Suspicious Minds (Squeaky Clean Series, Book 2) (26 page)

"Yeah, sure, I can totally do that" When Chad reached the door, he stopped and turned back toward me. "Gabby?"

"Yeah?"

"I'm really sorry I left you alone. This might not have happened if-"

"I told you to leave, Chad. You have nothing to feel bad about. Besides, if I'd been the one to leave, the gunman would have probably shot you"

He didn't say anything else as he walked away. Nor did I.

Sierra showed up before Chad returned. She made me explain what had happened, detail by detail. If I were a wild animal, she'd probably stage a protest to end violence against me. I could hear it now: "Save Gabby St. Claire! Honk your horn to show you care!"

I twisted my lips when, even in my imagination, the sound of car horns were nowhere to be heard.

Great, even in my daydreams I was unlovable and alone.

I really wanted to ask about Riley. But I restrained myself. Instead, I asked about Sierra's court date over the incident at the seafood restaurant. She told me, but I didn't listen. Shame on me.

When a moment of silence fell, I cleared my throat and asked what I'd vowed not to ask. "So, was Riley home when you left?"

She shook her head, and her sleek, bobbed hair swished back and forth. "His car wasn't there"

"Oh" The statement shouldn't have disappointed me. The man didn't have to rush to my side every time I needed him. Besides, Chad had been here for me. I could hear Rod Stewart singing "That's What Friends Are For" as the soundtrack to my life over the past couple of days. Chad had been a great friend during my stay here at the hospital. I hadn't been totally alone. Chad would honk for me if Sierra ever staged a demonstration.

Besides, Riley would be here at the hospital if he knew I'd been shot.

I eased my head back into the pillow. I had to get over that man. If I didn't, the next step would be obsession and then stalkerdom. Before I'd know it, I'd be setting up a little Riley shrine in my bedroom. I'd secretly collect paper cups and tissues he discarded. I'd start my own Riley Thomas fan club, and it would rival that of Darnell Evans.

Except I'd be the only member.

Yep, if I didn't get over Riley, those would be the roads I'd go down.

Couldn't. Let. That. Happen.

"One burger and some greasy, salty fries!" Chad popped into the room again, proudly holding up a stained paper bag. His gaze fell on Sierra. "Hey, Gabby's friend. How are you?"

"I'd be better if my friend would stay out of trouble. Doesn't she know I already have the overwhelming task on my shoulders of saving all the innocent, helpless animals in the world? To add my best friend to that list just isn't right" "I wouldn't say I was helpless" I suddenly felt small and incapable.

"Did she tell you about her last hospital visit? She has a knack for trouble, I tell you. She's like a dolphin to tuna fisherman. She always seems to get caught in other people's nets" Sierra continued on and on about the evils of the fishing enterprise.

Chad glanced at me and smiled for the first time since I'd been in the hospital. Sierra had that affect on people.

My cell phone-which a nurse had brought to me an hour or so agobeeped from the table where all my clothes were heaped. Sierra retrieved it for me. I saw that Detective Adams had left me a message. Out of curiosity, I excused myself from the conversation to find out what he wanted.

"Gabby, I thought you might want to know that we just found the gun used to shoot you. From the initial tests, it appears to be the same one used to kill Darnell Evans and Ryan Hoffman"

THE PAPER I'm doing for class is on suicides and crime scenes.

I closed my eyes to give them a break from reading some research material. A girl's got to do something to pass her time at the hospital. Sierra had left a couple of hours ago, and Chad had gone to find a magazine to read. There was no better time to start working on my paper than while here in the comfort of my adjustable hospital bed.

If only my shoulder didn't pulsate, my head didn't throb, and my eyelids didn't feel like they had lead weights attached to them.

This paper was due on Thursday. The ten-pager couldn't be late. So even though I really wanted to take a nap, I opened one of my books again and continued reading.

Of all the crime scenes that I clean, the suicides affect me the most. I mean, why would a person want to take their own life? I'd been through some hard times, and I'd never been tempted to end it all. I wanted to give life a chance to get better.

But that was just me.

While doing my research, I'd discovered that suicide is the numbereight cause of death in the U.S. The books I read also said that most people who try to end their life are simply crying out for help.

Did the tragedy boil down to the same struggle I'd been wrestling with lately? Did our society today make it too easy for people to become isolated? A person could form friendships on the Internet without ever leaving home. Order groceries online to be delivered to their front steps. Use the computer to work from the comfort of their living room. Criminals, even, could hop onto the net and steal someone's identity, all while wearing pajamas and sipping java. Today, society's members could avoid ever interacting face-to-face. The result: loneliness.

Faces roamed through my mind.

Mr. Hermit, who died without anyone to miss him.

Mrs. Mystery, who seemed to prefer solitude.

The dead Elvis, who was loved for imitating someone else.

And how about me? I'd been distancing myself from people so much lately that I refused to even think of my neighbors or clients by their real names. Was I reluctant to get too close to people for fear of ... what? That they'd get to know the real me and run away? That I might actually care about them and let them down somehow? That I might be abandoned by them, like I'd felt abandoned by my own parents, first when my mother died and then when my dad's life crashed downhill at breakneck speed?

I couldn't examine loneliness without questioning my own understanding of the issue. I'd been assuming that loneliness was caused by external situations-like isolation-but I myself was an example of the fact that one could be surrounded by people and still feel empty.

People did strange things to combat loneliness. Some tried to draw attention in positive ways and others in negative venues. Some filled their lives up by doing good deeds to get noticed and to be loved. Other people turned to crime and drugs or hurting themselves. What did I do to try and fill up my life?

"Surf's up!"

I winced at the interruption and turned to face Chad Davis. He stood in the doorway holding a surfing magazine, and I could tell by his wide smile that he was pleased with himself for tracking down the publication.

"How's it going, Gab?"

I took in his long-sleeved surfing T-shirt and faded jeans, along with his sun-kissed tan that really popped against his white shirt. I wondered if he went to a tanning booth or did the spray-on route.

Nah, I couldn't see him doing either, though how he got that tan at this time of the year perplexed me.

I closed my book and rested it on my chest. "I'm okay. Been better. Been worse. What more can I say?"

He perched himself on the edge of my bed, looking comfortable in the position, like he'd done this a million times before. "Did they catch the guy who did this to you yet?"

In the two hours since he'd been gone? How optimistic of him.

"That would be way too easy" I rolled my tired, bloodshot eyes. I knew what they looked like because I had made the mistake of looking in a mirror earlier. Not. A. Pretty. Sight.

"Any suspects?"

"Who knows? Not me." I wish I knew because then I'd track down whoever did this and ... well, I don't know what I'd do. But they would regret the day they messed with Gabby St. Claire.

The title of number-one suspect was still held by Rodger Maloney in my book. I needed more evidence before I singled him out, though.

"I keep thinking about it, and I still can't figure out how someone knew you were at that farmhouse"

"They would have had to have been following me and waiting for the right opportunity" The thought frightened me. How could I have not noticed? I considered myself to be observant. Yet someone had trailed me all the way out to the boondocks and I hadn't even had the slightest suspicion? Between the man stowing away in my van and someone following me to a crime scene, maybe I needed to get a clue and rethink the detective thing.

Chad rested his hand on my leg, which seemed a little odd, but I'd never been good at deciphering the actions of someone trying to comfort me. I decided he was doing just that and kept my mouth shut.

A woman I didn't recognize appeared at the door. She wasn't a nurse, and my gut told me she wasn't on the hospital's welcoming committee.

She pushed her red plastic-framed glasses higher on her thin nose and swiped a curly hair behind her ear. "Gabby St. Claire?"

I fluttered my fingers. "That would be me"

She stepped closer, and her high heels clanked against the sterile floor. "I'm Dr. Killgore"

"Ear, nose, and throat?"

"Excuse me?"

"I thought I'd already seen every possible kind of doctor there is hereexcept I haven't seen an ENT yet, so I presume ..

"I'm the hospital psychologist"

Psychologist? The doctors must have thought the gunshot wound traumatized me or something. With the number of lawsuits going around nowadays, doctors always want to play it safe. The hospital was in no danger of having me sue them. I just wanted to put this experience behind me and get out of this place.

"Ma'am, I really don't think this, this ... incident ... has had any huge effect on me. I mean, sure, I know all about post-traumatic stress, but-"

Her icy hand landed on my arm, and even through her glasses, I could see her sharp eyes sizing me up. My hackles rose.

"Gabby, I'm here to let you know that ending your life is never the answer.

I SAT up straight in my bed, causing pain to slice through my shoulder. I grimaced but pushed ahead. "Suicide? You think I'm suicidal?"

Killgore's small little chin bounced up and down like a bobble-head doll on a bumpy road. She gripped her clipboard and continued to assess me with beady little eyes. "That's what the nurses fear"

"What would ever give the nurses that idea? I thought I'd been in rather good spirits during my visit here, considering everything" I gestured rather roughly with my fingers toward my shoulder injury.

Chad cleared his throat and nodded toward my chest. I looked down at the book that rested there. Suicide: A User's Guide.

I held the book in the air like a preacher holding up the Bible at a revival. "This isn't what it looks like. I'm doing a paper on the subject so I can get my degree in forensics. I wouldn't have to read a book to figure out how to end my life. I get ideas every week when I go to work and clean up after dead people!"

She scrutinized me like ... she felt sorry for me and my pitiful little life. I hated it when people felt sorry for me. "You don't have to be ashamed, Gabby. Many people who are in your position-"

"My position? What would that be?"