With that miserable bench hitting her in all the wrong spots, Joan was relieved to see Fred come back down the steps toward her.
“All set,” he told her, and led the way out to his own car, not one of the police units. “I’ve been talking to Indianapolis.”
“What did they say?”
“We agreed that we should have her checked out at the Oliver hospital. They’ll bring her family down here to ID her.” They descended the worn limestone steps outside the police station.
Joan stopped dead. “We know who she is!”
“Of course, but it’s not a bad idea to have her folks with her when she goes back up there. If she’s ready to go back, that is.”
“I think she’ll want to go. She’s already worried about practicing for the competition.” She followed him around the corner.
“And if I’m ready to release her.” He held the passenger door until she reached for her seat belt, then closed it for her and got in behind the wheel. “I want to pick her brains some first.”
“I don’t know, Fred. She doesn’t seem to have any to pick right now.”
“I’m a patient man. Look how long I’ve been waiting for you.” He smiled and stroked her cheek.
She leaned over for a quick kiss while he started the motor. “You’re a prince, Fred Lundquist, and I’m lucky to have you.”
“Even the way I’ve been acting?”
“That’s not you. That’s—I don’t know what that is.”
“A temporary aberration, I hope. This business with Pruitt is driving us all a little nuts.”
“And now we’re dumping Camila on you.”
“Yeah. But finding her alive sure as hell beats finding Pruitt dying.”
When they pulled up in front of the house, the Mozart pouring through the open window promised a lot of brain to pick.
“Listen to her!” Joan said. Whatever had happened to Camila obviously hadn’t harmed her playing. But when they went in, it was Bruce who met them with violin and bow in hand and Camila who was sitting empty-handed on the sofa. She still looked almost as blank as she had in the park.
Bruce introduced them to her as if they’d never met.
Taking her cue from him, Joan said, “Fred is a policeman, Camila, and our good friend.” She sat down beside her. “He’s here to help you.”
Fred showed her his badge. “Do you feel up to answering a few questions?” he asked gently.
Her eyes turned to Bruce.
“It’s all right, Camila,” Bruce said. “I’m right here.” He laid the violin and bow in their case and sat down on her other side, taking her hand. She nodded hesitantly.
Joan was glad to see Fred take the chair across from Camila. No need to loom over her, as scared as she looked.
“Tell me your name, please,” he said.
“Camila Pereira,” she said softly, and looked relieved, as if she’d passed a test.
“And where do you come from?”
The wide smile broke forth. Wherever she’d been since Monday, she’d had a toothbrush. She didn’t stink, and her face was clean, but her clothing smelled stale, as if she hadn’t changed it. She seemed not to notice. “From Rio de Janeiro, in Brazil. It is a beautiful city.”
“I believe you,” Fred said. “Do you have a family?”
“Oh yes. I live with my mother and father.” With each response, she seemed more confident and natural.
“What do you do in Brazil?”
“I am a violinist.” No hesitation there. She tossed her head, but the hair that had rippled merely flopped.
“That’s wonderful. And what brings you here?” She looked blank again. “To America,” he added quickly.
“I came to play in the violin competition. With Bruce”—she looked up at him—“and the others.” Her eyebrows puckered. “But I don’t know where I am. I need to go back. I need to play my next concert.” Her agitation increased. “My violin! My violin is missing! I must find it!”
“When is your next concert?” Fred asked.
She relaxed. “Not until Wednesday night. Isn’t that right, Bruce? If I make the finals, I play the Mozart on Wednesday. Then the Sibelius on Saturday.”
Bruce nodded. “That’s the schedule. And, Camila, you did make the finals.”
She showed no surprise. What day did she think it was? Would she panic if they told her she’d already missed Wednesday? Careful, Fred, Joan thought.
“Do you know how you got here?” he asked instead. “Who brought you here?”
“I came here with Bruce,” she said. “From the park.”
“Uh-huh. And how did you get to the park?”
Her eyes clouded over, and she shook her head.
“What’s the last thing you remember before the park?”
“A car. I was looking for my violin. But I don’t know where I was. Why can’t I remember where I was?” Her voice rose, and her eyes begged them.
Fred leaned forward. “Camila,” he said carefully, “I’d like for a doctor to check you. I think something has happened to you. I think that’s why you can’t remember.”
“I know you,” she said suddenly, and smiled at him. “You were at the picnic.”
“That’s right.” He returned her smile. “Joan brought me.”
“Yes,” she said, and turned to Joan. “And your son was there, too. Andrew. A cute guy.”
On cue, the front door flew open and Andrew burst into the room, his hair wild. Breathing hard and perspiring, he might have been running. He stopped short and gaped at them. “Camila! What—what are you doing here?”
“Hello, Andrew,” she said, with some of her old manner back. “We were just talking about you.”
“You—you were?” he croaked, his voice not quite breaking. His eyes focused on Camila. “How did you get here?”
“I walked here from the park, with Bruce. But what are you doing here? Come, sit here and tell me.” She patted the sofa next to her, not noticing, or maybe not caring, that Joan was already occupying that space. Whatever was wrong with Camila, her personality seemed intact.
“No, I can’t. I—I just came back for my lab notes. I’m late for class.” They watched him race up the stairs. He reappeared almost immediately with a backpack over his shoulder. In those few moments, he had mopped his face and generally pulled himself together.
“Is she okay?” he murmured to Joan.
“Looks like it.”
“That’s great! Look, I’m sorry, but I can’t miss this lab. Tell me all about it tonight, okay?”
“Sure,” she said, and followed him to the door. He flung himself onto his bike and pedaled off furiously.
Fred raised an eyebrow. Joan shrugged.
“Such a big hurry,” Camila said, and laughed. “In Brazil, my boyfriend would not leave without a kiss. But Andrew is a little shy. He’s very young, no?”
“Some days he seems about ten,” Joan said.
“Oh no,” Camila said seriously. “He is much older than ten.” Intact in some ways, but damaged in others, Joan thought. She wouldn’t have missed that little joke before.
Bruce laughed. “You’re right,” he said. “Andrew is almost twenty.”
“I knew it!”
Fred leaned forward again. “Camila, would you like to see your family?”
“They’re in Brazil. They had to miss this competition.”
“I have good news for you.”
“Good news?” Her eyes weren’t quite focusing.
“Yes. They’re coming here to see you.”
“Here?” She looked around the room, frowning as if trying to recognize it.
“Very near here. Will you come with me? I’ll take you to them.”
“I don’t understand. My father had important business. He couldn’t leave Brazil.”
“You’re more important to your father than his business. Camila, listen to me. We want you to see a doctor. I will take you to the hospital. Your family will meet you there, at the hospital. They want to be sure you’re all right.”
She turned to Bruce, still frowning. “Can I trust him? Is he telling the truth?”
“Yes.”
“Will you come, too?”
“If you want me to.”
“Then I will come.” She stood up, and swayed slightly. The two men stood quickly and reached out to her. She took Bruce’s arm. “I feel a little dizzy. I think it is good if I see a doctor.” Then her smile lit her face. “And I will love to see my family!”
Fred sent her to the car with Bruce and hung back for a moment with Joan. “Can we drop you at work?”
“Please, and I hope you’ll rescue Bruce. He came here to get away, not to play nursemaid.”
“Her folks will be here before long.”
“But, Fred, don’t you see? That’s exactly the stressful situation he was trying to avoid until after tomorrow night, especially if the Indianapolis police already have filled their minds with Bruce as the bad guy.”
“He’s a grown man, Joan.” He brushed a wisp of hair back from her forehead.
“I know.” She shook her head. “It’s just so unfair! Bad enough that Camila loses out, but why should Bruce have to?”
“Crime is like that. I’ll do what I can.”
She hugged him. “I knew you would.”
Bruce and Camila were already sitting together in the back. Fred tucked Joan into the front and drove off. She didn’t say much in the car, but waved to them when they dropped her off at the center. Wouldn’t her old ladies have a field day if they knew what was going on?