don’t need the police. You need a doctor, and you have one of the best. Dr. Benson, a friend of my dad’s. He says you’re suffering from a case of pure exhaustion. And an overdose of partying, of course.”
“Nonsense,” Lindsey protested. She maneuvered past Brigit’s well-meaning attempt to restrain her and pushed to her feet. Her resolve was short-lived. The room began to spin like a carousel. She sank back to the bed.
“The doctor said you’d be a little dizzy when you woke up. It’s the drugs. Aspe... Oh, I don’t remember. Something with a long name.”
The doctor was right. Now even the bed was spinning beneath her. And her mind was playing cruel tricks. She could have sworn it was Graham and not Brigit who had sat at her side during the night.
But of course it hadn’t been Graham. He didn’t even know she was in town. And even if he did, he wouldn’t be interested. It was just the drugs that were reviving thoughts she’d carefully tucked away, deep in her subconscious.
“I don’t understand it, Lindsey. What do you do up at that university that’s so important you don’t even take time to eat or sleep?”
Lindsey massaged her brow with shaking fingers. She had to clear her mind, put foolish dreams of Graham aside and remember all the details of the gruesome scene she’d witnessed. The drugs were not making it any easier. And as for working too hard, that was a way of life for her. A situation that wasn’t likely to change anytime soon.
“I don’t know what you or the doctor are talking about. I’m fine. But I need to see a policeman. We’ve wasted too much time already.”
“Good. I’m glad you’re ready for them, because after the way you talked to that old buzzard that was on duty when we arrived last night, I don’t think they’re going to be too friendly.”
Lindsey took a deep breath. A few hazy recollections were churning about in her mind, but none of them made much sense.
“You do remember talking to the cop, don’t you?” Brigit asked patiently. “I’m sure he remembers you. You were pretty much out of it, though. Mostly mumbling incoherently. You were a frightful—”
“So the police already know about the murder?”
“Now just stay calm, Lindsey. Dr. Benson says you shouldn’t get all choked up.”
“I have no intention of staying calm. A girl was brutally murdered. Now answer my question. Do the police know what I saw?”
“They know you were mumbling about some guy with a dagger, thanks to our benevolent head nurse. She couldn’t wait to report your so-called murder. I told her you were out of your head, but she didn’t budge from her position. Hospital policy, you know.” Brigit mimicked the nurse’s haughty manner, but Lindsey ignored her attempt at humor.
She traced the folds in her hospital sheet, then stared out the window. Even through closed blinds, it was obvious the sun was high in the sky.
“What time is it?”
Brigit studied the jeweled timepiece that adorned her wrist. “Exactly 11:36 a.m.”
“Oh, no... All night and half the day wasted.” Taking a deep breath, she pulled her drugged body up to a sitting position again. She shivered. The room felt cold, and no wonder. The only thing covering her was a thin hospital gown, and it wasn’t covering much.
“Get my clothes, Brigit. I’m not exhausted, and I’m not ill. You know me. I’ve always had trouble with motion sickness. And I probably had a little too much champagne.” She rocked forward, cradling her spinning head in her hands. “Maybe way too much champagne.”
“It’s probably not the liquor, Lindsey. The doc gave you a shot. He said it would make you sleep. And it did, too. Right through the policeman’s questioning.” She suppressed a giggle. “Except when you told him to get his fat, lazy self out of here and catch murderers. Only you didn’t put it quite that nicely.”
Lindsey groaned and crawled out of the bed, bending over to look for her shoes. They weren’t to be seen, and a quick glance around the sparsely furnished room didn’t reveal any sign of her clothes, either. She stumbled toward the small closet, grabbing the back of a chair for support when her knees proved more the consistency of Jell-O than bone.
“Your clothes aren’t here. Grace Ann took care of that. You’re the victim of a Dominican Daredevils conspiracy. You need rest. Doctor’s orders. We plan to see that you follow them.”
The Dominican Daredevils. Funny, she hadn’t thought of that nickname in years. So much had happened since her days at old Dominican High. But for Grace Ann, Brigit and the others, life was just one long extension of the friendships and habits begun so long ago. Like so many others in New Orleans, they had never moved away, had even attended colleges that let them remain close to home.
She eased back to the bed to contemplate her next move. Her friends meant well, but obviously they were convinced she’d imagined the whole stabbing incident. And apparently the doctors and the police were just as certain. A cold shiver shook her body as the scene replayed in her mind. They were wrong. Somehow, she had to prove that to them.
“Ah, Miss Latham, I see you’re awake. And feeling a lot better than you were last night, I trust.”
Lindsey looked up and into the bluest eyes she’d ever seen, playful and twinkly, peering from behind a multitude of wrinkles. The graying gentleman stepped closer and stuck a steady hand in her direction.
“Dr. Matthew Benson,” he offered, grasping her outstretched hand and shaking it firmly. “How’s the head feel? Still a little dizzy?”
“Yes,” she admitted, reluctantly. She didn’t want to argue with the doctor, but she was getting out of here. Now. Or at least as soon as she located some clothes.
“The drugs appear to be wearing off fast, but I think you’ll feel a lot better for the night’s rest. You gave your young friends quite a scare when you started hallucinating.”
Brigit smiled at the doctor in conspiratorial fashion as she backed away from the bed.
“But I told them we’d see what some sleep would do for you,” the doctor continued. “I’m glad I gave you the shot before the officer showed up. If I hadn’t, I’m afraid our determined man in blue would have harassed you half the night. And you weren’t ready for that.”
Harassed? What was it with these people? Did she look like a basket case, or were murders just so commonplace in the Big Easy that nobody even bothered to report them anymore?
“I appreciate your concern, Dr. Benson, but I must talk to the police at once. Coherently. A young woman was murdered last night, and I may well be the only witness.” She turned to Brigit for support, but she had conveniently disappeared through the open door. “For all I know, the killer is still on the loose, doing who knows what,” Lindsey continued. “Running for his life. Maybe even killing again.”
The doctor flashed a patronizing smile, but his words were stopped short by a strident voice from the hall.
“You’ll have to wait. Dr. Benson would have my hide if he knew I’d let you in last night after he specified no visitors. Though personally I don’t see why he’s so worried about just another
