“You have a catheter,” she said.
“I know that now. But it took so much work to sit up, I didn’t want to just lie down again.”
“Did you unhook this IV?”
“Yes. No more narcotics.”
“There’s an antibiotic in this. You need that.”
“Are there also narcotics?”
“Well, yes, but—”
“I’ll take antibiotics, but no more narcotics. Can I see the doctor, please?”
The woman looked at me.
“I’d like to leave,” I said. “I’m guessing that sort of thing has to go through a doctor.”
“Oh, my word,” she said. “You’ve been shot! Why on earth do you want to leave? You need to rest. You need medication.”
“I’ll take the medication and rest at home. I have a thing about hospitals.”
An hour later, after threatening to sign out against medical advice, the doctor was finally paged. He arrived half an hour later. Tall, stocky, balding on the crown of his head, he wore glasses on his nose, corduroy pants, and a white lab coat. dr. eugene allen was embroidered on the jacket, just above the pocket. He strolled into the room and took up a seat on the end of the bed. He shook hands with Ellmann then turned to me.
“I’m Dr. Allen,” he said, offering me his hand. “We didn’t get a chance to be formally introduced when I saw you earlier.”
“It’s nice to meet you.”
“And you. I’m glad to see you awake. So awake, in fact, I hear you want to leave.”
“I’d like to recuperate at home, in my own space.” Never mind the fact I didn’t actually have a home at the moment. “I have a thing about hospitals.”
Allen leaned toward me. “Me, too,” he whispered. Then he chuckled.
I couldn’t help a smile.
“Is there any real reason I should stay here?”
“We typically like to keep patients like yourself for twenty-four hours or so for observation. But there are no hard or fast rules about this sort of thing. If you’re feeling up to it, I don’t see any reason why you can’t rest at home. Of course, I’ll need to see you in my office first thing Monday morning. I’ll have an appointment made for you.”
“That sounds fine.”
“If you have any problems, any at all, in the meantime, don’t hesitate to call my service and have me paged. Okay?”
I agreed, and he left. He returned twenty minutes later with the nurse and handed me his card.
“Eight o’clock Monday morning in my office,” he said. “The address is on the card there.”
Fifteen minutes later, Ellmann pushed me down the hall and to the front lobby, then instructed me to stay put while he went and got the car. I was too drained to argue. I was exactly where he’d left me when he returned. He helped me into the front seat of the Charger then left the wheelchair with an elderly volunteer.
_______________
Ellmann’s house is huge and not what I pictured for him at all. Located off Timberline, south of Harmony, the neighborhood is deceptively new looking. The mature trees in the yards are the only real indicator the place has been around a while. That, and the occasionally dated design or feature on some of the houses.
Ellmann pulled the Charger into the driveway and raised the garage door. Inside, I could see an 80s-era Jeep Wrangler parked beside a first-generation Camaro with the hood up. Turned out Ellmann has great taste in cars.
The garage opened to a large tiled mud- and laundry room. I followed Ellmann out of the mudroom and into a large kitchen. It was all tile and marble and dark mahogany wood. And now that I was inside, I could see the place was even bigger than it appeared from the outside. How much were cops making these days?
The kitchen counters were empty, with only a toaster and coffee maker visible. A dish drainer held a single bowl and coffee mug. To the right, the kitchen opened into the rest of the house: a large office, a spacious dining room, and a living room beyond that. A large staircase led to the second floor. To the left, a short hallway led to the back of the house and the master suite. This was where Ellmann took me.
The French doors were standing open, the curtains closed. Ellmann went to the windows and opened the drapes. Warm sunshine filled the space. The king-sized bed was made of oak and seemed to fit Ellmann somehow. A large, worn recliner sat in one corner, a small table beside it. An open doorway led to the bathroom and closet. My duffle bag sat on the end of the bed.
“I grabbed a few of your things,” Ellmann said. “I figured you’d want to take a shower.”
“I do. Thank you.” I paused. “You know, I really appreciate everything, but I can’t stay here.”
He looked up at me. “I know. I had the motel manager transfer you to a new room, and I moved the rest of your stuff. I just brought you here because I need to do a couple things.” He walked over to me and kissed my forehead.
“It can’t be a good idea for you to be spending so much time with me. I’m the number one suspect in the cases you’re working.”
“I’ll worry about that.”
Showered and dressed, my stuff repacked, I left the bedroom and went to the office.
The office was located in front of the house, the large windows overlooking the yard and street. There were two sets of French doors, both of which were open. A large oak desk sat in one corner with a desktop computer, printer, and other assorted office equipment arranged on it. Ellmann was sitting in a leather chair, talking on the phone, a couple files open in front of him. I went to the brown leather loveseat and sat down. Well, mostly fell down. I lay down with my feet on one armrest, crossed at the ankles.
I was just beginning to relax when my phone rang. I dug it out of my pocket and answered.
“Would you be able to come in?” Karen Lerman asked. “I think it will be easier to discuss things in person.”
She didn’t sound mad, but she didn’t sound totally reassuring either.
“Sure,” I said. “I was planning to be there for my shift anyway.”
“Great. See you then.”
I punched the phone off and dropped it on the coffee table as Ellmann turned to look at me.
“What’s the word?”
“Report at four,” I said.
I saw the barely perceptible shake of his head as he turned back to whatever he was doing.
Exhaustion pulled at me, and the next thing I knew, Ellmann was shaking me gently and calling my name. I awoke and found him sitting on the coffee table, his elbows on his knees.
“It’s close to three thirty,” he said. “Did you still want to go to work?”
No. I felt like shit. What I really wanted was to go back to sleep. “Yes.”
I groaned as I pushed myself up. The last of the pain medicine had definitely worn off, and my entire upper body was stiff. Ellmann helped me get the sling back in place and then drove me to King Soopers. I was sweating by the time I got to the podium, and all I really wanted to do as I clocked in was sit down. For the first time, I appreciated just how long this shift was going to be.
The podium was unoccupied. I looked around for someone wearing a black vest, then spotted a middle-aged man with brown hair, warm brown eyes, and glasses. He was walking my way with Karen beside him.
“What on Earth . . .” Karen began when she got closer, her eyes wide. “Are you okay? What happened?”
I assured her I was fine then quickly introduced myself to the man beside her, pulling her attention away from my injuries.
His smile was genuinely friendly, his handshake firm and confident. He introduced himself as Mike. I learned he normally worked at the store on Timberline and Drake (my favorite of all Fort Collins King Soopers locations) but was helping out here because of the current staffing problem. I liked him immediately.
“If you’re ever in, find me and say hi,” he said. “I’m not sure how long I’ll be helping out here, but I’ll be back where I belong soon enough.” He chuckled.
“I might have to do that. It’s nice
meeting you.”
“Karen needs a quick word, then hurry back. I don’t know much, but I’ll teach you what I do know about this job.”
Smiling, almost lightheaded with relief that I wasn’t working with Tony again, I fell in step with Karen and followed her up to her appropriated office. I was slightly dizzy when I finally collapsed into a chair beside her desk.
Our meeting was brief. She confirmed Tony did not have the authority to fire me, and that his behavior the night before “might have been” considered out of line. She’d arranged for him to take a couple days off; he was obviously stressed. I asked if he would be reprimanded, and she told me she’d contacted regional management for guidance on what to do next. She was waiting to hear back. I left her office without many definitive answers.
I returned to the front end and met up with Mike, who informed me I was white as a sheet. I assured him I was fine and drank some apple juice I quickly purchased. An hour later, Karen returned and pulled me aside.
“I just heard from corporate,” she said. “No reprimand will be given to Tony.”
“Really?”
“Further, I’m afraid a formal complaint and a warning for yesterday’s incident will go into your file.”
“Excuse me?”
She sighed. Actually, she seemed kind of annoyed. “The customer is always right; that’s a policy King Soopers takes very seriously.” She indicated a document she was holding. “I typed up the warning for you to sign. I’m afraid this also means your trial period will be extended. If you incur another warning, you’ll be terminated.”
“Let me make sure I understand,” I said. I was aware of my tone, but I couldn’t be stopped at this point. Blame it on the gunshot wound. “I didn’t do anything wrong. Tony was out of line and incredibly inappropriate, blatantly overstepping his authority. Yet, I’m the one who will be formally reprimanded while Tony gets a bonus vacation?”
“Look, none of this is up to me.” It was clear now her annoyance wasn’t directed at me. So that counted for something. But not much, because she was going to carry this out anyway.
I struggled out of the vest.
“I appreciate the opportunity you gave me, but this isn’t going to work out.” I handed the vest to her.
“I understand,” she said, accepting the vest. She offered me her hand. “Personally, I’d do the same. I wish you the best of luck.”
I clocked out and said goodbye to Mike, promising to look him up the next time I was in his store. Outside, I went to the employee lot and sank to the ground, my knees drawn up in front of me. Ellmann had been planning to pick me up when my shifted ended at midnight, and I knew he’d be busy until then. I dialed Sadie.
While I waited, I had my eyes closed, periodically opening them to scan the parking lot for ski-masked, gun-wielding murderers. Fifteen minutes later, Sadie’s red Lexus IS convertible rolled to a stop in front of me. Powering down the window, she leaned out and peered at me.
“What the hell happened to you?”
“It’s a long story,” I said.
Straining, I tried and failed to get up. Sadie came over and hauled me to my feet, then watched over me while I got into the passenger seat and buckled up. The soft black leather interior was exceptionally comfortable. I love Sadie’s car.
“You look like shit,” she said in a faint Southern drawl.
“And you look perfect.”
She slammed my door shut.
Mercedes Salois is tall and thin, with long legs and naturally blonde hair and blue eyes. She’s incredibly fashion savvy, ultra modern, and downright gorgeous. On top of all this, she’s active, adventurous, and fun. If she liked any of the horde of men that followed her around, she could have been married ten times over, and she’d only just turned thirty.
Sadie slid in behind the wheel, then leaned over and pulled the collar of my shirt open, peering at the bandage she’d spotted there. I stole a glance myself. I could see the blood seeping through the white gauze dressing. She sighed and let go of my shirt.
“Don’t bleed on the car,” she said. But her voice was tight, and I knew she was worried.
I dozed on the short ride to the motel. When we arrived, I struggled out of the car and went into the office. A clerk I didn’t recognize was behind the counter, eyeing me suspiciously. No doubt she was a little edgy after last night’s events, and I couldn’t blame her. Actually, for her sake, I hoped she had a shotgun under the counter.
It was a very long ten minutes for her to triple-check my ID, confirm I was who I said I was, and get me a key to my new room. I was sweating by the end and knew Sadie was watching me, waiting for me to pass out and fall down. She took the key from the clerk then wrapped an arm around my waist and guided me out of the office.
Sadie had been mostly quiet since she’d picked me up. A couple times she’d tried to ask me what had happened, but I’d blown her off. I didn’t want to talk about it. And she didn’t push.
“Here,” she said, pointing. “Forty-two.”
She let us in and steered me over to the bed. I mostly fell onto it. She shut the door and flipped on the lamps, knowingly leaving the blinds closed. She dumped her designer bag on the table as I reached into mine (not designer) for Krupp’s gun.
Glancing at the gun, she dropped her keys on the table beside her bag.
“New gun?” she asked lightly.
“Yes. Do you like it?”
My gun had been confiscated and taken into evidence last night. The third gun from my house was also in police custody, having been used by someone else to kill Margaret Fischer. All the rest were in a gun safe in the back of my storage unit.
This gun, a Vietnam-era M1911, was Leonard Krupp’s, or at least it had been. And I was glad to have procured it when I had. I was going to need it the next time someone with a ski mask and gun came to visit me. And I’d bet anything there would be a next time. How fortunate I already had a box of .45 caliber bullets.
Of course, I’d prefer to avoid having the police look at this gun. I couldn’t say for sure where Krupp had gotten it, or what he’d done with it. I’d noticed the serial number was still intact when I’d cleaned it, but that would only make it easier to trace.
“You never carry a gun,” she said as she went into the bathroom, flipping on the light.
“I know. But I’m kinda mixed up in something.”
“No shit.” She poked her head out of the bathroom. She held a bottle of rubbing alcohol and a package of gauze. “Take your shirt off. Let’s get that cleaned up.”
“You don’t have to help me.”
“I know. But since I don’t know what’s going on, it’ll make me feel better. Then I’ll do whatever you want. If you want me to stay, I’ll stay. If you want me to go, I’ll go.” She ducked back into the bathroom, then stuck her head out again, this time pointing a finger at me. “But I expect you to explain all this to me one day.”
Eternally grateful to her for just being a friend, I complied. Shedding my shirt, which now also had blood on it, I went into the bathroom and sat quietly on the toilet while she slipped into nurse mode and made quick work of cleaning and redressing my wound. She asked me no questions and made no comments, although I knew she’d been an ER nurse long enough to recognize a gunshot wound when she saw one.
As much as I would have appreciated the company, I thought it too risky for her to hang out with me right now. And I was just too exhausted to worry about anyone else. I happened to know Sadie had her own gun in her expensive designer bag and wouldn’t hesitate to use it, but I didn’t want to put her in that position. As promised, she left without protest, simply reminding me I owed her an explanation (which better be good) and ordering me to take care of myself.
I watched around the heavy drapes as she returned to her car and motored away. I hadn’t noticed anyone suspicious when we’d returned to the motel, and I didn’t think we’d been followed from King Soopers. I was learning quickly how to spot a tail and other suspicious ac
tivity. It’s amazing how easily that happens when your life depends on it. I swept another glance around the parking lot, confident nothing was out of place.
I put the gun on the bedside table, along with my phone after sending Ellmann a text about no longer needing a ride. Then I crawled into bed and passed out.
20
I woke up to the sound of my phone ringing. It felt late. I reached for the phone and winced, the pain in my shoulder hot and throbbing, my upper body stiff. Finally, I managed to snatch the thing up and answer before the call went to voicemail.
“Yeah, hello.”
“Zoe, sorry to wake you,” Ellmann said. “I wanted to call you instead of just coming in.”
“Okay, sure,” I said. “I won’t shoot you.” There was only a trace of humor in my voice. I remembered all too well how close I’d come to pulling the trigger last time.
“Good. I’ll be there in a couple minutes.”
I pushed myself out of bed and shuffled into the bathroom, taking the gun with me. (I’d learned a valuable lesson last night.) In the bathroom, I stood before the mirror. My hair was down because I couldn’t lift my arm to put it up. Still shirtless, I inspected the dressing Sadie had placed earlier. It was intact and, by some miracle, still dry.
My bag was neatly arranged on the luggage rack where Ellmann had set it. I pulled out a tank top and had it over my stiff, aching left arm when I heard the door. I couldn’t help feeling a jolt of panic, even though I was sure I knew who it was. Grabbing up the gun, I stood in the bathroom doorway, weapon at the ready.
“Zoe?” I heard Ellmann call as he pushed the door open.
“Here.”
I said hello then returned to the bathroom. I worked my other arm into the shirt and reached for the sling when Ellmann appeared in the doorway. He took the sling and gently helped me into it.
“I’ll get some ice,” he said. “You could probably use an ice pack.”
“That sounds good.”
“I filled that prescription for pain meds the doctor sent home with you. Don’t suppose you’d want one?”
“I’ll try some Tylenol first.” I wanted to be stone-cold sober the next time someone tried to kill me.
The Trouble With Murder Page 25