“Anne?” Reid knew his tone sounded querulous. He tried again. “Anne? Can you come here a minute...please?”
He was fed up with lying around in bed, a prisoner to Anne's special brand of torture. The woman had removed every book and magazine within reach and replaced them with a new leather covered Bible, a CS Lewis book and two Christian fiction novels. She had even included a book mark with each book – complete with key points. For a man whose lifeblood was reading and writing, Reid had no choice but to imbibe the only fare available.
After a week of fevers and chills and reading material that planted more questions than answers in his befuddled brain, he was ready not only to get up, but to get out. He wanted to go for a run or play some basketball – a mindless activity. However, his body had the strength of over-cooked linguine.
“Anne?”
“I'm coming. You don't have to yell.” Anne stepped through the doorway of his room, carrying a tray. “I told you I was going to get you some lunch.”
“Oh,” he grunted. “Thanks. I forgot.”
He pushed himself up in bed, something he couldn't have done two days ago. Then yesterday he'd accomplished another major feat – getting to and from the bathroom without the aid of his self-appointed male nurse...Doug.
Reid wanted to be angry with the burly cop, but in a moment of complete honesty he admitted how thankful he was to have such caring friends. Without Anne, Doug and Callie, he would have had to go to a hospital.
His ego had taken a licking right along with his malaria-ridden body, but he had hope that both would soon be back to normal.
He sent Anne a sheepish grin as she settled the tray across his lap. Spying chunks of shrimp, tomatoes, and okra swimming in a rich, savory sauce, Reid moaned.
“Are you hurting?”
“What?”
“You groaned.”
“Oh, that was a groan of pleasure – real food.” Leaning over the deep bowl, he closed his eyes and slowly sucked in the delicious blend of spices. Holding his breath, he savored the aroma and his taste buds danced in anticipation.
“I thought you might be tired of broth, so I made some gumbo. I hope you tolerate it.”
“Oh, yes. I'm sure I can tolerate it.” He spooned a big bite into his mouth and closed his eyes in ecstasy. He chewed and swallowed before looking into Anne's pleased expression. “I could probably tolerate a thick slice of that crusty bread from Thibodeaux's, if you have any.”
With a grin, Anne turned toward the door.
“Anne...if that crusty bread was slathered with creamy butter...”
Anne laughed. “I know. You could tolerate it even better.”
“Right.”
When Anne returned with a slice of buttered bread, he had made a pretty good dent in the bowl of gumbo.
“I can see that my patient is improving by leaps and bounds.”
Reid swallowed before speaking. No sense in tossing out all his manners. “Leaps and bounds might be an exaggeration. Perhaps creeping and crawling is more correct.”
“That's better than you were a few days ago. You really scared us.”
“Sorry. It hit so fast this time.”
“So you have had malaria before?”
Reid nodded his head and stuffed a hefty chunk of bread into his mouth. He couldn't remember when food had tasted so good. Never in his life had he actually gone without food, but he thought he might be scarfing up his meal like a starving person would. “Caught it the first time in Burundi.”
“Have you had other relapses then?”
“Once in Florida and now here in Louisiana.”
“Goodness. Then shouldn't you carry medicine with you?”
“I do. Normally. Couldn't find it.”
“We wondered about that. Your apartment looked like it had been thoroughly searched.”
“Huh?”
“You know. The cupboards and drawers open, things scattered around haphazardly. We decided you must have been searching for your medicine and couldn't find it.”
Reid's brain stalled, then raced like a NASCAR winner. His memory was a shade foggy, but what he did remember didn't fit with what Anne was saying.
He remembered compiling the final pages of his project. He'd reached his goal. Or had he? The chills and fever had slammed him while he was working at his desk. He'd headed to the bathroom for medicine, then remembered he hadn't refilled the prescription after returning from Miami. The nausea had blindsided him and after emptying his stomach he'd stumbled to bed.
Oh, yeah. The stupid bed step had tipped and dumped him on the floor. That, along with the fever and headache, had felled him like a tree. He didn't have a clue how long he lay there shivering He did remember snagging the covers, pulling them off the bed and curling up in them as best he could. After that...nothing.
Reid slurped a final bite of gumbo, then used the last of his bread to soak up what was left of the thick, spicy broth. He chewed and stewed – what had happened after he'd passed out?
Anne lifted the tray. “I have some Jello if you're up for dessert.”
Reid's mind was still filtering information and he missed Anne's comment.
“It's red.”
“Huh? What?”
“Red JELLO. Do you want some?”
She cocked her head in that cute way that reminded Reid of the black-capped chickadee. “Red, huh? With whipped cream?”
“Only the kind in the can.”
“Sounds wonderful.” Reid hoped his smile said he was really listening and interested in what she put on his Jello.
“If you can eat that puffy white plastic stuff, then you must be feeling better.” Anne spoke over her shoulder as she left the bedroom.
He'd better get well fast. Something weird was going on, and he had a feeling his time was running out. First he'd picked up a tail – that he'd easily ditched. But now, it sounded as if his apartment had been ransacked. His gut told him dangerous complications lurked in the shadows. And it wasn't the gumbo speaking.
He'd lay odds Sgt. Barker, his old nemesis, had sniffed out his trail. If someone had actually searched his apartment, climbing over – if not his dead body – at least his unconscious one, then he had no trouble attributing those actions to Joe Barker. It fit the slime-ball to a T.
As soon as he finished lunch, he'd pretend he needed a nap and send Anne downstairs for the afternoon. Then when she left, he would get up and do a little sleuthing. One look at the mess would pinpoint his invader. The characteristic style of a search was as clear an indication of identity as fingerprints.
The malaria had actually been a lucky break. He'd been too sick to finish inputting the information he'd gleaned from the veterans, so it resided in his head alone. Same thing with the flowers and their meanings. Even if Barker had managed to snitch pieces of his project, the man would still be left hanging.
Barker would go home empty-handed – again.
****
Anne visited with Reid while he scarfed down his dessert. “I've heard it said, “There's always room for Jello.””
Reid gave a weak sounding chuckle, then licked his spoon.
“If you're OK, I thought I'd clean up the kitchen, then go check on Callie. I'm sure she's managing the shop just fine, but she may have gotten swamped and need my help.” Picking up his dish, she turned toward the door. “Do you need anything else?”
“Not a thing. I can't believe I'm saying this, but I'm going to take a little nap. Guess I'm not as well as I thought. You may as well stay downstairs and help Callie. I'll sleep until dinner.”
Anne laughed. “You must be getting better if you're planning your day around meals.”
“Hmmm.”
Before Anne reached the doorway, Reid slid under the covers and turned toward the wall, scrunching the pillow under his head. She pulled the door partially closed so the noise from the kitchen wouldn't bother him.
After finishing the dishes, Anne put a fresh glass of water on Reid's bedside table. He was making soft, snoring noises so Anne felt comfortable leaving him alone. He needed all the rest he could get.
When she pushed through the swinging door of the shop, Callie was busy at the long worktable. She was making corsages for a ladies banquet that evening.
“How pretty.”
Callie jumped. “Gracious, you scared the living daylights out of me. Make some noise next time.”
“Sorry. I've gotten in the habit of tiptoeing around so I don't wake up Reid.”
Callie held up the corsage. “What do you really think? OK? So so? Yucky ugly?”
“Hey, I like it. That's neat the way you braided the tiny ribbons together instead of using one strand.”
“Margaret told me the three colors she is using to decorate, so I thought I'd use the same ones in the gift corsages.”
“Good thinking, partner. You need to take on more of the creative side of our business.” Anne grabbed a Dr. Pepper from the refrigerator. “Want one?”
“No thanks. I just finished one.” Callie snipped the ends of ribbon, stuck in a corsage pin, and slipped the finished flowers into a cellophane bag.
Anne folded together a box and placed the ten corsages neatly inside “Want these in the cooler?”
“Please. Margaret will pick them up just before five. Hey, how is Reid doing today?” asked Callie.
“Much better. He ate that gumbo I made as if he were dying of starvation.” Anne chuckled as she remembered Reid's ecstatic expression.
“He probably was starving. Two days with no food, two more with clear broth...I'd be hungry too.”
Anne checked the order board. “I don't see anything you can't handle. If it's OK with you, I'd like to go back up to Reid's and clean the mess he made of his office. At least I can stack the papers that he scattered all over the floor. I've pretty well straightened everything but that room.”
“Go for it, girlfriend. He needs help, and I can hold down the fort here. If I'm working by myself, I'm not yakking and have time to pray. I've been praying for Reid. It's terrible to be stuck in bed with nothing to do but think. Perhaps he'll give some serious thought to his spiritual condition.”
“Keep praying. I've tried to talk to him about Jesus, but we end up arguing. He gets mad, and I go away frustrated. I don't think that pleases the Lord, nor does it bring Reid closer to embracing a relationship with Jesus. Pray for me, too. If I get another opportunity to talk with him about spiritual issues, I want to say the right things and not get argumentative.”
Callie chuckled. “You always were a great debater.”
Anne grimaced. “True, but that doesn't seem to be working in this instance. Debate isn't the right approach. I just stir up Reid's ire.”
“Speaking of A i r e...do you want me to do the table arrangement for the Aire's anniversary party?”
“Cute, Callie, and yes, I'd like you to take care of that order. I'm going upstairs now, but if you need me, holler.”
Anne tiptoed up the last few steps so as not to awaken Reid if he was still napping. Doctor Rushing had said he would require more rest than usual.
She thought she heard a soft snore and peeked in to see Reid in exactly the same position as when she'd left. A glance at her watch showed she had been downstairs less than half and hour. Maybe Reid would sleep for another hour, and give her a chance to straighten the mess in his office.
Anne stepped around the Chinese screen that acted as a wall separating the office area from the living room. Papers littered the desk and the floor like giant flakes of confetti.
She quickly gathered the scattered pages, tapped their edges together and set them in neat stacks on the polished surface of the wide desk. Then, kneeling on the floor, she gathered pages into small piles. Those too, she stacked on the desk, alternating them horizontally and vertically, for better stability. When the polished oak floor was once again visible, Anne settled in the over-large office chair.
Most of the papers looked like a manuscript of some sort. Yuck! She remembered typing theme papers and her master's thesis, and she'd hated every minute of it. She couldn't imagine writing by choice. She only hoped the pages were numbered, or sorting this mess would prove impossible.
With a shrug, she leaned forward and pulled a stack onto her lap. Spotting page numbers, Anne said a silent hallelujah. It wasn't long, however, before she hit the first glitch. The positioning of the page numbers wasn't the same on every page. It looked like there might be three separate documents. One had RD# on the top right, another CCI741-# bottom left, and a third MM# bottom middle. In a fourth stack she put everything that didn't fit the other three categories.
Forty-five minutes later, the mindless task succeeded in numbing her brain. She needed a break. She needed caffeine – chocolate or tea? Putting the pages in their appropriate stacks was requiring more time than she expected. Then collating them in numerical order was even more time consuming.
Yep, definitely time for a jolt of caffeine. Putting feet to her need, Anne hopped up and headed to the kitchen where a piece of Callie's special chocolate cake and a cup of strong, Louisiana coffee were calling her name.
As she swung around the end of the desk, she accidentally brushed against the last stack of papers. Flailing the air with desperate hands, Anne failed to save the toppling tower. She succeeded only in resembling a beginner practicing slight of hand. With a defeated sigh, Anne hung her head and scrounged for something to be thankful for. There was always a blessing in every situation – if you looked hard enough. She raised her chin and gazed around the room.
Her previous work still stood – sorted and arranged and neatly stacked on the desk. Now, there was a definite blessing. She said a quick prayer.
Thank you, Lord – it's just a tiny mess.
She grinned and shrugged her shoulders. “Cake now – clean later.”
Within minutes, Anne was sliding a generous slice of dark chocolate cake onto a saucer, and pouring herself a mug of rich coffee. Taking her food to the round table, she sat and contemplated the feast before her. There was enough caffeine there to keep her going for hours. She forked a bite of cake adorned with the gooiest frosting on the planet and slipped it into her mouth. A moan of pleasure escaped her lips. She refused to think of the number of calories she was ingesting and how many hours of basketball it would take to work them off.
As she finished the last morsel of cake and sipped at her coffee, a slip of yellow paper caught her eye. Only a corner was visible, so she carefully maneuvered it from under the potted-plant in the center of the table.
Tugging it toward her and unfolding it, she saw the page covered with Reid's back-slanted scrawl. It was the list of flowers, their symbolic meanings and a list of names. What use would Reid have for this information? Did the flowers and names go together?
She pulled it closer and smoothed out the folds. Grabbing a pencil she tried connecting a flower name with that of a person on the list. Twenty minutes later she was no closer to an answer. How the names and flowers tied together remained a mystery. With a resigned sigh, she began doodling. Some times working a puzzle from various angles provided clues when a straight-forward approach failed to yield results. Perhaps something would jog her brain and point to a solution. In the margin she jotted her random thoughts.
No direct tie between names and flowers
The flowers don't relate to one another – though they would create a pretty, mixed bouquet
With a gasp, Anne shifted her attention to the list of names. If she arranged them in a different order, the first letter of the last names would spell BOUQUET. She quickly listed that with the other information.
First letter of last names spells BOUQUET.
For some unknown reason, that thought brought to mind the one hundred peppermint carnation boutonnières she'd recently made. She remembered telling Reid that the symbolic meaning of the red and white flower was innocence and/or aching heart. She had looked it up later and found another meaning for the peppermint carnation.
Peppermint carnation – “Sorry I can't be with you.”
Anne read through the page of information once again. When nothing jumped out at her, she refolded the paper and slid it back under the plant. She cleaned up her cake and coffee dishes and headed back to the office. Reid probably wouldn't approve of her messing with his puzzle anyway. She'd better stick to cleaning. With that thought at the forefront of her mind, she knelt and quickly gathered the scattered pages – again.
She dropped into the comfy chair to sort the final papers. A sentence caught her eye – Standing over the body of Isaac Olstein, my second victim, I realized it had been easier this time.
Anne's breath caught in her throat and her heart skipped a beat. She read the words again then lifted her eyes to the top of the page.
The knife slid between the fourth and fifth ribs straight into the heart. In and out. One quick move. The act of an expert – exactly as I'd read in the book.
With a gasp of mingled pain and surprise, the old man dropped to the ground. I watched blood bubble from the wound and form an ever widening circle on the starched white shirt.
“For you, Isaac, it is finished!”
What in the world had she discovered? This sounded like the confession of a killer. Why would Reid have such a horrible thing? Suddenly all the secrets surrounding Reid and his work pelted her mind like rocks dropping into a pond. Ever widening circles of doubt spun from the questions bombarding her mind.
Who are you, Reid? What do you do? Are you involved in something illegal? What are you hiding?