Patrick stood in front of the mirror in his bedroom and for the fifth time, tied his tie. Four jackets lay in a heap on the bed where he had discarded them. He wanted to laugh at his retreat into adolescence, but the anxiety he felt couldn't be easily dismissed.
This evening's dinner and concert with Susan was a first. They had never appeared in public as a couple unless a chance meeting at the food court in the mall counted. They had eaten meals at home together, they had barbecued in the back yard and had joined forces for projects around the house. They had kissed. Once they had made love. They were friends and he loved her.
With a groan, he stepped back from the mirror. This tie would have to do. If he dawdled another minute, he would be late.
He took the stairs two at a time. After buttoning his overcoat, he lifted the scarlet poinsettia from the counter. He shook his head. Buying the largest plant in the store hadn't been his intention but he seemed to have succeeded. When he left his side of the house, the leaves brushed his face. With the pot braced between his body and the doorframe, he rang the bell.
When Susan opened the door, he peered between the leaves. He whistled softly. The rust-colored silk dress made her skin glow and her eyes to appear more brown than hazel.
He held out the poinsettia. "A little gift."
"Did you have to buy a tree?" Laughter punctuated her words.
Patrick chuckled over the ridiculous picture he must make. "It is a bit large. Where do you want me to put it?"
"On the coffee table for now." She moved a stack of magazines. "Proper placement will take creative thinking. You know, I could forget the idea of a real tree and decorate this instead."
Patrick studied her face. Did her desire to have a real tree have significance? She and Jim had always decorated an artificial one. This seemed to be another step away from the past. "Have a tree, too." As he deposited his burden in the space she had cleared, he understood her amusement. The plant dominated the spacious room. He turned. She stood at the door and buttoned her coat.
"Not fair," he said. "You've cheated me out of the chance to prove I'm a gentleman."
"You don't have to prove anything." She opened the door.
Since there wasn't time for a leisurely dinner, Patrick had made reservations at the Pub. Once inside the restaurant, Susan slid onto one of the church pews used as benches and studied the menu. After they ordered, he grinned sheepishly. The bar was double lined with men watching a football game. Their loudly voiced comments and their friendly shoving made Susan smile.
"Sorry," Patrick said.
"At least it's not wrestling. The spectators are more fun to watch than the game."
The waitress brought their salads and a basket of breath. He lifted his fork. "Are they more interesting than your patients?"
She nodded. "The hospital's not a great place to be these days. There's a lot of sniping among the people I work with. Sometimes it gets nasty."
"Did they bug you about Dr. Mendoza's accident?"
"And that led to innuendoes and accusations until I lost my cool." She put her fork on the plate. "I fear the sniping is behind the odd things that are happening to me." The fear she had felt on finding the third gift resurfaced. Once again, she was almost sure one of her coworkers was responsible for the gifts and Barbara's death.
Patrick looked up. "Tell me."
"Maybe it started as a joke, but it's not funny anymore. When I came back from vacation, Julie teased me about hiding something from them. Some kind of relationship." She told him about the candy, books and perfume and where she had found them. "The giver knows my schedule. That's why I think it's someone I work with."
"What about one of the doctors?"
She laughed. "I'm not the kind of woman to attract one of them. Most of the doctors are married. They wouldn't choose me for a fling."
He nodded. Susan brought thoughts of home and family. "Any other men around?"
"Patients, visitors, security, maintenance. To them, I'm just a nurse."
Patrick reached for a piece of bread. "You're probably right about your coworkers being the culprit." As he spoke, an uneasy feeling arose, one he refused to voice. Was she being stalked? "Who left the hospital before you did the night you found the perfume?"
"All of them. I was late."
"What about a group prank?"
"Before Barbara's death, maybe, but I can't imagine them cooperating on anything these days. All they do is bicker."
"As long as the gifts are benign, I wouldn't worry." He speared the last bite of salad.
"It's just...the gifts..." She shrugged. "I wish I could discover why I've been chosen."
What had she been about to say? Was there something sinister about the gifts that made her think of them as a threat?
"What were you going to say?"
"It's nothing."
The waitress brought their steaks. Patrick cut a piece. "Lisa called this morning to inform me of the current holiday schedule. The twins will arrive Christmas Eve and stay for a month."
"Will Lisa and Rob be in Europe that long?"
He nodded. "She's fighting for her marriage. That's more than--" He cut off a bitter remark. "She's lucky I can keep the twins."
Susan looked up. "There are some things I need to tell you." She toyed with her food. "When the twins were here, they talked to me about their stepfather. I guess he doesn't hide his resentment of them when Lisa's not around."
"Damn. Lisa insists he loves and wants the twins. What do you think I should do?"
"Take them as often as you can. I'm sure Lisa won't believe you if you say anything."
Patrick groaned. If he petitioned for custody, the twins would be forced to choose. He didn't want to put them in the middle of a custody fight. He looked up. "I'll take your advice for now, but I'm going to talk to Lisa when they come back."
"You'll find the answer." She pointed to their steaks. "Let's eat before these get cold."
Patrick nodded. The problem of the twins was his. His relationship with Susan hadn't progressed to where he could ask her how she felt about becoming part of a family.
* * *
He sat in the kitchen of the house he shared with Mommy. Her presence lurked at the edge of his awareness. He felt her disappointment as strongly as he had the night he'd crouched above the Thruway and waited for her white car. As he ate a solitary supper, he muttered to himself.
"Her life is charmed. Mommy, I don't understand why you don't want her with you." He looked up. "That's not fair. She has to be with you. I don't want her to tell." He scowled. "You can't protect her forever." He struck the tines of the fork against the plate. His plans were made. Since Mommy protected Susan, he had to choose another. He rose. The fork clattered on the floor.
At ten o'clock, he sat in the Emergency Room waiting area and stared at the clock. Each sweep of the second hand cut into his well-timed plan. The self-inflicted wound was deeper and had bled more than he had expected. Finally, a nurse called his name. He followed her to the examining room screened from others by green curtains.
After describing the accident and moaning about his clumsiness, he waited for the doctor.
At ten minutes to eleven, the nurse bandaged his thumb. She handed him a printed instruction sheet. He jammed the paper in his pocket and hurried outside to look for a pay phone. He located one outside the Emergency Room doors. He put in the money and dialed.
"Ms. Vernon, please."
When he heard her voice, he began a lengthy and convoluted complaint about how badly the nurses were treating his mother. His tirade continued until he saw the other evening supervisors leave the hospital. After promising to come in the next afternoon to make a formal complaint, he hung up and walked to the door.
Several minutes later, the door opened and Leila Vernon strode outside. He moved to intercept her. "Good evening."
She looked up. "What are you doing here tonight?"
He displayed his bandaged thumb. "A dumb workshop accident." He frowned. "I thought there was a security guard assigned to escort the nurses on the evening shift to their cars."
"He's not due until eleven thirty. I usually leave with the other supervisors, but tonight, a phone call delayed me."
"Can I be your escort?"
"Thank you."
Her smile made her cheeks flush. Until they reached the steps, he walked beside her. Two cars left the parking lot. Had the drivers noticed him, and if they had, could they identify him? He had to take the chance. Mommy had blessed tonight's action.
"I'm on the second tier," Ms. Vernon said. "You don't have to go with me."
"I don't mind." He reached into his jacket pocket and grasped the weight.
When she paused beside her car, he pulled the weight free. A rush of anticipation energized him. She bent to fit the key into the lock.
He smashed the weight against the base of her skull. Her face hit the car window. He struck again. She toppled to the ground and nearly knocked him over. He knelt on the asphalt and smashed the weight again and again against the back of her head.
His breath came in ragged gasps. The heat of accomplishment coursed through his veins. He stared at the way her coat sleeve had ridden up to expose her pale arm.
The glitter of gold on her wrist entranced him. How did she get Mommy's bracelet? The bracelet had spanned a different arm. His fingers fumbled with the clasp.
Moments later, he hurried down the steps. When he reached the safety of his car, he thought of Susan. Would she guess what he had done? Would she know he was the one? Mommy did. Would she tell?
* * *
The nearly full moon competed with the lights in the parking lot outside the community college auditorium. Susan slipped her hand into Patrick's. The chill of the night vanished. All evening, the music had formed a background to her awareness of the stirring chords he made her feel. Though the pressure of his fingers on hers was a sign the night was real, she felt as though she walked in a dream.
His touch lingered and then disappeared. He unlocked the car. Their gazes met, Susan looked away. The need reflected in his eyes stirred a similar response in her. Was she ready to make a choice between fears generated by the past and her hopes for the future?
By the time they reached the house, she had pushed her mixed feelings aside. She handed him the key to her front door. "Would you like to come in for coffee and dessert?"
"Yes."
His eyes held desire for something more. She felt heat streak through her body.
Inside, he took her coat and pulled her into his arms for a quick and demanding kiss. She looked up. When he stepped back, she was sure he'd read the uncertainty in her expression.
When she stood at the kitchen counter cutting thick slabs of gingerbread baked on a bed of peaches, her awareness of him grew. After carrying the cake to the table, she returned to the counter and filled two mugs with coffee.
This time when she turned, his head was bent. He wrote in the notebook he had held during the concert. The mugs she held kept her from touching his skin, his hair, the rough texture of his tweed jacket. The moment of desire held her paralyzed.
With deliberate movement, she set the mugs on the table and sat across from him. Her senses seemed enhanced. The pungent aroma of coffee and spices, the sweet and tangy taste of the gingerbread, the feel of the polished surface of the table, the frown on his face captured her attention. The change in their relationship had begun on Thanksgiving with her realization that he wanted more than friendship. Could she meet his needs?
He put the pencil on the table and slipped the notebook in his pocket. "Had to make my notes while the music was still fresh." He tasted the cake. "Delicious. A new recipe?"
She shook her head. "A childhood favorite that I'd forgotten until Mom made one while I was there."
"I'd like the recipe. The kids would like this."
"It's simple. Brown sugar, butter, a can of peaches and a box of gingerbread mix."
"My kind of baking."
They lingered over coffee, lifting mugs and forks with mirrored movements. Susan sought his eyes, but when their gazes met, unsure of her answer, she looked away.
Finally, he rose. "I have to turn my notes into a column for Monday's paper."
Susan followed him to the living room. He turned and put his arms around her waist. His lips met hers, his hands moved on her back. The caress of silk against her skin sent her thoughts toward the bedroom, toward love and commitment.
"I'd stay longer," he said. "All you have to do is ask."
The invitation wedged in her throat. She wasn't ready to test her fear or to explore her growing desire for this man.
He cupped her face. Their lips met in a kiss that nearly made her forget her fears.
"Susan." His breath flowed over her lips. "I'll call you in the morning. We'll go to brunch."
"I can't. I promised Leila I'd meet her." She stood at the door and watched him cross the porch. If she called, she knew he would return. They could spend the night making love, this time without guilt. He entered his side of the house. She closed the door. While savoring the anticipation of what lay ahead, she regretted sending him away.
Julie and Trish dashed past the security guard and raced across the street. Trish paused at the foot of the steps. "Do you think we should have waited for the guard?"
"I never do." Before Julie plunged up the steps, she glanced over her shoulder. "With the mob behind us, any mugger would run. Imagine being pummeled by fifteen or more nurses and their oversized handbags."
Trish chuckled. "You know, I always wondered if Barbara invented that story."
"She sure took it seriously."
"But she was the star of the piece. Her ability to inject herself into that tale is what convinced everyone this wasn't a fantasy."
Julie left the steps at the landing of the second tier. "See you tomorrow." She had to hurry. Larry hated when she arrived late.
As she ran to her car, she stumbled and quickly recovered her balance. A woman's handbag lay on the ground. Then she saw the body sprawled on the asphalt between two cars. Her scream continued like a siren out of control.
"What's wrong?" Trish appeared at her side.
Julie pointed. Her scream died to a whimper. "It's Ms. Vernon. She looks worse than Barbara."
"Move," Trish said. "I want to see."
"I'm going to be sick."
"Move first."
Julie edged away and stumbled to the steps. Several nurses halted just below her. "What's wrong?" they shouted.
"There's been another attack." Julie swallowed several times.
"Are you alone?"
"Trish Fallon's with the body. We need help."
Two of the nurses pushed through the cluster of women. "We'll get Security."
Julie grasped the railing. Women shoved past her. Her heart pounded. She felt faint. After gulping deep breaths of cold air, she stared at the group of nurses who stood near the cars that partly concealed Leila's body.
She had to leave or she would be late. Larry would be upset. His uncle's death, the lawyers, the attempt to cover the large medical practice alone had made him easily angered. Instead of joining the others, she ran to her car.
The engine started instantly. She backed out of the space. A thought occurred. Susan will be devastated when she hears. She and Leila were good friends. What if Susan was alone when she heard?
Julie's car shot between the gateposts. Her thoughts flipped from Larry to Susan. After deciding Susan shouldn't be alone when she learned about her friend's death, Julie sped to the Thruway. She could call Larry from Susan's house.
When Trish heard a car engine, she turned. "What the--" she shouted. Why was Julie leaving? The police were on the way. They would want to talk to her.
Trish moved closer to Leila and scanned the ground. The only reason Trish could figure for Julie's flight was that she had seen something to link De Witt to the death. The suspicion Trish had dismissed the night of Barbara's death returned. Trish studied the body without discovering a clue.
"Move," a stern male voice ordered. "Let me through. Someone reported another mugging. Which one of you lost her purse?"
"Leila Vernon," someone said.
"She lost more than her purse." Trish joined the retreat.
"Dear lord," the guard said. "All right, ladies, I want the lot of you to stay here until the police arrive." He spoke into his radio.
Trish collapsed against a car. The effects of the last amphetamine she had taken several hours before had worn off. "If I don't get away, I'm going to be sick."
"What's your name?"
"Trish Fallon. Julie Gilbert and I found the body."
"Where is she?"
"Gone. I don't know where." Trish closed her eyes. She had a good idea where Julie had gone.
"Damn. Trust you women to panic." He pulled a pad of paper from his pocket. "Give me your name and phone number. Did you see anyone running away?"
Trish shook her head. "The mugger's long gone. The supervisors leave at eleven." Her legs trembled. As she scrawled the information he'd requested, her hand shook. "I really have to go."
"Me, too," chorused a group of women.
"Okay, okay. The rest of you leave your names and phone numbers. The police will be in touch."
"What about my car?" one of the women asked. "I can't move it without hitting her."
The guard glanced at the body. "Then you'll have to stay or hitch a ride with someone. Can't be destroying evidence."
Trish reached her car. She had to get away before she crashed. She drove to the gates. By the time the gate lifted, a surge of energy banished her exhaustion. What had Julie seen? Trish smiled. She planned to find out.
As Susan turned out the kitchen light, she thought about Patrick. Why hadn't she invited him to stay? The doorbell rang. She smiled. Had he noticed her hesitation and returned? As she ran to the door, she remembered the prowler. "Who's there?"
"Julie. Let me in."
The panic in the younger nurse's voice startled Susan. Why had Julie come at this hour? Susan opened the door. Julie pushed past. Susan read fear and sorrow in the other nurse's expression.
"What's wrong?" Susan asked.
"I didn't want you to hear when you were alone. It was ghastly. I nearly vomited." Julie collapsed on the couch.
"What are you talking about?" Susan closed the door and stood with her back against the firm surface.
"She was mugged. Barbara didn't lie."
"Who?"
"Leila."
A scream rose from Susan's toes but she choked it back. "What are you talking about? You're not making sense."
Julie straightened. "Leila was mugged in the parking lot tonight. Trish and I found her. Whoever did this must be crazy. Her head was worse than Barbara's."
Susan moved to the couch. Her legs buckled. She crossed her arms over her chest and rubbed the upper parts. She felt cold and though she didn't want to believe what Julie had said, the words had to be true. "Tell me what happened from the beginning."
Julie touched Susan's hand. "I'm late. Could I call Larry? He'll be upset but I didn't want you to be alone."
Susan stared at her hands. Who was doing this? First Barbara and now Leila. They both had known the same secret.
The chance of a mugger being in the hospital parking lot, especially after the hospital had initiated precautions, seemed monumental. De Witt. She had to warn Julie.
Susan covered her face. The sound of Julie's voice came from the kitchen. "I can't leave her now... Why are you being so rude...Well, if that's the way you feel, I'll see you tomorrow."
When Julie appeared in the doorway, anger filled her eyes and tightened her mouth. "Are you all right?" she asked.
"Not really," Susan said.
"Men! Sometimes I think they're a different species."
"You could be right." Susan shifted her position. "Tell me everything you can remember about Leila."
Julie slowly repeated the story. "Her watch was gone."
Susan bolted to her feet. A gold watch. A gold bracelet. That was what she hadn't been able to remember.
"What's the matter?"
"Barbara's bracelet was missing," Susan said. "I knew there was something wrong with her body."
Julie nodded. "Then that proves the mugger killed Barbara."
Susan shook her head. "How could a stranger know about the storage room or even be in the hospital?" She paced the room. "What did the police say?"
Julie twisted a strand of hair around her finger. "I didn't wait for them. Trish did. I wonder what she told them?"
"Ask her tomorrow." Susan returned to the couch. "You'd better call the police in the morning."
"I promise. Is there any way I can help? I know you and Leila were close. I could stay if you want."
Julie's words echoed Patrick's, but Susan knew she needed to be alone to release the tears that choked her. "Thanks for coming. I'll be all right."
"Are you sure?"
"Go home, please. I hate to cry in front of anyone. Even when Jim died, I couldn't." Instead, she had sought refuge in Patrick's arms. But not tonight. She needed to grieve alone--one more step toward her goal of strength.
"I'll call you in the morning."
"After the police."
Susan locked the door behind Julie. Tears gathered but remained unshed. What's wrong with me? Leila was my best friend. Instead of grief, she felt anger. Why had Leila been killed? Because she knew a secret? That had to be the reason. Why hadn't Leila told her the reason De Witt wasn't being offered the partnership? Why hadn't there been a security guard to escort Leila to her car?
Her hands clenched so tight her fingers cramped. First thing in the morning, she intended to call the Nursing Office and vent her anger.
She couldn't understand why Leila had lost her usual caution and walked to the parking lot alone. Where had the other evening supervisors been?
As Susan remembered the days of friendship, one tear became a stream. Rather than go upstairs to a too large and empty bed, she curled on the couch and pulled the afghan close.
Patrick stood at the kitchen counter and buttered a piece of toast. A bright sun promised a cold but beautiful day. The radio, tuned to the local station, played a soft accompaniment to his actions. After breakfast, he'd deliver his column to the paper.
At eight, the news began. He poured a glass of orange juice and sat on a stool to eat.
"A second nurse was murdered last night at Bradley Memorial Hospital. Leila Vernon, one of the evening supervisors, died as a result of injuries sustained during a mugging. The attack occurred around eleven P.M. in the hospital parking lot."
The toast dropped on the counter. Susan will be upset. Leila had been her best friend. He reached for the phone and dropped his hand to his side. What could he say that wouldn't frighten her?
He rose. How could he keep her safe without making her resent his intentions?
In the past year, she had become a different woman from the one who had married Jim. Stronger, more self-assured. He liked her strength though her rigid hold on independence sometimes exasperated him.
The gun, he thought. Would she believe she was in danger if he told her about the gun? He needed to call Greg and discover what his friend had learned from the antique dealer. Again, he reached for the phone and just as quickly, changed his mind.
Was she up? Because she worked evenings, she usually slept late in the morning. He wanted to be with her when she learned about her friend. With resolute steps, he returned to the counter. He would call and see if she was awake.
The phone woke Susan. She groped for the bedside stand and nearly fell off the couch. Her hand hit the edge of the coffee table. In confusion, she looked around. Why was she on the couch? The reason hit like a lethal virus. Last night, Leila had been murdered.
Susan untangled her legs from the afghan and ran to the kitchen. The phone continued to ring. She grabbed the receiver. "Hello."
"I'm on my way over."
"Patrick, not now." The last word was spoken to the dial tone.
She splashed cold water on her face and combed her fingers through her short curls. As she smoothed her wrinkled dress, the doorbell rang. She went to the door.
Patrick strode into the room. He stared. "You know."
She nodded. "Fifteen minutes after you left, Julie arrived to tell me."
"Why didn't you call me?"
"I can't keep running to you every time something upsets me."
"Upset. I'd say you were more than upset." His gaze focused on her wrinkled dress. "I want to take care of you."
"No."
He groaned. "I just want to share your troubles and have you share mine. Leila was your best friend. I'm sure you're feeling hurt and lost."
"More like angry." She strode to the kitchen and filled the coffee maker. "I needed to cry and if you had been here, I wouldn't have allowed myself." She looked up and caught the flare of passion in his eyes and knew he remembered the night Jim had died.
He straddled one of the kitchen chairs. "I think you're in danger. That disturbs me."
She looked away. She had thought the same thing, but she couldn't let fear rule her. To do so would mean a return to the woman she had been before Jim died.
"How can I be in more danger than any of the other nurses on the evening shift?"
"I… " He sucked in a breath. "You know everyone who has died."
"So do about 90 percent of the evening staff. The hospital is like a small town. As she poured coffee into mugs, her annoyance with his attitude grew. "Why have you decided this is a personal vendetta against me?"
"You needed equipment from the storage room. Leila borrowed your car to go to Dr. Barclay's cabin. You and Mendoza left the hospital in white cars at the same time."
A chill snaked up her spine. And the gifts had arrived after each death. She hadn't told him that and now she wouldn't. His protective instincts had already gone into overdrive.
"Then how do you explain Leila's mugging? There's no way she could have been mistaken for me."
He shrugged. "I'm sure there's a connection. I just haven't found it. Call the hospital on Monday and request a leave of absence."
She gripped the back of a chair. "That's what Jim would have said. Do you want me to leave town and the country? If I've suddenly become the target, the person could find me here." Her fingers tightened. There had been a prowler. She gulped a breath. "Why are you doing this to me?"
"I love you. Isn't that reason enough?"
She turned away. "Love would allow me to be myself. The decision to continue to work is mine. I let Jim make decisions for me, but never again."
Patrick put his hands on her shoulders. "Don't ask me not to worry. Don't ask me not to want to protect you. I know I can't make decisions for you, but we could share."
"Not today," she said.
A few minutes later, she heard the door close. They could share decisions if he allowed her to express her views. But he had demanded. He believed love gave him that right.
All day, Patrick's theories troubled her. By evening, she wondered if she should call him. For what? To apologize, to give in to his demands? Did he know something he hadn't told her? He knew Greg Davies. Had the police officer given Patrick some piece of inside information?
The bracelet. Should she call the detective and tell him about the missing piece of jewelry? Surely one of the others had mentioned it.
The poinsettia reminded her of Patrick. So did the concert program. His gifts, his company, the way they had worked together in the yard this past summer had been times of enjoyment. Tonight, she had realized he had never forgotten the exciting and frenzied sexual encounter the night Jim had died. Neither had she, but her reasons had been different from his. Even then, he had loved her. She had been reaching for life. She wasn't sure she could explain the difference. Did she even want to try? Why, when he had made demands and ruined her growing ease in his presence?
She shook her head. She didn't want Patrick as a substitute for her husband. A partnership with equal sharing of decisions and responsibilities. Breaking the habit of dependency had been hard and she refused to allow herself to slide into the trap again.
With a sigh, she walked to the kitchen and loaded the dishwasher. The calendar on the refrigerator caught her eye. A star marked December twenty-eighth. Leila's birthday. Tears filled her eyes and spilled over. Why has she pushed all thoughts of her friend to some dark corner? Would the funeral be held here or upstate? When would it be?
In that instant, she understood Leila's desperate need to attend Joe Barclay's funeral. Even if it meant taking several days off without pay, she intended to attend her friend's funeral.
She hurried to the desk for her phone book. Under L for Leila, she found the Vernons' number. While she drank a glass of orange juice, she wondered if anyone in the Nursing Office had the information. She reached for the phone. Though she hesitated to intrude on the Vernons' grief, she needed to talk to someone who had also loved her friend.
A half-hour later, glad she had called, Susan hung up. No one from the hospital had spoken to Leila's parents. Susan's eyes were moist, her cheeks wet. The Vernons had needed to talk about their daughter.
She dialed the hospital. One of the evening supervisors answered. "Grace, this is Susan Randall... I'm still in shock... The funeral will be Tuesday at ten thirty... Powers... No, the burial will be upstate. I need Tuesday and Wednesday off. There are some things I need to do for her parents... Just Wednesday... All right, I'll see who I can trade for Tuesday. Thanks."
The call was transferred to Five Orthopedics. Trish answered and quickly agreed to trade days.
Susan put the receiver in the cradle. Trish's questions had made her wonder if Patrick's idea of a leave of absence had merit. Not because of danger but because of her coworkers' curiosity. Facing them would be a trial.
"I'm strong. I can handle this." The echo of Leila's words after Joe's death brought a fresh storm of tears.