Angels in Disguise (14 page)

"Good choice,” she said, writing out his order. “Be back shortly."

Hawkman watched her disappear to the back. Careful not to smudge her prints, he poured the Pepsi into the glass and quickly slipped the can into a plastic bag then zipped it into the duffle.

Monday morning, Hawkman awoke in an empty bed. He jumped up, threw on a pair of jeans and a tee shirt, then hurried to the kitchen where he found Jennifer sitting at the kitchen bar and gazing at the phone.

"Has the doctor already called?"

"No. I'm waiting for it to ring."

He put his hands on her shoulders. “Honey, it could be late this afternoon before he calls. You can't sit here and stare at that thing all day."

Patting his hand, she stood. “You're right. I'll fix breakfast. It will help keep my mind off things."

"Can I help?"

"Why don't you set the table."

After they ate, Hawkman noticed she'd become very quiet. “What's wrong?"

She sighed. “I guess I'm a bit anxious."

Early afternoon, Hawkman sat reading the paper in the living room, and Jennifer sat at her computer. When the phone rang, she jumped up, almost knocking over her chair in her haste to answer.

"Hello."

Hawkman placed the paper aside as he listened.

"And what do you suspect?"

When Hawkman saw her grab the cabinet with her other hand and the color of her cheeks turn white, he bounded to her side. She placed the receiver on the cradle and looked up at him with tears in her eyes.

"There's a possibility I have cancer."

"Oh my God,” he said, taking her in his arms as the tears rolled down his cheeks.

Hawkman held Jennifer in his arms for several minutes, his heart pounding so hard, he wondered if she could feel it. Finally, he tilted her tear stained face toward him. “Honey, which doctor called and what exactly did he say."

She reached toward the tissue box on the counter top. After dabbing his cheeks, she wiped away her own tears and took a deep breath. “The urologist. He said he suspected lymphoma cancer and wants to talk to me. But they'd have to take a needle biopsy before they know for sure."

"What's lymphoma?"

"I don't know. But the word cancer is scary enough. Regardless of the kind."

"The big ‘C’ is definitely hard to swallow. When are they going to do the biopsy?"

"As soon as they can set it up. They'll let me know. It will be done using a CAT scan. Then I assume, once they find out for sure, they'll direct me to an oncologist."

Hawkman guided her toward the living room. “I think we both need to sit down. This is earth shaking news and I need to absorb it a little better."

As they nestled on the couch, Jennifer shoved loose strands of hair behind her ears. “My head is spinning. I can't quite comprehend what I've heard. How am I going to break the news to Sam?” Tears welled in her eyes again.

Hawkman pulled her close and gently kissed the top of her head. “We'll wait until we have all the facts before we tell him or anyone."

The next few days passed in a blur for Hawkman and Jennifer. He hated to leave her side, but she insisted he concentrate on the Carlotta case. She seemed to accept the prognosis, much better than he. She'd tried to soften the blow by explaining they wouldn't have any true answers until after the biopsy.

Hawkman had a difficult time trying to focus on Carlotta's disappearance, since Jennifer occupied his every waking moment. The thought of losing the love of his life wrenched at his heart. How could he live without her? Trying to push the morbid thoughts from his mind, he researched lymphoma cancer on the internet and read every article he could find on the subject. The statistics looked better than normal and it amazed him how much progress had been made in the treatment of cancer and the resulting increase in survival rate. Even though it gave him hope, he still couldn't accept the fact that his Jennifer had this horrible disease.

The time approached for the biopsy and Hawkman paced the hospital waiting room and corridor waiting for Jennifer. He chewed at least two toothpicks to mush before they informed him she could leave. He went to the small recovery room and stood outside the door while she dressed. When she greeted him, he held onto her arm, guided her through the main building and into the parking lot where they moseyed toward the SUV.

"How'd it go?” Hawkman asked.

She sighed. “Not too pleasant. It surprised me when he had me turn over onto my stomach and went through my back with a long needle. The nurse told me they'd added a tranquilizer to the IV. Not sure I felt it, but it's bound to have helped or I'd have jumped off the table, screaming."

He gave her a squeeze. “You're giving me the willies."

"Sorry, just telling you what happened. You've been through lots worse stuff."

"Maybe, but that was me, not you."

She gave him a faint smile. “You're sweet, you know."

"I love you, too.” He kissed her tenderly, then opened the passenger side door and helped her into the vehicle. “Take it easy. I promise I'll go slow over the speed bumps."

On their way home, he could feel she'd been traumatized by the ordeal, and tried to keep his questions to a minimum. “Did they give you any idea about when you'd hear the results?"

"It could be several days. I think they have to send it out to another lab."

"This waiting game is getting to me."

"Honey, think about it. It's been less than a month since we figured out something strange was going on inside my body. Look how fast they've put me through all these tests. The doctors are moving very quickly trying to solve the problem. I can't complain."

"You're much more patient than I am. I wanted it all done yesterday. In my eyes you're the only person I want the doctors to treat."

She put her hand on his arm. “I know. Things have to be done in order, and it takes time for results."

He felt his jaw working as he ground his teeth.

"For the next few days, I want you to work on Carlotta's case. Get your mind off me."

"You're asking for a big miracle."

"Well, at least try. It won't help to sit around and brood. The answers won't come any sooner. I'm going to work real hard on concentrating on my writing. It's not going to be easy for either of us. But we have to try or lose our minds. We have to keep a positive attitude."

The next morning, Jennifer pushed Hawkman out the front door. “Take those fingerprints to Detective Williams. Who knows what they might reveal."

She watched her husband head for the garage, the print kit tucked under his arm and his shoulders slumped. A lump formed in her throat as she realized how much they loved and needed each other. There were times over the years when it seemed his work took priority over her needs, and she'd wondered where she stood on his list. Now she knew. How could she have ever doubted his devotion. Men are different, she thought, they don't show their feely, touchy emotions like women. It makes them special, so there's a balance maintained within the family.

She closed the door as he drove out of the driveway. Walking into the dining room, she gazed out the window as his 4X4 passed over the bridge crossing the Klamath River. “I love you, Hawkman, and I'm going to be all right,” she said aloud. Saying a silent prayer, she took a deep breath and sat down at her computer.

As the machine booted up, she stared out the window across the lake and thought about all the beauty she could see from her own little domain. Memories rushed through her mind of all the good times she'd experienced with Hawkman and Sam. Tears filled her eyes and washed down her cheeks. She quickly wiped them away. “Get a grip on yourself. You've got to be strong.” Clicking on the folder of her latest book, she focused on the written material.

After Hawkman contacted Detective Williams to make sure he'd be in the office, he left the house, feeling a large knot in the pit of his stomach. He'd never experienced the dark emotional cloud hovering around him and didn't know for sure if he knew how to cope. Several miles down the road, before driving out of the forested area, he pulled to the side and parked. He jumped out of the 4X4 and climbed up the embankment into a cluster of trees. Walking faster and deeper into the forest, he pulled his gun from his shoulder holster and started firing at the limbs. Tears flowed down his cheeks until he emptied the casing. Depleted, and sobbing, he slumped down on an old fallen redwood trunk. His gun hanging in his limp hand, he wiped his face with the back of his sleeve and stared into space. He sat there for over an hour before he sucked in a deep breath and rose. Shoving his weapon into the holster, he strolled back to his vehicle and continued his journey toward Medford.

When he reached the detective's office, Williams frowned. “Where you been?"

"Did we set a time?"

"No, but you look like you've been in a fight or dragged through the dirt."

Hawkman ran a hand across his face and felt where grit had accumulated on his forehead, cheeks and chin. “Uh, excuse me. I'll be right back.” Making a quick trip to the bathroom, he looked at his reflection in the mirror and grimaced. He placed his hat on the end of the counter, removed his eye-patch, filled his hands with cold water several times and splashed it onto his face. Ripping out a couple a paper towel from the holder, he wiped off the drips, replaced his eye-patch and plopped his hat onto his head, then returned to Williams’ office with a sheepish grin on his lips. “Did a little target practice before leaving home. Turned out dustier than I thought."

Williams chuckled. “I see.” He leaned back in his chair. “So what've you got?"

Placing the fingerprint kit on the desk, along with the paper sack holding the empty can from the restaurant, Hawkman sat down. “I acquired the prints of Delia and Tiffany Ryan, plus Tulip Withers. Your guys got Paul's."

The detective raised a brow. “These are your suspects?"

Hawkman nodded. “They all have a reason for getting rid of Carlotta, except for the little girl, Tiffany. But I thought it a good idea to get her prints for elimination purposes."

"Interesting. Are you going to let me in on how you've come to this conclusion?"

"Soon. I have a few more things to investigate. Once I have some definite answers, then you'll know.” He pointed toward the fingerprint kit. “How long will it take to compare these to those on the suitcase?"

Williams tapped the top of the box. “Not long. I'll get the guys on it first thing Monday morning. They should have an answer by the afternoon."

Hawkman stood. “Sounds good. I'll call you."

The detective eyed him. “What's eatin’ you?"

"Nothing. Why?"

"You aren't yourself. Everything okay at home?"

"All's fine. I'll talk to you Monday afternoon.” Hawkman hurried from the office and made his way to the parking lot. Climbing into the 4X4, he glanced into the rearview mirror. His features looked the same. Nothing appeared written on his forehead. How the hell did Williams detect things weren't right?

He slammed his hand on the steering wheel. The detective took a wild guess and it hit home, that's all, so get a hold of yourself and shape up. You have a case to solve and a wife to look after. Who says you can't do both?

Hawkman jerked the wheel and headed for his office. He detoured down Main street so he could stop at the Chocolate Factory and pick up Jennifer's favorite box of dark chews and nuts. Jumping back into the 4X4, he noticed the small shop across the street tucked between a couple of other businesses. He read the sign, ‘Wither's Meats'. Even though he'd picked up steaks there before, as they had a good reputation for their prime cuts, he hadn't given the place much thought. But it piqued his curiosity now, since he'd learned the owner was Tulip's father. He pushed the box of chocolates out of the sun, slipped out of the vehicle, and crossed the street.

A bell jingled above his head as he pushed open the door. The butcher, dressed all in white with a soiled apron around his middle, appeared behind the glass display case. “Yes sir, what can I do for you today?"

Hawkman studied the different portions of beef and pork, then pointed at the filet mignons. “Those look excellent. Think I'll take a couple."

"Good choice,” the man said, sliding the door open. He wrapped the two in butcher paper and placed them on the counter. “Will there be anything else?"

"No thanks. Are you the owner?"

"Yes."

"I met your daughter, Tulip."

The man's smile turned into a scowl. “That woman won't help me here. Even though I trained her well as she grew up. After her mother died, I really needed her help, but she chose to work in that flea-bitten joint down the street. Said she had no stomach for cutting up cows and pigs.” He grumbled as he handed Hawkman his change.

"I'm sure it's hard finding good help."

"Yeah, all the big grocery stores take over the butchers because they can give them great perks. I can't offer more than a good wage."

"Have a good day.” Giving a wave, Hawkman left the store and drove to his office. He stashed the meat and chocolates into the small refrigerator Jennifer insisted he'd find useful when they furnished the office. She proved right as he'd used it on many occasions. He sat at his desk, opened Carlotta's file and studied the notes. Leaning back, he tapped his pencil on his chin. Interesting, he thought, there are several unanswered questions he needed to ask his suspects. But he decided to wait until next week after Williams compared the prints. In addition, he didn't want to interrupt any time Tiffany had with her dad or grandmother. The child didn't need to hear questions that pointed to the murder of her mother.

Paul and Delia didn't know they'd discovered the suitcase, and he wondered if the surprise factor would help in the investigation. Their expressions and body language would show him a lot. He also needed to find out why Paul's story on how Tiffany got to Delia's on the day of Carlotta's disappearance differed from his daughter's and mom's. The note proved Carlotta did not take Tiffany to her grandmother's. Did Paul truly misunderstand, or was he hiding something? Hawkman felt he might've made a mistake in telling Delia how Paul's story varied. A mother might cover for her son, regardless of the circumstances. He'll have to wait and hear Paul's explanation before making any judgment. It ran through his mind these two could be conspirators in the disappearance of Carlotta. If it turned out to be true, Tiffany might end up in a foster home. The thought sent a shiver down his spine.