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Minutes later, they were on their way to the Emergency Room of Manordale Hospital, escorted by Detective Sawyer’s unmarked car and a police cruiser, its siren going full blast.
Erica placed her hands over her ears and grimaced. “Isn’t this a bit much?”
Doug grinned. “A survivor’s tribute. Enjoy it.”
Detective Sawyer accompanied them into the hospital. He disappeared inside an office, leaving Erica to fill out forms. She and Doug had just sat down in the half-empty waiting room when the detective returned with a young doctor at his side.
“Dr. Patel will look after you, Erica. See you later,” he said and left.
The young woman led her and Doug to a tiny examining room. “Does this hurt?” she asked as she gently prodded Erica’s head.
“Ouch!” she exclaimed. “Sorry,” she immediately apologized.
“No need,” Dr. Patel replied softly.
She arranged for a CAT scan.
“No internal bleeding or skull fracture,” she announced afterwards. “You have a concussion. Go home and get some rest.”
Erica yawned. “I could sleep for a week. Police Power,” she muttered as they passed the many people still waiting to be treated. She yawned again. “But I sure appreciate it tonight.”
Doug helped her into the car. He got in and leaned over for a brief kiss.
“Mmm,” she said, pulling him tight.
Gently, Doug disentangled himself. “Later, my darling. I promise. But now, it’s on to the precinct!” he declared with a flourish, and they drove off.
She studied his handsome profile, pleased to see he wasn’t suffering from any signs of fatigue. In fact, he seemed lighthearted and thoroughly enjoying his role as chauffeur.
In spite of the tablet the doctor had insisted she swallow, she felt achy and terribly tired. She was beginning to regret not having taken up Detective Sawyer’s offer of postponing her visit to the police station until the following day.
She had never been inside the station before, and nothing about its grim appearance inspired the desire for a return visit. The old stone building was poorly lit, and reeked of greasy French fries.
Doug, a supportive arm around her shoulders, delivered her to Detective Sawyer. His office was a small cubicle just large enough for a desk and two visitors’ chairs. She spotted the tape recorder immediately.
Doug gave her cheek a peck. “I’ll be back later.”
“Aren’t you staying?” she asked, dismayed. She’d assumed he would remain with her for moral support.
“Sorry. I have to settle some unfinished business.”
He and Sawyer nodded to each other, and the detective slid behind his desk. He reached for a white Styrofoam cup and downed whatever was left of his coffee.
“Like some?”
She nodded. “With milk, please.”
He pushed a buzzer, and a uniformed officer appeared in the doorway. “Some more coffee, Bill, if you’d be so kind. Cream for Mrs. Parker.”
“Right.”
Detective Sawyer rubbed his eyes. For a moment, he rested his head against the bridge formed by his thumb and forefinger.
“You look beat,” she observed with concern.
“It’s all right. Tomorrow’s my day off.”
With what appeared to be a superhuman effort, he roused himself and studied her intently. She felt the force of his powerful concentration. He flipped on the tape recorder.
“Now,” he said gently, “I’m going to ask you some questions. Take all the time you need to answer them. Feel free to elaborate. Give me as much information as you can. I want to know everything. Every little detail you can remember, even if you think it might be silly or unimportant.”
She spent the next two hours telling and retelling her story until she couldn’t think straight. Detective Sawyer was a stickler for facts. He wanted dates, times, details. He asked her about her childhood, her parents, their relationship with Sherman Hartley, her relationship with Sherman and with Jason. He asked about her life with Terry.
She held nothing back. She was glad to tell her story to Detective Sawyer. It helped put it behind her and gave her a sense of release. She’d been lugging around a heavy burden of doubts and guilt and fears, the weight of which she was finally beginning to realize. And there was heartfelt relief, as well, because the detective believed every word she uttered.
She was grateful that his tone remained matter-of-fact. It helped put the world back in perspective. Not everyone was out to harm her. Only Sherman, and perhaps Jason, although it was still difficult to accept that they had actually wanted her dead.
Detective Sawyer’s calm voice droned on and on.
He’s a coffee freak, Erica decided, watching the empty cups pile up beside the tape recorder. Only his red-rimmed eyes and an occasional sigh revealed how moved he was by what she was saying.
It was one-thirty when he switched off the machine and said they were done “for now.”
Erica struggled to her feet as Doug entered the office. He, too, appeared exhausted.
“There’s an all-night coffee shop across the street,” he told her. “Let’s go there. We’ve a few things to talk about.”
“Can’t it wait?” she asked, covering a yawn.
“It’s important.”
“Oh, okay,” she agreed, too weary to argue.
Much as she liked Doug, she’d just finished off a gallon of coffee, and a coffee shop was the last place she wanted to go to. Besides, this had been the longest, most arduous day of her life. She was willing to save any further revelations for the bright sunshine, after a good night’s sleep. But if he felt he had to bare his soul...
Her pulse quickened. Perhaps he’d decided to abandon his criminal career, after all!
In retrospect, she decided she wouldn’t have missed their conversation in the coffee shop for anything! It proved to be the highlight of her day. Her week. Her year! All she had to do was listen, ask an occasional question, and grin like the lucky kid who’d bought only one raffle ticket and went home with the ten-speed bike. At one point, her relief had her shrieking with delight. The two off-duty cops sitting in a nearby booth threw them dirty looks, but their waitress never blinked an eye.
Doug’s manner grew easier with each revelation. “Erica, sweetie, I never wanted to keep anything from you, but I had no choice.”
“Speaking of which,” she said, suddenly remembering, “who was that woman I spoke to on the phone, the time I called you from Montauk? Was that your sister?”
He chuckled. “My partner.”
She looked at him. “Is she very pretty?”
“Her husband sure thinks so, but Roxy’s a bit too plump for my taste.”
She sank back, content.
Outside, on the dark and desolate street, he took her in his arms and kissed her. “Besides, you're the one I can't stop thinking about,” he said as he nuzzled his face against hers.
“Me too."
They strolled arm-in-arm across the street to Doug’s car. He kissed her again. “Happy birthday, darling.”
She grinned. “Thanks. I almost forgot what day it was.” In the car, she said, “I’m glad that kind detective offered to drive my car home for me.”
He took her hand. “It was the least they could do, after nearly letting you get killed. I tried telling them you needed police protection, but would they listen?”
She brushed her lips against his knuckles. “Yesterday, you weren’t exactly someone they could trust.”
They laughed, delighting in their shared knowledge.
The house was dark when they pulled into the driveway. Erica unlocked the front door and Doug followed her into the hall.
“I’ll say a quick good night and let you get to sleep. I know you’re exhausted.”
She giggled. “Don’t go. I’m so overtired, I could never fall asleep. Besides, with all that’s happened, I feel like I’m in a wonderful dream that I never want to end.”
She placed a possessive hand on his arm and led him into the family room. “You won’t want any more coffee. How about a drink? Some soda?”
“A drink would be in order,” he said, then quickly added, “though I don’t think you—”
“I wasn’t planning on having any.”
“Who’s there?” Aunt Constance called sleepily from the top of the stairs. “Is that you, Erica?”
She hurried into the hall. “It’s me, Aunt Constance.”
Slowly, Constance lumbered down the steps. “Erica! I was so afraid you’d gone off again, but you’re really here!” Tears streamed down her wrinkled face. She tripped and caught her balance.
“Wait, I’m coming up!"
She dashed up the stairs and steered her aunt back to the second-floor landing. “Everything’s okay,” she murmured again and again as her aunt gripped her fiercely. It was the first time she’d seen her cry since Uncle Leonard’s funeral. Erica hugged her tight. “We were both so silly, weren’t we?”
Constance nodded like an obedient child. Her sobs subsided, and she allowed Erica to walk her to her room.
“Put on a robe,” Erica told her aunt. “There’s someone I want you to meet.”
“Are you out of your head, Erica? It’s past two in the morning.” Constance sank onto the bed. “It’s been a crazy two days. I went straight to Cousin Molly’s.”
When Erica looked blank, her aunt explained. “Our cousin from New Jersey. You met her years ago. Anyway, I couldn’t stop thinking about you. I had no business running off like that, leaving you on your own. I tried calling here all day and got no answer. And you weren't answering your cell phone. I was so worried you’d gone off again. I took the train home this evening and tried you from the station, but still no answer. So, I went to the Hartleys’.”
“Yes, I know,” Erica said.
Constance seemed not to have heard. She sniffed. “Monica said I could stay there if I wanted, but Sherman seemed put out. Betty stopped by, too. She didn’t know where you were, either. Sherman thought you were probably out with Doug Remsen.”
“I was out with Doug just now.”
Constance sighed deeply. “Silly of me to get so upset. Betty was right when she said I worry for no good reason. She’s getting married very soon. To her old love, Ron Jennings.”
“Yes, I know,” Erica said again.
This time, her words registered. Constance stared at her. “How can you know? They’ve only just decided. She said they stopped by the house, but you weren’t here.”
She answered by squeezing her aunt’s hand. “Put on a robe and come downstairs. I’ll explain everything, I promise.” Impulsively, she kissed her aunt’s cheek. “It’s good to have you home.”
So that’s the way to handle her, Erica thought as she traipsed down the steps.
Doug met her in the hall and kissed her. “You were gone much too long,” he murmured in her ear.
“Sorry,” she said, not sorry at all. She liked being missed. “Come into the kitchen. I know there’s a bottle of Scotch someplace.”
She rummaged around in the cupboards until she found what she was looking for. She took the bottle and two glasses and led Doug back to the family room. They sat down, and she popped up again.
“Oops. I forgot the ice.”
“Relax. I’ll get some,” he said, and was away before she could stop him.
“Erica!” Aunt Constance appeared, clutching at the neck of her robe. “There’s a man in our kitchen. I hope it’s not who I think it is.”
Erica grinned as Doug came into the room, a bowl full of ice cubes in his hand. “Aunt Constance, I want you to meet Doug.”
Before Constance could open her mouth, he was embracing her warmly. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Aunt Constance.”
Female vanity vied with moral rectitude and lost. “Isn’t this your gangster friend?” she sputtered. “How could you, Erica? You know how I feel—”
“Sit down, Aunt Constance, and have a drink,” she ordered, practically pushing her aunt onto the couch. “The evening’s just begun.”
Dumbfounded, Constance sat and stared up at her niece.
It gets easier and easier, Erica thought. Her fatigue had all but disappeared, leaving her clear-sighted and full of vitality. All I have to do is out-manage her, and Aunt Constance becomes as docile as a lamb.
Erica placed an ice cube in each glass, which Doug then filled with a shot of Scotch.
“To Erica’s birthday,” he said, lifting his glass.
Aunt Constance barely hesitated, then did the same. “To Erica,” she seconded.
“Thank you.”
Erica pulled over one of the large chairs and sat facing her aunt.
Doug perched on the arm of her chair.
“First of all,” she said, “Doug’s last name is Vernon, not Remsen, Aunt Constance.”
Aunt Constance looked puzzled.
Erica went on. “What I’m trying to say is, Doug’s not a gangster.”
He smiled. “On the contrary. I was working undercover for a federal task force on organized crime.” His smile turned to a grimace. “I was, until tonight, when I blew my cover.” He shook his head. “My boss—my real boss—gave me hell. Fifteen months of hard work down the drain.”
Erica put her arm around him and kissed his cheek. “He did it to rescue me, Aunt Constance. From Sherman Hartley. Doug went to the police, but they didn’t believe him because he had no proof. So, he finally had to tell them who he really is, but by then, Detective Sawyer—”
“Police? Sherman?” Constance gawked at the two animated faces before her. “I don’t understand what you two are getting at. And I’m afraid I’ll like it even less when I find out.”
Erica sighed with exasperation. “Remember I told you Sunday morning that someone in Manordale was out to hurt me? Well, that someone turned out to be Sherman. He was about to kill me. He had me tied up and stuffed in his study closet when you stopped by.”
“Tonight?” Aunt Constance’s mouth fell open and remained so while Erica related her evening’s adventures.
“The police are holding Sherman and won’t let him out on bail. At least, not yet.” Erica’s eyes narrowed. “Unfortunately, Doug thinks Jason will be out tonight. That bastard.”
Aunt Constance threw her arms around Erica and squeezed her until she could hardly breathe. “My poor baby,” she crooned. “Did Sherman hurt you?”
“Just a few bruises,” she admitted. “They should heal in a few days.”
Doug looked at her with concern. “Isn’t it time for you to take another pill? The doctor said every four hours.”
“She said only if my head hurts, and I’m fine. Really.”
He and her aunt exchanged a brief but meaningful glance.
Aunt Constance cleared her throat. “Well, Erica, dear, perhaps you should—” she began, but Erica stopped her.
“You don’t like it when I interfere with your medication, do you?”
To her surprise, Aunt Constance gave a deep guffaw. A minute later, her face was grim. “How’s Monica? I hope to God she wasn’t involved in this business.”
“She wasn’t,” she told her. “Detective Sawyer said Monica nearly fainted when he explained what Sherman was planning to do to me. She was horrified to learn he’d killed Terry and stole from my trust fund to buy paintings. Her sister and brother-in-law came to pick her up. She’ll be staying with them for a while.”
“To think that Sherman wanted to kill you because of his stupid paintings.” Constance shook her head. “Betty and I trusted him so. Why, we’d go to him for advice on just about everything. And all that time, he was taking your money and planning...” Her voice broke, and she covered her face with her hands. “I’ve been wrong about everyone—you, Sherman, Betty.”
She got up to comfort her aunt. “Don’t be so hard on yourself, Aunt Constance. You meant well.” She smiled impishly, unable to resist. “But you have to learn to let people handle their own lives.”
Doug moved closer and put an arm around Erica.
Aunt Constance, her eyes blurry with tears, gazed into his handsome face and tried to smile. “I was even wrong about you, wasn’t I? And you only had Erica’s best interests at heart.”
“True,” he admitted, “but I had my work interests at heart, as well.” He grinned at Erica.
They sat down, and she slipped her arm around his waist. He fits so comfortably, she thought. So right.
Aunt Constance must have thought so, too. “You two—is there anything else I should know?” she demanded. “Erica, are you sure you haven’t left something out?”
She burst out laughing. “I knew a drink would revive you,” she teased, knowing full well she was dodging Aunt Constance’s question. “As a matter of fact, I have a surprise for you. I’m giving you this house. It’s yours, Aunt Constance. As soon as we can go to a lawyer and get the paperwork done.”
Her aunt stared at her in wonderment, eyes shining with tears. “Do you mean that, Erica? Really?”
“I do. And don’t worry. I’ll make sure you have enough money to fix it up and redecorate to your heart’s content.”
“I can hardly believe it!” Aunt Constance clutched her hands to her ample bosom. “I can hardly believe anything you’ve told me tonight!” She stopped when she noticed Erica’s look of concern. “What’s the matter? What are you keeping from me?”
“It’s just that I’m worried about your health. Aunt Betty said—”
“Pay no attention to your Aunt Betty.” Constance sniffed. “She just felt guilty about her love affair, and convinced herself I was too sick to live alone.”
“But the doctor—?”
“What about him? I see Dr. Harris twice a year. My heart’s as good as can be expected. Of course, he’d like me to lose some weight. And to watch my diet because I keep getting indigestion. He tried to send me to another specialist, but I refused to go.”
“Perhaps you’ll change your mind after we discuss it in the morning,” Erica said firmly.
Aunt Constance pursed her lips, but said nothing. “Anyway,” she said finally, “I have you. You’ll come and live with me, won’t you?”
“I’m afraid not, Aunt Constance,” Erica said, beaming with her secret.
“But where will you live?” her aunt wailed. “This is your house, Erica. You’re welcome to live here as long as you want. I don’t want you to feel—”
“Don’t worry about me. I’ll be living in the city. Isn’t there anyone who could come and share the house with you?”
“Cousin Molly from New Jersey,” was Constance's prompt reply. She leaned conspiratorially toward Erica, as though afraid someone might overhear them. “She never came to visit me here because she can’t abide Elizabeth. But she hates her little apartment. I just know she’d love living here.”
The crafty vixen! Erica chuckled. She had it all worked out.
Aunt Constance met Erica’s level gaze. “You will come and visit, won’t you, Erica?”
“Of course, we will,” Doug said.
“We?” Constance stared from one to the other.
Erica poked him. “For an undercover man, you sure can’t keep a secret.”
He grinned. “I can when I have to. Go on, tell Aunt Constance our news.”
“Doug and I are moving in together,” she announced, beaming with joy. “We're thinking sometime in the next few months.
“If not sooner,” he chimed in.
Aunt Constance gasped. “But, Erica, honey, don’t you want to give this more thought? I mean, it’s all so sudden. You and Doug hardly know each other, and you’ve been through so much.”
She placed a finger over her aunt’s lips. “Sssh,” she instructed. “Not another word. I’m more sure about this than I’ve been about anything in my life.”
Aunt Constance thought a bit, then hugged them both. “I suppose I can’t argue with that.”