Deadly Deceptions (31 page)

“Greer is safe,” I said, watching as Joe held her head and held the water bottle for her.

“You
found
her?”

I laughed, the sound soblike. “Don't sound so surprised. I
am
a detective, you know.”

“You're a former billing clerk who owns a bar,” Jolie reminded me. “How is she? Is she hurt? Did she say…?”

“She's in rough shape,” I answered, “but I think she'll be okay.”

In the distance I heard sirens, and I blessed the sound.

“You were expecting a call from Tucker?”

I started to cry again, hard.

“Moje?” Jolie prompted gently.

I told her about Danny's accident. I
didn't
tell her I'd seen the little boy, because I didn't know what it meant and because I didn't want Joe to overhear and think I was crazy.

“Oh, my God,” Jolie said. “What hospital?”

“Phoenix Children's,” I told her. “But Danny's in intensive care, Jolie. You won't be able to get in.”

“I'm going over there anyway. Maybe I can find out something.”

“I'd appreciate that,” I said, sniffling.

“Look after Greer, and come home as soon as you can.”

“I will,” I promised.

We rang off.

The EMTs arrived first, and then the state police.

They put Greer on an IV and took her out on a stretcher.

Somebody inspected the gash in Joe's head—it turned out Beverly had clubbed him from behind, with something heavy, as soon as he stepped into the cellar. He'd need a few stitches and an MRI, but he was walking around and acting pretty much normal.

I was questioned, but since Joe vouched for me, I was allowed to leave. Dave and I got into the Volvo and headed back to the Lakeside.

Dave immediately searched the place for Tucker, and that made me cry again. I supposed I should have gone to the hospital with Greer, but she'd asked me not to, and because I was emotionally exhausted, I'd agreed.

Jolie called when I was about to get into the shower.

“It's serious, Moje,” she said. “Touch and go. They lost Danny once, but managed to bring him back.”

My knees sagged.

Call-waiting clicked in.

“It's Tucker,” I said. “I'll call you back.”

“I'm coming up there,” Jolie told me. And then she hung up.

I pushed another button. “Tucker?”

“The plane just landed,” Tucker said. “Are you okay?”

“Never mind me,” I said. “I'm fine, and so is Greer.”

Tucker's voice dropped. “Moje, what if he dies?”

“We have to believe he won't,” I answered. “Jolie's on her way here, so she can pinch-hit with Greer. I'll be home as soon as I can, Tuck. Hold on, okay?”

“I'd ask what went down, but I'm not sure I could stand knowing it right now.”

“I'll tell you all about it when I get back. Just think about Danny.”

“Allison says he flatlined once, Moje. Even if he survives, there could be brain damage.”

In my mind's eye I saw Danny standing outside my car window.

I want my dad.

“Just go to him, Tucker. Make sure he knows you're there.”

“Can I call you later?”

“You can call me anytime, Tuck. You know that.”

Hold on, Danny. He's on his way. He'll be there soon.

“Moje, I—”

The call dropped.

The shower was still running.

I waited for Tucker to reconnect, but he didn't.

I stepped under the spray, and the warmth affected me like a double shot of whiskey, swallowed in one gulp.

I dropped to my knees and then curled up like a fetus.

And I stayed like that until the shower water turned cold.

D
AVE AND
I
CHECKED OUT
of the Lakeside Motel at eight the next morning and headed straight for Joe Fletcher's office. He was there, with a square bandage on the back of his head, looking good otherwise.

“Heading out?” he asked.

I nodded. Dave, on his leash, sniffed at the base of the water cooler, but behaved himself. “My sister's coming in on a ten-o'clock plane,” I said. “She'll stay with Greer until she can leave the hospital.”

Joe looked sad. “You understand that Greer could be charged with attempted murder?”

“She didn't poison Mr. Severn,” I said. “Her mother did.”

“Unless Alice confesses, or we can find some proof that she's the guilty one, Mol—Greer is in big trouble.”

“I understand.”

“The boy,” Joe said. “Is he all right?”

I'd talked to Tucker around six that morning. “No change,” I said.

“I guess the news could be worse.”

I nodded, already edging toward the door.

“Take care,” Joe said, bending to ruffle Dave's ears in farewell.

“You, too,” I answered. “And, Joe?”

“Yeah.”

“Thanks.”

He saluted, and I left.

Two hours later, in front of the Missoula airport, Jolie tossed her suitcase into the back of the Volvo, with Dave, and jumped in on the passenger side.

We headed for the hospital. Jolie called ahead for an update.

Greer was in surgery—her arm had been re-broken during her ordeal in the cellar at the Severn farmhouse. Leaving Dave with Jolie outside the visitor's entrance, I took an elevator to the fifteenth floor, after getting the room number from the admittance clerk, intending to wait for Greer.

There were two policemen outside her door, but that wasn't what stopped me in my tracks.

It was the woman, dressed in a neat navy blue suit and wearing high heels, who was talking to them. She looked so much like Greer that I didn't need to ask who she was.

Seeing me, she fell silent, her expression curious.

“I'm Mojo Sheepshanks,” I told her, and the policemen. “Molly's—friend.”

“Alice York,” Greer's mother said.

One of the policemen cleared his throat. “We're going to have to arrest you, Mrs. York.”

I opened my mouth. Closed it again.

“I'd like to see my daughter first,” Alice told the man. “Just let me wait here until she gets out of surgery and comes around. I'm not going anywhere.”

The cops conferred, then agreed. Alice
wasn't
going anywhere. But they weren't, either.

I followed Alice into Greer's room.

“You confessed?” I asked quietly.

“Yes,” Alice said.

“Why did you let Greer—Molly take the rap for you?”

Alice stood with her back to me, staring out a window. “I was a coward,” she said. “When Molly ran away, I was glad she'd gotten out of that house. I only wish Tessa could have escaped, too. The gossip started almost immediately—everybody thought Molly had been the one to poison Fred, because of what he'd done to Tessa, and tried to do to her. I knew she'd land on her feet, so I let it ride.”

“Wasn't it strange, staying there, in the same house where it all happened? Taking care of a man you'd tried to kill?”

“It was my form of penance,” Alice said quietly. “He ruined so many lives. Tessa's, certainly. Rick's, too. God, how I hated him. When he finally died, I wanted to dance for joy. I was free. I prayed Molly was, too. But Tessa and Rick? There was no turning back for them.”

I nodded, but said nothing. It wasn't my place to tell Alice that Greer—Molly, to her—wasn't out of the legal woods yet, even though she'd been cleared of Fred Severn's poisoning. She'd shot Jack Pennington and, while Carmen would probably testify that it had been self-defense, nothing about it would be easy.

For one thing, there was bound to be a lot of ugly publicity.

I wondered if Greer was strong enough to stand the stress, or if she'd crack up, as Tessa had. Things like that run in families. Believe me, I know. I have the half brother from hell. And I'm not speaking figuratively here, either.

Greer was a long time getting out of surgery, and when she did, she was unconscious. Alice stood over her, holding her hand, her eyes brimming with tears.

I left and went downstairs to relieve Jolie of Dave-duty.

“Go home,” she said, handing over the leash. “I can take it from here.”

“What about your job?” I asked.

Jolie grinned. “I decided I was overqualified. I'll be doing consulting work from here on out. Care to hire me? I'll give you the family rate.”

“Please tell me you didn't get fired,” I said. If she had been axed from the city payroll, it was my fault—I'd let the discovery of Alex Pennington's dead body slip to Tucker, after all. And while I was pretty sure he wouldn't have blown the whistle on Jolie, someone else might have overheard the conversation.

“Okay,” Jolie answered cheerfully. “I didn't get fired.”

“You're lying,” I accused.

“Don't blame Tucker,” Jolie said, “or yourself. It happened because I'm not very good at taking orders, that's all.”

I still felt guilty. I have a black belt in that.

Jolie touched my arm. “Go on back to Arizona, Mojo. Tucker needs you, and you need to get Mojo's up and running. I'll catch up with you when I'm sure Greer is okay.”

My throat tightened. I don't like goodbyes, even when they're temporary; all too often they turn out to be permanent instead.

I'd brought Jolie up to speed on the Greer situation on our way over from the airport. Now I added, “Her mother's up there, in the room. She confessed to poisoning Fred Severn herself, so Greer's okay on that score.”

Jolie nodded, looked wistfully down at Dave, probably missing Sweetie, but she didn't say anything.

“Where are you going to stay, Jole?” I asked. “What will you do for a car?”

“I'll rent one, Moje,” Jolie answered. I knew she wasn't quite herself—there was something very wrong—but she wasn't ready to tell me about it, or she would have. “And I can still afford a hotel, even if I am self-employed.”

“I didn't get to tell Greer goodbye,” I said.

“I'll give her your love, Moje. Just get going, okay?”

We hugged.

Dave and I got in the car and pointed ourselves south.

We were barely rolling when Tucker called. Instead of “hello,” he made a hoarse, strangled sound.

Oh, no,
I thought.
Please, no…

But I said, “What? Tucker, what?”

“He's awake,” Tucker told me. “Danny's going to make it, Moje. He's drifting in and out, but he's going to be okay.”

I had to pull over to the side of the road, I was shaking so badly. “Thank God,” I murmured.

“Amen,” Tucker said.

“Dave and I are on our way,” I told him.

“You can't get here quickly enough to suit me,” he replied. “Call me again when you get within half an hour of Cave Creek. I'll be at the apartment waiting for you.”

Emotion swelled in my throat. “I'll hurry,” I promised.

“Don't speed,” he said. “I'd hate to have to bust you.”

I laughed, but tears of joy were blurring my vision.

We said goodbye, and I wiped my eyes with the back of one hand and got back on the highway.

 

I
WAS WITHIN
a hundred miles of home the next afternoon when Gillian suddenly appeared in the passenger seat. She folded her arms and gave me an accusatory look.

“It's good to see you,” I said, and I meant it. I'd been worried about her.

She looked back at Dave, smiled at him with bleak affection and turned to me again, signing rapidly.

“Honey,” I told her quietly, “I don't understand.”

Her whole body moved with the sigh she gave. And then she put both hands out in front of her and made a shoving motion with them.

“Danny,” she said laboriously, and pushed again, hard.

My blood went cold. “Are you saying somebody
pushed
him into the pool?”

She nodded.

“Who?”

She sat perfectly still.

“Gillian, were you there? Did you see someone push Danny into the pool?”

She shook her head.

“Then how do you know?” I asked, enunciating the words carefully.

She moved one hand, as though working a puppet. Making it talk.

“He told you?”

Again Gillian nodded.

“Does Danny's dad know, or his mom?”

No.

I remembered my encounter with Danny the night before, in the rainy darkness. I'd told him he was dreaming, and the chances were pretty good that he didn't remember the attack consciously. But a part of him did.

I pressed harder on the gas.

Gillian vanished, but not before I saw the pleading in her eyes.

Frantically I reviewed what Tucker had told me—that Danny had fallen into the pool, and Chelsea had rescued him. Who else had been at the Darroch house that day? Allison? Vince Erland? Who?

Allison would never hurt her own child.

Chelsea had been the one to
save
him, so she was out.

As for Vince, well, that was just frantic speculation on my part. If he'd been around, Chelsea would have called the cops.

A chill seized the marrow of my bones as a new realization struck me. The ghosts I'd met, with the exception of Beverly Pennington's, had been benevolent. But suppose there was another kind?

Half an hour out, as promised, I called Tucker.

He was at my place, as promised, making spaghetti sauce.

“Tuck,” I said carefully, “did Danny say anything about—well—about what happened before he fell into the pool?”

“He doesn't remember,” Tucker said.

“Could someone have—pushed him?”

“Moje, what are you getting at?”

“According to Gillian, Danny didn't fall into the water, Tuck. Somebody shoved him.” I paused, gnawing at my lower lip. “Who was there when it happened?”

“Allison was inside, talking to her mother on the telephone. Chelsea and her friend Janice were on the patio.”

“No one else?”

“No, not as far as I know.” Tucker sounded worried again now.

The invisible-attacker theory was looking better and better. Or, more properly, worse and worse. “Where was Daisy?” I asked.

“In the house, with Allison,” Tucker said. I didn't need astral travel to see him turning off the fire under the spaghetti sauce, shoving the pot off the heat.

“Go back to the hospital, Tuck,” I told him. “I'll meet you there.”

“Room 1205,” he said. Then he ground out a hasty goodbye, and the call ended.

A little over an hour later I parked in the lot at Phoenix Children's Hospital, rolling a window down for Dave, and raced inside.

I practically collided with Allison as I got out of the elevator on the twelfth floor. She looked haggard, even gaunt, and there were deep shadows under her eyes. Seeing me, she opened her mouth to speak, probably to protest my being there, but then some second thought must have struck her. She pressed her lips together, shook her head once and got into the elevator I'd just stepped out of.

I held the doors open, delaying her departure. “Allison,” I said, “where is Daisy? Who's with her?”

She blinked, as if confused by the question. After all she'd been through, I figured she was probably running on emotional fumes. “Chelsea is. Why?”

“Go to her,” I said with an internal shiver. “And stick close.”

Allison's eyes widened.

“Go,” I repeated, and stepped back so the elevator doors could close.

After standing there for a few moments, trying to hold on to my composure, I hurried to 1205, and found Tucker there, pacing.

Danny lay sleeping in a bed, still and small and pale, hooked up to various monitors, an oxygen tube running into his left nostril. Except for the three of us, the room was empty.

I went straight into Tucker's arms, and he clung to me a little, burying his face in my hair. His cheek felt rough, since he hadn't shaved, and I smelled spaghetti sauce on his T-shirt.