Grace Among Thieves

by Julie Hyzy

  Today looked to be a slow day in the ER. Plastic steel-frame chairs lined the walls. All empty. I walked through the quiet passage to a high-top circular desk that sat between two sets of automatic doors, both sets clearly labeled, NO ADMITTANCE WITHOUT AUTHORIZATION in bold red lettering. A young, uniformed Emberstowne cop lingered nearby, watching a car commercial on a ceiling-mounted TV.

  The woman at the circular desk didn’t appear eager to authorize my entrance. With tightly curled brown hair, a trim build, and crisp movements, she gave off a vibe of efficiency and addressed me with one of those brisk up-and-down assessments.

  “You want to see a patient,” she repeated after I introduced myself. Not a question. “A gunshot victim. And you don’t have authorization.”

  “He was shot at Marshfield Manor.”

  “You already said that.”

  The Emberstowne cop perked up and turned toward us.

  “I need to talk with him about where he’ll be staying once he’s discharged,” I said. “I promise I’ll be brief.”

  “We take our patients’ right to privacy seriously here.”

  Arguing my case wasn’t going to work. I switched tactics. “You’re right,” I said. “You have no reason whatsoever for letting me in to see him . . .”

  Her eyes narrowed. She was waiting for the “but,” so I gave it to her. “But I believe Mr. Ellroy will want to see me, given the choice. Do you think it would be possible”—I was treading lightly here—“for you to ask if I could have five minutes of his time?”

  She started to answer, but I interrupted.

  “If he says no, I’ll leave. Easy as that.”

  She picked up a pen. “Spell your name for me, please.”

  I’d begun to do so when the doors to the right of the desk folded open like a double set of old-fashioned phone booths. The only difference was these mechanisms moved swiftly and silently rather than with an earsplitting screech. One of the paramedics who had helped stabilize Mr. Ellroy at Marshfield came through. He nodded to the attentive cop then lifted his hand in greeting when he saw me. “He’s going to be okay,” he said when he got to the desk. “Lucky that doctor lady was there. Not that we haven’t handled worse stuff on our own, you understand,” he added quickly, “but he was pretty worked up and she helped calm him down. They know each other?”

  “They were all traveling as part of a group,” I answered. “Is she still here?”

  “Back there, talking with the doc on duty. Looks like the bullet—”

  The woman at the desk cleared her throat. “Excuse me, this visitor is not family.”

  The paramedic rolled his eyes. “Yeah, well, this lady is involved. Cut her some slack.” He shrugged as he addressed me. “I think it wouldn’t hurt if you got in there. He’s a little disoriented and wants to know what’s going to happen to the group if he’s stuck here in the hospital. He says he doesn’t want to ruin anybody else’s vacation.”

  “That’s surprisingly thoughtful.”

  “It was,” the paramedic said, “but he’s got some powerful pain meds rushing around in there. Patients can get a little loopy.”

  The doors folded open again and the diminutive doctor from the group emerged. She headed toward us with purpose.

  “Marlene?” I said.

  “You’re from the mansion, aren’t you?” she asked, obviously recognizing me as well. “You’re the woman who runs the place, right?”

  “That’s me.” I extended my hand. “Grace Wheaton. We really appreciate all you’ve done for our guest.”

  She waved off my thanks. “He isn’t rejoining the group, is he?”

  “The police would rather he stay. Ultimately, I suppose it’s up to Mr. Ellroy. That’s why I’m here, to suggest he remain at Marshfield until the detectives have time to question him thoroughly.”

  Her mouth twisted off to the side in a reflective manner. I was sure she was about to argue about Mr. Ellroy’s rights the way Frances had, but she surprised me by saying, “That’s probably the best. After a trauma like this, he’s going to need time to come to grips with all that’s happened. This isn’t going to be easy for him. And hanging with a bunch of tourists who are out for a good time isn’t exactly optimal.”

  “Good point.”

  She winked. “You don’t get to be my age, honey, without picking up a little wisdom along the way. If you want my opinion—and you’re going to get it whether you do or not—I think he should stay here for as long as he needs to. I can’t remember where he’s from. Maybe Colorado or something?” She shrugged. “Wherever it is, it’s far enough that he can’t drop what he’s doing on a whim if he needs to come back. And he’s going to need to work through all this. Closure has a mind of its own. Comes when it wants to and not a moment before. You tell him to take his time.”

  All this seemed to be enough for the efficient clerk because she jammed a laminated visitor card at me then pointed backward over her head. “Second bed on the left. The officer will escort you.”

  The uniformed cop straightened, looking eager to be of assistance. Any chance to do something more than just stand sentry, I supposed. “Thank you,” I said to the woman, quickly excusing myself in case she changed her mind again. This time when the automatic doors folded open, I took a deep breath of the faux fresh air and walked through.

  The second bed on the left had its curtains pulled back and I caught sight of my quarry immediately. He was shirtless, propped up in the bed, with bandages covering his upper left arm. I wouldn’t describe him as chiseled, but he was definitely in good shape. He glanced up as I approached and I watched recognition dawn. Up close, he was as good-looking as I’d first thought: dark, tousled hair; expressive brows that arched at my approach; a strong jaw; and what looked to be the beginnings of five o’clock shadow. Like the bandaged Indiana Jones as Marion Ravenwood tended to his injuries.

  “How are you feeling?” I asked.

  “They gave me pain medication, but”—he winced—“it doesn’t eliminate it. Just dulls it to an ache.”

  “What did the doctor say?”

  “I got lucky. The bullet didn’t hit bone and went right through. They stitched me up like Frankenstein.”

  “May I talk with you for a little bit, or are you too tired right now?”

  “Please,” he said, indicating the far side of the bed with a nod. I came around and saw a doctor’s stool. “I could use a little company. Have a seat.”

  “If the doctor comes . . .”

  “Let him get his own chair.” He tried to smile, but the pain held him back.

  I remained standing. “Mr. Ellroy—”

  “For heaven’s sake,” he interrupted. “We’re in an emergency room after a tragic afternoon at your mansion. If that doesn’t put us on a first-name basis, I don’t know what does.”

  That made me smile. “I’m Grace,” I said.

  “I remember, from John’s introduction yesterday. I’m Mark, but you probably already knew that.” He sent a quizzical glance directed toward the young cop, who hadn’t left the immediate area. “Am I under surveillance?” he asked.

  “No, sir,” the uniform answered. “We’re taking precautions to ensure your safety. In case this wasn’t a random attack.”

  Mark’s brows came together, forming three vertical lines between them. “That can’t be . . . I’d never seen that man before.” The lines between his brows deepened. “Wait. Do you mean that Lenore might have been targeted? On purpose? That someone was after her?”

  The uniformed officer’s cheeks flamed scarlet. “Forget I said that. I’m here to ensure your safety until the detectives arrive.” He glanced at his watch. “They should be here soon.” At that, he turned his back and moved far enough away to give us a semblance of privacy.

  I had a lot of questions I wanted answered before freaky Flynn showed up, but as I was ready to start, Mark cleared his throat. His voice was shaky. “Lenore didn’t . . . make it.” He swallowed, then started again. “I . . . I
have no words.”

  To buy myself a moment to search for an appropriate thing to say, I did as he’d originally suggested: I wheeled the doctor’s stool closer and lowered myself onto it.

  When I spoke I found it difficult to keep my own voice from trembling. “This was a terrible tragedy. I’m so sorry you were part of it.”

  Squinting, he squared his jaw. “What now? Marlene was good enough to stay with me through all this, but I can’t ask John to keep the entire group in town until I’m released. Not to mention the fact that the police haven’t even questioned me yet.”

  The young cop twisted his head toward us, then quickly fixed his attention on the emergency room’s whiteboard as though he understood what all those scribbled notes meant.

  Mark must have noticed it, too. “Could you give us a little privacy, Officer?” he asked without raising his voice.

  “I’m here to protect you,” the cop repeated, proof that he had indeed been listening. “But your visitor doesn’t seem to be posing any danger. I’ll step outside. Let me know if you need me.”

  Without his company, and with the nearest patient halfway across the capacious emergency room, we were left with only awkward silence. Around us, amid the occasional sounds of conversation, snapping plastic, and the clink of metal, hospital staff kept the area humming. A nurse hurrying by slowed her pace long enough to study the readouts on the monitor next to Mark’s bed. Apparently satisfied by what she saw, she moved on again at a quick clip.

  “I’m surprised Detectives Rodriguez and Flynn aren’t here yet,” I said in an effort to resume the conversation. “I’m sure Flynn will be plenty annoyed that I got to talk with you before they did.”

  “You tensed up when you said his name. Flynn, that is. Is there anything I should know about him before he shows up?”

  “He’s not particularly fond of me. Long story.”

  From the look on Mark’s face, I realized that he thought Flynn and I had a sordid romantic history. As much as I would have preferred to set him straight, that wasn’t why I was here.

  “John wanted me to talk with you,” I continued. “He thinks it may be best if the tour goes on as scheduled. I know he’s working to get you a refund . . .”

  “The last thing I’m worried about right now is a refund,” he said, “although that’s very nice of him.”

  “I know your group was staying at one of the hotels in town. I’d like to suggest you relocate to the Marshfield Hotel. On us. For as long as you need.”

  “That’s incredibly generous,” he said, looking concerned. “I know how beautiful your hotel is. In fact, I considered tacking on a few days before the tour on my own, but I couldn’t get the extra time off.”

  “Where do you work?”

  “I own a jewelry store in Colorado. It was my father’s before me and his father’s before that. My staff is covering for me while I’m gone. I felt guilty burdening them with full responsibility for this length of time, but they insisted I finally take a vacation.” His eyes took on a wistful look. “It’s been a while. And then . . . this.”

  “I’m so sorry. We’ll do whatever we can to make you comfortable at our hotel. I can arrange to have your luggage brought over.”

  “Oh, that’s above and beyond,” he said.

  “It’s the least we can do. John said he’d release your belongings to us if you gave the okay.”

  He thought about that. “The vacation I’d planned is history,” he said finally. “Part of me prefers to say thanks but no thanks and head home the minute they let me out of here.”

  I waited.

  “But the truth is, I don’t know that I can leave. So much has happened. I mean . . . in the blink of an eye, a woman was killed right in front of me. It happened so fast.” I got the feeling he was talking to himself as much as to me. “To head home now, to pretend that this was all a bad dream seems wrong somehow. I need some sort of . . .”

  “Closure?”

  “Yes,” he said, “precisely. I need to give this its due. Whatever that may be.”

  I understood what he meant. “Would you like me to arrange to have your things delivered to Marshfield, or do you prefer to wait until you’re released?”

  He thought about it. “I left my extra cash and some credit cards in the room’s safe. It’s probably better if we wait until I can clear that out.”

  “Makes sense,” I said, pulling up my purse. “Let me give you my business card. Whenever you’re ready, let me know.”

  “You’ve been very kind,” he said.

  “You’ve been through a lot.”

  “What do you think this was all about?” he asked. “Lenore struck me as a simple girl. I can’t imagine anyone coming after her. Not like that.”

  “I can’t either,” I said. “The man who killed her . . . the one who shot you . . . did you get a good look at him?”

  He pushed out a hard breath and I could tell the exertion hurt. “I’ve been trying my best to remember. I’m sure I’d recognize him if I saw him again, but it’s like his face is a blur in my brain. I can’t remember much, other than he was in uniform. Not a security uniform. More like one of your staff members. Blue blazer, tie, you know.”

  I nodded. People often had a hard time recalling details immediately following trauma. I held out hope that Mark would be able to come up with a better description after he’d had time to settle down. “John remembered a little bit.”

  Mark nodded. “I’m glad he got a look at him.”

  “Not much of one, I’m afraid, but it’s a start.” I thought about the missing golden horn. “Did you notice if the man was carrying anything?”

  “I noticed the gun.” Mark shook his head. “Otherwise, no. He called to Lenore.”

  “By name?”

  “I don’t think so.” He struggled to remember. “Wait, no. He gestured for her to join him. He didn’t say a word. I didn’t know what was up, but I figured if a staff member was talking to her, she wouldn’t get into trouble. But then I remembered I’d promised John, so I followed her. That’s when I saw the guy in the blazer pulling her toward the stairs.”

  His eyes clouded with the memory. I was about to tell him he didn’t need to continue, but he went on. “Whatever was happening between them wasn’t right—I could see that much—so I went into the stairwell after them. By the time I got there, he’d . . . he’d . . .” Mark widened his eyes and bit his lips tight. He held up a finger as he looked away. Composing himself, he said, “This is so wrong. I didn’t even really know Lenore, but I can’t help feeling responsible.”

  “It’s not your fault.”

  “Then why do I feel like it is?” His voice cracked again but he calmed himself by breathing deeply through his nose. “I went after them, catching the door as it was about to close. That’s when I saw her go over. And then the guy turned on me.”

  He swallowed. I knew there was more.

  “I froze. I was stupid and froze. That’s all the guy needed—that second or two. He pulled out a gun and shot me. Right there. Ran off down the stairs.”

  I didn’t know what to say.

  Mark broke the silence. “Wait,” he said, staring at some middle distance. “He dropped something and then picked it up.” Looking at me, he added, “I don’t have any idea what it was.”

  “Thanks,” I said, “that’s very helpful. You’ll want to mention that to the detectives when they talk to you.”

  “You know, if the killer had picked anybody else to call over,” Mark said, “he might have gotten away without being noticed at all. We were all so high-strung about Lenore after that problem yesterday.” He ran a hand along his bandaged arm. “Maybe my getting shot is a good thing after all. Maybe I’ll be able to help identify the guy and put him away.”

  “Let’s hope so. In the meantime, you’re starting to look a little tired and I don’t want to—”

  “What are you doing here?”

  I spun to see Flynn advancing on me. Rodriguez trailed behi
nd, the tip of his tongue caught between his teeth as he walked and scrawled notes at the same time. He glanced up and acknowledged my presence, but I caught a sense of weariness in the older detective’s eyes. “Let’s not jump to conclusions,” he said in a loud enough voice for me to hear. “I knew she’d be here, partner. Cut her a little slack.”

  Flynn’s eyes blazed. He ignored Rodriguez’s suggestion and took a position across Mark’s bed. “You’re interfering with a police investigation.”

  “No, I’m not,” I said. “I know you’ll want to keep him close for the next few days. You wouldn’t want me to leave the poor man without a place to stay while you interrogate . . . er, I mean . . . question him.”

  Okay, so I threw out that word interrogate on purpose. Flynn grated on every nerve I possessed. Ever since we’d first met after Abe’s murder, I’d taken pains to avoid him. Harsh, abrasive, and quick to judgment, Flynn was—apologies to Sherlock Holmes—as tenacious as a lobster.

  Fire practically shot out of his eyes. “You think this is funny, don’t you?”

  Rodriguez took an easy step forward, smacking his lips as though he’d just finished a giant plate of barbecue. “Ms. Wheaton has business with Mr. Ellroy, same as we do. Let’s not get ahead of ourselves here.”

  Rodriguez, at least, took time to listen. What would happen to the Emberstowne homicide division when their cool-headed lead detective took his retirement and ambled home? I didn’t want to know.

  “Ms. Wheaton,” Rodriguez continued calmly, now addressing only me, “my partner does have a point. I hope you won’t mind if we take over now?”

  “I was about to leave.”

  “Thank you for stopping by,” Mark said to me. “I’ll call you the minute I’m released.”

  Flynn fixed me with a strange look. “Gave up on the gardener, did you?”

  “What?” I asked.

  To Mark, he said, “Watch out for that one.”