Hush (40 page)

And just as they were walking away, the news vans pulled up with a screech. Danner glanced back through the wall of security personnel and through the glass doors to see Pauline Kirby step out of a white van. They‘d left Laurelton General and injured politico Hank Sainer for the even bigger story of Jarvis Lloyd‘s suicide.

Metzger caught his glance back. ―Don‘t let the vultures get you.‖

―Hank Sainer was at the beach house the night Annette Deneuve was killed,‖ Danner said.

―It was a side note last week and would be a lead story if it weren‘t for Lloyd.‖

―You‘re involved with breaking news all around,‖ she muttered. ―Pauline‘s gonna be hunting for you.‖

―Lucky me.‖

Lloyd‘s body was already in the hospital morgue, and they took the elevator to the basement. The guard who‘d had his piece stolen by Lloyd and witnessed the suicide was standing with a small crowd of hospital personnel when they entered. He looked sober but in control, except for the quiver that sporadically hit his knees.

―Hey, sit down,‖ Danner said, pulling up a wheeled stool and easing the protesting man onto it. ―What happened?‖

In the automaton voice of a person who‘d already told the tale too many times, Officer Rod Eyerlie recounted the events of the evening, which broke down to: 1) Lloyd called the nurse and asked for something to help him sleep; 2) a nurse brought him a sleep aid; 3) he pretended to take it; and 4) he walked out of the room and told Eyerlie he was sorry, then actually slammed himself into the surprised guard, lifted his gun, held Eyerlie at gunpoint for about ten seconds, ordering him to retreat, and when Eyerlie did so, he placed the barrel under his chin and fired.

Danner watched the man carefully as he recited the events. It wasn‘t easy witnessing a suicide. When Eyerlie finished, Danner put a hand on the man‘s shoulder and said, ―Nothing you could do. Lloyd was intent on killing himself.‖

―We should‘ve handcuffed him to the bed,‖ Metzger said as they walked together out of earshot.

―Yeah.‖ What Danner didn‘t add was that people bent on taking their own lives mostly found a way to do it. Maybe some could be convinced that life was worth living. In Jarvis Lloyd‘s case, with the blood of his daughter on his hands, Danner doubted that would be the case.

―Guess Charisse Werner won‘t have to be worrying about whether Lloyd was Mirandized anymore,‖ Elaine said dryly.

Danner didn‘t acknowledge her. There were a whole lot of new issues to contend with now.

The fog was still patchy as Coby nosed her Sentra around Laurelton General‘s front parking lot. The lot was nearly full, but there were scattered spots. She parked toward the street side of the lot, away from the center median with its covered roof where vehicles faced each other beneath the portico that ran from the parking lot and to the front doors.

She was surprised at how quiet it was, but then the media had probably been seduced by the Lloyd suicide. Hank Sainer was a politician whose name was known, but Jarvis Lloyd—he‘d been traveling down the road of notoriety already and had just hit the wall of infamy head-on.

Entering the hospital, she turned to the reception desk, where a man in a dark blue blazer sat, wearing a headset. He regarded her approach with eyes that gave nothing away and a less than interested attitude that said if she wanted information, she was definitely going to have to ask the right questions and maybe, if she was lucky, she might actually get some answers.

―I‘m a friend of Hank Sainer‘s,‖ she said. ―He was involved in an automobile accident this evening and is in surgery, I believe.‖

―There‘s a waiting room outside the OR,‖ was his response. ―Down that hall and around the corner, by the emergency room doors.‖

―Thank you.‖

She turned to follow his directions, and at that moment the front doors slid open and Yvette, wearing a short black dress with a Lycra bodysuit top, half stumbled through the front doors. Her hair, normally tied into a ponytail, was straight and disheveled and there was a wild look in her eyes.

―Hank?‖ she asked desperately, spying Coby.

If Coby hadn‘t already suspected Hank was Yvette‘s secret lover, the father of her child, she‘d be getting a pretty good idea right about now. ―Still in surgery.‖

―Is he awake? Has he said anything?‖

―I just got here. I think my dad‘s here.‖ She found she couldn‘t say ―with my mom.‖

―Do they think he‘ll live?‖

―Well, we‘re all hoping,‖ Coby answered. ―Come on, there‘s a waiting room outside the OR.‖

Coby started toward the hallway once more, but Yvette didn‘t move. She seemed paralyzed.

Disoriented. Returning to her, Coby eyed her with concern. Yvette looked as if she were gazing at some horrible scene that only she could see.

―I can‘t,‖ she said.

―You sure? You can come with me, if you want.‖

―No . . .‖

Yvette‘s feet seemed stuck to the foor. It was as if there were a line drawn on the carpet that she couldn‘t cross.

―Did you know Hank was coming to see me on Monday?‖ Coby asked. ―He caught up with me at the memorial service and made the appointment. I got the impression he wanted to talk about Annette‘s death.‖

Yvette reared back as if Coby had struck her.
“Monday?”

―That‘s what he said.‖

She said in disbelief, ―He was really going through with it.‖

Coby hadn‘t intended to ask Yvette about her suspicions regarding Benedict‘s paternity, but sometimes the opportunity just arose. ―With . . . the DNA test?‖ she guessed.

Yvette‘s dark eyes were dull as they focused on Coby. ―You know about that. I thought so,‖

she stated flatly. ―Annette just couldn‘t keep her mouth shut about anything.‖

―Hank Sainer is Benedict‘s father,‖ Coby clarified.

Yvette looked lost and disillusioned. She gave a curt nod. ―We already had the DNA test done. Annette was on me about it. She wanted me to acknowledge Hank, or something, but he ‘d never wanted Benedict. Then all of a sudden, bam! He goes for full custody! He was taking me to court!‖ Yvette seemed to shake herself back to the present, and for a moment Coby thought she might break down and cry. ―But he can‘t now, can he? Unless he recovers.‖

With that she turned on her heel and headed back outside, moving with a funny, limping gait. It was as if she‘d made some kind of decision that had been up in the air before she‘d entered the hospital, and now she was ready to act upon it.

Coby hesitated for half a beat, then hurried to catch up, heading through the glass doors after her. ―Wait! Can we talk a minute?‖

―Not interested.‖ Yvette made a beeline for a car nosed into the center strip parked beneath the roof. A small compact. A black Ford Focus.

―Annette was going to tell everyone that Benedict was Hank‘s son. That was the secret she planned to tell.‖

―She was
siding
with Hank!‖ Yvette stopped at her car, frozen, keys in her hand though she didn‘t put them in the lock. Coby was only a couple of steps behind or she wouldn‘t have been able to see because of the fog. ―You want me to say I killed her?‖ Yvette suddenly yelled, still turned away from Coby. ―Is that what you want?‖

―What happened that night? You were fighting with her about spilling your secret.‖

―You bet I was.‖ Now Yvette turned, the planes of her face shadowed, her mouth grim.

―Annette was a know-it-all bitch who had to meddle in my affairs. We fought. Yes. And yeah, I pushed her into the hot tub. But it was a mistake. I was just so mad at her that I shoved her. She fell into the tub and then I rushed up but she was just sitting there, kinda dazed. I told her she was a bitch and I went inside. I left her there.

―She just wouldn‘t leave me and Benedict alone, you know? I hated her. All she ever did was mess things up! But then . . . then she was dead, but when I left her she was sitting up!‖

Yvette‘s voice had started to shake. She seemed to be unraveling right in front of Coby. ―Somebody else held her under. It wasn‘t me, and it‘s not my fault that she died! Yes, I pushed her, but it was an accident. If she‘d just left me alone . . .‖

―What about the lock of hair?‖ Coby asked quickly as Yvette stabbed the key in the lock and twisted.

―I don‘t give a good goddamn about Lucas‘s hair. It wasn‘t my sick souvenir. I lied about him, okay? I admit that. We weren‘t lovers, but that‘s all I lied about.‖

―You were with Hank the night of the campout.‖

―Yes! Yes. I was with Hank, okay? But Lucas just
fell
.‖

―You saw him fall?‖

“Yes
. He tripped and fell and it was
terrible
. Stop making a federal case out of it! It was an accident, too!‖ She jumped into her car and slammed the door behind her.

―Do you think I don‘t belong?‖ Coby yelled after her, which earned her a look that said Yvette thought she was completely nuts.

Yvette threw the car in reverse, nearly running over Coby, who moved a good ten feet away, then she jammed the car into gear and it leapt forward with a little
blurp
of tires.

Coby‘s breath was coming fast. She felt like she‘d just run a marathon. Everyone had said Yvette had killed Annette, and now it looked like they‘d been right. Except Yvette wouldn‘t cop to the fact she‘d held her under. Not yet, anyway. Maybe in time. Maybe now she just couldn‘t accept that she‘d killed her sister.

In a detached part of her mind, she heard an engine fire up. Someone leaving the hospital.

But her mind was making feverish connections. Yvette was with Hank and not Lucas.

Lucas‘s death
was
an accident. He died of head trauma—no, wait—Danner had said he died from drowning, though from his injuries it looked like he‘d hit the back of his head against the cliff or rocks or both, and then turned over later. Possibly by the waves. Or possibly by someone who ‘d taken a piece of his hair?

Yvette had kept the secret of Benedict‘s paternity for her own reasons. But Hank had been about to go for full custody, and Yvette clearly believed he had just cause or she wouldn‘t be so scared now. In a fit of anger, she‘d shoved Annette, who then fell into the hot tub and drowned. But someone had held Annette under; there were marks on the back of her neck and she‘d tried to claw her way free. Yvette wouldn‘t go so far as to accept blame for that, but then maybe she hadn‘t done it? Maybe it was just as she‘d said: she had entered the house after pushing Annette. Maybe someone else seized the opportunity to get rid of Annette, who was all about divulging secrets and had found a lock of hair that she believed was Lucas Moore‘s.

The departing car‘s headlights swept the front of the hospital as it curved through the turnaround, its engine revving. Coby saw the flash of light, and a detached part of her brain knew she was in its path, so she moved to one side of the parking lot.

But what if Yvette was telling the truth about Annette? What if someone else —a true opportunist—had either seen or come upon Annette falling into the hot tub and simply finished what Yvette had begun? What if someone came upon Lucas Moore after he fell onto the rocks and clipped a swatch of his hair and then pushed his face in the water, making certain he drowned?

What if someone then followed Rhiannon onto a cliff trail and made certain she tumbled to her death?

―But why?‖ Coby said aloud.

The sudden loudness of the approaching car‘s engine. A high-pitched whine. A squeal of tires screeching against slippery pavement.

Coby jerked around, shocked. Headlights blinded her. Twin beams in gray fog. White and glaring.

The car shot forward. Spurting toward her. A sedan? her brain wondered as she leapt for the grass.

The car came right at her.
Smack!
She felt a jolt in her hip. She spun like a top, then went down. Facedown into mud and grass. She yanked up her knees in a move of automatic self-preservation, certain the car would run over her legs. But it tore past Coby, accelerating.

Groggily, she raised her head to try to read the license plate, but the fog obscured everything but the shape of the red taillights and a general idea that the vehicle was light-colored.

She laid her head back down. Afraid. Cold. Wondering if the driver would suddenly reverse and try for a second attempt at her. Fear shot a jolt of adrenaline through her system and she struggled to her feet.

She swayed, catching her breath.

She heard shouts. Coming from the hospital. Someone had seen the attack.

But the car was long gone, onto the highway, by the sound of the disappearing engine. Not interested in another swipe at Coby.

―Are you all right, miss?‖ It was an orderly, she thought, based on his white garb. He hadn‘t come from the front of the hospital but was apparently already outside, walking along one of the sidewalks from another wing.

―I think so.‖ She slowly sat back down on the cold, wet ground.

―Are you sure? I can get a wheelchair or a gurney.‖

―No. Just give me a minute.‖

―I‘ll be right back,‖ he said, running toward the front door, clearly not believing her.

But Coby knew she was basically unhurt. All she felt was reaction. From everything that had happened the whole day. She didn‘t know what it meant. She didn‘t know how much was fact and how much was conjecture on her part, but someone was out to get her.

And whoever that someone was, it wasn‘t Yvette Deneuve, because Yvette hadn‘t had time to drive out of sight, turn around, and circle the parking lot to attack Coby.

And the car that came after Coby was white, or tan, or maybe even light gray, hard to tell with the fog.

But it sure as hell wasn‘t a black Ford Focus.

I disappear into the blanket of the fog, uncertain. By all rights she should be dead but she
darted at the last moment, spinning away. I think I may have just grazed her.

Did she know it was me?

A thrill shoots through me. Stimulating. Sexual. I hope she knows it was me!

No. I cannot think that way. Cannot let the desire that rules me overtake my planning.

I am a master at the art of planning and opportunity.

I killed Lucas.