Sintown Chronicles II: Through Bedroom Windows (83 page)

It was close to ten when she pulled into the parking deck of Charlotte Memorial, thankful that the gate was up for she had no change to feed the control. She retrieved the stuffed Lucky from the trunk of the car. She smiled as she fondled the stuffed animal. They wouldn't let Sam have it at Myrtle Beach, but maybe they will here.

The elderly gentleman at the information desk assured Shelly that Sam arrived safely and was in a private room—number 396. As tactfully as possible he explained that he could not allow her to visit at this hour and, after tearful entreaty from Shelly, he called the nurses’ desk on the third floor. “You're in luck,” he said with a twinkle in his eye. “Nurse Finnigan is on duty. She's a kindhearted soul and said you could slip up for just a minute."

The softhearted nurse led Shelly to Sam's room. He looked as if he was sleeping peacefully. “Has he said anything?” Shelly whispered.

The nurse hugged her and said, “He's still comatose, honey, but don't give up."

“Any movement at all?"

“I'm afraid not."

Shelly eased beside the bed and motioned the nurse to follow. “When I last kissed him in Myrtle Beach, I thought I felt his eyelid move. Watch carefully."

She leaned over and kissed his left eyelid. There was no response. She kissed his right eyelid and turned expectantly to the nurse.

“I'm sorry, honey. I saw no movement."

“But I felt it. I know I did."

Nurse Finnigan smiled compassionately. “I'm afraid it's wishful thinking, honey."

“May I leave Lucky with him?” Shelly pleaded. “Sam bought it for our daughter and she wants him to have it."

Nurse Finnigan smiled and Shelly placed the stuffed animal on Sam's chest.

There was no reason to stay longer. Sam was in good hands.

His eyelid moved. I know it did, she thought repeatedly as she drove the narrow Old Charlotte Road to Dot. She was very tired and longed to crawl into bed—their bed. Sam would not be there, but his aroma would be. She longed to experience that special fragrance. She wanted desperately to hear him snore.

She left on the headlights as she began to carry luggage to the porch and noticed lights come on at the house next door. When the last suitcase was on the front porch, she fumbled in her purse for the house key.

“Oh, it's you, Shelly."

She recognized Border's voice and watched him approach, wearing a bathrobe and slippers and holding a 38 caliber pistol in his hand.

“We weren't expecting you tonight,” he explained as he climbed the porch steps.

“I should have called. They flew Sam to Charlotte Memorial this afternoon. He's still in a coma, but they say his vital signs are good. What's with the gun?"

“I thought you were a burglar,” he explained. “I'm afraid I'm not a very good neighbor, Shelly."

“Nonsense."

“This morning Annie wanted some of her toys. Since Sam left us a key, Leora came over here and found that someone broke into your car. They smashed in the passenger door window. Kid's probably. I don't think anything is missing. I got the boys from the department to come out. They dusted for fingerprints and found hundreds. I imagine they belong to you, Annie and Sam.” He chuckled. “I don't think you've washed that car since you bought it."

Shelly raced down the steps and around the house. She pulled open the Escort door and popped open the glove compartment. She looked at Borders as he caught up with her. “They stole my 9mm pistol."

Shelly gave up her attempt to sleep, scrambled out of bed and showered at six in the morning. She went through the motions of dressing, preparing and eating breakfast. She knew she must confront Boyd, but she dreaded it. As she washed the few dishes in the sink, she remembered that Boyd, on the telephone Saturday morning, said he sent her an email message late Friday afternoon, backing out of the murder plan. She rushed to the study and booted her Macintosh.

Shell,

Your plan to murder Sam for his life insurance is insane. You have a great body, but not THAT great. I've never harmed a human being in my life and I certainly am not going to have anything to do with murder. Sure, I know you talked Sam into buying a five million dollar life insurance policy, but all the money in the world is not worth the taking of a human life. Count me out!

Boyd

You bastard! You set me up and sent this email to cover your ass. I'll get you for this, you worthless son-of-a-bitch. She deleted the message and checked to be certain all other messages were also deleted.

The reunion with Annie was sweet, but short, and the Borders understood that Shelly wanted to spend as much time as she could with Sam. They promised to continue babysitting as long as necessary.

“Open the damn door!” Shelly screamed as she pounded on Boyd's apartment door. “I know you're in there."

“What time is it?” the sleepy-eyed man, clad only in boxer shorts, asked as he tried to focus on the figure standing in the hallway.

She pushed past him, entered the apartment and headed straight for his computer.

Boyd watched as she powered on his Macintosh. “Shell, I read in the paper that Sam was shot. What a coincidence."

“Coincidence, hell!” she said as she searched his empty email messages-sent file. She searched the remaining email files and found no trace of their correspondence.

She turned towards him. “Why, Boyd? We both agreed it was a bad plan. Why did you go ahead and do it anyway? And that last message you sent made it look like the whole thing was my idea!"

“I didn't do it, Shell."

“The hell you didn't! It was you all right. Do you think I didn't recognize you? Did you think the black pants, sweatshirt and ski mask would fool me?"

“I've gotta have some coffee,” he said and he moved to the kitchen.

She followed and watched him put a pot of water on the stove. “You deleted that last message, but you must have sent it somewhere to provide yourself with an alibi."

“I was drunk, Shell, and scared. I was afraid you would go through with it without me. You're right. I was trying to cover my ass, but when I sobered up the next morning, I deleted it. I did not go to Myrtle Beach and I did not shoot Sam.” He measured a spoonful of instant coffee into two mugs and filled them with boiling water. “How is Sam?"

“He's in a coma."

“Still at the beach?” he asked as he sat at the kitchen table and blew on the steaming liquid.

“No. He's in Charlotte Memorial now."

“Shell, honey, I didn't do it. But..."

“But what, bastard?"

“I think maybe you did."

“Bullshit! Where were you Saturday night? If you can prove you were working at the club, I'll believe you."

“One thing is certain,” he said, his eyes narrowing. “I know where
you
were Saturday night, and so do the cops."

“Were you working Saturday night?"

“No. I had already arranged to have the night off. I stayed home with my favorite pet."

“Pet?"

“Wild Turkey."

She jumped up and glared at him. “If Sam dies, I'm going to the cops with the whole story."

“Don't be a fool, bitch,” he shouted. “I know I didn't do it. If you didn't, then it
was
a coincidence. You'll send us both to jail for a crime we didn't commit."

“I can prove I didn't do it, Mr. Boyd Fisher. There was a witness. He can't identify you, but he does know a masked man was the shooter. It's your ass that's going to jail."

She stormed out of the apartment, surprised that he didn't try to stop her.

“I am Shelly Boyd,” she explained to one of the nurses at the desk. “Has there been any change in Sam's condition?"

The nurse eyed Shelly suspiciously. “Shelly Boyd?"

Shelly shook her head and tried to smile. “I didn't sleep very well last night. I'm Shelly Pond."

The nurse pulled a metal-backed file from the rack, studied the record briefly and looked up. “No change, Mrs. Pond. His vitals look promising but he is still comatose."

Shelly nodded and made her way to the room. Lucky was propped on a dresser and she nestled the stuffed dog between Sam's left arm and his side. She kissed his nose and then his left eyelid.

It moved, damn it. I know it did. She kissed his right eyelid, smiled and sat on the side of his bed.

“You're in there, Sam. I know you are. I think you can hear me. Can you, Sam? Give me a sign."

He lay motionless.

“Okay, baby. That's okay. You're getting better. I believe you're awake but just can't move yet. It'll come, Sam. Give it time."

She glanced at the windowsill. “Who sent all those flowers?” She slid off the bed and read the cards aloud. “This one is from the Nickels and the one next to it is from the Borders. Oh, Sam. The vase of roses is from Tim and Sandy Dollar. That's sweet."

She pulled a chair close to the bed. “Sam, there are a lot of people pulling for you. You're going to make it, honey."

She watched his chest slowly rising and falling. “You're breathing good,” she observed. “You're probably concerned about Annie. The Borders are looking after her. I ... I told Annie you were in an accident.” Shelly wiggled Lucky against his side. “She sent Lucky to keep you company."

She took his hand in hers and stroked it gently. “I love you, Sam. I really do. I'm sorry it took this terrible thing to make me realize it, but honey, I'm going to make it up to you. When you come home you'll find the house spotless, cleaned by yours truly, and I'm going to cook you the best meals you ever tasted.” She chuckled. “Assuming Leora can teach me how to cook, of course."

On her way home, Shelly stopped at Bi-Lo and purchased frozen dinners, fruit, beer and Bi-Lo Diet Colas—Annie's favorite.

As she approached their house on Lumbermill road, perspiration beaded on her forehead and her heart began to race when she spotted the patrol car in her driveway. Be careful, Shelly. Be careful. She pulled around the patrol car and parked as close to the front door as possible.

Two figures emerged from the car and approached as she opened her own car door. She recognized one.

“Afternoon, ma'am,” the man in a brown uniform and broad brimmed hat said. “I am Detective Bud Cranfield with the Mecklenburg County Sheriff's Department. I believe you know Detective Lacy Spencer. We're assisting the Myrtle Beach Police Department in the investigation of the assault on you and your husband."

“I don't mean to be rude,” Shelly said, “but I have frozen dinners in the back seat."

“I'll help you with those,” Cranfield said, opening the back door and grabbing the two large brown paper bags.

Lacy reached in and picked up the cartons of beer and diet cola.

Shelly hoped the detectives could not hear her heart pounding while she unlocked the front door and led them to the kitchen.

“Ma'am,” Cranfield said as Shelly put the frozen food in the freezer, “we would like your permission to search the house."

Be careful Shelly. “Why would you want to do that? Just tell me what you're looking for and I'll point you in the right direction."

“Mrs. Pond,” Lacy said, “ballistic tests proved the 9mm weapon we found is the gun used in the assault on your husband. We traced the ownership of the weapon to you. It was your gun that wounded Mr. Pond."

Damn, Shelly thought. I should have seen that coming. Boyd knew I kept the pistol in my glove compartment. He stole the damn thing and used it on Sam. Why is he trying to frame me?

Shelly closed the freezer door and faced Detective Spencer. “When I got home last night, I discovered my car was broken into while we were at the beach. Whoever it was stole my pistol, shot Sam. I believe I told you earlier that I keep it in my glove compartment."

“Yes, ma'am,” Cranfield said. “Detective Borders called in a report on the break-in and called again this morning to tell us that your pistol is missing."

“Detective Borders?"

Cranfield looked surprised. “You didn't know he used to be on the force?"

“I haven't known the Borders very long,” Shelly explained.

“He's retired, but has a private detective agency now.” Cranfield laughed. “I'm not sure just how active he is, though. I think he spends all his time on the golf course."

“It sounds like you two are friends."

“Very good friends, ma'am."

“Mrs. Pond,” Lacy interrupted irritably. “We're wasting time."

“I don't want you rummaging through my house, Detective,” Shelly said.

Cranfield tried to look sympathetic. “No one likes strangers poking through their personal stuff."

“To hell with it,” Lacy said irritably. “We have a search warrant. We don't need your permission.” She pulled the warrant from her hip pocket and handed it to Shelly. “You sit in the living room, Mrs. Pond, and wait until we're finished. I have more questions to ask you."

Trying to be conciliatory, Cranfield said, “Someone broke into your car, stole your pistol and used it to rob you and your husband at the beach. Maybe he also broke into your home that night and left incriminating evidence. If we can identify the burglar, I agree with you that we'll have our assailant."

“There were no signs of forced entry,” Shelly replied. “Mr. Borders checked that."

“Still, the burglar could have found an unlocked door or window. Our search won't take long and we'll try not to make a mess."

Shelly sat in the living room as instructed. Search all you like, damn it, she fumed. You won't find anything. I deleted from the computer the only information that would be of interest to you.

“Satisfied?” Shelly asked when the detectives returned, empty-handed. “I would offer you a beer or a cola, but I don't want to detain you. I certainly hope you have more important things to do."

Cranfield propped on the back of a chair as Lacy joined Shelly on the sofa. “I want to know more about Boyd Fisher,” Lacy said. “You say he is Annie's father and a check of birth records confirms that. You told us you have not seen or heard from Boyd since shortly after Annie was born and you thought he might have moved out of town."

Shelly nodded her agreement. “Of course, you told me he is still living in Charlotte."