“Good morning, Jack. How you feeling?”
“Stomach hurts,” I said. Or tried to say. What came out was something that sounded like, “S’hurt.”
“I’ll have the doctor up your morphine.”
I shook my head and tried to say no.
“Thirsty?”
I nodded. Benedict poured me some water from a pitcher and held the glass. I took two sips, and two more sips dribbled down my face.
“Day?” I managed.
“Friday. You’ve been out about twenty-four hours.”
“Olly?”
Herb shook his head.
“Uller?”
“He’s in recovery. I’ll tell you more when you’re feeling better.”
“Ell me.”
“This is how we figured it – lemme know if it’s right. Fuller was holding Holly around the neck. Did you know he had a gun?”
I shook my head.
“He had it pressed to her back, and tried to shoot you through his wife. The slugs ripped through her and got lodged in your stomach muscles. I guess it pays to do sit-ups.”
I grunted. It wasn’t sit-ups. Holly’s body slowed them down, so they didn’t penetrate deep.
“Your round took off part of his head, above his right eye. Mostly skull. The docs picked bone splinters out of his brain for the better part of ten hours. Also, they found something else.”
“What?”
“Fuller had a brain tumor. About the size of a cherry. They removed that as well. He’s in stable condition.”
I mumbled for more water, and we did the slurping/spilling thing again. A small voice whispered to me that I should have shot Fuller immediately, before he had a chance to kill his wife.
“Latham should be back any minute. Went on a burrito run. All of these flowers are from him.”
Herb made a grand, sweeping gesture, and for the first time I noticed all of the bouquets surrounding the bed, replete with stuffed animals and Mylar balloons.
“He hasn’t left your side since you got here, Jack. He’s like Lassie.”
“Case?” I asked. I wasn’t up to talking about Latham.
“Airtight. We found a body in the back of Fuller’s truck. She’s wrapped in plastic, and his prints are all over her, not that it makes a difference at this point. The State’s Attorney is making a case for the two other women, Eileen Hutton and Davi McCormick, plus the Andrewses.”
“Huh?”
“Oh, yeah. You didn’t know. The dealer, and his mother. Both shot. Witnesses saw a large Caucasian man leaving the scene. Fuller was making so many mistakes, it’s almost like he wanted to be caught.”
I took a deep breath, smelling rubbing alcohol and iodine. My arm itched where the IV was jabbed in, and I scratched the skin above the hole. My stomach hurt; not from the inside, like an ulcer, but from the outside, as if someone had kicked me. I pulled down my sheet and pulled my hospital gown to the side. Herb carefully examined his shoes, while I poked and prodded at the large gauze bandage taped to my lower body.
The poking made me realize how badly I needed to go to the bathroom, and I managed to sit up and plant my feet on the floor. The tile was cold.
“Where are you going?”
“Bathroom.”
“I don’t know if you should.”
“You want to cup your hands and hold them next to my knees?”
Herb helped me into the bathroom.
When finished, I was a little dizzy, and held on to the sink until the room stopped twirling. The woman in the mirror looked like hell. Hair, a disaster. Face, scrubbed clean of makeup, letting age and exhaustion shine through. Pallor, not much better than one of Derrick Rushlo’s dates.
So when I stepped out of the bathroom, it was a given that my boyfriend would be standing there.
He was wearing a smile that could charitably be called dopey, and in his hands was yet another floral arrangement, this one blooming from a coffee mug with a rainbow on it.
“Hi, Jack. You look great.”
And I could tell that he meant it.
Maybe it was the drugs, or the pain, or the guilt, but I burst into tears right there. He held me, softly, so as not to hurt me. But I hugged him tight, with everything I had, not ever wanting to let go.
“I’m so happy you’re okay, Jack. I’m sorry I didn’t call you back. I love you.”
I sniffled, making a mess of his sport coat.
“I love you too, Latham. God, I love you too.”
CHAPTER 23
The hottest summer on record eventually fizzled out, easing into autumn’s first frost. One hundred and three degrees to thirty in three short months. It confirmed my belief that the Midwest would be much more hospitable if we moved it six hundred miles south.
It was a chilly Tuesday morning, and Mr. Friskers was clawing the hide off a pumpkin Latham had bought earlier in the week. The cat hadn’t exactly cozied up to me, but he didn’t attack me constantly either. It was more an uneasy alliance than a friendship, but I was grateful for his presence.
The twelve weeks had been tough.
I hadn’t been back to work yet, and even though I was in love with the most patient, decent, understanding man in the northern hemisphere, I felt like I was losing my mind.
“Want some milk, cat?”
Mr. Friskers halted his attack on the intruder gourd and squinted at me. I went to the fridge, found the 2 percent, and poured some into his bowl. He waited until I backed away before stuffing his face.
I yawned, and gave my head a quick shake, trying to dispel the drowsies. I’d fallen into the habit of taking a sleeping pill every night, and the grogginess took time to wear off.
I yawned again, wondered if I was hungry, and when I’d last eaten. Dinner, last night. Two bites of pizza, with Latham. The leftovers were in the fridge, but cold pizza didn’t sound like a good breakfast. I thought about making myself eggs, dismissed it as too difficult, and plodded back into the bedroom and onto the bed.
Picked up the remote. Put it back down. Picked it up again.
Mistake. Channel 5 was on, covering the prelims for the Fuller trial. I switched it off and stared at the ceiling, trying to stop the thoughts from coming.
They came anyway.
“I know,” I said aloud. “I should have pulled the trigger sooner.”
I would have loved to say I was talking to Holly Fuller. A large part of me wished that I
But the truth was, I had a hard time remembering what she looked like. Her face had been replaced with my own.
I didn’t need a shrink degree to know what that meant. When Holly died, I not only disappointed her, but myself as well.
It’s tough being your own worst critic.
Someone knocked on my door, shave-and-a-haircut.
“Can you get that?” I yelled at the cat.
The cat didn’t respond, so I tied my bathrobe closed, forced myself out of bed, and padded to the door.
My mother smiled at me through the peephole.
“Mom!”
I couldn’t open the door fast enough. When I hugged her, I felt like a little girl again, even though I was four inches taller than she was. I buried my nose in her shoulder, smelling the same detergent she’s been using for forty years. She wore a fuzzy white turtleneck and some baggy jeans, and her right hand clenched the hook of an aluminum cane.
“Jacqueline, honey, it’s great to see you.”
“Why didn’t you tell me you were coming?”
“We wanted it to be a surprise.”
I blinked. “We?”
“Hello, Jack.”
The voice made me catch my breath. I stepped away from my mother, looking at the man next to her, holding a single red rose.
“Hello, Alan.”
My ex-husband smiled boyishly at me. The past ten years had been kind. He’d kept his hair, still thick and blond, and his waistline, still trim. There were more lines around his eyes and mouth than I remembered, but he looked almost exactly the same as he did the day he left me.
“Alan was kind enough to pick me up at the airport. We’ve been planning this for about two weeks.”
I cinched my robe tighter, and spoke to my mother while my eyes were on him.
“Mom, maybe you should have told me first.”
“Nonsense. You would have said no.”
“Mom…”
“You’re both adults, Jacqueline. I didn’t think it would be a problem. Now, are you going to invite us in, or are we going to have a reunion in your hallway?”
Alan raised his eyebrows at me, still smiling. I gave him my back and walked into my apartment.
