Bullet in the Night (11 page)

The aide pushed me back to the reception area to wait for the doctor to check my x-rays.

Chris put down the People Magazine she was leafing through.

I tried to make small talk. “You said you’re in this area for your work? What do you do, Chris?”

She hesitated a moment before answering. “Investigator for an insurance company.”

“Sounds interesting.”

“Not really.”

“What kind of investigating?”

“Mostly confidential stuff.”

“I see.” Something about her seemed guarded. Was it my imagination? Before I could probe, the doctor sauntered in and interrupted us. “X-rays are fine. No ankle break or sign of concussion.”

I inhaled deeply.

“We’ll get you taped up and you can get out of here.” She scribbled a prescription and shot off rapid-fire directions about heat and ice. “The nurse will give you initial meds to get you started. You’ll need something for pain.”

As if on cue, a nurse scurried over and handed me two aluminum foil packets with capsules inside and a disposable cup filled with water. “You’re free to leave after you take these, if you can manage to walk on crutches.”

“No problem. I’ll call my husband to come get me. He should be home by now.”

Chris jumped up. “Don’t bother. I can drive you.”

I hesitated. “Thanks, but let me try Nick first.”

His voicemail came on. Annoyed, I ended the call. “Okay Chris, I’ll take you up on your offer.”

Outside, thick blackness covered the evening sky. I got the hang of the crutches fairly easily, and Chris guided me into her car. “Nothing like the first sweet breath of outside air after being in a hospital. It must be like the scent of heaven. And I insist that you’re an angel.”
I hope so, anyway, because I’m trusting you.

She laughed. “Hardly.”

“Where’s home for you, Chris?” I fumbled a bit but managed to strap on my seat belt.

“Ohio, Buckeye State.”

I mumbled a response, gave Chris directions, and leaned back against the headrest as exhaustion set in. My effort at conversation was over. I drifted into a light sleep. Whatever the doctor gave me for pain was working.

When the car stopped, my eyes opened, and my house came into view.

“I’m incredibly grateful for your help. I might still be crawling around out there somewhere. Tell me your last name again?”

Chris pulled out a hospital flyer entitled Blood Pressure and You. “I don’t have a card with me. I’ll write it on this. You may not remember tomorrow.” She noted her name and room number at the Abbey Resort. “I’ll be here about a week. Let me know how you make out.”

“Sure will.” I folded the sheet into quarters and stuffed it into my pocket, making a mental note to send a thank you and flowers.

Chris came around, opened my car door, and put her arm around my waist to steady me into the house. She left after I repeatedly assured her I’d be fine.

In the comfort of my kitchen, I hobbled to the fridge, stuck a handful of ice cubes in a plastic bag, and rolled a washcloth around it before flopping onto a chair. I draped the cloth across my ankle.

By ten fifteen my ankle had swelled like I’d pumped it with an air compressor. 
Lord, You know I don’t have time to be laid up.
 
What am I going to do?

Nick and the kids came back at ten thirty and found me on the chair in the living room. They fussed over me when they saw the crutch at my side. I reveled in their tender hugs and solicitous attention. Tara brought me a pillow. Jenny said not to worry. She could go to bed on her own.

“Sweetie, what a night.” Nick laid his hands gently on my taped ankle and prayed for a complete and rapid healing.

“Yes, heal me up quick, please, Lord,” I added when he finished. “And Lenora, too.”

I’ve witnessed enough of the healing power of prayer to believe God still heals, but His heavenly timetable and method wasn’t always the same as mine. And I knew sometimes healing was heaven-side.

When Nick and I were alone, I confided my fear during the run. “I was in a vulnerable position when I went down. Why didn’t the runner show up then?”

“The woman, you said her name was Chris, perhaps her sudden arrival scared off the person following you.”

“Or, I imagined everything. I have been under immense strain lately.”

Nick assisted me onto the bed and assured me nothing irregular had happened. If only that were true. I snuggled joyfully in his arms, grateful for pain pills but remained unable to throw off the fact that the night had clearly been a warning.

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

My pressing question as I rolled around in bed at seven the next morning was whether I could handle my client schedule at the office. My ankle pain had subsided, but I was nowhere near a hundred percent. I moved my foot, wiggled my toes, and decided the discomfort would be manageable. My brain hosted a light layer of fog from the pain pills but not enough to keep me from being functional.

I reached for my iPhone on the bedside table and opened to my calendar.

The sound of Nick washing up in our bathroom made me feel guilty. Poor man had to be tired. He’d managed to keep my ankle iced off and on during the night and brought me painkillers every four hours.

He emerged, clad in a towel. Moisture steamed into our bedroom with him.

“Oh no you don’t, Mrs. Trevor. Back to sleep with you. You need lots more rest.”

“Thanks, hon. I think I’ll be fine.”

“Thinking won’t cut it.”

“Nonsense. I intend to go to my office. Kirk’s due in. Don’t forget, I sit most of the day. If it’s too uncomfortable, I’ll cancel my afternoon appointments and come home.” I added that to pacify him.

Under protest, not the least bit disguised and mumbling all the while, Nick drove me to my office.

Ellen mouthed more words of concern as she rearranged chairs so I could keep my ankle elevated. I promised to take my meds every four hours to keep the pain and my caregivers at bay.

Providentially, my second client of the day cancelled. I had no doubt how to use this unexpected free time. “Ellen, bring me my file for T. Hartford.”

She hurried back and peered over my shoulder as I opened to the list of eleven possible numbers. “Can I help?” Ellen glowed. “I could come up with a good story to get information. We need to be sneaky to find out anything.”

This was clearly feeding Ellen’s inclination for detective work.

“No, but thanks, amateur sleuth. I can handle the calls, and I refuse to lie. You know I despise deceit.”

“If you don’t fudge a little, how can you find anything out?”

I closed the folder and held her eyes with mine. “I’ll start like this: ‘Hello, Mr. Hartford. This is Jennifer Trevor. I’m contacting University of Wisconsin Whitewater Counseling Program alumnae. Is it correct you attended the University?”

“And if he says yes?”

I smiled. “Haven’t got that far but you can be sure I’ll pray about what to say next. Now, it would be lovely to chat, but I’m sure you have work waiting at your desk.”

Ellen shuffled out, shoulders drooping, as I picked up the phone.

My first calls to T. Hartfords on the list had disappointing responses. “Sorry wrong number.” and “No one here by that name.” Two phones were no longer in service.

On the sixth call, to Woodstock, IL, a leathery-voiced, sweet older man said in response to my questions, “Sure, me and my son, T. Hartford. Named after me. We both attended University of Wisconsin. Fine school it used to be; not sure about it anymore.” He referred me to his son, T. Hartford Jr., in Virginia. He would have continued talking, but I hurried him off the line.

When I called the son’s number in Norfolk, a male voice answered. “Thomas Hartford here.”

A chill crept up my spine. I squeezed the phone. “Hello. I’m researching what graduate students from the University of Wisconsin are doing after leaving the University counseling program.”

“I didn’t graduate.” His tone was icy and abrupt.

Bingo. My heart skipped. Before he could hang up I hurriedly responded, “No problem. That’s not a criteria.”

“Strange. Nobody cared about me when I was there. Why now?”

I prayed for the Holy Spirit’s guidance and heard myself opting for transparency. “My name is Dr. Jennifer Trevor.” I gave him Lenora’s name and described our relationship. “You were her student?”

Hartford sucked in air before answering, frosty and sarcastic. “In another world.”

“I understand you had a professional conflict with Lenora. I’d appreciate hearing the details from your perspective.” I tried to sound kind but professional, praying he’d talk.

“Whatever for? What is this about?”

“I’m investigating Lenora—”

“I’m not discussing Lenora with you or anyone. If you’re digging through University records for a class action lawsuit against the woman, I’m not interested.”

Great. How to get past his defenses? “It’s nothing of the sort.”

Giving him the complete status on Lenora, straight and simple, remained my only chance. “Mr. Hartford, Lenora’s been shot. She’s in critical condition even as we speak.”

Dead silence.

“Are you still there?”

“That’s an unfortunate circumstance, but it has nothing to do with me.”

“I understand you and another student had grievances against Lenora.”

“Many years ago. I prefer to forget the incident and suggest you do the same.” Thomas Hartford spoke with authority. A shame I couldn’t respect his wishes.

“You saw her recently… I’d like to talk with you in person about that visit. We’re trying to reconstruct the time period before she was shot.”

“Why should I consent to such a thing?”

“It’s in your best interest. I don’t believe the police know about your association. I expect you’d prefer me in your living room rather than them. Your cooperation will be a sign you have nothing to hide.”

Silence again. Was he evaluating my words like a poker player?

“What did you have in mind?”

“Thirty to forty-five minutes, max. I’ll be in Virginia the end of the week and would like to come by your home. Is seven thirty Thursday night convenient?”

“I can’t believe I’m agreeing to this, but I will see you. Make it eight. We’re having a house party. I can slip away, briefly.” He emphasized the last word before hanging up.

I jotted the time on my calendar. This trip to Virginia with Nick could fit into my schedule. I would need for Ellen to rearrange a few appointments.

The rest of the day flew by. By five I was exhausted, nowhere near done with my paperwork and still had another appointment.

At five thirty my cell phone vibrated. “Where are you? I thought you were leaving early.” Nick’s voice sounded testy.

“Didn’t you get my voice mail? Kirk’s coming in for a counseling session. I’ll be home at seven.” To soften his irritation I added, “Honey, good news. Want to guess? It’s your turn.”

“No way, not with the world’s most unpredictable woman.”

I chuckled. “I’m accepting your invitation to travel to Virginia Beach with you for the American Justice Center Legal Conference.”

“That’s great.” Nick was obviously pleased. My man loved having me travel with him whenever I could. “What made you change your mind?” Suddenly he sounded wary. “Last week you said you had too much going on.”

“Well, I do have an additional reason. While you’re at the conference, I’ve arranged a meeting with Lenora’s former student, Thomas Hartford.”

“Isn’t that the man whose name was in her appointment book?”

“Yes. I’ll drive to Norfolk to question him. It’s only thirty minutes from Virginia Beach.”

“Why do you need to meet with him? Talk to him on the phone.”

“It’s a long shot but worth checking. I want to watch his reaction in person to assess him as a suspect. He had a beef against Lenora—festering wounds and resentment from an old grudge. He could have hired the man who shot Lenora or done it himself.”

“If that’s true, you could be in danger.”

“You don’t understand psychology. His vendetta against her was for a particular situation. I doubt he’s a serial shooter. Don’t worry. Besides, lots of other people will be around. He’ll have a party going on while I’m there.”

Nick scoffed. “Oh, that’s very reassuring. You’re a married woman and the mother of three children who need you. Will you please remember that?”

I sighed. When Nick got like this—hungry, tired and annoyed that I wasn’t home for dinner—there was no talking to him. I understood, but still didn’t like his response.

“I’m sure this visit is just routine to rule Lenora’s former student out.”

For his sake and mine, I hoped Hartford was innocent.

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

Kirk was ten minutes late for his appointment. He’d been late for his meeting with Lenora, too, the day she was shot. A prickle raced down my spine. I’d just counseled a woman who’d been raped in her office. Not conducive to settling my nerves.

I filled a cup with water to rescue the ivy plant on my bookshelf and poured liquid life over its suckling roots.

The distressed client who’d just left still suffered panic attacks two years after the tragedy. Once a violation occurred, it was difficult but not impossible for a woman to ever feel safe again. I used every which way I could to reassure her she could move on with her life and ended with a prayer that seemed to soothe her. 
Lord, help her; she needs inner healing.

I settled into my chair, resting my elbows on the desk, to write up her progress notes. My sympathy surged out to women who have experienced physical violation. Some never wanted to leave their house afterwards. Although staying home alone didn’t make them feel secure either. It was as if there were nowhere safe.

My recent feeling of panic during my run was still fresh. The lump at my temple had flattened, leaving a black and blue effect as if I’d been stamped with an inkpad. As long as I wore flat shoes, I could walk without limping, though my ankle remained slightly swollen and tender.

I now identified fully with the panic feelings clients described. I tried to verbalize what came over me—smothering fear that what happened to Lenora could happen to me. I shook my head.
Mustn’t dwell on that.