Paradox by Catherine Coulter
“So does Landry. Your mom used behavior modification on both of you. I’ll have to remember that.”
“Yeah, that Skinner dude started it all.” He held out his napkin for another, chewed slowly. “Better than beer, and that’s saying something. Do you know, to this day when I eat a chocolate chip cookie, I have this compulsion to go to the bathroom and make sure the toilet seat’s down?”
She shook her head at him, couldn’t help the grin. “Come on, Eric, why’d you really come home early?”
He wiped his mouth, shrugged. “Really? I came home because I was bored. Carlos snagged himself a mistress—how, I don’t know, had to be through divine intervention. Anyway, his wife found out. Now Carlos says his life’s no longer worth living. Maroni was busy telling him to tuck his money away where she can’t find it, do it fast. Otherwise he’ll get skinned like Maroni did in his last divorce.”
“I hope she nails his hide to her wall. Did you hear what Mr. Putney was telling me?”
“Yeah, but I already knew. I was pumping gas when I heard about Gunny getting hit on the head in that alley between Kim’s Dry Cleaners and Lucky Hammer. It’s all anyone’s talking about.”
“I hadn’t heard, so believe me, Mr. Putney was eager to tell me, of course. He doesn’t think she’s going to survive. Or maybe that’s what would make his story better. Do you know how she’s doing?”
Eric took another swig of his beer, set the bottle on the counter, lifted another cookie from the sheet. “No, only that she’s in the hospital. Did you see the news conference the Feds held in Willicott yesterday?”
“Sure, some of it.” She leaned against the counter. “I can’t imagine why anyone would hurt Gunny because she knew who owned a belt buckle. I mean, why?”
He walked to the sink and washed his hands. He said over his shoulder, “Who knows? Well, maybe Gunny does.”
She looked at her brother-in-law, married and divorced in his twenties, and now forty, four years younger than Landry. Landry said Eric looked tougher than a lumberjack and was probably meaner. He had survived Afghanistan. Her husband looked his polar opposite, tall and slender, an aristocrat with his blade of a nose and high cheekbones. She watched Eric pull out his cell. “I’ll tell you what, I’ll call the hospital, see if Gunny is still alive. I always liked her. I remember once this putz tried to put the moves on her at the crematorium, some idiot there for his uncle’s memorial service, and I stepped in.” He paused, added, “I asked her if she was okay, and she said she knew how to protect herself, Chief Masters had taught her. She’s a beautiful girl.” He shrugged. “It’s a pity she’s so slow.”
Susan listened to him speak to Marjory, once a high school girlfriend, now in hospital administration. He listened, thanked her, and hung up. “All she knows is Gunny’s in surgery, no word yet. Gunny’s mom and Chief Masters are walking the floor. I tell you, Susan, it makes no sense.”
37
* * *
HAGGERSVILLE COMMUNITY HOSPITAL
TUESDAY
Only four people were seated in the waiting room of the Haggersville Community Hospital ER, none of them looking particularly sick, very different from the ERs Sala had been to in Washington, D.C. Ty and Sala identified themselves to Nurse Grady at the desk. Her eyes sparked, and she leaned over the counter, told them Gunny’s mother was Lulie Saks, who owned the Heaven Sent bakery, and that Gunny was simple. Nurse Grady didn’t know how Gunny was doing, she’d only been in surgery with Dr. Ellis less than an hour now. “She didn’t look good when they wheeled her into the CT scanner. She was unconscious, and blood was caked over the back of her head. Someone left her to die in that alley. I’m praying she makes it. Everyone is.”
Nurse Grady’s eyes followed an older gentleman leaving the ER with a cane, watched a woman beside him hold her hand out, ready to steady him if he needed it. She leaned close. “Gunny’s always been a good girl—well, she’s not a girl any longer, she turned thirty last week. She’s always been slow, bless her heart, but nobody ever minded that. You just had to remember to shift into a different gear and go with her flow. I don’t know if she was born slow, but I suppose a doctor might have done something wrong, though I don’t know for sure. Poor Lulie, she was so scared for her daughter. Did you stop at her bakery?”
Sala said, “No, we’re just getting into town.”
Grady said, “There are usually at least a dozen people inside. It’s a good name, a good place. It’s right next to Sunny Day, Sherry Hanson’s boutique. I think the boutique does good business because they’re next door. Lulie makes the best éclairs in Maryland.”
Nurse Grady gave Ty and Sala directions to the surgical waiting room on the third floor. Like all hospitals Sala had visited in the city, there was constant movement, the hum of air-conditioning, the voices of caregivers on the intercom, techs wheeling carts. A nurse carrying a covered bedpan showed them the waiting room.
It was small, with a single window looking out over the parking lot. The floor was covered with an off-white Berber carpet, the walls painted a pale green, a line of Monet prints at eye level, a Nespresso machine that looked older than Ty on a small table in the corner. As good a place as any to wait for life-or-death news. A man and a woman sat next to each other on the single sofa, the man holding the woman’s hand, speaking to her quietly.
“Chief Masters?”
He looked up. Ty saw the sheen of unshed tears in his eyes and something else—rage. He squeezed the woman’s hand and rose. “Yes, I’m Masters, Chief Daniel Masters.”
Ty immediately stuck out her hand. “Chief, we’ve spoken on the phone a couple of times. I’m Chief Ty Christie from Willicott. This is FBI agent Sala Porto.” Sala automatically showed the chief his creds and shook his hand. Masters nodded to Ty. “Nice to finally put a face to the name.” He introduced them to Lulie Saks. She started to stand up, but Masters gently pressed his hand on her shoulder. “No, stay seated, Lulie.” Lulie Saks looked to be near fifty, about the same age as Chief Masters, her lustrous dark hair not yet showing any gray, but it was sprinkled with confectioners’ sugar, making her look vaguely like Christmas. She was wearing skinny jeans and a white camp shirt that came nearly to her knees with daubs of colored frosting and splotches of chocolate on the front, black ballet flats on her narrow feet. She was blessed with high cheekbones and was really quite beautiful. Did her daughter look like her? Her dark eyes were red from crying, her fair complexion pale from fear and anxiety. She looked from Ty to Sala. “Please, have you heard anything?”
“I’m sorry,” Sala said, and perjured himself without hesitation, “we’ve heard nothing yet, which Nurse Grady assured us was good news.”
Lulie was trembling so badly she was glad Danny had made her stay seated. She might have fallen over. She continued to look up at Agent Porto, a lovely young man near Gunny’s age, tall and well-built, his eyes and hair as dark as hers. She saw concern on his face that warmed her.
Perhaps Sala wouldn’t have done it if he hadn’t been so close to death only days before, but he came down on his haunches in front of Lulie, took her shaking hands in his, and warmed them. Strong, capable hands, Lulie thought. Hands that could also roll dough and decorate strawberry shortcakes. Lulie shook her head. She was losing it. She felt Danny’s big hand, warm and comforting on her shoulder. Danny’s hands were too big and rough to deal with delicate pastry dough. She laughed, swallowed.
Sala said, “We’re here to help, Ms. Saks. Did Chief Masters tell you about the call from the FBI agent manning the hotline?”
She nodded. “Please, thank the agent at the hotline for calling Danny—Chief Masters—right away.”
Sala said, “We will. Our agent was very concerned, contacted Chief Christie and me right after he called Chief Masters. Ms. Saks, this is very important. Please tell us why Gunny told the hotline agent she didn’t know what to do about recognizing the Star of David belt buckle. Do you know what she meant?”
Lulie looked into the young man’s ve
Ty said, “The belt buckle belonged to a Mr. Henry? Special friend? And Mrs. Chamberlain was his special friend? As in they were lovers?”
Lulie nodded up at the young woman. Imagine, so young and she was a police chief. “Yes, forever, well, until he died five years ago.”
“Maybe,” Ty said slowly, “someone overheard her speaking to Mrs. Chamberlain, someone who works at the post office or was there to conduct business? And that someone followed Gunny when she took her break, to keep whatever Gunny knew from reaching the FBI?”
“And this someone tried to kill her to protect himself? But from what?” Lulie shook her head. “It’s a stupid belt buckle. Who cares?”
“Someone obviously did,” Sala said. “A lot.”
Chief Masters said, “I haven’t spoken to Mrs. Chamberlain, and I need to do that.”
Ty said, “Would you mind if we spoke to her, Chief?”
“That’s fine with me. This is all part of your case over in Willicott. I can use the help.”
Lulie’s voice shook. “Danny said whoever hit her left her behind a dumpster in the alley between Kim’s Dry Cleaners and Lucky Hammer.”
Sala moved to sit beside Ms. Saks as she continued, her voice liquid with tears. “I can’t believe Mrs. Chamberlain would have anything to do with the attack on Gunny, so maybe Chief Christie is right, maybe someone did overhear. But who? A lot of people go in and out of the post office. It’s sort of a social spot, a place where people talk, drink their coffee, and exchange gossip. Any one of them could have noticed Gunny speaking to Mrs. Chamberlain, overheard what she said.”
Masters said, “Or one of the postal employees could have overheard, Lulie. We’ll get hold of the video that covers the lobby. We’ll find out who was there. If Mrs. Chamberlain knows anything herself, I’m sure she’ll tell Chief Christie and Agent Porto. Of course, Gunny could have mentioned it to someone else, too, the wrong someone.”
“It’s all my fault.”
Sala heard the horrible guilt bubbling out through the pain, and he understood, too well. He tried to keep his voice calm, matter-of-fact. “How do you figure that, Ms. Saks?”
38
* * *
Lulie hit her fist against her knee, sending confectioners’ sugar raining down from her hair. “If only I’d kept after her to tell me what worried her about telling a secret! A secret Mr. Henry asked her to keep? Why, for heaven’s sake? The man’s been dead for five years. He sure doesn’t care. She only told me a little of it. Why not everything? I’m her mother. I’m supposed to give her good advice.” She gulped, closed her eyes tightly. “I know it’s difficult for her, and I’ll admit it, even though I try to be patient, to wait her out, to gently push and prod, last night I had so much work to do—bookkeeping for the bakery, tax forms to fill out before I went to bed. If only I’d pushed her, made her talk to me, made her tell me why she was worried about Mr. Henry’s belt buckle, but I didn’t. I didn’t. I shut her down. Now my daughter might die!”
Ty took her hand. “Listen to me, Gunny will not die. Chief Masters got her here in a hurry. Agent Porto and I will make you a promise: we will find out who did this, and Chief Masters will keep Gunny safe until we do, right, Chief?”
Masters stared at her, shook his head at himself. “I hadn’t thought that far ahead. Yes, of course I’ll keep her safe, Lulie. And the chief’s right, there’s every reason to hope Gunny will pull through this.”
Lulie rose. “I’ve got to make a call. There’s someone who needs to know about this.”
They watched her pull her cell phone out of her jeans pocket and walk out of the room, shoulders straight, head up. They heard her speaking low into her cell.
“Chief, do you know who she’s calling?”
Masters said to Ty, his voice clipped and hard, “Probably her daughter’s father. Gunny’s illegitimate, but Lulie has never told anyone who the father is, not even me. Believe me, my wife and I have wondered, everyone has wondered, but Lulie hasn’t said. And I can’t remember who was around her thirty-one years ago. But what does it matter?” He laughed, shook his head. “I know lots of people in town think I’m Gunny’s dad, but I’m not.”
Sala said, “But you’ve looked after her, looked out for her.”
Lulie walked back into the waiting room as quickly as she’d left. She looked stronger, more in control. She accepted a cup of Nespresso from Ty. “Would you like cream? Sugar?”
“No, black is fine.” Lulie sipped and felt the hit of caffeine. She sat down, set the cup on a side table, and looked straight ahead. Sala said, “Ms. Saks, may I ask who you called?”
“Gunny’s father, but don’t ask me for a name. It’s an arrangement we have. But he deserved to know what happened to his daughter.” She blinked up at Ty, then turned to stare at a Monet print on the opposite wall.
Ty rose. “I’ll see if we can get an update.” She was ready to throw her weight around, but she didn’t need to. Everyone at the nursing station was just as worried about Gunny but could only promise to get word as soon as they could.
A nurse walked into the waiting room a few minutes later, eyeballed the four of them, and said, “Lulie, Dr. Ellis said he’ll come talk to you when he’s finished with her surgery, another half hour or so.” She didn’t tell them Gunny’s heart had stopped twice on the operating table and they’d brought her back. No parent needed to hear that, not from her.
Lulie felt the words gum in her throat, then burst out, “But, Carole, Gunny will be all right, won’t she?”
“I promise you, Dr. Ellis is one of the best neurosurgeons in the area, and it’s good news he’s finishing up. Would you like to call her minister or her priest?”
Lulie’s heart jumped. She could hear her voice rising as she said, “You want to call her minister? He thinks she’s going to die, doesn’t he?”
“No, no, Lulie, believe me, it’s more for reassurance, a comfort for you.”
Lulie felt her mind nearly crack. No, she wasn’t going to let fear numb her brain. She had to hang tough, that’s what Andrew had told her. Lulie said, her words clear as a bell, “Gunny is strong. She will survive. Chief Christie told me she would. There’s no need to call Reverend Whorley. We’ll wait right here. Carole, please go take care of my daughter.”
Nurse Carole Jones looked at Chief Masters. “Dr. Ellis wanted me to tell you if you hadn’t found Gunny as fast as you did, Chief, she wouldn’t have had a chance. He said to keep the faith.” She nodded to Lulie and left.
Lulie turned to Chief Masters. “I didn’t thank you, Danny. I’m sorry.”
Masters only nodded and suffered Lulie squeezing his hand so hard his fingers turned white.
Good, Ty thought, Ms. Lulie Saks has pulled herself together. Because of Gunny’s mysterious father? Her dark eyes were focused, intelligence shining clear, the sheen of tears gone. As for Ty, she had prayed, promising endless good deeds if Gunny pulled through. She said, “Ms. S
Masters said, “He’s long dead, five years now. Mr. Henry LaRoque was his name. He founded the First National Bank of Haggersville back in the early eighties. His wife died of cancer some time ago. He retired after that, some ten years ago, if memory serves. His son and only child, Calhoun LaRoque, took his place as president. I don’t know if Mr. Henry kept his hand in, but I doubt it. He believed everyone should be able to do things the way they wanted, and he wouldn’t interfere unless Calhoun asked him to.
“People liked Mr. Henry. He continued to be active on the town council, but he didn’t want to be mayor, joked he had too many secrets. You’d see him walking nearly every day down Clover Street to the post office, where he had a group of friends who liked to chew the fat, sometimes played some poker. He was what my grandma would have called a gadabout, very gregarious, always liked to know what was going on. He knew everybody, their families, their kids, their pets. Everyone loved him. Gunny said he was always kind to her, gave her gummy bears.”
“So what happened to Mr. Henry LaRoque? Was there anything unusual about his death?”
Lulie shuddered. “Unusual? It was horrible. He was murdered five years ago. Horribly. Who would do such a thing to that fine old man?”
39
* * *
Ty’s mouth dropped open. She stared at Lulie Saks.
Lulie said, “No one was ever caught. You never even had a single lead, did you, Danny?”
Masters shook his head. “Not that mattered. No one could remember Mr. Henry having a single enemy. So I couldn’t pin a motive on anyone. There were a few whispers about his son, Calhoun. I remember there’d been some friction between them, but I never really understood what it was about, and no one else did, either. But it can’t have been that serious, because when his father was murdered, Calhoun was distraught, seemed out of his mind with grief and anger. And, after all, Mr. Henry had made Calhoun president of the bank, left him alone to run it the last five years of his life. He left the bank to Calhoun in his will, left him everything, in fact, including the mansion, but since Calhoun had already built his own house on the other side of town, Mr. Henry changed his will to leave the mansion to the city of Haggersville. It’s used for town council meetings, conferences, things like that. Most of the rooms were cleaned out and modified, but Mr. Henry’s study was left the same as the day he died.” Masters blew out a breath. “It still keeps me awake, his murder, the way he was killed. His case is, naturally, still open.”