Page 65 of I Know She Was There

“That’s fine,” I talked over her. “And what did I supposedly pay for?”

“I’m in billing, not treatment, Ms. Connolly.”

“Yes, of course.” I injected sweetness into my voice I was far from feeling. “But bills are itemized, right?”

“Well, yeah, there are codes, but I’m not at liberty to discuss?—”

“I won’t tell if you don’t.”

She laughed as though I were joking, but then her tone turned serious. “Would you like to talk with a nurse in our ER unit, Ms. Connolly?”

“About what? I don’t know what my ailment is.” I was thankful I wasn’t standing in front of the woman. My fingers itched to reach through the phone and gouge her eyes. Counseling myself to keep my cool, I added, “Could you please just tell me what the codes indicate?”

There was a long pause. Carla was deciding how helpful she wanted to be.

“Look, from one woman to another...” I began, in a last-ditch effort to win her over.

“From one woman to another,” she repeated, her voice low but urgent, “the records reveal contusions and lacerations. The only reason I’m telling you this is so you can get help—the same help my sister needed and didn’t get.” Her voice was so low I could barely hear her. “She’s in a wheelchair now.”

Contusions and lacerations? That was a helluva lot of bruises and cuts if it landed Annie in the ER. Perhaps she’d had a car accident. But what did Carla mean when she mentioned her sister and advised Annie get help? I said nothing, hoping she would elaborate. She did.

“There was also a concussion, and all your injuries are consistent with”—she lowered her voice—“domestic abuse. Are you sure you don’t need to speak with someone on the emergency staff?”

My mouth dropped open. Someone had beaten the shit out of Annie Connolly.

* * *

My phone conversation only reaffirmed my determination to help the mystery woman I now suspected was Annie Connolly. I knew where to start: Woodmint Lane. Jeffrey Trembly ignored me before, but this recent information changed everything. I needed to talk with him about it. If he arrived home from work in the early-morning hours, he wouldn’t go back on shift until four or five in the afternoon. I drove to Deer Crossing just after three.

Making my way down Woodmint Lane, my gaze was riveted on Jane Brockton and her little dog on their front lawn as I passed her house. She was bent over, patting the adorable fluffy head, a dog bone in her other hand. As I passed by, both she and the dog looked up and watched. I gave a quick wave and noticed her frown before I looked back at the road in front of me. Bitch. Someone needed to inform her she lived on a public street, not a private road. But Jane Brockton probably knew all about me. Seems like everyone else in town did. Guess I’d frown too, if I saw a monster pass by. I felt my insides sag, and a tightening in my shoulders as though I’d been yoked, like an ox, to a heavy load.

Losing sight of the Brocktons’ house in my rearview mirror as I pulled into Jeffrey’s driveway, I steadied my breathing. I had to convince Jeffrey I wanted to help him find Annie Connolly—that even though my mental state was compromised, my intent wasn’t. I stepped out of the car and hurried toward his front stoop.

Movement inside the house after I pressed the doorbell, and a few seconds later his door opened. Jeffrey stood there, paralyzed like a rabbit caught in headlights.

“Hey, Caroline. I can’t talk now, I’m in the middle of something.”

“I know you know about me,” I said. “You’re a reporter. Of course you know my story. That’s why you ran from me that day at the food store. You were running from crazy.”

“Look, I?—”

“Annie Connolly was admitted to Mercy General’s ER in late July,” I blurted out. He met my gaze. “We can talk out here if you like.”

He opened the door wide enough to see the yards and street beyond. Apparently satisfied by what he saw—or didn’t—he opened it wider and ushered me in. I supposed having the neighbors witness him talking with the town loon was riskier than being alone with me inside his house.

I stepped into the sparse foyer and paused as he closed the door behind me. “I don’t blame you for avoiding me, you know.” I took a deep breath. “I wasn’t doing well, but I’m better now. I spent more than a week at the hospital.”

“I’m glad,” he said, looking everywhere but at me.

“Annie was admitted to the ER exactly two months ago.”

“I checked the hospitals.” His eyes locked with mine. “They told me she wasn’t there.”

“That makes sense, you’re not a relative. They don’t just hand out information to anyone who waltzes in and asks.”

“You’re not her relative.” Jeffrey tilted his head, looking skeptical. “So how did you find out?”

“I got my hands on a bill from Mercy General.” I held his gaze. “And before you ask, yes, I rifled through her mailbox. Just last night. I called the hospital pretending to be her.”

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