looking chagrined. “Sorry.”
“I hear Dom has Hoover?”
“He does. The two of them were getting on quite nicely the last I saw them. In fact, I think Dom might try to dognap Hoover if you’re not careful.” His expression turns serious. “I heard that the fire was arson.”
I nod.
“Do they have any idea who or why?”
I shake my head. “Not that I’m aware of. The only person I know of who’s ever wished David dead is me.”
“I’ve heard that adage about a woman scorned, but burning down your house with your husband in it does seem rather extreme,” Izzy teases. He reaches through my side rail and squeezes my arm. “They said you saved David’s life.”
“I did what anyone would have done under the circumstances. But I’m not sure it was enough. They said he’s unresponsive.”
“Not anymore,” says a voice behind the curtain to my right. A second later Syph enters my cubicle with a big smile on her face. “David just woke up.”
“Is he okay?”
“He’s alert and oriented, though understandably groggy.”
“Thank goodness.” I breathe a sigh of relief.
“Don’t relax too much,” Syph says with a devious smile. “Despite the fact that he’s physically okay, I think he suffered some serious brain damage because the first thing he asked for was you.”
Chapter 24
Izzy instructs me to call him when I need a ride home and then disappears. As Syph helps me out of bed, I learn that I’ve broken two toes on my right foot, though I don’t know if it happened when I tripped over the tree root running through the woods or when I fell down the stairs with David in tow. I also feel a painful pull in my left hip and when I reach down to touch the area, I feel a neat little row of stitches.
“You cut yourself,” Syph explains. “The firemen said they thought you did it on a small glass shard that was stuck in the frame when you went through the basement window.” I recall the stinging sensation I felt there when I was trying to squeeze my butt through. “It took a few stitches but it was a clean cut. It should heal up fine.”
I settle into a wheelchair, sitting on my right side to favor the left hip, and let Syph steer me over to David’s room.
“I just gave him some Ativan, so don’t be surprised if he starts to fade on you,” Syph warns.
As we push aside the curtain around David’s bed, he manages a little finger wave. There is a fine dusting of soot on him that has him looking and smelling like a charcoal briquette.
“How are you feeling?” I ask.
“They tell me you saved my life,” he says, a total non sequitur.
“Actually it was the firemen.”
“Thass not what I heard,” he says with a beatific smile, his speech slurring. He blinks his eyes very slowly, clearly struggling to reopen them. “Any i-dee it started?” he mumbles.
“I haven’t heard,” I lie, figuring there’s still plenty of time to let him know someone might have wanted him dead. And as I watch his head loll to one side, I figure it’s unlikely he’ll remember anything I say to him now anyway.
“Is he going to be released?” I ask Syph.
“Not yet. They’re going to admit him to ICU for a while to keep an eye on his respiratory and neuro status. But if all goes well, there’s no reason he shouldn’t be home in plenty of time for Thanksgiving.”
I leave David to his Ativan dreams and after hanging out for another hour in my own bed, I check myself out of the ER at eight in the morning and use the ER phone to call Izzy for a ride. He arrives ten minutes later, looking concerned.
“I’m worried about you, Mattie,” he says as we settle into his car. It takes me a minute longer to get in because I have to contort myself like some rubber-jointed circus performer in order to squeeze into his front seat. The task is more difficult than usual thanks to the gigantic flat-footed shoe I’m wearing to protect my damaged toes, which makes walking less painful but gives me a Frankensteinish gait. By the time I’m in the car, my broken toes are throbbing like a toothache.
“You look pretty peaked,” Izzy says.
“I’m okay. I’m just tired, and in pain.”
“And no doubt a bit spooked as well. This arson thing is pretty scary.”
“Yes, it is.”
“Well, I want you to take today off and get some rest,” he insists. “In fact, take a couple of days. Enjoy the Thanksgiving holiday and I’ll see you in the office on Friday. Arnie can cover for you until then.”
“Thanks. I’ll take the time off, but I doubt I’ll enjoy the holiday very much. I’m having dinner at my mother’s house.”
“I can relate,” he says, and I know he’s thinking about his own holiday meal plans. “If it’s any consolation, I’d rather be doing your dinner.”
“No, you wouldn’t. David’s been invited too.”
“Oh. That should prove interesting.” He pauses and then adds, “Okay, you win.”
Izzy parks in the drive, not bothering to pull into his garage since he’s heading for the office. The day has dawned crisp, clear, and cool—a beautiful November morning—but when I crawl out of Izzy’s car, I detect the lingering stench of burnt wood and plastic in the air, a reminder of the devastation next door. I wave to Izzy as he leaves, then turn to find Hoover and Dom standing in the back doorway of Izzy’s house. Hoover barks and runs over to greet me with his tail wagging happily, and he licks my hands when I reach down to pet him.
“Want some breakfast?” Dom offers.
Hoover yips his approval—apparently he’s become as much a fan of Dom’s cooking as I have—but my mind is muddled and weary, and all I want to do is go off by myself for a while so I can think. “Thanks, but I’m going to pass for now,” I tell Dom. “I need some sleep.”
Dom looks disappointed, but I note it’s Hoover he’s looking at. I’m starting to worry that people like my dog better than me.
As soon as I’m safely ensconced inside my cottage, I swallow some ibuprofen and curl up on the couch with my broken-toed foot propped on a pillow. Though I’m exhausted, I’m too pent up and in too much pain to sleep. As I ponder the whole incident with the fire and all the deaths that have occurred, my mind reels with trying to make sense of it all. I wonder where, when, and how it will all end and I feel like a captive, spellbound and helpless as I wait for the next catastrophe to strike. The nasty burnt smell outside has permeated the walls of the cottage and, between it and my sense of impending doom, I feel an overwhelming need to escape.
After an hour or so the ibuprofen has made the pain much better but it has also left my empty stomach feeling like someone is drilling a hole in it. I take a shower, dry my hair, put on some clothes, and then get into the hearse with Hoover. Making mental apologies to Dom, I head out to get myself some breakfast and a reward for Hoover for his heroic behavior. A quick turn at the drive-through at McDonald’s earns me some curious stares when I get to the food window—no doubt because of the hearse and my request for “two orders of bacon for my friend in the back.”
I park in the lot long enough for Hoover to snort down his bacon while I enjoy a sausage biscuit and some orange juice. As I munch, I again reflect on the events of the past few days, running all the facts over in my mind. I’ve got two dead bodies, both with close ties to Hurley, and an attempt on David’s life. While I suppose it’s
