Sintown Chronicles II: Through Bedroom Windows (82 page)

“Can I go see Papa Sam in the hospital?"

“No, honey. I don't know why, but they don't allow children in hospitals."

“But you can go see him, can't you mommy?"

Shelly nodded. “Yes, baby. I'm going back to the hospital in just a few minutes."

“Who's going to look after me?"

“Well, there's a nice young lady who will be here in a few minutes. She's going to take you to breakfast and then out on the beach. Later today, Mrs. Borders is coming. She'll take you back to Dot. You can stay with the twins for a few days until Papa Sam is all better. We'll come back to the beach later when Papa Sam is well. I promise."

“Mommy."

“Yes, baby."

“I need to potty."

Shelly laughed as Annie slid off the bed and headed for the bathroom. She rolled on her back and stared at the ceiling. I'm in this thing up to my eyeballs. Why did they have to ask about Annie's father? Her mind reeled as she tried to think ahead, but all that would come was the memory of irreversible bad choices already made.

“Mommy?” Annie said as she placed the stuffed animal on the bed. “Will the hospital let Lucky stay with Papa Sam ‘till he gets all better?"

Shelly reached for the hot water faucet and increased the temperature of the pulsating shower. The last time I was in this shower, Sam was in my arms. She fought back the tears. I needed a good night's sleep, but it's hard to believe I slept this late. I need to hurry.

She dressed quickly and rushed to the hotel dining room where the staff treated her like royalty. Not certain when another opportunity to eat might present itself, she ordered pancakes and forced herself to consume them.

“Good morning, Mrs. Pond. Did you get any sleep last night?"

Shelly looked into the concerned eyes of the hotel manager. “Yes, thank you. I passed out the moment my head hit the pillow."

“How is Mr. Pond?"

“When I left last night, he was still in a coma, but they said his vital signs are improving."

“That's good news. Did Annie get home safely?"

Because the young man remembered Annie's name, Shelly felt a wave of tenderness. “Yes. Our neighbors arrived yesterday about one o'clock and by two they were on their way back home. I talked with Annie on the telephone last night. They arrived safely. The Borders are good people. Annie is in good hands. Thank you for asking."

“Is there anything the hotel can do?"

“You're very kind. I appreciate it."

Coming back to the hotel last night, Shelly made several wrong turns, but in daylight, she managed to find the Grand Strand Hospital without difficulty. The hospital looked smaller, friendlier than before and the maze of hallways seemed less menacing.

Sam was still in a coma. She sat beside him and held his hand. During the night, someone changed the dressing on his chest. Last night it was bloody. The top of his head was swathed in bandages. Shelly tried to visualize a bald Sam and wondered how long it would take for his mop of black hair to grow back. Judging from the heavy stubble on his face, she thought it would not take long. Her eyes locked on a smooth patch of skin on his left cheek, the size of a dime, completely surrounded by facial hair. She touched it gently, wondering why she had not previously noticed it.

She scrupulously honored the five minute per hour visiting rule and spent the intervals pacing in the waiting room, flipping through old magazine copies, staring out the windows and drinking cup after cup of coffee, graciously offered by the nurses who otherwise ignored her.

When she ended the one o'clock visit, Shelly found a man waiting for her.

He nodded and asked, “Have you had lunch, Mrs. Pond?"

“No,” she replied, “but I'm not hungry."

“You need to eat something,” he said. “Perhaps a bowl of soup. Institutional food is notoriously bad, but the Grand Strand screwed up. The food here is delicious. How about a bowl of soup?"

Shelly grinned as recognition dawned. “You're the surgeon who operated on my husband."

He nodded. “Blake Cole, ma'am."

“I didn't recognize you in a suit."

“How about that bowl of soup?"

“I have no idea where the cafeteria is."

He smiled. “Follow me. Doctors have a shortcut."

They rode the elevator in silence, each watching the lighted numbers above the door slowly moving towards the glassed circle labeled B.

“The cafeteria is in the basement?” she asked to break the silence.

He nodded.

“Dr. Cole, the nurses won't tell me anything. How is Sam?"

The heavy door rolled open and Dr. Cole waited for Shelly to step into the hallway. He motioned to his right and, as they moved towards the double doors, he replied. “That's why I wanted to have lunch with you. Basically, Sam is doing better than I expected. He's a strong man with a will to live. It's true, he's still in a coma, but that is not unusual. It may be a long time—months—before we know much more."

Shelly honored the Doctor's obvious hesitancy to say more as they passed through the cafeteria line, but as soon as they were seated, she asked, “Will he be permanently paralyzed?"

“I hoped that by this time we would begin to see some signs of basic reflexes, but that has not happened. It's a waiting game, now, Mrs. Pond."

“I don't know what to do, Dr. Cole. I can't afford to live indefinitely in the hotel, but I don't want to go home and leave Sam here."

“I understand. I noticed on Sam's chart that you are from Charlotte."

“A little town just outside Charlotte,” Shelly corrected.

“Charlotte Memorial is a fine hospital, Mrs. Pond. I did my residency there."

“Are you suggesting that we move Sam?"

“It doesn't take long by helicopter."

“When can we do it?"

“Sam's vital signs are good. The trip will not hurt him in any way. We could transport him to Charlotte as early as this afternoon. Would you like for me to make the arrangements?"

She stretched her arm across the table and grasped his hand. “That would be wonderful. Do I need to sign anything?"

“Yes, and the forms are waiting for you in the business office. Once you sign the release, it will take a little while to make arrangements with Charlotte Memorial and the helicopter people but Sam can probably be on his way by four o'clock. By the time you get home, Sam will be settled into a room close to home. I'm sure it will be more convenient for everybody."

Shelly refused to leave the business office until all arrangements were complete. Dr. Cole was correct on all accounts except one. The helicopter was not available until five.

She visited Sam one more time and kissed him on his nose, his left eyelid and his right. She thought she felt the eyelid flutter against her lips, but when she looked, it was as motionless as the rest of his body. She kissed his hand. “It's going to be okay, Sam. We're going home."

Maybe his eyelid did flutter, she thought as she drove back to the hotel. He's going to be okay. I know he will. Gleefully she slapped her hands against the steering wheel. And I'm going to become the best wife on the planet.

She propped her suitcases on the bed and rapidly began emptying drawers. She thought a bellboy was tapping on the door and, as she opened it, said, “I'm not quite ready yet. Oh, hello Detectives."

“Going somewhere, Mrs. Pond?” Detective Gilder grumbled.

“They're flying Sam back to Charlotte,” she explained.

“May we come in?” Lacy asked.

“Of course,” Shelly said, stepping away from the door.

“You were supposed to notify us before leaving town,” Gilder reminded her.

“In all the excitement, I forgot.” She glanced at Lacy, who was rummaging around in one of the suitcases. “What are you doing?"

“Do you mind if we search your rooms, Mrs. Pond?” Gilder asked and before she could answer, he continued. “We will get a search warrant, if necessary."

“There is no reason to be concerned, Mrs. Pond,” Lacy said as she continued looking in the partially packed luggage. “You want us to catch Mr. Pond's assailant, don't you?"

“Of course, but you're certainly not going to find him in here."

“Nobody hiding under the bed?” Gilder asked.

“If that was supposed to be a joke, I don't find it funny.” Shelly sat in a chair, folded her arms across her chest and fumed.

Gilder pulled a box from Sam's suitcase and turned to Shelly. “You told us it was your husband's semen in your vagina, Mrs. Pond. If you don't use condoms during sex, why do you have a full box of Trojans?"

“I don't have to answer your damn questions—especially personal ones like that."

“No, you don't,” he said as he replaced the box.

“Nothing in the other bedroom or bath,” Lacy said, joining them.

“I've already packed the toiletries and Annie used the other bedroom. She went home with neighbors yesterday."

“Drove all the way down here and took her back to North Carolina?” Gilder asked. “Nice neighbors."

“Yes, they are."

“Was it the Nickels or the Borders who came?” Lacy asked.

“How do you know the names of our neighbors?"

“The Mecklenburg County Sheriff's Department is helping with the investigation,” Gilder said. “They tell us you were fired from the Crazy Cat Club a few weeks back. Want to tell us about that?” Gilder asked as he sat on the bed.

“That has nothing to do with anything."

“Maybe—maybe not,” Lacy said as she pulled a chair close to Shelly. “We don't have much to go on, Mrs. Pond. We may be grasping at straws, but sometimes those straws turn out to be made of gold. Why did the club fire you? Did something happen that might have caused someone to have a grudge against you—motivate them to want to kill you?"

“It was Sam who was shot,” Shelly objected.

“Yeah, but maybe Sam's attempt to protect you frightened off the assailant before he finished his mission,” Gilder explained. “Do you have knowledge of any illegal activity in the Crazy Cat Club, Mrs. Pond? Prostitution or perhaps drug trafficking?"

“I was a stripper, pure and simple. I know nothing about any other activities of the club."

Gilder walked to the balcony door. “Nice view,” he commented. He turned and looked at Shelly. “Why did you tell us Boyd Fisher moved out of the state?"

“I believe I said he may have moved. I haven't had any contact with him since Annie was born."

“That's interesting, Mrs. Pond. The guys in North Carolina tell us a neighbor of Mr. Fisher says she saw you entering his apartment recently."

“I'm not the only woman in the world with auburn hair, Detective. Even when we were seeing each other, Boyd was a womanizer. It's simply a case of mistaken identity."

Lacy touched Shelly's knee. “Mrs. Pond, do you know anyone who owns a 9mm handgun?"

Think Shelly! She pleaded with herself. “I do."

“You know someone or you personally own such a weapon?"

“I own one. It's registered. I keep it in the glove compartment of my car. When I worked at the club, I came home alone late at night. I felt safer knowing the gun was close by."

“May we see your gun, please?” Lacy asked.

“It's in Dot. We came to the beach in Sam's car."

“We think we have found the weapon the assailant used,” Gilder commented. “It was in a Dumpster near the scene. We do not yet have the results of a ballistics test, but we're fairly certain it is the weapon. Unfortunately, there are no fingerprints on it."

“The gunman wore gloves—like surgeons use in hospitals. But finding the gun is still a major breakthrough in the case, isn't it?” Shelly asked.

“Not really,” Lacy said. “Fingerprints would have helped. The serial numbers are intact, so we should be able to trace ownership. We're working on that right now. You don't happen to know the serial number of your weapon, do you, Mrs. Pond?"

“No, but the gun you found is not mine. I did not shoot my husband."

“There has been one major breakthrough, Mrs. Pond,” Gilder said.

She looked at him and waited.

“A witness has come forward."

Shelly shook her head. “Impossible. There was no one else on the beach. No one came to my assistance when I screamed for help."

“Visibility was poor, was it not?"

“Yes, but..."

“There was a middle aged couple hidden in the Sea Oats not far from where the attack occurred. They were, uh, enjoying each other's company. The witness was with another man's wife, but he is willing to testify in court, if necessary."

“I don't see how he could have told you any more than I did."

Lacy leaned forward in her chair. “His story corroborates yours, Mrs. Pond, except for one important detail. He claims that as the assailant ran away, you shouted after him, calling him by name—Boyd."

“That's crazy."

“Maybe. The witness says he might be mistaken about the name. It could have been Floyd, or Lloyd."

Calm down, Shelly, she admonished herself. Calm down. She stood up and said, “I've had about enough of this. Unless I am under arrest, I am not going to answer any more of your questions. You are on a fishing expedition and are telling me lies."

“Shelly,” Lacy said as she also stood, “How did Boyd feel about your marriage to Sam?"

“Am I under arrest?"

“No,” Gilder answered.

“Then get out!"

The trip to Charlotte was long and depressing. Traffic was heavy and twice slowed to a crawl due to minor accidents. At one point, Shelly saw a helicopter overhead and wondered if Sam was in it. She tried to think of Sam, and how life would be when he was well, but the image of her own face behind bars continually popped unbidden into her mind's eye.

Her mind refused to rest. How did they get so close to the truth so fast? I didn't do it, damn it. Boyd did. He's the one who should go to jail. He should pay for what he did to Sam. Sure, he'll tell them I helped plan Sam's murder, but there's no proof. I deleted all the email messages from my computer. It will be my word against his. Unless ... unless he kept incriminating messages on his computer. Why would he do that? Hell, even if he had been successful in murdering Sam, he couldn't get his hands on Sam's life insurance without my cooperation.