With a sniffle, she nods. “I was so excited and pointed them out to her. But she didn’t hear me because…” Another sniffle and she bravely resumes. “Because she was slumped over the railing unconscious. Blood was all over the back of her sundress. No matter what I did, she didn’t respond. I knew something was terribly wrong, but wasn’t sure what had happened, and desperate, asked this creepy man, who was standing next to me, for help. Except when I turned to him, he collapsed to the ground bleeding profusely. I screamed, spinning around for someone to come to our aid. And then I saw him.”
While I picture the terrifying scene in my head, Zoey begins to visibly shake. Her mouth quivers. I clasp the trembling hand that’s not hooked up to the monitor and ask: “Who, Zoey?”
“The monster who shot the man…and Mama. He was pointing a gun at me. He fired—and missed—and then he ran away. I’ll never forget his face.”
My heart in my throat, I swallow hard. “Did anyone else see him?”
She shakes her head again. “The pier was very crowded and noisy. And an orchestra was playing. I’m pretty sure the gun had a silencer.”
“Your mother—”
“Oh, Brandon, it was so terrible. After the man ran away, I turned back to check on her. She was no longer there. I searched the pier everywhere. And then I looked down and screamed. She’d fallen over the railing into the ocean down below. She’d regained consciousness, but she didn’t know how to swim. Added to that, the ocean was very rough. While the waves tossed her about, she reached for me, but I couldn’t help her.”
I suddenly understand her fear of swimming and brush away more tears with the pads of my fingertips before she bows her head. In my heart, I know this story’s going to end like a Shakespeare tragedy.
“Brandon, I watched her drown. She went under and then a giant wave carried her out to sea.” Sobs wrack her body. “I never saw her again.”
Her story guts me. It was bad enough losing my parents in a horrific car accident at the age of seventeen. But how beyond awful for a fatherless little girl to watch her beloved mother bleed to death and then drown. My empathy morphs into rage. It seeps deep into my bloodstream. I want to find the bastard who did this to her and kill him with my own hands. Hold his head underwater until his soul goes to hell. I inwardly shudder. Not just at the intensity of my anger, but at the other powerful emotions that swarm me. When did I start caring so much about my assistant? Enough to want to kill for her? Have I always? I can’t remember.
“Brandon, I’ll never forget that man’s face,” she sobs out, looking up and hurtling me out of my disquieting thoughts. “Never!”
“Shh.” I swipe away more tears and then steady her by cupping her trembling shoulders. “What happened afterward?” I want to know if the bastard ever paid for what he did. I’m still crazy with rage and thirsting for revenge.
Zoey sniffles, her shoulders still heaving and the tears still falling. Her voice is watery. “Mama’s brother and his wife took me in…Uncle Pete and Auntie Jo.”
Pete…Jo? She answers my question before I ask it.
“You know Uncle Pete. He’s the detective working your hit and run case.”
Yeah, I quickly figured that out. Why didn’t she tell me this before? This is not the time to ask. Frankly, I’m not sure if she’s ever told me about her past or her family because of my amnesia. While some memories have broken through, this one hasn’t. Right now, it’s all news to me.
Zoey gazes up at me. Her eyes flicker with desperation. “I need to see my father and talk to him.”
I was told by the medics that he was contacted, but he’s out of town with his wife at some convention until Wednesday. I share this information with Zoey and then add softly, “You should call him later when you’re rested.” And coherent. She obviously had some kind of seizure while reliving her mother’s murder. I have a feeling she’s still in a state of shock.
“No, I want to talk to him, now! I’ve got to!” my assistant chokes out, straining her hoarse voice. “Give me my phone!” Her eyes dart madly around the room. “Shit! Where’s my phone?”
She grows agitated. Her head twists left and right and then she tears off the bed covers. She searches beneath them, paddling her beautiful hands like a puppy digging for a buried bone. She begins to pant. Then, hyperventilates. f*ck
. I’ve set her off. Another round of hysteria is building.
“Here. Use mine.” Reaching into my jeans pocket, I hand her my cell. Chewing on her quivering bottom lip, she hastily punches in a number. Tears are still streaming down her cheeks and her fingers are jittery. I can hear the other phone ringing.
“Dammit,” she splutters. “He’s not picking up.” Breathing heavily, she leaves an urgent message. “Pops, please call me back on this phone or mine. It’s an emergency. I saw Mama’s killer!” Still frantic, she ends the call and tosses my phone on the bed.
“Brandon, I need to speak to Scott to find out why he was with Mama’s killer.”
Thinking she’s had some kind of hallucinatory episode that landed her in the hospital, I’m taken aback. My eyes widen with surprise, “Zoey, what are you talking about?”
“I saw Scott with the man who murdered Mama at The Farmer’s Market.”
“Are you sure?” My voice is full of doubt. She’s just thrown a curve ball my way.