Don't Believe a Word (21 page)

E
den let herself into Flynn’s quiet house and c
losed the door behind her. She had thought about stopping by the hospital to check on him, but what she felt was more curiosity than concern. So it didn’t seem to be the right thing to do. She felt sorry for Lizzy, sitting by his bedside keeping watch over him. He had come into Lizzy’s life with the same whirlwind force for destruction with which he had once entered Tara’s life. And it would probably have the same result, she thought. Lizzy’s carefully ordered life would be in ruins. Flynn was good at that.

But was it any more than that? she wondered. Now that she knew the tip had come from Marguerite, she had less reason than ever to accuse Flynn. She kept thinking of the look in his eyes when he denied having anything to do with Tara and Jeremy’s deaths. She found it impossible not to believe him.

Not your problem, she reminded herself. Flynn could sort out his own life, if and when he recovered. Tomorrow you can leave this city, and hopefully nothing will pull you back here this time. Last-minute flights were expensive, and she had already blown off one flight this morning. DeLaurier Publishing had paid for that one, but she would have to pay her own fare this time. She was going to have to be more frugal in the future, since she was now without a job, she reminded herself. But in this one instance, price was no object. She wanted to get out of Cleveland, no matter the cost. She would worry about the cost of it later.

Eden wasn’t satisfied with the results she had achieved while she was here, but at least she had the consolation of knowing that she had convinced Detective Burt to reopen the case surrounding her mother’s death. For now, she would have to be satisfied with that. She agreed with the detective that the attempt to assassinate Flynn had to be related to Tara and Jeremy’s deaths, and part of her was desperately curious to know who it was that shot Flynn, but she told herself that she would know in time. Right now, the important thing was to reclaim her life.

She got a beer from the refrigerator, and then went down the hall to the tiny bedroom where she was supposed to stay the night. She looked into her suitcase, and realized that there wasn’t much packing to be done. She had not yet taken anything out. She got her toiletries out and put them in the bathroom across the hall. Then she got out an outfit for travel, and hung it up on the closet door, so it wouldn’t be utterly wrinkled for the trip.

That done, she went back to the dining area, still clutching her beer, and sat down at the dining table. She pushed the newspapers and unopened mail aside, and set up her iPad. She rubbed her hands together in anticipation. Now, she thought. The ticket home.

But her efforts were stymied. In the hotel she had been instantly able to access the Wi-Fi. It did not take her long to realize that she could not access the server here without a password, and she had no idea what the password in Flynn’s house might be. She thought about her mother, and the dates which were important to her. For a few moments she tried combinations of logical passwords, but felt completely frustrated when none of them had the effect of unlocking the stubbornly frozen computer and putting her online.

I can’t buy my ticket, she thought. A feeling of panic swept over her, but she forced herself to remain calm. Try your phone, she told herself. She had never used her phone to buy a ticket, but of course it could be done. She got out the phone and had begun to punch in airline names and schedules, squinting at the small print, when she suddenly reminded herself that there was another, simpler option. Flynn’s computer was still open, still online, out in his office. She could do it there. Easy, she thought. She slipped her phone into her pocket, went through the house to the attached garage and into his office, making herself comfortable in front of his monitor. This is more like it, she thought, as she quickly pulled up the information she needed and bought her ticket. She could not ever remember a time when she was more eager to get home. She texted her father, asking him if he could pick her up at the Westchester County Airport tomorrow at two p.m. His response was almost instantaneous, as if he had been sitting, waiting to hear from her. Knowing her father, she didn’t think that was out of the question.

Eden sat back in the swivel chair and sighed. That’s done. I am out of here.

Now that she was finished with Flynn’s computer, she knew that the polite thing to do would be to avert her eyes and not meddle any more in his business. But the photo file seemed to entice her to look again.

She decided not to snoop any further into the file with the photos of Lizzy. Any further looking was just prurient, and she was repulsed by the thought of going down that road. But she was curious to see more recent photos of her mother, and her stepbrother, whom she had never really known. She opened the file with her mother’s picture on the icon, and began to look through them.

There were a lot of photos of Tara, and of Jeremy. She recognized the photo of the two of them in the field on a blue-sky day which Flynn had enlarged for the funeral. She clicked on photos, one after another, of holidays, birthdays complete with candles on the cake, and ordinary days. Changes of season. There were photos of gatherings at the house, where Aaliya was ever present, serving cake and minding the children who were visiting. Marguerite and other parents with afflicted children appeared. Eden marveled at the fact that everyone looked so cheerful, all of the time. As if they didn’t realize that their children were facing almost certain doom. How did they do it? she wondered.

There were even several photos of Jeremy with Flynn’s grandmother fuzzy in the background, wearing a proud and happy smile, the light reflecting off her glasses. She must have been in better health then, Eden thought. They must have made a trip out here to see them. There were, however, no pictures of Michael Darby. No doubt he was off sulking somewhere, thinking of ways to make everyone feel bad.

Eden felt as if she had seen hundreds of photos by the time she quit the file and picked up the boarding pass she had printed. She was almost dizzy with exhaustion, and all she wanted was to take a quick shower and go to bed. She was packed, she was ticketed, and she was ready. She turned off the light in the garage, and went back through the garage and into the house. As she closed the garage door behind her, she was suddenly overcome with the feeling there was something in what she had just seen on the computer which troubled her. Something that seemed … wrong somehow.

Never mind, she thought. It’s not your problem. Everything is in order. Time to get ready to go. She slipped her phone back into her pocket and went along to the guest room to grab some clean clothes.

She was in the shower, rinsing the conditioner out of her hair, when she heard her phone ringing in the pocket of her pants, which were hanging on a hook behind the bathroom door. Eden turned off the water and climbed out of the shower, carefully, so as not to end up a victim of her own clumsiness. She grabbed a towel and wrapped it around her as she rummaged for the phone.

‘Hello?’ she said.

‘Eden Radley? This is Nurse Thomas. I’m calling from the Cleveland Clinic.’ The nurse’s voice sounded fresh and cheery.

‘Yes,’ said Eden warily.

‘You left me your number earlier today in case your stepfather awakened.’

‘I did,’ said Eden.

‘Yes, he just regained consciousness about a half an hour ago.’

‘Oh,’ said Eden. ‘That’s … that’s great.’

‘If you want to come down and see him, you can. Just for a very brief visit. Only a few minutes. He’s in room 1229.’

‘Um … okay.’

‘I thought you’d want to know,’ said the nurse, more guarded now that she had heard Eden’s lukewarm response.

‘No, I appreciate the call,’ said Eden. ‘I may … just wait. Until tomorrow.’

‘Well, that’s probably a good idea,’ said the nurse. ‘He really needs his rest.’

‘Do the police know that he’s awake?’ Eden asked. ‘I know they want to talk to him.’

‘I’m sure someone will tell them,’ said the nurse coolly.

‘Well, thank you very much,’ said Eden. ‘Thank you for calling me.’

‘Just doing my job,’ said the nurse, and hung up.

Eden sat down on the closed toilet seat. She was still wrapped in a towel, and she was shivering with the cold. The steam from her shower had begun to escape the bathroom. I should call Detective Burt, she thought.

Put your pajamas on first, she told herself. You need to get warm. She forced herself to stand up and dry off. Then she put on her pajamas, and a bathrobe she had found. She pulled a pair of woolly socks on her bare feet. Then she picked up her phone. She dialed the police station and asked for Detective Burt.

‘Gone for the day,’ said the dispatcher. ‘Is this an emergency?’

Eden hesitated. ‘Not exactly,’ she said.

‘I’ll give you his voicemail. You can leave him a message. He’ll be checking them this evening, I’m sure.’

Eden thanked the dispatcher, and waited through the detective’s identifying message. ‘Detective Burt,’ she said. ‘This is Eden Radley. I just got a call from the hospital. Flynn is conscious, if you want to question him.’ She thought about telling him that she knew where the tip came from, but then she reminded herself that she did not need to get anyone else involved. ‘Okay, that’s all,’ she said. ‘Have a good evening.’

She padded down to the dining table and gathered up her iPad. She took it with her to the guest room to pack it in her bag, since it was pretty well useless here without the password. She switched off all the lights in the house as she went. All the while she was thinking of Flynn.

Now that he was awake, she wondered if he was safe at the hospital. Someone had made a serious attempt to kill him this morning. Surely there would be a guard on his room. There had to be security at the hospital so that no one could come and go without being seen. There was, after all, someone who was intent on ending Flynn’s life.

Well, if Flynn knew who it was, he would surely tell the police. She would call Detective Burt as soon as she was back in New York, and find out. And then, she had a brainstorm. Why wait?

She rang the hospital and asked for room 1229. In a moment, she was connected. A woman answered the phone, saying just the room number.

Eden hesitated. ‘Lizzy?’ she asked.

‘Who’s this?’ Lizzy asked.

‘It’s Eden. I heard that Flynn is awake. Can I speak to him?’

Lizzy hesitated. ‘I’m not sure he’s up to it.’

Eden heard the rumble of a male voice.

‘It’s Eden,’ Lizzy said. Then she returned to the phone. ‘He wants to talk to you. Here. Don’t talk too long. He’s very weak.’

Eden did not reply. She heard Lizzy say that she was going out to the nurses’ desk to complain that the painkillers had not arrived. She heard the low rumble of Flynn’s reply. Lizzy promised to be right back. Eden waited patiently. In a few moments, she heard Flynn’s voice, weak and slurry. ‘Hi, Eden.’

‘How are you feeling?’ she asked.

‘Like shit,’ he said.

‘I’m sure. I want you to know that I called the police to tell them you were awake. They want to talk to you about the shooting. Do you know who did this to you? Did you see them?’

Flynn cleared his throat. ‘Can’t,’ he said.

‘Can’t what?’ Eden asked.

‘Can’t say,’ he replied.

‘Does that mean you don’t know who it was?’ Eden asked. ‘Was it someone you knew? Why would they want to shoot you?’

There was a silence. Then Flynn said, ‘Never mind. I have to …’ He was silent again. And then Eden heard him gasp.

‘Are you in a lot of pain?’ she asked.

He did not reply.

‘Flynn,’ she asked, more gently. ‘What’s going on with you? If you know who did this, you have to tell the police.’

‘Stay out of this,’ he said in a soft voice.

‘Was it DeShaun? Because of Lizzy?’

‘No,’ he said sharply. ‘Leave it, Eden. You have to leave it. You don’t know what you’re talking about.’

Exasperated, she cried, ‘I can’t leave it. Does this have to do with my mother? Does it have something to do with her death? Or Jeremy’s? Do you know? Because if you do … You have to tell the police if you know something. Your life could still be in danger.’

There was another long silence, and Eden thought Flynn might have ended the call. Then suddenly he said, in a voice that was thick and raspy, ‘Yes. I know. I know everything. But you have to stop asking. Just don’t even bother. I’m sorry, Eden.’

‘Here’s the nurse,’ Lizzy caroled as she returned to the room. ‘He needs some medication. NOW!’

‘Goodbye,’ Flynn said. The phone went dead.

‘Flynn,’ Eden cried. ‘Flynn!’ But the call was ended.

For a few minutes she stared at the phone. Part of her was tempted to throw on a coat over her pajamas and rush down to the hospital, but she forced herself to think clearly. That would not accomplish anything. Still, her mind was racing. Did Flynn, in fact, recognize his assailant? Or was he just confused and incoherent due to drugs and today’s surgery? He sounded lucid enough. Maybe he just didn’t want to talk to Eden. It wasn’t as if they were close. It just seemed impossible that he might know, and not tell. In any case, he had made it clear that he was not going to tell her anything. Leave this to the police, she told herself. If Flynn knows something, Detective Burt will know how to get it out of him. You need to get some sleep. Tomorrow you go home. Her heart lifted at the thought.

Eden pulled back the covers of the narrow bed and climbed in. She was still shivering, and it felt good to be under the covers. She set the alarm on her phone, so that she would be up and out in plenty of time to make her flight.

She had expected it would be difficult to fall asleep, but the upheavals of the day had worn her out, and she fell almost instantly into a deep sleep. Her dreams were the usual chaos of images, residue from the day, and an underlying feeling of anxiety that pervaded every repetitive situation, and every unresolvable difficulty that arose in her dreamscape. Eden moved from one jangled dream to another, until, abruptly, she was dreaming of her mother, here in this very house where she had lived and died. Tara was speaking to Eden while ministering to Jeremy, who was suspended in some painful-looking, medical contraption which was set up in that empty room down the hall. Tara was trying to free him from the equipment without any success. Eden was offering to help, but Tara insisted that she did not need any help. And yet, she kept performing the same repetitive actions which did nothing to alleviate the boy’s suffering.