Short Story: ON SILENT FEET by Jan Christensen
Had it only been that morning when, on silent feet, the black dog trotted up to Iris and stood, tail wagging?
Now afternoon, Iris sat in an uncomfortable wooden chair in the interview room at the police station, squinting at the small laptop screen where the court reporter typed in questions asked by a police detective. Detective Michaelson sat straddling his chair, chewing on a toothpick, obviously annoyed that he'd had to call in the court reporter to interrupt. Too bad, she thought bitterly. She didn't like the fact that she was deaf any more than he did. And since it had happened so suddenly, only three months ago, she was still adjusting.
Detective Michaelson was the biggest man Iris had ever met. Nearly seven feet tall, with not an ounce of fat, he made three of her slender one hundred pounds. He had a handsome face, marred for her by the toothpick chewing. She had begun lipreading and sign language classes a month ago, and the toothpick got in the way of her ability to understand him. She considered asking him to remove it, but figured it would only make him angrier. She turned her attention back to the screen where words scrolled across, asking, "Why did you go to Mrs. Baker's house?"
Iris sighed. She couldn't hear herself, of course, and didn't know if the detective and the interpreter could either.
She looked at Detective Michaelson and said, "I wanted to return the dog."
He nodded.
"He followed me home from my walk,” she continued, “and hung around for about an hour. I decided to take him back to the house where he'd come out to greet me." Iris smiled, remembering the cute animal, tail wagging, standing still while Iris petted him. Medium, slender, short-haired, the dog was adorable. Iris wondered what would happen to him now.
"Go on," the words appeared on the screen.
"When I got there, no one answered the door. I decided to go to the house next door and ask if they would take the dog until the owner returned. But when I met Mrs. Allen, she said Mrs. Baker should be home because she has, um had, agoraphobia and never left the house. So, we went back, together. There still was no answer. Mrs. Allen had a key, and she let us in. That's when we found . . ." Suddenly, she couldn't continue.
"Take your time." The cursor hung at the end of the sentence, waiting.
Iris looked up at Detective Michaelson. He didn't appear angry anymore. Perhaps, she thought, he hadn't been angry at her after all. Maybe he was upset by the murder. Did hardened police officers continue to be troubled by murder?
"We found Mrs. Baker on her stomach by the door," Iris managed to continue. "Her head was bashed in, and her arms outstretched, as if reaching for help. Mrs. Allen and I got out of there fast, and she called the police."
"You didn't touch anything at the scene?"
Iris read the question again. "Mrs. Allen opened the door. I might have put my hand on the wall to steady myself."
"All right," appeared on the screen. "Now tell me about the accident that caused your deafness."
Iris looked up in surprise. Had his face softened a bit? She couldn't be sure.
When she saw his lips moving, she looked back at the screen to read what he was saying. "It happened in the same neighborhood. A hit and run, the driver never found. Coincidence? Probably. But it wouldn't hurt to hear what you remember."
Iris fingered the tiny scar on her chin. She didn't look at the detective as she began speaking. "I was just walking along, enjoying the nice spring day, when I heard a car come up behind me." She paused, remembering the sound. Would she begin to forget how things sounded? She'd read that she would, and that if years from now she could hear again, she'd have to re-learn what the sounds were. But she didn't think she'd ever forget the noise of that engine accelerating, the squeal of tires as the car speeded up . . .
"Go on," the interpreter typed. Iris glanced at her impassive face. Her hands flew over those keys faster than anyone could type on a regular keyboard. Until her deafness, Iris hadn’t known that some court reporters also did this. She hadn't had much interaction with interpreters yet and wondered if they were all so emotionless. She did know that some sign language interpreters used exaggerated facial expression.
"The car was behind me, and I heard the engine roar, so I glanced around, and saw it overtaking me. I jumped up over the curb onto the grass, but the car kept coming. Then I felt it hit me. I remember falling, but that's all. Until I woke up three days later in the hospital."
"And where were you when this happened?" appeared on the screen.
"Across the street from Mrs. Baker's house," Iris said slowly, now realizing why Detective Michaelson had asked her about it.
"Can you describe the car?"
She nodded. "It was a white Cadillac."
"Year?"
"I don't know. Recent."
"Can you describe the driver at all?"
"A woman," Iris said, still feeling the shock of surprise when the car first hit her, and again when she remembered in her hospital room. "She wore huge sunglasses and a hat and had long blond hair."
"You could see all that in that split second before she hit you?"
Iris nodded again. "The image of her is imprinted on my mind."
The cursor hung at the last question, and she looked at Detective Michaelson as he shifted in his chair. "Have you seen her since?" he asked. He'd removed the toothpick, and she could almost lipread all the words, and filled in the rest. To be sure, she glanced at the screen.
"No." She sighed.
"I'm surprised you still go for walks," the interpreter typed.
Iris looked Detective Michaelson in the eye. "No one's run me down since then. It must have been an accident. She was distracted by something, her foot hit the gas pedal harder than she meant it to, and she ran me over. Plus, I might just see her again. She was driving in our neighborhood for a reason. Maybe she lives there, or she'll come back."
"You're looking for her? That could be dangerous. Hit and run is a felony. She obviously doesn't want to be found."
What have I got to lose, Iris thought. The despair that had been displaced by the horror of finding Mrs. Baker came back, covering her like a cloak. Her vision dimmed around the edges, and she had to pull herself back into the present, into this bare room with the huge man talking to her through the clumsy means of the computer screen.
Her life was already ruined. She'd lost her job, and might soon lose her husband. All because she could no longer hear. The one thing that kept her going was the task she'd set herself to locate the woman and find out why the accident had happened.
Detective Michaelson stood up. Iris imagined the scraping sound the chair must have made. Words began to appear on the screen, and she tried to remember how the keys would clatter.
"That should about cover it, Ms. Phillips." He held out his hand, and hers was lost in it when they shook. "You be careful out there," she managed to lipread.
"I will," she said and started to leave. Then she remembered the interrupter and turned to thank her. The woman was already shutting down her machine, and Iris could tell that she and the detective were saying something to each other. Iris felt frustration well up inside her. She would never again have a normal conversation with anyone.
She turned back around so they wouldn't see the tears gathering in her eyes.
Home, she sank down into her chair and went into a sort of hypnotic state she'd been able to enter easily since the accident. There were no sounds to distract her. She simply stared at the unlit candle on the coffee table, not conscious of any particular thoughts.
She didn't see Evan come in until he touched her on the shoulder.
"How are you?" he asked. She could always make that out from lipreading.
"Okay," she said. "Sit down. I have to tell you what happened this morning."
He gave her a puzzled look and sat next to her on the couch. When she finished, he asked, "Why didn't you call me? I would have come right away."
She got most of the words and filled in the rest. Shook her head. "There was nothing you could have done," she said.
He grasped her shoulders. "I could have been there for you." Slowly, exaggerating his lip movement a little, he said, "Why are you pushing me away, Iris? Why won't you let me help you?"
She twisted out of his grip, afraid to look him in the eye. He might see her doubt there, her fear that he was the one who arranged for her to be run down. She held back a sob and stood up. "I don't know," she said. "I just need some space, Evan." She felt like a new-ager, but she didn't know what else to say.
And she didn't know what else to do. Take her walks, look for the woman who ran her down, watch Evan carefully for any hint that he had something to do with it. She hated her doubts.
They'd begun before the accident. She'd felt he was seeing someone. She had no proof, just a wife's feeling. He had become distant, distracted. He claimed it was his work as Vice President of Mercer Pharmaceuticals, but she thought it was someone at work.
Evan didn't get up, didn't try to touch her again. His shoulders slumped, and his normally bright blue eyes dimmed. He said something, but she couldn't make it out. It might have been, "How long?"
She didn't know how long. She turned away and went to the kitchen to see about dinner.
They didn't talk much while they ate. Iris picked at her salad and grilled fish. Evan would look at her, but when she glanced up at him, he looked away.
When she served the coffee, he asked, "Are you about ready for the party Saturday night?"
She nodded. She dreaded it. She hadn't given one since her accident, and it would be agony not to be able to hear.
The party was in full swing when Iris managed to escape into the kitchen to catch her breath. It was worse than she expected. She felt like the maid. Everyone greeted her when they arrived, then ignored her. She knew they didn't know what to say, how to talk to her. And she didn't know any of them very well because they were all Evan's associates. Except Mandy, Evan's secretary, and she'd been talking to other people all evening.
Telling herself to grin and bear it, she arranged some stuffed mushroom caps on a plate and headed back to the living room.
Evan stood in a corner, talking to the redheaded woman he'd introduced as his boss's new secretary. She laughed at something Evan said, throwing her head back, exposing a long slender neck. Evan seemed pleased with himself. When he caught Iris's eye, his face lost its expression. He said something to the redhead, then made his way over to Iris. She had set the plate down and was taking an empty one back to the kitchen when he caught up with her.
He took her arm and said something in her ear, his breath tickling. She pulled away and turned towards him, eyebrows raised.
He looked stricken. "I forgot," he said.
Iris sighed. She seemed to be doing a lot of that lately.
"How is it going?" he enunciated.
"Fine," she said flatly.
They went into the kitchen. After she put the plate down, he tapped her on the shoulder to make her look at him. "You are not trying."
She looked away and shrugged. "I don't know how, Evan. I need more time."
"Talk to Mandy." His secretary was a motherly sort. She and Iris had always gotten along.
Iris stared at him. "She's ignoring me, just like the rest of you, Evan."
He took her by the shoulders again. "You have to make the effort."
She nodded. "I know," she whispered.
He shook her lightly. "Try," he said.
"Okay." She turned to fill another plate with snacks, and they left the kitchen together.
After putting the plate down, Iris walked over to Mandy. She saw that Evan had gone to join a group of men, leaving the tall redhead to talk to another, younger associate.
Mandy acknowledged her presence by taking her hand. Iris smiled and nodded at the other people in the group which included the President's wife, the Chief Financial Officer and the head of Personnel, all women. Mandy turned to Iris and pulled her aside, saying something Iris couldn't make out. Iris realized she had gotten used to Evan's way of talking and could get a lot more of what he said than she could other people.
"How," Mandy said slowly, carefully moving her lips in a slight exaggeration.
"How," Iris repeated.
"Is."
"Is."
"It."
"It."
"Going?"
"How is it going?" Iris laughed. "Super, Mandy, just great. How are you?"
Mandy grabbed Iris's wrist and said something Iris couldn't get. She led her over to the table in the dining room. "You look so dour," Mandy said.
"I look door?" Iris asked.
Mandy shook her head. "Dour. Rhymes with sour."
"Sore? No, I'm fine. All recovered from the accident, except for my hearing."
Mandy heaved a sigh of frustration. Iris got that. She was getting really good at body language.
"Pen and paper?" Mandy asked.
"Right," Iris said and took her to the kitchen. She picked up the pad and pencil next to the phone and handed them to Mandy.
Mandy wrote the word, "dour."
"Oh," Iris said. "I look dour." She turned away. "Sorry."
Mandy touched her arm, then said, "Nothing to be sorry about. But you need to take this pad and pencil around with you and talk to people for when you miss a word. Make an effort, at least."
"Did Evan tell you about the woman who was murdered?" Iris asked suddenly.
Mandy nodded. "You found her," she said.
"Yes," Iris said, able to read Mandy's lips better now that she was getting used to her way of moving her mouth. "Across the street from where I was hit."
"Really?" Mandy looked thoughtful. "Evan didn't tell me that."
Iris was distracted and didn't get it, so Mandy wrote it down. Then she added, "Does he know that?"
Iris thought for a moment. Had she told him? Did he know where Mrs. Baker lived? "I don't know," she admitted.
"You think the two might be connected," Mandy said.
Iris nodded. "The detective that interviewed me suggested it."
"What do the police say now?" Mandy aked.
"I haven't talked to them. I'm sure it's too soon."
The door swung open, and Brian Holden, the President of Mercer Pharmaceuticals, stepped into the room, an empty glass in his hand. His glance fell to the paper and pen, understanding making him nod.
He held up his glass and said, "Water."
Iris gestured towards the bottles next to the sink. He filled the glass, then turned around. He didn't seem to know what to do next. Actually, Iris decided, he looked more uncomfortable than was warranted by just her deafness. She smiled and asked, "How are you, Brian?"
"Fine," he said, his eyes shifting to look at Mandy.
Something passed between them, confusing Iris. Brian's eyes met Mandy's, then turned towards the door, as if suggesting Mandy leave.
"Nice party," Brian said, now looking at Iris.
"Thanks," Iris said.
He raised his glass in a silent toast and left the kitchen.
Mandy put the pad and pencil in Iris's hands and gestured towards the door.
Iris understood now that Brian hadn't wanted Mandy to talk to her.
When they got back to the living room, Iris looked around, Before, she had been too wrapped up in her own misery to notice that a lot of Mercer's employees were acting a bit strange. Some people gestured too widely, threw back their heads in forced laughter, and others stood morosely staring into their drinks.
For the first time, Iris wondered if maybe people weren't speaking to her for a different reason. She realized Evan hadn't talked about work in quite awhile. She'd put it down to the difficulty of her hearing. But what if it was something else?
She picked up the plate of cheese and crackers and began passing it around, now trying to read lips. She began to piece together the story that had everyone worried. A rival pharmaceutical company, Diatech, (she recognized the name because she’d heard it so often since Evan stated at Mercer) was suing Mercer over the patent for a diet pill. Apparently both companies came out with the pill around the same time, and each claimed its discovery.
She wondered why Evan hadn't told her.
As the last of the cheese and crackers disappeared from the plate, Iris realized that she had been so distracted by trying to find out what everyone was saying that her discomfort had disappeared, and the time had flown by. People were now beginning to leave.
After the last person left, Iris and Evan turned to survey the living room, strewn with plates and glasses.
"Tonight or tomorrow?" Evan asked.
"Might as well do it tonight," Iris said, even though she felt exhausted.
She picked up a full glass of clear liquid. It looked like the one Brian had come into the kitchen to get. Why hadn't he drunk it? She sniffed it. No scent of liquor. So, he really had come to get Mandy out of the kitchen. Why?
"Evan?" she asked.
He turned from picking up a tray of glasses and gave her a quizzical look.
"What's going on at work? You haven't talked about it in weeks. I thought it was because of my hearing loss. But it's something else, isn't it? To do with the lawsuit."
He nodded. "Not much to tell. I'm out of the loop."
"What? You're out of the loop?" she repeated to be sure she'd understood him.
"It's true."
"Why?"
He shrugged. "Don't know."
She went over to him and took the tray. After she set it down on the coffee table, she grasped him by the shoulders, as he so often did with her. "It's bothering you, big time."
"Yeah."
In a funny way, she felt relieved. It explained a lot about how he'd been acting lately. Moving into his embrace, she found a kind of peace. It wouldn't be so bad that she'd lost her hearing and her job, as long as she still had Evan.
"I can clean up tomorrow," she whispered.
On Monday Iris decided to surprise Evan by stopping by the office and inviting him to lunch. She realized he might be busy, but she'd take that chance.
As she drove past Mrs. Baker's house, with the crime scene tape still in place, she averted her eyes and told herself not to think about it. There was nothing she could do to bring Mrs. Baker back or even to find out why she had been murdered.
Her eyes automatically searched the street and driveways for a white Cadillac, but she didn't see one.
She stopped to get gas. At the checkout she noticed the new issue of Forbes with a picture of Diatech's CEO on the cover. On impulse, she bought it.
She drove to Mercer's sprawling white building and parked in the visitor's area. Mandy greeted her warmly and buzzed Evan to tell him Iris was there. "He has someone with him," Mandy said. "He'll be done in about fifteen minutes."
Iris made out most of what Mandy said. "I'll wait. I brought a magazine to read."
She sat on the couch and turned to the article about Diatech. The rival pharmaceutical company was trying hard to become number one in the business, doing its best to overtake Mercer. The article touched briefly on the lawsuit and showed several pictures of the company and some personnel. The picture of the CEO caught Iris's attention. He looked familiar, but she knew she'd never met him. Something about the way he tilted his head . . .
She kept glancing at Mandy to make sure she wasn't trying to catch her attention. Iris looked up from the photo of Diatech's CEO and caught Mandy in the same pose, her head tilted up, staring at the ceiling.
Iris gasped. Could it be? She never would have figured it out if she hadn't seen the photo and Mandy so close together.
But what did it mean? It could be nothing, she tried to reassure herself.
Evan's door opened, and he stepped out with a tall, thin man. Both of them carried briefcases. Evan stopped next to Iris and said, "Hi. I'm sorry, there’s an emergency at the factory, and I have to go over there with Bob. Another time?"
She nodded. Evan pecked her on the cheek and left.
Mandy stood up and retrieved her purse from a desk drawer.
"I'd go to lunch with you, but I'm meeting someone, too," she said.
"That's all right," Iris managed to say. They walked out of the office together.
In front of the building, Mandy greeted a man, but did not introduce him to Iris. Iris stood awkwardly as they walked across the street to the company's parking lot. She went to get her own car. As she pulled out of the lot, she saw Mandy in the passenger's seat of the man's car.
A white Cadillac.
Coincidence, Iris assured herself, but she began to follow them. Her heart pounded harder when she saw the license plate. D-TECH-3. They wound their way through the lunchtime traffic, and the Caddy parked in the Olive Garden's lot. Iris watched the two of them walk inside, then she got out of her car and walked over to the Cadillac, looking at the front for any signs of an accident.
If it had been in one, it had been repaired.
She stood, irresolute, next to the car. It wouldn't do her any good to go inside. She couldn't hide behind a palm tree and eavesdrop. If she sat close enough to try and read their lips, Mandy would spot her.
She pounded her fist on the white Caddy in frustration. Everything she tried to do was blocked by her inability to hear.
But then she remembered how she'd been able to read lips the night before without anyone realizing it. And she'd noticed the similarity between Mandy and Diatech's CEO because her eyes were doing more of the communication work for her these days.
Okay, she said to herself, take the leap that one of Diatech's cars hit you. There must be more than one since the license plate had the number three on it. Had it hit her on purpose? Why? It made no sense.
Could have been an accident, and the driver, knowing she was Mercer's Vice President's wife, didn't want to acknowledge it.
But her gut said that didn't wash. The other factors were that Mandy looked so much like Diatech's CEO, and Evan was out of the loop about the lawsuit.
Iris decided she needed to learn more about Diatech. She drove home thoughtfully. There, she made herself a pot of coffee and a sandwich and booted up her computer. She spent the rest of the afternoon surfing the ‘net, reading about the rival pharmaceutical company. Occasionally, she printed something out.
Evan arrived home on time, for once, perhaps sorry he hadn't been able to take her to lunch. She gave him the print-outs to read while she made dinner.
When they sat down, he asked, "Why did you do this?" He pointed to the papers which he had brought with him to the table.
Iris explained about Mandy and the Cadillac. She showed him the picture in Fortune.
"You think Mandy has something to do with Diatech?"
"I don't know, Evan. But I do think she's related to the CEO. You do see the resemblance? And why was she going to lunch with them? We have to assume the car she went in belongs to Diatech."
"But she openly rode with them. Does that look like she's trying to keep her relationship a secret?"
"No," Iris said slowly, "but there's something definitely wrong here."
"I agree with that," Evan said. "There are innuendos in these printouts that Diatech is associated with organized crime. At least the top officers are. This could mean that your accident wasn't an accident. But why? Why would they want to hurt you? You aren't a threat to them."
"Maybe," Iris said thoughtfully, spearing an olive, "as a warning to someone else in your company?"
"My God," Evan groaned. He took a sip of wine and wiped his brow. "It is odd that Brian isn't talking to me about the lawsuit. Says not to concern myself with it. Ever since your accident."
Evan spent most of the rest of the evening pacing the living room. Iris did the dishes, then sat at her computer, keying in everything that had happened since her accident, trying to decide what to do about it.
The next day, after Evan left for work, Iris drove to Diatech's. The long, low building looked similar to Mercer's and several other pharmaceutical companies in the area.
Iris drove around the parking lot, looking for white Cadillac’s. She found a few, but none had the distinctive license plates.
Then she saw one drive into the lot. The license plate read D-TECH-3. She didn't recognize the driver, but she followed it to a place where the driver used a remote to open a gate. Iris didn't dare enter the restricted area because she might not be able to get out. But she found a place to park nearby and settled down to watch.
D-TECH-2 drove in. Iris slouched down in her seat and watched it enter the restricted area. The driver of this one looked vaguely familiar, but she was sure she’d never seen the passenger before. Maybe she'd seen the driver’s picture in Fortune. She'd brought the magazine with her, and she studied the pictures. Finally she found the man in the far corner of a group picture, unidentified. Why would she have remembered this face in the group? She didn't know. Her stomach clenched.
When D-TECH-2 drove out of the lot an hour later, Iris followed. The car wound through the streets and up into the Jersey hills. Huge estates, hidden behind hedges and fences, lined the avenues. Eventually, the car pulled into the driveway of one and stopped at the closed gate. The driver spoke into a speaker on the brick post. Iris pulled off to the side, hoping they wouldn’t notice her. But suddenly, the Caddy’s door opened, and the passenger got out and rushed over to her, a gun pointing at her chest. Iris felt too stunned to move.
"Get out of the car," the man demanded. Iris could tell he was shouting by the way his face was distorted. He waved the gun at her.
Slowly, she exited the car. The gate had swung open, and the gunman motioned for her to enter the estate.
Terror gripped her, and she stumbled on a stone in the drive. The Caddy drove in slowly behind them, and Iris re-lived the moment the car struck her from behind. Could this be the same car? Teeth chattering, her legs wobbly, she was relieved when the car stopped and the gunman motioned for her to get in the back. He crowded in next to her, the gun pointed unwaveringly at her chest. They drove the rest of the way up the winding drive to a huge, faintly pink building with a red tile roof. It looked more like a museum than a home.
As they got out of the car, Iris glanced again at the driver. When he saw her looking at him, he set his lips and turned his head away. That's when she knew. The lips and nose were all she'd been able to see underneath the sunglasses, but she recognized him as the person driving the car that hit her. Disguised as a woman. She felt dizzy, and her vision faded around the edges. She couldn't pass out. She just couldn't.
One on either side, the gun still pointed at her, they marched up the front steps where another man waited, glaring.
He said something through clenched teeth that Iris couldn't make out. They led her inside to an elevator, and it rose to the third floor where they took her to a bedroom. The driver spoke, but she didn't understand everything he said.
"I can't hear," she said. "I'm deaf, because of you."
"She knows," he said. "We'll have to get rid of her." His face had become an ugly mask of hate.
"Later," the man who had greeted them said. "Not enough time now. We've got to sign those settlement papers. Lock her in. She won't get away."
Iris didn't hear the door close behind them, but she saw it. She ran over and tried the knob. Locked, of course. She wanted to bang on it, but knew it wouldn't do any good.
She sank down into a soft chair and looked around. No phone. The furnishing were opulent with a canopied bed, massive oak furniture, and a plush beige rug under her feet. She stood up slowly and went to the heavily draped and curtained window. She saw no handy trellises or vines to climb down, if she could even get the window open.
Searching for a latch, she found one which she was able to unlock. Surprised, she opened the window. Now there was just a screen. She looked all around it. It appeared to be nailed shut from the outside. Sighing, she went over the nightstand and opened the drawer, hoping for something to cut the screen. Empty. Then she saw another door and opened it. A bathroom. No other exit. Disappointed, she tried the medicine chest. Toothbrush still in its wrapper, toothpaste, a tiny bottle of aspirin. Nothing else. No razor, no nail file, nothing to cut with.
Except the removable glass shelves. Thin, not too difficult to handle. Iris took one back to the window. Using the rough corner of the shelf, she managed to make a hole at the edge of the screen. Then she sawed the shelf down and around the whole screen, making sure it fell into the room and not out onto the lawn.
Perspiring, she sat on the bed to catch her breath. It wasn't the exertion that make her heart pound, but the possibility of escape.
Sitting on the bed reminded her of sheets. Two plus the spread might work to get her down far enough to drop the rest of the way. The spread first. She tied it to the bed leg nearest the window, then tied the sheets together and to the spread. She stuck her head out the window. No one around. Taking a deep breath, she threw the makeshift rope out the window and waited for something to happen. No one appeared to stop her, so she climbed over the sill, grabbed the bedspread, and began her descent.
The last sheet didn't quite touch the lawn below her. She didn't dare look down until she reached the end of the sheet.
A huge Rottweiler stood, obviously barking furiously at her, almost able to reach her feet with his strong jaws.
Iris tried to stop the sheet from swinging so she could remain still. She talked soothingly to the dog. Her arms felt as if they were breaking from the strain.
Suddenly, the dog left. Called away? She didn't know. She waited a minute, but her arms could no longer hold her, and she dropped to the ground and fell over. She stood up quickly and began to run. If anyone pursued her, she didn't know. She couldn't hear, and she wouldn't let herself look back.
She ran around the house, down the front drive, all the way to the gate. Which was closed and locked. Sobbing, she beat her fists against it.
As if by magic, it began to open. Iris looked around frantically. Behind her, she saw a car approaching. The driver must have used a remote to open the gate. She slipped into some bushes and watched the car drive by. Before the gate could close again, she slithered through and stood panting on the sidewalk, astonished she'd gotten this far.
And even more amazing, her car sat where she'd parked it. Locked? She ran over and tried. The door swung open at her touch. Iris breathed a sigh of relief when she saw the keys in the ignition. She looked around the area. No one in sight.
Quickly getting in and starting the car, Iris zoomed down the hill, taking the first curve a bit wide. A white Cadillac coming the other way almost collided with her. Glancing in her rearview mirror, she saw the car fishtail around and come up behind her. The face staring at her out of the windshield was the same as the one she'd glimpsed before she'd been struck while out walking.
Her sweaty palms almost slid off the steering wheel as she gripped it harder. Her mind raced furiously. What should she do?
A feeling of calmness swept over her as she decided to just drive to the police station. The one where Detective Michaelson had interviewed her.
Finally, Iris pulled up in front of the station. She didn't try to get out of her car. She sat in it, doors locked, and pressed on the horn, glad she couldn't hear the blare.
Several police officers approached her as she watched the white Cadillac speed away. All was confusion as she tried to explain to them what had happened. Finally she was ushered into Detective Michaelson’s office. He stood as she entered, then turned to one of the officers. Iris managed to lip read something about a court reporter around his toothpick. She sank into a visitor’s chair, sighing, again wondering if he could hear her.
“Tell me what happened,” he said. He didn’t interrupt her until the court reporter entered with her equipment and set it up. Then he motioned for Iris to finish.
“We’ve been looking for you,” he said when she wound down.
She read the screen, then nodded.
“Mrs. Baker kept a journal. She saw you being run down and got the license number. Diatech 2.”
Iris gasped.
“We think it was a warning to Mercer, specifically to the President, of what could happen to his wife.”
“Is my husband’s secretary involved?” Iris asked.
“We’re not sure, but think so. She’s Diatech’s president’s sister. We think she may have been the go-between.”
Iris shook her head, trying to take it all in. That was why Evan had been kept out of the loop.
“You’ve been very brave and resourceful,” the detective told her. “We can add kidnapping to the charges and be sure that these people are put away for a long, long time.” He smiled at her, the toothpick hardly getting in the way.
Maybe, she thought, her deafness wouldn't be the severe handicap she believed it to be.
She said goodbye to Detective Michaelson and picked up the black dog from Mrs. Allen on the way home. She began training him to let her know when the phone or the doorbell rang and to alert her to other sounds. He kept her company while she decided what to do with the rest of her life.
About the Author:
Jan Christensen has had one mystery novel and over forty short stories published. When not writing, she travels fulltime in a motorhome with her husband. Website: www.janchristensen.com