someone a whole lot of money for a bogus tip.”
Smith shoved the packs into the pockets of his raincoat.
“I’m sorry we can’t be of more help to you,” Wayne said. “Now if you don’t mind, Ms. McAllister has had an extremely difficult day.”
The man stepped aside and bowed with an arm extended Shakespearean-style.
He pulled a fresh cigarette out and held her eyes as she let Wayne lead her away. With Wayne’s back to him, Smith dropped the reporter persona and gave Shauna the slow wave of a sad friend saying good-bye.
6
Shauna was so haunted by the man’s wave that she only half paid attention when Wayne took her back to the hospital to meet with Dr. Carver before heading home. He left his keys in the Chevy’s ashtray before they went inside.
The brief appointment passed beneath her hazy disinterest and distraction. He gave her five bottles, labeled only with numbers, and explained to her what each pill was, and indicated that she should take them twice a day.
Was there a third person in her car? What if Rudy had a friend, maybe, and the drugs were his? The possibility of a third person could change everything.
No it couldn’t—there were still drugs in her loft, not to mention in her blood. And why would so many people not see this unnamed passenger?
“Siders is willing to let you stay at home now, Shauna.” Wayne touched her shoulder, snapping her out of her thoughts.
“Good.”
“So long as we come back once a week. Dr. Harding wants you in here tomorrow. Check in otherwise as necessary. Sound okay?”
“Fine.”
Then they were back in his truck driving toward Landon’s and she was back in her thoughts, preoccupied by the events of the past several days. She didn’t speak much.
Wayne put the car in park and she lifted her head.
They were in front of the bungalow that was the guesthouse on the McAllister property. With six bedrooms in the main house, few guests ever occupied these more remote lodgings, and the red tiles and stucco that matched the bigger house had fallen into some disrepair. Beautiful towering pecan trees spread their limbs wide and on summer days turned shadows into lace. But this gray October after-noon, the branches merely hovered like tangled clouds.
“Why are we here?”
Wayne looked confused. “You knew we were coming to the estate.”
“I mean the bungalow.”
“Oh. Your father’s idea.”
“I see.”
“He thought you would have more privacy this way.”
“Right. My old room is too close to home.”
“Pam’s in your room now.”
Of course she was.
“There are three bedrooms here, so I’ll be close. If you don’t mind. The senator has set up a housekeeper for you in the third room. Full-time, at your service. If it’s necessary, it will be easier for people to visit you here—doctors, therapists.”
“All I see is a place where Landon can keep me under his thumb.”
“It’ll be good for you here. All that security? No media, no pressure.”
Wayne exited the truck, then helped Shauna out, ducking in the rain. She stomped, heavy with the weight of her new life, up the steps to the shelter of the porch.
That dull but precise pain that had irritated her at the courthouse flared in her side again. Appendicitis would be timely and maybe poetic. Ironic even. She could survive being catapulted into an icy river and avoid brain damage and pass through a drug trial with flying colors, then be taken down by an inflamed and useless organ.
But the pain passed.
The screen door squeaked.
A pretty but expressionless woman held it open—the Asian woman Shauna saw in the dining room of the main house last night.
The slight-built woman let the door slap back into its frame. She held a hand out to Shauna. “I’m Luang Khai, your housekeeper.”
“I’m sorry?”
“Call me Khai . ”
“Rhymes with sky ?”
“Close enough.”
“Shauna McAllister. I guess you know Wayne.”
Khai nodded, curt. “Mr. McAllister said you might come. The
Smith shoved the packs into the pockets of his raincoat.
“I’m sorry we can’t be of more help to you,” Wayne said. “Now if you don’t mind, Ms. McAllister has had an extremely difficult day.”
The man stepped aside and bowed with an arm extended Shakespearean-style.
He pulled a fresh cigarette out and held her eyes as she let Wayne lead her away. With Wayne’s back to him, Smith dropped the reporter persona and gave Shauna the slow wave of a sad friend saying good-bye.
6
Shauna was so haunted by the man’s wave that she only half paid attention when Wayne took her back to the hospital to meet with Dr. Carver before heading home. He left his keys in the Chevy’s ashtray before they went inside.
The brief appointment passed beneath her hazy disinterest and distraction. He gave her five bottles, labeled only with numbers, and explained to her what each pill was, and indicated that she should take them twice a day.
Was there a third person in her car? What if Rudy had a friend, maybe, and the drugs were his? The possibility of a third person could change everything.
No it couldn’t—there were still drugs in her loft, not to mention in her blood. And why would so many people not see this unnamed passenger?
“Siders is willing to let you stay at home now, Shauna.” Wayne touched her shoulder, snapping her out of her thoughts.
“Good.”
“So long as we come back once a week. Dr. Harding wants you in here tomorrow. Check in otherwise as necessary. Sound okay?”
“Fine.”
Then they were back in his truck driving toward Landon’s and she was back in her thoughts, preoccupied by the events of the past several days. She didn’t speak much.
Wayne put the car in park and she lifted her head.
They were in front of the bungalow that was the guesthouse on the McAllister property. With six bedrooms in the main house, few guests ever occupied these more remote lodgings, and the red tiles and stucco that matched the bigger house had fallen into some disrepair. Beautiful towering pecan trees spread their limbs wide and on summer days turned shadows into lace. But this gray October after-noon, the branches merely hovered like tangled clouds.
“Why are we here?”
Wayne looked confused. “You knew we were coming to the estate.”
“I mean the bungalow.”
“Oh. Your father’s idea.”
“I see.”
“He thought you would have more privacy this way.”
“Right. My old room is too close to home.”
“Pam’s in your room now.”
Of course she was.
“There are three bedrooms here, so I’ll be close. If you don’t mind. The senator has set up a housekeeper for you in the third room. Full-time, at your service. If it’s necessary, it will be easier for people to visit you here—doctors, therapists.”
“All I see is a place where Landon can keep me under his thumb.”
“It’ll be good for you here. All that security? No media, no pressure.”
Wayne exited the truck, then helped Shauna out, ducking in the rain. She stomped, heavy with the weight of her new life, up the steps to the shelter of the porch.
That dull but precise pain that had irritated her at the courthouse flared in her side again. Appendicitis would be timely and maybe poetic. Ironic even. She could survive being catapulted into an icy river and avoid brain damage and pass through a drug trial with flying colors, then be taken down by an inflamed and useless organ.
But the pain passed.
The screen door squeaked.
A pretty but expressionless woman held it open—the Asian woman Shauna saw in the dining room of the main house last night.
The slight-built woman let the door slap back into its frame. She held a hand out to Shauna. “I’m Luang Khai, your housekeeper.”
“I’m sorry?”
“Call me Khai . ”
“Rhymes with sky ?”
“Close enough.”
“Shauna McAllister. I guess you know Wayne.”
Khai nodded, curt. “Mr. McAllister said you might come. The
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