Page 61 of Canvas of Lies
“I’m fine,” I snapped, then I saw the gentle amusement in the doctor’s eyes and sighed heavily. “Sorry. I’m not a fan of hospitals. My head doesn’t hurt, but my cheek aches a little where it hit the window. Yes, I remember every terrifying second, at least until the paramedics got there. It’s a little hazy after that.”
Dr. Thorne smiled at me. “Follow the light with your eyes, please. Good. The cut on your cheek is small and shallow, so you won’t need any stitches, but the bruising will probably get worse before it gets better. I suggest icing it for your comfort, though there won’t be much you can do about the discoloration. You have some abrasions across your collarbone from the seatbelt, but otherwise you emerged fairly unscathed. The police have been waiting to speak with you. Think you’re up for it?”
I nodded silently. Even with my surroundings staying obligingly steady, my mind was still awhirl. More than anything, I wanted to lay eyes on Nico, to verify that he was really okay.
When the doctor left to fetch the police, I leaned back on the pillows and stared up at the fluorescent light overhead. As much as I wanted to get up and pace, I had no interest in being found in a heap on the floor.
“Ms. Willoughby? I’m Detective Rose Hanson and this is Officer Huxley Ford, Spruce Hill PD. Would you mind answering a few questions for us?”
I blinked at them for a moment before nodding. “Yes, of course,” I replied, sitting up straighter in the bed.
Ford, a short man with a cap of tight auburn curls and a wide, friendly smile, looked vaguely familiar, though probably a few years younger than I was. The detective was a gorgeous Black woman several inches taller than Ford, her dark hair pulled into a no-nonsense bun that matched her expression.
“It was quick thinking on your part, placing that first call. We had already traced it and set out toward you before the second call came through,” Ford said kindly.
I wondered if this would turn into some sort of good cop, bad cop routine, but his sympathy soothed my nerves a bit.
“It would’ve been quicker thinking if I hadn’t dropped it on the floor,” I replied, then frowned until my eyes landed on a clear plastic bag that held my phone and purse.
I eased to my feet, wavering just enough for Ford to catch my elbow, but made it to the bag so I could draw out the phone.
“I got a photo of their plates. Hopefully it’s clear, I didn’t have time for retakes.”
“Well now,” he said, sounding impressed, “I’d say that was the quickest thinking of all. Mind if I get a copy of this?”
I handed the phone to him and sat back down on the bed as he and the detective studied the photo. “How long do we have to stay here?”
Ford looked up. “That’s up to the doctors. We just have a few questions for you first, Ms. Willoughby.”
Hanson asked a slew of what I considered easy questions—where had we been, had I noticed anything suspicious in the last week, how did I know Nico—then watched my face closely when she asked, “Did you recognize the driver of the other vehicle?”
“I couldn’t even see him, not with the tinted windows. I didn’t recognize the car. That’s why I tried to get a photo of the plates.”
“Can you think of any reason why someone would want to hurt either you or Mr. Beaumont?”
I rubbed my eyes, wincing when I accidentally brushed across the tiny bandage over my cheekbone. “My father has made a number of enemies during his career, I’m sure, and it’s likely he may be . . . unhappy with recent news reports.”
“About the Clément painting, you mean? We caught wind of that this weekend. There’s been some public outcry,” Hanson said evenly, but I was well aware of her assessing gaze on my face.
I wished Nico were there to talk through the situation—I knew he would tell me to stick to the truth, but how much should I reveal?
“That’s to be expected when you lie about your possession of a family heirloom that happens to belong to someone else’s family,” I bit off.
Ford’s brows rose. “I don’t suppose you or Mr. Beaumont would know who leaked those photos to the press, would you?” When I remained stubbornly silent, the policeman grinned. “Well, can’t blame a guy for trying.”
“Do you believe your father is behind what happened this afternoon?” Hanson asked.
I gave a long, heavy sigh, shoulders drooping as the air left my lungs. “I don’t know. My father isn’t my biggest fan, but I wouldn’t have thought he’d do anything that might kill me. We got lucky, pure and simple. That crash could’ve ended very differently.”
Lifestyles of the rich and famous,I thought ironically as the two of them glanced at one another. There was a curious but slightly disgusted look on Hanson’s face as she studied me, which had me convinced she was thinking the same thing.
It was another moment before she asked, “But in your opinion, this was an intentional act, not just a careless driver causing an accident?”
I snorted. “Given the number of times the other car rammed us, I can’t imagine it was accidental.”
She nodded and handed me her card. “Give us a call if you think of anything else. We can have someone take you two home after the doctors give the okay, if you need a ride. I’m afraid Mr. Beaumont’s car will be a total loss. If you see anything else suspicious, I want you to call us, Ms. Willoughby. If someone is targeting you two, we need to know.”
I took the card and nodded numbly as a sudden trickle of fear slid through my stomach. Did my father have any sway over the police in town? My brain was too fuzzy to recall.
