The Edge
Page 39
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Paul could describe what Jilly was wearing.
"When we walked in here just a few minutes ago, I heard Brenda Flack, one of the ICU nurses, talking about Mrs. Bartlett leaving to kill herself. I hate to say this, Mr. MacDougal, but it's possible."
"No," I said. "Jilly told me very clearly that she lost control of her car. She didn't try to kill herself. I believe her. Why did she walk out of here without telling anyone? I don't know. But count on it, I'm going to find out everything. Can you think of anything that happened today or this evening that wasn't quite right?"
"Well, there was a phone call from that young lady who was here yesterday."
"Laura Scott?"
"Yes, that's her. She asked to speak to Mrs. Bartlett, but there was a foul-up and she never got through to her. But why would that be important? They were friends, weren't they?"
At three in the morning we still had exactly zilch. No one had seen Jilly. No one had seen anyone carrying her out of the hospital or carrying much of anything, for that matter. Maggie Sheffield had an APB out on her. Since we had no clue about a car, there wasn't much to say other than to give a description of Jilly, and from Paul, a description of the clothes she was wearing, a gray running outfit with black trim and black-and-white running shoes.
I put pressure on the phone company and found out that there'd been a phone call to Jilly's room from the single pay phone on Fifth Avenue, downtown Edgerton, at 8:48 P.M. Laura's call had come in about eight, but she hadn't spoken to Jilly.
I found Paul sitting in the chair in Jilly's room, his head in his hands.
I said, "Someone called Jilly from a pay phone in Edgerton earlier this evening."
"There's only one public phone," Paul said. "It's on Fifth Avenue, right in front of Grace's Deli."
I said, "Anyone could have ducked out of the party to go make the call. You included, Paul."
"Yes," he said, not looking at me. "Cotter disagrees with me. He thinks Jilly was pissed off that everyone had assumed she was trying to kill herself. She wanted to make all of us worry that she just might try it again. She wants to make us suffer. She'll show up soon, laughing at us. Oh, yeah, Cotter was here earlier, helping look for her."
I said, "Let's get some sleep. It's late. My brain's scrambled. There's nothing more we can do until morning. Come on, Paul, let's go home."
I wanted at least three hours' sleep before I went to Salem to see Laura.
Chapter Eleven
It was just after seven the next morning when I pulled my car into a guest parking spot in front of a parkside condo complex. I got out and looked around. The complex didn't look more than three or four years old, designed in a country French style, three condos to each building, all of them garnished with pale gray wooden siding. The park was quite pretty, all pine and spruce trees, and playgrounds for kids, and even a pond for ducks and lily pads. As I walked into the complex, I saw a swimming pool off to the left, a clubhouse, and a small golf course. I remembered Laura saying that the library didn't pay much. That was interesting. This place wasn't cheap.
Laura Scott opened the door and blinked at me as T said, "Nice digs."
"Mac, what are you doing here?"
"Why didn't you go to see Jilly yesterday? You told me you were going to visit her."
She just shook her head at me. It made her long hair swing and lift. She was wearing nice-fitting jeans and a loose T-shirt, and running shoes on her feet. I thought she looked elegant and sexy.
"Come in, Mac. Would you like a cup of coffee? It'll take me just a few minutes to brew."
"Yeah," I said and, having no choice, followed her into one of the most beautiful homes I'd ever been in. The foyer was small, tiled with country peach-shaded pavers and whimsical accent tiles of French country scenes. Off to the left was a beautiful oak staircase leading upstairs. I followed her through an archway into a living room that was octagonal-shaped, giving it complexity with lots of nooks and crannies. There were bright colors everywhere, window seats, small flashes of scarlet pillows, and richly colored South Seas-patterned material on a sectional sofa. There were lamps and chairs and small groupings and nearly every inch of the room was filled with something extravagant, brightly colored, and utterly useless. It coaxed you right in.
There were plants and flowers everywhere. A mynah bird stood on the back of a chair watching me. He squawked, then began poking under his wing feathers.
"That's Nolan," Laura said. "He doesn't talk-which is probably a good thing-just squawks occasionally." "Squawk." "That's his greeting."
"When we walked in here just a few minutes ago, I heard Brenda Flack, one of the ICU nurses, talking about Mrs. Bartlett leaving to kill herself. I hate to say this, Mr. MacDougal, but it's possible."
"No," I said. "Jilly told me very clearly that she lost control of her car. She didn't try to kill herself. I believe her. Why did she walk out of here without telling anyone? I don't know. But count on it, I'm going to find out everything. Can you think of anything that happened today or this evening that wasn't quite right?"
"Well, there was a phone call from that young lady who was here yesterday."
"Laura Scott?"
"Yes, that's her. She asked to speak to Mrs. Bartlett, but there was a foul-up and she never got through to her. But why would that be important? They were friends, weren't they?"
At three in the morning we still had exactly zilch. No one had seen Jilly. No one had seen anyone carrying her out of the hospital or carrying much of anything, for that matter. Maggie Sheffield had an APB out on her. Since we had no clue about a car, there wasn't much to say other than to give a description of Jilly, and from Paul, a description of the clothes she was wearing, a gray running outfit with black trim and black-and-white running shoes.
I put pressure on the phone company and found out that there'd been a phone call to Jilly's room from the single pay phone on Fifth Avenue, downtown Edgerton, at 8:48 P.M. Laura's call had come in about eight, but she hadn't spoken to Jilly.
I found Paul sitting in the chair in Jilly's room, his head in his hands.
I said, "Someone called Jilly from a pay phone in Edgerton earlier this evening."
"There's only one public phone," Paul said. "It's on Fifth Avenue, right in front of Grace's Deli."
I said, "Anyone could have ducked out of the party to go make the call. You included, Paul."
"Yes," he said, not looking at me. "Cotter disagrees with me. He thinks Jilly was pissed off that everyone had assumed she was trying to kill herself. She wanted to make all of us worry that she just might try it again. She wants to make us suffer. She'll show up soon, laughing at us. Oh, yeah, Cotter was here earlier, helping look for her."
I said, "Let's get some sleep. It's late. My brain's scrambled. There's nothing more we can do until morning. Come on, Paul, let's go home."
I wanted at least three hours' sleep before I went to Salem to see Laura.
Chapter Eleven
It was just after seven the next morning when I pulled my car into a guest parking spot in front of a parkside condo complex. I got out and looked around. The complex didn't look more than three or four years old, designed in a country French style, three condos to each building, all of them garnished with pale gray wooden siding. The park was quite pretty, all pine and spruce trees, and playgrounds for kids, and even a pond for ducks and lily pads. As I walked into the complex, I saw a swimming pool off to the left, a clubhouse, and a small golf course. I remembered Laura saying that the library didn't pay much. That was interesting. This place wasn't cheap.
Laura Scott opened the door and blinked at me as T said, "Nice digs."
"Mac, what are you doing here?"
"Why didn't you go to see Jilly yesterday? You told me you were going to visit her."
She just shook her head at me. It made her long hair swing and lift. She was wearing nice-fitting jeans and a loose T-shirt, and running shoes on her feet. I thought she looked elegant and sexy.
"Come in, Mac. Would you like a cup of coffee? It'll take me just a few minutes to brew."
"Yeah," I said and, having no choice, followed her into one of the most beautiful homes I'd ever been in. The foyer was small, tiled with country peach-shaded pavers and whimsical accent tiles of French country scenes. Off to the left was a beautiful oak staircase leading upstairs. I followed her through an archway into a living room that was octagonal-shaped, giving it complexity with lots of nooks and crannies. There were bright colors everywhere, window seats, small flashes of scarlet pillows, and richly colored South Seas-patterned material on a sectional sofa. There were lamps and chairs and small groupings and nearly every inch of the room was filled with something extravagant, brightly colored, and utterly useless. It coaxed you right in.
There were plants and flowers everywhere. A mynah bird stood on the back of a chair watching me. He squawked, then began poking under his wing feathers.
"That's Nolan," Laura said. "He doesn't talk-which is probably a good thing-just squawks occasionally." "Squawk." "That's his greeting."
