Lost Identity (22 page)

“How is she?”

“She’s one lucky lady. We expect her to make a full recovery within twenty-four hours. Until then, we’ll keep her here for observation.” He smiled at Andrew. “Take it easy. At the moment, you look worse than she does.”

Trish must have thought the same thing, because she sent Andrew a reassuring smile through the plastic walls of an oxygen tent. She was obviously drained and weak, and her arms lay limply at her sides. His heart lurched in his chest as she mouthed the words, “I love you.”

His eyes grew moist with relief, and he gave her a loving smile that needed no words of explanation. She smiled back, and closed her eyes, too weary to keep them open another moment.

He sat beside her bed for nearly an hour until the nurse reassured him that Trish would probably sleep most of the day, and suggested that he come back later when the patient was ready for some company.

“Unless there are complications, she’ll be dismissed tomorrow,” the nurse had reassured him.

Unless there are complications.
The words kept rolling over and over in his mind like a hamster wheel as he drove back to the cottage. He was oblivious to the sunny new day that had held such promise only a few hours ago. The wonderful breakfast he’d been planning on making was a mockery in the crisis that had engulfed them. His stomach was so taut, he wondered if he’d ever want to eat again.

When he pulled off the road into his short driveway, he was surprised to see a New Jersey police car parked beside the utility truck. Was this a routine call? Maybe his cottage wasn’t the only one having gas problems.

All the windows and doors in the house had been opened, but the acidic smell of gas lingered strongly as he got out of his car. Two service men came around the back of the house, and when they saw Andrew, they came over to him.

“There’s a policeman around back. He wants to talk with you,” said an older man, peering through his glasses.

“Did you get the gas leak fixed?” Andrew asked anxiously.

The two men exchanged glances, and the gray-haired man shoved his glasses back on his nose with an impatient gesture. “There wasn’t any leak.”

“Then what happened?”

“The stove valves were turned on full force. The pilot light was out.”

“What?” A sickening churning began in the pit of Andrew’s stomach.

“You’d better be talking to the policeman. We’re done here.” As they walked away, Andrew heard him
say to his young assistant. “Don’t be talking about this, understand? The policeman said that this whole thing will probably end up in court and we’ll have to testify.”

Andrew knew the truth then. The gas-filled house had been no accident. The paranoia that Trish had been fighting since the first moment he’d found her had been validated by this deliberate intent to kill her.

He stood there several minutes, looking at the bungalow as his mind raced to handle the unspeakable truth. Whoever it was must have been watching the house for a long time. They knew that she was there, and when he drove away, carelessly leaving the house unlocked for the few minutes he was gone. The way was clear for someone to slip in and turn on the gas stove burners.

Andrew walked with weighted steps around to the back of the house, and came face-to-face with a lean, tall policeman who was just coming down the stairs.

“Mr. Davis? I’m Officer Baxley.” He smiled as if this was a normal meeting and not something out of a bizarre crime novel.

“Yes, Officer, I’m the house’s owner. I just got back from the hospital.”

“And how is the lady in question?” he asked politely.

“Good. They expect her to be released tomorrow.”

“Well, that’s promising news. Sometime these things have a way of working out for the best. Of course, in a case like this, there has to be some follow-up, you know.”

“I would hope so,” Andrew said shortly. “When someone deliberately plots murder, and almost succeeds, I would expect more than a follow-up.”

“Murder?” Officer Baxley looked puzzled.

“What else do you call it? Someone entered the house while I was gone, turned on the gas and left, expecting my houseguest to be killed in her sleep.”

The policeman shook his head. “I’m afraid that you have the wrong idea of what happened here, Mr. Davis. It wasn’t attempted murder.” He held up the plastic-covered piece of paper. “This note makes it clear. This was attempted suicide.”

After a moment of absolute stunned silence, Andrew felt hysterical laughter building in his chest. “You can’t be serious.”

“Dead serious. We found this on a kitchen counter.”

“Let me see it.”

The officer hesitated and then nodded. “You can read it through the plastic, but don’t take it out.”

Andrew stared at the short typed note in utter disbelief.

I’m sorry. I can’t go on pretending. I didn’t mean to kill Perry.

“No, there’s some mistake.” Andrew thrust the note back at him.

“I know this is a shock to you,” Baxley said in a knowing manner, as if lovers’ quarrels were a part of his unhappy job.

“Yes, a shock,” Andrew agreed with tight lips.

“The lady must have changed her mind at that last minute, and tried to get out of the house.”

There were too many inconsistencies, but it was no use arguing with this policeman who had no idea of the drama that preceded this pseudo-suicide scam. An
drew knew he needed time to line up the facts and present them to Lieutenant O’Donnel.

T
RISH WAS OUT OF THE
oxygen tent later that afternoon when Janelle rushed into the room, bringing an overnight bag.

“Andrew called me at the office.” Janelle’s worried eyes searched Trish’s pale face. “He said there’d been a gas leak at the cottage. How awful! Are you all right? Everyone’s worried to death. How did something like that happen?”

“I don’t know,” Trish said honestly. “I just woke up and the house was filled with gas. I guess a gas line broke in the kitchen.”

“And where was Andrew?” she asked in a critical tone. “Curtis told me Andrew took you to his place for the night. Really, Trish. Why are you so blasted trusting?”

“It wasn’t Andrew’s fault,” Trish said defensively. “He’d gone to the store to get some things for breakfast. Anyway, he came back in time.”

“Thank heavens for that! Darlene was furious that her party was ruined. She put the blame on you. She’s been telling everyone that you were seeing a psychiatrist and your behavior had been terribly erratic since your return.” Janelle sighed. “Curtis wasn’t too happy about the whole thing, either.”

“I’m sorry. I just couldn’t stand being on display like that.”

Janelle reached over and patted her hand. “It’s all right, honey. I told Darlene the party was a bad idea in the first place, but she had some crazy idea that—” Janelle hesitated.

“I know. Darlene wanted to catch me remembering someone or something,” Trish finished.

Janelle nodded. “Makes you wonder just how much stuff she and Gary are covering up themselves.”

Trish didn’t answer. Suddenly she was too tired to even listen to any more speculation. Thankfully, a moment later she heard Andrew’s voice in the hall, and her fatigue instantly lessened. Drawing on the memory of the night they’d spent together, a warm flush eased through her as he came through the door. He was smiling and carrying a bouquet of pink roses.

Ignoring Janelle, he leaned over the bed and kissed Trish gently. “How you doing, love?”

“Better.” Her eyes added a message of their own as she smiled lovingly at him.

As if embarrassed to be a third party in the charged energy between them, Janelle reached for the flowers. “Here let me put them in water.” She left the room to ask a nurse for a vase.

Andrew down sat on the edge of the bed. “Your blood tests are normal. You’re one lucky lady,” he said thankfully.

“What happened? Did they find the gas leak?”

Somehow he had to delay telling her that what had happened was no accident. He had talked to Dr. Duboise and the doctor agreed that it would be best for Trish to be at Havengate when she learned that someone had tried to kill her and frame her for Perry’s murder with a suicide note.

“Yes, they found the leak, but the house still smells of gas. What do think about spending a couple of nights at Havengate while it airs out?”

His casual suggestion didn’t ring true. Her eyes nar
rowed. “You’ve talked to Duboise about this, haven’t you? What aren’t you telling me?”

Instead of answering her last question, he parried, “Dr. Duboise and I agree that after this kind of experience, you need some down time. Your old room is ready and waiting. Wouldn’t you rather spend the night there than here?”

She searched his face and saw only a loving concern in his eyes. He was worried, that was obvious. This whole miserable happening had obviously taken a toll on him. She felt guilty for being the object of another emotional drain on him.

“All right,” she said wearily. “Whatever you say.”

When Janelle came back with the flowers, they told her what had been arranged. “Oh, I was thinking that I could vacate the guest bedroom, and you and Andrew could stay at the apartment,” she said. “What do you think?”

Trish looked at Andrew hopefully, but he shook his head. “Maybe in a day or two. We’ll see.”

The way he said it, Trish had the feeling that her stay at Havengate wasn’t going to be the overnight visit that he had proposed. This suspicion increased as they made the transfer in his car from the small hospital to Havengate.

“So nice to see you again,” beamed Ms. Sloan as if Trish were an old friend returning for a visit. “Dr. Duboise left word that he’d be willing to see you tonight if necessary.”

Necessary?
Trish looked at Andrew, and knew from his closed expression that there was something he wasn’t telling her.
What was going on? Were they somehow blaming her for what had happened?

As Trish and Andrew walked across the grounds
from the admittance building to her room, she felt like someone trying to discern the shape and size of a threatening force waiting to leap out at her.

She shivered. “Something’s terribly wrong, isn’t it? Have they found more proof that I was with Perry on the boat? That I shot him?”

“No,” he said forcibly. “Quit thinking like that.”

He was furious that she was being set up by someone. The false suicide note was evidence of that.

“You’re holding something back,” she accused him, fighting a familiar stab of uneasiness settling bone-deep within her.

If Andrew had been sure of her emotional reaction, he would have told her right then and there that someone had followed them to his cottage and waited for the opportunity to kill her—or maybe both of them. But he couldn’t ignore the way she was looking at him like a frightened animal crowded into a corner. She’d be better off in Dr. Duboise’s hands when she learned the truth.

He pulled her into his arms and they clung to each other for a long moment. He stroked her hair and whispered, “We’ll find the answer to all of this. I promise.”

He refrained from telling her the one thing that was certain.

That the discovery of Perry’s body had sent a killer into action.

Chapter Fifteen

When Andrew kissed Trish goodbye, he could tell that she was bewildered to find herself back at Havengate. Even though she didn’t know the truth about her narrow escape, she was understandably shaken up by the experience.

“Call me if you can’t sleep,” he said gently. “And we’ll stay awake together.”

“Only if you promise I can come back to the cottage after I see Dr. Duboise tomorrow,” she bargained.

“The cottage isn’t smelling all that sweet at the moment. Maybe we should think about me being your houseguest for a while,” he suggested casually. Until some protection had been arranged for her, he wasn’t going to let her out of his sight.

Her eyes smiled at him. “I’ve got a queen-size bed.”

“Well, I guess we can always use half of it.” He grinned.

A
NDREW RETURNED TO THE
cottage just after dusk and was startled to see all the lights on, and three cars parked at the side of the house. He recognized the
police car that Officer Baxley had been driving that morning, but the other two unmarked cars had New York license plates.

Good, thought Andrew. When he had called Lieutenant O’Donnel earlier in the day, the policeman had listened to everything Andrew had to say without showing much excitement or interest.

“Don’t you see what this means?” Andrew had demanded impatiently. “Someone is trying to set Trish up for Perry’s murder.”

“Take it easy, son. No need to be jumping to a lot of hasty conclusions without looking at things from more than one side. Where’d you say your place was?”

“On the beach just a few miles across the New Jersey state line.” He told him the quickest way to get there.

“That’s out of my jurisdiction,” O’Donnel replied curtly. “Of course, if Patricia Radcliffe’s attempted suicide has something to do with my ongoing case, we’ll work something out with the New Jersey authorities.”

“She didn’t attempt suicide,” Andrew flared. “That’s what I’m telling you. Any idiot can see that!”

O’Donnel had made some noncommittal comments and hung up. Andrew didn’t know whether or not the detective was going to do his own investigation or just rely on Baxley’s report.

As he bounded toward the front steps of the cottage, he saw that a yellow banner designating a crime scene had been stretched across the front, and a redheaded man was kneeling at the front door with a fingerprint kit.

Hallelujah,
thought Andrew. O’Donnel was taking
the matter seriously. He ducked under the paper barrier, and the crime lab officer let him get by when Andrew assured him that he lived there.

Both O’Donnel and Baxley were in the kitchen. The two officers were a sharp contrast in appearance. Baxley’s youthful tall, beanpole frame barely filled out his roomy uniform, while O’Donnel’s hefty middle-aged stoutness tugged at his brown tweed suit. From the way the two men looked at him as he came in, Andrew sensed that they had formed a united front in the investigation. Andrew felt a soft brush of fear creeping up his spine. Surely they agreed that the suicide setup was a deadly hoax, didn’t they?