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.”
The nurse shook her head, “I’m sorry.”
Then she pulled the curtains and walked out of the cubicle.
Ann looked peaceful resting there, and Cindy didn’t want to make her talk. She was breathing on her own, that was good. There was a brace around her neck. Probably the usual precaution after a car accident.
“Stay awake, Ann,” Cindy said, gently nudging her. Ann’s eyes fluttered opened.
Cindy held her sister’s hand and tried to settle down . Was it possible, she wondered, that Ann would die? It was much more than she could bear. She held onto Ann’s hand for dear life. “You’re gonna make it,” Cindy whispered to her, over and over. “Just keep breathing, Ann. Help is here. You’re not alone.” She felt Ann’s pulse calm down as she spoke to her, as if her very cells heard what Cindy said.
Then the curtains were pulled open again and the nurse returned to tell her that the police wanted to talk to her.
Reluctantly, Cindy got up and left her bedside.
Outside, in the waiting room, a rugged-looking officer in his late forties was standing, waiting for her.
“Cindy Blaine?” he asked, looking down at a notepad.
Cindy followed him to some benches in the hallway, where they both sat down. The hospital was crowded with patients and families, walking back and forth, along with doctors, nurses, technicians wheeling trays.
Cindy looked over at him and was surprised to see his hazel eyes looking at her searchingly.
“What happened to my sister?” she asked.
“The car veered off the road and hit a tree. She banged her head against the windshield. It didn’t break. Could have been much worse. There was no sign of alcohol. Does your sister take drugs?”
“Not at all.”
“Not to your knowledge?”
“Not at all.”
“Not even for medical purposes?”
“No, she doesn’t. “
“The rain was strong and the roads were slippery,” he said. “The car is relatively new. It’s registered to you?”
“Yes. She told me the brakes gave out. Is that true?”
The officer looked at her.
“Could be. We’ll have to do a run up on it. Did you ever have any trouble with it?”
“No.”
“Your sister lives with you?”
“No. She lives in Wisconsin with her husband. She’s been here for a visit.”
“For how long?”
Cindy thought that was an odd question. What did it matter? “She’s been here for a while,” Cindy said.
“Trouble at home?” he asked.