Death in Daytime (14 page)

And who the hell tried to kill me?

I sat up straight. Why hadn't I been wondering that all night? Somebody had conked me on the head, stuck me in my car and tried to gas me. (I know, it wasn't gas; it was carbon monoxide.)

The realization that someone tried to kill me was followed closely by another. I had scared someone into action. One of the people I spoke to was the killer, and now they had tried to kill me and were trying to make it seem as if I was the killer.

Paul walked in at that moment and I said, "I'm being framed."

"I know that," he said. "I know you didn't try to kill yourself."

"No," I said, as he took my hand, "I mean from the beginning. I was being framed for Marcy's murder."

I explained my thoughts to him and he listened intently before offering an opinion.

"Your logic is not completely sound," he said.

"Why not?"

"First, it's not necessarily someone who you've spoken to over the past few days," he said. "It could be someone they've spoken to."

"I see. The word could've simply gotten around that I was asking questions."

"Yes."

"What else?"

"Well, second, you're certainly right that you're being framed, but the frame doesn't have to have been in place from the beginning," he said. "It could have been added later."

"I get it," I said, putting the brakes on my enthusiasm. Once that was done, though, I still had my fear.

"They could have decided to frame me because I found the body. . . ."

"And because you fit."

Detectives Jakes and Davis walked in at that point, Jakes with a big smile on his face.

"Alex," he said, "you're looking much better."

"I feel better," I said. "Ready to go home."

"Have you talked to a doctor yet?" Paul asked.

"No, but--"

"I think you should do that before we leave, don't you?"

"Makes sense to me," Jakes said to Paul. "We'd be very happy to keep Alex company while you go and find her doctor, Mr. Silas."

"Now look--"

"It's okay, Paul," I said. "Go on. I'll talk with the detectives."

He was reluctant to leave me with Jakes--and Davis--but finally went in search of the doctor.

"Can you remember what happened yesterday?"

Jakes asked.

"Some of it."

I told them everything I could remember, and then they started asking more questions.

"Did you see anyone?"

"No," I said then. "Not clearly. I saw . . . a shape."

"Man or woman?"

"A . . . large shape," I said. "And I got the impression of . . . strength, when I was lifted."

"So it was probably a man," Davis said.

"Or a very strong woman," Jakes said.

"Was there anything in the newspaper this morning?" I asked. Jakes and Davis exchanged a look.

"What?"

"It won't make you happy."

"Tell me."

"Mmm, something along the lines of 'Soap Opera Diva in Probable Suicide Attempt,' " Jakes said. I hesitated a moment, letting it sink in, then said,

"Diva? They said diva?"

"Unfair," Davis said.

"Yes," Jakes agreed, "very unfair. I don't find anything divalike about you, Alex."

"Thank you!" I looked at him earnestly. "I hate that word. Why can't I just be referred to as an actress? They actually called me a diva? Unbelievable!"

I was harping on the word "diva," but I was really pissed about the suicide part.

"Alex," Jakes said, "I want to help you."

"Why? Don't you still consider me a suspect?"

"Well, yes . . ."

"Even after what happened?"

"I'm a policeman, Alex," he said. "I have to suspect everyone. What happened last night, there's still a small possibility it was a suicide attempt--or set up to look like one. Or maybe you want it to look like someone tried to make it seem like you were trying to commit suicide--"

"Wait, wait, wait," I said, holding up my hands and then grabbing my head.

"What?"

I looked past him at Davis. "Do you understand what he's saying?"

"All he's trying to say is--"

"I can explain myself, Detective Davis," Jakes said.

"Not doing such a good job of it so far, Jakes," I goaded.

We glared at each other for a few moments and I was really proud of myself that I didn't look away. Then Paul entered with a man in white.

"I'm Dr. Glenn," he said. "Am I interrupting something?"

"An interrogation, Doctor," Jakes said. "We're just trying--"

"I can't allow you to do that until I've examined her," the doctor said. "I want you and your partner out of here."

"Doctor--"

"Now!"

Jakes firmed his jaw; then Davis put his hand on his partner's arm.

"We'll be in the visitor's lounge," Jakes said, and the two of them turned and left.

The doctor looked at Paul and asked, "Was that good enough?"

"Excellent, Doctor," Paul said. "I couldn't have asked for more."

"You two cooked that up just to get rid of them?" I asked.

"Mr. Silas did the cooking," the doctor said. "I simply agreed to go along, but now . . . Mr. Silas, I'm afraid you have to leave, as well."

"What?"

"I really do need to examine Ms. Peterson before I can discharge her."

"Oh," Paul said, "well then . . . I guess I'll wait outside."

The doctor nodded. Paul smiled at me reassuringly and left. Dr. Glenn looked to be in his forties, with a silly pointed goatee that looked even sillier because there was no mustache.

"Dr. Glenn," I said, as he prepared to check me over, "were you the one who examined me when I came in last night?"

"Yes."

"What was my condition?"

"You exhibited all the symptoms of carbon monoxide poisoning," he said, while checking my eyes with a small flashlight. "You complained of headache and dizziness. You were disoriented, short of breath, confused. You were also hallucinating."

"Hallucinating?"

"You claimed someone tried to kill you."

I slapped his hand away from my face.

"Someone
did
try to kill me."

"That's not for me to decide," he said. "I simply treated you for carbon monoxide poisoning. You also vomited and complained of chest pains."

"What about the bump on my head?"

"That was minor. You probably hit your head when your boyfriend pulled you out of the car, or carried you out of the garage."

"Minor? Somebody knocked me unconscious."

"I don't think so."

"I do."

He smiled a very professional smile.

"As I said, you were hallucinating."

"Are you saying that the blow to the back of my head that gave me this bump did not knock me out?"

Now he looked annoyed. He put his hands to the back of my head, found the lump and probed.

"I suppose. . . ."

"You suppose? Didn't you take it into account last night? This kind of bump could not have come from just accidentally bumping my head. It's more consistent with a blow from a blunt instrument."

"Well," he admitted, rather sheepishly, "I didn't really see this last night. . . ."

"What?" I couldn't believe what I was hearing.

"You didn't find the bump on my head."

"You were brought in as a probable suicide attempt," he explained. "You exhibited all the symptoms. There was no reason to--"

"Wait a minute, wait a minute," I said, holding my hands out in front of me. "Get away from me."

"What?"

"Back away from me!" I shouted. "Paul! Paul!" I was hoping he was right outside.

He came running in, a look of concern on his face.

"What's wrong?"

"Get this quack away from me," I said, "and get me my clothes. I'm getting out of here!"

"What did you do to her?" Paul asked.

The doctor waved his arms helplessly.

"I--I didn't do anything--"

"He sure didn't," I said, getting out of bed. "That looks like it might be a closet, Paul. Check it for me, will you?"

"Sure." He started for the closet.

"But first get him out of here," I said.

"I have to examine--"

"Get . . . him . . . out!"

Paul approached the doctor.

"You better leave."

The doctor looked aggrieved.

"All right," he said. "I--I'll have someone else come in and examine her."

"Fine," Paul said. "Just leave." He left.

Paul went to the closet and came back with my clothes."

"Close the door," I told him.

"I'm not sure I like this new bossy you, Alex," he said, but he did what I told him.

At the door he asked, "You want to tell me why I kicked the doctor out of your hospital room?"

"He's the one who examined me when I came in last night," I said, turning my back so I could pull on my pants and sweater. "He didn't find the bump on the back of my head."

"So that means--"

"They admitted me as a probable suicide. That's why it's in the papers."

"Oh, you saw that?"

"No, but Jakes told me about it. Are my shoes in there?"

He went over, took a look, picked them up from the floor and brought them to me. I sat on the bed and slipped my thongs on.

"So what are you going to do?" he asked.

"Get the hell out of here."

I stood up, wavered and would have fallen if he hadn't grabbed me.

"Are you all right?"

"Dizziness," I said. "One of the symptoms." I didn't mention confusion and hallucinations. "I'm fine. Let's get out of here."

"Jakes and his partner are going to be looking for you," he said.

"Let them come and find me," I said. "I want out of here, Paul. Are you going to help me?"

"We can go to the front desk and sign you out--"

"To hell with signing out," I said. "I just want to go. I don't want to see cops, and I don't want to see the press, who probably camped out front."

"I can't talk you out of this?"

"Why would you want to?"

"Alex--"

"Paul, you've been wanting to help me for a long time," I said. "Now I'm asking."

He stared at me for a few moments, then said,

"Okay, then. Let's get out of here."

Paul got me down the hall, away from the lounge, and out a back exit to his car. We managed to avoid all cops, doctors, nurses and press. We did run into an orderly or two, but they had no reason to stop us. They'd also probably remember us, and tell Detective Jakes--when asked.

In the front seat of Paul's car I released the breath I'd been holding since we'd left the room. I kept expecting to hear Jakes shouting at us to halt, or come back.

"You all right?" Paul asked.

"Not yet," I said, leaning back against the headrest, "but it would help to get far away from here."

"To where?"

"I have to hug Sarah."

"Then home it is."

"Wait. The paparazzi. I can't go home. But I really need to."

Paul pulled out his cell and called my house.

"Charlotte, take Sarah and get in the car. Try not to run over anyone. . . . I know. Meet us at the restaurant down the street . . . IHOP. Okay . . . Ten minutes. Oh, and bring Alex a change of clothes . . . sweats?" He looked at me and I nodded. "Yeah, sweats will be fine. See you in a few." He pressed END.

I looked at Paul and my eyes started to well up.

"Thank you. You're really good to have around--did you know that?"

He touched my face and said simply, "You're welcome."

We pulled up to the restaurant and my mom and daughter were already there. Sarah jumped up out of her seat and into my arms.

"Momma, Momma where's your booboo?"

My mom chimed in with, "Alex, how are you? Let me see you." They both were talking at the same time. We moved back into the restaurant where I hugged and kissed them.

"I'm really okay, you guys! Just a little groggy."

"You need to be in bed, Alex!" my mom said. "How could the hospital let you out?"

I took her aside.

"Mom, you're probably right. But I can't go home and they were making me crazy at the hospital. I have something I have to do."

"But . . . Alex . . . ," she interjected.

"Mom . . . please. Take care of Sarah. I'll call you and keep you updated."

After spending some time assuring them I was fine, I kissed Sarah a million times and watched them go out the door and get in the car. Breathing a heavy sigh, I looked at Paul. "What the hell is going on, Paul? When do I get my life back?"

"Why don't you go freshen up in the ladies' room and we'll talk about it?"

I grabbed the sweats my mom had brought and made a beeline for the bathroom.

"Be right back."

I needed a lot of freshening up, so by the time I got back to the table there was already a cheese omelet, toast and a hot pot of coffee waiting for me. In spite of the fact that someone had tried to kill me, and my throat still felt a little raw, I was starving.

"They admitted me to that hospital," I said, while we ate, "as a suicide. No one even did a full examination of me or they would have found the bump on my head. No wonder Jakes and Davis were looking at me funny. If it had been on my chart it would have been a different story. And I certainly wouldn't be in the papers today." I scanned the room.

"What are you looking for?" he asked.

"I want to see if anybody has today's paper."

"Let's worry about that later, Alex," he said.

"Running out of the hospital, avoiding Jakes and his partner is not going to convince them that what you're saying is true."

"You're right," I said, "but finding the son of a bitch who hit me is."

"And how do we find him?" he asked. "And was it a he?"

"I was disoriented," I said, "but I get the distinct impression it was a he." It would have taken a pretty strong woman to lift me and put me behind the wheel, and I haven't talked to any women that big and strong."

"And men?"

"I've talked to a lot of men, and they all could've done it."

"Okay," he said, "so you and I have to go back over the men you talked to. Tell me what you said to them, what they said to you and what their attitude was."