The Golden Couple(64)
But his eyes are open, and he’s smiling at her.
“Hey, babe,” Matthew says as she steps toward him.
“I’ll leave you two alone,” the nurse says. “Just press the call button if you need me.”
Other than the bandage and some dried blood by Matthew’s hairline, he looks the same. He looks like her Matthew.
Although Marissa swore she wouldn’t, she begins to cry again.
“It’s okay. I’m fine. Just a few bruises.”
She holds his hand with both of hers, soaking in the warmth of his skin. “I’m just so relieved. I thought…”
“Shhh. I just wish I could’ve gotten a swing at the other guy.” He mock punches with his free hand.
With those motions, his torso shifts, and beneath the gaps in his gown, Marissa sees eggplant-colored marks on his ribs.
She gasps. “Why would someone do this to you?”
“No idea.” Matthew shakes his head, then grimaces. “I keep wondering the same thing. One minute I was about to get in my car, and the next I’m on the ground with some asshole kicking the shit out of me.”
Marissa winces, trying to block out the image of her husband being hurt.
“It’s not that bad.” Matthew pulls his gown closed. “I thought I could make it home. But, well, guess I was wrong. I passed out and crashed just as I was exiting the garage.”
“I don’t understand. Was he waiting for you in the parking garage? Did you see him?”
“I didn’t get a look at his face. He came at me from behind.”
A terrifying thought sears through Marissa’s mind. “Your keys! Did he take your wallet and keys?”
The assailant could have their address and be breaking into their house right now, sliding the key into the lock while Bennett sleeps just one floor above. She fumbles for her cell phone, but Matthew’s voice stops her.
“No, that’s the strangest part.” Matthew looks bewildered. “He could’ve easily grabbed my wallet, my watch … anything. Even the car. But it’s like the only thing he wanted to do was beat the crap out of me.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
AVERY
I’M SO LOST IN THOUGHT it takes me a moment to register that the mailman on the sidewalk in front of my house is trying to get my attention.
Ever since Marissa phoned to tell me what had happened to Matthew, I’ve been sitting in a chair on my porch, pen and notebook in hand, diagramming the strange events surrounding the Bishops.
We’re five sessions in, and for the first time I worry that my ten-session method might not work for these clients.
“He gonna be okay if I bring this up there?” the mail carrier asks, nodding at Romeo, curled by my feet basking in a patch of sunlight.
I want to reply, He’s more scared of you than you are of him, but something holds me back. I didn’t get Romeo for protection, obviously, but I don’t need to advertise that my big, muscular dog is as aggressive as a cannoli.
“I’ll come and get it,” I call as I stand up.
The mailman hands me a few envelopes and a catalog, which I tuck under my arm as I head back up the steps, my mind still considering and discarding potential connections.
I sit down, placing the mail beside me on the side table, and reach for my notebook again. I stare at the jumble of words, my eyes flitting across the page—Coco, Polly, yellow roses, anonymous note, attack …
Clearly Polly didn’t carry out the assault. She isn’t strong enough to overpower Matthew; besides, he is certain the perpetrator was a man, Marissa told me.
But Polly’s presence near Matthew’s office just a few hours before the incident is more than strange. It’s highly significant. I just don’t know how yet.
I stretch out my foot and absently rub it against Romeo, who rolls onto his back, his tail thwacking against the wood porch floor.
The biggest question in my mind is the identity of the man who hurt Matthew.
Marissa mentioned that both she and Matthew suspected the assault could have been conducted by a disgruntled employee, and they’d relayed their suspicion to the police. I imagine the parking garage has video cameras, too, which could aid in identification.
I rub my temples and stand up, bringing my empty coffee mug and the stack of mail into the kitchen. Maybe caffeine will help.
While my coffee brews, I flip through the mail: catalog, bill, junk, bill … and an envelope with the return address for LifeLine, the agency that handled Paul’s life insurance policy. Probably just a follow-up, since they already sent Lana the generous settlement. I slide my finger under the seal and remove the letter.
I scan the document quickly at first, then my eyes widen: medical fraud … investigation … misrepresentation …
My hand begins shaking and I almost drop the sheet of paper.
It sounds as if the insurance company thinks I had something to do with Paul’s death.
I sink onto a counter stool, rereading the letter, this time more closely.
Then I reach for my cell phone and call my lawyer.
* * *
I expected the Bishops to cancel their session tonight; after all, Matthew was released from the hospital only this morning.
I was hoping they’d reschedule. My lawyer, Sylvia McColaugh, did a little digging after I scanned the letter from LifeLine and sent it to her. She scheduled a Zoom call with me for 5:00 P.M., right after I’d gone for a long hike with Romeo, hoping to simultaneously burn off some of my physical stress and shake loose some new ideas in my mind.