Angel's Verdict Part 14

"The h.e.l.l you do!"

"The h.e.l.l I don't."

"So what is this proof?"

"You'll find out when you read the book."

"Screw that G.o.ddam book!"

"Mrs. Waterman," Payton said, "we really ought to go."

"Go away. I'm talking to Miss Fancy Pants Beaufort, here. Jewel thief." She leaned forward. Her winey breath was in Bree's face. "We're going to get you. When you least expect it. You got that?"

"Time to move on," Dent said. For a man as tired and weary as he was, he moved quickly. He had Sammi-Rose's right arm around her back and his hand on her shoulder before she could say a word. In moments, he'd moved her across the floor and out the front entrance. Payton had to trot to keep up. Marian stamped along behind them.

"Slick," Flurry said. "Hey, you suppose I was right? That Dent was a cop in his checkered past? That was a cop move if I ever saw one."

"I hope he was one of the good ones," Bree said. The missing witness worried her.

Dent reappeared after a few moments outside and stopped briefly at Mercury's table to talk to Justine. Justine drew on his arm, and he bent his head, nodding occasionally at her urgent whisper.

"Now what does the old dear want?" Flurry demanded. "You should have seen her on the set today. She didn't have that d.a.m.n pin that supposedly belonged to Consuelo, and we had to take and retake this one shot that should have been a snap. I'll bet we spent an hour on it. It was a reaction shot, for G.o.d's sake, not even any dialogue."

"Reaction to what?"

"She's standing on the river's edge, watching Hatch, as Alexander Bulloch, of course, wheel Haydee down the road."

"She's not a bad actress, surely," Bree said. "She made some notable movies in her day."

Flurry moved irritably. "I suppose so. You ever watch those old movies from the '60s? Not the new-wave stuff, like Easy Rider or Five Easy Pieces. Those hold up pretty well. But the junk from the old-style studio system? Just try and sit through Three Coins in the Fountain or Twelve O'Clock High or any of that middlebrow stuff. The acting's stagy, the color balance way off, the direction's stale, and the women all look like they're wearing girdles."

"They were wearing girdles," Bree said. "My grandmother wore girdles."

"That's Justine's reference point, and she's not about to change." Flurry sighed. "I don't know, maybe if she were about forty years younger, she could relearn her craft. But it's too late now. And really, Bree. You ought to think about suing her plastic surgeon. I mean, I know she wants to look younger, but really! One face-lift's enough."

"You're being unkind."

"Am I? Yeah. I am. It's a tough business, movies."

Justine released Dent's sleeve, and he made his way back to their table. "She's upset," he said as he pulled out his chair. "Says she can't do her job without the brooch. I told her that you still had it, but you couldn't lend it to her. She couldn't see why."

"I wish I could," Bree said. "I'll have to file an affidavit tomorrow. I'll request a speedy disposition, but it'll probably go back into the coffin with Mrs. Bulloch."

"You mean that thing is real?" Flurry said.

"Twenty thousand dollars' worth of real."

They didn't stay long after Dent got back to the table. Bree settled the bill. She accepted, with a show of reluctance, the accordion folder Flurry had brought with her, and promised to download the e-mail files when she got into the office the next morning.

Flurry declined the offer of a ride back to her hotel. "It's just the Mulberry Inn. It's right around the corner," she said and, with that, drifted over to the tables filled with the cast and crew of Bitter Tide.

"Let's call it a night," Bree said. "It's been a long day. All I want to do is go home, curl up on the couch, and watch something mindless on TV."

Dent sat slumped in his chair.

"Are you going to be all right?"

"Sure."

"Flurry mentioned a witness who never appeared in court. Does that ring a bell?"

He dragged both hands over his face. "Sort of. I told you. I was drinking a lot at the time. I also told you we have to get out to see Bobby Lee." He was quiet a minute and then said, "She said my investigation sucked."

"Yes, she did." It wouldn't do to duck the painful parts of Dent's past.

"You think all that stuff about my being a drunk came from Bobby Lee?"

"Possibly. But it doesn't matter all that much, does it? What matters is that we're going to find out what really happened and fix what we can fix. We're in this case for good reasons, Dent. To represent Consuelo's interests and to help you get through the program." She touched his arm. "Why don't you go home and get some sleep? We'll set up some time to talk together tomorrow."

"All right." He stood up. "You need a ride back to your town house?"

Bree looked out the window. "I can see it from here. I'll just jump right across Bay and be right home."

"See you tomorrow, then."

She watched him as he wound his way out through the tables. Lonely. She'd never met a man who was as alone as William Dent seemed to be. A big, tired guy who'd lost the battle. Well, if she had anything to do with it, he was going to win the war. She glanced at the corner where the Bitter Tide cast and crew had gathered. Justine and Craig Oliver were gone. So was Phillip Mercury.

Suddenly, she really missed Sam Hunter. She pulled out her cell and hit the speed dial. He answered on the first ring, which could be a good thing (he was missing her) or a bad thing (he was irked she hadn't called him before this).

"Bree!" he said. Which meant it was that good thing. He was missing her.

"Hey."

"How long have you been back?"

"Tonia and I got home just after New Year's Day. But you were out on that school shooting. I heard you wrapped it up, though. Did the case go well?"

"As well as anything can that involves a jealous step-father, an overconcerned high school history teacher, and a teenager barraged by too many hormones."

"But n.o.body died."

"n.o.body even got seriously hurt. You weren't by any chance calling to say that you're free tonight?"

"Not only am I free, Antonia's over at the theater until late. Would you be able to come over?"

Bree hoped she read the silence on the other end of the line correctly. But she and Hunter had been dancing around long enough. She wanted a real person in her life, in her bed, in her heart. She wanted a life of her own.

"I can be there in five."

"Movie speak," Bree said. "Ugh."

He laughed. "You don't know the worst of it."

"We'll swap horror stories." Her heart was beating a little faster. She was swept with a wave of happiness. "Have you had dinner yet? I'm at B. Matthew's right now. I can order something for you."

"Fish tacos," he said promptly. "I'll meet you at your front door."

The night outside was warmer than it had been. Bree left her winter coat unb.u.t.toned. She tucked the take-out bag under her arm, stood at the crosswalk, and punched the Walk b.u.t.ton. Somebody waved at her from across the street. Bree narrowed her eyes to see better. It was Hunter. He wore a black leather jacket. Like hers, his coat was open to the warmer air. He looked good to her: solid, tall, rea.s.suring, and very dear. She waved. He threw her a kiss, which was so uncharacteristic for Hunter she had to laugh.

The little white running figure beeped at her, and she set one foot in the street. There was a whisper of sound behind her.

Then she didn't remember anything else for a long time.

Ten.

More needs she the divine,

Than the physician.

-Macbeth, William Shakespeare Bree woke up flat on her back, staring at an unfamiliar sky. Her arms were at her sides. A pale mist blanketed her b.r.e.a.s.t.s and legs. The light was soft, golden, like sunlight through trees in a forest. The air was scrubbed with the scent of roses.

I'm in the Sphere.

Happiness welled up in her.

She was surrounded by five columns of intense color. The columns varied in height and width, but they were spinning, eddies in a whirlpool of soft air.

"Well, child." The voice from the violet column was soft and known to her.

"Lavinia?" Bree said. Or tried to. Her lips were stiff. And she hurt, terribly, all over. She narrowed her eyes against the violet glow. For some reason, it was much brighter than the others.

The silver-ash column that was Petru said, "My dear Bree."

Bree reached out to him, but her arm wouldn't move.

"We are all here," Professor Cianquino said. His form was a steady blue flame. "There is nothing we can do for you, my dear. Except hope."

"I don't believe it." The green-blue column that was Ron sounded testy.

"You know the rules."

That fiery column. Was that Gabriel? She hadn't seen him for such a long time. Gabriel and his coin-colored eyes.

"This is a temporal matter," Gabriel's voice was calm. "We cannot interfere."

"We can hope," Ron said.

She felt his smile. All their smiles. Better than hope...

She drifted away.

Bree woke up flat on her back, staring at an unfamiliar ceiling. Her arms were at her sides. A white sheet was drawn up across her b.r.e.a.s.t.s and legs. The light was strong, bluish white. Stainless steel railings barred her on either side. The air was scrubbed with an unpleasant odor. Disinfectant of some kind.

She shoved her hands flat and sat up. Something tugged at her arm like an angry wasp, and she slapped at it reflexively before she had a chance to look. A piece of opaque tape covered a tube and the tube held a needle. The needle disappeared into skin that wasn't her own: bright pink, slightly charred at the edges, covered with an oily goop.

She hurt. All over.

"Well, there you are. How are you feeling?" A mournful face hovered in the air above her. The face-which resembled a ba.s.set hound more than a person-was attached to a body dressed in hospital whites. Bree registered his name tag: Ollie.

"I don't know," she said cautiously. Then, "Where am I, Ollie?"

"The hospital," he said rea.s.suringly. "Savannah General. Which is in Georgia," he added unnecessarily, "although I shouldn't tell you too much before you tell me who you are."

"You don't know?" Bree said.

"Of course I do, dear. But we need to know if you do, you see. Name, age, and current date. It's called being oriented times three." He smiled, which lifted his jowls. He was in his late forties, perhaps-Bree wasn't very good with ages-and his face was a roadmap of hard living.

"Brianna Winston-Beaufort. I'm twenty-eight, and I'm a lawyer, with a practice in Savannah. And it's the fifteenth of January."

"You are so right," Dent said. "Except it's the seventeenth. Are you in any pain?"

"The seventeenth!" She felt dizzy. Where had two days gone?

"You are in pain," he said sympathetically.

"Not much." This wasn't strictly true. Pain was there all right, waiting to jump on her, but she was pretty sure the IV glugging whatever into her arm had some pain-killers in it. "Thank you for asking." Bree sank back. There was a pillow, but it was hard and flat. She hated being horizontal when everyone else was vertical. Hospital beds could be elevated, couldn't they? She fumbled around the mattress. No b.u.t.tons.

"You want to sit up," Ollie said in a kindly way. "I think that'll be okay." He pressed a b.u.t.ton and Bree raised partway up without any effort at all.

The room was small. Grayish tile covered the floor. A half-open door led to a bathroom equipped with a tall toilet, stainless steel handholds, and an efficient-looking shower. A narrow floor-to-ceiling window with vertical blinds looked down on a parking lot. From the slant of the sun Bree judged it was late afternoon. An orange chair of molded plastic held a bulging tote. Bree knew that tote. It belonged to her little sister, Antonia. She did know who she was and where she was. Bree sank back against the pillows. It was a slight effort, this examination of the room, but it exhausted her.

"Oh my G.o.d! You're awake."

Antonia swept into the room, stopped short, and flung up her hands. "I take two seconds to go down to the c.o.ke machine, and what happens?"