Sara's Song (26 page)

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Authors: Fern Michaels

BOOK: Sara's Song
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Adam took the aggressive approach. “That's not what it says in Dallas's checkbook. It says, ‘loan to Sandi.' ”
“I don't believe that! If that's true, then why didn't he have me sign something? It was a gift. You can't make me pay that back. I won't pay it back. Why are you being so ugly about this?”
“A hundred thousand dollars is a lot of money. That must have been some cruise. Where exactly did you send your parents? Around the world?”
“To the Caribbean. That's where they wanted to go. I had to buy new wardrobes for them and give them shopping money. It was Dallas's idea. He didn't say anything about giving back the balance. He also told me to buy myself something nice for Christmas. For heaven's sake, Adam, where is your Christmas spirit? Do you have any news on my song?”
Adam hung up on her in mid-sentence. She was lying about the hundred thousand. He felt it in his gut. If she lied about that, what else did she lie about?
The second call on Adam's list was to Benton Memorial Hospital, where he left a message for Harry Heinrick that was simple and to the point: I'll be in your office at one o'clock.
Adam flopped back on the bed. He wished he were back in South Carolina with the dogs in his own house. Christ, how he hated this black-and-white modern glass-and-chrome house of his brother's. He bolted from the bed in a rush. Pockets. He hadn't gone through any of Dallas's pockets. Even when he was a kid, Dallas jammed stuff in his pockets until he was bottom heavy. In his haste to get off the bed the small jeweler's box fell on the floor. His face flushed, he picked it up. Inside, nestled in black velvet, was a magnificent diamond engagement ring with a matching wedding band. He didn't have to be told the stones were flawless. He wondered if Dallas had help picking the rings out or if they were his own choice. He stuffed the box in the pocket of his jeans. The jeweler's box gave him a bona fide excuse to go to Sara Killian's house again.
There was a spring in his step as he made his way down the hall to his brother's bedroom. He admitted to himself that he was looking forward to seeing Sara Killian again. He couldn't wait to see her reaction to the rings in his pocket.
Adam drew a deep breath before he opened the door to Dallas's walk-in closet. He was immediately drawn to the jeans hanging on the hooks. He knew he was going to find something.
He rifled the pockets and found the usual junk: a wadded-up napkin with several bars of scribbled music, a pen that was out of ink, a tattered rabbit's foot minus the fur, a key he didn't recognize, twenty-seven pennies, and a small bottle of Bayer Aspirin. A second pair of jeans held a receipt from Burger King, two dollars in loose change, three matchbooks with scribbled words he couldn't make out, a second key, two packages of Trident chewing gum, a second bottle of Bayer Aspirin, and two crumpled dollar bills. The third pair of jeans had $335 dollars rolled into a wad with an elastic band around it, a key, an empty aspirin bottle, a stubby pencil, a pack of half-eaten Life Savers, and three pebbles.
Adam left everything in the pockets except the keys. They seemed identical. He matched them up, putting one on top of the other. All the grooves lined up. What did the keys unlock?
Whatever it was would have to wait. He had to get on his stick and head for town with his meeting with Harry Heinrick.
Chapter Thirteen
Sara opened the kitchen door to be greeted by total silence. A citrusy scent, not unpleasant, assailed her nostrils. The house sparkled. She looked around, marveling at the thoroughness of the cleaning crew as she meandered through the house. All the shredded furniture, mattresses, and debris had been carted off.
“Look. They even cleaned out the fireplace and laid logs. All we have to do is light up. Here comes the furniture,” Carly called from the front window.
Two hours later, their new beds made, the furniture in place, the tree waited in the stand to be decorated.
“I don't think we bought enough lights. I love lots and lots of lights on the Christmas tree. I'll go to the drugstore and get more. I can pick up some Boston Chicken for dinner,” Carly offered.
“It's better than cooking,” Sara said.
“I have to take your car. Mine is on fumes.”
Sara groped in her black bag and tossed her sister a set of keys. “I'm going to take a quick shower, then I'll light the fire. We can pretend we're Camp Fire girls like we did when we were kids. You better get two strings of lights.”
“Will do. I'll be back in thirty minutes.”
Carly didn't return in thirty minutes or in sixty minutes. Sara went outside three different times to stare down the road. Each time she entered the house, she became more agitated. She paced in circles, then she cursed the newness that surrounded her. Everything was all wrong. Nothing felt right. When the doorbell shrilled, she almost jumped out of her skin. She ran to the door expecting to see Carly, her arms loaded with dinner and Christmas lights. The last person she expected to see was Nellie Pulaski.
The old nurse held up her hands in a gesture of reassurance. “Carly's okay, Sara, but there was an accident. A bad one. The air bag saved her life. EMS took her to Benton and Harry called me. The police were coming to tell you, but I said I would do it. She's going to be fine, Sara. As long as you know and believe that, everything else is okay. She does have a fractured shoulder.”
Sara grappled for her bag among the day's purchases. “What happened?” She couldn't fall apart. She needed to stay in control. Nellie would never lie to her.
“The brakes failed on the curve, and Carly lost control. The roads are kind of slick this evening. It's been misting for several hours.”
“That's impossible. I had the Jag serviced a month ago. Aside from some ugly scratches on the door and a broken hood ornament, the car was in perfect shape.” Sara's voice turned hysterical when she said, “Nellie, there was nothing wrong with the goddamn brakes.”
“Right now that isn't important. Carly needs to see you. As you well know, nurses and doctors make the worst patients. She's convinced she's going to be crippled or deformed. For life! They had to give her a sedative to calm her down. She really is okay, Sara. Your car is totaled, though. I think you need to tell me what's been going on, Sara. Everything.”
Sara recited the entire story, from the day of her first visit to Dallas's estate to the trashing of her house and buying new furniture. “I'm telling you, Nellie, my brakes were fine. That was no accident.” The hysteria was gone from her voice, replaced by a cold, angry tone.
“Are you saying someone tampered with your brakes?” Nellie demanded.
“If you were me, what would you think?”
Nellie muttered something indistinguishable.
They made the rest of the trip to the hospital in silence, each woman busy with her own thoughts.
“Be calm now, Sara. This is not life-threatening. Carly will be home by tomorrow evening. I'm staying with her throughout the evening. I already told the Hawk, and he said it was all right. Something is bothering that man. I never saw him so jittery. Guess the holiday contributions aren't coming in as fast as they should. He wanted to know what it would take for me to come back to work. I gave him the finger. Okay, here's the floor. Pinch your cheeks. You're too white. Carly will pick up on it.”
“She's been fighting the sedative,” the charge nurse said. “Don't stay too long, Sara. She needs to rest.” Sara nodded.
“I'm sorry about the car, Sara. I know how much you loved it. The brakes just gave out. Was anyone else hurt?” Carly's voice was so sleepy-sounding, so groggy, Sara could barely make out the words.
“No one else was injured. You're going to be fine, Carly. Nellie said you can come home by tomorrow evening.”
“What did the doctor say?”
“Who cares what some doctor says? If Nellie said you can go home, then you can go home. Right now, though, you have to stop fighting the sedative and go to sleep. Nellie's going to stay.” A murderous look in her eye, Sara brushed at Carly's damp curls plastered to her forehead.
The moment Carly drifted off to sleep, Nellie said, “I already checked the chart and spoke to Dr. Olsen. I know you're itching to be off to do something, so go to it. Everything here is under control.”
“Can I borrow your truck, Nellie?”
“Sure. Take it easy now, Sara. Think things through and deal with this with your head and not with emotion.”
Sara nodded. “It was supposed to be me in that car, Nellie. Not Carly. I'll be back after I ... I have something to do.”
“Sara, be careful. All of this . . . this . . . that wasn't what I meant when I told you to get a life. These people, they're way out of your league.”
Sara sucked in her breath. “If you were a betting woman, Nellie, who would you put your money on, Nellie, me, or
them?
”
“You, kiddo. Win, Place, and Show.”
“Okay. I'll be back. If I end up in jail, will you bail me out?”
Nellie nodded, her eyes sparkling.
“Kick some ass, Sara,” Carly mumbled from the bed.
Outside in the fresh air, Sara took great gulps of the misty night air to steady her nerves before she climbed into Nellie's ancient pickup truck. She drove slowly until she felt comfortable with the heavy-duty truck that was almost as old as its owner. Nellie loved this old truck. Right now Sara loved it, too. She made one stop at the house for her father's gun.
Sara was halfway out the door when she turned around and headed for the phone. She dialed Dallas's number from memory. A strange voice responded on the other end of the line. “This is Dr. Killian. I'd like to speak to Mr. Lord, please.”
“This is Tom Silk, Doctor. Adam left about fifteen minutes ago. He should be back in about forty-five minutes. Would you like to leave a message?”
“No.” Sara broke the connection. She looked at her watch. Most people were in for the night by ten o'clock. Where would Adam Lord go at this time of night? To Benton Memorial to check on his handiwork? To the police station? If he went to either place, that would tip his hand. No, he probably went to talk to his accomplice. Lawyers who were sworn to uphold the law wouldn't dirty their hands with something as serious as this.
Sara crumpled then, sinking down into the depths of the new sofa. Somebody had tried to kill her. Somebody who didn't care if she lived or died. Didn't that person know how precious life was? Red-hot anger rivered through her. She didn't stop to think. She barreled through the door and out to Nellie's truck. She dumped the gun and the heavy black shoulder bag on the passenger side of the seat. Her first stop was the police station, where she demanded to see the investigating officer in charge of Carly's accident.
At the end of her long tirade, she eyeballed Detective Luzak, and said, “I'm going to tell you something, and I don't want you to put it down to female hysteria. I've had this feeling for the past few days that someone is watching and following me. I want that to go on the record. This was no accident. I just had my car serviced a month ago, and new brake pads were installed at that time.” She rummaged in the black bag till she found the service report from the Jaguar dealer and a copy of the police report from yesterday. “These two incidents are related. The person who broke into my house tampered with my car. My sister could have been killed. What are you going to do about it, Officer?”
“I'm going to go to the lot where your car was towed. I'll check it out myself, Dr. Killian. I go off duty at eleven, and the lot is on my way home.”
Somewhat mollified, Sara said, “The morning will be time enough.”
“I'm off duty tomorrow. I'd just as soon do it this evening. I'll call you as soon as I know anything. If what you say is true, then I'll come back here and follow through. Be grateful the air bag saved your sister's life.”
“I am grateful, Officer. You have no idea just how grateful I am. My sister is the only family I have in the world.” The sob in her voice did not go unnoticed by the kindly detective.
“I'll call you the moment I know something, Dr. Killian.”
Back in the ancient truck, Sara took a deep breath. Without thinking, she reached for one of the cigarettes Nellie always kept on the dashboard. Coughing and sputtering, her eyes watering, Sara puffed furiously on the menthol cigarette.
She needed a game plan. If she sat here long enough in the police parking lot, surely an idea would come to her. She continued to puff on her cigarette, her eyes smarting as the smoke billowed up around her head in the close confines of the truck cab. She did her best to relax, hoping some workable plan of action would come to mind.
 
 
Adam poured himself a cup of coffee and carried it to the table, the dogs swarming about his feet. He took the time to tussle with each one of them, Izzie watching from her position by the back door.
“You look done in, Adam,” Tom Silk said as he sipped at his own coffee, one eye on the gate monitor above the kitchen door.
“It's been a long day. I had meetings with this . . . idiot from Benton Memorial. I was at the courthouse for hours. It's never easy when someone dies, but when that someone is your brother
and
Dallas Lord, everything is compounded a hundred percent.
“This place is like a prison fortress. There are no words to tell you how much I hate being here. I see Dallas everywhere. Sometimes I think I hear him. I get this eerie feeling that he's actually here in the house. Is that weird or what? Earlier today I swore I smelled his aftershave. Izzie was sniffing, too.” Adam shivered to make his point.
“Are you going to go ahead with your plan to turn this place into another Graceland?”
Adam frowned. He bent over to pick up Dallas Six, who cuddled in the crook of his arm. “Your tone of voice tells me you don't approve of shrines.”
“I imagine it would be a monumental undertaking. Who's going to oversee something of that magnitude? Do you just turn it over to someone and then walk away? This is just my opinion, but somehow I don't think your brother would want that. If he did, why would he lock himself away up here. Why would you want to tamper with something that had its place in the sun?”
Adam rubbed at his temples. “I guess I feel like I owe it to Dallas. So much happened in our lives that he couldn't deal with. I always wanted to do the
right
thing. I've come to realize doing the right thing sometimes wasn't right for Dallas if you know what I mean. One day I think Dallas would want a shrine, and the next day I
know
he wouldn't.” He held out his coffee cup for a refill. Tom filled his cup and his own as well.
“Did you return Dr. Killian's call?”
Adam looked at his watch. “It's late. I'll call her in the morning.” He stared across the table at Tom, who was peering at the monitor. Izzie growled. The six pups raced to her side, their plump little bodies wiggling with anticipation, their tails wagging furiously.
“I think you better take a look at this, Adam. Now, that's a kick-ass truck if I ever saw one. Were you expecting company? Man, that truck looks
solid
. That sucker even has a running board. I saw this old movie once where Rommel and his desert rats were mapping out strategy with a truck just like this one. It's just sitting there. Maybe it's someone casing the place. Do you want me to call the cops?”
Adam walked over to the door to get a better look at the monitor. “What the hell! That looks like . . . yeah, it does look like Dr. Killian.”
“I think you're right. Should I release the gate?”
“She didn't ring the buzzer? Maybe she just wants to sit out there. Where do you suppose she got an ancient vehicle like that?”
“Maybe it belonged to her great-grandfather. I don't believe she just drove up here to stare at those gates and neither do you. Uh-oh, she's backing up. Oh, jeez, now she's going forward. No, no, she's backing up again. She's going farther down the drive.”
“Shit! She's doing that to get up speed. She's going to ram the gates! Open the damn things! Quick!”

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