My heart pounded as I swiped the screen, my mind filling with questions: Had Candice woken up? Had she texted me from the hospital? How had she made such a dramatic recovery in mere hours?
I read the text. It said, What game?
I blinked. “What game?” I said aloud. And then I remembered. I’d sent Candice a text the day before when I’d spotted her car following me and I’d accused her of playing games, and I’d deleted it when I hadn’t heard back from her. She must’ve been replying to that text. According to the time stamp, she’d sent her response about an hour before she’d driven her car over the side of the bridge.
Which made absolutely no sense. If Candice had truly attempted to commit suicide, why would her one text to me simply say, What game?
Why wouldn’t it contain a confession? Or an apology? Or an explanation?
I sat down on the side of the bathtub and stared at the phone for a long time, my mind awhirl with questions without answers. And then I got up, grabbed my purse, and opened the bathroom door.
Dutch was standing on the other side looking very sleepy but oh-so-doable if only I was in the mood. “Hey there,” he said. “Did you get any sleep?”
I moved in close to him and gave him a quick hug and a peck on the cheek. “I gotta go, babe. Sorry, can’t talk right now.”
Dutch grabbed my arm as I turned away. “Whoa, hold on there, speedy. It’s five thirty in the morning. Where is it that you have to go?”
“The hospital.”
Dutch grimaced and let go of my arm. “Sorry, dollface. Of course. If you want to wait five minutes, I can go with you.”
I shook my head. “Brice needs you more than I do right now. I’ll call you later, though.”
Dutch eyed the door of the bedroom warily. I knew he was really worried about Brice.
“He’s doing okay, all things considered,” I assured him. “But if you could get him to eat something, that might be good.”
“On it,” Dutch promised, leaning sideways to kiss me before turning back toward the bathroom. “Drive safe, Edgar,” were his parting words, and I was free.
After pulling into the parking lot of the hospital, I parked and sat for a moment to collect my thoughts and gather my courage. And then I switched on my radar and approached the hospital with determination.
I was allowed in to see Candice even though visiting hours didn’t start for a few more hours, because she was an ICU patient and they make allowances for those family members of critically ill patients.
I found my way to my best friend’s room and entered as quietly as possible, not wanting to disturb her should she be even slightly aware of her surroundings. I approached her bed and stood there, pointing my radar directly at the still form in the bed.
Right away I sensed how deeply injured Candice was. Her energy was barely more than a feeble pulse, so weak and broken that it was a miracle she was still alive at all. There was pain there too, and that made me wince because I didn’t want her to be in any pain. I wanted her to be blissfully unaware of her condition, but the throbbing of every limb, every joint, and especially those shattered bones in her face radiated pain.
My gaze traveled to the IVs hanging all around the bed. I didn’t know how much pain meds the hospital staff could safely give Candice, but it didn’t feel like enough and I planned on telling Brice to call Candice’s doctor and have them see what they could do about it.
And then I began to search through Candice’s energy looking for clues as to what’d led her here.
I could feel a strong connection to Las Vegas, but what was odd was that the connection felt much stronger than it should have. Candice had lived in Vegas for much of her youth and early adulthood, but she hadn’t spent any significant time there for several years. And yet, when I dove into her ether, symbols for Sin City overshadowed any other location I was able to pick up. It was almost as if she’d spent many years there—recently.
Puzzled, I moved on to other topics, and was shocked to see a triangle enter my thoughts.
Cheating partners are always symbolized in my mind’s eye by a triangle. Candice had been cheating on Brice. “No way!” I mouthed. I checked the ether again to make sure, and the truth of it was there, attached to the woman in the bed.
I could tell that the other man was older than Candice, and apparently he’d had a lot of money to lavish expensive gifts on her. I could see all of that clear as day in the ether and it greatly upset me.
For a moment I had to turn away. I felt a rush of anger and betrayal. Brice was a great guy; how could Candice do this to him?
I paced the floor for a few moments trying to rein in my anger, but it was impossible. Candice hadn’t just cheated on Brice; she’d cheated on everyone who’d ever trusted her.
I glared at the figure in the bed. “How could you?” I whispered, wanting to quit the room and head back home. With a heavy sigh I realized that being angry at her wasn’t helping the situation, so I moved over to Candice’s side and pulled up a chair to sit closer to her. I had to forgive her and I couldn’t take my time about it, because Brice needed answers, and frankly so did I. So I laid my hand gently across her open palm and took a deep breath.
Early in my relationship with Dutch we’d taken a break from each other, and I’d found solace in the arms of another man, so I understood a little what it was like to love one man and find another man attractive. Maybe that’s what it’d been with Candice.
Closing my eyes again, I tried to accept that as the truth, because I could sense that love had been a part of the equation, so maybe this other man had simply been a tryst. But the more I focused on him, the more I didn’t like what I was sensing in the ether.
The man felt powerful and not like the kind of man you’d ever want to cross. He seemed to enjoy getting his way in business and in his personal life. He didn’t seem at all the type to share a woman with anyone, and I couldn’t understand how Candice would ever take up with such a man.
There was also a thread of betrayal in the ether that felt so sinister and filled with repercussions that I didn’t quite know what to make of it.
And then I felt an even deeper and perhaps even more dangerous thread snaking its way through the ether. Whatever Candice had gotten mixed up in, the other man didn’t seem to be her only threat. Not that she needed any help to do harm to herself.
“So many secrets, Cassidy,” I sighed. “How did you keep all of it straight?”
I looked down at my hand resting on hers and realized for the first time how cold she felt. I pressed both my palms around her hand to warm it and gently lifted it, thinking of what Brice had said, how we’d essentially already lost Candice and even if she somehow managed to come back from all her grievous injuries, she’d never be my sidekick or fully his wife again.
With tears misting my eyes, I held her palm close to my cheek, and cried a few tears before easing her hand back to the bedsheet. It was then that something about Candice’s palm caught my eye.
I squinted in the dim light the machines were giving off, and lowered my head to take a closer look.
When I’d first started exercising my intuition, I’d played around with palm reading, as it’s a very easy thing to pick up, and my little impromptu readings were so accurate that the experience had given me some much-needed confidence. I’d given Candice a palm reading once years ago when we were first getting to know each other. She’d been a bit of an experiment, as the accuracy of reading someone’s palm is tied to which hand is dominant, and as Candice is left-handed, I’d been excited to put the theory to the test.
Palms for our right and left hands aren’t mirror images of each other, and if you were to read the right palm of a left-handed person, the accuracy wouldn’t be nearly as good. Back then I’d read both of Candice’s palms, her right first, then her left, and the left had been spot-on, while the right had provided some in
formation, but much of the rest hadn’t fit.
In the reading of Candice’s left palm I’d seen a long life and good health—sort of a given as Candice is a health nut—and it had also indicated that she’d have no children, but two marriages with the second marriage being the one that lasted till death-do-them-part.
As I gazed down at Candice’s left palm in the hospital room, however, I saw no marriage line and a shortened Lifeline. “What the . . . ?” I whispered before bending down to retrieve my purse from the floor where I’d set it when I sat down.
Lifting out my phone, I clicked it on for the light and pointed it at Candice’s palm, letting out a gasp as the surface of her left hand lit up and told me everything her broken body couldn’t.
“Ohmigod!” I whispered, clicking off the phone and putting her palm down. For several seconds I simply sat there and blinked, not knowing what to do. And then I looked again at the swollen, bruised face, which hid every defining feature I knew so well.
Getting up, I fished around in my purse again and retrieved my compact mirror. Wiping it clean with the bedsheet first, I lifted her thumb, then the four fingers of her left hand, and pressed them gently but firmly onto the compact. Then, using the bedsheet again, I carefully put the compact back into a side pocket of my purse and bolted toward the door, barely reining in the urge to run through the hallways and out of the hospital. Once in my car I raced home, and as traffic was still light, I made it there in no time.
Dutch’s car wasn’t in the driveway, and I breathed a sigh of relief. I found Brice in exactly the same place I’d left him. “You’re back?” he asked as I rushed to sit down next to him.
Taking his hand, I squeezed it tight and said, “I have something to tell you, but you have to promise me that you won’t tell Dutch until we talk it through.”
Brice blinked and then his face drained of color. “What’s happened?” he asked. “Is it Candice? Is she . . . ? Did she . . . die?”
I realized that rushing in like I’d done had been a mistake. “No, no!” I said quickly. “She’s fine. I mean, the woman in the hospital is still alive. As for Candice, I’m not sure.”
He blinked and shook his head slightly. “What?”
“Brice,” I said. “When you were in with Candice, was there any part of you that maybe thought it might not be your wife?”
His brow furrowed. “Well, yeah, Cooper. I mean, you saw her. She didn’t even look human.”
It was my turn to shake my head. “No, not that. What I’m talking about is that the woman in that hospital bed might not actually be Candice.”
Brice stared intently at me. “Tell me what you know.”
I bit my lip. If I was wrong, I’d cause Brice undue harm by offering him the hope that Candice wasn’t the woman who’d crashed in her car. “I don’t know that the woman in that bed is my BFF. I think she might be somebody else. Another person entirely, wearing Candice’s clothes, driving Candice’s car, and with all of Candice’s personal belongings.”
Brice didn’t say anything for a long moment. Then, “You think she’s an impostor?”
I nodded. “It’s her hands, Brice. They’re different.”
Brice stood up and I let go of his hand. He started pacing back and forth and I couldn’t imagine what he was going through. “Who is it?” he asked.
“I don’t know. I only know how to prove that it’s not her.” Using a paper napkin, I fished out the compact from my purse and placed it on the table. “The prints from her left hand are on there. Candice’s prints are already in the system. We just need to run these and see if they match.”
Brice frowned. “I’ve been suspended, Cooper, remember? I couldn’t run anybody’s prints right now.”
“Right, but Oscar would if I asked him.”
Brice’s frown got even grumpier. “I don’t want to involve anyone on the squad,” he said. “It’s bad enough your husband and I are both under the scrutiny of Internal Affairs. Oscar’s a good agent. He doesn’t need this on his record.”
I rolled my eyes. Brice was so by the book it drove me crazy. “Listen, I get it—really, I do—but I’m calling him and I’m asking him and you can protest all you want, but I’m doing it.”
With that, I took out my phone and pulled up my contacts list. Brice eyed me with a mixture of uncertainty and hope while I dialed Agent Rodriguez, who picked up on the third ring. “Oscar? Hey, it’s Abby. Listen, I need a favor. . . .”
* * *
Two hours later, after I’d dropped off the compact to Oscar at the coffee shop around the corner from the bureau and had gotten back home, my phone rang. “The prints belong to a Saline Hamon,” Oscar said. “She’s in the system on a solicitation conviction from thirteen years ago in New York. She’s been clean since then, though.”
“New York?” I said, trying to ignore Brice’s impatient hand waving.
“Yeah, she moved to Vegas right after her probation ended. Her current address looks like it’s just west of the Strip. She’s also got a Realtor’s license, and is the owner of a title company also right off the Strip.”
I scribbled a note to Brice with all the information Oscar was feeding me. “Anything else you can tell me about her?” I asked hopefully.
“Only if you let me know why I’m breaking every rule in the book to run her prints without probable cause,” Oscar replied.
I bit my lip. “I can’t. At least not right now, Oscar, and I’m so sorry, but the less you know, the better.”
“So this has something to do with the mess Candice created, right?”
I was silent.
“Yeah, okay, Cooper. But if I get canned for this, you’ll owe me big-time.”
“Oscar?”
“Yeah?”
“Can you at least tell me what Saline’s address in Vegas is?”
“Yeah, okay. But like I said, you owe me big.”
I jotted down the address Oscar gave me, thanked him profusely, and hung up. Brice started asking questions before I even lowered the phone. “Who the hell is she?”
“I don’t know.”
“Why was she wearing Candice’s clothes and driving her car?”
I shrugged.
“And she had all her jewelry. She even had Candice’s wedding ring, for God’s sake!”
I shrugged again, but a theory was starting to form that I didn’t like. “Brice, there’s something else I haven’t shown you yet.”
“What?” he demanded. I could tell the stress and lack of sleep of the past few days were really starting to wear on him.
“Wait here.” Heading into the bedroom, I pulled down the file and retrieved the suicide note I’d found in Candice’s purse.
“What’s this?” Brice asked when I returned and handed it to him.
“It’s a note I found tucked into a ziplock bag in Candice’s purse.”
Brice’s mouth fell open as he read the suicide letter. “What the . . . ?”
“I can’t tell, but I think it’s Candice’s writing, right?”
Brice ignored me for a moment, his eyes roving back and forth across the page as he read and reread the letter. “It sure looks like her writing,” he said. Then he crumpled the letter in his fist and threw it across the room angrily.
I had a feeling that I knew what he was thinking. “Maybe there’s more to it than meets the eye,” I said.
Brice shook his head, his anger building and causing his face to flush. “She tried to fake her own death,” he growled. “Somehow she talked this poor girl into impersonating her, and sent her over that bridge in the Porsche, thinking we’d find a drowned woman with multiple injuries which would render her unrecognizable, along with a suicide note. And given that this woman was also wearing Candice’s clothing and jewelry, I’d identify her in the morgue as my wife. Nobody would need to run dental records or prints if I
said it was Candice, and given what a wreck all this has made me, of course I would’ve said it was her!”
I got up from the kitchen table and moved over to the fridge to grab a bottled water. My stomach grumbled, but I didn’t feel much like eating. I didn’t feel like doing much of anything but going back to bed and pulling the comforter over my head. I figured I’d stay there for the next few weeks until I could handle all this.
But then I had another thought.
If our situations were switched, Candice wouldn’t have gone under the blankets to hide. She would’ve figured out exactly what was going on. She would’ve looked at all the unanswered questions still lingering, and she wouldn’t have stopped investigating until she had every single answer.
Eyeing Brice, who was now sitting hunched over at the table with his head in his hands, I knew I owed it to him, and to me, and even to Candice, to find out what the hell was going on.
If my best friend wasn’t the person I’d always thought she was, then I needed to find out exactly who Candice Fusco was.
I left Brice in the kitchen, giving him a sympathetic squeeze on the shoulder as I passed, and headed to the bedroom. I packed my suitcase quickly and efficiently, then made a flight reservation on my iPad.
Brice had moved to the living room. I found him sitting dully in front of the TV watching basketball highlights. I parked my suitcase next to the couch and took a seat. He didn’t seem to notice either me or the luggage, so I cleared my throat to get his attention. “What’s with the suitcase?”
“I’m leaving for a few days.”
“Leaving?”
“Yes.”
Brice sat up, a little of the dullness leaving his eyes, but he still looked so tired. “Where?” he asked.
“Vegas.”
“What? Why, Cooper?”
“Because I need answers. And I know you need answers too.”