Everything We Didn't Say(36)
There was a giant fish tank against the far wall, a monstrosity with what looked like an elaborate coral reef climbing up one side. Mesmerized, Juniper tiptoed into the living room for a closer look. The fish were far too vivid to be freshwater, and the gently waving anemones looked too real to be plastic. It was an exotic salt water tank.
For a few minutes, all Juniper could do was admire. Then she realized that she was essentially snooping in a stranger’s house uninvited and turned to hurry back to the kitchen. But something caught her eye as she left. A door with opaque glass panels beside the fish tank had been left ajar. Behind it was a study: a scratched, obviously secondhand desk; an ergonomic chair; a stout, practical filing cabinet. But none of those things had grabbed her attention. It was the wall behind the desk that pierced Juniper like a hook.
The wall was filled with photos and clipped newspaper articles, Post-it Notes scrawled with words she couldn’t read at a distance, and a handful of bold headings printed on stark white paper: Tate Brothers, Franklin Tate, Carver Groen, Transient, Murder/Suicide, Jonathan Baker. For a moment Juniper felt like she was falling, and she put a hand on the doorframe to stop herself from tipping into the sharp edge of the fish tank. A hinge groaned, but she hardly noticed. Everett had turned the wall of his office into a crime board: a scrapbook of clues and motives, suspects and alibis that rivaled her own. He wasn’t kidding when he said he was taking another look at the Murphy murders.
Did he know about what was happening now? The calls and drive-bys, the insidious harassment of the most likely suspect? More important, what did Everett know that she didn’t?
The room spun when Juniper turned from the door, but she was already calculating how quickly she could race back to her car to grab her phone. Would she have time to get it and snap a few pictures before Everett was done changing out of his uniform?
She was nearly in the kitchen when Everett emerged from a room down the hall. He was wearing a pair of jeans and a plain navy sweatshirt. His hair was mussed from when he pulled the crewneck over his head. Everett’s thin smile made Juniper painfully aware of the wild knock of her heart, but she forced a grin and said, “You have a fish tank! Is it salt water?” She hoped she didn’t sound breathless.
“You’re welcome to take a closer look,” Everett said. His voice was light, but he stared at her for a moment as if searching for something in her gaze. Did he know? Could he tell that she had looked inside his study? Clearly his interest in the Murphy murders bordered on obsession.
“I’ve lost track of time,” Juniper said. “I’m so sorry, but Mandy’s expecting me, and I don’t want to keep her waiting. I really just stopped to see if you could squeeze me into your schedule sometime soon.”
“Call the police department,” he told her. “Susan will be able to take care of you.”
He was blowing her off again. Juniper forced one last smile and chatted about the weather while she pulled on her shoes and zipped up her coat. Everett’s goodbye was friendly enough, but as she pulled out of the driveway, Juniper could see him in the window, watching her.
* * *
It was almost noon when Juniper arrived at the hospital. Worry prowled in her gut as she steeled herself for what she would face inside. Reb had told her in unnecessarily great detail what Jonathan looked like, what machines he was hooked up to, and how the ICU was laid out. ECMO, or extracorporeal membrane oxygenation, was a form of cardiac and pulmonary life support that cycled Jonathan’s blood through his body because his heart and lungs weren’t capable of performing the necessary functions on their own. It was a lifesaving measure that would afford him time to rest and recover, but it felt like a last-ditch effort. A Hail Mary. The thought was terrifying.
Juniper hurried through the cold parking garage, coat clutched tight against her throat, and waited in silence as the elevator carried her up to the third floor. When the doors slid open, she followed the signs down the hallway and lifted the red receiver outside the locked ICU. She carefully stated her name and the patient she had come to see, and after a log was checked and double-checked, the metal lock clicked open and she finally stepped inside.
The ICU smelled of antiseptic and recycled air. Just like any other hospital. But unlike other hospital visits, a nurse was waiting on the other side of the locked door to escort her to a small family waiting room where Mandy was slumped in a chair, head tipped back against the wall and eyes closed.
“Hi, Mandy,” Juniper said softly.
Her sister-in-law opened her eyes and managed to pull her mouth into a semblance of a smile. She didn’t move to get up, so Juniper went to her and bent down to wrap Mandy in a hug. “It’s good to see you,” she said. But the truth was, it was hard to see her. Mandy was a shell of the woman she had been only days ago. Her eyes were dark and sunken, her skin gray. It was obvious that she hadn’t washed her hair in a while, because it hung lank and dull against her ashen cheeks.
“Here.” Juniper took Mandy by the shoulders and turned her so that she could reach the back of her head. She deftly finger-combed her sister-in-law’s loose waves, then pulled them into a French braid. Juniper was wearing a hair elastic like a bracelet and slipped it off her wrist to wrap it around the end of the improvised hairdo. When she was done, she gave Mandy’s upper arms a squeeze.
“Thank you.” Mandy’s eyes welled with tears.