In Harm's Way

by E J Kindred

  Truth was, I was angry because they were right.

  “Fuck,” I muttered, and took another drink.

  Dean had come into the conference room, wondering why he’d been invited. As I told him about the fire at my dad’s shop and the aftermath, including my status as a suspect in Nicky’s death, I saw his expression go from friendly to unsure to enraged. I told him, as persuasively as I could, that I wasn’t guilty and hadn’t killed anyone, but all he could say was that his witness had lied to him and withheld important information.

  And he was right.

  He informed me in an icy tone that the district attorney would be in touch if my testimony about finding Doctor Wentworth’s body was needed. He shook hands with Beth and Patrick and left without another word.

  And then the fun really started. Beth and Patrick took turns informing me what a waste of space I was, that I’d set western civilization back a thousand years, that I was the best reason they’d ever seen for contraception, and that I was clearly in need of a chaperone. They didn’t use those words, but they might as well have. I had retreated to Grandma’s place feeling like a whipped dog.

  I drained the bottle in my hand and got up to get another from the fridge. The phone rang.

  “Go away,” I said, slurring a little. Good thing I didn’t have to drive anywhere. Still, I checked the screen and answered the call. “Hi Rachel.”

  “Annie? Are you drunk?”

  “Working on it. Care to join me?”

  Rachel and I had been friends since I did a temp job at the clinic where she worked as a veterinarian. She’d treated Shadow for me a time or two before I moved to Charbonneau.

  “Have you had dinner?” she asked.

  “Yes, carefully brewed by the fine artisans in Golden, Colorado.”

  “That’s what I thought,” she said, laughing. “Stay put. I’m taking you out for real food, and you can tell me what sorrows you’re drowning this time.”

  An hour later, we were seated in a corner booth at a local restaurant known for serving breakfast twenty-four hours a day.

  “Get pancakes,” Rachel said over the top of the enormous laminated menu. “Soak up as much of the alcohol as possible.”

  “I am getting pancakes,” I said in a snippy tone. “But only because I love pancakes.”

  “Whatever works.” She went back to reading.

  “Want some company?” A tall, muscular woman stood at the end of our table, a wide grin on her face.

  “Sally!” I slid out of the booth and gave her a clumsy hug. “Sit. Have breakfast with us.”

  “You’re right,” Sally said to Rachel. “She’s drunk again.” She gave a mock sigh of frustration. “Whatever will we do with her?”

  “Fuck you both,” I said with a smile. Being with my friends again felt good.

  Conversation waned as we decided what to eat. Once the server poured coffee and took our orders, they turned on me.

  “Okay, Velasquez, spill it,” Sally said.

  “Yeah, we haven’t heard from you in ages. Are you still living in that little hick town?”

  I filled them in as best I could between the arrival of our food and visits by the server to refill coffee cups. They already knew about the fire and the details of my dad’s death, especially Sally, who was one of the firefighters there that day. She’d helped to pull me away from his body and out of the still smoldering building. Rachel had known Nicky and was aware she’d been found shot to death.

  They were both patiently sympathetic until I said, “But the other part is that the cops think I did it.”

  Their astonished protests felt good and made me regret having neglected our friendships when I ran away to Charbonneau. I waved them into silence.

  “There’s a new detective on the case, and Patrick thinks she’s more on my side than the other cops. She won’t say so outright, but I’m hoping.”

  “How is Patrick doing, anyway?” Rachel tried to sound casual, but she’d always had a crush on him, which he never seemed to notice.

  “As much of a pain in the ass as ever,” I said with a laugh. And then I grew serious. “Actually, none of us are too good right now.”

  I told them about Grandma Natalie’s collision. Both of my friends had met her, and they loved her on sight just like everyone else did. Something about my motorcycle-riding grandmother drew people to her.

  “And she’s still unconscious?” With her background as an emergency medical technician, Sally knew enough to be concerned.

  “They’ve been keeping her sedated. Her internal injuries were serious, but it’s been three days, so I hope they’ll let her wake up soon. She had a friend with her, but she was a lot luckier, with just a broken leg and a few scrapes and bruises.”

  “Wait.” Sally put a hand on my arm. “I think I heard about this. Was it a hit and run, a guy in a truck?”

  “Yes.” I tried not to picture the crash, metal rending, bodies flying.

  “I heard someone chased him down and held him until the police arrived.”

  “Two guys, and I guess they roughed him up when they caught him. I haven’t met them, but I’d like to.”

  “No wonder you’re in a funk,” Rachel said. “Poor Natalie.”

  “Oh, that’s not all.” I told them about Doctor Wentworth’s murder, how I’d found his body, how Mo was still missing, and all of the complications that followed, including the tongue-lashing I’d gotten earlier in the day.

  “Jeez,” Sally said, “no wonder you were drinking. After all that, I’d be at the nearest brewery with a funnel in my mouth.”

  We ate in companionable silence for a time. With all the talking, my eggs had gotten cold, but it didn’t matter. I was with my friends.

  “What are you going to do?” Rachel peered at me over the rim of her coffee mug.

  “I’m almost moved in at Grandma Natalie’s house. She kept asking me to move in, and now she’ll need someone to take care of her while she recovers. After that, I’ll find a job somewhere. I was thinking I could do housekeeping at a hotel or somewhere, have a regular paycheck for a change.”

  “I didn’t mean it that way,” Rachel said. She glanced at Sally, who chimed in.

  “If the Charbonneau cop thinks your friend killed the good doctor, and you have good reason to believe he’s wrong, what are you doing to help her?”

  I sat back and looked at them in turn. “Didn’t you hear me? The detective is seriously pissed off with me and certainly doesn’t want my help any more. He thinks my problems here would taint his case, and I’m not sure he’s wrong about that. I’m in no position to do anything.”

  Sally asked, “Does he still think Mo killed the doctor and absconded to parts unknown?”

  “I think so.”

  “The question remains,” Rachel said. “What are you going to do?”

  Chapter Eight

  The next morning, I drove to Charbonneau. I’d agreed to keep cleaning for the Brownlees during Ada’s recuperation. She was getting around with crutches, but of course Hal wanted her to use the wheelchair. I was happy to help. They never failed to lift my spirits, which these days were, as my dad, a Mexican cowboy at heart, would have said, draggin’ lower than a grasshopper’s belly button. I was grateful for the work, too, since I’d quit the rest of my clients.

  As I drove, I replayed the previous evening in my mind. Rachel and Sally were good friends, and I regretted not keeping in touch with them after I moved away. I had no excuse; I was in Portland frequently to see Grandma Natalie and spend time with Joe and Patrick. Sally and Rachel seemed to understand my need to grieve my father in relative solitude, which only confirmed in my mind they were friends worth keeping.

  What had kept me awake most of the night was Rachel’s question: What are you going to do?

  What, indeed?

  I was glad to see Ada doing well. She asked about Grandma Natalie, whether she had regained consciousness yet, and how the rest of us were holding up. Hal hovered over her like a
nervous mother hen until she shooed him away.

  “Leave me alone, old man. Can’t you see I’m visiting with Annie? I swear, I’m getting you a puppy so you’ll have someone to pester besides me.” She beckoned to me when he wasn’t looking and whispered, “Don’t tell him I said so, but he’s spoiling me rotten and I love it.”

  Just for fun, I said with exaggerated enthusiasm, “Hal, I know a breeder who has some Saint Bernard puppies due soon.”

  Hal looked worried until he saw I was joking.

  After I’d vacuumed and dusted their home, I made lunch for them and prepared the ingredients they’d need for dinner. I wrote instructions for Hal so he could pop the pan into the oven, no muss, no fuss. I gave Ada a hug and Hal a smooch on the cheek and left to meet Lupe and Sharon at the diner.

  Lunch with my friends was a good antidote for the stress I was carrying with me. Reconnecting with Lupe and Sharon was just as fun as my time with Rachel and Sally. We laughed and enjoyed each other’s company and ganged up on Freddy when she refused yet again to give me her pastrami recipe.

  “But Freddy,” I said, giving her my best sad puppy face. “I’m moving away. You may never see me again. Don’t you want to give me a goodbye present?”

  “Bullshit,” she retorted. “You’ll only be forty minutes down the road, so quit acting as if you’re falling off the edge of the planet.”

  “Spheres don’t have edges, Freddy,” Sharon said, which earned free chocolate ice cream for all of us.

  Of course, our visit wasn’t all fun and games. They asked about Grandma Natalie and said all the right things in response. They hadn’t met her, but I knew they wished her well.

  I tapped Lupe on the arm. “And how’s life back at the ranch?” I was happy to never have to lay eyes on Number Four again, but I wanted to make sure that Lupe was doing well.

  Lupe scooped up a bite of ice cream. “About the same, actually. No parties or anything, but the doc’s kids still come around. She did buy herself a new car. You should see it, a fire-engine red sports car. The way she drives, she’ll be lucky if she doesn’t kill herself or someone else. And she goes into Portland several times a week.” She shrugged one shoulder, as if to say “no accounting for rich folks.”

  “Kicking up her heels, is she?” I asked. “Maybe that’s to be expected. I imagine she inherited the house and a pile of cash, so why not?”

  “That’s not what I heard. Word around the place is that the house and acreage have been in the family since Charbonneau was settled, and by family tradition, it has to pass to blood relatives. If that’s true—”

  “She’ll be out,” I finished. “Interesting. I hope he left the whole works to Eric. Lord knows he deserves it, the way she treated him.”

  After we parted, I went by the apartment for the last of my things. I’d decided the key to moving books was small boxes, but they were still cumbersome. I was surprised to find that I’d filled sixteen boxes with books. They filled the entire back of my car, making me even more grateful to my grandmother for her generous gift. After giving my keys to the landlord, I headed home.

  I took the road fronting the Wentworth property, simply because it was more scenic than my usual route. I also wanted to see the old barn and contemplate yet again the unknown family who had built it.

  I was almost to the Wentworth property when a red car flew out the gate and turned toward Portland. The sports car had to be Elise’s newest toy. I could see what Lupe meant about how she drove. She hadn’t appeared to check for traffic before she emerged from between the massive stone pillars supporting the front gates, and though I was driving faster than the posted speed limit, she left me behind, disappearing around a curve with a wisp of smoke from her tires.

  “Never a cop around when you need one,” I said aloud, and laughed at myself. My dealings with the police recently hadn’t been pleasant, but the old saying came to me automatically anyway.

  I was almost to the city limits when my phone rang. I pressed the steering wheel button to activate the hands-free connection.

  “Hey Joe, what’s up?”

  “Where are you?”

  “On my way home from Charbonneau with the last of my stuff. Hey, I thought you were going to help me load books.” Then the tone of his voice sunk in. “Wait a sec, you sound stressed. Is Grandma Natalie okay?”

  “Get a move on, Annie. She’s waking up.”

  Elise Wentworth’s fancy new ride couldn’t have beat me to the hospital. I parked in the first spot I saw and bolted through the sliding doors into the lobby.

  Too impatient to wait for an elevator, I ran up three flights of stairs to the ICU. Patrick and Joe were standing outside Grandma Natalie’s room, accompanied by the doctor we’d spoken with before. I joined them and tried to catch my breath.

  “Okay, what’s happening?” I asked.

  Doctor Bhattacharya turned to me. “I’m glad you made it. Remember we said we’d be reducing Natalie’s sedation?”

  I held my breath, anticipating his next words.

  “It took a little longer than we’d hoped, but she’s starting to come around. It’s good you’re here because she’ll probably be somewhat disoriented, and familiar voices will help.”

  Just then, a nurse came out of her room and said, “It might be best if you went in one at a time and only for a few minutes. Leave the curtains pulled closed for now, to keep things quiet.”

  I didn’t hesitate. “Me first.”

  Treading as lightly as I could, I slipped through the opening between the heavy drapes and went into the room. I pulled a chair close and sat in my usual spot next to her bed and took her hand. At first, she didn’t respond, but I’d grown accustomed to sitting with her like that.

  After a few moments, her fingers twitched and her head turned slightly toward me, her eyes still closed. I rose to my feet, still holding her hand between both of my own.

  “Grandma?” I whispered. “Can you hear me?”

  Her jaw worked, as if she were thirsty, but her eyes remained closed. I dabbed her lips with the foam applicators that the nurses gave me. In response, her tongue licked at the moisture.

  I held my breath, afraid to break the spell.

  Her eyes opened, slits at first and then wider. She scanned the room, and then she looked directly at me.

  “Annie?” Her voice was hoarse.

  “Yes, Grandma, I’m here.” My own voice broke as I tried not to cry, but a tear slipped down my face nonetheless.

  “My Annie.” It was a statement this time. She closed her eyes again but gripped my hand tightly to her heart.

  I stood still for a long moment, loath to take my hand away, and let the happiest tears I’d ever cried run down my face.

  Doctor Bhattacharya entered the room, followed by Joe and Patrick. My brother took up his position on the opposite side of the bed and held her other hand. Patrick stood next to him.

  After a few moments, the doctor asked us to step outside, and we gathered around him after the door was closed.

  I spoke first. “She’s okay, isn’t she?”

  “I think she’ll be fine. She’s still facing a long recovery, but she obviously has wonderful family support.”

  “And her head?” I was still worried about the possibility of brain damage after such a severe collision.

  “We haven’t seen any signs that worry us, but we’ll do another CT scan while she’s recovering. I doubt there’s anything to be concerned about, but we’ll do what we can to make sure.”

  He left to check on other patients. The nurse, the same one who had stroked Grandma Natalie’s hair not long ago, came in and warned us not to stay too long. “Your grandmother needs to rest.”

  We stood like that, not talking, not moving, for a long moment, until Grandma Natalie opened her eyes again. She tried to smile when she saw us, but then she looked worried.

  “How’s Ada?” She said. “Was she hurt?”

  “She’s doing fine, Grandma,” I said. “Her worst i
njury was a broken leg. She’s home tormenting Hal now. You saved her, you know.”

  She took a deep breath and relaxed. “I’m glad she’s okay.” Her eyes closed for a moment, and then popped wide open. She grabbed my arm. “Wait! How’s my bike?”

  That’s when we knew Grandma Natalie would be fine.

  Over the next few days, my grandmother’s strength grew. She was soon moved from the ICU to a regular patient room. Her roommate was a woman about her age, also recovering from surgery. After the first day, the nursing staff dubbed it the Party Room, since the occupants seemed to have a grand time keeping each other entertained. The other woman’s family members were concerned that she wasn’t getting enough rest, but before long, they’d joined in the fun.

  I visited Grandma Natalie the afternoon she was moved to the new room. Someone had brought in an old boombox, which was playing Elvis Presley tunes. What appeared to be twenty helium balloons hovered near the ceiling.

  “Annie,” she called when she saw me. “Come on in and say hi to Liz. She’s nice, even if she is short a uterus these days.”

  “Hey,” Liz said. “At least I didn’t leave my guts all over the street.”

  Grandma Natalie stuck her tongue out at her new friend, as a child would, and they both cracked up laughing. I stood there, dumbstruck. Was this the same woman who’d been unconscious for four days? Were the doctors positive she didn’t have brain damage from the collision?

  “Grandma, you’re supposed to be resting. Where did all of these balloons come from?”

  “It’s the funniest thing. I commented to one of the aides how much I like balloons, and pretty soon, all of the nurses and the aides and a few of the ladies who bring us food showed up with bunches of them. Doctor Bhattacharya brought the purple one. Aren’t they fun? And Liz’s grandson brought music to listen to, though I wish he’d brought some Maroon Five instead. Elvis is for old folks, right, Liz?”