"Did you see anything or anyone else?" "No, no one."
Maggie said, "In your opinion, was Jilly Bartlett willfully driving the Porsche over the cliff?" "It looked that way to me," Rob said. "Is there any doubt in your mind," I said, "that Jilly was attempting to kill herself?"
Rob Morrison raised weary eyes to my face. He rubbed his fist over the thick dark whiskers on his chin.
"No," he said finally, "I'm really sorry, but in my opinion, she was trying to kill herself."
"What about a mechanical problem that caused her to lose control?"
"Her car's still twenty feet under water, but I didn't see any signs of mechanical problems. No exploding tires, no smoke coming from the hood, no skid marks, nothing like that. I'm sorry, Mac."
Half an hour later, Maggie and I were sitting in her car outside Paul and Jilly's house.
"You look ready to fold in on yourself," she said. "Why don't you rest for a while before Paul comes home?"
"I don't have a key to the house," I said. "If it weren't for the big tooth convention in town I'd be at the Buttercup B and B. So I didn't think I'd be staying here with Paul."
"So no key?"
"No key. I figured I'd just curl up on one of those chairs on their front porch."
"You're too big to do much curling," she said, and drummed her gloved fingers on her steering wheel.
"Actually, since we're sharing information, why don't you just tell me your ideas about Jilly? You know, the ideas you told me you didn't understand. Then you can head for that porch chair."
"You've got a good memory."
"Yes. What ideas, Mac?"
"Even if I tell you, you'll think I'm a nut case, or you'll just dismiss it because I was in the hospital when it happened, and you'll think it was a psychotic reaction to a drug."
"Try me."
I looked away from her, then inward, back to that night. "I was in the hospital. I dreamed about Jilly being in trouble that night. Somehow I was with her when she went over the cliff." I wanted to laugh myself at what I'd just said, but I just shook my head. "You think I'm psychotic, right?"
She said slowly, staring at me, "I don't know what to believe. What did you do?"
"The next morning I called Paul right away, found out that my dream had actually happened. I've got no clue as to why I hooked up to Jilly like that, none."
"Jesus," she said.
"I had to come here."
"You shouldn't have left the hospital."
"There wasn't a choice. As it was, I waited another two days. The longest two days of my life."
She didn't say anything for a very long time. She rubbed her palm on her thigh. The crease in her tan pants was still sharp. The pants looked as fresh as if she'd just put them on.
"And you and Jilly never had any sort of link before this?"
I shook my head. "There are just us four kids now. Our folks have been dead for some time. Jilly's three years older than me. I'm the youngest. We weren't all that close really, both of us busy over the past several years, but that's normal I guess. Then this damned dream happened. The thing is, I feel like something made Jilly go over that cliff-or someone. She was alone in that car, but she wasn't, not really."
"That doesn't make much sense."
"I know," I said. "I know. At least it doesn't yet. You want the kicker? At the end of the dream I heard a man yelling." I drew a deep breath. "It sounded like Rob Morrison. I recognized his voice just now."
"Jesus."
"There's no way I can just accept this as a suicide attempt, not unless Jilly tells me it was."
I sipped a rich Pinot Noir from the Gray Canyon vineyard in Napa Valley.
"You like the wine?" Paul asked.
"It's darker than the deepest sin," I said, gently swirling the wine in its crystal glass, watching it glide smoothly over the sides. "I met Rob Morrison today, the man who saved Jilly."
"Yes," Paul said. "I met Rob just after Jilly and I moved here. He gave me a speeding ticket. I hear you also spent time with Maggie Sheffield."
"Yeah. I don't know what to think of her just yet, but she seemed okay, once she got over her gut suspicions of me as an FBI agent."
Paul sat forward, his hands clenching. "Watch out for her, Mac."
"What does that mean?"
Paul shrugged his shoulders. "Please don't think that I'm being harsh or a woman hater. I'll just come out with it. She's a bitch, a ball-buster."
"I didn't get that impression at all." I cut another piece of the thick sirloin steak. It was even better than the lettuce and green bean salad at The Edwardian. "She wants to find out why Jilly went over that cliff. I appreciate that. You should too. What'd she do to you? Give you a speeding ticket like Morrison?"
"No, nothing like that. She wants to blame me for Jilly's accident. She's never liked me, believes I'm not good enough for Jilly. I don't appreciate that at all."
It was my turn to shrug. "She didn't say a word about you, Paul. She was waiting here in her car when I drove up. She wanted to talk to you."
"I'd have her fired if I could talk Geraldine into it. The woman's a menace. She doesn't like men in general, always giving them grief. Have you seen that damned gun she wears on her belt? It's ridiculous.
Edgerton is a small, peaceful little town. No one-man or woman- should be wearing a damned gun, but she does. Of course, I already spoke to her at the hospital after Jilly was admitted."
"It's not odd at all for a cop-male or female-to want to question someone more than once," I said mildly, surprised that Paul would spew out that sexist crap. I'd gotten no hint at all that she didn't like men. "In the excitement and stress of the moment, people tend to forget things. I'll bet even you will be able to tell her more now than you did then."
"About what, for God's sake? Jilly went over that damned cliff and I don't know why. She was a little depressed, but everyone's down once in a while. That's it, Mac. There's nothing more."
I took the last bite of my steak, sat back in my chair, rubbed my belly, and took another sip of my Pinot Noir. Paul looked pale, his skin drawn tight over his cheekbones. He looked ill, frightened. Or maybe I was just seeing myself in Paul. Lord knew I looked sick enough. "Are you certain there's nothing else, Paul? What was Jilly depressed about? Was she taking any medication for the depression? Was she seeing anyone professionally?"
Paul laughed, a tight, constipated laugh. "Just listen to you. SuperCop with his load of questions. No, she wasn't. I'm exhausted, Mac. I don't want to talk anymore. There's nothing more to say. I'm going to bed." He shoved back his chair and stood up. "Good night. I hope you don't mind the double bed in the guest room. It'll be a bit on the short side for you."
"I'll do just fine, Paul. I slept some this afternoon on that big front porch chair of yours. I think I'll go to the hospital to see Jilly. Good night."
Ford was here again, holding my hand like he had before. The warmth of his hand was indescribable, just like before. Thank God I hadn't just imagined it that first time. I didn't want to lose my brain the way I'd lost my body.
But when was before?
It could have been this morning or last year for all I knew. It was odd, but I had no sense of time at all. I knew what it was, but it had no meaning to me.
There were other shadowy creatures behind Ford, then finally they left, and we were alone.
"Jilly," he said, and I wanted to cry with the sheer relief of hearing his voice, but I didn't know if this body I couldn't feel was even capable of yielding up tears.
I wanted to ask him if they 'd gotten my Porsche out of the ocean.
Ford said, "Sweetheart, I don't know if you can hear me or not. I hope somehow that you can. I spoke to Kevin and Gwen and gave them an update. They send their love and their prayers.
"Now, Jilly, tell me about why you were depressed."
Depressed? What was this about being depressed? I've never been depressed in my life.