LITMIR.BIZ

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have no intention of staying calm. A girl was brutally murdered. Now answer my question. Do the police know what I saw?”

      “They know you were mumbling about some guy with a dagger, thanks to our benevolent head nurse. She couldn’t wait to report your so-called murder. I told her you were out of your head, but she didn’t budge from her position. Hospital policy, you know.” Brigit mimicked the nurse’s haughty manner, but Lindsey ignored her attempt at humor.

      She traced the folds in her hospital sheet, then stared out the window. Even through closed blinds, it was obvious the sun was high in the sky.

      “What time is it?”

      Brigit studied the jeweled timepiece that adorned her wrist. “Exactly 11:36 a.m.”

      “Oh, no... All night and half the day wasted.” Taking a deep breath, she pulled her drugged body up to a sitting position again. She shivered. The room felt cold, and no wonder. The only thing covering her was a thin hospital gown, and it wasn’t covering much.

      “Get my clothes, Brigit. I’m not exhausted, and I’m not ill. You know me. I’ve always had trouble with motion sickness. And I probably had a little too much champagne.” She rocked forward, cradling her spinning head in her hands. “Maybe way too much champagne.”

      “It’s probably not the liquor, Lindsey. The doc gave you a shot. He said it would make you sleep. And it did, too. Right through the policeman’s questioning.” She suppressed a giggle. “Except when you told him to get his fat, lazy self out of here and catch murderers. Only you didn’t put it quite that nicely.”

      Lindsey groaned and crawled out of the bed, bending over to look for her shoes. They weren’t to be seen, and a quick glance around the sparsely furnished room didn’t reveal any sign of her clothes, either. She stumbled toward the small closet, grabbing the back of a chair for support when her knees proved more the consistency of Jell-O than bone.

      “Your clothes aren’t here. Grace Ann took care of that. You’re the victim of a Dominican Daredevils conspiracy. You need rest. Doctor’s orders. We plan to see that you follow them.”

      The Dominican Daredevils. Funny, she hadn’t thought of that nickname in years. So much had happened since her days at old Dominican High. But for Grace Ann, Brigit and the others, life was just one long extension of the friendships and habits begun so long ago. Like so many others in New Orleans, they had never moved away, had even attended colleges that let them remain close to home.

      She eased back to the bed to contemplate her next move. Her friends meant well, but obviously they were convinced she’d imagined the whole stabbing incident. And apparently the doctors and the police were just as certain. A cold shiver shook her body as the scene replayed in her mind. They were wrong. Somehow, she had to prove that to them.

      “Ah, Miss Latham, I see you’re awake. And feeling a lot better than you were last night, I trust.”

      Lindsey looked up and into the bluest eyes she’d ever seen, playful and twinkly, peering from behind a multitude of wrinkles. The graying gentleman stepped closer and stuck a steady hand in her direction.

      “Dr. Matthew Benson,” he offered, grasping her outstretched hand and shaking it firmly. “How’s the head feel? Still a little dizzy?”

      “Yes,” she admitted, reluctantly. She didn’t want to argue with the doctor, but she was getting out of here. Now. Or at least as soon as she located some clothes.

      “The drugs appear to be wearing off fast, but I think you’ll feel a lot better for the night’s rest. You gave your young friends quite a scare when you started hallucinating.”

      Brigit smiled at the doctor in conspiratorial fashion as she backed away from the bed.

      “But I told them we’d see what some sleep would do for you,” the doctor continued. “I’m glad I gave you the shot before the officer showed up. If I hadn’t, I’m afraid our determined man in blue would have harassed you half the night. And you weren’t ready for that.”

      Harassed? What was it with these people? Did she look like a basket case, or were murders just so commonplace in the Big Easy that nobody even bothered to report them anymore?

      “I appreciate your concern, Dr. Benson, but I must talk to the police at once. Coherently. A young woman was murdered last night, and I may well be the only witness.” She turned to Brigit for support, but she had conveniently disappeared through the open door. “For all I know, the killer is still on the loose, doing who knows what,” Lindsey continued. “Running for his life. Maybe even killing again.”

      The doctor flashed a patronizing smile, but his words were stopped short by a strident voice from the hall.

      “You’ll have to wait. Dr. Benson would have my hide if he knew I’d let you in last night after he specified no visitors. Though personally I don’t see why he’s so worried about just another girl who overpartied. Mardi Gras! I’ll be glad when it’s over.”

      Two sets of footsteps, one heavy, one barely discernible, moved closer to the door.

      “I have to agree with you on that. But I’m just doing my job, ma’am. Just like you’re doing yours.”

      A man’s voice. Strong and husky. And familiar, like an old love song. Lindsey struggled for air. It couldn’t be Graham. She was losing it, imagining things. Maybe the doctor was right. If her mind was playing tricks on her now, how could she be sure it had been any different last night on the float?

      She waited, her body tense, as the heavy footsteps grew closer. Waited until a tall figure stepped inside, smiling uncertainly, his eyes riveted on her.

      Her breath caught, settling in her throat like hot coals. She’d known this day would come eventually, but not now. Not like this.

      “Hello, Lindsey.”

      That was it. Two simple words. Years had come and gone since their last meeting. Ten long years, and now it all came down to a simple hello.

      “Hello, Graham,” she answered, her shaky voice little more than a whisper. A thousand sleepless nights she’d wondered if her memories were accurate. If his smile was really that captivating, if his hair actually fell in lush, dark waves about his high forehead, framing his classic features. Now she knew just how deceptive memories could be. They hadn’t done him justice.

      “Detective Graham Dufour, homicide,” he announced, flashing his badge for her and the others to see. His voice had almost broken on the simple hello, but it was all business now—and that was a message she needed to heed. Whatever they had once shared had died a long time ago. At least it had for him.

      “I’m Dr. Benson.” The doctor broke the painful silence. He extended his hand, but the warmth he’d flashed at Lindsey was missing in his greeting to Graham. “It appears you’ve already met Miss Latham.”

      “Yes. Lindsey and I are...old friends.”

      Suspicion pulled at the lines of the doctor’s smile. “I’m going to let you have a few minutes with my patient. If she’s ready to see you, that is. But I want you out of here in ten minutes. She needs rest. So ask your questions fast and be on your way.”

      “I’ll be fine, Doctor.” Somehow Lindsey managed a reassuring smile.

      Graham’s gaze traveled over her, scrutinizing her face, her eyes, the outline of her body beneath the revealing covers of the hospital bedding. She pulled the sheet higher and raked her fingers through her long brown hair, pushing the wispy curls away from her face.

      The doctor stepped to the door, then stopped. “When you’ve had enough, Miss Latham, just push that button on the edge of your bed. We’ll escort your young detective out of here.”

      He pulled the door to, leaving behind a cloud of silence that threatened to suffocate her. She struggled for composure. She didn’t dare sit up, didn’t want to deal with Graham in her weakened condition. He’d surely notice

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