DEATH BY HONEYMOON (8 page)

Chapter 8

Ann’s eyes were closed when Cindy got to her side .
She was tucked in a cubicle on a bed, in the emergency room, behind a green and white hanging curtain.
Cindy pulled the curtain aside, slipped into the cubicle and sat down beside her.
Ann’s eyes fluttered open for a second and then shut again, as if drifting off to sleep.

Cindy grabbed her hand.
“I’m here, Ann.
I’m here.
You’re going to be just fine.”

Ann seemed to smile, but didn’t answer.

“They’re going to take wonderful care of you.”

Ann, eyes closed, didn’t respond.
Had she heard her?

A nurse pulled the curtains aside and came into the cubicle.
She was a big, heavy, black woman, in her mid-fifties with short hair.
Cindy was grateful to see her.

“Let’s keep her awake,” the nurse said to Cindy.
“After they hit their head, it’s good to keep them awake.” Then she turned to Ann, “Hi there, honey,” she shook her arm gently.

Cindy was relieved that the nurse was with them.
“What happened?” she asked her, alarmed.

“Your sister’s gonna be admitted for a full work up.
We’re waiting for a bed upstairs.”

“How did this happen?” Cindy asked the nurse .
Her mouth felt dry and her hands clammy.

“A police officer will be here to take information,” the nurse continued.
“It’s routine.”

Tears filled Cindy’s eyes.
She leaned towards her sister, “Are you okay, Ann?”

Ann opened her eyes slightly.

She moved her lips ever so slightly.
She was trying to speak.

“What?” Cindy asked, leaning in close.

“Brakes…” Ann whispered.

Cindy stared at her, not understanding.

Ann reached over and grasped Cindy’s wrist.

“No…brakes,” Ann whispered, barely audible.

Then she closed her eyes again.

“Ann?” Cindy asked.
“Ann?” she repeated, louder.
“Are you saying that my car’s brakes didn’t work?”

But Ann was passed out.

Cindy’s mind reeled.
She was devastated.
She had loaned Ann her car.
Had the car’s brakes failed?
How was that possible?
The car, a Honda Civic, was a year old and had just had a tune up the month before.
It didn’t make any sense.

The nurse looked over at her, troubled.

“Do you have someone else who can come in and keep you company?
A husband, or boyfriend or something?”

The truth hit Cindy at that moment.

“No,” she said quietly, “I have no one.”

The nurse shook her head, “I’m sorry.”

Then she pulled the curtains and walked out of the cubicle.

Ann looked peaceful resting there, and Cindy didn’t want to make her talk.
She was breathing on her own, that was good.
There was a brace around her neck.
Probably the usual precaution after a car accident.

“Stay awake, Ann,” Cindy said, gently nudging her.
Ann’s eyes fluttered opened.

Cindy held her sister’s hand and tried to settle down .
Was it possible, she wondered, that Ann would die?
It was much more than she could bear.
She held onto Ann’s hand for dear life.
“You’re gonna make it,” Cindy whispered to her, over and over.
“Just keep breathing, Ann.
Help is here.
You’re not alone.” She felt Ann’s pulse calm down as she spoke to her, as if her very cells heard what Cindy said.

Then the curtains were pulled open again and the nurse returned to tell her that the police wanted to talk to her.

Reluctantly, Cindy got up and left her bedside.

Outside, in the waiting room, a rugged-looking officer in his late forties was standing, waiting for her.

“Cindy Blaine?” he asked, looking down at a notepad.

Cindy followed him to some benches in the hallway, where they both sat down.
The hospital was crowded with patients and families, walking back and forth, along with doctors, nurses, technicians wheeling trays.

Cindy looked over at him and was surprised to see his hazel eyes looking at her searchingly.

 “What happened to my sister?” she asked.

“The car veered off the road and hit a tree.
She banged her head against the windshield.
It didn’t break.
Could have been much worse.
There was no sign of alcohol.
Does your sister take drugs?”

“Not at all.”

“Not to your knowledge?”

“Not at all.”

“Not even for medical purposes?”

“No, she doesn’t.
“

“The rain was strong and the roads were slippery,” he said.
“The car is relatively new.
It’s registered to you?”

“Yes.
She told me the brakes gave out.
Is that true?”

The officer looked at her.

“Could be.
We’ll have to do a run up on it.
Did you ever have any trouble with it?”

“No.”

“Your sister lives with you?”

“No.
She lives in Wisconsin with her husband.
She’s been here for a visit.”

“For how long?”

Cindy thought that was an odd question.
What did it matter?
“She’s been here for a while,” Cindy said.

“Trouble at home?” he asked.

“No,” Cindy replied.
“She came to help me.
My husband died recently.”

He stopped writing, and seemed really taken aback .
“I’m really sorry.”

“An accident on our honeymoon,” Cindy continued.
Suddenly she had an intense desire to tell him everything.
She so badly wanted someone to talk to.
To tell him her suspicions about Clint’s accident.
About her in-laws.
The suspicious photo.
Could there be a connection with all this and the car accident?
Her in-laws had access to her garage.
Had someone tampered with the brakes?
They would have thought it was Cindy driving.
Was this accident meant for her?

Who wanted her dead?
And why?
And what did it  have to do with Clint?

“Is it possible that my car was tampered with?” she asked, tentatively.

He looked her over.

“Why do you ask that?”

“I…” she began.
But she didn’t know what to say.
It was all too overwhelming.

“My husband’s death…I don’t think it was an accident.”

He stared at her.

“How did he die?”

“In the ocean.
Surfing.
In Barbados.”

Tears filled Cindy’s eyes.

 “He wasn’t meant to die,” she simply said, and despite herself, started to cry.

“And my car was in perfect shape.
It had to be someone close by who messed with the brakes, someone with access to my garage.”

She felt his hand on her shoulder.

“Lady,” he said, “you’ve been through a lot.
I think you should go home and rest.
We’ll do a full diagnostic on your car.
Don’t worry.
If anything’s out of place, you’ll be the first to know.
OK?”

But as she watched him leave, as she stood there alone in the waiting room, she suddenly knew - without a doubt.
Clint’s death and the car incident were related.
That accident was meant for her.
She was more convinced than ever that whoever wanted Clint dead, wanted her dead, too.

And that they’d stop at nothing until that happened.

Chapter 9

Ann was diagnosed with a concussion, whiplash and a broken collarbone.
They monitored her closely.
This should have been me, Cindy kept thinking.
I’m not supposed to be alive.
For some odd reason, it didn’t surprise her, just woke her up and raised the ante.
If she wanted to keep on living, she’d
have
to find out what was going on.

Cindy stayed at her sister’s bedside, holding her hand as they moved her to her own room .
Above all, she was determined for Ann to get well.
“You’re going to be fine,” she kept murmuring, as though it were a mantra.

Once Ann arrived in her room, Cindy had to sit on a chair in the corner as the nurses took over, moved Ann to a hospital bed, took her vital signs, set up her medication.
As she sat there watching, Cindy turned the events over in her head.

No question about it, what happened in Barbados was far from over.
Everything that happened since then was linked by a silver thread.
Cindy had to trace that thread, pull on it a little, and everything would open up.
The hostility with Clint’s family hadn’t ended, only grown worse.
They were the only ones she knew that had access to her garage.
They had to think it would be her driving.
And who else would have that photo?

As Cindy traced the silver thread it kept pointing to the family again and again.
And what about Clint?
They were furious that he disregarded their advice about the marriage.
Had one of them arranged for him to be kidnapped and killed when he went down to the beach?
Was his body dumped on shore so it could be found and the case closed?
Who had to gain most by that?

Cindy thought about Marge’s husband Ralph - how silent and sullen he usually was.
Was he afraid that Clint’s marriage to Cindy would affect his position in the family or his inheritance?
He’d come from a poor family, was obsessed with financial security.
She wouldn’t put it past him.
And Marge and Clint were never close .

Is that why Clint would never talk about the family?
Could he have realized there was danger and not let it on?
Had he kept all kinds of secrets from her?
The idea of it horrified her, but she had to face the possibility, whether she liked it or not.
The photo told her that something shady was lurking in his past.
Was it possible that someone had a vendetta against him?

Cindy felt her world start to shake, as though there was no longer solid ground to stand on.
She could not rest until she found out what really happened.
Nothing else mattered anymore.

The door to the hospital room opened, and in walked Ann’s husband, Frank.

He had just flow in from Wisconsin, and he looked exhausted and frightened.

He and Cindy had never gotten on well.
She’d always been an annoyance to him, seemed to take up too much of Ann’s time.

From his expression, it looked like he held Cindy responsible for Ann’s injuries .

Frank was a tall, heavy set man, who was street smart, did well in business, and cared deeply about his wife.
He ran into the room the minute he got there to see Ann, barely saying hello to Cindy.

Cindy got up and went into the hall, to give them time alone together.

Standing in the hall, she thought how she never understood how Ann could have chosen Frank, or why the two of them were so close, but she was happy for her.

Cindy’s heart contracted as she felt how much she missed Clint .
If he had been here, Ann would never have gotten hurt.
Clint would have picked up Frank at the airport and by now, the four of them would be going out for Chinese food.
Clint had always liked Frank.
The emptiness Cindy felt gripped her deeply.
How would she ever get over this?
She wouldn’t.

She suddenly realized that it didn’t matter.
Maybe it wasn’t about ever getting over it.
It was about finding the truth, getting justice for Clint, stopping worse things from happening.
There was no time for self-pity.
She had a big job ahead.

When Frank finally came out into the hall, his face looked ashen.
He actually looked older than Cindy had remembered.

“I’m so sorry about this, Frank,” Cindy said to him.

He just grunted.

“Ann will be fine.”

“Of course she’ll be fine,” he said briskly.
“She has to stay in the hospital a while though.
Then there will be rehab.
This is a nightmare.”

“I don’t know how it happened,” Cindy murmured.

“What do you mean you don’t know?
Your brakes failed.
Didn’t you have your car checked?”

“It’s almost new.
And I did.”

“Hell,” Frank couldn’t stand talking to her, “there’s always something happening around you, isn’t there?”

Cindy resented his comment.
“Are you blaming me for the accident?”

“I’m not blaming anyone.
I just said, there’s always something.
It gets exhausting.”

“I’m sorry, Frank.”

“Sorry isn’t enough.
I don’t see why you don’t just come back to Wisconsin when your sister’s better and give her some peace of mind?”

“I can’t.
Not until I find out who killed Clint.”

Frank stopped cold in his tracks then.
“You got to be kidding?”

“He didn’t die surfing.”

“What in hell are you talking about now?
Did the police tell you something?”

“No.
They don’t have to.
I just know.”

“Know what?” Frank’s eyes were spinning.
He was beginning to look ill.

 “You know how the family couldn’t bear anyone of Clint’s girlfriends,” said Cindy.

“And?” Frank looked terrified.

“How do you think they felt about me taking him away from them for good?
Just think about it for a minute.”

“Oh Jesus,” Frank called out.
“You’re going nuts.”

“Whoever killed him, wants me dead, too.
If I go back to Wisconsin, they’ll hunt me down there, too.”

“You’re completely crazy - paranoid!” he said.

“Just the opposite.
I’m on the trail of something big.
But I’m not safe anywhere until I find them.
And, if I came to Wisconsin, you and Ann won’t be safe either.”

“You’re worse than I thought,” Frank finally uttered.

Then he suddenly made a beeline for the bathroom down the hall.

Cindy watched him run down the hall as the nurse came out of Ann’s room and tapped her on the shoulder.

“Come back in, this minute” she said, “your sister’s breathing is labored.
She needs you there.”

*

Cindy sat at Ann’s side while she struggled for air.
The sound of Ann’s breathing reminded Cindy of the strange birds she’d heard on Barbados, cawing through the trees in the dark of night.
For a few moments, she wondered if complications were arising that could not be handled.
Would Ann die?

Frank was nowhere to be found.
After throwing up, he needed a break, and went downstairs to pace back and forth on the city streets.
By the time he returned, things quieted down, and Cindy could leave the hospital.
It was the middle of the night.

As Cindy walked through the deserted hospital parking lot, on her way to Clint’s small car, she suddenly heard footsteps.

She turned and searched the dimly lit lot, and felt a rush of fear race through her.
Were they following her?

The footsteps grew louder, and Cindy hid behind a cement column.
She watched and waited.

Finally, he came into a view.
It was just a doctor, heading to his car.

Cindy breathed a huge sigh of relief.
She chastised herself.
Was she really losing it?

When Cindy got home, she could not get to sleep.

She rolled over in bed and took the Bible Tom Mallord had given her.
She opened it randomly and began to read:

For whatever is hidden is meant to be disclosed, and what is concealed is meant to be brought out into the open.

Cindy sat up straight.
That was beautiful.
It was a sign.
It was encouraging her to go forward, telling her the truth would be revealed .

If anyone has ears to hear, let him hear.

Cindy shivered
.
She had ears to hear.
Her ears, her mind, her heart had all been ripped open.
She was listening with every pore of her body.
Waiting to hear the next steps to take.