by SUE FINEMAN
She didn’t answer. Drilling him with her best stare, she wondered how long it would be before he found a reason to get rid of her.
How come he didn’t chew Mark out for dating the ditzy blonde who worked in the fire chief’s office? Or the pretty red-haired stripper? They’d been pictured together, but nobody said a word about it at work.
After the captain went back to his office, Karen said, “Forget him. Let’s get this gang murder solved before they kill someone else.”
<>
Steffen wasn’t surprised to see a smaller audience at the first show that evening, but the sparse crowd put Carson in a surly mood. Ginny slipped in the door after the show began, and as Steffen went around the room, answering questions and showing off his psychic ability, he stopped on her. “Your career will take you to new heights for a woman in this city.”
“That’s nice to know.” Her eyes sparkled. “What about my love life?”
He cocked his head. “Why do women always ask me that question?”
The audience laughed, but he had an answer for her. “You’ve recently met someone, a handsome guy who will love you like you’ve never been loved before.”
He wondered how many of these people had seen the picture in the local newspaper of him and Ginny kissing.
Steffen reluctantly moved on to the next audience member, a middle-aged woman who asked, “Will my current boyfriend marry me?”
“No. He’s a good man, but marriage scares him. If marriage is important to you, then you need to cut him loose and move on. If love is more important than marriage, then stay with him, because he loves you, and you’ll have a happy life with him.”
He talked with a man about career options and with an older woman about her health, and the show finally ended. Walking through the room, he shook hands with people and signed autographs. He enjoyed the personal contact with a smaller group like this one, but Carson sulked like a petulant child.
Ginny said goodnight and left. The room cleared out and a few more people came in for the last show. Another small group. Carson and the manager were in the corner arguing about money. Steffen tuned them out and went into the dressing room to meditate and get ready for the next show. He’d learned a long time ago to tune out Carson. The man exuded negative energy, which interfered with Steffen’s concentration.
Two hours later, preoccupied with the unusual shows tonight, Steffen climbed into the van beside Carson and pulled on his seatbelt. Carson cranked the starter several times before the van started. “We need a new van.”
“Forget it. I’m not buying you a new van. If this one dies, we’ll rent something for the last week of the tour.”
Carson, still muttering about the van, pulled out of the parking lot and the windshield cracked. “That’s a bullet,” he yelled.
Steffen looked around to see who was shooting at them. He saw a dark SUV parked on the street, window rolled down, and the barrel of a rifle sticking out. “Let’s get the hell out of here before he shoots again.”
Carson stepped on the gas and the van shot forward. As they skidded out of the parking lot onto the icy street, he lost control of the van. They spun around and the back of the van slammed into a light post. Steffen’s head banged against the side window, jolting him.
A second later, the window beside his right shoulder cracked and a burning pain struck his shoulder. He yelped. “Damn! He shot me.” He unsnapped his seatbelt and slid to the floor while Carson dove behind the seats and called 911 on the cell phone. Without a weapon to defend themselves and a wrecked van, they were at the mercy of the shooter.
Lights flashed through the van, and Steffen heard the car speed away. The shooter had given up.
“He’s gone,” said Carson. “How bad are you hurt?”
“It’s my shoulder. Stings like hell, but it won’t kill me.” He held his left hand over his right shoulder and felt blood soaking the sleeve of his coat. “Damn!”
“Did you see the shooter?”
“Hell, no!” He saw the car, a dark SUV, and the barrel of the rifle, but he didn’t see the person who fired the gun.
Why would someone shoot him?
Without conscious thought, Steffen’s mind called, Ginny, I need you.
<>
Ginny was half asleep when she heard Steffen call out. Strange. Goose bumps popped out on her arms. Unable to go back to sleep, she turned on the television.
“This just in,” the reporter said. “Just minutes ago, when Steffen Marchand and his manager were leaving the Cartoon Club, someone fired two shots at the van they were driving, hitting the popular psychic. He was taken by ambulance to Good Sam Hospital, the nearest trauma center. At this point, we don’t know how badly he’s been injured. Carson Edwards, Steffen Marchand’s uncle and manager, was driving the van, but he was not injured in the shooting.” The newscaster added, “The police aren’t saying if there’s any connection between the shooting and the incident last night in the club, where a mentally ill man fired a shot.”
Ginny turned cold. “Oh, Steffen,” she whispered. She threw on some clothes and drove to the hospital. The temperature had dropped and the streets were icy. She skidded on a slippery patch, but managed to get the car under control without hitting anything.
Two reporters camped out in the hospital lobby, one napping on the couch and the other drinking coffee. He jumped to his feet, but Ginny rushed past without comment, through the hospital to the emergency room, where she presented her badge at the desk. “Steffen Marchand?”
“He’s in surgery.”
“How badly is he hurt?”
A patrol officer strolled over, one of the rookies recently hired by the department. He asked, “You know the injured man?”
“I’m Ginny Kane, a detective with the department.” She presented her badge, then slipped it into her pocket. “I’m not here on official business. Steffen Marchand helped me find a missing friend.” She looked around. “Where’s his uncle? Where’s Carson Edwards?”
“Upstairs in the surgical waiting room,” the officer replied.
Ginny rode the elevator upstairs and followed the signs to the surgical waiting room, which was nearly empty this time of the night.
Carson sat at a table working a jigsaw puzzle. He looked up and froze. “What are you doing here?”
“Steffen called me.”
“Yeah, right.”
Ginny wasn’t in the waiting room for more than ten minutes when Dr. Bennett came in. He sat at the table with Ginny and Carson, pulled off his hat, and broke the news. “The bullet went into his shoulder and nicked the bone. I removed the bullet and the bone fragment.”
“How long does he have to stay in the hospital?” Carson asked. “We don’t have any health insurance. The sooner he’s released the better.”
Ginny stared at him. “For God’s sake, Carson, he just got out of surgery.”
“He can’t work for who knows how long, we can’t afford the hospital bills, and right now, we don’t even have transportation.”
“If everything goes well tonight, I’ll release him in the morning,” Dr. Bennett said. “I understand you’re from Chicago.”
Carson nodded. “That’s right.”
“I doubt the patient will feel like traveling this week,” said the doctor. “As for the hospital bill, the financial office will be open in the morning. They’ll work out a payment schedule.”
Ginny’s thoughts weren’t on the bills. They were on Steffen. She couldn’t leave him with an uncle who was only worried about how to pay the damn bill, and she couldn’t let him go back to the Whippoorwill Inn, where the shooter could find him. And she couldn’t let him return to Chicago right away.
She’d have to find a place in River Valley for him to stay and someone to take care of him while he recuperated. Someplace safe.
Uncle Carson could take care of himself.
Chapter Five
Steffen woke slowly, still groggy from the anesthesia. Before they took him to th
e operating room, he asked them to give him a local, but the X-ray showed a bone chip, and the bullet was still inside his shoulder. They couldn’t give him a local and sew him up. The doctor had to go fishing for the bullet.
His eyes drifted closed. Someone had tried to kill him. What had he done to deserve being shot? He didn’t have any enemies, at least none he knew of.
A minute later, it seemed, Ginny stood beside the bed. She gently brushed the hair off his forehead.
“What are you doing here?” His voice sounded weak, distant.
“You called me.”
“I did?”
She nodded. “I couldn’t get back to sleep, so I turned on the television. The reporter was talking about you, so here I am.”
He didn’t remember calling her, but then once the police and paramedics arrived, things got a little hectic.
“How did I call you?”
She raised her eyebrows and he knew. He’d summoned her with his mind. Interesting. He couldn’t remember doing that before. One more thing to add to his list of party tricks.
She leaned down and kissed his forehead. “Close your eyes and rest. I’ll be right here.”
In her work as a police detective, Ginny dealt with situations like this all the time, only this time it was different. This time the victim was someone she knew, someone she cared about. A stranger in their city. The investigative team had no evidence except the bullets they’d dug out of Steffen and the seat in the van. They had no motive and no suspects, only a vague description of a dark SUV.
While Steffen slept, Ginny walked down to the waiting room to call Mark. “I’m at Good Sam Hospital. A friend was shot last night.”
“The missing friend?”
“No, she’s fine. My father flew out to Washington and met with her and Roland Bickley. She’s lost her memory, otherwise she’s okay. They’re both okay.”
“So who’s this friend who got shot?”
“Steffen Marchand.”
“Mr. Sensational?”
“That’s the one.”
“No wonder you wouldn’t sleep with me.”
“Mark, I never intend to sleep with you again.”
“Yeah, sure. When Mr. Sensational takes his show on the road again, you’ll come back to me, Princess.”
“Don’t hold your breath. Tell the captain I’m taking a week off. Personal business. I haven’t had a day off in so long I can’t remember, and that includes weekends and holidays.”
“He won’t like it.”
“I know.” Captain Pierson didn’t like anything she did.
Ginny ended the call. She needed some down time from work. The male detectives all took time off, but she and Karen, the only other female detective, worked nearly every day. At one time, Ginny thought that would garner the captain’s favor, but she was wrong. She could work around the clock every day and it wouldn’t please the captain. Captain Pierson hated everyone named Kane. Add that to his bias against female detectives, and she couldn’t do anything right.
After hanging around the hospital all night, Ginny was tired to the bone, but she couldn’t leave now. Carson had gone back to the motel to pack, but she couldn’t let him take Steffen back to Chicago today. Steffen wasn’t in any shape to travel.
The shooter could have been a copycat, someone who saw the news report on the man who’d come to the show with a gun, but she didn’t think the two incidents were connected. The first man was crazy, and crazy people normally worked alone.
The crazy man wanted to make a statement.
The shooter last night had shot to kill.
<>
Later that morning, Carson stood beside Steffen’s bed. “We need to go home and see if we can salvage some of the bookings for the next tour.”
“Damn it, Carson, I told you there wouldn’t be a next tour. I’m finished, burned out.”
Carson glanced at Ginny, who stood back from the bed.
“I’ll take care of him while he recuperates,” she said. “Until we figure out who wants him dead, it’s best if he doesn’t go home. I don’t think the motel is safe either.”
“Fine, you take care of him.” Turning back to Steffen, Carson said, “I need to know… Is he after me, too?”
“I don’t know.” Steffen lifted his left hand and dropped it to the bed. “With all the drugs, I can’t…”
Ginny walked over and rubbed his left hand. “His radar isn’t working.”
“Carson, if I see something, I’ll call you.” If he’d seen something last night, they wouldn’t have been in the van to begin with. But he was preoccupied, his mind on Ginny instead of their surroundings. Now he couldn’t even think straight, let alone conjure up a vision of the shooter.
“You’re driving back?” Steffen asked.
“In a rental car. The van isn’t worth fixing.”
Ginny excused herself and left the room.
Carson moved closer to the bed. “I don’t want to leave you here, but—”
“I know. Go home.” He couldn’t ride all the way to Chicago today, and knowing Carson, he’d drive straight through so they wouldn’t have to pay for a motel.
Why would someone want him dead? He wasn’t a threat to anyone. He didn’t sleep with married women, and the crazy guy in the audience was still locked up, wasn’t he?
Carson leaned back on the window sill. “I’m sorry it had to end this way.”
“So am I.”
“I’ll give your luggage to your friend, and I’ll come back and get you when you’re ready to come home.”
Steffen nodded. He hated to take advantage of Ginny’s hospitality, but what else could he do? He didn’t know anyone else in River Valley. Ginny felt bad because the police didn’t know who’d shot him, but he couldn’t blame the police. The shooter didn’t hang around to introduce himself.
Carson said, “Take care of yourself,” picked up his coat, and left the room.
Steffen wasn’t sorry to see him go. They’d spent entirely too much time together in the past twenty years. Each tour ended with them barely speaking to each other. It was almost like being married, without the benefits.
In the hallway by the elevators, Ginny handed Carson a card with her post office box and cell phone numbers. “Steffen will be with me or my family, but I’d appreciate it if you didn’t tell anyone where he is.”
He stared at the card, then tucked it in his shirt pocket. “I’ll leave his luggage at the reception desk downstairs. Take good care of him.”
“I will.” She watched the elevator doors close behind Carson. Steffen was truly alone now. She didn’t especially want to take him home with her, because he might expect more than she was willing to give, but someone had to take care of him until he could take care of himself.
The doctor released Steffen just before noon. Ginny loaded him and his luggage in her car and started for home. Mom said he could stay with them, but Ginny’s little hideaway on Honey Creek would be a better place. More secluded and private. Safer, for now anyway. Nobody would think to look for him there.
The snow last night had coated the city, but the plows had cleared the streets. She watched in the rearview mirror to make sure they weren’t followed.
“Where are we going?” Steffen asked.
“My house. It’s small, but I have a spare bedroom.”
“Too bad,” he said softly. “I thought we could share.”
“You thought wrong, Mr. Sensational.”
She thought he’d say something about her still owing him one, but he didn’t. He wasn’t the one in charge now. Taking him to her home put her in charge. And she wasn’t going to sleep with him until after he healed, until she knew him a whole lot better. Until she was sure she could trust him not to play around in her head.
As they approached her house in the country, he said, “The snow is pretty.”
Looking at her little house, at the snow capped roof and trees limbs heavy with snow, she said, “Yes, it’s pretty.” But she wished she
’d built the garage last fall instead of waiting until next summer. She hated leaving her car outside in the snow.
As soon as she unlocked the door and walked inside, she knew Mom had been there. The cat food dish was full and so was Boomer’s water dish. She found a note on the kitchen counter: Ginny, there’s a pot of stew in the refrigerator, and Alex sent a dish of lasagna ready to go into the oven. If you need anything, call. Love, Mom.
Ginny smiled. Her family had come through for her again, as they did when she bought the old fishing cabin. Andy did the design for the renovation, Billy provided building materials, and they all helped with the work. Charlie put on the new roof. And then they held a housewarming party and brought her all kinds of wonderful things for her new home.
“Nice house.” Steffen walked between the pillars into the living room. Dark wood floors and a beautiful oriental style rug anchored the room. A spinet piano sat beside the open stairway up to the loft above, a cream sectional curved toward the stone fireplace, and a comfortable looking brown leather chair and ottoman sat near the windows, with a reading lamp and stack of books on the nearby table. Colorful throw pillows and a dark red throw draped across the end of the sectional softened the look. This was truly a room meant to be lived in.
“Ginny, what’s upstairs?”
“My bedroom, a bathroom, and a loft I use as a study. Your room is on this floor.”
He followed her back to a bedroom on the other side of the stairway. It was decorated in soft blue and chocolate. Understated and serene.
She put his suitcase on the bed and opened it, then started putting his clothes away in the closet and dresser. “You don’t have to do that. I can unpack.”
“You’re not supposed to use your right arm. That’s why the doctor put it in a sling.”
She quickly finished unpacking for him, put the suitcase in the closet, and carried his shaving kit to the bathroom. He followed, rubbing the stubble on his chin. Maybe he’d grow a beard while he was here. Would anyone recognize him with a beard?
She turned to face him. “I hope you’ll be comfortable here while you’re recuperating.”