Sara's Song (29 page)

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Authors: Fern Michaels

BOOK: Sara's Song
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Carly was sitting up in bed, a scowl on her face. Nellie was wagging a no-nonsense finger under her nose. Intimidated, Carly nodded in agreement to whatever the old nurse was saying.
“You're looking good, Carly. How do you feel?”
“I've felt better. This damn thing itches. The food is terrible. Six weeks I have to wear this thing!”
“It could be worse, Carly. Be glad you're alive and well.”
“I am glad. I'm also glad no one else was hurt. I'm not going, Sara. All Aunt Florence wants to do is play Old Maid and Monopoly. And she cheats. She's going to fuss and hover. You know I hate hovering. Why can't I stay with Nellie at her place? I can go to Hank's place. I still have a key. He won't mind.”
“Listen to me, Carly. I want you as far away as possible. You love Aunt Florence. Nellie needs to get away, too. I'll feel better if I know you're safe. You aren't in any condition to ... you know, put up a fight or run or ... stuff like that. Adam and I are going to ... work on this together.”
“Adam, is it? So that's what is putting the sparkle in your eye. Why'd you make up that story about running? All you had to say was you have this thing going, and I'll be in the way.”
Sara blinked. “I didn't think you'd go for it.” The sly wink Nellie shot in Sara's direction was all the proof Carly needed.
“I knew it! I saw the way that guy looked at you. I thought it would take him longer to come around. At first he seemed like a real tight-ass. He has definite possibilities, and he's rich. I approve! I know you aren't over Dallas, so take it slow and easy.”
“It's just a casual dinner date. He's leaving in a few days to go back to South Carolina. I'll probably never see him again. I'll be heading for New York soon.”
“Planes, trains, buses, cars. Overnight mail, telephones, fax machines. Love notes via a fax has to be the greatest. Don't screw this up, Sara.”
“Okay, Carly. Can I help you get dressed?”
“Nope. Nellie said I'm on my own. I feel top-heavy. Guess I'll get used to it. I was discharged thirty minutes ago. I take that to mean we're free to go.”
“Guess, so. Do you have everything, Nellie?”
“I went home to get everything right after you called. Steven is going to board my cat and dog. We're taking my Pontiac. The truck would be too jarring for Carly. I'm going to leave the key to the truck and my apartment with you, Sara. You never know if that Tinkertoy Carly drives is going to work or not. My truck is parked in my stall at the town-house building; you can't miss it. If you prefer, I can drive it over to your house before we leave. Both of us can stay as long as you want us to, Sara. Take care of your business here and call to let us know how things are. Does the old lady really cheat?”
“Just the way you do, Nellie. Don't worry about the truck. If I need it, I know where to get it.”
“Ah.”
Carly came out of the bathroom. “Are you sure this is the right thing we're doing, Sara?”
“I'm sure. Have a good trip and don't take too many jaunts to the casinos.”
“Did you go to see Judge Iverson yet?”
“I'm going to the courthouse when I leave here. Nellie will fill you in on everything. Don't get that cast wet.”
“Sara.”
“Take care of yourself. You're the only sister I have.”
“I will. Don't give Nellie a hard time. Promise.”
“I promise. C'mon, Nellie, we're outta here. My sister has things to do and places to go. Translated that means she has to buy some new duds so she sparkles. Use that smoky eye shadow. It makes your eyes look mysterious.”
“Go!”
Sara stood by the elevator as Carly settled herself into the wheelchair, a rule of the hospital. When the elevator door swished shut, she heaved a sigh of relief. She headed for the EXIT sign over the door and took the stairs to the emergency room.
“Any luck, Mr. Phelps?”
“No sign of a dark blue sedan or any other strange car, Dr. Killian.” The security guard handed her a card. “Detective Nelson said to call him on your cell phone if you spot the car again. He said if you do call him, you're to keep driving and don't stop. They'll send a car to pick up whoever is following you.”
“Thanks, Mr. Phelps. Have a nice holiday.”
“You too, Dr. Killian. We miss you around here.”
Sara smiled and waved, her gaze raking the parking lot. There was no sign of a dark blue sedan anywhere. Maybe it was all her overactive imagination.
Sara steered the Jeep into the traffic, one eye on the road and the other on the rearview mirror. As she parked the Jeep in the courthouse parking lot, she remembered the gun in her shoulder bag. The metal scanner in the courthouse would pick it up in a second. She stashed it under the seat, crossed her fingers, and said a prayer that it would still be there when she came out. She took several deep breaths before she felt steady enough to climb out of the car. Again, her gaze swept the parking area for any sign of the dark blue sedan. The eerie feeling that someone was watching her stayed with her as she crossed the parking lot to the building.
Aware now of everyone and everything, Sara scrutinized each person who came near her as she made her way to the seventh floor where Judge Iverson had his offices. She spent forty-five minutes being shuffled from room to room before a clerk escorted her to the judge's office.
Judge Ronald Iverson was a tall, handsome, robust man in his middle sixties. He worked out with a vengeance four days a week and a low-fat diet, coupled with his strenous exercise routine, allowed him to maintain his weight. If he touched up his hair with Grecian Formula, he was the only one who knew it. Sara was amazed at how well he was aging each time she saw him. A widower for six years, he was rumored to like very young women and never stayed long with any one of them because he believed variety was the spice of life. If memory served her right, he would retire at the end of next year. Then it was Palm Springs, golf, tennis, and long-legged beauties for the rest of his life.
“Sara Killian. Excuse me, Dr. Sara Killian. It's so good to see you. How's Carly? Sit down sweetie. I have ten minutes before I have to take the bench. Is anything wrong? Ah, don't tell me you got one too many traffic tickets,” he joked, his pricey porcelain caps glistening in the lamplight. Sara wondered how he could stand being in a room without windows all day long.
“I wish it were that simple, Judge. I hope I can get this all out in ten minutes. Just let me blurt it out, and if there is anything you don't understand, I can fill you in later. I need you to keep something safe for me.” Sara rattled on, the words shooting out of her mouth faster than bullets. “I don't know who it is, Judge. The only thing I know for certain is I am deathly afraid something is going to happen to Carly.”
“Good Lord. I don't believe what I'm hearing. I'm having cocktails with the police commissioner this evening. I'll goose him a little. You know Carly has a level head on her shoulders. She outgrew that bubble-headed business years ago. You need to stop mothering her, Sara. She can take care of herself. Now let me be sure I have all of this straight. What I'm holding in my hand is the song Dallas Lord, the famous rock star, wrote for you. It's worth millions of dollars to the owner, who at the moment is you. Mr. Lord's brother wants to buy it from you for a paltry amount of money so the world can enjoy Dallas's last song. How am I doing so far?”
“You're doing fine, Judge.”
“You want me to keep this safe for you until you know exactly what it is you want to do with the song. I can do that, Sara. I have a safe right here in my office. No one has the combination but my clerk and me. Is this the only copy you have and is this the only handwritten paper in your possession?”
A devil perched itself on Sara's shoulder. “The paper is a photocopy. I haven't been able to find the original. I guess it's in the pile of papers Dallas gave me to keep for him.” Sara lied and didn't know why she was lying. “Yes, that's the only cassette,” she lied again. “Dallas wrote the song just for me. It was supposed to be a wedding present.”
“So this is what they call the master copy?”
“I guess so. Dallas just handed it to me. I don't know what the difference would be between a master and a copy. Perhaps the sound. You'll keep it for me then?”
“Of course. Do you ever plan to sell it, or are you going to give it back to the estate? Do you have some kind of a plan? Millions of dollars are at stake here, young woman. I can understand why some chicanery might be going on.”
“I've had so many plans I don't know if I'm coming or going. Nothing seems to work. I'm afraid to stay in the house.”
“Listen. I have an idea. I own a cabin in the Alpine Forest, where I like to go when things pile up on me. There is plenty of food, water, and firewood. It's a snug cabin, and you and your sister will be very comfortable. I want you to go there and stay for a while until whatever has been happening around here blows over. It sounds to me like the brother is a greedy bastard. Your father would never forgive me if something happened to either one of you girls. I want you to take this key and go up there today. Here, I'll write out directions. I don't want to worry about you.”
“I can't go today, Judge. I ... we can go tomorrow. I ... Carly and I can stay with friends this evening and leave in the morning when it gets light.”
“I want you to call me the minute you start out. I'll alert the troopers to watch out for you. Give me your promise, young lady.”
“I promise.”
“Good girl. I hate to cut this visit so short, but they're waiting for me out there.”
“I understand. Thank you. Carly and I really appreciate your help.”
“Put your mind at rest and let me handle things. That's what friends are for.”
Sara sighed. She wondered as she rode down in the elevator why she didn't feel any better than she had when she entered the courthouse.
Her dark glasses in place to ward off the bright December sunshine, Sara settled herself in the Jeep, but not before she surreptitiously removed her father's gun from under the seat. She started to feel better almost immediately. No one knew the gun wasn't loaded. Hating the feel of cold steel in her hand, Sara shoved it into the bottom of her black bag.
Ever alert, Sara carefully scanned her surroundings. Everything appeared normal, but she still had the feeling strange eyes were watching her. Was this the lull before the storm? As the Jeep moved along in the steady stream of traffic, Sara shifted her nervousness into a neutral zone as she listened to the ominous voice of the weather forecaster. Snow in the higher elevations. Rain down below. There was no sun in the forecast for the next three days. Sara lifted her polarized sunglasses to perch them on top of her head. She lowered them immediately when the sun bounced off her windshield, temporarily blinding her. It was a rare day when the weatherman hit it right.
A mile down the road, Sara found another rarity, a parking place directly in front of a drugstore that said it was open twenty-four hours a day. Inside she purchased three boxes of mutlicolored lights and six peppermint candy canes for the Christmas tree.
Waiting for a break in traffic, Sara did a mental check on her list of things to do. She'd be home by noon. All she had to do now was find a casual outfit, pick up a bottle of wine, and grab some lunch before she headed home to decorate the tree and relax in a hot bubble bath.
In a small boutique, Sara settled for the first outfit she tried on, a colorful swirling skirt with a soft as silk off-white blouse. Her electric blue jacket would match the skirt perfectly. Casual but elegant. She spent more time choosing the wine than she had choosing her new outfit. At the last second she opted for fast food, going through the drive-through at Taco Bell. She munched on her wrapped sandwich as she made her way home. It was ten minutes to twelve when she entered the house. The first thing she did, after locking the door and turning on the alarm system, was to throw the gun clip and an extra one into the bottom of her bag. She stared at the Taser gun for a full two minutes before she tossed it into the already overloaded bag.
The tenseness in her shoulders seemed worse somehow. She continued to stare at the black bag, aware that something didn't feel right. Her eyes narrowing, she studied the contents before she withdrew the gun clip she'd had in her pocket. She picked up the heavy gun and jammed the clip inside. Things felt better. Almost.
Sara hooked the strands of lights together. Hundreds of tiny lights winked at her. Tears pricked at her eyelids. Some Christmas.
I miss you, Dallas. This was supposed to be our first Christmas together.
Damn, now her eyes were going to be red and puffy. She straightened her shoulders, blew her nose lustily, and continued to decorate the tree. Just as she hung the last ornament and stood back to view her handiwork, the phone rang. Her voice was harsh and crumbly-sounding when she said, “Hello.” When there was no response she repeated her greeting twice. Her shoulders shaking, she slammed the phone back into the cradle. Someone checking on her? The phone rang three more times in the next half hour with the same results. Suddenly she felt violated, exposed, vulnerable.

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