Chapter One
St. Louis, Missouri
The steady beep of a heart monitor let Sue Jewel know she was alive. She focused on her breathing. If she inhaled too deeply, the pain would shoot through her side.
“You’re awake.” The doctor’s smile was perfunctory as his eyes moved to the chart hanging at the end of her bed.
First, the heart monitor let her know she was alive. Now the doctor was informing her she was awake. What was next? Would the nurse come in and confirm she was female?
“This was one heck of a way to spend your fortieth birthday,” he continued as if attempting a conversation out of habit rather than the situation.
“How did I get here?” Sue felt nauseous and dizzy and wanted to sleep.
“Ambulance,” the doctor answered. “You don’t remember the car accident?”
The last thing Sue remembered before blacking out was being kicked in the ribs, then strange flashes of images that looked more nightmare than real.
“No. I don’t remember what happened,” she lied out of habit.
“That’s not unusual after a head injury. The police will want to take a statement later. They’ll be able to answer any direct questions you may have.” The man’s bedside manner was a little cold and clinical, but she preferred it that way.
As the doctor neared, Sue averted her gaze. The painkillers they’d given her helped and, if she didn’t make sudden movements and concentrated, she could manage to keep breathing. She welcomed the numbness they offered.
In. Out. In. Out.
“Mrs. Jewel?”
Sue glanced at the doctor. He placed a hand on her shoulder, and she flinched. “Did you hear me?”
“Uh, yeah,” she muttered, trying delicately to pull away from his hand. “I have a head injury.”
His hand didn’t leave her. If anything, he pressed more firmly. She stiffened under his touch.
“Mrs. Jewel, there is no easy way to tell you this. I’m sorry to inform you that your husband didn’t make it.” The doctor patted her shoulder, and she turned mid-pat to avoid the tiny jars to her body.
“Make what?”
“He didn’t survive the wreck,” the doctor clarified.
Sue didn’t speak. She finally looked him in the eye.
“He’s dead,” the doctor stated when she didn’t react.
Sue could see, even in his taciturnity, the reaction the doctor expected from her. The truth was she didn’t know what she felt—sadness, relief, pain, grief? She closed her eyes, and a tear slipped over her cheek. Her hands trembled.
“Is there someone we can call for you?” he asked.
“I don’t have family,” Sue answered. The last thing she wanted was Hank’s mother showing up to berate her for surviving in place of her precious son.
“Friends?”
Sue shook her head in denial. “I want to be alone, please.”
“I understand. A nurse will be in to check on you. Push the call button if you need anything.” The man gave her another awkward pat on the shoulder. “When you’re ready, we have people you can talk to about what happened.”
In. Out. In. Out.
Sue kept her eyes closed and focused on her breathing, counting them to distract her mind from the pain. She had no idea how much time passed in the marking of those seconds.
In. Out. In. Out. In…
“Mrs. Jewel, I’m Detective Price. I’d like to ask you a few questions, if that’s all right?”
Sue hadn’t heard the detective come in. She debated whether she could pretend to sleep until the man went away. Finally, she opened her eyes and glanced at him. Like the doctor, he looked at her like he was there to do a job, and she was merely part of that job. All she had to do was give him enough answers to make him check all the little boxes on whatever form he needed to fill out.
“I’m sorry, I don’t remember anything,” Sue said. “The doctor said I have a head injury.”
“You don’t remember being in the trunk?” a woman’s voice interjected.
Sue rolled onto her back as she realized another person was in the room, a second detective if the dark slacks and button-down white shirt were any indications. And, if that wasn’t, the shiny badge hanging on her belt was a dead giveaway. The woman tried to give her a sympathetic look, but a hard edge remained behind her eyes.
“This is my partner, Detective Sanchez,” Price said.
“Nice to meet you,” Sue managed. The words sounded polite, maybe too polite considering the circumstances. It wasn’t nice to meet anyone at the moment. She didn’t want to be here.
In. Out. In.
“Can you tell us how you got in the trunk of your car?” Sanchez asked.
“I don’t think I was in the trunk.” Sue took a deeper breath, fighting the memory of tight spaces and the feel of a crowbar poking into her ribs as tires sped over asphalt. Lying came easier than it should have.
In. Out.
“We believe that when the semi clipped the car and sent it into a tailspin down the ravine, you were thrown from the back of the vehicle,” Sanchez continued.
“That doesn’t sound right,” Sue lied out of habit. Her nose burned with the threat of tears. “The doctor said I injured my head in the accident.”
“Yes, you mentioned that.” Price crossed his arms over his chest. “The truck driver said your car drifted into his lane. Skid marks on the road support that. Fingerprints on the steering wheel tell us Hank was driving at the time.”
“Then that is probably what happened.” Sue shook her head. “I don’t remember.”
“That’s not surprising.” Sanchez held up her phone to show a picture of a wrecked silver sedan at the bottom of a ravine. The vehicle looked totaled. How Sue survived was anyone’s guess. The top had been caved in and the sides were smashed liked crumbled tinfoil. “We found evidence that you were in the trunk when this happened.”
“Evidence?” Sue glanced at them before looking at her hands on the thin hospital blanket. Medical tape held the IV against her skin, hiding where it entered her. She followed the tube with her eyes. She willed painkiller oblivion to flow into her body to turn off her mind, but the saline bag only continued to drip in a steady rhythm. A chill worked up her spine, causing her to shiver.
“Blood and hair on the latch,” Sanchez continued. “The theory is you hit your head when you flew out.”
“That’s one theory,” Price corrected, indicating he had a different mindset.
Sue touched her head, feeling a bandage wrapped around it like a convalescent’s crown.
“Anything you can remember could help us understand what happened tonight,” Sanchez insisted.
“It sounds like you already know what happened. We had an accident. I broke my ribs.” Sue cradled her stomach. “The painkillers they gave me… I don’t feel well. I think I’m going to be sick.”
“What is the last thing you remember?” Sanchez asked.
“Having dinner with Hank,” Sue said. Tears slid from her eyes as she closed them. “He…”
What could she say? The words struggled to push past her tightening throat.