Eyes (4 page)

“Just fine, Doctor. Vital signs are normal, and he understands about the head restraint.”

Neil was in a small room right next to the charge nurse's desk. He was flat on his back with his head nestled into something that looked like a huge, hard pillow. There was a padded strap across his forehead, and it was attached to the pillow on both sides with Velcro fasteners.

“Neil? I'm here.” Jill was surprised to find that she was whispering. Hospitals seemed to do that to a person. She cleared her throat and took her husband's hand. “How are you feeling?”

His voice was groggy, but he still managed to sound angry. “How do you think I'm feeling? I can't see a damn thing!”

“Neil? It's Dr. Varney. We'll take the bandages off on Sunday for a quick look; then they'll have to go on again. I'm sorry, but you'll have to wear them for at least a week.”

“Hi, Doc.” Jill noticed that Neil's voice was much warmer. It was clear he hadn't realized the doctor was in the room. “That's okay. I understand. It's just frustrating . . . you know?”

Varney nodded. “I can imagine. Try to be patient. This'll take time to heal.”

“Okay. I'll do my best, Doc.”

“Good.” Dr. Varney smiled at Jill. “You need to sleep, so I'm going to send Jill home. Is there anything you want to tell her before she goes?”

“No. I can't think of . . . Oh, yeah. Call the department and tell them I'm here. And call Lisa at home. She should know.”

The color rose in Jill's cheeks and she immediately dropped Neil's hand. “You want me to call
Lisa
?”

“Somebody's got to. She's still scheduled as my TA.”

Jill was too embarrassed to meet Dr. Varney's eyes. Had he guessed that Lisa was much more than Neil's teaching assistant?

“Jill?” Neil's voice was softer, more intimate. Even though he couldn't see her face, he seemed to sense that he'd upset her. “You don't have to call Lisa. Just ask someone at the department to get in touch with her. I want her to know I won't be back for next semester so she can start making other arrangements.”

“All right.” Jill's voice was shaking slightly. Was it possible that this was purely business, that Neil had actually broken off with Lisa?

“Thanks for being here, Jill.” Neil reached out for her, and she gave him her hand again. He squeezed it once; then he smiled. “You've been a tower of strength. I really couldn't have gone through all this without you.”

As she headed for the door, Jill began to frown. Neil had thanked her, and he'd called her a tower of strength. That was nice, but one crucial thing was missing. Not once, during this long, lonely night, had her husband told her that he loved her.

CHAPTER 4

It was Saturday morning and Connie was all dressed and ready to go. They'd told her she could leave the hospital at eleven, so she was sitting on the edge of the bed, waiting for Dr. Peters to sign her release papers.

“Okay, Connie. You're all set.” Dr. Peters handed her a small paper bag with the name of the hospital pharmacy imprinted on the front. “When you get home, I want you to go straight to bed. Take one of the white pills three times a day, and if you have trouble sleeping tonight, take one of the small, blue pills.”

Connie nodded and stood up. “Thank you, Doctor. May I leave now?”

“Just wait for the wheelchair. They'll bring it up in a minute.”

“Wheelchair?” Connie was puzzled. “But I can walk.”

“It's against hospital regulations. You're still under our care until you're officially released at the front desk. Just ask the orderly to call you a cab, and he'll wheel you right out to the curb.”

Connie opened her mouth to protest. She felt just fine, she certainly didn't need a wheelchair. But the doctor seemed to know exactly what she was thinking because he shook his head.

“Sorry. I know it doesn't make much sense, but that's the way we have to do things. Once you've been admitted, you have to be wheeled out. Just enjoy the ride—and call me if you have any problems.”

Connie sighed and then nodded. “Okay. Thank you for everything, Doctor.”

Peters started to leave, but he turned back at the door. “You've had a terrible shock, Connie. You really shouldn't be alone. I want you to call someone who can stay with you for a few days.”

“All right. I'll do that.” Connie couldn't quite meet his eyes. If he found out she had no one to call, he might not release her. It was kind of him to worry about her, but there was really no need. Once she got back to the condo and surrounded herself with Alan's things, she'd be perfectly fine.

* * *

Jill was at her desk in the Criminal Courts Building, going over a brief. There really hadn't been any reason to come in on a Saturday, but after she'd stopped to see Neil at the hospital, she hadn't felt like going back to the house. There was always work she could do at the office. Her caseload was heavy and that was exactly the way she liked it. Work kept her from thinking about Neil and what her life would be like if the transplant failed.

A familiar voice floated in from the hallway, and Jill began to smile. She recognized the trace of a Texas drawl that had never been completely erased by twelve years in Minnesota.

“Doug? Doug Lake?” Jill got up from the desk and poked her head out the door. And then she saw him, her favorite cop on the Minneapolis force.

“Hey, Jill!” Doug grinned from ear to ear. He was a tall, lanky man with sandy hair that always looked tousled, more at home in blue jeans and a checkered shirt than in the business suit he was wearing. “Long time no see. How's it going Mrs. Assistant District Attorney?”

“Just fine, Mr. Lead Sergeant Detective.” Jill grinned back. She'd met Doug when she'd first come to work at the district attorney's office. He'd been a rookie working crowd control, part of the small equestrian unit, and she'd been the youngest lawyer in the office, at the very bottom of the pecking order. Jill's boss had assigned Doug's case to her. A drunk had thrown a bottle at his horse. The drunk had gotten a fine and a considerable amount of jail time; Doug and Jill had been friends ever since.

“They told me about your husband.” Doug's grin disappeared, and he looked very sympathetic. “I'm really sorry, Jill.”

Jill nodded. “Me, too. I just hope the transplant works.”

“When will they know?”

“At two o'clock tomorrow.” Jill clasped her hands behind her back. They were starting to tremble. “The doctor's taking off the bandages to check.”

“Do you have someone to go to the hospital with you?” Doug still looked concerned. “I can switch my schedule if you need me.”

“Thanks, but I'll be just fine.” Jill was surprised by the offer. She knew how difficult it was for him to switch schedules. He would have to call in a favor to get someone to cover his shift.

“Here.” Doug scribbled a number on a card and handed it to her. “You shouldn't be alone at a time like this. That's my home number. Call me if you need to talk.”

Jill tucked the card into her pocket and nodded. “Thank you. I really appreciate it.”

“Hey, no problem. What are friends for? Let me know how it goes, okay?”

“I'll do that.” Jill nodded, and just then the receptionist motioned to Doug.

“Gotta go. I've got an appointment with Hayes, and it's not smart to keep the big man waiting.” Doug grinned at her. “I get off at eight. Call me anytime after that.”

As Jill watched him stride down the hall, she felt much better. She'd shared an occasional lunch with Doug, and they'd worked together on several cases, but she hadn't realized that he thought of her as a friend. She knew very little about his personal life, only a few things about his professional one. He'd left Texas when he'd finished college, and he'd graduated from the Minneapolis Police Academy with honors. He'd risen rapidly in the ranks, everyone including his supervisors liked him, and he'd passed his detective's exam the first time he'd taken it. Jill didn't know whether Doug was married or whether he had a girlfriend, or even where he lived. The only personal thing she knew about him was that he liked his coffee strong, with three sugars and two creams.

When Jill turned around to go back to her desk, she was smiling. Doug Lake was a mystery, and she liked mysteries. Perhaps he was married to a wonderful woman. If so, she could invite them for dinner one night. But would that work? Neil liked to choose his own friends, and he wasn't interested in meeting any of hers.

After her marriage, Jill had stopped inviting coworkers to her home. She never knew when Neil would be sarcastic. At times he'd actually been rude to her friends. There was no way Jill could anticipate, with any degree of certainty, how Neil would treat their guests.

She sat down in her chair and switched on the light. As she picked up her brief and started to read it again, she found herself hoping that Doug wasn't married. It was a lot safer that way. If Neil was in one of his moods, he might try to hit on Doug's wife. Doug would react as the other husbands had, and then she'd lose him as a friend. No, it would be much better if Doug weren't married. And, to be perfectly honest with herself, it would be better if she weren't married.

* * *

Connie smiled as she walked down the corridor and approached the door to three eighty-one. She was home and she could hardly wait to take a shower and crawl into the bed she'd shared with Alan. Of course she'd be lonely; she knew that. But she could slip on one of Alan's shirts, smell the aftershave he'd always worn, and for a few hours at least, she could pretend that he was still alive.

There was something wrong with the lock. Her key didn't seem to fit. Connie wiggled it around and tried to force it into the slot, but she couldn't get the door to open. Now she'd have to go down to the office and call for a locksmith.

As she rang for the elevator, Connie glanced at her watch. It was almost one o'clock. She hoped the office hadn't closed for lunch. She could never remember the schedule. Did they take their lunch hour from twelve to one . . . or from one to two? And was it different on Saturdays? The elevator doors opened and Connie stepped in, thankful that it was empty. She didn't want to accept the condolences of the neighbors yet. If anyone said a kind word to her, she was sure she'd break down in tears.

The office manager had just closed up for lunch, but when he saw Connie he unlocked the door. He looked worried, almost nervous at seeing her, and at first Connie was puzzled. In the past he'd always been very friendly. Perhaps he was just one of those people who didn't know what to say when tragedy struck.

“Hello, Harry.” Connie stepped into the office and waited for him to speak. Surely he'd offer some sympathetic word, tell her how sorry he was about Alan. But Harry didn't say anything at all. He just sat there silently, avoiding her eyes.

“There's something wrong with my lock.” Connie held out her key. “This doesn't go in all the way, and it won't turn at all.”

Harry nodded, but he still didn't meet her eyes. “I didn't know you were coming back today, or I would have put a note on your door.”

“A note? But why?”

“I've got some bad news.” Harry pulled out a chair and motioned for her to sit down. “Please take a seat. This isn't going to be easy, Miss Wilson.”

Connie seated herself, and this time Harry met her eyes. He looked very upset, he was frowning. “You'd think they'd have the guts to tell you themselves, but they left it to me!”

“Tell me what, Harry?” Connie's hands started to tremble. “What's wrong?”

“The Stanfords. They sent in a moving crew this morning. There's a whole pile of boxes that belong to you at the back of the office.”

“I . . . I don't understand!” Connie was so shocked, she hardly knew what to say. “I know Alan made the mortgage payment this month. How could they do that?”

“That's what I asked them. They said the condo was in Alan's name. Now that he's gone, and he didn't leave a will, it goes to them.”

Connie took a deep breath and tried to think. “I guess they're right. I just don't know. I never thought about Alan . . . dying.”

“It's a dirty shame, but I checked with the lawyer that lives in three seventeen, and he told me there's nothing you can do. They own the property. You can't even get in.”

Connie nodded. It was so much to take in, all at once. “But they left me my things?”

“That's just it. They only left
your
things. I went up there while they were packing. Everything that belonged to Alan went in one set of boxes. They had those hauled to a storage place. Your things went in another set of boxes, and they brought them down here.”

“They took the furniture?”

Harry nodded. “I asked the movers if they'd leave your bed and the sofa and one of the chairs. But they said they had their orders from the Stanfords—everything had to go.”

“Everything?” Hot tears stung Connie's eyelids.

“They said Alan had paid for everything and now it all belonged to his parents. Even that picture of him on your dresser, and the photo albums and everything in the cupboards. They left you your clothes and some personal things, but that's about it.”

“So they took everything away and changed the locks?”

“That's right.” Harry nodded. “I'm really sorry, Miss Wilson. I tried to save something for you, but they wouldn't let me come in any farther than the front entry way.”

Connie's mind was reeling. She didn't know what to do. She'd lost Alan, their baby, and the home they'd shared in less than twenty-four hours. “Do you think I could use your phone to call the Stanfords? Maybe there's some kind of mistake.”

“You can try, but don't get your hopes up. People like the Stanfords don't have hearts. All they've got are rolls of dollar bills in their chests!”

“That's what Alan used to say.” Connie gave a small, sad smile. “But I still think I should call them. I want to hear it from them.”

Harry nodded and pushed the phone to her side of the desk. “Look, Miss Wilson . . . Connie. Give 'em hell, okay? Alan was crazy about you. He told me you were going to get married. What they did to you is just plain wrong!”

Connie's hands were shaking as she dialed the number. She knew the Stanfords hadn't approved of her, but she hadn't dreamed they hated her quite this much. What could she say to change their minds, to convince them that she was grieving over Alan just as much, or more, than they were?

“Stanford residence. Elsa speaking.”

It was the Swedish maid, and Connie immediately felt better. She'd never actually spoken to Elsa, but Alan had told her the woman was very nice. “Hello, Elsa. This is Connie Wilson, Alan's fiancé. May I please talk to Mr. or Mrs. Stanford?”

“I'm sorry, Miss Wilson, they're not taking any calls. They told me to say if you have any questions, you should contact their lawyer, Mr. Quentin Avery.”

“Their lawyer? But . . . won't they just talk to me?”

“Could you hold the line for a moment, please?” There was the sound of a door closing softly, and then Elsa's voice came on the line again. “Miss Wilson? I can't talk long, but I want to tell you how sorry I am. Alan told me he loved you, and it's not right what they're doing.”

Connie blinked back tears. When she spoke again, her voice was shaking with emotion. “Thank you, Elsa. Alan said you were nice, and he was right.”

“Please call their lawyer, Miss Wilson. I'll give you his number. The Stanfords could have arranged for you to have something of Alan's, I just don't know.”

As Connie wrote down the lawyer's number, her spirits rose. Perhaps Alan's parents had acted out of grief, packing up his things so quickly and changing the locks on the door. But now that they'd had time to think about what they'd done, they might have reconsidered. Mr. Avery might tell her that it was all a mistake and she could move back into the condo.

“Thank you, Elsa.” Commie managed a small smile. “Do you think if I call again, Alan's parents will talk to me?”

It was several moments before Elsa answered, and when she did, she sounded doubtful. “They just told me they weren't taking any calls, except from their lawyer. But he might know, and I think you should call him right away.”