TRIAL BY FIRE (24 page)

For a disorienting moment, Mimi couldn’t figure out where she was. Then she saw the cross hanging on the wall and knew she was in a hospital, a hospital somewhere in Phoenix.

She was afraid Hal would have disappeared somehow. Her eyes darted quickly to the right, but there he was, dozing in the same chair where he’d been sitting wide awake the last time she had drifted into a drug-induced asleep. His chin had fallen to his chest; his hands lay loose and open in his lap. His clothes were wrinkled, his hair rumpled. Had he been sitting in that chair watching over her all night long? He must have been.

Already the pain was knocking at the edge of her consciousness, but her heart was filled with gratitude. Hal was here. She knew he loved her in a way Winston never had. She wanted to tell him that, but of course she couldn’t, not with the ventilator in her throat.

Sister Anselm appeared. She looked tired, too. She walked over to Hal and shook his shoulder. “Mimi’s awake,” she said.

Hal jolted upright. He looked around wildly for a moment, as if he didn’t quite understand where he was or who Sister Anselm might be. Then he nodded. “Thanks,” he said.

He stood up stiffly and came over to the side of the bed. When he looked down at her, his face looked so haggard and worn that Mimi wanted nothing more than to reach up and touch him and tell him thank you.

“Good morning, Mimi girl,” he said. “How’s my honey bun? Did you have sweet dreams?”

How could she answer that with one blink or two? The dream about Winston hadn’t been sweet at all, but it was far better than the other nightmare, the one about the fire. The one where she was on fire. That dream had mercifully ceased for good once she saw Hal’s face and knew he was there beside her.

She understood what Hal was really doing in asking about her dreams—stating his hopes for her. He was praying that in spite of the machines and the pain she really was okay; that she was comfortable; that she was sleeping peacefully. And so she answered his question by responding instead to all the things he didn’t say, and when she answered those unasked questions, she lied. She blinked once for yes.

“Sister Anselm showed me how to push the button,” he said. “Do you need me to do that?”

That was easy. She wanted to stay with him as long as she could, looking up into his loving eyes and bearing the pain for as long as she could. She blinked twice for no.
No, not yet. Please not yet.

He was silent for a long time. He seemed to be building up to asking something or saying something. Maybe he was about to tell her that he had to leave again. How long had she been here? Days? Weeks? Maybe it was time for him to do another flight. She didn’t want him to go, but he might have to. He had a job that he loved. She couldn’t ask him to give it up so he could stay here with her.

What?
she wanted to say to him.
What are you going to say?

“It’s about the picture,” he said finally.

What picture?
she wondered.
What’s he talking about?

“The one over the fireplace,” he explained. “The one that looks like a patchwork quilt.”

The Klee,
she thought.
What about it? What’s wrong?

“It’s missing,” he said, answering her unspoken question. “When I came home from my trip, you were gone and so was the painting. I know you had talked about selling it. Did you send it out on consignment?”

The Klee? My Klee? What on earth is he talking about? Why would I sell it? I’ve been saving it all this time for my old age.

Two blinks for no. For:
Of course I didn’t send it out on consignment.

But it’s gone? Where could it be? Did someone steal it? When? When could they? How could that happen?

She was always careful about keeping the doors locked. Had someone broken into the house?

He was talking to her again. Asking another question. With her own thoughts whirling around and with the pain trying to surge back over her like an overwhelming wave, Mimi had to concentrate on his words with every fiber of her being.

“Do you know who did this?”

Two blinks. No.

“Do you remember what happened?”

Two more blinks.

“Donna Carson says she came by to check on you that afternoon after work. She said you were fine—that she offered to go to the store for you or to take you there. You said you didn’t need anything. Do you remember that?”

Two blinks. No.
I don’t remember.

“Maybe someone came to the door after that. Maybe you opened it and let them in. Is that possible?”

It’s possible, but I can’t imagine doing anything that stupid.
Many blinks.
I don’t know. I have no idea.

But if someone came there, if they got into the house and took my painting, what about Maggie? Is she all right, or did they hurt her, too? Why doesn’t he tell me about Maggie? I need to know if she’s okay or not. Oh, God, please tell me they didn’t put sweet little Maggie into the fire with me. If they had, wouldn’t I have heard? Wouldn’t I have known?

All the while the pain was looming closer. She knew that soon she wouldn’t be able to stand it any longer. I’ll want him to push the button. I’ll need him to push it and send me away.

What? What’s Hal saying now? His voice seems very far away. Is it my hearing, or is he whispering?

“I love you,” he said. “You’re the best thing that ever happened to me. Don’t leave me. Please don’t leave me.”

I’m not going to leave him. Of course not, but I do need him to push the button. Please push the button. Now.

Sister Anselm appeared beside him. “I’m sorry,” she said. “It’s time for more morphine.”

I don’t know if he’s the one who presses the button or if she does, but I know the button has been pressed. I know about how long it takes from the time the button is pushed until the soft cottony feeling begins to creep over me, pushing the pain away.

I want to tell him how much I love him. Quick. Please ask me if I love you so I can blink one blink for yes, but he doesn’t ask. As Hal melts into the background, I notice that he’s crying again, with tears slipping down over the half-grown stubble on his cheek.

Mark Levy returned to the waiting room carrying a cup of coffee, a soda, and two very sticky Rice Krispies Treats from the latte stand in the lobby.

“I thought maybe you were hungry,” he said. “If you don’t want it, I’ll eat yours.”

It turned out Ali did want it. She had eaten only half the hamburger she had taken to Athena’s place the night before, and that bit of sandwich had long since disappeared.

“Thank you,” she said. “I’m starved.”

She had been listening in on Agent Robson’s interview for some time. All three of them—Robson, Serenity, and Winston Junior—turned to look as Mark delivered his purchases, and then they looked away. As they resumed their conversation, Ali realized Mark had done her a very real favor. Now the three of them most likely assumed that Ali was there with him—that she was part of James’s entourage. That belief rendered her all the more invisible, but eating the Rice Krispies Treat left her fingers too sticky to type. For a time she simply listened.

Robson had evidently been off somewhere overnight tracking the elusive ELF possibility and had not participated in the interview with Hal. Some of the information Ali had already gleaned from Dave, Robson was hearing for the first time.

When Agent Robson raised the ELF question with Win and Serenity, both of them took the position that whatever had happened to Mimi was personal, not political. Robson’s suggestion of Mimi’s possible involvement with environmental issues was met with eye-rolling derision.

“Are you kidding?” Serenity returned. “Mother has enough fur in her closets to send an environut into a spasm. Same goes for global warming. She thinks that’s a load of bull.”

“You don’t believe your mother would have been involved in any form of environmental activism?”

“Absolutely not,” Serenity said.

Her conclusive response made Agent Robson backpedal. “Maybe I’m looking at this from the wrong direction,” he said with a frown. “Maybe the situation is the reverse of what I was thinking. Is it possible she had taken some kind of public stand in opposition to environmental activism? Maybe she wrote a letter to the editor or signed on with some anticonservation group, and that’s what brought her to the attention of some nutcase.”

“My mother isn’t political,” Serenity declared. “As far as I know, she’s never written a letter to the editor in her life. She supports the symphony. She supports the Friends of the Library, but I don’t think she’s ever taken up with any environmental groups, on either side of that question.”

“What about her husband?” Robson asked.

“Exactly,” Serenity said. “What about him?”

“Would he be involved in some kind of environmental activism?”

“No. Hal Cooper is interested in money. Period. He came sniffing around my mother because he figured out she was loaded. If she dies, he’ll walk away with a fortune.”

“What about a prenup?” Robson asked.

“There wasn’t one,” Serenity said. “If Mother dies first, he gets the whole thing, unless he happens to get sent up for murdering her, right?”

Dave had said that Hal had stood up well under questioning the night before. If Agent Robson knew that, too, he didn’t let on.

“It’s true,” he agreed. “Convicted killers generally aren’t allowed to profit from their crimes. Just how much money are we talking about here?”

“When my father died, the galleries were worth about ten million,” she said. “There was only enough insurance for me to buy up Mother’s half. Winston and I split the rest. I’m paying Win off over time.”

“Five million, then?” Robson asked.

“More than that,” Serenity said. “There were a couple of houses, and some rental properties. She sold the houses to buy the new one in Fountain Hills. I believe she owns that one free and clear.”

“It’s more money than I thought,” Robson conceded. “People have certainly been murdered for a lot less. What can you tell me about your stepfather? Do you know anything about his personal leanings?”

“I have zero idea about his ‘personal leanings,’ as you put it,” Serenity replied. “The less I know about the man, the better. He’s my mother’s husband, but he sure as hell is not my stepfather. The only person Hal Cooper is looking out for is Hal Cooper, and nobody else.”

Robson jotted a few words in his notebook. It seemed as though the news that Hal Cooper would benefit greatly from his wife’s demise was causing the ATF agent to at least think twice about the possibility that the attempt on Mimi’s life might be a murder-for-profit plot as opposed to some kind of bizarre political statement.

“We’ll certainly be examining all of Mr. Cooper’s associations,” Robson assured Serenity as he finished making a series of notes. “We’ll also be looking into the possibility that regardless of the motivation in your mother’s attack, the person responsible is actively involved with the Earth Liberation Front.

“The fire in Camp Verde certainly resembles other ELF-related incidents we’ve investigated. It’s not textbook, but close enough to make us think they’re all of a piece. What we need to sort out is your mother’s connection to those people. It’s possible she somehow got too close to an ELF operative and, as a consequence, needed to be gotten rid of before she had a chance to pass any information along. That’s why it’s so important that we talk to her immediately.”

“No,” Hal Cooper declared from the far side of the room. “You’re not going to talk to her. Mimi’s in no condition to speak to anyone.”

Ali had seen Hal emerge from his wife’s room and step into the hallway. After stripping off his layer of antibacterial clothing, he had come silently down the hall to the entrance of the waiting room, where he had stood for some time, listening. Agent Robson hadn’t noticed him, and neither had Serenity and Winston.

“I’ve asked Mimi about what happened,” Hal continued. “So has Sister Anselm. She has suffered a serious head injury. She doesn’t remember anything at all.”

“What if she’s lying about that,” Serenity shot back, “or what if you are? You’ve got everything to gain. Why would you tell the truth about any of it? I want Mother to be able to talk to someone besides you and that nun. What about Agent Robson here? Why not let him talk to her?”

“No!” Hal’s second no was immediate and far more emphatic. “Mimi is not going to spend her last few lucid moments on this earth being interrogated by a cop.”

“Last few moments?” Serenity repeated. “Are you saying she’s dying?”

Hal Cooper met and held his stepdaughter’s questioning gaze. “Yes,” he said finally. “That’s exactly what I’m saying. That’s what the doctors told me this morning when they did rounds. Her organs are gradually shutting down. We’re going to lose her. It’s just a matter of time.”

Serenity was the first to look away. She plucked her cell phone out of her pocket, and the whole roomful of onlookers waited while she placed a call.

“It’s me,” she said finally into what was evidently an answering machine. “I thought you’d be here by now. Mother’s worse. I had several appointments scheduled for today and tomorrow down in Tucson. They’re in the calendar on the network. If you’re not coming here, you might want to drop by the office and cancel them for me.”

While she was speaking, Agent Robson stood up and stepped toward Hal Cooper, flashing his badge. “I’m sorry to hear that distressing news, Mr. Cooper,” he murmured comfortingly. “Believe me, my agency is totally committed to finding out who did this, and why. If we could have access to any information your wife may have given you, or if I could speak with her—”

“I already told you, I’m not giving you access to anything,”
Hal responded. “Not to her, and not to me, either. I heard what you said a moment ago about looking into my “associations,” as you call them. I take that to mean I’m now under suspicion.”

Robson said nothing, so Hal continued.