Gideon Page 6

  For the past twenty years, Jessica existed in what was termed a minimally conscious state; the result of the severe blow to her head that led to a brain hemorrhage. Like others with this condition, Jessica had extremely limited awareness of the world around her. She’d occasionally smile or cry in response to verbal or visual stimulation, and she’d sporadically utter the words “yes” or “no”, but rarely in a logical context. The doctors had made it clear early on that making eye contact and attempting to grasp objects within her reach were positive signs, but not necessarily indications she was ever going to recover. The sad reality was, the longer Jessica remained in her minimally conscious state, the less her chances of ever recovering higher critical functions.

  Like she’d done hundreds of times before, Kelly pulled up a chair and lightly touched Jessica’s hand. Her eyes fluttered open and she turned to Kelly, but there was no sense of recognition. No focus to her gaze.

  It took all of Kelly’s remaining energy to force a smile. “Hey, Jess. How was your day?” There was no reaction. There rarely was. Kelly continued, “I’m sorry I haven’t been here for a while, but…”

  Kelly took a breath and steeled herself. Despite Jessica’s lack of comprehension, breaking this news to her was much more difficult than Kelly had imagined. Because of Jess’s special relationship with their father, his loss, under normal circumstances, would be devastating. At that moment, Kelly thought it fortunate that her sister lived in oblivion.

  “Dad.” Kelly’s tears instantly welled up again. “Dad’s gone. He was…” That was as far as she got before she was completely overwhelmed. She put her head down on her sister’s lap, her body racked with sadness as she silently cried. Jessica remained blissfully deaf to the information, as well as to Kelly’s grief.

  Finally, Kelly raised her head, wiped her tears and pulled herself together. She had no choice but to be strong for the both of them.

  “We buried him today. Hundreds of people came out to pay their respects. It was incredible to see how much he was loved. There was even a woman from the opera who sang Amazing Grace.”

  Kelly had done extensive research into her sister’s condition, and while no one knew precisely what stimuli affected her, it was widely agreed that social interaction could be extremely valuable, and that whenever possible, she should personalize the conversation. “Remember when you sang Amazing Grace with the choir at the seventh grade recital?”

  “Yes,” Jessica said, her voice barely above a whisper.

  Kelly smiled. She doubted Jessica’s agreement was actually in response to the question, but it buoyed Kelly’s spirits regardless.

  “I wish you could’ve been there to see it all. It made me so proud to be his daughter.” Kelly held back a sob and carried on, “He’s with Mom now, and I’m sure they’re looking down on us, knowing that pretty soon you’re going to get better.”

  Jessica squeezed Kelly’s hand.

  Was that a muscular reflex or was Jessica acknowledging her sister? Whenever something like this happened, Kelly was reminded that inside this shell was a living person.

  Kelly reached out and gently touched Jessica’s face. “I promise I’ll always be here for you, whatever it takes.”

  It was getting late and Kelly thought about foregoing Harry Potter, but she didn’t want to fall into the habit of making excuses to shirk the obligation she had to her sister. Kelly still carried the overriding guilt that if she’d only remembered the tennis balls that day…

  An hour later, Kelly was making her way out of the building when she was intercepted by Sylvia Spiro, the director of the facility. A thin, hawkish woman in her fifties, Ms Spiro exuded an air of forced sentimentality. She ran the non-medical side of this operation, and while it could be argued that she cared about the wellbeing of the patients, her main concern was the wellbeing of Peninsula Oaks’ finances. “I heard you were here, Dr Harper. Have you got a moment?”

  Despite a powerful urge to put off the officious director, Kelly was now completely responsible for her sister, and that meant dealing with all aspects of the facility, including Ms Spiro.

  A few moments later, they were seated in a well-appointed office, tastefully done in warm tones and completely lacking in any personal touches. “Dr Harper, everyone here is heartbroken for your loss.”

  Kelly nodded, numb to the hollow condolences. “Thank you for the flowers.”

  “Of course.” Ms Spiro paused for a moment, then launched in. “There’s no good time to have this conversation, and now is probably the worst, but I was contacted yesterday by our head office in Dayton regarding your sister’s account.”

  Kelly reacted like she’d been slapped across the face with something cold and odious. Her anguish was replaced with a sense of outrage and she felt her face bloom with anger. “You want to discuss finances today?”

  Ms Spiro unsuccessfully attempted to defuse the moment. “No, not really. Like I said, I realize this isn’t a good time, but…”

  “But yet here you are, confronting me about money just hours after I buried my father.” Kelly was spinning out of control, and at that point she didn’t really care.

  Ms Spiro knew she’d made a terrible situation even worse, but she had a job to do and a message to impart. “I’m afraid the financials are out of my hands. Your sister’s account is three months overdue.”

  This revelation took Kelly entirely by surprise. For a moment she was speechless, trying to process this bombshell. “How’s that possible? I thought her care was paid through the end of the year. My father…”

  “Had every good intention. Because Jessica has been a patient here for so long, we agreed to extend a financial courtesy to your family; but there was recently a change in our corporate management structure and…”

  Kelly had heard enough. After cycling through a full range of emotions since setting foot inside the facility a few hours ago, her attitude hardened. “I’ll get you a check.”

  Ms Spiro nodded and smiled. “That would be excellent. We’d hate to have to take action. Corporations are not very compassionate when it comes to delinquent accounts.”

  Kelly stood, her demeanor frigid as a December morning in Siberia. “I said I’d take care of it.”

  Kelly strode out of the facility into the brisk night. Dizzy from fatigue, distracted by anger and fearful about the future, her mind was overloaded from everything that transpired in the past twenty-four hours. It was no wonder she didn’t hear the SUV barreling toward her until the last minute.

  Kelly recoiled backwards and just barely avoided being hit by the speeding vehicle. The SUV raced down the street without slowing down, as if nothing had ever happened.

  Stunned and frightened, Kelly’s heart was pounding.

  Was she next on some killer’s hit list?

  8

  Later that night, Kelly sat alone in her small condo. It was a cozy home, filled with comfortable furniture, high-end kitchen appliances (which didn’t get much use) and hundreds of books. It was orderly and yet inviting. A reflection of the person who lived there, down to the alphabetization of the novels (by author, of course).

  There were dozens of framed photos of family and friends. The frames were a potpourri of sizes and styles. At one point, Kelly considered redoing all of her photos in matching frames, but that proved to be too anal even for her.

  Glowing embers in the fireplace cast a flickering, amber illumination into the darkened living room as Kelly nursed a tumbler of scotch and thought about everything that had occurred in the past few days.

  The weight of recent events pressed down on her, making it difficult to breathe and virtually impossible to glimpse any sign of light or hope. Her glass was empty and she slowly reached for the bottle. To her surprise and dismay, it was empty as well. How full was the bottle when she sat down? How much had she drunk tonight? Did it even matter?

  A photo album was on her lap, open to a picture taken when she and her father were in Sumatra with Doctors Without Borde
rs. One tanned arm was draped across her father’s shoulders, and the other laid across the back of Chandler, a mottled three-legged hound who’d adopted Kelly the moment she set foot in the village. She’d taken to the dog as readily as it took to her, and she’d named it after her favorite character from Friends. As Kelly stared at the photo, she wondered whatever happened to Chandler. It was far less painful than dwelling on what had happened to her father.

  The knock at the door jarred her, sending an irrational jolt of fear and paranoia through her body. Even though she lived in a secure high-rise building, she was still extremely edgy after her near-death experience outside Peninsula Oaks. She looked at the clock on the mantle. It was after 11pm. Who would be…?

  Another knock, this one more assertive. “Kelly? It’s Pete.”

  Pete. Of course. Who else would it be? She’d called him, semi-hysterical, to tell him about the SUV that had nearly run her down. Kelly’s heartbeat began to decelerate. She shook off her alcoholic haze and found her voice. “Hold on.”

  She heaved herself up from the chair, steadied her legs and made it to the door, opening it a crack, but leaving the chain secured. She wasn’t sure why she did that. It was Pete standing in the hallway, not some stranger. Instinctively, at that moment, she needed to feel safe.

  Pete’s face was a mixture of concern, caring and confusion. “You didn’t answer your phone.”

  “I’m fine. I just want to be alone.”

  “You sure?”

  “No. I’m not sure of anything except that I’m angry and frightened and generally fucked up.”

  Pete rarely heard Kelly swear. “We could talk about it. Are you going to open the door?”

  There was a long moment of silence as Kelly unsuccessfully attempted to work through the panoply of disjointed thoughts careening around her brain. Did she want someone to talk to or not? She didn’t know. She didn’t have the mental acuity to arrive at a decision, so she simply undid the security chain and left the door ajar, before she turned and walked back into the room.

  Pete accepted the tacit invitation and slowly entered, turning on a lamp as he made his way to the sofa. She caught him glancing at the empty scotch bottle on the side table.

  “Don’t.”

  “I’m not here to judge. I’m here to help.”

  “How?”

  “You tell me.”

  “You could start by finding the bastard that killed my father.”

  “Are you looking for closure or revenge?”

  Kelly fixed Pete with a chilly glare. “How about justice?”

  Pete reached out to touch her, but Kelly pulled away. “They might’ve found the car.” He didn’t know how much he should reveal at this point, since the news wasn’t exactly promising.

  Kelly impatiently flared, “Might’ve?”

  Pete knew he’d made a mistake and now he was about to compound it. “A dark grey Jeep Cherokee with a dented front bumper and hood. It was reported stolen. Whoever abandoned it, wiped down the interior and drenched it with bleach. Forensics is trying to pull some usable prints.”

  “Bleach? That sounds like it was planned, which means it wasn’t a random hit and run.”

  “Maybe. It could also mean that once the driver realized what happened, he tried to cover his tracks.”

  “What about the car that tried to run me down tonight?”

  What could he say? With no license plate number and no witnesses, there wasn’t much the police could do.

  “We’re checking the businesses in the area to see if any of them have security cams that might’ve caught something. Kelly, I doubt the two incidents are related.”

  Kelly’s eyes blazed with burning intensity. “Really? My father was run down out of the blue and a few days later a car just happened to almost hit me, and the police department doesn’t see a connection?”

  “We’re keeping an open mind, but at this point the answer’s no.”

  Kelly was suddenly assaulted by a wave of physical and mental exhaustion. She exhaled and her head lolled forward. “I need to go to bed.”

  “Do you… want me to stay?” Pete asked.

  “No.” There was too long a beat before she realized how final that sounded. “I’ve got to meet with a lawyer in the morning and we’re reopening the clinic in the afternoon. If I don’t get some sleep, I’ll be completely useless.”

  Pete thought about giving her a quick reassuring kiss, but Kelly’s body language was unmistakable. He settled for an understanding smile and nod, and headed out the door.

  He stopped in the hallway, wondering and worrying. He’d never seen this side of Kelly, and hoped that with some rejuvenating sleep and sufficient time, she’d bounce back. She’d been through a deeply traumatic experience and it could be months, maybe years, until she was able to come to terms with her father’s murder and move ahead with her life. Pete had seen too many people… intelligent, gifted people, who were overwhelmed by tragedy and sorrow, which led to a downward spiral that ended with them losing all hope… and often their lives.

  And so… Pete wondered, and worried

  9

  “The Law Shop” was a new concept in legal firms modeled after fast food franchises. “Shops” had sprung up in eight cities and consisted of a soulless collection of cubicles inhabited by recent law school grads or retired lawyers who wanted a part-time gig and an excuse to get out of the house. It was about a fifty/fifty split between newbies learning on the job and burnouts that had long résumés but were only moderately interested in the legal problems that faced their clients.

  The consortium behind the legal chain was based in Los Angeles and had Hollywood sensibilities, which translated to mandating that every franchisee create the illusion of professional gravitas. Each “Shop” had one long wall lined with leather-bound law books, emulating the law libraries seen in every legal television series that ever aired. The fact that the books had such titles as “Wildlife And Fisheries Regulations for the State Of Georgia: 1954-55. Volumes I through XVI” didn’t matter. These libraries were bought in bulk and were strictly for show.

  The “Shop” that Kelly went to was housed inside a former bookstore nestled between Brookstone and TJ Maxx in the Tanforan Mall in San Bruno, a few miles south of San Francisco. She sat across from a young woman named Rhonda Jackson, who proudly displayed her diploma from the Thomas Jefferson School of Law in San Diego on a wall of her cubicle.

  Kelly flipped through a meager stack of documents and shook her head. “I don’t understand.”

  Rhonda tried to muster a modicum of empathy or even understanding, but failed. They didn’t teach bedside manner at TJS. “Is there a problem with the will?”

  “I don’t know. Is this everything? All of my father’s assets?”

  “This is everything he disclosed. There may be other assets.” She raised her hands and shoulders in a shrug. “Were you expecting more?”

  “There’s almost nothing here. The house is mortgaged to the hilt and the clinic is deep in the red. My father told me he had investments.”

  “Did he work with a brokerage firm? You could contact them and see if he had a portfolio.”

  “He never mentioned a broker to me.”

  Rhonda failed at a compassionate smile. “I’ve seen cases where people have multiple wills in order to hide money or property from their heirs. Not to be insensitive, but perhaps there was someone else in his life that…”

  Kelly shook her head in bewilderment. “No. Definitely not.”

  Then again, maybe she didn’t know her father as well as she thought. It was puzzling, but moreover, it was deeply disturbing to think he could’ve been keeping secrets from her.

  Besides, what could he possibly have to hide?

  10

  Kelly entered the clinic through the back door, avoiding the throng of patients milling around the front of the building. She’d arrived an hour early to comb through her father’s files, desperately hoping to find some clue about his mysterious
“investments”. The clinic was financially teetering, and Jessica’s ongoing medical bills loomed large, casting an ominous shadow over Kelly’s likelihood of staying afloat.

  As the door was closing, a hand grabbed it and yanked it back open. Kelly spun around to find Dr Nathan Curtis staring back at her. His chubby face and thinning, slicked-back hair reminded her of a child molester in Iowa who’d been featured in a Netflix documentary. And like the child molester, Nathan sported a perpetual sheen of perspiration on his forehead and hands. He was the prototype of the “last kid picked” on the playground and an easy target for bullies. It wasn’t until later in life that he’d inherited a sizeable trust fund from his maternal grandmother and learned the golden rule: the one who pays for the bats and balls doesn’t get picked last.

  “You startled me,” said Kelly.

  “Sorry,” Nathan said, with a sheepish grin that was difficult for him to pull off. His voice had a nasal quality, the result of a deviated septum, and to make it worse, he had a slightly affected Ivy accent he’d honed at Princeton. “I wanted to catch you before everyone else arrived. Got a minute?”

  Kelly was offended that Nathan hadn’t attended her father’s funeral, and her anger had compounded every day that he didn’t have the courtesy to reach out to her with condolences. No flowers, no phone call, not even an email. Her father had given Nathan a huge break when it looked like his medical career might be over before it began, and Nathan’s lack of appreciation was galling.

  Kelly wasn’t in any kind of mood to deal with him now, but knew that she’d have to face him sooner or later. May as well get it over with.

  A short time later, Kelly was ensconced behind her father’s desk, using it as a physical and psychological barrier. Being alone with Nathan was extremely awkward, since a tiny irrational part of Kelly harbored the notion that he somehow might’ve had a hand in her father’s death. After all, David had made it clear that Nathan’s job was on the line.