by J. S. Marlo
The show deserved a better ending than the new one Paul had concocted in her absence. “You want me to let Paul end the season with a bedroom scene between Carson and Vivian while a house slides down a cliff?”
“Tell me you’re joking.” He stood, and began pacing alongside the bed. “Is Paul threatening to end the show badly if you don’t work?”
“I’m working because I love the show…Blythe?”
He paused near the footboard. “Yes?”
“You don’t honestly believe Paul could be behind the shooting, do you?” Despite everything Paul said and did to her, she couldn’t picture him hiding in the woods with a gun and pulling the trigger.
His shoulders slumped as he heaved a heavy sigh. “I don’t know, Shamrock, but Jackson called me this afternoon.”
“About?”
“You were more than likely gunned down by the same gun as Claire.”
“I know.” The detective had come for a short visit after lunch and told her the bullet that struck her was indeed the one with the silver star on its shell. He also said he wouldn’t know for sure if the bullet in Claire’s brain matched the silver star casing until the bullet could be removed and examined. “But the gun is still in circulation, Blythe. It doesn’t mean I was targeted on purpose.”
Lots of bullets were fired in the park, and the theory of a random attack made more sense than a premeditated shooting. She went running anywhere between 11 a.m. and 2 p.m. in different sections of the park. Nobody could want her dead badly enough to stay hidden for hours in the woods, in the heat, with the bugs, on the outside chance she might run along that specific path.
Like Jackson had said, the man who shot Claire had ties with the gang operating in the park at night. Somehow, one of his shady friends had acquired the gun and shot her with it for no apparent reason. There was no other logical explanation.
Chapter Twenty-Two
Twice during the week, Sam drove past the strip mall and didn’t notice any police presence. Two-thirds of the spaces were for rent, and the last third was occupied by frivolous ventures.
At the end corner of the mall was Curb Your Curves, a women’s gym. When Sam was a child, the place was called Tap Your Feet. Stupid dance studio for spoiled kids. The dance lessons brought back awful memories. Ten years later, the mocking glares of the other children, and the nickname they’d whispered, still hurt. Two left feet. The mean teacher had only paid attention to the graceful dancers. The clumsy kids were sent to the corner to observe. By the end of the year, there was only one kid left in the corner. Me.
Tonight was Friday, but the heavy rain falling over the foothills curtailed Sam’s plan to ignite another fire.
Might as well go home. Not that anyone waited at home. And with any luck, it won’t rain on Tuesday night.
***
Anticipating a long day and an even longer evening on location, Blythe showed up at the hospital bright and early to visit Claire. He’d just come out of her room when Dr. Salinski intercepted him in the hallway.
“Mr. Huxley, may I have a word with you in private, please?”
Claire’s doctor wasn’t known to make morning rounds on Saturdays. Baffled by the strange request, Blythe followed him into his office and waited for the door to close before engaging the conversation. “Is something wrong? Has something happened to Claire?”
“There’s been no change to your wife’s condition since our last medical briefing on Monday.” Salinski discarded his lab coat on a coat rack. “Have you read Dr. Rutschi’s report and recommendations?”
“No.” If there was a report, no one bothered showing it to him. And between Riley’s attack and his busy schedule, he hadn’t had the time to contact Claire’s parents. “What does it say?”
As he walked behind his desk, the doctor motioned him to sit, but Blythe preferred to stand near the door.
“Rutschi is a renowned neurologist, but in the last decade, he’s acquired a somewhat controversial reputation in the medical world.” Salinski sat in his chair and propped his elbows on his desk. “He runs a clinic on the outskirts of Munich where he claims he restores neurological pathways and awakens comatose patients.”
A flicker of hope ignited inside Blythe’s chest. “Can he help Claire?”
“His report suggests he can, but my colleagues and I disagree. The bullet left a trail of destruction through your wife’s brain. Nothing can restore what has been obliterated, Mr. Huxley. He’s giving you and your wife’s parents false hope.”
***
No trespassing signs were attached to an eight-foot-high, chain-link fence topped with three rows of barbed wires surrounding the abandoned quarry where Martin filmed most of the fires and explosions seen in the series.
Weary after another altercation with his mother-in-law, Blythe wanted to blast the last eight and a half months of his life into oblivion.
He stopped at the south entrance where a guard checked his identity before he let Blythe proceed inside the restricted zone. The patch of gravel where he parked his car overlooked the pit where a replica of a vintage car was being prepped to explode.
Not too far from the makeshift parking lot was a shelter reserved for the cast and crew. Blythe joined his colleagues in the shade.
“I hate it here.” Pacing between the chairs, Bella fiddled with her cell phone. “There’s no reception.”
If only Claire’s mother had called him an hour later, Blythe could have avoided the heated discussion. But no, the woman caught him on the segment of country road where the signal didn’t waver, and he berated himself for not looking at the number before answering his phone.
Under the pressure of the disreputable German doctor, his mother-in-law wanted to transfer Claire to his overseas clinic for bogus treatments at an exorbitant cost. When Blythe refused, she threatened to call her lawyer. The entire conversation would have been served better in person. He was tired of fighting his in-laws. If Claire were alive, she’d be devastated by the pain and hurt the bullet caused her family.
A newspaper on his lap, Nick stretched his arms above his head.
“Nick, I need the name of a good lawyer.”
“Problems with the law or the in-laws, honey?”
Bella’s wordplay didn’t amuse him.
Using a red pen he pulled from his shirt pocket, Nick scribbled a number on the corner of the Sports page. “Rupert. He saved me tens of thousands in alimony.”
***
The afternoon sun warmed her skin, and a light breeze played in her hair. Lying with her bear on her stomach in the new hammock Ollie had attached to the front veranda during her absence, Riley inhaled the fresh mountain air. The scent of the pine trees sheltering the western side of the house from the wind, combined with the manure in the paddock, tickled her nose. Rattling and hammering noises from inside the stable where Ollie and Hunter were working reached her ears, along with the sound of flowing water and the neighing of the horses.
Her awareness slowly faded away, and she drifted into a hazy state.
A finger brushed her cheek, the feathery soft caress teased her consciousness. Her head tilted toward the sweet sensations. The caress grew more insistent as a hand cupped the side of her face. She peeked through half-closed eyes. Kneeling next to her, Ollie leaned closer and teased her lips with a gentle kiss.
“I was sleeping.”
Deep laughter rose into the air and enveloped her like a cozy fleece blanket. “Wouldn’t you be more comfortable in bed?”
The early flight had taxed her energy. “I don’t want to be alone in the house.”
“Who said anything about being alone?” Ollie’s clever comeback didn’t hide his intentions. “I was at the scene of a brushfire part of the night. I could use an afternoon nap.”
“And what would Hunter think?” Having her adult son at home had curbed their impromptu lovemaking sessions.
“I sent him into town to get some supplies. He won’t be back for a few hours.”
Her
eyes flew wide open. Shielded from the sun by Ollie’s shadow, she looked toward the barn. Hunter’s car was gone. “Did he fix his muffler?” The racket of his muffler was comparable to the noise of a freight train on rusty rails on a warm summer night. She couldn’t have slept that soundly through his departure.
“Doug hired a new mechanic last week, a young woman named Piper. Hunter met her at the hardware store. As soon as he learned where she worked, he decided his car needed a full checkup.”
Her children were all grown up, and love had become a summer theme. “Did he introduce her to you?”
“Yes, and she’s a nice girl. You’ll like her.” A huge grin crinkled his face as he picked up the polar bear sleeping on her stomach. “You should have named it Mama Riley instead of Ice.”
“Leave my Iceland bear alone.”
“A normal husband would take offense at a stuffed animal given to you by another man.” Not sounding the least offended, he placed Ice on her pillow. “Good thing I’m not the jealous type.”
“Good thing you’re not normal,” she teased. “Besides, Ice reminds me of Ro.”
“Don’t tell her, or she might just steal it to add to her collection.” Their daughter collected stuffed animals like some people collected stamps, and at every special occasion, Ollie bought her a new one. “In the stable, Hunt told me Ro called while I was gone to pick you up at the airport. She said she’d try to get hold of you on Monday or Tuesday night.”
She missed her daughter, and she regretted not talking to her that morning.
“I’d like that.” Smiling, she circled his neck with her left arm. “Are you strong enough to carry me inside?”
“Stronger than a polar bear.”
Chapter Twenty-Three
Monday came and went without a Skype call from Rowan, so on Tuesday, Riley carried her laptop with her into every room of the house. When in the living room, she placed it on the coffee table, and when in the kitchen, she set it on the counter.
Skype finally rang while she clumsily loaded dirty dishes into the dishwasher with her left hand. Her heart raced in excitement and anticipation as she rushed to accept the call.
“Hi, Ro.”
“Hey, Mom.” The beautiful smile on Rowan’s face wrinkled the corners of her eyes. “I can’t believe you got shot. When dad called me, I wanted to go see you, but he said to stay in Iceland. Are you in pain?”
Ollie had been right to stop her from flying back. She had better things to do than watch her mother sleep in a hospital bed. “There’s a hole in my breast. What do you think?”
Her daughter grimaced. “Ouch!”
Ouch summed it all up. “It’s not that bad,” she lied. “You don’t need to worry about me.”
“Did the police catch the guy?”
“Not yet, but they’re investigating.” As she spoke, she moved her laptop from the counter to the table so she could sit on a kitchen chair. “It appears I was a random target.”
“Hunt told me about the silver bullet.” If her brother had shared everything, then she’d been fully informed. “It’s creepy. Are you gonna go back to the studio?”
“Yes, but not until October. By then, you’ll be home.”
“Yeah…hmm…about that…I have a meeting with the dean tomorrow morning.”
“With the dean? Why?” Worry gripped Riley’s chest, but eased a second or two later. Her daughter wasn’t the type to get in trouble. Besides, she sounded too cheerful to be in trouble. “Is something wrong?”
“No, not wrong.” She visibly squirmed on her chair. “Hear me out, okay?”
Considering Rowan could terminate the conversation on the click of a button, Riley forced herself to remain calm and objective. “I’m listening.”
“I really like it here, Mom. The research team is amazing, and there’s a volcano that’s been showing signs of increased activity in the last week or so.” If Rowan meant to reassure her, she failed miserably. “I told my prof I’d like to stay and study here if I could, so he started talking about exchange programs. Next thing I know, I’m meeting with the dean at the faculty of science in the morning.”
“Where?”
Clear laughter filled the kitchen. “At UI. Where else?”
“I see.” Knowing her daughter’s adventurous spirit, it shouldn’t have come as a shock to learn she wanted to continue her study at the University of Iceland, but still…Riley had difficulties wrapping her heart around the news. “How long are we talking about? One year? Two?”
“I’m thinking one semester, and the classes I’d take would be credited once I get back in December.”
Four months sounded reasonable, as long as she wanted to study in Iceland for the right reasons. “Is Bjorn a factor behind your desire to stay?”
Nibbling on her bottom lip, Rowan drew a drop of blood from her wind-parched lips. “Yes, but he’s not the major reason. If I don’t stay, I know I’ll regret it later in life. You’ve always pushed me to try new things. This is one of those things, Mom. And it’s only till Christmas. That’s much shorter than that entire year of awful dance lessons you forced me to take when I was little.”
Those infamous dance lessons resurfaced as leverage every time Rowan wanted something with all her heart. Arguing was futile.
***
Oliver liked teaching the volunteer recruits, but given the choice, he’d rather stay home with his wife. Six more classes before he regained his Monday and Tuesday evenings.
“On a final note, can someone tell me the percentage of male arsonists?” Standing in front of his class, he surveyed the young men and women staring at him.
The woman sitting next to Hunter raised her hand. “Sixty percent?”
“No. Not even close.” He turned and wrote 94% on the whiteboard nailed to the wall before returning his attention to his students.
Whispers and whistles floated in the room.
“Shocking statistic, isn’t it?” Done with his presentation on arsonists, he tucked the dry marker in his shirt pocket. “That’s it for tonight. Please review the material we covered and note any questions that arise. I’ll answer them at the beginning of our next session. Good night.”
Seventeen of the eighteen men and women in attendance hurried to leave. The last one took his time gathering the books and personal effects scattered on his desk. “Nice presentation, Dad. The peek inside the firebug’s mind was rather chilling.”
“Arsonists are meticulous creatures. They try not to leave anything to chance.” It frustrated Oliver that they hadn’t identified Thinner’s next target yet. The arsonist had gone anywhere from three days to three weeks between strikes. Tonight was Tuesday and marked the two-week point. For all he knew, Thinner could be stalking a store or a restaurant as he erased the notes he’d written on the whiteboard.
“Thinner killed a man. Do you think that will stop him from lighting another fire?”
“No.” With the death of the bartender, the arsonist had tasted blood. From now on, Thinner was bound to increase the frequency or the intensity of his attacks. “If anything—” His cell phone vibrated in his back pocket, and he set the eraser on the ledge at the bottom of the whiteboard before checking the number. “It’s your mom.” He answered. “Hello, Ken.”
“I’m not interrupting your class, am I?”
“No. Hunter and I were ready to leave. Do you need us to buy something on our way home?”
Hunter mouthed, “ice cream” then grinned.
“Would you like more chocolate ice cream?”
“Of course I do.” Soft chuckles reached his ears. “But it can wait. Ro skyped me, and she mentioned the dance lessons.”
Those dance lessons entered the conversation every time Rowan begged her mother for something special. “What did she set her heart on this time?”
“It’s…hmm…” The pause confirmed his suspicion. “I’ll tell you when you get home, but that’s not why I called. Do you remember the dance studio? It was in that strip mall ac
ross from the Ford dealership, and it was called Tap Your Feet. It starts with Tap.”
“But that was a long time ago, Ken.” The studio closed when Rowan was nine or ten years old.
“But Thinner knew Luther’s Gas Station used to be called Corner Rose Gas Station. That was around the same time.”
From that perspective, the piece fit the puzzle. “Where are you?”
“Home. Why?”
For a moment, she’d scared him into thinking she’d driven to that mall. “Promise me you’ll stay in the house. I’m sending Hunter home to take care of the horses.”
“You’re going to drive by the mall, aren’t you?”
“Yes, but I promise to be careful.” Once he ended the call, he turned toward Hunter. “Your mom may have figured out Thinner’s next move. Tap Your Feet Dance Studio. Go home and stay with her.”
His son slung his backpack over his shoulder. “You’re not going to check out that studio without backup, are you?”
Hunter’s hard, penetrating stare unsettled him. He’d inherited his father’s eyes, one light and one dark. So much of his son reminded him of Chad. The same determination, the same fortitude, and the same spirit, all wrapped up with a maturity beyond his years, but without his father’s cockiness. “I’ll call the police on my way there. The odds that I stumble on Thinner are slim.”
“I’m going, and I’m driving.” Using his broad physique to his advantage, Hunter stood between him and the door. “You can make all your phone calls from the passenger seat. Give me the keys.”
In his mind, Oliver heard Chad’s gleeful laughter from heaven. Hunter was also as stubborn as his mother. “Your mother is going to kill me when she learns you came with me.”
He smiled, his mother’s smile, but showed no mercy. “Keys.”