Daddy's Girl by Lisa Scottoline Page B

Mrs. Cracy said, “We keep the lights off because Barb gets migraines when she’s under stress. It’s the second door, up ahead.”
    “Poor thing. How terrible.”
    “She’s had them since she was a little girl. Light is a big no-no. No caffeine or chocolate, either.” Mrs. Cracy continued down the hall, and Nat almost bumped into her when the older woman stopped short and opened a door. “Barb, honey?” she whispered. Over Mrs. Cracy’s shoulder, Nat could see that the bedroom looked unusually dark, with blackout shades drawn almost all the way down, flanked by white sheers.
    “Yeah, Ma?” a weak voice said.
    “She’s here. How’re you?”
    “Good, so far. It’s holding off. Let her come in. Are the kids okay?”
    “They’re fine. That Game Boy is worth every penny.”
    “Can I see her? She’s there?”
    “Right here.” Mrs. Cracy put a gentle hand on Nat’s elbow and guided her forward.
    “Hi, Barb. I’m Nat Greco.” She entered the bedroom, feeling completely intrusive.
    “Come on in. I’m the Princess of Darkness.” Barb Saunders propped herself up on two pillows on a king-size bed, in a formless gray sweatsuit. She finger-raked her short light hair in the darkness. “Mom, you can go. Thanks.”
    “You need more water, honey?”
    “Got plenty.” Barb motioned to Nat. “Please, come in. I’d turn on a lamp but I get migraines. I’m trying to hold one off.”
    “I’m so sorry.” Nat entered the room, hovering by the bed as the door closed softly behind her. The bedroom was simply furnished, with an oak chest of drawers on the left wall and a long mirror above it. Photos and a brown jewelry box sat on the dresser, a man’s white T-shirt spilled from a plastic hamper onto the shaggy rug, and a child’s plastic helicopter lay on its side nearby. A roll of toilet paper sat on the bed and wads of it dotted the floral bedspread. Nat didn’t want to think about how long Barb Saunders had been crying. She said, “I hate to bother you today. So soon.”
    “No, please. You’re the only one I wanted to see. As soon as I heard about you, I was praying you’d call.” Barb gathered the toilet paper balls and patted the bed beside her. “Would you mind sitting here? My head hurts too much to sit up.”
    “This is fine. Don’t bother yourself.” Nat perched awkwardly on the edge of the bed. In the dim light she could see the roundish face of a pretty woman, with puffy eyes, maybe blue, and a small, upturned nose that also looked slightly swollen. Her mouth was a Cupid’s bow, drawn with grief at the corners. “I’m so sorry about your loss.”
    “Thanks. Oh…boy.” Barb’s hand went to her forehead, and Nat could see her wincing in the dark, her forehead buckling in apparent pain.
    “Are you okay?”
    “Hold on. Are you wearing perfume?”
    “Yes.” Nat didn’t have to think. She always wore perfume. Today, her Sarah Jessica Parker.
    “Oh no.” Barb held her forehead again and eased back onto the pillows.
    “What. What is it?”
    “Smells like that, they help bring it on.”
    “Your migraine? Oh, no! I’m so sorry.” Nat jumped up instantly, backing away. “Maybe this isn’t the best time. I can come back.”
    “But I want…to talk to you. I just want to hear how…it was for him, at the end. You were with him, right? At the end? I mean…the very end?”
    “Yes, I was with him.” Nat felt stricken, standing off from the bed. Could she do one damn thing right? “Listen, I think I should come back.”
    Barb let out a low moan, in frustration and pain. “I waited too long to take the Imitrex, and now it’s not working.”
    “This is too much of a strain. Let’s not do this now. Let me come back another day. Whenever you want me to. I want to talk to you, too.”
    “Tomorrow’s the viewing, then the funeral. But how about the day after that?”
    “Sure, fine.” Nat would find the time. She’d be here. The toy helicopter. The widow in pain. Saunders’s