Since You've Been Gone (7 page)

“Then why doesn't she make Sonia break it off?”

“You don't know Mrs. Ellis and you don't know Sonia—spun sugar and cast iron. And Sonia's mother has been at sea since the death of her husband two years ago—he thought he had a direct line to God's ear. He ran a tight ship and Mrs. Ellis deferred to him about everything for nearly twenty years. She's just getting her bearings. Anyway, Bill has promised me he'll check out the Messer kid.” He stood. “And now I'll leave you alone to get some rest.”

“First I have to make some calls and get things straightened out about my car with the rental company.”

“I've already taken care of that. And while you're here, you can drive your mother's Thunderbird. No sense going to the trouble of renting another car when that one just sits in the garage.”

“Oh, Frank, thank you,” Rebecca said.

He came over and planted a light kiss on her forehead. “You're welcome, dear. I'm just thankful you're all right. At least we didn't have two disasters last night.”

After he'd left, Rebecca didn't know why she hadn't told him about her vision of Todd. She'd never felt the need to hold a vision so closely in her life.

Betty arrived five minutes later with a tray bearing poached eggs on toast and a thermos of weak tea. An invalid's breakfast. She fussed and sympathized and tucked a napkin in the neck of Rebecca's nightgown as if she were a child. At last she produced a leash from her apron pocket. “Sean needs a walk and something to eat. I sent Walt out for some dog food this morning. That other stuff you brought looks like gravel. You do know that I got married, don't you? That Walt is my husband?”

“Of course I know you got married. You sent me pictures of the wedding.” Betty had stood small and round in an unflattering fussy pink suit, smiling broadly. Her groom
had been tall and thin with a strong resemblance to Abraham Lincoln. “How is Walt?”

“Fine. He's always fine. He has the constitution of a horse,” Betty announced proudly. How romantic, Rebecca thought, trying not to grin. “He does all the lawn work around here and all the maintenance, too.”

Rebecca dipped into her poached egg. She hated poached eggs. “Even though I arrived at night, I could tell the lawn looked especially nice.”

“Not one patch of crabgrass in it. Walt won't abide crab-grass. He does work at the Business, too.”

“The Business” was the headquarters of Grace Healthcare, the chain of nursing homes started by Rebecca's paternal grandfather. Rebecca often wondered what would have happened to the company if Frank hadn't been there to step in when her father was killed.

“That's how I met Walt,” Betty was going on. “Your stepfather sent him from the Business over here to do some work. Walt's real good with dogs. He'll take to Sean.”

“The question is if Sean will take to him. I told you he's skittish around men.”

“I'm tellin' you the truth, honey, Walt has a gift with animals.” She carefully attached Sean's leash and began talking to him in a baby voice. “Now you come along with your Aunt Betty and meet your Uncle Walt. You two are going to be the best of friends.”

“If they aren't, tell Walt I'll pay for the hospital bills,” Rebecca called as Sean reluctantly followed Betty out of the room.

As soon as she finished her breakfast, Rebecca called Molly's. Bill answered. “I thought I'd get Molly or another cop.

“I just walked in ten minutes ago. Molly got a good, long sleep. How about you?”

“The same. I'm just fine this morning.”

“I'll bet.”

“I'm coming over as soon as I get dressed.”

“Ah, Becky, I don't think you should,” Bill said. “The
press has gotten wind of this as well as half the town. You wouldn't believe the crowd outside. I had to call in some deputies to help keep the mess under control.”

“Then I'll just fight my way through them.”

“No, honey, please don't. That nurse who lives next door, Jean Wright, is here with Molly now. I guess they're pretty good friends.”

“Well, surely Molly can have more than one woman with her. And I didn't know she and that woman were good friends. Molly's only mentioned her once or twice.”

“Becky, people around here know who you are. Or, more important, what you've done. No one has forgotten your work with the police a few years ago. You're a celebrity. We're having enough trouble keeping a lid on things here as it is. I'm afraid if you show up, we'll completely lose control.”

“Oh,” Rebecca said slowly. “I hadn't thought of that.”

“I know. And I know Molly would appreciate having you here, but we've already talked about it. She agrees with me that it's best for you to keep away right now. But I told her about your vision and she's ecstatic that you've made some kind of contact. She said you could do more good concentrating on getting some other vibes about Todd than sitting here holding her hand.”

“Concentration doesn't help,” Rebecca said as she felt the weight of people's expectations descend on her. “Your mother had ESP. My mother doesn't understand how it works, but you do.”

“Suzanne doesn't understand it because she doesn't want to. It scares her and she's always run from what scares her. That's why she got so distant with you when you started manifesting it. I don't completely understand it, but I accept it—both its limitations
and
its strengths. And you've already had one vision. There's no reason why we shouldn't be optimistic about you having another one.” Rebecca heard him turn away from the phone and speak to someone else. “Got to go, Becky. Besides, we don't want to tie up
the phone line. You get some rest. I'll tell Molly you called.”

He hung up without saying good-bye. Rebecca sighed and lay back against the pillows, feeling helpless. She couldn't just lie here hoping another vision would strike, so she climbed painfully from the bed and took a shower. She then called her best friend in New Orleans, briefly explained about the situation with Todd, and asked her to water the plants and keep an eye on the house. Next she E-mailed her agent, saying only that she was in West Virginia and leaving a phone number. The agent was waiting for the proposal for Rebecca's next book, a proposal that was due at the end of the week. Rebecca doubted if she would get one word written this week and didn't care.

She tried to lie down again, but after ten minutes in bed she knew she was too restless to spend any more time shut in her room. She got up and took two aspirins, hoping to work some of the soreness from her body. A look in the mirror almost scared her. Bandages covered the cuts on her forehead. A long scratch ran along her jaw and a bruise discolored her right cheekbone. Her eyes felt too irritated to accept contact lenses, so she dug her metal-framed glasses out of her purse, put on slacks and a T-shirt, and went downstairs.

On her way to the kitchen, Rebecca passed through the living room. Decorated in tones of cream, hunter green, and antique gold, it remained just the same as when she'd left home. At one end of the room sat a Steinway piano; at the other was a Hammond organ. Both she and Jonnie had taken music lessons. Rebecca had practiced diligently but at best managed only to plunk out the standard beginner's fare. She'd been bitterly disappointed with her failure, as had her mother. Jonnie was a different story. Although he'd complained loudly about the forced tutelage, he'd shown remarkable talent.

Rebecca flipped on the organ and sat on the bench, picturing her brother with his golden hair and a rapt look in his eyes as he'd played. Their father's favorite song had
been a haunting remnant of the sixties, “A Whiter Shade of Pale” by Procol Harum. He'd listened to it so often, Suzanne told him he'd wear out the tape. And years after Patrick's death, Suzanne cried quietly in the audience when Jonnie had played the song with tremendous skill and feeling in a talent contest, dedicating it to his father. He'd won the contest and been ecstatic. Three months later he had been murdered, all his joy, all his promise brutally cut short.

Rebecca managed the first few chords before her fingers froze. Even if she'd possessed Jonnie's talent, she couldn't have played the song. It had belonged first to Patrick, then to Jonnie. She would never hear it again without thinking of the two males she'd loved most and lost.

Abandoning the organ, she walked into the kitchen. “What are you doin' up?” Betty demanded as she worked on tuna salad for lunch. “You need sleep.”

“I slept long enough and I'm restless.”

Betty inspected her face in the light, then shuddered. “The thought of you in another wreck frightens the life out of me. Child, I do wonder about your luck sometimes.”

“So do I,” Rebecca said dryly, “although a lot of people would say I was lucky to survive two wrecks.”

“That's right, I guess. By the way, I like your glasses. You wore them until you were twelve. You were cute as a button then.”

“Great. I look like a cute-as-a-button twelve-year-old. My day is truly made.”

“You're cranky. You need to go back to bed.”

“Then I would be crankier.” She looked at a man looking up from a plate of bacon and eggs at the kitchen table. “And this must be Walt.” His long, thin arms and legs splayed at all angles and his high-cheekboned face was seamed and brown as leather. He gave her a shy look and stood up, bumping into the table and setting everything rocking, and bowed slightly as if to royalty. “How do ya do, ma'am?”

“Hello, Walt.” Rebecca went forward, hand extended.
Walt rubbed his on his pant leg before shaking. “And I'm Rebecca.
Ma'am
makes me feel at least a hundred.”

“Yes ma'am, ummm, Rebecca.”

“Walt wanted to lay those new flagstones in the garden before the day got hot,” Betty explained. “That's why he's eatin' breakfast so late. Want some bacon and eggs, honey?”

“No thanks.” She glanced at Sean, who lay beside where Walt's big feet would have been. “You two getting along?”

“He's a fine dog, ma'am,” Walt said earnestly. “Takes a gentle hand, but he's smart as a whip. Loyal, too.”

“You can tell he's loyal?”

“Oh yeah. I can sense it in a minute.”

“Walt's got a real affinity with animals,” Betty said.

Rebecca picked up an abandoned half of buttered toast and smiled. “Hear that, Sean? You've made a couple of friends. Walt, please sit down and finish your breakfast before it gets cold.”

Walt obeyed, banging into the table again.

“So if you won't go to bed like a good girl, what's on your agenda today?” Betty asked.

“Frank said I could drive mother's car instead of renting another one.”

“Missus told me so this morning.” After all these years, Betty refused to call Suzanne “Mrs. Hardison.” She'd gone from “Mrs. Ryan” to “Missus.” “Keys are on the Peg-Board in the pantry. Missus doesn't drive much anymore. Hasn't had her car out for weeks, in fact.”

Rebecca was both saddened and relieved to hear this. Suzanne used to love driving as much as Patrick did and got a new, fast car every two years. But now that she was drinking heavily, her decision to abandon driving was for the best.

“You leavin' right away, honey?”

“Yes. Uncle Bill doesn't believe I should visit Molly this morning. There's a crowd and the press.” Betty shook her head and clucked disapprovingly. “I think I'll go see Aunt Esther.”

Betty's face fell. “Oh, that poor dear. ‘Bout broke my
heart when I heard about her cancer. But I thought you weren't supposed to know.”

“You didn't think Molly would keep it from me, did you? I also need to see if Happy Tracks will take Sean in today since it's an emergency. He got soaked last night, and Mother wants him to have a bath immediately.”

“I could bathe him,” Walt said.

“He needs some clipping done. That's usually a two- to three-person ordeal. Thanks for offering, though. He'd probably prefer a bath from you.”

“I told you Walt has a way about him,” Betty said sagely.

“Apparently. He convinced you to marry him.”

Betty's cheeks pinked. “You and your teasin'. You keep under the speed limit today and pull right off the road if you feel dizzy or sick. Walt'll come pick you up.”

In the garage Rebecca found a red Thunderbird with every imaginable option. It was three years old but the odometer showed only a little over 4,000 miles. Betty wasn't exaggerating—Suzanne certainly hadn't done much driving lately. Sean hopped onto the passenger's seat and she backed out of the driveway.

Since she was a child Rebecca had called Esther Hardison aunt, although she was Frank's aunt and no blood relation to any of the Ryans. After the death of his parents when he was twelve, Frank's Uncle Ben and his wife Esther had taken him in. Later, Rebecca, Jonnie, and Molly had learned to love her and feel as if they were truly related. Even after Rebecca had moved to New Orleans, she still spoke to Esther once a month on the phone, and twice Esther had come down for Mardi Gras.

Esther still lived five miles out of town on a ten-acre piece of land called Whispering Willows Nursery. At one time most of the ten acres had been used for growing flowers, shrubs, and trees. Now the widowed Esther had reduced the business by half, keeping a staff of only two.

A large white sign with
WHISPERING WILLOWS NURSERY
written in green script sat beside the highway. Rebecca
turned off onto a narrow asphalt road. Green fields spread on either side and in a minute she saw Esther's sprawling, white two-story nineteenth-century house, which sported a wraparound porch and a glass cupola that reflected the sun. For as long as Rebecca could remember, Esther had been threatening to sell the five-bedroom house that was far too large for one person, but Rebecca knew she never would. Esther had come here as a bride and had lived alone for the past ten years since her husband died.