"That woman dead?"
"I don't know. Guys, what in the hell are you doing here?"
Tom said, "Frank, go check on the broad." He knelt down and said, "We talked to Felix this morning. He was trying to get himself out of jail, up in Maine, he said we should take a more active role in your protection. Said we should follow you, make sure you didn't get in any trouble."
"Any trouble... Shit, Tom, no offense, but that crazy woman over there shot me in the leg a while ago, and was trying to do the same to my head. Where in the hell have you been?"
Tom said sheepishly, "Sorry. We got lost following you out of Exonia, after you went to her house. It was Frank's fault, he was driving. And man, we didn't hear anything coming from the house. How were we supposed to know what happened?"
Frank called out, "She's still breathing, but man, she's bleeding something awful. Did you get her with that sword, Mr. Cole?"
"Yeah, I did."
"Jesus," Frank said. "And besides, it was your fault we got lost, you were distracting me."
I rubbed at my face with both hands. "Got lost... Okay, you guys should get lost again. And quick. Get the hell out of here and call the cops. Use a phone booth or something, say you heard gunshots at the Tyler town museum. Okay?"
Frank came back to join his cousin. "Sure, Mr. Cole, sorry we screwed up. Look, can I ask you a question?"
"A quick one."
Frank turned to his cousin and then looked at me. "You're not going to tell Felix what we did, are you?"
"Guys, get moving. All right? Get the hell out of here, and make that call."
They did just that, returning to their van, and then pulling away.
It was quiet again. I heard Hendricks moaning and breathing behind me, and I thought about what she had said earlier, about sneering about my time as a Boy Scout. I guess a true and honorable Boy Scout would go over there and provide first aid, but I hadn't been a Boy Scout in quite a long, long time. So I sat there and listened to her sounds, thought about Jon and what had happened, and I lowered my head and tears came to my eyes, and they wouldn't stop, until I heard the far-off and quite welcome wail of the sirens.
About a half hour later, I was back in Exonia again, at their fine hospital, on a padded examining table in their emergency room. The brisk and efficient firefighter-EMTs from the Tyler Fire Department had transported me here a while ago, and it was a great comfort to be safe and secure in the rear of the ambulance as we made our way west. In this part of the emergency room, curtains had been drawn around, to offer some privacy, and an ER doctor and nurse worked on my leg, murmuring to each other. A painkiller of sorts had been injected into my leg and it felt like a wooden log from the knee down, and I could sense things being cleaned, moved about, and stitched.
Joining the medical team working on my leg but ignoring what they were doing was Diane Woods, who had a metal clipboard in her hands, taking notes, keeping her face impassive.
I said, "Look. I had no idea the crazy professor was involved in Jon Ericson's murder. All right? I thought it was Brian Mulligan, the previous head of the museum. I just went to the professor's place to ask for her help in verifying the Viking artifacts that Jon discovered. That's all. And if the artifacts were the real deal, then I was going to go to you and give it all up. Honest."
"Unh-hunh," Diane said, in a tone she usually reserves for drunken suspects who claim that the voices in their heads made them rob the convenience store. "Really?"
"Really."
"All right, then tell me again what happened."
And I did that, while the work went on my leg, as there was the sound of objects being moved around on a tray, the gentle snip of thread being cut. There were now tugging sensations at the bottom of my leg, and I still had no interest in seeing what was going on.
Diane said, "Okay. So you saw her limping. And that caught your attention because of another little adventure you didn't tell me about, when you and Felix broke into that antique store. I think there's a detective in Porter who might want to talk to you when I'm finished."
"He can take a number then. Yeah, that's what happened. I saw the professor limping and looked at her book, and decided I wanted to get the hell out of there. She had other plans, and that's when she took out her Ruger .22."
Diane stopped writing and looked at me, her face no longer impassive, her eyes filling up with tears. "Enough questions for now. How are you doing?"
"I'm doing okay. I'm alive."
She reached over and brushed some hair off my forehead.
"You're alive, but you're also in shock. The next few weeks will be rugged ones, Lewis. My interview with you is going to be followed by an interview with a New Hampshire State Police detective, a detective from the Maine State Police, and somebody from the attorney general's office. And speaking of attorneys, you might want to think about getting that Massachusetts attorney lined up. Professor Hendricks isn't very happy with you."
"A sentiment I share with her," I said. "Where is she?"
"On the other side of the ER, handcuffed, and I think she's going up to surgery in a few minutes. She's claiming a lot of wild stuff, that you had kidnapped her, brought her to the museum against her will, that she shot you in self-defense, and that you viciously stabbed her without any reason whatsoever."
"You've got to be kidding me."
"Nope." She slapped shut the metal cover to the clipboard and then bent down to kiss my forehead. "Don't worry, friend, it won't stick. She shot you with a twenty-two and we recovered a nine-millimeter pistol from the lawn outside the town museum. Two separate firearms, both belonging to her. And I have a very good feeling that when we run ballistics on the nine-millimeter, we're going to find out it matches the one used on your buddy."
"Thanks."
She shook her head. “Want me to hang out for a while?"
"If you'd like."
"I would like that," she said, now holding my hand. "Oh, one more thing."
"What's that?"
She suddenly squeezed my hand so hard it hurt and leaned into me, so I guess the doctor and the nurse on the other end of the bed couldn't hear so well.
"Don't you ever pull a series of stunts like that ever again," Diane whispered. "You understand? Besides whatever nonsense came my way during this little fiasco, I don't like seeing you get hurt. Okay? So leave it to the professionals. Do I make myself clear?"
I tried to squeeze back with my hand, but Diane was too strong.
So instead I said, "Yes, perfectly clear, detective."
Then she smiled. "Wrong."
"What do you mean... oh." I smiled up at my dear friend. "I get it. Yes, perfectly clear, detective sergeant."
She let my hand loose. "There. That's better."
After a while of poking and prodding, the ER doctor --- who had an Italian name of about twenty syllables, which I instantly forgot ---- said, "Your leg will be fine, Mr. Cole. It'll be weak for a while and we'll give you some exercise suggestions before you're discharged. We're going to keep you overnight, just to make sure the wound drains properly. You were very lucky. The bullet went through-and-through, and the damage to the muscle and the tissue was minimal."
Then Diane gave me another kiss on the forehead and left. I was then wheeled out of the ER, and I was thankful that I didn't have to go past the curtained area where Professor Hendricks was being worked on, and was loudly proclaiming her innocence to all concerned.
Later, in my room, I got two visitors. The first was Paula Quinn, who came in, bearing flowers and a balloon, and big kiss to my lips. Tears were in her eyes as well, and she pulled up a chair and said, "You... damn it, Lewis, what in hell were you doing?"
I smiled at her, my leg stretched out before me, it still feeling like a wooden log. "You really want to know?"
"Yes, I do," she said. "And don't worry, my notebook is in my purse. When and if Rollie wants to know what happened from your point of view, I'll tell him you're in a coma or something."
"
Every day?"
Paula said, "Every day, until Rollie forgets all about it. Look, tell me, will you?"
So I told her, from start to finish, keeping it simple and to the point, not going into much detail. She wiggled her nose at me a couple of times and said, "A college professor... holy Christ, Lewis, a college professor."
"Sure," I said. "And if you poke around a few more rooms in this joint, you might just find her. Get the story from her point of view."
Paula folded her arms and put her feet up on the edge of the bed. "Why?"
"Why?" I scratched at the back of my hand, where an IV tube was running in. "You know... right now, I'm not sure. I guess I started out trying to find out why Jon was killed, and who did it. And toward the end... well, it just spun out of control. Strange, right?"
She shook her head. "No, not knowing you. You have some wonderful traits, Lewis, loyalty being one of them. I'm just surprised it took this long for you to get shot."
"Thanks," I said. "I think."
She reached over and rubbed me on my shoulder. "How long will you be here?"
"Just the night."
She said, "That's good. You belong home."
"That I do."
So we talked for a while, about politics in Tyler, about how the story she wrote about the destruction of the Donald Burnett house had ticked off most of the selectmen, and how she didn't care one way or the other. We laughed a few times and then she got up and kissed me on the cheek.
"Time for me to head out," she said.
"Sure you don't want to stay for whatever they serve for dinner here?"
Paula shook her head, a bit too quick. "No, I'm sorry, I'm going to --- “
"Have dinner with the town counsel. Correct?"
"That's right."
"I guess the two of you are doing okay," I said. "Even with your dream house being turned into scrap lumber."
"It happened," she said. "And... you know, after it happened, I remembered something your friend Jon said, months ago."
"Jon? About what?"
She stood up, put her purse over her shoulder. "He was giving a talk at the Rotary Club. Nothing about Vikings this time, just a straight talk about the early history of Tyler. And at the end, I don't know, he seemed to be in an odd mood, he said something about not letting history have a death grip on your throat. Or your soul. He said history should be honored and should be respected, but when you let the past rule your life, then you end up with places like the Balkans, or Northern Ireland, or the Middle East. Where ancient feuds and deeds still rule the ground. I thought about that some, the day the house came down. I had to make a choice, whether to let that old house ruin what might be between me and Mark."
She fiddled a bit with the flowers on the windowsill. "There're possibilities there, Lewis. Possibilities I want to explore. And we're working through things and I don't want to let the past control me. Okay?"
"That's fine. You go on, now. Before he wonders where you are." She smiled and left the room, gave me a wave, which I returned, IV-attached hand and all.
Dinner was a chicken dish that was actually fairly good, and I settled back into the routine of being in the hospital. The stiff bed, the clean sheets and blankets, the constant mutter of voices and people walking by. The nursing staff was cheerful and efficient, and I half-watched the television, my leg starting to throb, and I refused to think of anything that had happened last hour, last day, last week.
There was an announcement that visiting hours were coming to a close, and I shifted my leg, trying to find a place that didn't hurt as much, when somebody came in with a smile and said, "Hey, welcome to the club."
I couldn't believe what I saw. Felix Tinios, well dressed and grinning, was shaking my hand, his other hand still bandaged from the burn he had received when we had gone a-visiting to Ray Ericson.
"Club?" I asked. "What club is that?"
He took the chair vacated by Paula and said, "The club of those on the receiving end of speeding bullets. That's when it comes to you, that you're not quite Superman. That you're not as fast as a speeding bullet, nor as strong. Where were you hit?"
"Lower shin."
"With what?"
"Twenty-two long rifle, I think. Went in the front and right out the back. Doc says I'll be out tomorrow."
Felix nodded. ''I'll pick you up then, get your ass home. What happened?"
So I told the story for the third time that evening --- Diane, Paula, and now Felix --- and when I was through, I said, "And excuse me for changing the subject, but what in hell are you doing here?"
He looked hurt. "That's not a very nice thing to say."
"You know what I mean. When I got out of court yesterday, your lawyer wasn't sure how many days it would take for you to gel out. I didn't think it would take just one."
He leaned back in the chair, one big hand behind his head, the bandaged one in his lap. "Thing is, Lewis, I went to the bank."
'What bank is that?"
"First National Bank of Felix Tinios," he said. "Best bank there is.”
I thought for a second and said, "I guess this bank doesn’t have much in the way of funds but has a lot in the way of information.”
"Exactly, my injured friend. You see, in all my years of wok, here and there, I've come across interesting bits of information about certain events. I suppose I should have done my good civic duty and reported them to the proper authorities but… see, I never got around to it. And when I was in serious discussions with the attorney general's offices of both Maine and New Hampshire, I decided it was time. I offered them some very interesting information that led to certain arrangements. I won't bore you with the details. Let's just say any and all charges against you have been dropped. I might have a couple of court dates ahead of me, but nothing to worry about. Oh. And I decided to clean up one more loose item."
I don't know if it was the painkillers or just the soothing tone of Felix's voice, but I was definitely beginning to feel better. "Seems like you've already had a busy day. What else, then?"
"Ray Ericson."
"Oh."
"C'mon, don't get all mushy about it, Lewis. I came to him and worked out a deal. He'll stay out of your way, he forgets about doing anything to you in return, and I've set him up someplace where he can get suntanned and meet interesting women."
"St. Pete?"
"The same." The smile on his face was quite wide and said, "Yeah, a hell of a day. Anything else you need?"
I said, "Hate to do this to you, Felix, but yeah, there's one more thing you can do for me."
"Not to worry. You're an injured lad, and I take pity on injured lads. Go ahead. What else do you want?"
I told him. He pondered it for a moment and said, "Yeah. Doable. Tomorrow morning okay?"
"That will be fine."
He let his chair fall forward with a bang. "I've got to get going on it. And then, Lewis, let's stop worrying about favors for friends and deceased friends. All right?"
"I'll try."
The last thing he said as he left was "The hell you will."
Brian stood there, glowering like a student brought before his high school principal. Both hands were in the pockets of his coat.
I said, "How did you convince him to come along?"
Felix just smiled. "I made him an offer he couldn't refuse." He laughed and headed out the door, and said, "Jesus, I love saying that line. Look, I'll be outside, in case you need anything."
Felix stepped out and I said to Brian, "This won't take long."
"Good."
"You weren't straight with me up in North Conway."
He shrugged. "So?"
"So why didn't you tell me that the Russells had contacted you about their artifacts? And that you had given them Jon's name?"
Brian said, "You're a smart fella. I'm sure you can figure it out."
"That's what I've been doing, all night. I guess maybe you gave the Russells the name of Jon as a joke. All the grief and heartache he caused you
, maybe you thought you'd get a little bit of revenge, get Jon all spun up about possible artifacts, and then see him get disappointed again. A good guess?"
He said, "Yeah. Not a bad guess at all. Only thing I got wrong was that the artifacts were real. That's what the papers said today."
I moved some and winced as a bolt of pain rippled up my leg.
"But after he was killed? What was the difference then? Why keep it a secret? Why not tell me? Or the cops?"
The glowering look in his face returned, and he spat out the words. "Why? I'll tell you why. That damn fool chased me out of town and my home because of his dreams about those damn Vikings. That's why! And do you think I was going to give him the satisfaction of being right? Even from the grave? To have the people in Tyler talk about him, years from now, as being a guy who eventually was right about the history of Tyler? Him and not me? The hell I would." His face was red and his lips trembled. "The hell I would."
I lay there and suddenly wanted him gone. "You can leave, now."
He looked defiant. "Suppose I don't? Suppose I want to stay here and give you a piece of my mind?"
"Then I'll ask the large gentleman standing outside to come in and assist you."
He stared at me, called me a variety of names, and then left. After a bit, Felix came in, sat next to me.
The night went all right, fitful and passing with naps and long dozes, and after a breakfast of a cheese omelet and coffee and toast, Felix came back, looking tired, and bringing along a very unhappy Brian Mulligan. Felix said to me, "He was a reluctant cuss at first, but here he is. As promised."
“So," he said. "Got what you needed?" "I suppose I did. Whore's Brian?"
"Gave him cab fare, bus fare. I imagine he'll be home by tonight." Felix looked at my leg. "You ready to head home?"
"In a few hours, I'm told."
"Good, I'll stick around."
"That would be nice," I said.
He pulled his chair closer to me and said, "How are you doing?"
"Me? I'm doing all right."
He shook his head, patted me on the shoulder, an usual gesture from someone like Felix. "Maybe so, but listen to your Uncle Felix. You're still high on survival and painkillers. You'll go home today and you'll be so happy and energetic, you think you'll have enough energy to run the Boston Marathon. But soon enough, you're going to crash, and you're going to crash hard. You've been shot, my friend, you've been violated in a very obscene way. And when you realize that, that old black dog of depression is going to jump on your back and sink its claws into you. Remember that."
Buried Dreams Page 27