What Laurel Sees: a love story (A Redeeming Romance Mystery) (18 page)

“Where are you?”

As muffled as Debra sounded over his cell, Joe couldn’t miss the urgency in her voice. He stepped forward in the ticket line and cupped his spare hand around the phone. “Don’t repeat it, but I’m at the bus depot.”

“Why there?”

Joe checked around himself. It was always so unsettling to make private calls in such a public place. People had nothing better to do in line than listen in on other people’s conversations. He stepped closer to the ticket counter. “I don’t know. It’s a stab in the dark. McTier’s tech heard buses on Laurel’s message, so I thought I’d try it. Where are you?”

“Your place. Just outside it at the moment. McTier’s still processing everything, but I thought you’d want to know what they found.”

“Oh, no—”

“It’s not good, Joe. There was a white halter-top dress and gloves.”

Joe hung his head. “His costume.” 

“Looks like he tried to clean them, but there are remnants of stains. They think it’s blood, Joe. Already sent it to the lab.”

“He got beaten up, after that night. Possible it’s from that.” A guy behind Joe tapped him to keep up with the line.

“Let’s hope,” Debra said. “Better run.”

“Okay. Thanks.” Joe ended the call and pocketed his phone. This was worse than bad. What was that—that thing Clay had said about his bottle of hydrogen peroxide? Something about using it up on a dress. Maybe about losing a second
one. No, what Clay had said was that he couldn’t afford to lose
another
one.

That meant he’d already lost one, before he’d been beaten.

Joe’s mind reeled. None of this made sense, yet it was the only thing that added up. Somehow, Clay must have talked his way into Laurel’s apartment. How hard would that have been? Laurel would have found his name familiar. As big as her heart was, she probably would have welcomed him in, never suspecting that he’d abduct her and frame her for the councilman’s murder.

A wave of nausea hit Joe. Laurel probably wouldn’t have been a target at all if he hadn’t told Clay those things she’d said, all those things she couldn’t have possibly known. It probably scared Clay into thinking she’d hear something else, something incriminating.

The man behind Joe cleared his throat again. It was Joe’s turn. He stepped up to the window and slid a picture of Clay toward the transit clerk.

The clerk glanced at the photo with a dour expression. “Haven’t seen him.”

Joe took the photo back. “Anybody dressed like Marilyn Monroe? He’s an impersonator.”

The clerk returned a glassy stare. “Still no.”

Joe shifted his weight. “Who else works this window?”

“I wouldn’t know.” The clerk tapped his fingers on the counter. “Come back tonight, check second shift. But if you’ll excuse me, this line isn’t getting any shorter.”

Joe sunk into his car seat, outside the bus depot. Why he’d even bothered to come here, he had no idea. There were buses all over the city; they could be anywhere. It was ridiculously overwhelming. What had made him think he’d find anything at this stab in the dark place? And even if Laurel had called from someplace near a completely random bus, there was no reason to think she was still there.

An even more troubling thought struck. If Laurel was so tight with the Almighty, why had this happened to her? Why hadn’t she been warned? If God cared at all about Laurel, a little help didn’t seem too much to ask. Even if it meant talking to him.

It was no use. Even Laurel had admitted how hard it could be to distinguish those whispers she heard. She’d said that the first time they met, out on that park bench. That time she’d seemed to be chatting it up with God so freely. The memory of her face filled his mind. Her golden brown hair, the depth in those aquamarine eyes. The sound of her voice.

Sometimes it’s just a pull I feel...

That was what she’d said. It had all seemed so far-fetched then. So otherworldly. Joe dragged his nails along his jeans. Why couldn’t he feel that pull she was talking about?

It’s like I’m being turned so I see something...in a way I normally wouldn’t. That’s when it’s easiest to ignore.

Joe closed his eyes. Why couldn’t he see what Laurel saw? Laurel could be dying. She could be dead for all he knew, and at his brother’s hand. Yet, there was no voice, no pull. Only the inky blackness of his eyelids.

Help me.

Joe opened his eyes. Had he even said those words? And who had he expected to hear them? Who was he to break the silence after so many years?

Wait.

He froze. No. This was crazy. This was what happened when you got sleep deprived. You start talking to yourself. You start hearing voices out of nowhere, like those derelicts in the park.

Watch.

It was so faint. Barely a single word. Just a thought was all it was.  Probably his own thought.

Still, Joe turned. He let out a moan. Another city bus came to a stop. A piercing beep went off repeatedly as it lowered its hydraulic ramp. An amputee in a chair wheeled himself on board. Fine. The bus was helping the disabled vet, but it sure wasn’t helping him.

Joe banged the heel of his hand against his forehead. This was madness. Complete and utter insanity. He started his car.

Slowly, the bus rumbled away, revealing nothing but a trashy, boarded up club across the street. This really was a lousy part of town. What was he even doing here?

Joe slammed his steering wheel. “Why won’t you help me? You should at least help her!” He curled his arms over his head. Somehow, he had to get a grip on himself. He had to face facts. He was totally on his own, looking for a needle in a field full of haystacks.

He rested his chin atop his hands, limply hanging over the steering wheel. Blankly, he stared across the street.

A chill ran through Joe. The glass on the poster case outside the club was broken. The poster itself was half shredded away, but enough remained intact to stall his breath.

Marilyn.

As fast as his legs would carry him, Joe darted through traffic. A sedan squealed to a stop, barely missing him. The driver laid on his horn and shouted after Joe. “Watch it, Moron!”

Joe just kept running. He threw himself against the club’s door and jerked at the handle. Locked. He pounded the door furiously. “Clay!”

Joe whirled, his heart racing. He wedged his fingers between the plywood boarding and the club’s front window, then yanked with all his might.
Please, God
...

As he pulled the plywood down, a shout sounded in the distance.

“Hey! Police! Stop!”

Joe glanced down the block. A beat cop was sprinting his way.  Joe grabbed a trashcan and hurled it through the exposed window. Barehanded, he thrashed at the remaining glass. A jagged shard sliced into his palm, but that would have to wait.

Joe stepped into the pitch blackness of the club. He narrowed his gaze. How could he get his eyes to adjust to this darkness? Then, there. Across the room. Were it not for the light streaming in from that broken window, he wouldn’t have seen her at all. An ache ripped through Joe’s chest. Was he too late?

Laurel lay motionless, in a heap on the tile floor.  

A gun cocked behind Joe. “Hold it right there.”

Panting, Joe raised his hands and turned to the cop. “Get an ambulance. Now.”

seventeen

S
hana Fischer stood at her bedroom window, overlooking the back yard. Across the grassy expanse, Grace slouched on her swing. Not a year ago, Frank had put up that swing himself. Grace had loved it so. She’d lean back as she propelled herself higher and higher. Now, Grace just sat there, listlessly twisting side to side.

What must it be like for normal children? Just how was it for those little darlings who grew up untouched by tragedy, in normal families with moms and dads and sisters and brothers, maybe a little dog or two? Shana certainly couldn’t claim to know. Not after that horrible day when her world came crashing down, when she’d been no more than Grace’s age.

It was hard to tell if she’d really felt anything since. They’d said the pain would go away in time. The shock of losing her parents would dissipate. She would adjust to life without them. The numbness of her mind would fade. And it had. Somewhat.

She couldn’t blame Grace for not wanting to talk about the death of her father. She was hardly ready to talk about Frank’s demise herself, what with so many unanswered questions. Yet, how was she to ever know the truth that evaded her?

Maybe it was best this way. Perhaps it would be better not to know at all than to face what could be a devastating reality. Besides, how could she even begin to answer Grace honestly, especially if the facts were what she most feared?

And now, Laurel.

If this situation could have developed in a more sordid way, Shana couldn’t imagine it. How would Grace recover from all of this?

Shana rubbed her thumb into her palm. Grace looked so limp out there. She wasn’t even twisting on her swing anymore. She just sat there, her little head hung down, digging the toe of her shoe into that worn place in the grass. History was repeating itself all over again, whether Shana liked it or not.

Helen tapped lightly at the door.

Shana turned.

“They’ve called again,” Helen said.

Shana turned back to the window. “The answer is still no.”

Helen stepped into the room. “It’s just, for Grace’s sake. I thought you might reconsider.”

Shana didn’t take her eyes off of Grace. She couldn’t. Not now. “It may seem harsh, Helen. But I know what she needs.” Again, memories flooded. “I’ve been that little girl. Part of me still is.”

A quiet moment passed between them. There’d been so many of those moments between them over the years. That was the wonderful thing about Helen. Helen always knew her place. She knew exactly when it was appropriate to speak or when it was best to keep silent. After all they had been through over the years, surely Helen understood. She would lay that accepting hand of hers on her shoulder, and that would be that.

Only she didn’t.

Instead, Helen kept her distance. “I mean no disrespect when I say this, Mrs. Fischer. But this is Grace’s mother that we’re talking about. And Grace...she’s not you.”

Joe had never liked hospitals. What with the desperate sounds and antiseptic smells, he’d avoided them most of his life. Now, he couldn’t think of anywhere in the world that he would rather be.

Laurel lay unconscious on a bed, a pillow tucked beneath her head. Only a cotton curtain separated them from the rest of the emergency room.

At least she was alive. Every readout of her monitors confirmed it. There was reason to hope, if only she’d wake up. An IV tube ran from an elevated bag, into the back of Laurel’s hand. Her face looked so still. So ashen. Was she cold? Did she even know he was there?

Joe glanced over his shoulder. The beat cop was still hovering. “She’s not going anywhere.”

“I got my orders.”

Debra rounded the curtain. Strange, the way the past twenty-four hours had shifted things between them. It was actually kind of good to see her.

Joe rose from his chair. “Anything on Grace?”

Debra led him aside. “Shana refuses to bring her until after Laurel is officially cleared.”

“Well, that’s obscene.” Joe clicked his teeth together. Shana Fischer could be tough to take. “How does the woman sleep at night, knowing she’s standing between two people who are so clearly meant to be together?”

Debra raised a wry brow. Empathy and guilt mingled on her face. “She doesn’t sleep, Joe. She doesn’t.” Intently, she held his gaze.

Just what was Debra saying to him? If he were reading her right, it seemed that she’d made peace about him ending their relationship so abruptly. Did she know what was going on in his mind about Laurel, let alone his heart?

The ring of Debra’s cell phone broke their unspoken conversation. She squeezed his hand quickly, then stepped away. “Debra Bernet.”

Softly, he heard Laurel’s voice. “Joe...”

Joe turned back to Laurel. Her voice had been weak, but she’d spoken.

Those lovely eyes fluttered open. “What...”

Joe sat on the bed next to Laurel. “You’re okay.  You’re at the hospital.”

Trembling, she raised a hand to her temple. “I thought I was...”

“You’ve been unconscious, in diabetic shock.” Gently, he stroked her arm. “Just rest.”

Her eyes fell on his bandaged hand. “You’re hurt.”

“I’m fine, Laurel. It’s nothing. A few stitches.”

“Where’s Clay?  He—”

“The police are looking for him. They know he killed Frank.”

Thready as Laurel’s grip was, she grasped his arm. “No, it wasn’t like that. He was defending himself. I saw it, Joe. I tried to get him to give up, but he said nobody would believe him.”

Joe could only sigh. Laurel was right. Who would ever begin to believe a self-defense statement from a guy like his brother? “Laurel, he abducted you. He framed you.”

“It was just desperation.” Laurel took in a breath. “I know this might be hard for you to understand. But he’s your brother, Joe. Your only flesh and blood. And forgiving him...it’s part of who I am.”

“He left you to die.”

“I’ve been forgiven so much in my life. Not that I ever deserved it.” A quietness came over her. “I’m not proud of it, Joe. But between us...”

He nodded an assurance.

“I got weak with Frank years ago. I had to marry him.” Regret crossed her face. “That’s why I named our daughter Grace. So I’d always remember just what an amazing gift grace is.”

Joe took it in, thoughtfully. “And then Frank took her away.”

“He did,” she said, a faraway look in her eyes. “It took me a long time to forgive Frank for everything he did to me. Too long. The visions stopped. I couldn’t hear anything except that I needed to forgive him. Then, once I finally did, it was like this awful heaviness I’d been carrying so long—it just lifted. It was so freeing to just let it all go. Start fresh.”

Joe ran his fingers through his hair. Forgiving like that—it was incomprehensible. But there Laurel was, living it out, right in front of him.

“I try to keep shorter accounts these days,” she said. “So, yeah. As strange as it may seem, I’d forgive Clay. I’d testify for him.”

Joe sighed. “If they’d even listen.”

Sadness flickered in her eyes.

Why had he said such an insensitive thing? “I shouldn’t have—”

“No, it’s okay, Joe. It’s true. It’s not like anyone finds me all that credible.”

Joe bit at his lower lip. Even he hadn’t found her credible. He’d doubted her all along. He’d made up his mind about her before he’d met her. And he couldn’t have been more wrong.

He took her hand in his. “Laurel... I know I haven’t exactly been receptive to your whole...” His voice caught in his throat. “I’m so sorry, it’s just...”

She nodded. “You’ve been burned. Badly. By someone who claimed to believe.”

“Yeah.” Joe took it in. “I’m trying to sort it all out, what with everything that’s been happening. How could I not be?”

“It’s a lot.”

“I mean, the way I found you. Laurel it was—”

“He helped you.”

“I don’t know. Maybe. But still, you’ve gotta understand. None of this crunches for me. Not on any kind of logical level.”

A soft smile crossed her lips. “He’s bigger than your logic, you know.”

“The whole idea... It flies in the face of everything I’ve ever—”

“Oh, I know,” she said. “The implications, they’re huge.”

Joe shook his head. “Laurel, it’s just... You go all this way, you’re sure you’ve nailed down this or that or the other as being valid, verifiable. These are the dimensions in life. Right. Got it.” He laced his fingers with hers. “Then suddenly—whoa—there you are in front of me, turning it all on its head, throwing me completely off kilter and, at the same time, somehow steadying me.”

He looked deep into her eyes. How she could be so arrestingly beautiful after what she’d been through was beyond imagining. It must be true, what they say about beauty. That was all he could think. It emanated from inside, from the depths of her being.

“Laurel, I...” Seeing her like that, there was no way he could lie to her. Even if he tried, what would be the point? She’d see right through him. “I still have my intellect nagging at me. But in all of this, the one thing I can’t get away from is, regardless of the fact that I’m not up to speed on the God issue and I’m not sure where to put why you see what you see... It’s just...I’m there with you, Laurel. I’m there with you.”

She didn’t push him about it. There wasn’t an ounce of tension on her face. There was only a soul-deep serenity, one that he had never known. What must it be like to live in that kind of peace, right in the middle of such a raging storm? The enigma of it all turned in his mind.

Debra rounded the curtain. A tinge of pain crossed her face.

For an instant, Joe thought he should let go of Laurel’s hand. But then, he thought better of it.

Debra raised her gaze to Laurel. “You’re awake.”

“I am.” Laurel squinted at Debra. “Do I know you?”

“No, this is—” Joe stopped. How could he explain who Debra was to him?

“I’m Debra.” She stepped closer. “I’m Joe’s, well, his editor and...” She turned concerned eyes toward him. “That was Adele on the phone, Joe. They found Clay.”