Death by Honeymoon

Chapter 8

Ann’s eyes were closed when Cindy got to her side . She was tucked in a cubicle on a bed, in the emergency room, behind a green and white hanging curtain. Cindy pulled the curtain aside, slipped into the cubicle and sat down beside her. Ann’s eyes fluttered open for a second and then shut again, as if drifting off to sleep.

Cindy grabbed her hand. “I’m here, Ann. I’m here. You’re going to be just fine.”

Ann seemed to smile, but didn’t answer.

“They’re going to take wonderful care of you.”

Ann, eyes closed, didn’t respond. Had she heard her?

A nurse pulled the curtains aside and came into the cubicle. She was a big, heavy, black woman, in her mid-fifties with short hair. Cindy was grateful to see her.

“Let’s keep her awake,” the nurse said to Cindy. “After they hit their head, it’s good to keep them awake.” Then she turned to Ann, “Hi there, honey,” she shook her arm gently.

Cindy was relieved that the nurse was with them. “What happened?” she asked her, alarmed.

“Your sister’s gonna be admitted for a full work up. We’re waiting for a bed upstairs.”

“How did this happen?” Cindy asked the nurse . Her mouth felt dry and her hands clammy.

“A police officer will be here to take information,” the nurse continued. “It’s routine.”

Tears filled Cindy’s eyes. She leaned towards her sister, “Are you okay, Ann?”

Ann opened her eyes slightly.

She moved her lips ever so slightly. She was trying to speak.

“What?” Cindy asked, leaning in close.

“Brakes…” Ann whispered.

Cindy stared at her, not understanding.

Ann reached over and grasped Cindy’s wrist.

“No…brakes,” Ann whispered, barely audible.

Then she closed her eyes again.

“Ann?” Cindy asked. “Ann?” she repeated, louder. “Are you saying that my car’s brakes didn’t work?”

But Ann was passed out.

Cindy’s mind reeled. She was devastated. She had loaned Ann her car. Had the car’s brakes failed? How was that possible? The car, a Honda Civic, was a year old and had just had a tune up the month before. It didn’t make any sense.

The nurse looked over at her, troubled.

“Do you have someone else who can come in and keep you company? A husband, or boyfriend or something?”

The truth hit Cindy at that moment.

“No,” she said quietly, “I have no one.”

The nurse shook her head, “I’m sorry.”

Then she pulled the curtains and walked out of the cubicle.

Ann looked peaceful resting there, and Cindy didn’t want to make her talk. She was breathing on her own, that was good. There was a brace around her neck. Probably the usual precaution after a car accident.

“Stay awake, Ann,” Cindy said, gently nudging her. Ann’s eyes fluttered opened.

Cindy held her sister’s hand and tried to settle down . Was it possible, she wondered, that Ann would die? It was much more than she could bear. She held onto Ann’s hand for dear life. “You’re gonna make it,” Cindy whispered to her, over and over. “Just keep breathing, Ann. Help is here. You’re not alone.” She felt Ann’s pulse calm down as she spoke to her, as if her very cells heard what Cindy said.

Then the curtains were pulled open again and the nurse returned to tell her that the police wanted to talk to her.

Reluctantly, Cindy got up and left her bedside.

Outside, in the waiting room, a rugged-looking officer in his late forties was standing, waiting for her.

“Cindy Blaine?” he asked, looking down at a notepad.

Cindy followed him to some benches in the hallway, where they both sat down. The hospital was crowded with patients and families, walking back and forth, along with doctors, nurses, technicians wheeling trays.

Cindy looked over at him and was surprised to see his hazel eyes looking at her searchingly.

“What happened to my sister?” she asked.

“The car veered off the road and hit a tree. She banged her head against the windshield. It didn’t break. Could have been much worse. There was no sign of alcohol. Does your sister take drugs?”

“Not at all.”

“Not to your knowledge?”

“Not at all.”

“Not even for medical purposes?”

“No, she doesn’t. “

“The rain was strong and the roads were slippery,” he said. “The car is relatively new. It’s registered to you?”

“Yes. She told me the brakes gave out. Is that true?”

The officer looked at her.

“Could be. We’ll have to do a run up on it. Did you ever have any trouble with it?”

“No.”

“Your sister lives with you?”

“No. She lives in Wisconsin with her husband. She’s been here for a visit.”

“For how long?”

Cindy thought that was an odd question. What did it matter? “She’s been here for a while,” Cindy said.

“Trouble at home?” he asked.

“No,” Cindy replied. “She came to help me. My husband died recently.”

He stopped writing, and seemed really taken aback . “I’m really sorry.”

“An accident on our honeymoon,” Cindy continued. Suddenly she had an intense desire to tell him everything. She so badly wanted someone to talk to. To tell him her suspicions about Clint’s accident. About her in-laws. The suspicious photo. Could there be a connection with all this and the car accident? Her in-laws had access to her garage. Had someone tampered with the brakes? They would have thought it was Cindy driving. Was this accident meant for her?

Who wanted her dead? And why? And what did it have to do with Clint?

“Is it possible that my car was tampered with?” she asked, tentatively.

He looked her over.

“Why do you ask that?”

“I…” she began. But she didn’t know what to say. It was all too overwhelming.

“My husband’s death…I don’t think it was an accident.”

He stared at her.

“How did he die?”

“In the ocean. Surfing. In Barbados.”

Tears filled Cindy’s eyes.

“He wasn’t meant to die,” she simply said, and despite herself, started to cry.

“And my car was in perfect shape. It had to be someone close by who messed with the brakes, someone with access to my garage.”

She felt his hand on her shoulder.

“Lady,” he said, “you’ve been through a lot. I think you should go home and rest. We’ll do a full diagnostic on your car. Don’t worry. If anything’s out of place, you’ll be the first to know. OK?”

But as she watched him leave, as she stood there alone in the waiting room, she suddenly knew - without a doubt. Clint’s death and the car incident were related. That accident was meant for her. She was more convinced than ever that whoever wanted Clint dead, wanted her dead, too.

And that they’d stop at nothing until that happened.