had a slanted, white wooden plank ceiling, smaller windows, and a knotty wooden floor, with a shaggy, navy throw rug. Clint had loved this room. The rug belonged to him since college. He’d taken it with him everywhere.
His files were stored in boxes along the back wall under the white wood bookshelves he had put up. There was a small desk in the corner, catty corner to the window with his computer, a little cactus plant, and all kinds of papers strewn on it. The window was open and you could smell the wisteria outside, wafting in. She could hear the light rain falling on the roof. It soothed Cindy.
This room was just for Clint. He loved having privacy and separate space, said it would keep the marriage strong. He always said that a good marriage always needed time together and time apart. Cindy had no problem with that. There was another small room, next to Clint’s, that was going to be Cindy’s study. She could sketch, make her collages, read, or do whatever she wanted in it. That room stood there empty, waiting to be filled . Cindy had no desire to go in it now. Clint’s study was the place she had to be now, near him in any way she could.
It felt good to go in, sit down on the shag rug and breathe the damp, spring air. Cindy felt Clint’s presence everywhere. She wanted to put the photo on Clint’s desk, but it was messy. First she stuffed some of his papers in drawers and pushed others to the side. Then she sat down at the desk, put the photo in front of her and opened the computer.
This photo was a find. Clint had to have known the woman in it. She might have been one of his old girlfriends. The family probably knew her, for sure. Did they send the photo to remind Clint of her? Cindy wouldn’t put it past them.
Cindy had to find out who the woman was. She didn’t know where it would lead, but she was grateful at last, to have something specific to focus on .
She scanned the photo onto the computer, then logged into Facebook and used the face recognition software. The woman’s name popped up - Heather Krane. Cindy went to her Facebook page to find out more.
The page was blocked. Private.
Distressed, Cindy thought a minute about what to do. She could Friend her, but she didn’t know the woman, and doubted that she would accept. And besides, there wasn’t enough time to wait and see. Cindy wanted to talk to her as soon as possible.
Then she had an idea . Heather Krane could be one of Clint’s Facebook friends. He had hundreds and hundreds of them. Cindy could log back into Facebook as Clint and check his page.
Her hands trembled as she typed Clint’s password to get in as him . His Facebook page quickly appeared. There he was, smiling out at the world, and there Cindy was, standing beside him, announcements of the wedding all over, messages of good wishes from friends. Cindy couldn’t bear looking at any of it.
She quickly checked his friends and suddenly found her: Heather Kane.
Cindy took a quick, deep breath. She remembered once hearing that nothing could be hidden forever, every crime leaves a trace. Especially with computers, she thought. She was definitely onto something.
She clicked onto Heather’s page and her picture appeared, along with her husband, friends and family. Cindy looked at all of them closely. Heather seemed to have a good life. She was married, lived in Philadelphia, had a lovely husband and little boy. Cindy looked at the little boy for a long time. It was strange to see him. He was beautiful, with strawberry blonde hair. And he looked just like Clint. Or was Cindy imagining things?
Whether her mind was playing tricks or not, she had to go forward . How did Clint know this woman? Had they remained in touch? Was it the family who sent him this photo? Or could it have been someone else? Heather, possibly? Did this beautiful child have anything to do with Clint?
Cindy quickly wrote down Heather’s contact information, including her address. She wanted to talk to her.
Cindy looked at Heather’s phone number. She could call immediately and introduce herself. But she had no idea how Heather would react to the call. Why would she talk to a complete stranger? And, if Heather had been following Clint’s life, she might recognize that Cindy was Clint’s wife and freeze up.
Cindy realized she’d have to go to Heather’s home, in person, take her by surprise, meet up face to face.
She was actually staring at Heather’s number, when her phone started ringing . Unsettled, Cindy grabbed it and immediately picked up. A male voice was on the other end. She didn’t recognize it.
“Is this Mrs. Cindy Blaine?”
“Yes?” Cindy said. The voice sounded official.
“This is Officer Judd Lawson. I’m calling from North Alliance hospital. Are you the sister of Ann Blaine?”
Cindy’s heart started pounding. Why would an officer be calling?
“What is it?” Cindy asked. “Is she OK?”
“Your sister has been in a car accident.”
Cindy bolted upright.
“She’s at North Alliance Hospital, in the emergency room. Please get there as soon as possible.”
“What kind of accident?” Cindy gasped. “Is she OK?”
“Mam, you’re going to need to get down here right away.”
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.”
