“Sure. You have a mega-spat with Zack? You want to move into my apartment for permanent?”
“I’m not sure exactly what I want.”
“Better calm down. How about trying my place a few days for size? Wouldn’t hurt my heart to see you dump Zack Shipton. That guy doesn’t like me—probably hates my guts.”
“Could I move in today?”
“Lusk’s my Realtor. Better run your plans by her. See if it’s okay with the apartment owner if I take in a friend or sublet the place. Don’t want to risk doing anything that might call undue attention to me and jinx the witness protection deal.”
“Would you call her for me, Mitch?”
“No way. I gave you prime time this morning. Right now some pals are going with me on another search for Wizard. Got no time for phone chitchat. Just call Lusk and tell her I said the subletting deal’s okay with me.”
Mitch broke our connection. Just call Lusk. Ha. Just call Lusk. Mitch knew Courtney and I weren’t close. He knew I’d hate calling her, especially calling to ask for housing info. Bury your pride. Make the call. My mind still steamed on slow simmer. I refused to think about my lifestyle if I left this cottage and moved into Mitch’s sleazy apartment.
I looked up Courtney’s number and punched it onto the keypad before I changed my mind.
“Lusk Realty. How may I help you?”
Her throaty voice and honeyed tone made me want to bang the receiver down without answering. But no doubt she had Caller I.D. She’d know.
“Good morning, Courtney. Bailey here with a question.”
“Glad to help you if I can.”
“I’m considering leaving the cottage and subletting Mitch Mitchell’s apartment on Caroline Street.” I paused. Why hadn’t I thought this scene through more carefully? Courtney knew nothing of my relationship to Mitch. “I’m wondering about the legal details. As a renter, can Mr. Mitchell sublet the place?”
“Mitchell? Sublet?” Courtney let the words hang between us like terms from a language she didn’t understand.
“Yes, sublet. I’ve discussed it with Mr. Mitchell and he said it’s okay with him if it’s okay with you and the owner. He’s found quarters…elsewhere and…”
“I guess Mr. Mitchell and I needed to have a better understanding. The property owner has strict rules against subletting. Mr. Mitchell and I both considered the apartment within his means.”
“His plans have changed.”
“Where does he intend to locate? And why would you be interested in such cramped quarters when you’re ensconced in the Shipton cottage? I don’t feel you’d find Mr. Mitchell’s apartment comfortable.”
Now vinegar laced her honeyed tones and gut-level danger signals warned me to watch my words. “I’m unaware of Mr. Mitchell’s future living arrangements, but I need a quieter spot, a less-expensive place where I can relax and work on creating new lyrics. My CD-in-progress has been in progress far too long.”
The pause on the other end of the line made me wonder if she’d broken the connection. “Courtney—Courtney are you there?”
“I’m still on the line, Bailey. I’m in this business to help people find suitable housing, housing that meets their lifestyles as well as their budgets. Mr. Mitchell’s apartment is suitable for him—a loner with a low budget and little need for larger accommodations. Have you seen inside his apartment?”
“No. Of course not. But I heard Mr. Mitchell and Zack discussing his place, and I thought…”
“You thought you’d want to make such a move? On top of the fact that subletting the place would be a violation of Mitch’s lease agreement, I think you’d find the apartment unsuitable. Bailey, why don’t you drop over to my house for a few minutes? We’ll share a pot of coffee while I show you some nicer apartments. I have videos of at least five places that you might want to consider. If you see one or two you like, we’ll drive by and you can take a look.”
Drat! I’d wanted this transaction to be an over-and-out deal, something I could latch onto before I changed my mind. Courtney had turned my request into a situation I might be unable to handle. She couldn’t sublet Mitch’s place, but she wanted to find me a place to live—a place far from Zack and Eden Palms. I’d played right into her hands. But so what! I wanted to get away from Zack, from my memories of the mansion, from the turmoil of the police investigation.
But wait. Would leaving the neighborhood make me look guilty? No. It couldn’t. I’d been aboard a plane at the time of Francine’s death. Nothing could change that fact.
“Bailey? Do come over and let me see how I can help you. Workers have torn up the sidewalk to my porch in preparation for laying flagstones, so cut across the grass under the palms. I’ll be waiting for you on the side veranda, okay? I’m free now. If you’re free, too, let’s get started.”
I knew her apartments would be beyond my financial reach, but if I refused her invitation, she’d think I wasn’t serious about moving. Or she might think last night’s pool scene had prompted my decision. And what if she began to wonder about my relationship to Mitch and began to question it? I couldn’t risk letting that happen.
“Thanks, Courtney. I’ll come right over.”
I felt trapped. But I could handle it. So what if Courtney had a reputation for being a high-powered salesperson? I could show her a verbal stone wall cemented with the word “no.”
Changing from my biking shoes into sandals, I slung my camera around my neck. If we drove around looking at apartments, I could snap a shot of any I liked. Leaving the cottage, I walked toward Courtney’s home. The sun glinting on coral rock pillars and then on a pair of second-floor windows, gave them the look of mirrored sunglasses. Draperies masked the lower windows, and I wondered if Courtney stood inside watching my approach. Somebody in the area was frying bacon. Although I’d eaten earlier, the fragrance enticed me, whetting a second appetite that made my mouth water.
The grass under the palms still held night dew that dampened my feet. I thought I was watching where I stepped, but a movement overhead distracted me. I glanced up at an iguana perched on a palm frond, and in that instant, I slipped and fell. Later when questioned, I couldn’t remember if I felt pain in my leg and fell or if I fell and then felt the pain. I’d stepped on the handle of a machete some yardman had failed to return to the caretaker’s shed. The curved blade had flipped up and cut my thigh. At first I felt nothing, then I clenched my teeth against hot daggers of pain.
Blood running from thigh to ankle soon covered my foot. When I tried to move, blood spurted everywhere.
“Help! Help!” I shouted, hoping that this time Courtney had been watching and that Zack had not. “Courtney! Courtney!”
The veranda door flew open and Courtney rushed across the porch and down three steps to the lawn where I lay. “What happened?” Her gaze met mine and then traveled to the wound in my leg. “How did you manage to do that?”
“Easy. Do you have a first aid kit?”
“Yes. Keep calm. I’ll get it and be right back.”
I was better at keeping calm than Courtney was. In spite of the pulsing pain, I managed to sit up and take a closer look at my injury. My movement caused greater bleeding and now the pain throbbed in rhythm with my pounding heart. It seemed like an hour passed before Courtney returned with a pan of water, tape, bandages.
“This isn’t in my job description, Bailey, but I think I can clean the cut and apply a bandage. Then we’ll get you to a doctor. You in great pain?”
“No,” I lied, unwilling to admit weakness. Courtney’s plan failed. After only a few moments we eyed a pan of red-tinged water. Blood continued to flow from the cut, preventing her from applying a bandage.
“Maybe a tourniquet higher on my leg would help.”
“I don’t know anything about tourniquets, Bailey. Can you stand?”
Courtney helped me to my feet, but when I stood, the blood flow increased. Seeing my own blood pooling around my feet made me woozy.
“Don’
t faint, Bailey. Don’t faint. Be strong. Grit your teeth. We’ll walk to Dr. Gravely’s clinic. He’ll know what to do. Come on, now. Put your arm around my waist and let me take your arm. It’s only a short distance.”
Short distance! Hah! It looked like a mile. “Leave me here, Courtney. Go knock on Gravely’s door. Tell him I need him.”
“No. I’m not leaving you here in a pool of blood.” She swathed the cut in several thicknesses of gauze. “Walk. Walk. You can make it.”
I forced myself to put one foot ahead of the other and move forward. How could this have happened! Any pain that wasn’t in my leg was in my mind—the pain of having to depend on Courtney Lusk for help. I didn’t have strength to look behind us, but I knew I must be leaving a bloody trail across the lawn.
Foot by foot. Inch by inch. At last we made it to Gravely’s door. Courtney opened the screen and lifted a brass knocker. Its falling rang like a gunshot in my head. Courtney made no move to knock a second time, so I found the strength to lift the knocker and drop it again. Was the man deaf? Why didn’t he come to his door?
Blood began to pool on his doorstep, and I imagined its coppery taste at the base of my tongue. I slumped, thinking Courtney would keep me from falling, but no. Now I was lying in a puddle of my own blood, unable to rise, almost unable to speak or cry out.
Courtney dropped the brass knocker again. This time the door opened so quickly I wondered if Gravely had been watching my helplessness through his peephole.
“Ladies? What’s going on here?”
“Bailey’s had an accident.” Courtney stood back as if Gravely couldn’t see my leg dripping blood. My mind regressed to Girl Scout days. Didn’t continued bleeding mean a severed artery? Again my thoughts flashed to tourniquets, to quick death from loss of blood.
“Do something, Dr. Gravely,” Courtney demanded. “Let us in. She’s already lost lots of blood. She may be going into shock.”
“Take her to the hospital,” Gravely helped me back to my feet and let me lean against him. “I can’t have her coming in here like this.”
“Why not?” My voice wavered.
“Yes,” Courtney said. “Why on earth not? You do run a clinic, don’t you? Can’t you see she’s in no condition to make the trip to the hospital? If you refuse help, I’ll have no compunction about reporting you to medical authorities.”
Had her threat scared him? Dr. Gravely transferred my weight to Courtney and stepped back, returning in seconds with a wheelchair.
Courtney urged me into the chair and started to push me through the clinic doorway, but Gravely scowled and stepped in front of us.
“Bailey may come in and I’ll treat her, but you may not enter, Ms. Lusk. I have a heart patient in residence who requires absolute quiet. Your presence is a detriment. Go. Leave at once.”
TWENTY-EIGHT
Courtney backed off when Gravely all but slammed the door on her toes. Although she had tried to help me, I guessed she was glad to be relieved from giving further aid. I was as glad to be rid of her as she was of me, but I hated being alone with Gravely. Was he still upset with me for boarding his boat? Feeling dizzy, I clutched the arms of the chair and tried to focus on some piece of furniture, some picture that would stop the spinning sensation in my head.
“I th-think I’m g-going to vomit.” Hot acrid fluid rose into my throat. I swallowed. I forced it back. I swallowed again. Gravely scowled and stepped toward another doorway.
“Don’t try to get up, Bailey. I’ll be right back.”
My heart thudded when Gravely hurried away, but he soon returned carrying a stainless steel basin.
“Try to relax, Bailey. This cut isn’t as bad as it may seem to you. Look away from it. Don’t let the sight of blood sicken you. I’ll have a tourniquet on that leg in no time. You’re going to be okay.”
Once he handed me the basin, my stomach calmed down. I lifted my head and glanced around his waiting room, remembering a few days ago when I’d asked to see it. Had patients ever waited here? The couch and chairs looked so showroom fresh I imagined I could smell the scent of new leather. Even when Gravely helped me into a larger wheelchair, his pristine waiting room made me wonder if I were the first person to see it. It looked more like a showpiece than a functional room in a clinic.
Was Gravely really a doctor? At least Courtney knew where I was. She’d check on my well-being. Wouldn’t she?
“After a few minutes in my operating room, you’ll be feeling fine.” Gravely turned the chair and began pushing me along a dimly lit hallway.
Operating room? I sat stiff and straight, and I counted the doors opening into the hallway. Was his heart patient in one of those rooms? Were we making enough noise to disturb her? To cause her to go into cardiac arrest? Did he really have a heart patient in residence? I tried to avoid such thoughts, and presently we reached a darkened room which came to life with the flick of a switch.
A gurney. Stainless steel sinks—three of them. Medicine cabinets. Surgical tools. Maybe Gravely was a doctor. But of course he was a doctor. Zack would have no reason to lie to me about that.
“I want you on the gurney, Bailey. It’ll help slow the bleeding to have your leg elevated rather than hanging down.”
Turning, and leaning toward me, he placed his hands under my arms and legs, and lifted me onto the gurney in one swift movement. I could hardly believe his strength. He placed one pillow under my head and another under my leg.
“Now lie back and relax.”
“Not much chance of that,” I muttered. But I did manage to relax—at least a little.
He washed his hands before he donned surgical gloves, opened a cabinet drawer, and pulled out a length of rubber tubing.
“A tourniquet will slow the bleeding quickly.” He wrapped the tubing around my leg a few inches above the cut and we waited. The blood pulsed and flowed, but it became less and less, until at last it stopped.
“Such profuse bleeding tends to scare accident victims and those around them half to death,” Gravely explained, “and it is dangerous if it isn’t stopped. But in reality, if a doctor treats a patient correctly, the bleeding performs a needed service. It cleans the wound.”
He stopped talking, and bit by bit over the next minutes he loosened the tourniquet. “Now I’ll leave you for a few moments,” he said at last. “Remain quiet. I’ll return quickly.”
A new terror gripped me. What if he didn’t return? Would I be able to get off this gurney and escape? If not, would Courtney worry if I didn’t reappear this morning? Would she be aware of my absence and summon help? And if she did, who would she call? Zack? I doubted Zack would be her choice. She wouldn’t want him empathizing with me or offering sympathy. Since she didn’t know Mitch was my brother, she wouldn’t call him. I could die here and nobody would know. Before I could worry more, Dr. Gravely returned carrying a tray.
“Tea and buttered toast,” he announced, “and a couple of pills. Down the pills first. They’ll help you feel better and recover your strength.” Once I swallowed the pills, he assisted me from gurney to wheelchair and, then rested the tray on the chair’s arms. I ate the snack, feeling surprised at a surge of returning strength. I did feel better.
“How soon may I leave?” I asked.
“You need to stay here for a while. Before I bandage your wound, I want to wait until I feel sure the bleeding won’t start again. I’ll wheel you to my waiting room and you can look at magazines.”
“I already feel well enough to go home.”
“And therein lies the reason for delay. I can’t release a tourniquet too quickly. I’ll continue to loosen it little by little. When the danger of more bleeding is past, I’ll gift wrap your wound in layers of gauze and tape.”
In the waiting room?” Again, suspicions flared in my mind.
“Yes. The waiting room. I told you about my heart patient. She’s in a private room, and she needs absolute quiet until her family calls for her. I’m sorry if I appeared brusque to you and Courtne
y earlier. It unnerved me to face an emergency on a Saturday morning. An injured leg is more of a general hospital thing rather than a problem for a private clinic. Miss Jessica, my nurse, will return soon, but until then my heart patient is dependent on me.”
“I understand.” I said the words, but I didn’t understand anything about this clinic. I remembered Gravely’s concern for me began only after Courtney threatened him. Had he been reported to authorities before? Maybe his malpractice insurance had lapsed.
Gravely wheeled me to the waiting room, and again I had the feeling that the room seldom saw patients. Everything looked too spic-and-span new. He helped me from the wheelchair and onto the leather couch and elevated my injured leg on an ottoman.
“If you’ll excuse me, I’ll leave you for a few minutes.” He checked his watch. “Ten minutes for starters. I’ll check on my heart patient, then I’ll return and loosen the tourniquet.” He handed me the current copy of Key West Travelhost.
“Thank you, Doctor. I’ll be fine.”
“A few days ago you asked to see my waiting room, my Conch Republic memorabilia.” He gestured toward the wall opposite the door. “I’ve framed many replicas of the Conch Republic flag. They’re similar to the likeness painted on my boat. Perhaps you’ll find them interesting.”
“I’m sure I will. Thank you.”
Gravely walked to one flag, dusting the top edge of the frame with his forefinger. “I’ve framed many of these flags myself.”
“That’s quite an art—matting and framing. I tried to frame a blow-up of the CD case for Greentree Blues, but I botched the job. After three tries, I gave up and took it to the Photo and Phrame Shop at Searstown. I hired Free Glockner to frame it. He’s a pro.”
“You’re right. Framing’s an art. Takes a lot of know-how. And patience. But I enjoy the hobby. It gives me a sense of satisfaction to see my picture finished and hanging on my wall.”
Once Gravely left, I thumbed through the magazine he’d handed me, scanning the headline articles, the advertisements, then reading carefully an article on buying a new home and relocating in Key West. Not that I’d be interested in buying a home. I didn’t let that thought enter my mind.
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