She's Not There Read Free Page A

bed she stopped him with a firm hand on his arm. “She needs to rest. Let’s go outside.”
    Alex followed the nurse back into the hallway. He saw flashes of green as people in scrubs moved quickly by him. Carts rattled down the hallway. Telephones trilled. Everything felt sharper, louder. He couldn’t think.
    “The police wouldn’t tell me anything over the phone,” he said. “What happened? How did she get here?”
    “As I already said, sir, I don’t really know. But Dr. Haskins will be back in about a half hour. I’m sure she’ll explain everything.”
    He glanced around and ran a hand through his hair. “God, I can’t believe this. Is there—Jesus, look at me, I’m shaking—is there someplace I can sit down?”
    “There’s a cafeteria just down the hall. Why don’t you go down there and get some coffee? As I said, Dr. Haskins will—”
    “I want to stay close by. I have to be here when she wakes up.”
    “There’s really nothing you can do right now,” the nurse said. “I gave your wife a sedative. Please, Mr. Tobias, go wait in the cafeteria. As soon as Dr. Haskins gets back I’ll tell her you’re here.”
    She gave him a gentle nudge and he moved away, following the signs on the walls that directed him toward the cafeteria. It was a large room, with a lunch counter, vending machines, and orange plastic tables and chairs. Alex got a coffee from the machine and slipped into a chair near a window.
    He wiped his eyes with the back of his hand and raised the plastic cup to take a sip of coffee.
    His hand was still shaking.
    Jesus . . . he had to pull himself together. He couldn’t let Mel see him like this when she woke up.
    When he took a drink, the acrid coffee burned down the back of his throat and settled into his stomach, mixing uneasily with the vodka. When had he last eaten? He couldn’t remember. But the churn in his gut right now came from something other than hunger.
    Alex looked out the window, trying to clear his brain, trying to focus on something, anything that would help him calm down. He stared down at the street. He had driven here so fast he didn’t even know where he was exactly.
    Andrews . . . that was Andrews Avenue below, he slowly realized, the road that he often used as a shortcut from his office to the airport. It was an ugly street that had been bypassed by the wave of gentrification that had produced the glass-tower condos and boutiques of downtown Fort Lauderdale. The street was home to bail bondsmen, chiropractors, dive bars, and pizza joints.
    His eyes settled on the sign on a peeling pink stucco office.
    D AVIES & C ORMER. S E H ABLA E SPANOL. I MMIGRATION. P ERSONAL I NJURY. W E C AN H ELP! S OMEONE S HOULD P AY!
    Someone should pay . . .
    Oh yeah, someone always paid, didn’t they?
    The ring of his cell—Bach’s Préludefrom the movie Master and Commander— jerked him back. He grabbed the cell from his jacket pocket and checked the caller ID. It was Owen.
    He hit “End Call,” but he knew he should have answered it. There was only one reason his partner would be trying to reach him on a Sunday. It meant that the Swanson-Leggett merger had hit a snag, the investors probably finding out that Swanson was being invested by the SEC for securities fraud. It was a bogus charge, but when people were asked to put up millions, they tended not to trust a CEO whose future might include a stint in federal prison.
    His phone chirped with a text message:
Swanson out. New money in.
Deal done. Opening Cristal.
Where R U?
    He heard the rasp of the door again and looked up. A woman in a white coat and glasses had stopped just inside and was scanning the room. She spotted him and came to the table.
    “Mr. Tobias? I’m Dr. Haskins.”
    He started to get up, but she motioned for him to sit back down with a nod to the chair. She took the chair opposite.
    His words rushed out in a torrent. “What happened to Mel? The nurse said she had a concussion but no one will tell me