“He was thirty, but just a kid at heart,” Tess continued, wincing a bit as she turned her shoulders one way, then the other. “I had no hopes of marrying him. From the time I was a kid, I’d pretty much figured I’d be alone. Maybe it’s my birthmark. You learn to drop the happily-ever-after pipedream when you grow up with something like this on your face and a crazy mother always telling you that you’re ugly. Anyway, Jared made me feel pretty—and loved.”
“You
are
pretty,” Claire said.
“I never thought so. Even without the birthmark, I’d say I was only so-so. But I think I would have been a terrific mom.” She paused for a moment, then went back to her stretching. “Anyway, about Jared, he wasn’t exactly Mr. Responsibility. He was always off skiing, sky-diving, bungee jumping, or something like that. He wasn’t mature enough for marriage—no less fatherhood. But when I got pregnant, I figured, ‘I’m thirty-five.’ It could be my last shot. Then Jared died, and I knew I had to have this baby.”
Tess stopped stretching, and caught her breath. “So what about your baby?” she asked Claire pointedly. “I lost mine. What are you going to do to get Brian back?”
“Well, I had this idea last night,” Claire said, sitting up with her legs stretched in front of her. She pointed her toes. “I’m thinking of going public. You know, let the reporters in, and make a statement:
‘I’m Jane Doe. My real name is Claire Ferguson Shaw. If anyone knows the whereabouts of my son, Brian Ferguson…’”
Frowning, Tess shook her head. “You don’t want to do that. If you blow your cover, the police might not be able to protect you from the press and God knows who else. And you’ll probably get a ton of false alarms, fake Brians falling over themselves for a chance to meet you…”
Claire said nothing. She knew about false alarms. Every time the hospital front desk called to say she had a visitor, her heart leapt. She couldn’t help thinking it could be—just might be—Brian. Then of course, it would be Harlan, or Linda. And she’d feel so disappointed.
“Brian might not want to be in the spotlight,” Tess continued. “If he truly did run away, he might be in some kind trouble. You mentioned he’d been in some jams with the police before. You don’t want to make trouble for him, do you?”
“No, I don’t want to do that,” Claire muttered.
“Why not hire a private detective? I know they probably don’t have any on Gilligan’s Island—”
“Deception,” Claire interjected, grinning tiredly. “Deception Island.”
“But I’m sure we could find someone in Bellingham,” Tess continued. “We’ll both be out of here within a few days. I think you need to go shopping with a girlfriend in the city again. Only this time, I get to be the girlfriend. The city will be Bellingham, and we’ll shop for a private detective together. And I promise, Claire, I won’t let you out of my sight.”
“You know, Tess is the best postop medicine you’ve prescribed for me so far. She’s giving me hope.”
Claire sat on top of the bed while Sherita changed the dressing on her chest wound. “I’m really excited about this private detective idea. But I’m not saying anything to Harlan or Linda. This is something I need to do independently of them. Thank God for Tess—and for you, Sherita. Honestly, if not for you two, I’d don’t think I could stand it here. You two have been my salvation.”
“Oh, cut it out,” Sherita said, smiling. “You making me feel underpaid.” She started to replace the bandage on Claire’s chest. “You’re healing pretty well here, honey.”
“But not healed completely,” Claire said, her eyes avoiding the scar. “Not yet.”
“I mean it, you and Claire are the only real friends I’ve made in this place.” Tess shrugged, then took another bite of the Nestle’s Crunch bar. “Not that I expected to make any friends here. I thought I’d be leaving this hospital with a baby.”
She sighed. “Anyway, Claire made me stop feeling sorry for myself. And so have you.”
Tess glanced around the visitor’s lounge on the third floor. There was an older couple, having a quiet conversation on the sofa across from them. Three other visitors sat separately in the orange bucket seats lined against the wall. No one paid attention to the game show on the muted TV set, bracketed to the other wall.
No one seemed to be watching them either.
“You’ve been wonderful,” Tess continued. “And I don’t just mean your kindness to me the last couple of days. I’m really amazed at the way you’ve held up during your own ordeal. How long has it been now—I mean, since the traffic accident? How long has your wife been in a coma?”
“Five days,” he replied in a low voice. “And I’m not so amazing. I take just one day at a time. Tell me more about your friend, Claire.”
“I can’t,” Tess replied, nibbling at her candy bar. “It’s kind of the same way you don’t want me telling anyone about our talks. She’s—well, she needs her privacy.”
Her eyes narrowed, Tess smiled at him. “You suddenly seem uncomfortable.”
He quickly shook his head. “Not at all. But I need to get back to the ICU, and see my wife. Then I think I’ll catch a couple of winks down in this lounge I discovered in the basement. They have a couple of sofas in there, and I can stretch out. No one seems to know about this place, but it’s very nice.”
“Your own private little retreat,” Tess said.
He nodded. “Why don’t you come down and meet me there at six? You can be my wake-up call.”
Tess shrugged. “Sure.”
“And if I wake up early, I’ll run down the street and get some Chinese for us. I’ll bet you’re sick of hospital food. You wouldn’t object to dinner with a married man, would you, Tess?”
She laughed. “I think I’ll be safe. Where is this little hideaway lounge?”
Tess took elevator D down to the basement. He’d told her to turn right after the elevator. She walked alone down the yellow-painted cinderblock corridor.
Tess was wearing her red kimono and the embroidered slippers. She’d washed her hair, and put on some lipstick and a touch of mascara. She kept reminding herself that this wasn’t a date. He was married. Still, she had a little, harmless crush on him. They had a connection—not that anything would ever happen. She just liked being with him.
He’d said to take another right at the entrance to the South Annex, where the cinderblock walls were painted an ugly blue. But before turning that corner, she spotted someone at the end of the main hallway. It looked like a custodian. She thought he was wearing a uniform, but he moved across the hallway so quickly, she couldn’t tell. He was there for only a second.
Biting her lip, Tess hesitated. She kept staring down that hall, waiting for him to reappear. After a few moments, she moved on, turning down the annex with its ugly, narrow blue walls. He’d said she would come to a door with a little window in it. The door was unlocked.
As Tess open the door, she was greeting with a mechanical, churning sound. It sounded like a big washing machine.
He didn’t tell her there would be some hospital equipment in the hallway after she went beyond that door. She was surprised to see a couple of gurneys and a stainless steel table on wheels blocking her path. She wondered if she’d taken a wrong turn. How could such an out-of-the-way place be open to the public? She hadn’t told Claire or Sherita about this little rendezvous. They might not understand her wanting to spend time with a married man. Still, Tess would have felt better if someone knew where she was right now. Hell, she didn’t even know where she was herself. And she hadn’t seen another soul down there—except for that janitor.
A fire extinguisher was the landmark for the next hallway. She was supposed to take a right, but stopped in her tracks.
“Just go down to the double doors at the end of that short hallway,”
he’d told her.
He didn’t mention that the fluorescent overhead in that corridor was malfunctioning. It sputtered on and off. She noticed two big laundry bins against the wall, and finally, the double doors. She didn’t see any light coming through the crack between them.
“I might have the lights off in there if I’m still napping. But go ahead and wake me,”
he’d said.
Tess took a few steps into that corridor. All the while, she kept thinking,
Something’s wrong here.
She paused and glanced down at the laundry bins. Both hampers were half-f of sheets and bedding. The fluorescent light above kept flickering.
Past all that mechanical churning sound, she heard someone in back of her clearing his throat.
Tess swiveled around.
“Excuse me, ma’am,” the janitor said. He was a middle-aged black man with gray at his temples and dark little skin-tabs sprinkled on his face. He leaned on the long handle to a dry floor-mop. “Can I help you?”
Tess caught her breath. “Um, no thank you,” she said. With her thumb she indicated the room behind her. “I’m just—headed into the lounge to meet a friend.”
“That’s not a lounge, ma’am. This whole area is maintenance.”
“Are you sure?” she asked. “A friend told me to meet him in the basement lounge.”
“Well, there’s a lounge down here for the maintenance crew, but that’s in another wing.” He nodded at the double doors. “That there’s a storage area.” He set the mop against the wall, then walked past her to the doors. He swung them open. “See?”
Tess gazed into the darkened room. Amid the shadows, she saw stacks of boxes against the walls, a few broken-down gurneys, and some more steel tables—gleaming in the dim light. “I must have gotten the directions mixed up,” she heard herself say.
The janitor reached for the light switch, and flicked it on. But the lights didn’t work. “Um, looks like a short in the electricity.”
Tess felt a shudder pass through her. She ducked out of the cold, gloomy storage room and almost bumped into one of the laundry bins.
The janitor stepped out of the storage room after her. The double doors were still swinging behind him.
“Um, sir, could you do me a favor?” Tess asked him. “I need to get back up to my room on the third floor, the North Wing. Could you walk me to the elevator?”
He nodded. “Of course, ma’am.”
“Thank you,” she said. “I’m just a little worried. I don’t want lose my way again.”
With the janitor at her side, Tess retreated past the laundry bins. The light overhead was still flickering in the narrow corridor. She glanced back toward the end of the hallway—at the darkened storage room. With a slow, dying flutter, the double doors continued to swing back and forth.
Leaving the cold, dark storage room, he stuffed a handkerchief and the small bottle of chloroform into his jacket. He traced the steps Tess and the janitor had made only three minutes before. Moving down the hallway with the flickering overhead, he passed the laundry bin, where he would have stashed Tess Campbell’s body. Under the top layer of dirty sheets, he’d hidden a pair of custodian’s coveralls. From that corridor, it was only two short passageways to level A of the underground garage, where his SUV was parked. No one would have noticed a custodian wheeling a laundry bin.
Tess Campbell wouldn’t have been like the others. From her, he’d have found out a lot more about “Claire.” And he would have rewarded Tess for the information. He’d have covered up that strawberry mark of hers. Tess would have looked very pretty when they found her. He hated seeing his careful plans go to waste.
He rang for the elevator.
The gift shop was on the first floor. It closed at seven, not quite an hour from now. The blonde, Janice, was on duty this evening. He noticed she always wore clothes that accentuated her figure. Tonight, she had on a clingy, black cowl-neck pullover and tight jeans.
He bought a pack of gum and a single yellow rose. He said it was for his wife in the ICU.
“Oh, I think yellow roses are so pretty,” she said, while wrapping tissue around the flower. “Everyone gives red roses. You’re different, that’s cool.”
She counted out his change for him.
“You know, you found the right job for yourself, Janice,” he said, glancing at her nametag. “You make people feel good—when they really need it. You have a beautiful smile too.”
Her face lit up. She seemed dazzled by him. He’d gotten that same smitten look from a couple of the others before her. He wished he could have kept that expression on their faces after he’d made them up.
“Well, thank you,” Janice said.
A car alarm went off. It happened at least once every night. But usually, the sirens, beeps, and buzzes died after a few moments.
This car alarm had started up at least a minute ago, and it was still going strong.
“Damn it to hell,” the parking attendant grumbled. He grabbed his walkie-talkie, stepped out of the cashier’s booth, and locked up after himself.
He trotted down the ramp. It sounded as if the alarm were coming from the second sublevel. The loud noise echoed throughout the underground garage. Having to shout on his walkie-talkie, he reported to security that he was leaving his post for a moment to investigate a car alarm on level B.
Jogging down the next ramp, he saw a middle-aged woman with blond hair that almost matched her mink coat. She stood at the front door of a silver BMW, struggling with the device on her key ring. She wore thin, brown leather gloves that matched her high heels.
He was only a few steps away from her when she finally found the right button to shut off the alarm.
“Do you have it under control now?” he asked.
Grimacing, she nodded. “I’m so sorry. This is my sister’s car, and I’m not used to this stupid alarm thingee.”
“It’s okay, ma’am,” he grunted.
She gave him a wave as she climbed into the front seat of the BMW.
The parking attendant was about to turn and head up the ramp when he noticed the green Saturn farther down the same row of cars. Its interior light was on.
He recognized the vehicle, which belonged to Janice, from the gift shop. He knew, because she was cute, and every night, when she got off at seven, she’d stop at his booth, show her employee parking card, make a little small talk, then say “Ciao!” as she drove off.
The parking attendant glanced at his wristwatch: 9:25.