“I guess not. Thanks for the update, Chief.” The call ended, and Cain turned to tell Jenny what the chief had said, but her phone rang before he got the chance.
Jenny looked down at the screen. “It’s Nolan.” She greeted him and listened, probably getting the same information as Cain.
“I’m so glad to hear Leslie’s going to be okay,” Jenny said into the phone. “Is she able to have visitors?” She nodded. “That’s good. Thank you so much for letting me know.”
“Good news,” Cain said as the call ended. Clearly, the chief had spared her the details of Santana’s death, for which Cain was grateful.
“The chief says Leslie Owens is awake. I need to talk to her, Cain. I need to know what happened in that room.”
He frowned. “The police won’t like you interfering in their investigation.”
Ignoring him, Jenny brought up Google on her cell phone. “It’s still visiting hours at the hospital. I’m driving down to Cottonwood to see Leslie. I’m hoping she’ll tell me what happened.”
He felt a pang, knowing Jenny had taken the murder personally, believing it was somehow her fault. “You know what happened, love. Leslie killed the man who attacked her.”
“I want to know why he attacked her, how it happened. I read something in one of the journals today. Something that might be important.”
He frowned. “You read something that happened in room ten?”
“Yes. It was years ago, before Uncle Charlie closed that section of the hotel. I’ll tell you about it when I get back from the hospital. I don’t want to miss the chance to see Leslie.”
“I’ll drive you. You can tell me about it on the way.”
“What about your grandmother? I thought you’d be having dinner with her since it’s her first night here.”
“I was hoping you and I could both have dinner with her, but she’s used to my unpredictable schedule. We’ll do it tomorrow night instead.”
“Okay, if you’re sure.”
“I’m sure this is going to be an interesting evening. Grab your purse, and let’s go.”
* * *
Jenny sat in the passenger seat of Cain’s silver Dodge truck as he drove down the mountain toward the Verde Valley Medical Center in Cottonwood.
She had given Cain a brief description of what was written in the journal. He appeared unimpressed.
“So this passage you read . . . some woman wrote about the night she had spent in the hotel.”
“That’s right.” The journal was in her purse, but she wasn’t ready to share the actual words. She wasn’t quite sure why.
“You said her husband got violent and tried to choke her.”
“Mary Dennison. Her husband’s name was Don.”
“All right. Then Don woke up and begged her to forgive him. Mary said it was totally out of character for him to behave that way.”
“That was the general drift. She said her husband had never acted that way before. She said it was as if another man had invaded her husband’s body. Those were her words. She said his eyes looked black and empty. That he didn’t even look like the same man.”
Cain kept his gaze on the road, his hands on the wheel as the truck took the long grade down the mountain to the flat desert lands below. The sleeves of his shirt were rolled up to the elbows, exposing the tattoo on his left arm.
It was a crossed pick and shovel beneath a skull wearing a hard hat. A miner’s tattoo, for sure. She wanted to know the story behind it, but it never seemed the right time to ask.
“So what are you thinking?” he said. “That there was some sort of entity in the room that was responsible for the attack on Don Dennison’s wife?”
She could hear the disbelief in his voice. Maybe that was the reason she hadn’t read the passage aloud.
“I don’t know. Maybe. I want to hear what Leslie Owens has to say.”
