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“Okay, then tell me what to grab from your closet for you while you wash up.”
“Thank you,” she said, grateful for his calm steadiness.
Twenty minutes later, they were in the car and on their way. Inone hand Sloane held the smoothie Whit had asked Athena to prepare; in the other, her phone. Sloane felt numb, her mind racing. Her cheeks were wet with tears as she continued to repeat a silent prayer that Rosemary would recover. “Should I call Emmy?” she asked Whit.
“Not yet. Let’s wait until we have more news. There’s nothing she can do from California. It will only worry her.”
“I guess you’re right.”
Sloane noticed she had a text message. She swiped and read.
“Whit, she sent me a message last night.”
He turned to look at her. “Who?”
“Rosemary. Something about Athena not being who she says she is.”
“What? That makes no sense.”
“I have a voicemail too.”
Sloane listened to it with growing concern. “Again, it’s about Athena. She said that’s not her real name.” A thought seized her. “Whit, do you think Athena could be the one who attacked Rosemary? She was off last night.”
“Sloane, come on! That’s crazy. Let’s wait and see what Camille says when we get there.”
When they reached the waiting room, Camille sprang up and ran to them.
“How is she?” Sloane asked her, breathless from the walk down the long hallway.
“Still in surgery.” Camille wiped her eyes, looking drawn and pale.
“I’m so sorry! I can’t believe this. Do the police know anything yet? Do they have any idea who did this?” Sloane asked, Whit at her side.
Camille shook her head. “Both Lawrence and Faye said they saw a figure in black. Neither of them got a good look. The police said whoever it was jammed the house security cameras.”
“How did they do that?” Sloane asked.
“I don’t understand it. But something about a Wi-Fi jammer, and nothing got recorded.”
“Was it a robbery?” Whit asked.
“Nothing was taken from the house. It looks like a random attack. She was struck on the head several times, but that’s all they know. The detective left me his card. Said he’d be in touch.”
“This is unbelievable,” Sloane said. “What did the doctor say about her condition?”
“The blows to her head caused a bleed—and the Coumadin made it worse. When you’re on a blood thinner, any head trauma can be deadly. They said after the surgery there would be brain swelling, so they’ll keep her in a medicated coma, then do another CT scan to monitor her. She’ll be on a ventilator.” Camille began to cry again.
Sloane squeezed Camille’s hand. “Your mother is strong, and we need to be strong for her as well. Come, let’s sit down.” As the three of them sat, an older woman with silver hair was escorted out the double doors, and Sloane realized it was Congresswoman Faye Chambers. She had a bandage on her forehead. She rose to greet her.
“Sloane, dear. So sorry to see you under these circumstances.”
“Are you all right?” Camille asked.
Faye nodded. “They did a CAT scan to be sure, but it’s just a bump on the head. The doorbell rang, and like a fool, I didn’t think, I just opened it. Someone dressed in black with a mask on rushed in and pushed me. That’s the last thing I remember until Lawrence was standing over me.” Faye pursed her lips and looked at Camille. “I was going to call you, Camille. The reason I went over there was to discuss some concerns your mother had, but I also wanted to check on her. She’s not been herself lately. Confused at times. Even paranoid.”
Sloane was shocked. “What do you mean?”
“She’s missed quite a few of our garden club meetings, and whenI’ve called to inquire after her, she says she’s forgotten. Over the past year she’s often called me with theories about conspiracies.” She looked at Sloane and sighed. “I’m afraid she’s quite suspicious of your husband. I think Robert’s death hit her much harder than we all realize.”