To the Grave (25 page)

3

Marissa's newfound steel abruptly vanished when she put down the handset and lost the strong, bolstering sound of Eric's voice. Later, she remembered only grabbing her coat, mindlessly telling Lindsay, standing stiffly with a stuffed deer in her mouth, that everything would be fine, and running for the kitchen door leading into the garage. In her car, she fumbled through her large tote bag for the car keys and started the Mustang, luckily remembered to push the automatic garage door closer to OPEN before putting the car in reverse, and mumbled curses as the door seemed to take an eternity to rise. Then she roared off into the night.

Every parking space near the hospital emergency entrance was taken. Marissa finally found only one place—five rows away where cars on either side had parked over the lines. Furious, she maneuvered her sports car into the small area, which left barely enough room for her to get her door open and squeeze out of the Mustang. She rushed for the emergency entrance and, once inside, barged into a gaggle of people standing near the doors discussing their various, minor injuries. Tossing an insincere “'scuse me” over her shoulder as a woman squealed as if in terrible pain and a refined-looking elderly man called Marissa a definitely unrefined name, she came to a sliding halt at the reception desk.

“Gray,” she said breathlessly to a pretty young woman in scrubs, who was already looking at her wide-eyed. “I'm here for Catherine Gray. Or James Eastman. Yes, he's the one who was hurt. Someone shot him. Catherine will be with him. Where are they?”

“Miss, we're very busy tonight as you can see. If you'll just take a seat in the waiting room, I'll check on those patients for you.” The nurse picked up a pen. “You said a James Easton was shot?”

“James
Eastman.
He was with my sister, Catherine Gray. I'm Marissa Gray.” The woman dutifully wrote down all the names. “Chief Deputy Eric Montgomery called me about them about fifteen minutes ago. James was just shot in the parking lot of the Reddick restaurant. I'm sure he'll be here as soon as he can. Eric, I mean.” The woman nodded and gave her a sympathetic smile that sent Marissa into an unexpected shower of tears. “I don't mean to be demanding, but please hurry. My sister needs to know I'm here. Please.…”

“I'll hurry.” The young woman turned, handed the paper to another young nurse while firing off information. Then she looked again at Marissa. “Please don't cry. I'll let you know something just as soon as possible.”

“Okay.” Marissa sniffled, rooting in her tote bag for the packet of tissues Catherine always made certain she loaded in with at least a dozen other essential things like lipstick and a Snickers candy bar. “I appreciate your help.”

A large, flat-screen television had been mounted on the wall of the waiting room, the sound turned off as closed-captioning text ran along the bottom of the screen. Marissa stared blindly at a show as her tears refused to stop flowing. A heavy, middle-aged woman in fuchsia stretch pants beside her continually emitted loud, rattling coughs without covering her mouth; an ancient lady crumpled like a sack of potatoes into the corner of her chair sang a loud, vibrato version of “Amazing Grace”; a teenage boy across from Marissa leaned forward, staring fixedly at her, his mouth hanging partially open.

Nurses summoned in four people for what seemed to Marissa like an hour before one appeared at the door asking for Miss Gray. Marissa leaped up, nearly dropping her heavy tote bag, and dashed toward the nurse, who led her down a crowded yet immaculate hallway. “Your sister is in here.” The nurse gestured to an examination room. “She's still badly shaken up, so I'll go in with you.”

Catherine sat at the foot of an examining table looking small, fragile, and ashen. Someone had wrapped a white blanket around her, but Marissa could still see her trembling beneath the fleece cloth as she looked blankly at the tile floor.

“Catherine!” Marissa ran to her, clutching her in a bear hug. “Oh my God, I've been so scared. Are you all right? Has a doctor examined you?” Catherine slowly lifted her gaze to her sister. Her heather green eyes were bloodshot, her eyelids puffy, and she didn't seem to recognize Marissa. “Catherine?” Marissa asked in alarm. Then she used the childhood name Catherine had always hated. “Chatty Cathy?”

Almost immediately, some life shone in Catherine's eyes. “Mom!”

A chill ran through Marissa. “No, honey, it's me—Marissa.
Marissa.
Your favorite sister!”

Catherine peered at her. “Marissa? My … sister?” Suddenly awareness flashed in the beautiful, bloodshot eyes. “Marissa! Oh … oh—”

With the blanket wrapped so tightly around Catherine, she couldn't move. Marissa hugged her again. She could feel Catherine's arms moving uselessly beneath the cloth and the nurse moved toward the table, reaching for the blanket and beginning to loosen it. “I guess someone thought you needed a straightjacket,” the nurse mumbled crossly, then gave Marissa an apologetic smile. “Sorry. It's been a long, busy night.”

“I know. So many people are here. Anyway, Catherine didn't seem to mind.” Catherine didn't seem to mind anything right now, Marissa thought in distress. “Has she seen a doctor?”

“Oh yes,” the nurse said as Marissa moved back and began unwinding Catherine. “I was with him.”

“He said I'm fine and I should go see James,” Catherine said distinctly, her voice high-pitched, almost childish. “James needs me.”

The nurse removed the blanket and began to drape it more comfortably over Catherine. She winked at Marissa. Then she spoke to Catherine. “You misunderstood. The doctor wants you to stay here while he helps James.”

“No, I don't think that's what he wants—”

“Yes, you do,” Marissa said crisply, knowing Catherine always responded to a sharp tone of voice. “Now give me a hug.”

Catherine clasped her hands around Marissa's neck and pulled her close. “I'm so glad to see you.”

“Probably not half as glad as I am to see you.”

“I'm sorry to interrupt.” Marissa turned to see Deputy Robbie Landers at the examining-room door. “I have to take a few more notes and Eric thought it might be better for me to do the questioning than Jeff, although he's down the hall.”

“Robbie, will you make them let me see James?” Catherine asked pitifully, then announced to the nurse, “
She's
the law!”

“Robbie can't help,” Marissa said gently. “We have to wait for the doctor. Just try to calm down.”

“I can't.”

Marissa ignored Catherine. “Robbie, you're not interrupting,” Marissa assured the tall, pretty girl whose blue eyes looked slightly larger than usual. She was shaken by what she'd seen earlier, Marissa thought, and it was important to keep everything as calm as possible for Catherine's sake.

“I know we questioned you at the scene, but you were still shocked and a bit vague,” Robbie said to Catherine. “I know you're exhausted and I hate doing this, but I need to go over your story, Dr. Gray.”

“Please call me Catherine, Robbie.”

“All right,” Robbie said, looking slightly uncomfortable. After all, she worked for Marissa's lover. “Catherine.”

The nurse gestured to the one chair in the small room. “I don't know which one of you wants this.”

Marissa spoke up. “You take it, Robbie. You've probably been standing ever since you got to the Reddick.” She felt a small shiver pass through Catherine. “I'll sit on the bed beside my sister and keep her warm.”

The nurse was already slipping toward the door. “Wait!” Catherine called. “I need to know how James is doing.”

“And we'll let you know just as soon as we do. I promise. Now I'll give you some privacy. If you need anything, just yell. We're so busy, someone's bound to be just a few feet away.” With one last smile at Catherine, she quickly closed the door.

“She didn't
want
me to know about James because the news is bad,” Catherine said vacantly.

“She simply doesn't know anything yet,” Marissa said firmly. “They aren't going to let you sit in here and suffer rather than telling you what's going on.” She looked at Robbie. “Go ahead with your questions.”

Robbie nodded, sat down, opened her notebook, and began questioning Catherine in a businesslike voice. “About what time did you arrive at the restaurant?”

Catherine looked down and swallowed. Marissa jumped up, poured her a plastic cup of cold water, and scooted onto the table again, wrapping an arm around her sister as Catherine took a couple of sips. “Well, James was supposed to pick me up around seven thirty. Then he called and said he'd be a little late—maybe ten minutes or a little more.” She took another drink of water. “He didn't show up until around … um … seven forty-five or seven fifty.”

“Okay,” Robbie said, still writing. “Who knew you were having dinner at the Reddick?”

“No one. Earlier in the day we planned to go out to dinner, but I don't think we picked a restaurant.” She looked at Marissa as if for confirmation. “Did we say anything about the Reddick before we left the house?”

“Nothing, but I didn't ask where you were going.”

“Do you know if Mr. Eastman told anyone earlier in the day?” Robbie asked.

Catherine shook her head. “I don't think so, because he didn't even mention the Reddick until we were in the car.”

“So someone—several people—could have known you had plans to go out to dinner, but not where. You must have been followed. Did James pick you up at your house?”

“Yes. He always does in the evenings.”

“But you didn't notice anyone following you.”

“No. Of course, we had the surveillance deputy following us, so I felt safe and wasn't paying much attention.” She paused. “Is the deputy all right?”

“Well, your attacker got to him first—”

Catherine gasped, “Oh no!”

“He wasn't badly hurt,” Robbie said quickly. “Just knocked unconscious.”

“That's all?”

“Yes. He's already conscious again.”

“Good. Do you know anything about James? Please be honest.”

“I am. I don't know anything about Mr. Eastman's condition.” Robbie looked down at her notebook. “Next question. Do you recall exactly when you left the restaurant?”

Catherine took a deep breath, obviously thinking. “Well, it took us about twenty minutes to get to the Reddick. Then we spent a long time at dinner. We were having so much fun.…” She sighed. “I don't think we left until around nine thirty.” She frowned. “Is that what James says?”

“The waiter says you left around nine forty.” James can't say anything, Marissa thought with a flutter of fright. James is unconscious, maybe dying. Or dead. Marissa felt Catherine tensing, but Robbie quickly defused the moment by smiling radiantly at Catherine. “He said you were, I quote, ‘
trés belle
' and that James left a
very
generous tip.”

“He was a very good waiter.”

Robbie again lifted her pen to her notebook. “All right, we've established that you left the restaurant between nine thirty and nine forty. Was the restaurant crowded?”

“Even when we got there, it was only about a third full. When we left, there were fewer people.”

“Any leaving at the same time?”

“I don't think so.”

“So no one else except you and James was in the parking lot when you headed for his car.”

“I saw the patrol car and I assumed the officer was in there. No one else was walking to their car.”

“Exactly where was the car?”

Marissa knew Robbie had seen the car. She was testing Catherine's memory.

Catherine didn't hesitate. “There were only four or five other cars in the lot. None of them was near James's, which was parked in the middle of the … let's see … second row.”

“Did you see or hear
anything
as you walked toward the car?”

“James was talking—I can't remember about what right now.” Catherine hesitated, opened her mouth, and then abruptly closed it.

Robbie's head jerked up at the hesitation. “What?”

“Nothing, really. It's just silly.…”

“Catherine, please be completely open with me. Otherwise, we might miss something
very
important.”

“Yes. I understand. I wasn't trying to hide anything except what I'm afraid was my overactive imagination.”

“Catherine, tell her,” Marissa urged. “I'm sure you didn't imagine—”

“Okay!” Catherine snapped uncharacteristically. “That parking lot didn't feel right. It seemed to me like shadows were moving, but there were no clouds floating over a full moon or any scary-movie things. I just sensed something bad. A presence.”

“A presence?” Robbie repeated.

“Yes,” Catherine said firmly. “At the time it seemed like I'd had too much to drink, but all I'd had with dinner was water and coffee. I know I sound like a nut, but I felt something
wrong.
”

Robbie looked at her seriously. “From the moment you walked out of the restaurant or when you got near James's car?”

Catherine took another sip of water. “When we were about halfway to James's car. I remember holding his arm tighter. I remember looking around. I didn't see anything. I didn't hear anything.”

Catherine took a deep breath. “When I was certain I wasn't imagining things, I told James something was wrong. He asked what I meant. Then there was a shot. He pressed his hand to his chest and pulled it away. It was covered with blood. He said something else and then just sank down. He didn't crash to the concrete; he simply sank.” Catherine suddenly burst into tears. “And I just stood there, useless.”