We went out for breakfast the next morning. Just Rafe and me this
time. To the Pancake Pantry in Hillsboro Village, where the line
snaked around the corner of the building. And after I had built up
my strength on Belgian waffles and strawberries, I made him take me
up the road to Vanderbilt Hospital, so we could check on Kylie.
Dr. Ramsey was working again this morning, and greeted me like an old friend. He even remembered Rafe, since had Rafe had been with me the time Tim got shot. In fact, it was Rafe who had kept pressure on Tim’s shoulder—with a T-shirt he’d ripped off his own body—while I called for the ambulance. I think having a bare-chested Rafe bending over him had done just as much to keep Tim alive as the EMTs did.
Anyway, Dr. Ramsey was on duty, and updated us on Kylie—or ‘your sister,’ as he called her. I avoided looking at Rafe, but I knew he was arching a brow at me.
“She’s resting comfortably,” Dr. Ramsey said. “Heart and brain wave functions are normal. Everything seems fine. We’re cutting down on the meds to see if she’ll wake up on her own.” He glanced at his watch. “She should be about ready to come out of it.”
He gestured us to follow.
“Is anyone else here?” I asked, as we trailed him down the hall toward Kylie’s room. “Her girlfriend? The police?”
“The girl with the black dreadlocks?” He shook his head. “I haven’t seen her since yesterday. Her husband stopped by after visiting hours last night, but since he wasn’t on the list of visitors, he didn’t get in.”
“Husband?”
Dr. Ramsey stopped in the middle of the hallway. “That’s who he said he was. Your sister isn’t married?”
“She was,” I said. “They got divorced a couple of years ago.” And as far as I knew had nothing to do with one another anymore.
“You don’t have any contact with him?”
I could say in all honesty that I didn’t. “I wonder who told him she was here. I doubt it was Aislynn. She and Kylie got involved after Damian was history. And Kylie wasn’t in any condition to call him yesterday.” Or anyone else, I assume. Like her parents.
Dr. Ramsey shook his head.
“I wonder who notified him.”
“I wonder if it really was her husband,” Rafe murmured.
I turned to him. “What do you mean?”
“It mighta been whoever hit her, coming back to make sure the job was done.”
A caterpillar with very cold feet crept down my spine. “You mean, whoever hit her thought he’d killed her, and when he realized he hadn’t, he came back to finish the job?”
Rafe shrugged.
“Surely that’s a bit melodramatic,” Dr. Ramsey said.
I was about to tell him that in my world—our world—things like that happened regularly, but before I could, Rafe had spoken up again. “Better safe than sorry, doc. After all, someone did hit her in the first place.”
Dr. Ramsey nodded. “I’ll append a note to her file that no one gets in except family and law enforcement. And that she has no husband.”
“I’ll talk to Mendoza about putting a guard on the door till she’s outta here,” Rafe added. I nodded my thanks, just as we arrived outside Kylie’s room.
Dr. Ramsey pushed the door open, into the same beeping, pulsating world as yesterday. Kylie looked the same: pale and still on the bed.
I forgot that Rafe hadn’t seen her before. It didn’t occur to me at all—until he went stone still next to me.
I glanced at him, and saw that he’d turned a shade paler, staring at her.
Uh-oh. I reached for his hand, and he turned to me. It took a second, and then he got his voice to cooperate. He had to clear his throat first. “She looks like you.”
I nodded, but it was Dr. Ramsey who said, “There’s a strong family resemblance.”
That statement hung in the air like a dying fish for a few seconds, before I said. “We drive the same kind of car, too. Hers is a few shades darker than mine.”
“The twin bond,” Ramsey nodded sagely.
I bit the inside of my cheek. He was a nice man, and I felt bad for deceiving him, but I needed to know what was going on. And Aislynn, not being legally married to Kylie, needed to know, as well. Saying we were sisters had seemed like a good idea at the time, although now it felt uncomfortable.
Not to mention that while we did resemble one another, superficially, we didn’t look anything like twins.
To get past the awkwardness, I crept forward to the bed and peered down. “Is she doing all right?”
Dr. Ramsey glanced at the various beeping and whooshing machines. “Nothing wrong that I can see. Her head will hurt when she wakes up, but we can give her something for that. At the moment, it’s important to see if she’ll come out of it. If she won’t, we might have problems.”
“You mean, she might stay unconscious for longer?”
He nodded. “I can’t see any reason why she will, but with head injuries, it’s sometimes hard to tell.”
“But you X-rayed her head, right? There’s nothing wrong? No bleeding or anything?”
“Just a concussion,” Dr. Ramsey said. “She should come out of it just fine, and in a week or so, be good as new. Let’s see if she can hear me.”
He stepped over to the other side of the bed and leaned in. “Ms. Mitchell? Kylie? Can you hear me?”
We waited, but there was no response. The machines kept beeping and Kylie kept sleeping.
Dr. Ramsey took a step back. “You try. Maybe a familiar voice will make a difference.”
Sure. Even if mine wasn’t as familiar as he obviously assumed it would be.
I took a breath and leaned in. “Kylie? It’s Savannah. Can you hear me?”
We waited. “Kylie?” I tried again. “Are you in there?”
“Her eyebrows moved,” Rafe said.
I looked, and yes, she was wrinkling her brows. Only about a millimeter, but wrinkling. “Kylie?”
She pursed her lips.
“Good,” Dr. Ramsey said approvingly. “Keep talking to her. Let’s see if we can get her out of it.”
“Hi, Kylie,” I said obediently. “It’s Savannah. Rafe is here, too.” I glanced at him. “It’s Sunday morning now. You’ve been sleeping a long time. We’re worried about you. Can you wake up and tell us what happened?”
Her eyebrows drew together again. “Is she confused?” I whispered to Dr. Ramsey.
He shrugged. “Could be. Could be she’s trying to remember. Could just be a muscle thing as she’s trying to wake up.”
OK, then.
“Just keep talking to her. Ask her to open her eyes.”
I kept talking to her, and kept asking her to open her eyes. It took a small eternity, or at least it felt like one, but five or ten—or twenty—minutes later, her eyelashes fluttered.
“There you go,” Dr. Ramsey said, pleased. “Good girl, Kylie. Open your eyes.”
Her eyelashes fluttered some more. But eventually she did get around to opening her eyes. They were vacant at first, staring up at the ceiling. Another eternity passed while she blinked and tried to get her bearings. Her head moved slowly from one side to the other as she took in the room and the people in it. Rafe didn’t rate a second glance. She obviously didn’t know who he was. She watched Doctor Ramsey for a while, with that little wrinkle between her brows, probably trying to place him.
“Hi there, Kylie,” he said, his voice friendly and undemanding. “I’m Doctor Ramsey. Remember me? We met last year.”
If she did, she didn’t respond. Having identified him to her satisfaction, she moved on to me, and this time her eyes registered recognition.
“Hi, Kylie,” I said, moving a step closer and taking her hand. It was hooked up to a contraption that measured what I thought was her heartbeat, but at least there were no needles going into it. “How do you feel?”
She tried to move her lips, but nothing came out.
“We’ve been worried about you,” I told her. “Do you remember what happened?”
She blinked, and then moved her head slowly from side to side.
“That’s not unusual,” Dr. Ramsey said softly. “A blow to the head can cause temporary memory loss.”
I glanced at him. “Will she remember later?”
He shrugged. “Maybe, maybe not.”
Helpful. Not.
“Someone hit you,” I told Kylie. “On the back of the head. At home. Maybe someone who was looking through the office when you came home?”
Her eyes turned blank for a second as she thought it through, and I could almost feel her probing for the memory of what had happened. A look of frustration crossed her face when she couldn’t find it.
“It’s OK,” I told her, patting her hand. “It’ll come back to you. Just give it time.”
The corners of her mouth turned up, and she curled her fingers around mine. Her lips moved.
“What?” I asked, leaning down.
There was hardly any breath at all behind the word, and no sound, but I’m pretty sure I heard her right. “Aislynn? She’s fine. I’m sure she’ll be here soon.”
She’d have to be. Or Grimaldi would rub Mendoza’s nose in the fact that he’d let her leave the state.
Kylie looked frustrated.
“She went up to Bowling Green to spend the night with her parents,” I added, trying to explain what had happened, so she’d understand why Aislynn wasn’t here. “Your house is a crime scene. The police were all over it, trying to figure out what went on. And she was probably afraid of staying there by herself. She spent the night before with us.”
Kylie’s gaze moved from me to Rafe, behind me.
“Remember Rafe?” I smiled. Of course she didn’t—she’d never met him before—but since we were supposed to be sisters, I’d just have to pretend that my ‘sister’ knew my husband.
Rafe, bless him, can always be trusted to think on his feet. He gave her a smile. “Hi, Kylie. I’m sorry this happened to you.”
Kylie moved her attention back to me. I think she approved.
She also looked exhausted, so I let go of her hand. “We just wanted to stop by and see how you were doing. You’d probably like to rest some more.”
She managed a nod. The tip of her tongue came out to moisten her lisp. “Aislynn,” she whispered again.
“I’m sure she’ll be here soon. It’s a long drive from Kentucky.”
Kylie looked frustrated.
“Take a nap,” Dr. Ramsey told her, patting her hand on top of the covers. “By the time you wake up again, I’m sure she’ll be here. And you might remember more about what happened after some more rest.”
Kylie looked like she wanted to argue, but she lacked the strength. So she just closed her eyes and relaxed back into the pillows.
Dr. Ramsey headed for the door, waving us ahead of him. Outside in the hallway, he turned to face us. “That went better than I expected.”
Really? “She doesn’t remember anything.”
“I didn’t think she would,” Dr. Ramsey said, and went into a long explanation about how the brain and memory are affected by trauma. “She might remember something later, or she might never remember exactly what happened.”
“That’d be a shame,” Rafe remarked, and I nodded.
“As of right now, the police have no idea who attacked her. It would be great if she could identify someone. Or at least give a description, if she didn’t know the guy. Or woman.”
“Only time will tell,” Dr. Ramsey said philosophically, which wasn’t a whole lot of help. I mean, I liked the guy, but he wasn’t telling me what I wanted to know at the moment.
“Are you going to call the police and tell them she’s awake?”
“I figure they’ll show up here sooner or later,” the doctor said. “Until then, my first responsibility is to my patient. And she needs to rest.”
So the answer was no. I glanced at Rafe, who gave me an almost imperceptible nod. He’d call Mendoza. Why, I didn’t know, since Kylie didn’t seem to know anything, but the police needed to know that she was awake and mostly aware.
“We might stop by again later on,” I told Dr. Ramsey, who informed me that I was on the approved visitor list and could come by anytime I wanted. “If I’m not here, just let the duty nurse know you’re here to see Ms. Mitchell.”
I nodded. “Any idea how long you’re planning to keep her?”
“At least another day,” Dr. Ramsey said firmly. “I’ll be here in the morning tomorrow. I’ll check on her then, and see how she’s doing. If she’s better, and has someone at home who can take care of her, she might be able to go home tomorrow afternoon. If not, we’ll repeat the process on Tuesday.”
She could come stay with us for a few days, I supposed, if nothing better came along. We had plenty of room. Although Kylie would probably prefer to be home in her own bed. Hopefully Aislynn would be back from Kentucky soon, and would take care of it.
We said goodbye to Dr. Ramsey and made our escape. I waited until we were in the elevator before I leaned into Rafe and told him, “Thanks for backing me up in there.”
He put his arm around my shoulders. “You told him you’re Kylie’s sister?”
“Back in December, when she had her car accident. They wouldn’t tell Aislynn anything about what had happened. Two gay girls, you know how it is. Or maybe you don’t. They can’t be each other’s legal next of kin. Or at least they couldn’t back then. Maybe they can now.”
Rafe nodded.
“But Kylie and I look enough alike to be related, so I told them I was her sister. It wasn’t like they could prove otherwise. And she looks more like me than Catherine does.”
My sister Catherine takes after my father’s family. The Martins tend to be short and dark. Dix and I take after Mother’s family, the Georgia Calverts. We’re taller and blond. Like Kylie.
Rafe nodded. “You’re sure this didn’t have nothing to do with you, right?”
“This?” I peered up at him. “You mean, Kylie being hit over the head and ending up in the hospital? I don’t see how it could. She was at home. Her home, not mine. There’s no way anyone would expect me to be there.”
Rafe nodded, but still looked worried. The elevator lurched to a stop at the garage level, and the doors slid open. We stepped out, right into the path of a woman with messy brown hair and a worried look, dressed in dumpy jeans and a frumpy T-shirt. It took me a second—all right, more than a second—to recognize the put-together business woman I’d seen two days ago. The elevator doors were closing when I swung on my heel and stuck my arm into the narrowing crack.
“Lauren!”
“Shit,” Rafe muttered, probably at the sight of my arm in danger of being crushed by the sliding elevator doors.
The woman inside blinked. “Do I know you?”
Not yet, but that was about to change. I reached in and yanked her out of the elevator.
“Hey!” she protested.
“Sorry,” I said, “but you’re Lauren, right? I saw you on Friday. You were going out to lunch with Kylie.”
She folded her arms across her chest. “So?”
“So you’re going up to see her, aren’t you?”
“Yes,” Lauren said, the single syllable laced with a heavy dose of ‘what’s it to you?’
“We just came from there,” I said, “and we have a couple of questions.”
She sneered. “Why should I answer questions for you?”
I looked at Rafe. He rolled his eyes, but pulled his TBI identification out of his pocket and showed it to her. She sneered at it, too. “What’s the TBI got to do with this?”
“Not much,” Rafe told her, “but my wife is a friend of Kylie’s. And I do have the power to arrest you, so it would probably be best if you’d just tell her what she wants to know.”
“You don’t worry me,” Lauren said, but she didn’t walk away. Behind her, the elevator doors shut and the car started moving as someone else summoned it from another floor. “Well? What do you want to know?”
It’s hard to think when someone’s that pushy.
“I guess first of all what you’re doing here.”
“My friend was attacked,” Lauren said. “Why wouldn’t I be here?”
“Did the police contact you?”
She nodded.
“I guess they asked you about Friday night?”
“I didn’t see Kylie Friday night,” Lauren said. “I had a date.”
“So when Kylie came to your place, you weren’t home?”
“If she came to my place,” Lauren said. “You don’t know that she did. I don’t, either. I wasn’t there.”
Point taken, even if she sounded a touch defensive about it.
“When did you find out what had happened?”
“The police called me in the middle of the day yesterday. I would have been here then, but the detective I spoke to said she’d be unconscious until this morning, so I should wait.”
“And you did?”
She shrugged. “No sense in sitting beside her bed if she’s out cold.”
I guess not, although if it had been Rafe, I would have been here. Even if only to watch him breathe. They’d have had to throw me out when it was time to close up for the night.
I glanced up at him and saw that his eyes were amused. He knew what I was thinking.
I turned back to Lauren. “I don’t suppose you have any idea who knocked her out? I know you didn’t speak to her on Friday night,” or so she claimed, “but you did have lunch together. Did she mentioned anything that was going on?”
“Just about the letters,” Lauren said, and sneered again when I looked surprised. “We were friends. We talked about things.”
“You used to be more than friends, didn’t you? Until she met Aislynn?”
“We dated,” Lauren said with an off-handed shrug that didn’t quite come off. “It wasn’t really serious on either of our parts. And when she met the little waitress, they clicked.”
That sounded like something my mother would say. Calling Aislynn ‘the little waitress’ instead of using her name—which she had to know; Kylie and Aislynn had been together for a while—reduced her to something instead of someone. Or so it seemed to me. “I guess you didn’t approve,” I said.
Lauren tossed her head. “Of their relationship? I thought she was too young and immature. That Kylie would regret getting involved with her.”
“They seem to be doing OK so far. It’s been almost a year, hasn’t it?”
“Something like that,” Lauren said, in a tone that indicated she wasn’t happy to have that fact pointed out.
“I don’t suppose you have any idea who might have written the anonymous letters?”
“Kylie thought it was her girlfriend’s parents,” Lauren said.
“What about you?”
“I figured it was the waitress,” Lauren said with a shrug. “It seemed like something she’d do. Immature and spiteful.”
“Why would she?”
But Lauren had no answer to that. She just didn’t like Aislynn, and that was the only reason she needed. We let her head upstairs to see Kylie. And while I’d wondered when Aislynn was going to get there—since I thought it was sort of strange that she wasn’t—now I hoped that she’d take her time instead. The thought of the two of them—Lauren and Aislynn—coming to blows over Kylie’s hospital bed was a frightening, and very real, possibility. And Kylie—like the corpse of Virgil Wright—might go flying, with direr consequences. Virgil had been beyond pain when he’d tipped over. Kylie was still very much alive, and breakable.