The Grave Soul (2 page)

“What are they?”

“Painkillers. Come on. Quick, quick.” It was beyond frustrating to watch the slow, labored effort. Laurie helped her to her feet and steered her out into the hallway, this time heading toward the kitchen at the back of the house.

“Who's yelling?” asked the woman, twisting her head around.

“Listen to me,” said Laurie, stuffing the prescription bottle into the woman's leather jacket and then plucking her last twenty from her own pocket and tucking that in that as well. “When you get outside, go straight through the yard. Keep walking out to the road. Hang a right and the road will take you back to the highway. There's a truck stop about a quarter mile to the west—which means you go right again. Got that? You'll be able to see the lights. You can hop a ride to … wherever someone's willing to take you.”

“Okay,” the woman said weakly.

“I know you're hurt, but you've got to run.” Opening the back door, Laurie pushed her out, watching as she dragged herself through the back gate. Once the woman had disappeared into the darkness, Laurie shut the door and leaned against it. “Don't come back,” she whispered. “Ever.”

 

2

Before approaching one of trucks in the parking lot, the woman spent a few minutes in the restroom cleaning the blood off her face. She'd have a black eye in the morning for sure. She touched her nose gingerly, tried to assess the damage, then studied herself in the mirror, rearranging her tangled hair as she struggled to bring her chaotic thoughts into focus. The pills seemed to be helping. She eventually gave up trying to figure out what was going on and instead decided to concentrate on finding a ride.

Walking up to a guy who was about climb into the cab of his truck, she asked him where he was headed. When he responded Fargo, she asked if he might be going through the Twin Cities.

“Here to Eau Clair, then I-94 through the Twin Cities, and finally up the interstate to Fargo,” he said.

She asked if she could hitch a ride. He thought about it for a few seconds, looked her over a little, then said she could.

Once in the cab, before they drove off, she took an envelope out of her pocket, the only piece of evidence she had that suggested a possible destination. She asked the driver if he knew the address.

Flipping on an overhead light, he took a look. “I think so. It's close to downtown Minneapolis.”

“Any chance you could drop me off near there?”

“Don't see why not.”

The driver, a burly, middle-aged man with a dark tattoo peeking out from under the right cuff of an old Pendleton, didn't say much for the first few miles. Eventually, he glanced her way and said, “Your husband do that to you?” He nodded to her face.

“No.”

“Boyfriend then? A lot of shit happens around the holidays. Not that it's an excuse. I'd give anything to be home with my wife and kids tonight.”

“Where are you from?”

“Cedar Rapids, Iowa.”

He tried to get her to open up and talk about what the problems were, said he was a good listener, but she put him off by explaining that she needed to close her eyes, try to get some sleep. She ended up dozing most of the way. When she finally sat up and looked around, the driver said they were on the outskirts of Minneapolis.

Watching quietly as the lights whizzed past, the woman took out the envelope she'd discovered back at the truck stop. The return address was the only indication she had that she might know someone in the city. If it turned out to be a dead end, then she was at a complete loss for what to do next. Along with the envelope, she'd found a bottle of painkillers and a twenty-dollar bill. Her billfold, which would have answered so many questions, appeared to be gone.

After climbing out of the cab near a Holiday station, she thanked the driver and wished him a good trip up to Fargo. She stood on the sidewalk, blowing on her hands, watching her safe, warm cocoon gear off into the night, leaving her feeling adrift and utterly alone.

Limping into the gas station, she asked the man behind the counter if she could use his phone to call a cab. He offered to call one for her. Stoically assessing her banged-up face, he tapped in a number and spoke in a heavily accented voice, giving the address.

Snow had begun falling about an hour ago. Limping outside to wait, the woman felt suddenly nauseous and dizzy. The cab driver took his time, but finally appeared. She gave him the address and asked if twenty dollars would get her there. He answered that it would.

After easing into the backseat, she pressed a hand to her mouth, hoping like hell her stomach calmed down. The modest houses quickly gave way to more upscale homes. Stopping a few minutes later at the end of a cul-de-sac, the driver turned around and held out his hand for the twenty. The ride had cost almost eighteen dollars. She asked for two dollars back.

“Are you kidding me?”

“It's all the money I have.”

He gave her a disgusted look as he handed back a couple of ones.

Stepping out into the snow, the woman checked the address on the envelope against the number above the front door. It wasn't really a house. It looked more like a mini English abbey.

Standing under the deep front portico, she rang the bell. Lights were on all over the house. Half a dozen cars were parked in the circular drive. It wasn't a stretch to conclude that a party might be going on inside, which meant that it wasn't exactly great timing for an uninvited guest.

She was about to ring the bell again when a giant woman in a red-sequined flapper outfit drew back the door.

“Janey, where the hell have you been? I've been texting you for hours. Get in here.” Motioning with a jeweled lorgnette, the owner of the abbey held the door open, tapping her foot impatiently. “Couldn't you dress up
a little
? I mean, ripped jeans? Your fashion sense astounds.”

 

3

“My name is Janey?”

“Don't be silly,” said the giant woman, turning away and heading into the house. “Now, listen. You're going to be angry with me. Let me state this up front, it's not my fault. Julia's here. She slithered in on the arm of an
invited
guest. Who knew I would need a bouncer? I mean, I suppose I could have strong-armed her out the door myself, but—” Holding the lorgnette up to her eyes, she stopped and peered closely at Jane's face. “What on earth happened to you? Are those bruises real?”

“Um … yeah. Listen, I wonder if I could sit down. And … could I get a glass of water?”

“Water? You look like you could use something stronger than that.”

“I need to take some pain medication.”

Narrowing her eyes, the woman moved in close. “What's going on? Did one of the Adlers do that to you? You told me you had everything under control. I need details, Janey. Facts. You keep Cordelia Thorn out of your affairs at your own peril.”

“Cordelia?”

“Yes?”

“We're friends, right?”

“What is
wrong
with you?”

She had no memory of ever seeing this woman before. “The water?”

Cordelia sniffed, considered the request, then said, “Follow me.”

So this sequined-covered Amazon's name was Cordelia? And hers was Janey? She felt as if she'd emerged from a fog only to find herself lost in wonderland. Something was definitely wrong with her mind.

“Sit,” said the giant as they entered the kitchen. She found a glass in one of the cupboards, filled it from a filtered tap and handed it over, then stood behind the center island, raised her chin and appeared to be assessing the situation. “Jane?”

“Yes?”

“What's going on?”

With a grimace, Jane eased down on a stool. An inner voice urged her to focus on the physical pain instead of the feeling of dread growing in her stomach. She needed the pain pills badly. That and a bed in a quiet room. The giant, however, seemed to want to talk.

“Someone did this to you. Was it Kevin? Doug? OMG, was it Father Mike?”

Instead of answering, Jane downed the pills.

“You don't seem like you're tracking very well.”

“If I could just lie down—”

“You need to tell me what happened. Why you're like this.”

“I'm just a little confused, okay? It'll pass.” She had no idea who any of those people were. None of this made any sense. She was in a free fall, with no way to anchor herself in time and space.

“Are you actually saying you don't remember who hurt you?”

Jane glanced at the bottle of rum on the counter behind the giant. Even though she knew pain pills and alcohol didn't mix, she wanted a drink. “My memory is kind of … fuzzy.”

“Define fuzzy.”

“I have a bad headache. And I'm dizzy. Can we have this conversation another time?”

“We need to get you to a hospital.”

“Can you just tell me where I could find a bed or a couch? If I could just lie down for a few minutes—”

Cordelia arched an eyebrow. “You know this house as well as I do.”

“Humor me.”

Tapping her long red talons on the granite countertop, the giant said, “How much
don't
you remember?”

Jane massaged her temples.

“You remember me, right?”

“How could anyone forget you?”

“Then tell me about myself. How wonderful I am.”

“Well, yes. You're … Cordelia. That says it all.”

“You haven't got a clue, do you? I am your oldest friend. Your partner in crime. Your confidant. The shoulder you cry on. I am the world famous Cordelia M. Thorn, theater director extraordinaire. For heaven's sake, Janey, we've been BFFs since we were sixteen!”

“Okay,” said Jane. “Great. Then can I stay here tonight?” At the sound of a child's laugh, she turned to find a little girl, dressed in a black cat outfit, skipping into the room. “Hey, Hattie. Happy New Year.”

“You know my niece,” boomed Cordelia, backing up against the kitchen counter and waving air into her face. “But you don't know
moi
?”

Jane smiled at the little girl, then grimaced because it made her face hurt. She did recognize Hattie. Maybe she had landed somewhere familiar and her memory was slowly coming back. “See, I'm getting better. So no doctors, at least not right now.”

“Can we open the sparkling grape juice?” asked Hattie, hip thrust coyly to one side.

“Not until midnight,” said Cordelia. “That's a couple more hours.”

Hattie made a pleading face. “But I'm thirsty
now
.”

“Then go drink some punch.”

“I feel like drinking bubbles.”

“When the clock strikes midnight, you'll get all the bubbles you want.”

She pulled on her cat whiskers. “If I
have
to wait.”

“Go play with Jason and Lisa. You're their host tonight. You have to show them a good time.”

“We all want bubbles,” mumbled Hattie, dragging herself out of the room.

“A place to lie down?” repeated Jane. “Somewhere quiet.”

After climbing the stairs up to the second floor, Cordelia led her to a room near the end of a broad, oriental-carpeted hallway. She opened the door and nodded for Jane to precede her.

Seeing the double bed, Jane all but fell onto it.

“The least you could do is take off those wet boots.”

“Could you help me?”

Grumbling, Cordelia said, “I've
always
wanted to be your valet.”

“That's nice.” Jane closed her eyes.

“Why are you holding your side like that?”

“Because it hurts.”

“Let me look.”

“I just need to sleep.”

“You are the most stubborn—” She paused. “Aren't you going to take off your coat?”

“No.”

“I guess I'm glad Julia's here after all. She can come up and examine you.”

“I'll see a doctor tomorrow.”

“You'll see a doctor tonight. Julia.”

As Cordelia covered her with a blanket, Jane opened her eyes. “Do I own a restaurant?”

“One of the best fine-dining experiences in the Twin Cities.”

“What's the name?”

“The Lyme House.”

“Right,” she whispered. “It's on a lake.”

“Lake Harriet. And before you ask,” said Cordelia, brushing the tangled hair away from Jane's forehead, “no, there's no Lake Ozzie.”

“That's a good one.” She closed her eyes again.

The words “Adler brothers” continued to swirl around inside her mind as she began to drift toward a fitful, drugged sleep.

 

4

NEW YEAR'S DAY

Jane felt a stabbing pain as she tried to roll over in bed. Opening one eye—the other was swollen shut—she struggled to orient herself. She didn't recognize the room—and then it hit her. The abbey. The Amazon she'd met at the front door. Cordelia. Her best friend. Turning her head to look for a clock, she was startled to find a woman sitting next to the bed.

“Don't be frightened. I'm only here to help.”

With her one good eye, Jane studied the woman. She was blond, trim, maybe mid-forties. Dressed for a party in a long, shimmering gown. She looked like a princess in a fairy tale. “Who are you?”

“Julia Martinsen. That mean anything to you?”

“Not really.”

“I'm a doctor. A friend. I was at Cordelia's party last night. She was worried about you so she asked me to come up and look in on you. I asked you a few questions, did a few simple tests.”

“You did?”

“You were pretty out of it.”

“How long have you been sitting here?”

“All night.

“What time is it?”

“Seven-thirty.”

“A.M. or P.M.?”

“Boy, you are out of it.”

Jane lifted the quilt off and tried to sit up.