The FBI Thrillers Collection by Catherine Coulter Page B

took another look at that lovely park and said, “When Lily was thirteen, she was running a gambling operation in the neighborhood. She would take bets on anything from the point spread in college football games to who could shoot the most three-point baskets in any pro game. Drove my parents nuts. Since my dad was an FBI agent, the local cops didn’t do anything, just snickered a lot. I think they all admired her moxie, but they gave my dad lots of grief about it, called her a chip off the old block.
    “When she hit eighteen, she suddenly realized that she liked to draw and she was very good at it. She’s an artist, you know, very talented.”
    “No, I hadn’t heard.”
    “Actually, her talent comes from our grandmother, Sarah Elliott.”
    “Sarah Elliott? Good grief, the Sarah Elliott, the artist whose paintings are in all the museums?”
    “Yep. Lily’s talents lie in a different direction—she’s an excellent cartoonist, lots of humor and irony. Have you ever heard of the cartoon strip No Wrinkles Remus?”
    Agent Hoyt shook his head.
    “That’s all right. It’s political satire and shenanigans, I guess you could say. She hasn’t done much for the past seven months, since the death of her daughter. But she will, and once she gets herself back together again, I’m sure she’s going to be syndicated in lots of papers across the country.”
    “She’s that good?”
    “I think so. Now, given her talent, her background, can you really believe that she would try to kill herself seven months after her daughter was killed?”
    “A girl who was the neighborhood bookie, then a cartoon strip artist?” Hoyt sighed. “I’d like to say no, I can’t imagine it, Savich, but who knows? Aren’t artists supposed to be high-strung? Temperamental? You said she still can’t remember a thing about the accident?”
    “Not yet.”
    “What are you going to do?”
    “After MAX checks everything out, we’ll see. No matter what, I’m taking Lily back to Washington with my wife and me. I think it’s been proved that Hemlock Bay isn’t healthy for her.”
    “Everything could be perfectly innocent,” Clark Hoyt said. “She could have simply lost control of the car.”
    “Yeah, but you know something? I saw my brother-in-law differently this time. I saw him through Lily’s eyes, maybe. It’s not a pretty sight. I want to strangle him. Actually, I wanted to throw his daddy through the hospital window.”
    Clark Hoyt laughed. “Let me know if there’s anything I can do.”
    “I will, thank you, Hoyt. Count on it. Thanks for the names of the shrinks.”
    Hemlock Bay, California
    On the following Sunday afternoon, four days after her surgery, Lily was pronounced well enough to leave the hospital. She suffered only mild discomfort, because Dr. Larch had stopped by her room, looking determined, and given her some pills to keep the worst of the pain at bay. She still walked bent over like an old person, but her eyes were clear, her mood upbeat.
    Sherlock had wanted to ask Dr. Larch about lowering Lily’s meds temporarily on Dr. Frasier’s orders, but Savich said, “Nope, let’s just hold off on that for a while.”
    “Nothing else good on the tape,” Sherlock said in some disgust as she removed the small bug from beneath Lily’s hospital bed while Lily was in the small bathroom bathing. “Not even doctors or nurses gossiping.”
    Ten minutes later Savich said to his sister as he pushed her wheelchair toward the elevator, “I told Tennyson that Sherlock and I are taking you to see your new shrink. He wasn’t happy about that, said he didn’t know anything about this woman. She could be a rank charlatan and he’d lose all sorts of money, maybe even get you more depressed. I just let him talk on, then gave him my patented smile.”
    “That smile,” Sherlock said, “translates into ‘You mess with me, buddy, and even your toenails are gonna hurt.’”
    “In any case, at the end of all his ranting, there