there was the snow globe, all alone where the car should have been, so out of place it caught his eye.
He was here because of this damn snow globe.
But was he in the right place?
He set it back down and got out of the truck, striding toward the fence with determination etched on the lean planes of his face. With his thirty-seventh birthday well behind him, he was a man accustomed to knowing what was going on or moving heaven and earth to find out. First things first.
Rounding a stack of tires, he could finally see through the chain-link fence and what he saw almost froze him in place. The antenna supporting the ladybug mascot was attached to a silver late-model sedan, or what was left of one, the same kind of car Ella drove. The hood was buckled inward and up, all but obscuring the windshield. The passenger compartment was partly crushed, shattered headlights and sprung doors attesting to the power of the impact that had put it here in the first place.
Had the driver walked away from this accident? More to the point—had Ella walked away or was she lying in a morgue somewhere? He swallowed hard.
Make sure it’s her car. Bending at the knees, he perched on his heels as he tried to decipher the bent license plate three feet away. Every letter and number he could make out matched up to Ella’s.
“You interested in that car?” a deep voice asked. Simon rose to a standing position as a man popped up from behind a dented SUV, a crowbar in one big hand, two hubcaps tucked under his opposite arm. With a shrill clang, he dropped everything on the rusty hood of yet another wreck and lumbered over to the fence, giving Simon the once-over.
He was fifty or so, pasty and short of breath, a layer of sweat glistening on his brow despite the cool May day. Simon started to reach for his badge but thought better of it. Finding Ella was personal, not official. He said, “It’s in pretty bad shape,” bracing himself to hear the worst.
“Ain’t that the truth?” the man said, producing a can of chewing tobacco. He pinched off a few leaves, tucked the wad in his cheek and added, “Can you believe the driver walked away without a scratch?”
Simon let out a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding. “Then she’s okay?”
“He’s okay, yeah.”
Simon narrowed his eyes. “Wait a second. He?”
“The driver. Uninjured except for a scratch or two. Amazing thing. Course, his wife got bonked on the head pretty good. They had an ambulance take her to the hospital.” With a wave of a thick arm, he added, “It happened just a mile or two down the road where the highway curves as it drops to the coast. Car went off an embankment and wrapped around a tree.”
Okay, just a second. Since when did Ella allow someone to drive her car, and what was this talk of a husband? “Did you catch any names?”
“Sure. Carl and Eleanor Baxter.”
It was on the tip of his tongue to protest that the Eleanor Baxter who owned this car wasn’t married. This had to be a mistake. But he paused as he considered her nature. It wasn’t inconceivable that she could keep an estranged husband a secret.
He’d actually liked that mysterious quality about her, at least at first. To Simon, coming from a large family with two sisters who never seemed to edit a word they said, Ella had seemed peaceful, composed. It was the churning oceans he’d since detected underneath her calm exterior that grew to worry him.
The wrecker’s eyes narrowed. “The Baxters were tourists. How about you? You from around here?”
“No, I’m from Blue Mountain, high desert country. I’m a friend of theirs from back home. Can you tell me how to get to the hospital where Ella, Mrs. Baxter, was taken?”
“If you came from the east, you must have driven right by it. Won’t do you no good to look for her there, though. She was released this morning. My wife, Terry, works over there in Housekeeping. She says everyone was surprised Mrs. Baxter left so soon.”
Simon’s mind was racing. “Was this woman tall with long wavy blond hair?”
“Tall, maybe. Truth is she was in the ambulance by the time I got to the scene. I got a glimpse of her, but her head was wrapped in bandages.”
Simon hadn’t slept in well over twenty-four hours and he’d been driving for eight. No wonder he couldn’t make sense out of anything, no wonder his eyes burned in their sockets. Running a hand through his hair, he said, “Bear with me while I try to understand this. When exactly did the accident happen?”
“Three days ago,” the older man said. “In the middle of the night. Every cop in the county showed up along with the fire trucks in case there was an explosion. It was a real circus.”
“And the female passenger was released this morning?”
“That’s right.”
“Do you know if she’s still in town? I mean she and her husband?”
The wrecker looked over his shoulder as though he’d suffered a sudden stab of conscience. His wife was no doubt cautioned not to gossip about the patients, but she obviously had and now the wrecker seemed to realize he was repeating her disclosures to a stranger. He spit tobacco with practiced ease, the brown glob landing a few feet away, and scratched his belly through a smudged shirt.
Simon casually took out the leather folder that held his badge. It didn’t give him the right to go to the hospital and demand private information without a court order, but he flashed it just the same and the wrecker’s face lit up.
“Oh, you’re a cop. I get it now. What were they, bank robbers, drug dealers?”
“No, no,” Simon said quickly. “I’m just a friend like I told you. I was supposed to meet up with them. I’m showing you the badge so you understand I know how to keep my mouth shut.”
The wrecker appeared mildly disappointed. “Well, the answer is they ain’t here anymore. Rented a car from Lester down at the Pacific 88 Station, and took off. The husband wanted to continue on their vacation over to Rocky Point.”
Rocky Point—Simon had suspected as much. Actually, it had been a toss of the dice, either Otter Cove or Rocky Point, but he’d had a feeling it was the latter. He was itching now to get back in his truck and make it to the coast before dark. One way or another he’d find her. He still didn’t know what was going on, just that he needed to see her with his own eyes. If she’d been playing him for a fool the last year or so, well, that was the past, they weren’t together anymore anyway. But he had to know why she’d left the house all lit up and the snow globe in such an odd spot.
The wrecker, meanwhile, had continued rambling and Simon tuned back in to hear him say, “Doctors said as long as he didn’t pressure his wife, it probably wouldn’t hurt her, and might do her some good. They said it could go away overnight or take a few days or even weeks, just not to push her.”
Once again, Simon found himself playing catch-up. “What could go away?” he asked.
“Like I said, her amnesia.”
Amnesia? Ella had amnesia? Unsure how to respond to this, Simon worked at looking nonplussed as he racked his brain for a comment that made
