Chapter 9

Finally, I was discharged with instructions to return to the hospital for regular physiotherapy appointments over the next four weeks. I was not permitted to return to work for at least six weeks.

The town gave me a hero’s welcome. Knowing that I was still in recovery, the Mayor kept it short. He gave a speech and the girl I had saved, thanked me for my bravery. They gave me a medal and the reporters took some pictures and asked us a few questions. By the time they were done with us, my leg hurt and I wanted to go home.

Bert drove me back to my place, and I asked him to dig up any information on Jonathan James Reynolds.

A full week went by. One day, my cell phone rang while I was in the shower. Normally, I would have let it go to voice mail, but I decided to step out and towel off to answer it. I’m glad I did.

Bert had finally located J.J. The information he sent me provided a legitimate excuse for me to visit Wendy. Knowing that she worked the night shifts at the hospital, I decided to pop by in the afternoon.

A light rain was falling as I left my apartment, got into my car and drove to Nearville.

Part of me felt torn. It had been twenty years since I’d had any contact with the Reynolds family, so maybe they’d consider me a stranger and ask why I was poking my nose into their personal affairs. They might not even recognize me at the door.

Maybe they didn’t even want to know about J.J. That prospect had occurred to me more than once, because surely if Mr. and Mrs. Reynolds wanted to know what had become of their son, they could have found a way. At the very least, they could have hired a private investigator.

In the end, as I turned up Canyon Road in search of their cottage, all that mattered to me was what Wendy wanted. Based on our conversation at the hospital, I sensed in her a desire to bring me into this.

I pulled up next to the stone walkway, opened the car door and got out. The rain was coming down harder by then. I knew I couldn’t make a run because of my leg, so I drew up the hood of my jacket and limped up to the house.

I rang the bell and waited. A couple of minutes later, the front door opened and I found myself staring at a somber-looking young woman with golden hair and blue eyes.

“Yes?” She looked as if she’d just woken from a nap. There was something familiar about her.

“I’m looking for Wendy Reynolds,” I explained. “I’m Nick. Nick Wallace.”

The young woman frowned at me. For some reason, I felt a strange compulsion to apologize for my presence.

“Do the Reynolds family live here? Do I have the right house?” I asked.

She blinked a few times. “Yes, we do. How do you know Wendy?”

“We were friends when we were kids. I was best friends with your brother, J.J. Are you Lizzie?”

“Yes, I am.” She stepped aside, “Please, come in.”

Stepping inside, I glanced around the wide, cherry-wood paneled entranceway and spacious parlors to the left and right.

An uncomfortable silence ensued and I wondered if I should have made other arrangements to see Wendy.

“I’m not sure if you remember this, but I attended several of your birthday parties. They were on Christmas Day.”

Lizzie tilted her head. “That’s right. My birthday is December 25th. Have you kept in touch with Wendy all this time? She never mentioned you.”

“No,” I explained. “I lost touch when your family moved away to Arizona.” I glanced toward the stairs. “Is your mom here? I’d love to say hello to her.”

Lizzie spoke in a low, monotone voice. “She and Dad went away for the weekend.”

“What about Wendy?” I asked. “Is she around? I was hoping to talk to her about something.”

Lizzie frowned again. “No.”

“Do you know when she’ll be back?”

Pushing her hair back off her forehead, Lizzie took a deep breath as if to brace herself for something. “She’s not coming back. I’m sorry, Nick. You obviously don’t know.”

I shook my head. “Know what?”

“Wendy died around two weeks ago,” she said. “The funeral was a week ago.”

I could do nothing but stare at Lizzie in disbelief.

“That can’t be right,” I said still in shock. “I spoke with her around a week ago at the hospital.”

“What hospital?” Lizzie asked with a shake of her head.

“St. Vincent,” I replied. “I was taken there after I was shot pursuing a suspect. I’m a police officer in Middletown.”

Lizzie took a good look at me, and then slowly, she began to nod. “I recognize you. You were on the news. It was a carjacking, wasn’t it?”

“That’s right. I had to have two bullets removed in surgery, and I was in a coma for five days. When I woke up, Wendy was there.”

Lizzie shook her head, “That can’t be, Wendy died in a car crash around the time you were shot.”

By now my heart was pounding like a sledgehammer.

“You don’t look good, Nick. Would you like something to drink?” she asked. “A cup of coffee, tea or a glass of water?”

“I’m fine.”

“No, you can’t be,” she asserted. “You can’t be fine, because I’m not fine. Not after what you just said to me.”

Still not completely believing that Wendy was gone, I limped after Lizzie to a large modern kitchen at the back of the house with white cabinets and shiny granite countertops. She put a teapot on to boil.

“There has to be a mix up,” Lizzie said, leaning her hip against the center island. “Maybe you dreamed it. Were you medicated?”

“At first, yes,” I replied, “but I didn’t dream it. She was real. I spoke with her more than once.”

Lizzie shivered from head to toes.

“Did she work at St. Vincent’s as well?” I asked, still feeling confused by all this.

“Yes, she was a resident there.”

“Psychiatry’” I said, even when I already knew the answer.

“Yes, how did you know...?”

“She told me.”

Lizzie poured two cups of tea, sat down and sipped at one. Her hands were shaking.

“I’m so sorry. I’m in shock. I swear I talked to her the day before I was discharged,” I told her.