Innocent Witness. Leona Karr
turned up anything new in your investigation, Sheriff,” she said, “otherwise you wouldn’t still be hanging around the hotel.”
The tone and manner of her remark verified Steve’s thoughts. No love lost between the two of them.
“Well, now.” Janson scratched his head, still standing by the table. Steve noticed that Deanna had not asked him to sit down. “Sometimes a body can learn a lot just listening to folks flap their gums a bit. Take Dillon, for instance. I’ll admit he can go off the deep end sometimes, but a bartender sees and hears things that can set him to thinking—”
“In the wrong direction,” she raged.
The sheriff’s bushy eyebrows matted thoughtfully over the bridge of his nose as he peered at Deanna for a long moment. He shook his head when the waitress came up and asked if he would like to order something. Then he said, “Oh, no, I don’t want to intrude on this little party.”
Deanna swallowed hard to keep from retorting that he already had. The sheriff stuck his hat on the back of his head. “Well, I’ll be moseying along. Guess I’ll hit Dillon up for a beer. Nice to meet you, Doc. We’ll have to have a talk real soon.”
“Yes, I’d like that,” Steve responded readily. People intrigued him. All kinds of people. Now he had two interesting good old boys to put under his professional microscope, and if both Dillon and Janson were lined up against Deanna, maybe he could even the sides.
“Sorry about that,” Deanna apologized.
“Don’t be. Maybe if I understood the situation a little better, I might be of some help to you.”
He watched as she struggled to make the decision whether or not to confide in him. He knew well enough that unless a situation impacted Penny in some way, he had no right to involve himself in it. Deanna was not his patient. Any help he gave her would be on a personal basis, friend to friend.
“It’s a sordid mess.”
He only nodded and waited.
She worried the napkin in her hand for a moment, then the decision made, she lifted her head and met his eyes. “Dillon has been filling Janson’s ears with a lot of half truths about me and Bob Henderson, a sordid tale that would make good tabloid copy. ‘Lovers Kill Husband for Hotel.”’
Steve was adept at not showing any emotion to whatever was said. He just nodded to show he accepted what she was telling him. “Dillon has made a deal with me. He won’t go to the newspapers with his suspicions if I let him go on running the bar.”
That’s blackmail, pure and simple.
Her voice was flat and resigned as she echoed his thought. “I know I shouldn’t let him blackmail me, but at the moment my first consideration is Penny. There was some publicity in the beginning when Ben was shot, but, thank God, it died down when the police hit a dead end. Dillon could stir everything up again. I don’t want the news media latching on to the story, slapping Penny’s picture all over the place, and capitalizing on her trauma. Don’t you see that I really have no choice but to go along with Dillon, hoping that he’ll keep the lies to himself as long as I employ him?”
Steve wanted to tell her to call the bartender’s bluff. His temper flared just thinking about the way the unscrupulous man was using her, but he knew she was right. The tabloids would eat up this kind of story. Even if Dillon put out a bunch of lies, the damage would be done. The scenario was a familiar one. Anyone with two eyes in his head could see that Bob Henderson had feelings for Deanna Drake. Steve wondered once again if they were having an affair, or had been lovers in the past, but he knew that he’d have to let the answer come from her. He had no right to pry into her personal life unless it became evident that there was something he needed to know for her daughter’s sake. There was a fine line between his professional obligations and a personal interest in knowing about Deanna Drake’s love life.
“Maybe when Penny tells us what she knows we’ll have some answers,” she said hopefully.
“And maybe not.” Steve didn’t want to encourage any wishful thinking. “Even if we overcome the effects of the trauma, Penny’s memory may not provide us with any significant details. We’ll have to wait and see.”
“Yes, of course.” She drew in a breath. “Thanks for keeping me focused.”
“You’ve been carrying a heavy load all by yourself, haven’t you?”
She nodded. “You don’t know how grateful I am that you’re willing to work with Penny. I’ll do anything to get my happy chatterbox back again.” She quickly turned away, and he suspected she hid eyes filled with tears.
Because of his own child, compassion for her heartache touched Steve and he fought an urge to reach over and take her hand. He had known from the first moment he saw her that she was a strong, determined woman, but he was only now beginning to glimpse how courageous she was.
“What kind of a sheriff is this guy Janson? Is he a good lawman?”
“On the whole, I’d say he’s as good as most sheriffs are. Tenacious. Stubborn. He’s like a bloodhound—only this time he’s following the wrong scent.” Her chin hardened. “I think Dillon’s just about convinced him that somewhere there’s proof I shot Ben.” The cords in her lovely neck tightened. “And your obvious next question, Doctor—is there proof?”
“Is there?”
“No, but I don’t blame you if you want to pack up and leave now that you know the situation.”
Do I really know the situation?
Deanna saw the question in his eyes, and turned away from it. How could she reassure him of anything? She’d searched every memory until it was threadbare, trying to find a rhyme or reason for what had happened.
Where had the horror begun?
And where would it end?
Chapter Four
Steve saw little of Deanna the next few days, and his sessions with Penny settled into a pattern. While Hobo bounded around the playroom, sniffing and wagging his scrawny tail, Penny wandered around listlessly, looking at everything but showing no desire to draw pictures or play in the sandbox or dollhouse.
Steve made certain that everything was in the same place every day. One of the hotel maids was careless about her cleaning, and was inclined to shove things around as she dusted and swept the floor, but Steve wanted the environment in the therapy room to be secure and unchanged.
Every day, after a few minutes of looking around, Penny walked over to the window, drew the drapes and then dropped onto the corner floor mat. Sometimes she would lie on her back and, with her eyes wide open, stare at the ceiling. Sometimes she would turn over on her side and watch Hobo as he snooped around the room. The dog was always interested in the snacks that Steve had ready on the low table, and pestered him for food.
“You like cookies, don’t you, Hobo?” When Steve spoke to him and patted his head, Hobo’s tail wagged as if it were going to drop off from excitement.
Knowing that Penny was watching, one morning Steve rolled a ball across the room and Hobo brought it back. They played fetch for several minutes, and Steve didn’t make any effort to include Penny in the game. In play therapy, the child made all the choices, and as frustrating as it might be, nothing could be gained by imposing choices upon Penny.
At the end of the first week of sessions, Penny still remained passive and hadn’t shown the slightest interest in anything in the playroom. He gave his usual smile to Deanna as she collected the child and dog, without giving any sign of the lack of progress he was making with her daughter.
He sighed as he opened the window drapes that Penny habitually closed. When he heard light footsteps just outside the open hall door a few minutes after Deanna had left with her daughter, he turned and saw that she was standing in the doorway.
“Hi.