told me she was seeing someone.”
“Yeah?” Clay’s gaze held hers expectantly.
“She never told me who. I think he was married.”
“Did you ever see a man at her house?”
“About a week ago, I saw a red Corvette at her house, an older model, but I didn’t see who was driving it. I saw a man about a month ago in a different car, but only once.”
“Remember what either of them looked like?”
“I never saw who was driving the ’Vette. The other man was Hispanic, but I couldn’t describe him. That’s not much help, is it?”
“It’s a lead and we have too darn few so far.” He smiled.
The nurse delivered more pain medication and left. Shelby searched her mind, trying to recall anything else. All she had were shadows, elusive bits and pieces of…something. She couldn’t even determine if they were thoughts or pictures. “I want to know what happened.”
She sensed Clay tense subtly, the strain not visible in his face. Only in the barely perceptible shift along his lean muscles. Shelby knew he was keeping something from her. “What are you not telling me?”
Mouth grim, his steady gaze met hers. “Ken Mason, the medical examiner, had to go in for an emergency heart bypass a couple of days ago so it’s going to be a while before we find out M.B.’s exact cause of death.”
“Doesn’t he have an assistant?”
“Yes, but she isn’t certified to sign off on CODs. We’ve been able to piece some things together from what Collier learned at the scene.”
“Enough to rule out an accident?”
Clay nodded. “He checked for cigarettes and frayed wiring. Everything he’s found so far indicates the fire was arson. Most likely to hide another crime.”
Shelby’s fingertips tingled from that mix of adrenaline and apprehension she always got heading into a blaze. She didn’t want to ask the question that had dread fisting in her gut. “You mean—”
“Murder,” Clay said quietly, his large hands wrapping around the bed rail.
The shock of the words had her going still; then her entire body quivered. “Do you think I saw something? Someone?”
“I don’t know.”
“Do you think Dr. Boren’s right? That I can’t remember because I did see something horrible? But if I saw who murdered M.B., wouldn’t they have made sure I was dead, too?”
“They tried,” he said tightly. “Your station is right across the street from her. A fire had started, so I don’t imagine the killer felt he had time to make sure you were dead before your crew arrived.”
Sickened at the thought, she laid back on the pillow.
Clay squeezed her shoulder, his eyes hard. “I’m not taking any chances. Until we know you’re not in danger, I’m sticking to you like white on rice.”
Clay was as good as his word. He stayed again Monday night with her and her mom at the hospital, and the next morning helped Paula load Shelby into the car to take her home. She finally got settled to her mother’s satisfaction and convinced Paula she’d be fine. Shelby wanted to be in the comfort of her own home, not that huge empty house her mom had bought with the ample insurance settlement from Dad’s death.
Stepping inside her kitchen eased some of the tension in her shoulders. The white of the cabinets, countertops and island top was broken by splashes of red on the wallpaper, in the curtain across the single, floor-to-ceiling window. Deep black-cherry candles and a floral arrangement spread color across the dining table. The familiarity soothed her.
Paula fixed lunch for all three of them, some bean sprout-tofu thing that wouldn’t satisfy a bird. Shelby was hungry, but more than that, she was jumpy. Her entire body ached. She was frustrated at the missing minutes in her memory and edgy over what had happened during those minutes.
Paula rose to get more tea. “Vince has called me several times to see how you’re doing. He wants you to call him back.”
Shelby shook her head.
“Are you sure?” Her mom refilled her glass. “He seems genuinely concerned.”
“It’s one thing to check on me. It’s another to keep coming around. Clay said he was at the hospital last night, too.”
Shelby glanced over, noting how his jaw had tightened. He had on his blank cop face. The phone rang and Paula answered. Shelby tensed, hoping it wasn’t Vince.
Her mom brought the phone over. “It’s your captain.”
Relieved, Shelby spoke to her boss, assuring him that she didn’t need anything and promising to let him know her progress as she recovered.
Clay cleaned up the dishes while Paula made a list of things to buy at the grocery store. Shelby wandered into the living room, sank down on her oversize saddle-brown couch.
Her mom left for the store and Clay put in a call to his lieutenant. Shelby couldn’t sit still. Pain jabbed at her temple. Her nerves were raw, urging her off the couch and to the large plate glass window that looked into her backyard.
M.B. had been murdered. Clay’s words kept circling in Shelby’s head. Did she know anything about it? Were the answers buried somewhere in the writhing shadows of her mind? Had she lost her way in the smoke and fallen? Or had she been thrown over that railing?
Panic swelled inside her and she fought it, afraid if she gave in that she would fall apart. But it was hard to dismiss the fact that her friend was dead. And that at least ten minutes of her life were missing. Gone. As if they had never existed, hadn’t been even a hiccup in time.
She wrapped her arms tightly around herself, cradling her injured wrist. What if she never remembered? Besides feeling that she would be letting M.B. down, Shelby didn’t know how she would accept such a blank space in her life. In the scheme of things, maybe five or ten minutes wasn’t much, but a murder had been committed in front of her. Maybe she hadn’t seen anything, but if she had, she wanted to know what.
Shelby had tried not to think about the danger Clay felt she might be in, but for the first time since being rescued, a frozen, slow-moving fear climbed over her, suffocating her. What if she had died, too?
Clay stood in the wide archway that led from Shelby’s kitchen into her living room, frowning as he saw her looking out into the backyard. He said her name, but got no response.
Surrounded by the warm light of the midday sun, she stood motionless in front of the large picture window. She wore a baggy red T-shirt, with Presley Fire Department written in thick white letters across the back, and khaki shorts that drew attention to her sleekly muscled legs. She was barefoot.
She didn’t move. Didn’t appear to know he was there at all.
He walked around the edge of her sofa and stopped behind her. “Shelby?”
Still
