I grabbed his upper arm and pulled him toward the closest exit, which happened to be about ten steps away. Billie was still doing her fraught moaning, and Father Pete was speaking to her in low, comforting tones.
By the time we got outside, the ambulance had arrived. Thank God. Craig Miller hurried his pace toward Jack. To my surprise, Lucas Carmichael had magically appeared at Jack’s side, too. He must have heard me yelling at Billie that it was his father who was hurt.
Despite the presence of two paramedics, Craig Miller was able skillfully to take control of the scene. He assessed Jack’s injuries and ordered the medics to get a stretcher and a brace to stabilize Jack’s neck. The medics sprinted back to their vehicle and returned with the stretcher. Boyd, standing over Jack, shook his head. This brought a fresh onslaught of tears down my stinging cheek, although no sound issued from my mouth.
“What happened?” Lucas demanded first of Boyd, who shook his head again, and then of me.
“I don’t know,” I said. “He was moaning. Julian and I heard him, and came over. His scalp is bleeding.”
“His Rolex is missing,” Lucas said to me, his tone angry. “Do you know where it is?”
This time I knew better than to say or do anything. I’d already lost my cool with Billie Attenborough, and the fact that the only thing Lucas could think about was Jack’s expensive watch made me realize once again, for at least the hundredth time since I’d known him, that what Lucas really cared about was his father’s possessions. The brat. Poor Jack, I thought, to have such a grasping materialist for a son—
“They’re taking him now,” Craig announced to Boyd, Lucas, and me.
“I’m going in the ambo,” Lucas announced. “Does he have his wallet? He’ll need his insurance card at the hospital.”
I prayed to God to give me patience with Lucas. But this was just the way he was. Still, Craig Miller called to the medics, who stopped in their tracks with the stretcher.
A moment later, Craig called back to us, “No wallet!”
“Motive was probably robbery,” Boyd said, his tone low. “It might not be here.”
“Oh, look,” Lucas said, reaching down. The wallet was right at his feet. “I’ve got it. Let’s go.”
“Let me come with you,” I begged Lucas.
“I’m family,” Lucas said. He seemed to be savoring the moment, and his superiority over me. “You’re not family. And there’s not enough room in the ambo for all of us.”
“Will you call me?” I pleaded.
Lucas didn’t answer me, but merely hurried along behind the stretcher. Openmouthed, I watched them go.
“Who was that smarmy guy who said he was family?” Boyd wanted to know.
“Jack’s son, Lucas. He’s a creep.”
“No kidding. Was that wallet right there at his feet?” Boyd asked. “’Cuz I didn’t see it when I was here with Jack.”
“I didn’t notice,” I said truthfully, although it did seem a bit coincidental that Lucas had arrived and suddenly found Jack’s wallet right in front of him.
A police car pulled up, lights flashing. Two cops jumped out and called to Boyd, who started walking toward them.
Meanwhile, I turned and trudged slowly back toward the dining hall, Billie Attenborough, and all her guests. I so didn’t want to go back there. And I wished, desperately, that Tom was here.
A glimmer in the muddy grass distracted me. I bent down and saw, barely, the gleam of gold. I didn’t look around to see if the cops were watching me. I just fluffed out my apron and scooped up Jack’s Rolex from the dark spa lawn. Working to appear casual, I stood up, straightened my apron, and dropped the watch into one of its pockets.
Robbery was the motive? I wondered.
16
Somehow, Julian, Yolanda, the servers, and I finished the reception. Billie had left with her mother, one of the servers informed me. Craig Miller and Father Pete had accompanied them.
“They said they were going to Southwest Hospital,” the server said. She gave me a quizzical look. “Why would a bride and groom go to the hospital?”
“Was it the bride’s mother’s idea?” I asked.
“Actually, I think it was. But why wouldn’t you just leave on your honeymoon?”
Because the bride’s mother pulls the strings, I supplied mentally. In this case, Charlotte Attenborough pulled purse strings, as strongly wired as a ship’s ropes. If Charlotte said, “Drive me to the hospital, Billie,” then that was where everyone was going to go.
“Take my keys and go home,” Julian said, once we were down to washing pots and pans. “Wait there for someone to call you about Jack. The cell phone reception out here sucks, so how would you know if someone was trying to call you? We can handle the rest of the cleanup.”
“That’s not what she’s being paid for,” said Victor Lane, who’d swished through the kitchen doors.
“Victor,” said Yolanda, pointing a crimson-painted fingernail at him. “You want me to keep working for you? I did all this wedding, no charge. Now, let Goldy go. This man who was hurt on your property? He’s family for her. I know you don’t want to upset the family of someone who was hurt on your property.”
Victor heard the threat in Yolanda’s words, the threat that a family member might sue him for allowing someone to be hurt on spa property. Victor seemed to waver for a minute, then looked at me defiantly. “I’m going to have to tell Billie Attenborough that you left before everything was cleaned up.”
“Victor!” exclaimed Yolanda.
“No, that’s fine, Victor,” I said, my voice flat. “Tell her. Tell Billie all about it, I don’t mind.” I would be so happy if I never had to work for Billie Attenborough again, in any capacity.
“What did you do to your cheek?” Victor demanded, staring at me. “Did you hurt yourself on spa property? And while we’re at it, could you please tell me what you were doing yesterday, when you were looking through the glass into the Smoothie Cabin?”
“I told you. I was searching for Jack,” I said. “He was inside the Smoothie Cabin with Isabelle, as you no doubt noticed when you checked the film.”
“Jack is her family,” Yolanda said. “He’s the one who’s been seriously injured on your property, and now he’s on his way to the hospital. And you’re asking her a bunch of questions? Why don’t you let her go, and let us finish here?”
Victor was unmoved. “I want to know what you did to your cheek.” His tone was still stubborn.
“I didn’t do anything to my cheek,” I replied. “Billie the bride did that.”
“Christ,” said Victor Lane.
I ignored him and stalked out. Meanwhile, Yolanda was peppering Victor with reasons why he should just leave, so she could prepare the kitchen for the new guests coming in that morning, actually, since it was past midnight. I didn’t wait to hear a reply. Victor Lane was a pill, but my money was on Yolanda in any conflict.
“Wait. Maybe I should come with you,” Julian said from behind me.
“You gave me your keys. You don’t need to baby me, big J.”
“Yeah, and what if the same person who attacked Jack attacks you? Then Tom really would kill me. Which wouldn’t work for his career, him being a homicide cop and all.”
Outside, a gentle rain had begun to fall. The cops had cordoned off the area where we’d found Jack. They’d set up a spotlight that shone in the mist. An investigator was talking to one of the valets. Should I tell them about the Rolex? Probably. But I didn’t. I wanted to tell Tom.
“You have your cell?” Julian asked.
I felt in my other apron pocket, the one that didn’t have a fifty-thousand-dollar watch in it. “Yup.” I rummaged in my purse, and handed Julian the keys to the van. “Thanks for loaning me your Rover.”
“No sweat. Soon as you get out on the road, you should get good reception. I’d feel better if you called Tom and told him you were on your way.”
“All right. Jeez, Julian, you’re as bad as he is.”
