Chapter Forty
CHAPTER FORTY
ANGEL
Whether you’re on top of the world or the bottom of the river, time stops for no one. You can’t wish it away, and you can’t turn it back. It moves forward at its own steady rhythm, oblivious to the change going on around it. Awake or asleep—it doesn’t matter. The hands of the clock move whether you’re conscious of them or not.
Tick tock tick tock tick tock.
It’s been ten days since I watched Dominic drive away from my bedroom window, and nine since the world turned against me. I know because time may hate me, but the sun greets me each morning.
One. Two. Three. Four. Five. Seven. Eight. Nine. Ten.
I’ve counted every one of them in this bed. In these clothes. I can’t face anything outside these four walls. This room is my safe place. It’s where I listen to the clock, watch the sun, and wait.
The east wing is so peaceful.
Far away from the shouts and chants of the crowd gathered outside the iron gates. Some want me to leave. Some want me to answer for my sins. A few want me to die. I should’ve been prepared for this. The leak came from an “anonymous” source, but it has Rosten’s disgusting stench all over it.
“Miss Romanov?”
Rolling over, I glance toward the door to find Hilda standing there, a forlorn look etched in the lines of her face. “Has there been any news about Violet?”
She shakes her head. “No, ma’am, I’m sorry.”
“Oh.” I figured as much. Even my calls to Detective Rubio have been ignored. Violet has been gone for three weeks and nobody seems to know why. Dejected, I roll back over and wait for the click of the door. When it never comes, I peek back over my shoulder to find her still standing there. “Is there something else?”
“You haven’t answered your phone.”
“Can you blame me?” I snap. “There are only so many times you can be called a whore. Although, I have learned how to say it in five different languages.”
“Miss Boone has tried calling you for four days,” she blurts out, stepping further into the room. “The estate’s number is inaccessible, so she sent this.” Reaching into her apron, she pulls out a white envelope. It looks like it’s been through atomic warfare. As if reading my mind, she adds, “Lars opens your mail for security purposes. I’d never intentionally invade your privacy, but…” she trails off again, worrying her lip.
“What’s wrong?”
Instead of answering, she shoves it toward my chest. “Here.”
I don’t want to take it, but before I can stop myself, Milly’s slanted, left-handed words stare back at me .
Alexandra,
I thought you should know Dominic’s mother passed away last Thursday. The hospital says it was an allergic reaction to a new medication. There wasn’t any money for a burial, so she was cremated over the weekend. Dominic’s not doing well. I know things aren’t good between you two, but you’re the only one who can get through to him.
I just thought you should know.
Milly
My chest aches. My eyes burn. My hands shake.
I read it three more times and each time the ache, burn, and shaking intensify.
Dominic.
He needs me.
“Hilda, I—” I look up to find her gone. It doesn’t matter. Nothing matters except getting to him. I don’t care if he wants me there or not. Stumbling out of bed, I tear down the hallway toward the shower.
Twenty minutes later, I walk out of the mansion for the first time in ten days.
Lars leaves the limo idling in the driveway as I bang my fist on Dominic’s door again. “I can do this all day, McCallum.”
When there’s still no answer, I walk to the window and try my best to see inside. There’s no movement. No sign of life, but his damn car is here. Frustrated, I continue around the side of the house, and, ignoring Lars’s protests, I climb over the wooden gate. The patio is deserted, so Ipress my nose against the glass pane and peer into an empty house.
“Dominic, please. I know I pushed you away, but I was scared. I still am. All I know is when I’m with you I feel safe and terrified all at the same time. I don’t know who I am anymore but deep down,” I yell as my voice breaks, “I think you do. And that’s why I pushed you away. Because the truth is, I’m not scared of you. I’m scared of me.”
Silence.
“Dominic.” His name is a weak sigh. A final plea. A sinner’s prayer.
Silence.
Letting out a defeated sigh, I open the gate this time and walk back down the driveway only to stop and turn back around.
His Harley is gone.
My shoulders sag. My head knew it, but a part of my heart held onto a shred of hope he was listening. I nod to Lars, who dutifully exits the limo, waiting by the rear to open my door when my phone rings. I don’t recognize the number, so my thumb goes straight to the decline button when something stops me.
Static. Scratching.
“Six is coming,” I whisper.
“Miss Romanov?” I look up to see Lars moving toward me with a concerned look on his face. “We need to go. Now.”
Six is coming.
“Hello?” I don’t remember answering. But suddenly, the phone is at my ear.
“Miss Romanov?”
“Yes. Who is this?”
“My name Vanessa Hunder. I’m a nurse at Moss Valley Wellness Hospital. I’m sorry to bother you, but we’ve been trying to get in touch with Mr. McCallum and have been unable to reach him. Since the billing department has listed you as a personal contact, we thought you could have him call us immediately.”
I glance back at the empty space where his Harley usually sits. God knows where he is, how long he’s been gone, or when he’ll come back. “Of course. Is there a problem? If there’s a final payment that needs to be made, I—”
“No, nothing like that. We were clearing out Brenda McCallum’s room and found a sealed envelope with her son’s name on it. Someone needs to pick it up in the next forty-eight hours or it’ll be labeled as unclaimed property.”
“What happens to unclaimed property?”
“It goes into storage.” There’s no inflection in her voice. As if tossing away someone’s last possession is as easy as taking out the trash. “I’m not sure where, Miss Romanov. We don’t track it from there.”
I don’t hesitate. “I’ll be right there.” Lars is already forming a rebuttal when I skirt around him. “Take me to Moss Valley. Now .”
The package is a large manila envelope, distressed and worn by time. It’s fairly thin, and just like Vanessa said, sealed tight with Dominic’s name written across the front. When I ask where they found it, she just shrugs and says “ somewhere ” while waving a hand around the room.
Thanks. That’s helpful.
As she escorts me out, I stop her just before we reach the reception desk. “I was told Miss McCallum died of an allergic reaction to her medication.”
“That’s right.”
“As far as we’re aware, she hadn’t been prescribed any new medication.”
She shrugs, tucking a piece of her straight brown hair behind her ear. “I wouldn’t question Dr. Everly. He’s very thorough.” Giving me a curt nod, she disappears down the hallway before I can say another word.
But I keep standing there because there’s something bothering me. Like pieces of a puzzle I can’t quite turn the right way.
Vanessa’s words linger like a whisper in a silent room.
“I wouldn’t question Dr. Everly. He’s very thorough.”
Everly.
Everly.
Everly.
Then the puzzle piece snaps into place.
“Isn’t it ironic that I never knew his name until six months ago? Dr. Everly, Moss Valley’s director, likes his experimental drugs, one of which, it seems, works as quite the truth serum.”
My hand flies to my mouth. “Oh my God!”
I want to throw up. I want to call Detective Rubio and demand an investigation, but I can’t. I have nothing but a conversation no one can prove. Taking a deep breath, I turn my attention toward the blonde girl at the reception desk and force one last performance.
Clearing my throat, I flash a camera-ready smile. “Hi, I’m sorry to bother you.”
She glances up, blinks, then lets out a shriek so loud my ears ring. Eyes wide, she flaps her hands in the air before slapping them over her mouth. “Holy crap! You’re her .”
I cringe, wondering if I’m about to be slapped with another scarlet letter. A woman might have been murdered and proving it all rides on which direction this girl’s moral compass points.
I don’t have time to assess her ethics, so I take a risk. “Are you a fan?” I hope.
Her palms slam onto the desk as she leans forward. “Are you serious? I’m your number one fan! I was so mad when they recast Kya Perrone in Bound Fate .”
Thank God.
“That’s very kind of you…” I raise an eyebrow, waiting for her to get the hint.
“Dianne,” she squeals again, tapping the nametag pinned to her shirt. “I’m Dianne Manns. I’m thirty-eight and originally from Chicago.”
Way too much information, but okay. “Well, would you like an autograph, Dianne?”
Her jaw drops. “Are you shitting me?”
“It’s the least I can do for my number one fan.” And my only hope at getting into hospital records.
“Oh my God. Oh my God. Oh my God.” The words keep spilling out of her mouth as she tears her desk apart looking for a piece of paper and a pen, finally shoving them toward me. As I sign Alexandra’s name, I try to figure out how to slip what I need into the conversation when she flings the door wide open. “If you don’t mind me asking, what’s Alexandra Romanov doing at Moss Valley?”
“Brenda McCallum was a close personal friend.” I pause, pen in hand and look up at her. “Did you know her?”
She nods. “Interesting lady. So sad what happened. At least she got one last visitor before she passed.”
The pen flies out of my hand. “I’m sorry?”
“Oh, I shouldn’t have said that.” She knows she’s said too much. I can tell by the hurried way she stashes her autograph away and straightens her already tidy desk. But it’s too late.
“Dianne, you wouldn’t happen to keep visitor sign-in logs by any chance?”
“Of course, we do. Hospital policy.”
“Would you mind if I took a quick peek at it?” She gives me a sharp look, and I smile, covering with, “I’d like to thank whoever sat with Brenda in her last few hours.”
Her timid smile tells me she seems to buy it, but she still hesitates, worrying her lip. “That’s confidential information. I could lose my job.”
Leaning onto the desk, I go in for the kill. “But it can be our little secret.” I smile, holding up my pinkie finger. “Just between me and my number one fan.”
When Dianne’s eyes go wide and glassy, I know I’ve got her. The promise of sharing such a “special” bond is too enticing to pass up. “Okay,” she says, locking her pinkie around mine. “But don’t tell anybody. Promise?”
“Cross my heart and hope to die.”
But as soon as she pulls up the ledger and flips to the day in question, my smile fades. Black spots race in from the corners of my eyes and dot my vision as I stare at the name.
Ross Gregory.