In a Heartbeat - Elizabeth Adler [45]
The word killer struck a knell in her heart. “Ed’s not dead yet,” she retorted fiercely.
“No, and the doctor reported to me this morning that he was in a more stable condition. Not out of the coma and certainly not out of the woods, but he’s holding his own.”
Mel had gotten the same report over the telephone half an hour earlier. “Is that good news?” she asked doubtfully, because she had been expecting more, to hear that he was awake, asking for her.
“It’s better news” was all Camelia could think of to say. “And it gives us time.”
“A breathing space,” she said, helpfully.
The waiter put the two orders on the table, asked if there was anything else, refilled their coffee cups, and departed.
“Twenty-four hours is a long time to sleep, you must be starving,” Camelia said, though he was suddenly not hungry himself. Still, he enjoyed the way she wolfed down that sandwich, and the way that, with every bite, she seemed to come back to life. This was a far cry from the gray, shadowy woman he had dined with in the deli around the corner from the hospital.
“I take you to all the best places,” he said, taking a bite of his ham and cheese.
“Story of my life,” she said with a mischievous grin. “I guess I’m just not the type that guys take to Le Cirque 2000. Maybe it’s something to do with the way I dress, the boots and all.”
She stuck out a foot for him to see the little black suede ankle boots with the teetering heels that added four inches to her already considerable height. Her bare legs were still faintly tanned from the California sun, and she was wearing a black leather jacket over a tight white stretch tank top, and a California–short skirt.
“Looks fine to me.” He dragged away his eyes and took another bite.
“Tasteful, huh?” She gave him that wide ear-to-ear grin, the one that defied you not to smile along with her. “With my southern background, my friend Harriet says I should know better.”
“Talking of southern backgrounds, I found out where Hainsville is. And it is Hainsville, you were right the second time. And you were right again, it is a pin dot on the map, though from what I hear it’s surely a prosperous pin dot nowadays. Golf courses, subdevelopments, quite the little resort, so they say.”
Mel’s brows lifted. “You think Ed had something to do with that?”
Camelia shrugged, took another bite. “That’s what he does, so I assumed he did have something to do with it. But I got in touch with the local police and they told me the place was developed by a man called Hains.”
“Huh. That figures.” Mel had finished her bacon and egg sandwich and now helped herself to a bite of his ham and cheese.
Like they had known each other forever, Camelia thought, watching her. “The cops knew nothing about Ed Vincent, never heard of him down there.”
“That figures too, out there in the boonies,” she agreed. “Fame is where you find it.”
He thought about that for a minute, smiling, then he said, “Okay, but Ed told you he came from Hainsville, was brought up there in a two-room shack. He must have gone to school there. So why, I ask myself, is there no record of him?”
Mel looked doubtfully back at him. Could the story Ed had told her have been a lie? Her heart sank. Then, no, she told herself, he would never lie to her. But Ed’s life had suddenly assumed many more complications.
“Maybe he was the rich-guy heir after all,” Camelia said mildly. He pushed his plate across to her, but Mel had suddenly lost interest in food. “Perhaps he just didn’t want you to think of him that way.”
Mel shook her head, lips compressed, brow furrowed. “Not true. I believe Ed.”
“Then somebody else down there in Hainsville has to be lying.” Camelia’s dark brown eyes met her single malts across the narrow table. Hers grew suddenly fierce.
She slammed a fist onto the table, sending the mugs reeling, spilling coffee onto his immaculate dark gray pants. “Then, darn it, let’s get down there and find out,” she yelled.
29
Mel was back at the