Mortal Crimes: 7 Novels of Suspense (109 page)

“When?” she blurted out anxiously.

“I don’t know that, Roberta.” His hand patted her. “Maybe tomorrow…maybe next month.”

He lifted her hand. “The cut from the broken glass. It’s healing nicely. We’ll get these stitches out in a day or two.”

Blind. She was blind. What would she do? How could she take care of herself? Her job, what of her job? Don’t think about it now.
I’m alive. I came out of a coma. My body’s on the mend.

“We want to do a few more tests now that you’re awake. But tomorrow will be soon enough.”

“Doctor, the horse? Did it survive?”

“I don’t know. Your mother will be here in the morning. She comes every day. I’m sure she’ll have answers to all your questions.”

The horse. The storm. The man and woman. Robbi doubted that her mother would answer
all
her questions.

CHAPTER SEVEN

Through the heavy blackness Robbi smelled the subtle aloe, and she heard the ticking of her mother’s old Bulova wristwatch as she sat by the side of the bed talking.

“The horse had to be put to sleep, honey,” Lois Paxton said quietly. “From what I understand, Madonna broke her leg in the fall. She was able to get back to the house, but… Well, let’s not talk about that now. I’m just so glad you’re alive. There were a few crucial days when we weren’t sure
you’d
make it. You came out of the coma, yet there was still a chance you’d be paralyzed and blind—” Her words stopped abruptly, she squeezed Roberta’s hand hard, making her flinch. “You’re going to be just fine. Just fine. You’ll recuperate at home with us. Hanley and Tobie can help. We’ll have that birthday party you missed.”

“That’s one birthday I don’t mind skipping.”

“Nonsense. Oh, I saw your friend Angela in the parking lot. What’s happened with her? Did she get her kids back?”

“Her hearing was yesterday and the case was thrown out. Something about a ‘no true bill,’ whatever that means. Anyway, she’s free and she has her kids back. That’s all that matters. Her parents want her to move to New Mexico, near them. She’s leaving as soon as she can pack up.”

“She’s a nice lady, Angela is. She seems so devoted to those children.”

“She is. I’m going to miss them.”

“Have you been up yet?” her mother asked.

“No.”

Robbi felt the sheet being lifted.

“Your poor legs were all black and blue. But the bruises are fading.” Her mother patted her knee, then tucked the sheet around her again. “Sweetheart, someone wants to say hello.”

Among the mixed scents in the room, Robbi caught a whiff of smokeless tobacco. A familiar male voice accompanied it. “Hello, Robbi, you gave us quite a scare.”

“Hanley. Hi. I hear you saved my life.”

“Got you out of the rain anyway.”

“Thank you.”

“Was the least I could do? Warned you to listen for the thunder, but don’t s’pose you got the chance. Got bushwhacked by the storm, did ya?”

“Bushwhacked is the word.”

“When Madonna come back without you, we figured something bad happened. I followed her tracks and found you out cold in the woods.”

“Hanley, did you see anyone else out there?”

“Anyone else?”

“A large man … with a beard?”

“No, Miss, nobody else.”

“Are you sure?”

“Sure as I can be. Why?”

“I thought…” She let the words die, then shook her head. “Nothing.”

The soles of his boots shifted. “Well, I just wanted to wish you well, Robbi,” Hanley said. “Mrs. Paxton, I’ll go on down and pull the car around to the front.”

Roberta and Hanley exchanged good-byes. She listened to his booted steps go out the door.

Suddenly the scent of watermelon mingled with coconut overpowered her. Robbi raised her head, breathed in. “Tobie?”

“How’d you know I was here?” her sister said.

“Hanley chews, but I don’t think he’s taken to chewing watermelon bubble gum or wearing coconut mousse. Had my mouth watering.”

“Boy, you have a good sniff detector.”

Robbi smiled, took Tobie’s hand. She hesitated before saying, “Tobie, about Madonna—”

Her sister squeezed her hand. “It was an accident. It wasn’t your fault, Rob. Okay?”

“Honey, what was that about someone else out in the storm?” her mother asked.

Now was the time, Roberta told herself. She had to tell someone. “Mom, Tobie, listen, I saw—jeez, how do I say this? Something bizarre happened in the woods that afternoon. The man I asked Hanley about, I… I thought I saw him kill a woman.”

Silence.

“It was raining hard, but… but I swear I saw this man chase down a woman and then … then he strangled her.”

She felt a hand on her arm. “Darling, did this happen before or after you fell?” her mother asked.

Robbi knew what was coming. Although it had been a long time since the other tragedy, she knew they hadn’t forgotten. “After.”

“Honey, you hit your head. You were unconscious when Hanley found you. The mind plays tricks on us.”

“You mean
my mind
plays tricks on
me.”

“I didn’t say that, Robbi.”

“But you meant it.”

Her mother said nothing to dispute her words.

“Robbi, in the past couple years I’ve been all over those hills with Madonna and I’ve never seen anyone,” Tobie said. “I’ve never run into anyone else. No one lives around there.”

Roberta sighed. “I guess it’s possible I was hallucinating. I hope so anyway. Everything was sort of dreamlike. It hurt so bad … and I couldn’t move.”

“Oh, baby,” her mother said. “When I think of you lying out there in the rain, injured and alone, it makes me sick. I couldn’t stand it if anything happened to you or Tobie. I just couldn’t stand it… not again.”

“I know. Mama. It’s okay, I’m all right.” She squeezed her mother’s hand.

After everyone had gone, Robbi tried to sleep. Just beneath the wound on her forehead a pulse began to throb. Within an hour she had her first headache.

________

She felt cool fingers on her chin, moving her head from side to side. “Open your eyes wide.” The doctor’s scent filled her nostrils; soap, talc, starch, and, when he spoke, the sugary ingredients of a breath mint. “Good. Good.”

Several feet to her left, she heard a strange stirring sound.

“Dr. Newton, what
is
that noise? That rustling sound?” She pointed toward the source. “I’ve been hearing it all day.”

“Oh, you must mean the balloons. The air currents have them rubbing together. Looks like a birthday gift.”

“Who are they from?”

A moment later he read, “From the gang at the office.”

She felt disappointment. Sophie had collected her mail. Nothing had come from Donald, not even a card. Had he forgotten her birthday?

“Roberta, your sense perception, does it seem more acute to you? Taste, smell, sound, touch?”

She considered a moment, then replied, “Yes, very much so.”

She heard a pen scratching on paper. “Still having the headaches?”

“Yes.”

“How often?”

She shrugged. “Every other day. Usually with the nightmares. The pain wakes me up.”

“Roberta, I’d like to call in another doctor. I don’t think we should overlook anything concerning your blindness.”

“What kind of doctor?” she asked, knowing full well what his answer would be.

“A psychiatrist.”

Damn.

CHAPTER EIGHT

Roberta sat up in bed, listening to the passionate yet soothing sounds of the mandolins of Harry Geller. The Gypsy music came from a small cassette player on her lap.

Having no concept of time, she wondered how long before Dr. Reynolds would come. Their appointment was for one o’clock.

At the thought of a visit from the psychiatrist, Robbi’s insides cramped. A
psychiatrist.
How could she have let herself be talked into seeing a psychiatrist?
For the blindness,
Dr. Newton had said.
There’s a good chance the problem is psychosomatic.
By reputation only, she knew Reynolds. The reports of his work were admirable. She’d heard he was somewhat eccentric— something about a passion for collecting and restoring old cars—but what did she care about his hobbies as long as he could cure her? If her father could restore her vision, she’d let
him
treat her, that’s how desperate she was.

Her father had been a psychiatrist, and the power he’d wielded—more accurately the power he wielded because of his profession—had been inconceivable.

When she was ten, not long after Ronnie died, her father had taken her to the state mental institution, to the children’s ward. Leading her by the hand, he had proudly showed her the facilities, the grand tour. The first floor housed incapacitated diapered children in cribs. Each floor thereafter proved more disturbing than the last. She had been frightened by the intense stares of the young patients, by their compulsion to follow her, to touch her, to try to eat anything they came in contact with. She had begged to go home, petrified he would leave her there. The nightmares haunted her for years.

When the tender strings of “Czardas” came to an end, Robbi felt the tears that had suddenly welled up spill over her lower lashes and flow down her face. She brushed at them impatiently. She couldn’t give in to the music today. She had plenty to feel sorry about, and one day soon she’d take advantage of it and just let go—let the tears gush while she sobbed her heart out— but not today. At least not until after the shrink had come and gone.

Earlier, one of the nurses had combed her hair, working it into a French braid in back. Although Roberta had refused makeup, the nurse had added a touch of blush to cover up that “ol’ hospital pallor and bring out those marvelous cheekbones.”

“Two Guitars” began, one of her personal favorites. The sweet romantic music filled Robbi’s head with visions of purple nights and Gypsy campfires. She leaned her head back and let it take her away.

Before the song was over, Robbi strongly sensed another’s presence. The room seemed to lose a measure of space. She detected a faint odor of aftershave. Despite the music filling her ears, she heard sounds of breathing, of fabric rustling. She kept her eyes closed and waited. After many long moments Robbi asked, “Is someone there?”

“Your hearing is very keen,” a male voice said.

She opened her eyes to more darkness and lifted her head. “Dr. Reynolds?” she asked cautiously.

“Yes, it’s one o’clock, Ms. Paxton.” The voice was closing in. “I believe we have an appointment.”

He had been silently watching her. For how long? She felt a flash of anger at the invasion of her privacy.

“My hearing may be good, Dr. Reynolds, but my inner clock needs some development.” A tightness crept into her voice.

As if reading her mind, he said, “I would have announced myself, but you seemed so captivated by the music, I was reluctant to intrude.”