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“Give me a break. Our Mr. Bondurant has some admirable traits, but he’s about as far removed from my ideal man as one could get. He’s the strong, silent type, which, as far as I’m concerned, translates into asshole with an attitude.
“He killed a friend in what he claims was self-defense, but we have only his word on that. He’s hung up on a woman he can never, ever have. He lives like a hermit out in the boonies, which is weird and sort of spooky.
“Even if he lived around the corner and was Mr. Upstanding/Involved Citizen of the Year, he’s made no secret of his opinion of me, which is that I’m a walking calamity, a disaster waiting to happen. Anyway, this entire conversation is pointless because I’m not interested in him, and anyway he’s disappeared, too. Okay?”
“So how long after you met him were you in bed together?”
“About ninety seconds.”
“Jesus, Barrie.”
“Yeah. A real professional approach, but only if you’re a hooker.” She sighed. “Since my career as a journalist is over, perhaps I ought to consider going into the purveyance of personal pleasure.”
“You, a hooker?” Daily chuckled. “That I’d like to see.”
“I’d have to charge extra for watching.” She swung her legs over the edge of the cot. “This conversation, which I began in the hope of boosting my spirits, has made me feel even more depressed. I’m going to take a shower.”
“A shower won’t cure what ails you.”
“Well, I’m going to shower anyway.” She dug into a shopping bag for a new set of underwear. As she clipped off the tags, she said, “If I could be granted one wish, Daily, it would be to pick up my life the day Vanessa Merritt called to invite me for coffee. I would decline.”
“Meaning that now you’re convinced the Merritt baby died of SIDS, and that the rest of it was just a product of your bad judgment and active imagination?”
She looked up at him sharply. “Aren’t you?”
* * *
“You look radiant!” Senator Armbruster smothered his daughter in a bear hug. “I can’t tell you how good it is to see you.”
“It’s good to see you too, Daddy.” She returned his hug, but he sensed her restlessness and released her. Her smile was as bright as a ten-dollar diamond ring and much more counterfeit. “I saw myself in the mirror this morning. I don’t think radiant is the word I’d use to describe me.”
“You just got up from weeks in a sickbed. What do you expect? You’ll get the color back in your cheeks in no time.”
“I think she looks gorgeous.” This from David Merritt, who was buttering a blueberry muffin.
The three were sharing a continental breakfast in Vanessa’s chambers. In Clete’s opinion, the last thing Vanessa needed was caffeine, and she was on her second cup of coffee. “Maybe you should spend a few weeks at home,” he suggested. “You could lie in the sun, sleep late every day, eat fattening southern cooking. What do you think, David? Should we pack her off to Mississippi?”
His son-in-law’s best campaign smile was in place. He must have been practicing it. “I just got her back, Clete. I’d hate to have her leave again right away. Besides, she’s definitely on the mend. George has worked wonders for her.”
The senator didn’t share his son-in-law’s opinion of Dr. Allan. “Night before last, he looked to be hanging on to his ass with both hands.”
Vanessa was at her vanity table, trying on earrings. “Which should I wear?” she asked, turning to face them and holding a different earring to each ear. “I think the pearls are best, don’t you, Daddy?”
“The pearls are fine.”
“They were Mother’s.”
“Yes, I know.”
“My junior year in high school, you let me wear them to a dance, remember, Daddy? I lost one, and you were upset. But I went back to the gym the next day and searched until I found it. My dress was pink. You had a fit because you thought the seamstress had hemmed it too short. My date was that Smith boy, the one who went to Princeton and then flunked out. I forget what happened to him after that.”
Before Vanessa was diagnosed as manic-depressive, Clete had been confused and saddened by the violent mood swings he witnessed. She could be abysmally depressed, agitated, anxious, or hyper. But he’d rarely seen her as hopped up as she was now. She was either in the throes of a manic episode or high on an antidepressant drug. The symptoms were so similar that it was difficult to tell. But she wasn’t stabilized, which had been the point of her seclusion.
David must have noticed her behavior, but he was making a concerted effort to ignore it. He interrupted Vanessa’s chatter to address her father’s comment about the doctor. “George wasn’t at his best the other night, Clete. And can you blame him? First he had the nurse die on him, then he couldn’t locate her next of kin. To top it all off, Barrie Travis showed up at the hospital with you and Gray in tow, creating a hell of a ruckus and a media event that we all could have done without.” Chuckling, he shook his head. “Tell me she didn’t seriously think that the corpse was Vanessa.”
“That little gal got an earful from me, I can tell you that,” Clete said, jabbing the air with his blunt index finger. “And I’m not finished with her yet.”
“I don’t want to talk about it anymore,” Vanessa said, leaving the vanity. “Look at my arms. Chill bumps. It’s horrible to hear rumors about your own death.”
