Fern Michaels: Tuesday’s Child

Sweetie. The only time Kala called him sweetie was when she wanted something she herself couldn’t do or didn’t want to do. He nodded agreeably. He’d lived with Sophie Lee’s ghost for the past ten years just the way Kala had. He’d long ago lost count of the times Kala had dragged him with her to the prison to visit Sophie on visitors’ day until Sophie herself put a stop to it by telling Kala she didn’t want her to visit anymore because it was too painful. Even then, Kala had continued to make the trek to the prison, only to be turned away. The letters that she wrote faithfully were invariably returned. In the end, she had to give up. From that point on, all Kala could do was pray for the young girl she’d come to think of as a daughter.

“Okay, I think I’m going to go home now, Ben. You have things to do. Listen, you won’t hurt my feelings if you want to start off the trip by yourself. I can always join you later.”

“Oh, no, it doesn’t work that way. I’m with you all the way on this one. I’ll drive you home, and we can pick up your car later.”

Outside in the sultry air, Kala looked up at Ben, and said, “This is a good thing, isn’t it, Ben?”

“From Sophie’s point of view, it’s a home run. For Star, not so good. And I don’t have an opinion as yet on Ryan Spenser. This is going to play hell with his run for governor next November. He’s gearing up. He was pressing the flesh big time at your luncheon, trying to drum up support off your reputation. And just for the record, I hate his guts, too. Come along, sweetie, let’s get you home.”

Kala reared back. The only time Ben called her sweetie was when it was time to go to the bedroom. Ben laughed out loud at her expression.

An hour later, Kala had changed her clothes, made a pot of coffee and a sandwich, and carried it out to her shaded deck. The fat cat that she adored snuggled up against her bare ankles and purred so loud it sounded like a tune to Kala’s weary ears. Then he climbed onto her lap and continued to purr. She talked to him the way she always did. He listened the way he always did, then went to sleep as Kala wound down. She still felt woozy from the two double shots of Jim Beam, but she was starting to feel better.

Sophie was going to be set free. Sophie was going to be one rich young woman. Thirty-four years of age still meant she had the best years of her life ahead of her. Yes, she’d lost most of her glorious twenties, but maybe this next decade would somehow make up for it.

Something was bothering her, something she couldn’t quite put her finger on. What? In her mind, she played over every single word Adam Star had said in her office. God, why hadn’t they had the good sense to record that visit? It was something he said. Something that wasn’t in his confession. Dammit, what was it?

Kala reached for the cell phone she was never without and called Jay at the office. “Tell me word for word everything Adam Star said to us in the office. Something is bothering me. Something he said that wasn’t on the DVD.” She listened, her feet tapping the floor of the deck. Shakespeare woke and jumped off her lap, but not before he shot her a withering look.

“That’s it! That’s it! Okay, okay, now call around and see what hospital he’s in or if he’s home. He might even be admitted under another name. Oh, you did that already? He’s in St. Barnabas, room 511. I’m going there right now or as soon as I can get dressed. Call Meg Stallings, the court reporter we use, and tell her to meet me there. If she’s not free, get someone; I don’t care who it is. I want a record of what Adam Star says when I talk to him. If I talk to him. And I want witnesses, too.”

Kala finished her coffee, then poured a second cup in the kitchen as she made her way through the house. She carried the coffee with her to her bedroom, where she stripped down and changed into a pair of white linen slacks with a powder blue shell that showed off her tan. She gave her long black hair a quick brush, piled it on top of her head, finished her coffee, and headed back to the kitchen, where she called for a cab. With four shots of Jim Beam under her belt, she didn’t want to take a chance of getting caught driving while under the influence.

Once Kala arrived at the hospital, it took a solid hour before she could convince the floor nurse and Adam Star’s private nurses that she absolutely had to speak with him, and it was a matter of life or death. Finally, just as the court reporter appeared, the private-duty nurses relented and let them enter the room.

Kala quickly apologized for her impromptu visit and made nice while the court reporter was setting up her little machine. “I just need to ask you something, Mr. Star. You mentioned it at my office, but it wasn’t on the record, and it has to be on the record, Mr. Star. For Sophie Lee’s sake, it just has to be. It’s about what you said concerning Mr. Spenser, the prosecutor.”

Kala looked around at the machines, saw the tubes and bags, and wanted to cry that anyone, it didn’t matter who they were, had to suffer like this. She wondered if the nurses were giving their patient morphine. She asked, and one of the male nurses nodded. How good this statement was going to be would be anyone’s guess if Adam Star was shot full of morphine. She waited while the nurse slipped shaved cubes of ice through the patient’s dry, cracked lips.

“Mr. Star, I need to clarify something you said earlier in my office today.” Quickly, Kala rattled off his admission and his opinion concerning Ryan Spenser. “So what I am asking you now is if everything I just said is a true and accurate statement of what you said in my office a short while ago?”

“Yes, it is a true and accurate statement.”

“Is there anything you would like to add to that statement?”

“No.”

“Then all I can do is thank you. Someone will return in short order with your statement typed out. Will you be able to sign it for a notary, who will also be here, and will your two nurses agree to being witnesses to your signing?”

“Yes.”

“One last thing, is your mind clear even though you are receiving morphine?”

“My mind is as clear as yours right now. Do you want me to describe the furnishings in your office?”

In spite of herself, Kala smiled. “It couldn’t hurt.”

Adam Star rambled on for three minutes, then he sighed and drifted off to sleep.

Kala looked at the stenographer. “I’ll have my partner take pictures of the office in short order to support what Mr. Star just described. Did you get it all?”

“I did. I can have this transcribed and be back here in ninety minutes with a notary and have it dropped off at your home by six this evening.”

“That will be fine. Thanks, Meg.”

Kala wanted to say something to someone but was at a loss. Adam Star was sleeping. Both nurses were busy doing something with bags for IVs, so she patted Star’s hand and left the room. She felt like crying and didn’t know why. Star was paying in the most horrible way imaginable for what he’d done. She had to let it go at that. There was nothing more she could do at the moment.

MIKALA AULANI LOOKED AT HERSELF IN THE MIRROR, MOVING this way, then that way. She decided she still looked as good today, at the age of sixty-two, as she had at the age of fifty. She hadn’t put on any weight because she ate right, did a modicum of exercising, and had the good fortune to be born Hawaiian, one of an undeniably beautiful people. Well, almost all of them were beautiful. Some were actually ravishing.

She looked at her raven black hair and the streaks of gray running through it. Coloring those pesky gray streaks was something she debated every so often, but Ben said he liked them, insisting they made her look more like a goddess. Like a real goddess had gray hair. She snorted at the thought. One good thing about being Hawaiian was that she didn’t have to worry about makeup. Hands on her hips, Kala played with her reflection in the mirror as she adjusted her minty green blouse and matching skirt. She winked at herself, kissed the air, then laughed out loud as she danced under a spray of perfume. There was just no way one could argue with 115 pounds of curves and double eyelashes at the age of sixty-two. Stupid is as stupid does. She laughed again because she knew she looked more than good for her age. Even a bit sexy. Not that she was even one little bit vain. Not her.