Cold Target (14 page)

“I do,” she said. “I like Bisbee very much.”

Holly and Harry left the library. The small diner where she planned to get tacos was next to Special Things. She would stop in there and see how her sculptures were doing. She also wanted to thank Marty for including them in the gathering of friends.

The sun was hot and she was grateful for her comfortable clothes. She wore mostly T-shirts and shorts or jeans purchased at a discount store.

They walked to Marty's store. The gallery owner smiled as Holly entered with her shopping bag full of books. “Hi. When are you going to have some more sculptures for me?”

“I have some ladybugs and a dancing pig.”

“I'll send someone to get them,” Marty said. “And by the way, I'll need your Social Security number.”

The simple comment was like a slam from a sledgehammer. She hadn't thought that would be necessary.

“Why?”

“You're an independent contractor but I'm responsible for reporting any money I pay out.”

“I'm sorry. I never can remember the number. I'll get it for you.”

“No hurry,” Marty said.

“I never worked. My husband did the taxes. I …” She knew how stupid that sounded.

Something flickered across Marty's eyes.

Suspicion?

Holly wished she was quicker on the uptake, that her mind was more facile.

Marty shrugged. “We'll let it go for now. I really don't need it until the end of the year.” Then her gaze searched her face. “You need a phone, you know. In case of an emergency.”

“Money is a little tight right now and—”

Marty cut her off. “Tell you what. You live in my house. I'll get one there in my name. You shouldn't be without one.”

Gratitude flooded Holly. “Thank you. I'll pay the bill.…”

“You need a phone. Just keep supplying me with your garden creatures,” Marty said, waving aside any additional explanations.

Holly could only nod wordlessly.

“Liz?”

Holly looked at Marty.

“If you need anything, I'm here.”

Holly nodded, moved beyond words at the conditions-free offer. She wanted to stay in Bisbee. She wanted it more than she could remember wanting anything. Somehow, she would do it. Both she and Harry needed roots. Friends.

“Let's go get those tacos,” she urged Harry, who was investigating some carved birds.

As she left the shop, her quickened heart slowed. She took a deep breath. She had just decided. She wasn't going to run again.

nine

N
EW
O
RLEANS

The newly purchased S&W .38 revolver was a hefty weight in Meredith's purse as she entered her mother's room. But she felt safer, more in control.

This was her last stop before returning to the hotel for badly needed rest. She was exhausted. Physically and emotionally.

The private duty nurse put down the book she was reading as Meredith entered and shook her head to Meredith's unspoken question.

“No change.”

The room was full of new flowers. Mostly from her father, she supposed. He seemed to think that flowers were a substitute for his presence.

“I heard what happened,” the nurse said.

“It seems no place is safe these days,” Meredith said.

“Do they know who did it?”

“No.”

“It makes me nervous to be in the lot.”

Meredith didn't say that she didn't think the attack in the hospital parking lot was a random crime. “I would suggest calling someone from security when you leave at night.”

“I plan to do that from now on,” the nurse replied.

“Good.” It was a good policy any time. She looked at her mother.
No change
. “I want to be alone with my mother.”

“How long?”

“An hour.”

“I'll get my dinner, then,” the nurse said.

“Thank you.”

The door closed quietly behind the nurse, and Meredith sat and took her mother's hand in hers. “I'm here,” she said.

Her mother's face remained expressionless, her body still, various tubes running in and out of her arms. Did her mother have a living will? Meredith hadn't discussed using extraordinary means with her father. He would make that decision. He had the legal right.

She had to talk to him about it. She wished she knew what her mother wanted, but they had never talked about death.

They'd never talked about life, either.

Loneliness attacked her again, but this time she expected the dull, ragged pain. She wondered how many families were like hers. Cool. Detached. Uninvolved with one another.

“I'll find her, though,” she told her mother. “Sarah is looking for birth certificates, and I'll be talking to your friends here. Someone has to know something.”

She paused. “What does Daddy know?” The term “Daddy” slipped out unconsciously. She hadn't called her father that for many years.

“Please wake up,” she pleaded. “I need you.”

And she did, more than she believed possible. She needed to know unqualified love. She wanted to talk to her mother one last time, to express her anger and bewilderment and deep sense of loss.

She had to know the whys of so many things.

But there were no answers from her mother. She doubted there would be.

So she just sat there, hoping her mother knew she was there. Hoping her mother knew she was loved.

She leaned over and kissed her mother's cheek. She felt guilty for leaving.

Dammit, but she was tired of guilt.

“Good night,” she told the returning nurse, then went to the security office and asked for an escort to her car. Revolver or not, she had no intention of walking alone in the parking lot.

Morris had followed her to the hospital tonight and left only after she promised to have security walk her to the car. He'd also arranged for her to park in the doctors' lot not far from the hospital's front door. Probably still afraid of a lawsuit, the security staff had readily agreed.

She would use valet parking at the hotel.

She would be safe tonight.

And tomorrow?

She wouldn't think about tomorrow.

Gage took the call on his home phone. It was a collect call.

Clint. His younger brother.

“Gage?”

“Yeah.”

“You coming on Sunday?”

Guilt coursed through him. He
had
almost forgotten about it. “I plan to. Just been transferred back to homicide. I never know—”

“I understand,” came the resigned reply. “Just wanted to ask you to bring a couple of books.” A pause. “I'm in a computer technology course.”

“That's great,” Gage said, trying to interject some enthusiasm in his voice. His brother often joined self-improvement programs in prison. They never lasted long.

“I got a clerk's job.”

That
was
progress. His brother's first years in prison had been disastrous. He'd rebelled constantly. A clerk's job meant good behavior.

“That's good news”

“I'm good at it, Gage. Really good.”

“I'll try to be there,” Gage said.

His brother gave him the names of two electronics books, then paused, “Thanks, bro.”

Gage closed the phone. His brother was the only family he had left. The familiar feeling of failure filled him. He had tried to be father, mother and brother to Clint. He'd succeeded at none.

He wanted to hope now. But he'd hoped too many times before. Still … perhaps.

He
would
make it Sunday.

Sheer exhaustion dictated sleep. Even so, the sleep was restless, and Meredith woke early. She didn't feel refreshed.

She drove home. The cleaning firm would be there at nine. She took photos throughout the house for the insurance company, straightened up what she could downstairs, then climbed the stairs to inspect her closets in closer detail.

Most of her good suits had been destroyed beyond repair. Something else to do in the next few days: shopping. She had a court appearance at the end of next week. That required suitable clothing. She had a few blouses that had survived the carnage. Some slacks. A dress. Her shoes were untouched. Perhaps whoever did this ran out of time.

She looked at the underwear. She couldn't bear the thought of putting them back in the drawers after they had been touched by the intruder. She put them in a basket and took them to the washing machine. Even then, she knew she would never feel entirely comfortable in those garments. She wondered whether she would wear any of it again.

After she started the wash, she used her cell phone to call her insurance company and ask for a form to list destroyed items, then called the office. Sarah was already there.

“Ask Becky to come over to my house,” Meredith said. “I have some shopping to do, and I want someone here with the cleaning crew.”

“You plan to move back home?”

“Yes.”

Silence. Then, “Do you think that's wise?”

“I now have a state-of-the-art alarm system, a revolver in my purse, and constant visits by the police. I think I'm safe enough. I will
not
live in a hotel the rest of my life.”

“I prepared a list of people who have expressed some displeasure toward you, both in the DA's office and in your private practice,” Sarah said.

“Tell me it's a small list.”

“Well, it's not that long.”

That reminded Meredith that she had not made out her own expanded list yet. “Thanks. I'll add to it and call Detective Morris.”

“What about Rick Fuller?”

“He's at the top of mine.”

“You know how they protect their own.”

“I don't think they will here.”

“Okay,” Sarah said. Meredith heard the doubt in Sarah's voice.

“I'll be in the office later. I want to discuss the next steps to finding my sister.”

“I'll be here.”

“You're always there. Have I ever thanked you?”

“All the time, boss.”

Meredith hung up, then called the hospital. No change. “Critical but stable.”

She leaned against the wall and waited for the cleaning service to arrive. The same wall she had leaned against yesterday when Detective Gaynor kissed her. Why had she allowed it?

More important, why had she responded in such a wanton, needy way? Because she
was
needy. She felt as if she were holding up the Empire State Building on her shoulders. Her Empire State Building of conflicting loyalties and duties. Her mother against her father. Her practice against both of them. Her duty to clients against the chaos in her own life.

Had that made her so susceptible to a kind word? A gentle touch? An offer of help? Was that why Gaynor ignited a passion she'd never experienced before?

Could she trust that help?

The doorbell rang and a small covey of women crowded inside with brooms, pails and other cleaning equipment. She showed them through the house and explained what she wanted done, then provided them with huge trash bags she'd had in her garage for leaves.

Even though she had cleaned up some of the mess, the women gasped at the sliced upholstery, the stains on the floor, the destroyed clothes on the bed and the pieces of glass in her office.

She worked with them, answering questions, until Becky arrived. She told Becky what to do, then left on a shopping expedition. She didn't expect it to take long. Only the necessities—computer, mattress and at least one suit—now. She would see to everything else in the next several weeks.

Feeling a little more in control, she checked the revolver in her purse. The tossing of her home was a stumbling block, nothing more. It would not interfere with what she had to do.

“Nothing,” Sarah said. “No birth certificate on record with the Memphis and Shelby County Health Department or with any other surrounding counties—at least not with your mother's name on it. I also checked with local hospitals. None has records dating back that far.”

“I need the names of medical facilities and OB practitioners near my aunt's home in February 1970. The doctors we can contact. I'll visit the medical facilities.”

Sarah nodded.

“Any other emergencies?” Meredith asked.

“Nothing I can't handle.”

“Have you spoken to Nan Fuller?”

“She hasn't heard from her husband. Becky took a copy of the protection order to her yesterday.”

Darn. She should have done that. But yesterday had been volcanic.

“A Mrs. Fellows called today for an appointment. A divorce case.”

“Can she wait until next week?”

“Yes.”

Meredith went into her office, checked her calendar, then reappeared. “A week from Monday at two. Tell her it's tentative. I have an illness in the family.”

“Are you sure?”

“We still have a practice to maintain.”

“Okay. I'll set it up. Did you add any names to my list of people who might want to do you harm?”

“You did a very thorough job. I never would have listed some of them. But no, no one else.”

“Nothing I wouldn't know about? Anything personal?”

“I have no personal life, Sarah.” The words escaped Meredith's mouth before she considered them. She suddenly realized how sad they sounded. But she didn't have a personal life. Work had been her balm for years, her reason for being.

Now she realized how few friends she really had. Professional acquaintances, yes. But little else. What social life she'd once had had disappeared when her friends' lives evolved and she had no children about whom to exchange stories, no time for social lunches.

She didn't even have a family. Not really.

“You should remedy that, boss.”

“Some day,” Meredith said lightly. “But now my calendar is full. Do you have everything under control?”

Sarah nodded.

“I'm going to drop the list at police headquarters, then go to my parents' home. It's Mrs. Edwards's afternoon to shop. Some of my grandfather's records are stored in the attic. My father always expected a case might come back to haunt him, so he kept all his records. There could be some personal stuff there as well. I'm also going to look through my mother's things for a diary. Address book. Anything that can give us a clue.”