Daughter of Light (17 page)

“They think because they’re paying for their children to go to the school, they deserve some special treatment. Most of them rationalize every problem I have with their daughters. They turn it around to somehow being my fault or the school’s fault or another student’s fault. You would think I was teaching a classroom of angels.”

“Why did you take a job in a private girls’ school?” I asked. “You must have had some idea what it would be like.”

“I thought it would be worse in the public school system, but I think I made a mistake,” he said.

He had started to ask me about my work when, all of a sudden, just after we had made a turn and he was accelerating, he cried out and swung the car so abruptly to the right that we went onto the sidewalk and slammed head-on into a mailbox. Our airbags exploded in our faces. I had better and faster reflexes than he did and had pulled back quickly enough for the bag not to smack me in the face, but his hit his face so hard it nearly snapped his head off. He groaned and pushed the airbag away. I had already done so with mine.

“Are you all right?” he asked. I saw how banged-up his nose, forehead, and cheeks were. There was a thin line of blood cutting just over his right eyebrow.

“Yes, I’m okay. What happened?”

“Didn’t you see him?”

“See whom?”

“That old man. He was suddenly just there, directly in front of us. I thought for sure I was going to hit him. I can’t imagine how I didn’t.”

I looked back and across the street but saw no old man. Another vehicle pulled up right behind us against the curb, and a man and a woman got out quickly.

“Are you two all right?” the man asked after opening the driver’s-side door. I stepped out of the car. The woman came around quickly.

“You okay? We were right behind you and saw you turn abruptly.”

“I’m okay, but he’s pretty hurt,” I said. “The airbag.”

I kept looking up and down the street, searching for any sign of a pedestrian. “Did you see anyone step in front of us?”

“No,” she said. “I mean, there could have been someone, but I didn’t see anyone. I wasn’t paying that much attention until my husband cried out, ‘Look at that!’ ”

Her husband was on his cell phone. Another vehicle going in the opposite direction pulled to the side, and then another car pulled behind the one at the curb.

“What happened?” the driver of the second car asked the woman.

“He says someone stepped in front of them and he had to turn abruptly to avoid hitting him and lost control. Airbag kept him from getting too badly hurt, but he seems a bit banged up,” she said.

“Yes, don’t move,” her husband said, returning to us. He looked at Jim and saw how much more badly hurt
he was. “We’re getting you an ambulance. You probably should have an X-ray of your neck to be sure.”

Jim protested. I knew he was more embarrassed than seriously hurt, but it was better to be certain.

“They’re right,” I told him. “Just sit quietly, Jim.”

Moments later, a Quincy police patrol car pulled up, and two officers got out. The younger one approached me after they both had heard Jim’s explanation.

“Was he drinking?”

“No, he just came to the mall to pick me up and take me back to the Winston House.”

“Amelia Winston’s rooming house?”

“Yes. We need to call her. We’re both expected for dinner.”

I reached into the car to find my purse and dig out my cell phone. While I was talking to her, the ambulance arrived. Jim tried to resist, but by now, a small crowd had gathered, and the police were insisting that he get checked out.

“You okay?” the younger policeman asked me. He looked at the exploded airbag on the passenger’s side and then at me. “You don’t have a scratch on you,” he remarked, amazed.

“Just lucky,” I said.

“Did you see the old guy in the street, too?”

“I was looking off to the right. It all happened too fast,” I said, not wanting Jim to get into trouble.

“Um. We’ll take you over to the hospital for a quick examination anyway.”

“I have things in the car,” I said.

“I’ll get them,” he offered. He looked like he was in his late twenties and gave me a flirtatious smile. While he gathered my things, the paramedics put Jim into the ambulance. Moments later, a tow truck arrived.

“They listen on a scanner,” the young patrolman told me. “This guy is always one of the first to arrive on an accident scene, but you can’t leave the car here, and that front is bashed in pretty good.”

“It’s not my car, but I’m sure Mr. Lamb wouldn’t object.”

“Couldn’t leave it on the street here, either,” the patrolman said. “I might have to turn you both over to the FBI,” he joked as he led me to the patrol car.

“Oh, and why is that?”

“Destruction of federal property, a mailbox.”

“Looks to me like you just have to stand it up again.”

He laughed and opened the door. “I’m Tom Westly,” he said, and pointed to his name tag.

“Lorelei Patio,” I said.

“Just relax for a moment, Lorelei. We’ll get you taken care of,” he said, loading my bags into the backseat with me. I watched him talking with his partner for a few moments. They watched the tow-truck driver get Jim’s car pulled away from the mailbox and lifted to be taken off. The ambulance left, and the two officers returned to the patrol car. All the while, I searched the street, the houses, and every shadowy area I could see, looking for signs of an elderly man.

In my heart, I feared who it might have been. He was too old to be active, obviously, but he could easily
be the patriarch of a Renegade clan. “Nothing that happens to us,” Daddy once said, “happens by accident.”

“So, tell us again how this happened,” the older patrolman said when we were driving to the hospital.

“We were talking. I turned to the right, and the next thing I knew, we were crashing into a mailbox. Jim told me an elderly man stepped in front of the car.”

“If you were looking to the right, he would have had to come from the left. It’s a busy street. That’s no place to cross it.”

“Which is why Mr. Lamb had to turn so suddenly,” I said.

Tom turned back and smiled at me, as if he appreciated how I was defending Jim Lamb.

“Whenever you lose control, you know you’re going too fast,” the older patrolman insisted.

“He wasn’t,” I countered firmly. “He’s a very conservative person. He teaches at the Adams School for Girls.”

“I know some teachers who aren’t so conservative,” the older patrolman said.

Tom laughed. “He’s referring to his brother-in-law.”

“Among others.”

“Is he your boyfriend?” Tom asked me.

“Hardly. I’ve been here only two days.”

“Two days! And you’re in an accident already? That’s bad luck,” the older patrolman said. “But you look fine.”

“She looks more than fine,” Tom said. He smiled at me again.

Twenty minutes later, I found myself sitting in the
ER waiting room. I had given my personal information to the receptionist, who didn’t look all that surprised to learn that I had no health insurance.

“Everyone your age thinks he or she doesn’t need it, and then you’re here in the ER suddenly, and everyone else has to pay for it.”

“I can pay for it myself,” I told her. “I don’t even need to be here. I’m fine. The policemen insisted.”

She shrugged. “Take a seat,” she said.

When another quarter of an hour had passed, I debated gathering my bags and calling for a taxi, but before I could, a nurse came heading my way. She was smiling so brightly that for a moment, I thought she had mistaken me for someone else, someone she knew. I thought she was very pretty, with a bob-inspired, one-length cut to her light brown hair. It had an off-center parting and razor-softened ends. When she drew closer, I recognized those blue eyes. This was Ken Dolan’s daughter. She was about five feet eight, with a buxom but trim figure. Now that I studied her a little more, I realized that she had Liam’s smile.

“As soon as I saw your name, I thought, That’s my father’s new secretary. Am I right?” she asked.

“Yes.”

“Are you okay? What happened?” she asked, and quickly sat beside me. “Oh, I’m Julia Dolan,” she added.

I summed up the accident for her.

“And he was nowhere around afterward? Freaky,” she said. She looked around. “C’mon with me,” she said. “I’ll help you with those,” she added, reaching for a few of my bags.

She led me to an examination room and looked me over closely before taking my blood pressure.

“Any pains, aches?”

“No, nothing.”

“You don’t even look a little shaken up, and there’s not a mark on your face.”

“It all happened too fast. I was lucky I was leaning back.”

“Yes, lucky. Dr. Knotts is on duty, but he’s a bit overwhelmed. It’s his third week here. I don’t think he’ll get to you for at least an hour, if not longer. There are four ahead of you.”

“How’s Mr. Lamb doing?”

“They took him to X-ray. He’s quite banged up. That airbag hit him like a pie in the face. He’ll be here for a good few hours, if not more, even though he’s a priority,” she added in a little over a whisper.

“I’m fine. I really don’t have to stay. The police insisted on bringing me here, otherwise I would have just continued on to the Winston House. The younger officer was quite concerned. His name was Tom.”

“Tom Westly,” she said, nodding. “I’m sure he was quite concerned. I’m half surprised he didn’t try to stay and hold your hand.” She laughed.

“He was a bit of a flirt,” I said.

“A bit? He thinks he’s the Blue Streak, every girl’s fantasy policeman, ready to put her in handcuffs and do an investigation.”

I thought that was very funny. She was so much more outgoing and relaxed than Liam, and yet they had suffered the same family disaster.

“How did you know I was your father’s new secretary?”

“Dad’s been bragging about you. Normally, he feels uncomfortable around any woman who’s less than twenty-five, thirty. We make him too nervous with our explosive, unpredictable energy, but you apparently have the demeanor of someone older, calmer, and what he calls man-sensible. He said you’ve restored his faith in the female species.”

“I hope he continues to feel that way.”

“I’m sure he will. I’m glad you’re okay. I’ll call a taxi for you.”

“Thank you.”

“Were you working on a relationship with Mr. Lamb?”

“No,” I said. “He was just being . . .”

“Hopeful?”

“Something like that,” I said, smiling. “He’s very sweet, but I’m not looking for a romance just yet.”

She nodded thoughtfully, started out, and then paused. “Maybe after you’re settled in a bit, we can go out together, have a little dinner, and get to know each other better. I’m sort of seeing someone—actually, the radiologist on duty right now who’ll handle Mr. Lamb—but with his schedule and mine, we’re often like two ships passing in the night, if you know what I mean, and I hate to stay at home on my nights off.”

“Yes. I’d love to go out with you when you’re free.”

“Maybe this weekend,” she said. “Clifford, Dr. Longfellow, is on Saturday night. I’ll call you.” She flashed a smile and left.

She returned about ten minutes later to tell me a taxi would be pulling up outside the ER entrance any minute. She said Jim Lamb had been concerned about me, but she had managed to get a message up to him telling him that I was fine and heading home.

“Thanks,” I said.

She helped me with my bags again.

“I have to build a whole new wardrobe,” I explained as we walked out.

“Sounds like you left home in a hurry.”

“That’s an understatement,” I told her. I smiled. “You mean you don’t know?”

“Well, something,” she admitted. “I look forward to hearing all about it. If you have any aches or pains during the night, just call the ER and ask for me. I’m here until six in the morning.”

“Thanks. I’m fine.”

The taxi pulled up, and the driver got out to help with my things.

“I’ll call you,” Julia said as I got into the taxi. She waved, and I sat back.

All the way to the Winston House, I looked out the windows, searching for signs of Thaddeus Bogosian, the elderly man I had met on the plane and the man I thought I had seen on the street in Quincy yesterday. If he was the same man Jim thought had stepped in front of his car, he had done so knowing that he would cause an accident. Why? Was he testing to see what would happen to me? Was he trying to hurt me? Or was this all just in my paranoid mind now? That could have been any old man I had seen or imagined,
and it could easily have been another gentleman who wasn’t watching where he was crossing and then had fled because he had caused an accident and didn’t want to be blamed. If I permitted myself to be frightened away, how could I ever find any safe haven? Something similar would happen to me no matter how far away I went.

The taxi driver helped carry my bags to the front door of the Winston House, but before I could open it, Amelia and Mrs. McGruder were there, with Mr. Brady standing behind them. They had obviously been watching out the front window.

“How did this happen? Where is Naomi Addison? I thought she was taking you shopping. How did poor Jim Lamb get into this mess?” Mrs. Winston rattled off her questions in shotgun fashion.

“Let the girl get up to her room,” Mrs. McGruder said, reaching for some of the bags. “I’ll bring you something hot to eat,” she told me.

“I’m fine,” I said.

“She looks okay,” Martin Brady said from behind. Both women turned and glared at him so sharply that he shrugged and retreated.

“You are probably in a little shock,” Mrs. Winston insisted. “Just listen to Mrs. McGruder.”

I nodded and followed them to the stairway.

“How is Mr. Lamb?” Mrs. McGruder asked me as we went up.

“He’s still in radiology. He had some bad facial trauma from the airbag deploying.”

“Didn’t yours work, too?”

“Yes, but I was lucky,” I said. “I was leaning away at the time and took the brunt of it lower down.”

“Well, didn’t that hurt?” Mrs. Winston asked.

“I’m fine,” I said.

“You should probably take a warm bath and get into bed,” she said.