Three Heartbeats Away: The Mortician's Daughter, #3 Page 6

  “You look like something one of my grandmother’s cats dragged in and wouldn’t eat.”

  An unexpected laugh spills out of my mouth as I hand Kelsey her coffee. I don’t know why I find her insult funny. I guess it’s laugh or cry. And crying will only make me look worse. Thank goodness I have makeup in my purse and plan to apply it before I visit Hayden.

  I set my hand on my hip and mimic her humor-intended ’tude. “Frankly, my dear, you aren’t ready for a beauty contest, either.”

  “What? Bed hair and the rumpled look isn’t in?” Her grin is interrupted by her yawn.

  I’d texted when I got to the hospital and asked if she wanted to join me at the Starbucks in the lobby for a hazelnut latte.

  “Did I wake you up?” I look down at my phone in my lap. It’s almost ten.

  “No. You can’t sleep in this place. It’s like torture.”

  “How’s your mom?” I ask.

  She loses the humor cover. “She had a rough night. The arm hurts like hell, and she can’t take much for pain. They’re keeping her one more night.”

  “Sorry,” I say. “Are you going to stay again tonight?”

  “I’m thinking about it.”

  “You want me to take you home and pick up some things? Or I can just go by and do it for you.”

  She frowns. “Let me get past the tell-the-police issue.”

  I lean in. “So she’s agreed to call the police?”

  “Sort of,” she says. “She said she wanted to be clearheaded first. So I’m planning on calling them when I get back to her room.”

  “Do you need me for support, or is it better that I’m not there?”

  “I should do this alone. But thanks. Oh, the good news is they did a sonogram. The baby was turned wrong, so we don’t know the sex, but they found out she’s almost four months pregnant, so the baby isn’t Charles’s.”

  “Good,” I say.

  Her tired green eyes give me a keen once-over. “How is it you can always tell when my life is circling the toilet?”

  “Because your aura shows me the dark shadows of your soul. It’s a murky brown. Scary-looking.”

  I wait for her to laugh. She doesn’t. Shit. Is she serious? “You see my aura?”

  Held-in laughter spills from her mouth. “No! You get purple circles under your eyes when you don’t sleep.”

  I kick her foot, then I can’t help but laugh, too. When we sober up, I say, “I slept. Some.”

  “What happened?”

  “Dad happened. I did like you suggested and went by the funeral home. He wasn’t there. I texted him, and he lied and said he was at work. I texted him back and told him not to drink and drive.”

  “And he did anyway?” Kelsey asks, suspecting the worst.

  “No.” I tell her about picking him up at the bar, the cops arriving, and end with, “When I woke up this morning, he was gone.”

  “That sucks. Did you call him?”

  “I texted. I think he’s at church. But I told him I would see him this afternoon.”

  “And he answered?”

  “Just with a thumbs-up.” I hesitate. “He said something weird last night.”

  “Drunk people do that.”

  “I know, but… He said something about me not being able to forgive him for something. I don’t think it was the liquor talking.”

  “Do you have any idea what he meant?” She sips her coffee.

  “Other than feeling as if it’s about my mom, no.”

  “Sorry.” After a few seconds, she asks, “Has my grandmother stopped in again?”

  “Not yet. I was hoping she’d be here. Have you felt her?” I look around the lobby that’s warm and free of spirits right now.

  “No.” She slumps back in the chair. “She did say she’d be back, right?”

  I nod. “She’ll be back.”

  Kelsey leans a little closer. “What about the bride?”

  After I spill all the dirty little details about the knife display in my kitchen, Kelsey sits there, mouth slightly agape. “What if…next time she decides to throw a few at you instead of the wall?”

  “I don’t think she will. Even your grandmother said she didn’t think she wanted to hurt me.” I take a sip of my coffee, and the whipped cream coats my lips. “I found out her name.”

  “How?”

  “The Internet. It’s amazing what you can find.”

  “Any leads on who killed her?” Kelsey whispers as if saying it aloud might bring the killer here. “I mean, that is what she wants with you, to tell the police who killed her, right? The same with that other murder you wrote the police about?”

  I can’t help but wonder how long ago Kelsey uncovered my secrets on my computer. Not that I’m mad—I’m more embarrassed. My thoughts go back to her question. “You’d think so, but it feels wrapped up with my mom, Sam, and the gallery, too.” I tell Kelsey about the ghost winning the art lessons from Sam’s gallery.

  “Do you think Sam killed her?”

  “I thought about it, but…” I explain to her about the website, Weddings For Less. And how I think someone from that site might be responsible because she was in her wedding dress when she was killed. “The website is a perfect place for weirdos to meet women.”

  “You’re like a detective. Maybe that’s what you should take in college: Criminal Justice.”

  “I don’t think so.”

  “Why? You’re good at it.”

  “I’m only good at it because…I have inside information.”

  “Does it matter why? You’re good at it.” She hesitates, and I can almost see her mental gears spinning. “So if Sam’s not involved with her death, then how is he involved? And why is she haunting the gallery? You don’t think she’s your sister or anything, do you?”

  “She couldn’t be. She’s thirty-three. Mom would have had to be nine when she was born.”

  “Maybe she’s your aunt, then? Does she look like your mom?”

  I consider it. “She’s blond, but not like Mom and me. Dad told me Mom didn’t have family, but he could have lied about that, too.” I hate that I feel this way, not trusting Dad, but how can you trust someone when they’ve lied to you over and over again. But then again, I’ve been doing the same thing.

  I look at Kelsey. “You know I’m sorry, right?”

  “For what?”

  “Lying to you. I’m so pissed at Dad for doing it, and I realize I’m just as guilty.”

  “You had a reason,” she says.

  And that’s when it hits me. Dad thinks he had a reason, too. I won’t know if his excuse holds water until I get to the bottom of things. Maybe I should reserve my anger until I hear the truth. But there’ll be no reserving my fury over his drinking.

  If the bartender hadn’t stopped him, he’d have driven home. I remember how out of it he was last night. He could have killed himself or someone else.

  He might have escaped my wrath by running off this morning. But this afternoon, I plan on having what he calls a “meeting of minds.” I just don’t have a clue what my mind is going to say when it meets his. And what, if anything, I can say to make him stop drinking.

  Kelsey turns the cup in her hands. “Are you going to go see Hayden while you’re here?”

  I nod. “He called me last night.”

  “Called you? Does he remember you?”

  “No. Not really.” I tell her about him saying he could see my black eye.

  “It was an awesome black eye.” She grins. “So how long did you talk? Was he nice to you?”

  “Yeah.” I lean back and sink into myself and savor the hope his call gave me. “We talked until a nurse came in. It feels like we’re getting to know each other all over again. Just talking to him over the phone makes me feel…warm and mushy.”

  “I remember that feeling,” she said. “Then I remember losing it. Felt like someone reached up through my ass and tore out my heart.”

  I gasp. “That was just a bit too visual.”


  She half grins. “Sorry.”

  I look at her. “I know you were upset when Dex asked about your mom, but his asking means he cares. And…”

  “Right. If he cares about me, why was he all handsy with the girl at Jacob’s party? And don’t try to backtrack that.”

  “You can’t be mad at him for dating other people when you won’t date him.”

  “I’m not mad. But it says he’s not into me. Look at Jacob. He’s into you. He’s not dating anyone.”

  A frown chases away the good Hayden feelings. And the reason is simple. Jacob’s thing for me might be another reason Hayden won’t give in to there being an us. Of course, there’s Brandy, too. All of which I try not to think about. “That’s different. I was almost dating Jacob. I kissed him, then I pulled back. You haven’t given Dex the time of day.”

  Kelsey’s shoulders stiffen. “I have. He asked me the time last Friday.” Her tone goes straight to smartass. “It was three p.m. I remember.”

  Her sarcasm pulls an eyeroll out of me. “I get that you’re scared. I get your mom’s dating dilemmas have messed with your mind. I get that you got dumped because of racism and you’re afraid it’ll happen again. But I want my friend to be happy. And I think Dex would make you happy.”

  She lifts a brow, her head tilts just a bit, and her chin comes out. This is Kelsey’s getting-pissy look. “Stop.”

  “No.”

  She frowns. “Who died and made you the happy fairy? Besides, this is my personal shit. And if you don’t mind, I’d like to keep it personal.”

  “Like the stuff on my computer was personal?” My lips tighten, and I glare at her.

  She lets out a slow breath, her chin lowers, and her shoulders drop an inch. “Look, I get what you’re saying. And I even know you’re a little bit right. But with my mom, my job, and my best friend’s freaky issues, my life is so fracking nuts right now I can’t add one more thing to it. So no Dex.”

  I lean back. “Don’t use me as an excuse.”

  “Okay, axe the friend with freaky issues. I still can’t take on a boy.”

  “Why? The right boy makes things better, not worse.”

  Her mouth thins. “You don’t get it. I’m more like my mom than I want to be. I get a boyfriend, and it consumes me. I’m blinded by all the gooey stuff going on inside me. I look back at how I let Brad treat me, and I get so pissed at myself. Why didn’t I kick his ass?”

  I can tell she’s really worried. “You were younger. We all make mistakes. Mistakes from our pasts don’t define us.”

  Kelsey frowns. “That sounds like another weed-induced piece of wisdom.”

  I nod. “It probably is.”

  Thirty minutes later, with freshly applied makeup—because I don’t want to look like something a cat wouldn’t eat—I head up to Hayden’s room. My heart is hammering with nerves, both the good and bad kind.

  Will Mrs. Parker be there? I remember Hayden saying his mom was right about me. What was she right about? I know she likes me. But if she knew I lied about the your-son-and-I-danced thing, would she still like me?

  Why is it that the bad nerves are now multiplying while the good ones are taking a leave of absence behind my liver? But no matter how afraid I am right now, I’m not leaving this hospital without seeing him. I’m going after what I want. And I want Hayden.

  I stand flatfooted at the door and knock and sweat and breathe too fast. I don’t just want Hayden, I need him.

  “Come in.” His voice, deep, solid, and masculine, has a few of the good nerves leaving my liver, finding their way to my heart, and setting free a few sweet butterflies. Yup, I need him.

  I open the door. His blue eyes find mine. He smiles. I smile. I melt.

  “Hi.” He raises up in his bed. His hair looks a little wet, as if he showered. His face looks fuller. Is he already putting on weight? “I was worried you weren’t going to come.”

  I step the rest of the way in, and the door swooshes closed behind me. The cool wake that hits me is too cold. Cold like I have company. I choose not to look back, hoping they’ll just go away. “I said I’d be here.”

  “I know. But you’re late.”

  I pull out my phone. “I told you I’d be here at ten-thirty, and it’s ten thirty-three.”

  He half smiles. “That’s three minutes, and do you know how long three minutes is when you’re sitting in a white room bored out of your mind?”

  I grin. “I was having coffee with Kelsey.” I finally glance behind me. No one is there. But they were. I feel it in the way goose bumps skateboard up and down my spine.

  “How is Kelsey’s mom?” His question rings earnest, like he actually cares and isn’t just making small talk. And because I know him, I know he’s sincere.

  “She’ll be okay. They are keeping her one more night.”

  “It must have been a really bad break.”

  I’m tempted to tell him what really went down, tell him about Kelsey’s mom being pregnant. I would have told the old Hayden everything, but our relationship isn’t the same, and frankly it’s not my story to tell. “It was bad.”

  “Sorry.” He continues to stare. “Does she still live with her grandmother who lives across the street from Jacob?”

  “Yeah, but…her grandmother passed away.”

  His eyes round. “She did?”

  “Yeah. Did you know Bessie?”

  It takes him a second to answer, as if he’s digesting my question. “Just…seeing her at Jacob’s all these years.” He goes silent. I go silent. He finally looks up. “Are you going to sit down? You look like you’re about to bolt.”

  I drop into a chair and try to relax, but I sense I’m not the only one nervous right now. “How are you feeling?”

  “Okay. I had physical therapy this morning. The therapist said she’d be back this afternoon. She’s going to let me try to walk tomorrow morning. She kind of said what you did, that it may take time.”

  “Told you.” I smile, remembering me telling him time and time again that he was going to be okay. “When are you going home?”

  “Hopefully tomorrow afternoon.”

  “Is your mom going to take you?”

  “I told her I could ask you to do it, but my grandmother is coming up today, and Mom wants her to do it.”

  “Oh. So is your grandmother going to take you to physical therapy for a while?” I’m disappointed.

  “No. She’s only here for two days.” He reaches over to the bedside table for his supersized mug, and when he does, it slips from his grip, the top pops off, and ice and water go all over him and his sheets.

  “Shit,” he says.

  I jump up. “I’ll get something.” I dart into the adjoining bathroom and grab a towel off the rack on the wall. I rush back out and move to the side of the bed and start soaking the puddles of water off his white sheet. I see a few pieces of ice on the other side of the blanket, and I reach over to pick them up. I’m half leaning over him when I realize he’s staring at me. He sits up higher, and his face is inches from mine.

  Our gazes lock. He reaches up. With two fingers, he brushes a few strands of my hair behind my ear. His fingers slide across my cheek. It’s his signature move. It’s the kind of touch that doesn’t cross any lines. It’s his lead-in to a kiss, his way of saying he cares. I love that touch.

  I’m caught in the moment, longing for more, when he jerks his hand back.

  “I’m sorry. I…don’t know why I…” He blinks. “It’s like… I feel as if…” He lets out a deep breath. “I’m confused about some things.”

  “What things?” I look away and grab his mug and drop the handful of ice into it.

  “Stuff,” he says.

  “What stuff?” I push.

  He rakes a hand over his face, then looks at me. “It’s crazy. Like the black eye, I… I mean, I look at you now, and I see you’ve got purple circles under your eyes, and I know that means you didn’t sleep well. And instinctively I know you were upset about something, b
ecause you normally sleep well. And how do I know that? I didn’t learn that about you when we were at camp. You are… It’s like…” He lets out a sound of frustration. “All this time I’ve been worried I lost my ability to walk, and now I’m worried I’ve lost my mind.”

  I’m unsure of what to do. Tell him. Not tell him. Is he ready for the truth? What if he thinks I’m crazy? What if he tells his mom, and then she won’t let me near him? What if…?

  “And then there’s other…” He exhales. “I could swear that I saw… She even…”

  “What?” I pull the towel off his bed.

  He blinks, then looks up at me. Confusion and something akin to fear fill his eyes. “You won’t say anything to anyone, will you? Seriously, you can’t—”

  “I won’t say anything to anyone. I promise.”

  He nods. “I saw Kelsey’s grandmother. She…even spoke to me.”

  Shit. Crap. Shitcrap! Shitcrapshitcrap!

  “But like the doctor said, my brain is still healing. Or it was just someone who looked like her. I mean, it has to be. Or maybe I dreamed it.”

  The door whooshes open behind us. I look back.

  An elderly woman moves toward the bed. “There’s my boy.” Her gaze falls to me. “And this must be Brandy. I’m Hayden’s grandmother.” She rushes me and hugs me. Too tight. And it lasts longer than twenty seconds.

  When she releases me, I’m still in so much shock from Hayden’s confession that I don’t know how to explain I’m not Brandy. But before I can catch my breath and attempt to explain, she’s caught a second wind and words are spilling out of her mouth so fast I can barely keep up.

  “So excited to meet you. Hayden told me about you when he called and said you two were coming down.” She gives my shoulder a squeeze. “My grandson is sweet on you. All I heard from him was Brandy this and Brandy that. I’m going to insist you plan another trip to come see me. Say yes. Come on, say yes.”

  “I… I’m not…”

  “Say yes,” she insists, and her arms surround me again in a tight embrace. “I’m going to keep hugging you until you say yes.”

  I see Hayden over the woman’s shoulder. His face is red. “Grandma, let her go. She’s not Brandy.”

  Her arms drop from around me. “Oh, I thought…”