by Patti Larsen
The light over the carriage house woke at the exact instant I felt a chill up my spine. Wait, was there someone here? Likely Randy, looking for me. But no, when I paused and looked around, the garden was empty. So empty, in fact, the light over the kitchen door flickered and went out.
Second thoughts whispered in my mind. Yes, there was illumination by the carriage house. But once I passed that fence, I was heading into who knew what. Still, it wasn’t like Randy Russell was going to murder me or anything, right? He wasn’t the killer. Was he?
I had an overactive imagination that really needed to give me a break right about now.
My phone buzzed and this time I knew it had to be the reporter. Taking a deep breath, I plunged toward the fence, jaw tight against my fear and the need to turn and run back to the main house as fast as my legs would carry me like a terrified little girl who couldn’t stand the dark.
I had just enough momentum to make it to the fence break before my breath caught and good sense stopped me in my tracks. It would take two seconds to call Dad. He’d come and we’d talk to Randy together. What the hell was I thinking? When Crew found out his eye twitch and forehead vein would be the least of my worries.
Heart pounding, decision made, I half turned toward the yard just as the light over the carriage house died. I froze, heart a terrified rabbit stock still in my chest, as someone rushed toward me, a bulky shadow, so fast I didn’t have time to use the deep breath I inhaled to scream.
Light burst behind my eyes, pain exploding in the back of my head, darkness swallowing me immediately thereafter.
***
Chapter Thirty Three
Something wet touched my face, not once but many times, sticky and hot. I tried to bat it away but my hands didn’t seem to work through the bursting violence of the pain in my head and how my entire body seemed to be detached from that pain.
Or consumed by it. Hard to make the distinction while my eyes ached with the effort to open them, voices calling my name going in and out, bright lights turning to darkness and back again while that endless wetness went on and on.
“Fee.” I managed to blink through the agony at last, the groan that sounded like a zombie rising from her grave tearing a wet hole through the seal in my parched throat. I finally managed to lift my hand and felt Petunia’s wet nose press into my fingers, her soft whining reaching me through the buzzing hum of my hurt.
“Call an ambulance, now.” That sounded like Crew, or was it Dad? They had similar voices, those sheriffs, all husky and commanding. I faded out, darkness taking me again until whoever was saying my name in my ear got through and I resurfaced.
“Mom.” I croaked that at her, something hot and wet landing on my cheek and I realized I’d made her cry. “’Sokay, Mom.”
“Where is that ambulance?” Wait, was that Pamela? What was she doing here? She looked down at me, so hard to focus on her worried face, light from overhead flaring in my eyes. “Hang in there, Fee. You’re going to be all right.”
Why did she sound like she was trying to convince herself as well as me?
This was ridiculous. I had to sit up. This weird devouring pain had to go away, would vanish if I could just sit up. But the instant I tried, my entire head exploded with more fireworks and the black that devoured me was a welcome retreat.
The next time I blinked awake to the sounds and sights of the outside world, I was indoors, in the familiar comfort of the sitting room, though comfort was a relative term. At least this time I didn’t feel so out of it, my return to consciousness the sharp edges of reality instead of the wavering wonky trip that had been the backyard.
“Fee.” Mom was there, holding my hand, Petunia looking up at me from where someone had laid me out on the couch. “The ambulance is coming, sweetie. Any second now.”
“What happened?” I’m not sure those words were audibly coherent, though they seemed okay in my head when I said them.
Pamela was talking in the background, almost whispering but just loud enough to hear. “I found her that way. I didn’t see anything.”
Dad appeared in my view, sitting on the edge of the sofa and trying a grim smile that didn’t reach his eyes. “We were hoping you could tell us that.”
“It’s here.” Crew burst into the room, looking panicked, stricken. And seemed hesitant when Dad lifted me into his arms, as if he wanted to protest my father’s gesture. I wanted to tell them both I could walk, thanks, except, yeah. I didn’t think I really could so I shut up and tried not to whimper as the pain rolled over me in fresh waves and everything wobbled back into black.
Third waking was the charm, apparently. Soft beeping stirred me from unconsciousness, the harsh scent of industrial cleaners, the sound of voices and someone paging Dr. Hippler to the E.R. The hospital? I groaned as I tried for the last time to sit up and was immediately pushed down again, gently. Didn’t take much strength to hold me in place, either. I felt like someone wrung me out and shook me until I was empty.
“Just stay with us a few minutes, sweetie, if you can.” Mom’s hands touched my cheeks. “You have a concussion and Dr. Aberstock wants you to sleep.” Wait, wasn’t that wrong? Didn’t I have to stay awake? Apparently not. Weird for my brain to argue silently while I struggled to even pay attention to her. “But your Dad and Crew have some questions first.” She sounded like she thought they could wait. “Okay?”
I nodded, huge mistake. Almost cried it hurt so much. Breathed through the pain while Mom sat back and a nicely smiling young nurse in dark blue scrubs stabbed my I.V. with a needle and emptied her syringe into the line.
“Try to stay quiet,” the nurse said. “I’ll be back to check on you.” She left, Crew stepping aside when he appeared at the door, letting her slip past him before coming inside, his face twisted in worry.
“She’s going to be fine.” That was Dad from the other side of my bed. I didn’t turn my head to look at him, knowing it would hurt too much. Daisy appeared over Mom’s shoulder, waved a little, biting at her lower lip and looking like she wanted to cry.
Crew approached, hat in his hands, dark hair in desperate need of a cut hanging over his blue eyes. “Do you know what happened, Fee?”
I didn’t shake my head this time, trying to lick my lips past the pasty dryness. Mom immediately offered me a glass with a bendy white straw and I managed to suck in a bit without choking myself before answering.
“It was my own stupid fault,” I said, my voice sounding like I’d been gargling heavy grit sandpaper. “Randy Russell, the paparazzo? He told me he had information for me that might help the case, but he refused to meet me if I didn’t come alone.”
It was almost a good thing I was hurt, because the four people staring down at me in varying degrees of shock and fury would likely have killed me themselves if I wasn’t lying in that hospital bed.
Mom seemed to recover first, her face settling as she shot a glare at the two sheriffs before returning her attention to me. “We’ll talk about your brilliant life choices later,” she said, triggering my funny bone and making me giggle before I groaned at the agony of it.
“Please don’t make me laugh,” I whispered. “I’m sorry. I know it was dumb.”
“Did he attack you?” Crew almost bounced on his toes, Dad suddenly standing next to him, the pair of them looking like a hit squad waiting for their Don to tell them who to ice.
“I don’t know,” I said. “Whoever hit me was on our side of the fence. They knew about the motion lights.”
“They were both broken,” Dad said, as grim as I’d ever heard him. “If it wasn’t for Pamela, we might not have found you until we went to bed and that could have been hours.”
“And Petunia,” Mom said. “I was letting her out to do her business when Pamela called for us. That pug ran right to you.” My mother sniffed, took a moment to collect herself as emotion washed over her face. I felt like a total heel for scaring her like this. But she managed to go on. “Thank goodness you’re all right.”
“I have to go back to Petunia’s,” Crew said, looking frustrated, vibrating with it. “Willow’s been released and I have more questions for her.”
“Find Randy,” I said. “I have no idea if his information is important. But whoever hit me had to be following me.”
“Or lured you out there,” Dad said. “Leave it to us, kid.”
Like I had a choice. If I wasn’t in so much pain I would have been irritated to watch the two men go without me. Instead, I did my best to close my eyes and sleep as the pain finally retreated and the mercy of whatever the nurse gave me carried me back into oblivion.
***
Chapter Thirty Four
It was a fitful night of being woken often, though when I finally opened my eyes for real and not in a mumbling state of protest, it wasn’t to the nice nurse in the blue scrubs with more medication, but to my dad sitting at my side, holding my hand.
I winced into the early morning light coming through the edges of the blinds, but the longer I looked at him, the more the pain of that illumination faded.
Dad’s smile reminded me of the times I’d gotten hurt as a little girl, all sweet and kind of goofy around the edges, like he didn’t quite know how to comfort me.
“Thanks for being here,” I whispered, voice cracking. “I know Crew probably needs you. And you didn’t get any sleep, did you?”
Dad patted my hand, blinking a few times a bit too fast while his throat worked before he spoke. “Everything’s under control, Fee. You just rest.”
“I’d rather go home.” I actually felt a lot better for sleeping, though I’d had a mild concussion once in high school when I tried out for the girl’s rugby team and realized quickly I was far too competitive for my own good. Hadn’t they forced me to stay awake that time? I was grateful that had been kyboshed. Sleeping was much preferable to sitting up in woozy, nauseated silence. That time it had taken a giant tackle of an opposing team member and an impact with the goal post and my noggin to make my decision for me that maybe rugby wasn’t my game. I’d been out of commission for a week, lots of popsicles and Mom love and another two months or so of forgetting common word meanings and occasional fainting spells.
This felt way worse.
“Crew’s about to release Willow’s people,” Dad said, frustration creeping into his voice. Not that anyone but a Fleming would recognize it, but it was there. “He’s decided she’s his prime suspect after all and is going to hand her over to the state troopers to wrap things up.”
“Let me guess,” I said. “Olivia.”
“She’s under a lot of pressure,” Dad said. “While good press is good for business and murder doesn’t seem to turn people away, I think the council has had enough of the circus hanging around outside Petunia’s and taking over our town.” He sighed, hands tightening on mine a moment before he managed a smile again. “Betty and Mary are back at the B&B, so you don’t have to worry. And Daisy is with them. She’s got things handled. So you can just rest for now. And get better.”
“This isn’t my first kick at the bucket, Dad,” I said.
“I know.” He stilled a bit, swallowed. “They did a CT scan while you were unconscious. No swelling on your brain.” Now he was breaking down, cracking around the edges like Mom had last night. It took him longer to make it through the wave of emotion that gripped him so tightly while I held still and let him process. “So you’ll likely be getting your wish if Dr. Aberstock clears you to go home.”
Amazing he could just carry on with the last of the conversation after that massive battle with his fear.
“Dad.” I didn’t know what to say. Flemings weren’t big on displays of emotion.
“Your mother and I are going to help with Petunia’s,” he said, nodding like that was going to start an argument. “Feels good to be there anyway, like I’m close to Mom again.” He looked like that was painful too and I wondered if he’d ever really processed his mother’s death. Having me at Petunia’s must have raised a lot of feelings he, as big and strong John Fleming, wasn’t prepared to handle with emotion. “Lloyd said the more rest you get the faster you’ll heal.”
I couldn’t help the tears that trickled from my eyes, the swelling of my own terror, woken now that I was safe and out of immediate danger and with my father sitting next to me like I’d broken his heart and he was only now trying to glue the pieces back together without showing me how shattered he’d been.
“I’m sorry.” An ugly sob escaped, making me gasp from the pain.
Dad’s face crumpled. I’d done him in the rest of the way, I guess. Together, his head bent over my hand, we cried as one, tied tightly by the entwined fingers of our grasping hands.
“Don’t you ever,” he whispered in a hoarse voice as we both recovered, “scare me like that again. Fee. I thought it was bad when you told me about the attack on Valentine’s Day.” Right. Seemed like having my life put in danger was a bit of a habit since I got home, though this time there was no quick recovery with coffee and a warm fire after a near death experience in a snowstorm. “But by the time you told me you were more angry than afraid.” If only he’d known how frightened I was that night, but I guess I hid it as well as he taught me to. “Seeing you lying there in the garden.” Dad choked again, looked away. “I don’t know what I’d do if something happened to you.”
More tears, but these were good ones, at least as far as I was concerned. I’d left Reading eleven years ago now, an angry young woman with a chip on my shoulder and some harsh words for both of my parents. Words I knew they didn’t deserve, that they’d done their best over the years to nurture and protect me and I’d paid them back with disdain and left them behind, just like I’d left Daisy behind.
Coming home had healed some of the breach and we’d never actually talked about how I’d left. Because Flemings. It was as if my parents auto forgave everything I’d said, bless them, and we started where we’d left off before my stomping exit from Reading with my stuff in my beat up car and college and my future more important than the people who raised me.
This felt like I was finally healing the gap between my father and me, the giant chasm I’d created when I left to start a life that gave me nothing but frustration and hurt. Lying there, loving my father, I would have given anything to rewind the years, to shake the girl I’d been for being so selfish and ridiculous, for blaming him for keeping me from my dream when I was the coward. I could have gone to the academy, but I let my own fears hold me back.
My fault.
I didn’t get to say all that to Dad, because the door whispered wider, a familiar face smiling tentatively at me while Pamela wavered at the entry as if wondering if she was welcome. Dad and I both wiped at our wet faces, my father rising quickly, pausing to kiss my forehead for a moment before leaving the room in long, ground eating strides and leaving me wishing he’d just come back again and never, ever leave me alone.
***
Chapter Thirty Five
Turned out Dad and I weren’t the only weepy ones. Pamela hurried to me when Dad left and hugged me, tears on her face. I was surprised the tough as nails newspaper reporter showed such emotion then remembered she’d been the one who found me.
“Thanks for the rescue,” I whispered. She gave me some water, thankfully without me having to ask, the bendy straw delivering tepid liquid better than any coffee or wine I’d ever tasted.
“I wish I’d gotten there sooner.” She sat next to me, glass in her lap, face strained and tired. “I was snooping, heading to see you, if you had anything new.” Pamela dashed at the tears on her cheeks, one hand supporting the frosted plastic glass, liquid sloshing over the side and into her lap. She didn’t seem to notice. “I saw that Randy Russell, the paparazzo.” Her nose wrinkled. “He rushed past me when I was on my way to the edge of the fence. Fee, I have no idea if he attacked you, but he looked like the devil was chasing him.” Her hand clenched into a fist around the glass, making the plastic creak. “If I had known I would have tac
kled him and not let him go, the weasel. But he was long gone by the time I found you and all I could think of was you were dead and I started screaming for help.” She sobbed softly before shaking herself and swallowing hard. “I’m so glad you’re all right.”
Wow. Way to make me emotional all over again. “My hero.” I managed a smile and she laughed through her tears.
“Silly,” she said. “I hear you’re the heroic one. Going out there alone to get information.”
“Um, I think everyone else would clarify that choice as stupid ass,” I said.
She patted my hand, offered me the straw almost absently. “You’d make a good reporter. You ever decide to give it a go, you let me know. I like your instincts.”
Hmmm. Something to consider. Though with the death of Skip Anderson I was confident the rooms at Petunia’s would be packed for the next two years in a row.
Someone knocked, gaining our attention. I really needed to remember not to turn my head so fast, gasping a little as the world wobbled slightly. Crew waited at the door, hesitating as Pamela had hesitated with Dad, and the newswoman did as my father had, leaping to her feet, setting aside the glass before waving and hurrying out.
The sheriff let her go with a nod, drifting closer but not sitting down just yet. Why did he look so uncomfortable, his hands shifting around and around the brim of his hat, his eyes downcast, his shoulders slumped?
“I’m just checking in before I head back to town,” he said. “Your dad told you about Willow?”
“I don’t think she did it,” I said. “I think whoever hit me either killed Skip or knows who did and is protecting the murderer.”
Crew sighed, sank at last into the chair beside me. “I agree,” he said. “But as soon as I get back I have to hand her over to the troopers, Fee. Unless I have evidence otherwise, she’ll have to face more questions and possibly charges if they don’t come up with a reason to look elsewhere.” He perked a bit. “Good news, though. Lloyd gave the go ahead to release you. Said you’ll heal better at home.” That was good news. “I don’t want you to worry. The troopers might have Willow, but I’m not going to let Randy Russell get away with this.”