soon as she revived, he would see that Nicholas' little wife was on her feet and gone.

Though the exterior charm of Nicholas Brewer was still intact in Cole's face -- and he was not above using it when the need arose to cajole a surly shop girl into better service, or to finagle an extra helping from a waitress or two -- he had none of Nicholas' prowess with women. In truth, he had no prowess at all and had long since ceased testing its presence.

Nicholas, on the other hand, had no such restraints. He collected women like baseball cards. Cole had only to read their loving messages on their photographs to know that he treated them well while he had them. But then what happened to them? As always when that question surfaced in his mind, Cole shuddered and pushed it back down.

The nurse returned, and Trissa resisted her efforts to hold the bottle of smelling salts to her nose, fluttering her hands against it. Her squirming next to him sent an odd sensation through Cole, not like pain at all. He held himself rigid and moved away from her just as she came to full consciousness and realized where she lay. With an embarrassed squeak, she scrambled out of the bed and smoothed her rumpled clothes.

"All right now, dear?" asked the nurse.

"Yes, I've had some upsetting news. And I guess I'm more hungry and tired than I thought."

"It's no wonder. You've been here night and day. I think your husband will behave himself for us for long enough to let you go home and get some rest. Am I right, Mr. Brewer?"

"The very thing I've been trying to persuade her to do."

Trissa looked regretfully at Cole and sighed. "Very well. I'll go home when Augusta gets here."

"Good," said the nurse. "In the meantime, I'll see if I can scare up a sandwich and a piece of fruit for you off one of these lunch trays. Aren't you going to eat any more of this, Mr. Brewer?"

"Leave the pudding, I guess. And the coffee."

The nurse whisked away the rest of the tray and left them alone. Cole ate the vanilla pudding in silence, letting its cool, smooth sweetness slide down his throat like a balm against his scorched senses. Trissa turned her back to him and gazed out the window.

"I'm sorry about your father," he said at last.

Her shoulders sagged. "And I'm sorry to hear you say that. Nicholas would not have."

"Might he have... might I have killed him?"

She whirled to face him and he saw that her horrorstricken eyes contained the very same question. She wanted hugging and holding and comforting, but there was no one to do that now. Now that Nicholas was gone. She flickered like a spark from a chimney, wavering on the brink of flying away. Or dying.

Cole opened his arms to her -- a natural act, no more than any human would do for another human in distress -- and she flew into them. He did not know if it was a memory that stirred in him, or a fear, or a need, but he let his arms encircle her and he held her.

*****

Cole Brewer woke with his sweet, pretty wife asleep in his arms. Trissa's tear-streaked face was tucked against his chest and Cole's cheek nestled in her softly tousled hair.

He reached with his free arm to his bedside tray, wincing with the effort to reach a napkin. Dampening a corner in his pitcher of water, Cole touched the dried tears from her face, just as Dr. Fitapaldi appeared in the doorway.

"Trissa. Trissa, Dr. Fitapaldi's here." Trissa squeezed her eyes tightly and momentarily resisted his gentle awakening. But Cole ever-so-lightly tapped his finger to the tip of her nose and her eyes flew open. He did his best to resist the heart-melting smile she gave him. "Trissa, I think you've met Dr. Fitapaldi."

Slowly, mindful of Cole's injuries, Trissa crept from the bed, self-consciously tugging at her skirt. "Excuse me, Doctor, this is the second time today I've been caught in a compromising position."

"Sleeping, fully clothed, in your husband's arms is not what I would call compromising," Fitapaldi said. "I am pleased you two have resolved your estrangement."

"Nothing is resolved," Cole said.

"No," Trissa confirmed, shaking her head sadly. "Nothing." She clasped her arms tightly against her chest, took a deep breath, and let her words out in a rush. "In fact, we're in terrible trouble. My father has been found dead and Nichol -- we -- uh, no one knows what happened."

"Dead?"

"Murdered," Cole answered, his face like granite.

"You can't think that--" Fitapaldi began. "No, it's not possible. Cole would not be capable of such--"

"We're talking of Nicholas here, Doctor," said Cole. "Have you ever met him? How would you know what he is capable of?"

"But -- even if..." Fitapaldi paused, tugging at his brows, thinking. "Look at you, surely the police could see this could be no more than self-defense!"

"Yes!" cried Trissa, as if she now had the solution to the whole problem. "My father threatened him! I heard him. If anything, it has to be self-defense."

Cole shook his head. "He was buried, they said. In an unauthorized grave. That seems a bit beyond the limits of self-defense."

Trissa reached back to clasp Cole's hand as she turned toward Fitapaldi. "No! No, that couldn't be. He couldn't have done that. Nicholas is not a complete stranger to me. Not to me. He could never have done something like that. You have to believe me. I know him."

Fitapaldi approached and put an arm around her shoulder. "I believe you, my dear. I believe you."

Cole raised his eyes to the ceiling then shut them, unwilling to share in their theory or their confidence. "Could you get her home, Doctor?" he asked wearily. "She needs her rest. There is a long road ahead, I'm afraid."

Before Fitapaldi had a chance to answer, Trissa said, "I should wait for Augusta. I'm sure she'll be here any minute."

A woman Cole had no recognition of swept into the room and took Trissa's hand, giving her a motherly kiss on the cheek. "I'm sorry I'm late. I -- Oh, Trissa, honey, look at you. I should have insisted you come home last night. You look about ready to collapse."

She turned to greet Fitapaldi and Cole. "Good afternoon, Doctor. And Nicholas! What an improvement! A little green around the gills still, but, really, you look like a whole different pers -- oh. I mean you're so much better."

The woman Cole presumed to be Augusta dropped Trissa's hand to swoop down and engulf Cole in an eager hug.