“Richard,” I said, although I knew he could not hear me. My voice had come back enough for me to make actual sounds, but it was still so shattered it wouldn’t carry my words to the surface.
“Hold on, we’re bringing a ladder,” the first voice said. Brad, that’s who it was. Deputy Brad Tucker on official business. Doing his duty.
But also being a friend.
A flexible plastic and metal ladder was tossed down one side of the well. “Can you climb?” asked Brad.
I shook my head and waved my left hand again.
“All right. Don’t worry. Someone’s coming down to get you,” Brad said before shouting, “No, not you, Muir. One of the firefighters. They’re experienced with this sort of thing.”
A tiny smile quirked my lips. I could visualize Richard protesting this command.
Sirens again split the air. An ambulance. Of course, they’d have to transport me to the hospital. This time that thought was comforting rather than annoying.
The firefighter who climbed down to me was young with biceps that bulged beneath his tight shirt. Thank goodness, because I needed someone who could lift me.
He clung to the bottom rungs of the ladder, studying the situation.
“Think we need the chair,” he called up to the others. “She’s not going to be able to climb, even with my help. And I’m afraid to step down on that wood. It’s barely holding her weight. No way it supports both of us.”
“Hi,” I croaked.
“Hi.” The firefighter offered me a comforting smile. “Just hang in there. We’re getting another piece of equipment, but we’ll have you out of here soon.” He bobbed his head. “My name’s Ethan, by the way.”
“Thanks, Ethan. I’m Amy.”
“Yeah, I know. We’ve been searching for you for hours, ever since your boyfriend called the chief deputy because you weren’t answering the phone at your house.”
Aunt Lydia. I had totally forgotten about her trip to the hospital. “My aunt . . .”
“She’s fine, and from what I hear, very eager to see you.”
“We thought she was having a heart attack, you see,” I murmured.
“Naw. Some kind of angina or something, they said. Probably gave her meds. Kept her for observation overnight, I heard. She’s okay, though.”
“That’s good,” I said. “That’s really good.”
Another object was lowered into the well—a seat like a child’s swing, attached to ropes and pulleys. Ethan leaned forward and grabbed the ropes to steady the seat.
“Now,” he said, “here comes the tough part. Do you think you can stand long enough to climb onto that? I’ll strap you in and guide you up, but I don’t think I’d better step down on those boards. Might send both of us to the bottom.”
“I can do it,” I said, although I wasn’t sure.
You must, Amy. You’ve stayed tough so far. Be strong now.
I stared at the bone in my lap. Taking hold of the edge of my tunic with my left hand, I wrapped it up over the skeletal finger, securing it by stuffing it into the top edge of my bra. I didn’t think it mattered anymore how much skin Ethan saw. To his credit, he appeared unfazed by my action.
“We could come back for whatever that is later, you know,” was all he said.
“No, too important.” I struggled to my feet, pressing my left hand against the wall and hopping on my right foot.
Somehow, I was able to climb onto the seat with Ethan’s help to balance me. He strapped me in and shouted to the others to pull me up.
Ethan climbed the ladder, keeping pace with my ascent so he could make sure my chair didn’t bang the sides of the well.
I looked up, watching the circle of sky grow bigger and the stars brighter until we breached the top of the well.
Temporary lights flooded the area, creating rainbow halos around every person and object. I blinked as an army of people encircled me. They lifted me off the chair and strapped me to a backboard.
One of the rescue workers tugged my tunic free of my bra, spilling the skeletal finger across my midriff.
“What’s this?” they asked in a hushed voice.
Brad Tucker was standing at my shoulder. I motioned him closer with my good hand and pointed to the bit of bone. “Eleanora Cooper.”
He instantly understood. He barked an order for someone to hand him an evidence bag. He carefully lifted the finger and slid it into the bag, then turned to another deputy on his team. “Leave the ladder,” he said. “We have some more work to do down there.”
I held my left hand to the stiff brace at my neck. “Hard to breathe.”
“Yeah, but they need to keep you immobilized, at least until you’re fully checked out.”
I closed my eyes as the rescue workers tipped the backboard and slid it into the waiting ambulance. As one of the workers strapped down the board to a stretcher, a man jumped into the back of the ambulance.
“Hey,” said the woman inside the ambulance, “what do you think you’re doing?”
“Riding along,” Richard said. “Got permission from the chief deputy.”
The EMT waved Richard back. “He’s not really our boss,” she said, hooking me up to an IV.
“Please let him stay,” I whispered as the worker leaned in to check my pupils.
“All right, if he stays out of the way.” The EMT stepped aside and sat on the adjacent stretcher. “Ready to go,” she called to the people outside.
As the ambulance doors slammed shut, Richard perched on the built-in seat on my other side.
“Sorry, can’t turn my head,” I muttered.
He stood and leaned over me, brushing my lips with a kiss.
“Sit,” said the rescue worker. “We don’t need another patient.”
Richard sat back down but laid his hand on my shoulder and kept it there for the entire ride to the hospital.
And even though I couldn’t really reply, or laugh, or even see his face, Richard kept me entertained with stories about the funny stage disasters he had experienced during his dance career. Including the time his tights had caught on a nail and ripped open, exposing his bare backside to the entire audience.
“Some of them were appreciative, at least,” he said. “Got the best applause of the night.”
That prompted a hearty chuckle from the EMT.
Chapter Twenty-Eight
I spent three days in the hospital, which was two more than I thought necessary. But Aunt Lydia overruled all my suggestions that I was fine and should be released immediately.
She had backup from the doctors, Sunny, and even Richard, who listened to my complaints without saying a word. Of course, he didn’t have to argue with me. Aunt Lydia had that covered.
On the second afternoon, Aunt Lydia said she had to run some errands, and Richard volunteered to drive her, leaving me alone. As I flipped aimlessly through various television channels, I heard an unexpected voice say, “Hello.”
Kurt Kendrick walked into my room, cradling a tasteful but obviously expensive bouquet of orchids.
“Amy, so happy to see you were not too bruised and battered by your ordeal,” he said, setting the flower arrangement on the side table.
I stared at him with suspicion. “Thanks for the flowers, but I thought you were in Europe.”
“Well, you see”—he pulled up a chair and sat down, his long legs bumping up against the metal bed frame—“my plans went completely haywire. My business is a bit erratic that way. Sellers change their minds, and sometimes buyers can’t make up theirs.”
His grin was disarming, but I remained on guard. “Surprised you felt a need to visit me. Especially when you’ve just arrived home from overseas. You must be tired, and it’s not like you know me that well.”
“Don’t I?” Kendrick leaned in and clasped my uninjured hand. “I suppose I may feel a connection that’s not reciprocal. But having spent time around your family in the past . . .” He lowered my hand onto the hospital blanket and sat back. “You do resemb
le Rose, you know, and never more so than now, with those dark eyes shooting daggers at me.”
I choked back a swearword before replying. “I may look a bit similar, but I’m nothing like her.”
“No, that’s very true. You are much nicer and not in the least bit insane.” His brilliant blue eyes studied me intently. “You thought I was involved, didn’t you? In the death of Doris Virts, at least.”
I sank back against my pillows. “Yes, at first.”
“Because of the car.”
“Partially. Also, people told me things . . .”
“Ah, people.” Kurt Kendrick ran his fingers through his thick hair. “Like your aunt, I suppose. And perhaps Zelda Shoemaker?”
I stared down at my clenched left hand, refusing to meet his eyes. “Just people. Anyway, you do have a reputation, Mr. Kendrick.”
“Oh, I have several.”
I glanced up to meet his amused gaze. “So why was your car there that day? That’s one puzzle piece I still can’t place.”
“Just a coincidence, actually. Those do happen in life, if not in your books.”
“I know, but it’s a strange one, you must admit.”
“Not really.” Kendrick rested his chin on his tented fingers and examined me.
As if you were one of his art objects, Amy. I used my good hand to push myself up and stiffened my spine, not allowing my back to touch the pillows. “So explain it to me.”
“And now you have the look of Lydia about you. Only the expression, of course, but I can see it clearly. Very well,” he said, ignoring my sniff of disapproval. “I was parked there behind your library for a specific reason. A perhaps not-entirely-innocent reason. However, it had nothing to do with Doris Virts. I’m not sure why you would ever connect me to her murder anyway, since I didn’t even know the woman.”
“I thought since Don owed you money . . .”
Kurt Kendrick waved his hand through the air as if shooing off an annoying insect. “Oh, that. Yes, Virts owed me some money. But I assure you I wouldn’t kill his mother over it. Or anyone, for that matter. That isn’t the way I do business, despite what your aunt may think.”
“She believes you made your first fortune running drugs.”
“Does she? Well, suppose I take the fifth on that one—would you think me beyond redemption?”
I stared at his craggy face, noticing no change in his cheerful expression. “Not necessarily. But you still haven’t told me why you were parked near the library the day Doris was murdered.”
“It was a private art deal,” he replied. “The seller didn’t want to meet me in public or at my house. So we arranged a pickup at a neutral location, and I parked on the side road near the library so we could discuss the terms of the sale.”
“You often conduct business in your car?”
“Not often, no. But this seller had good reason to be careful.”
“Because the piece was stolen, or what?”
“My dear, surely you don’t expect me to answer that.”
I narrowed my eyes as I continued to study him for any signs of anxiety. There were none. Obviously, whatever Kurt Kendrick was up to, he had no fears of being caught. “Guess not. But how did you explain this little art deal to the sheriff’s office? I know they cleared you, so you must’ve told them something.”
“I did, and they did, and let’s just leave it at that, shall we? Now”—Kendrick pushed back his chair and rose to his feet—“I should probably go. I don’t want to tire you.”
“I’m fine,” I said but decided against asking him to stay.
“Just wanted to check on you and wish you speedy recovery. And Amy”—he leaned forward until he was looming over me—“perhaps it would be best if you confined your investigations to library-related research in the future. You can see where digging into things you don’t understand might prove dangerous, I hope?”
He straightened but continued to stare down at me, no longer resembling an aging but still charming courtier from a Baroque painting. Now he appeared as stern and cold as some Old Testament prophet carved in marble.
I shrank back into my pillows and swallowed hard before I replied. “I don’t expect there’ll be any reason to do so. Not unless we have another sudden rash of murders in Taylorsford, and I can’t imagine that we will.”
“I should hope not,” said Kurt Kendrick, and he smiled once again. “Take care, Amy. And when you can, try to convince that aunt of yours to forgive and forget, will you? I would like to invite both of you to dinner some time.” He waved a quick good-bye before leaving my room.
After he’d gone, I studied the orchids he had brought. They were beautiful, but I couldn’t help but note how the blossoms resembled the mouths of tiny beasts.
Chapter Twenty-Nine
On my third evening in the hospital, Aunt Lydia and Sunny kept me company as I glumly stared at a plate of what the hospital referred to as dinner. Richard had visited that day but left early for a Skype interview about one of his recently choreographed pieces.
“All I have is a sprained ankle and a broken wrist,” I said, sitting up straighter in the hospital bed. Making a face at my tray, I stirred anemic peas into a small mound of runny mashed potatoes.
Sunny cast me a sympathetic look. “The food’s the worst, I know.” She ran her fingers through her now silky hair. She’d been released from the hospital two days before but was already back at work, managing the library in my absence.
“And dehydration, and possible aggravation to that previous blow to your head, and being exposed to heaven knows what germs down in that muck. You had some fever until today, you know. They weren’t about to release you before they determined that it was just caused by exposure and inflammation and not some deadly pathogen from that well.” Aunt Lydia extracted her cell phone before she snapped shut her purse. “The doctors say tomorrow and not a minute before. Now that we’ve settled that, I’m going to call Zelda and see if she has any more details on Sylvia.”
“Oh, don’t bother.” Sunny looked up from her examination of the cards attached to the flowers on my windowsill. “I know all about it.”
I glanced at her, raising my eyebrows. “Brad filled you in?”
“Maybe. Anyway, the latest is that Sylvia has finally confessed to everything. When they caught her, at first she refused to talk, but when she was told Bob Blackstone had regained consciousness and told the sheriff all about the cover-up and Don’s blackmail, she spilled everything. Brad said it was like she had some mental break or something, because she started raving about the need to protect secrets and how no one would ever understand how hard she’d worked to preserve the family name.”
“I just can’t believe my cousin killed three people over a minor land deal and some historical secrets. Information that couldn’t really affect anyone still alive.” Aunt Lydia shook her head. “And then tried to flee to South America. You’d think it was a Bogart movie or something. Criminal mastermind on the lam.”
“But they caught her before she could take that private plane to wherever, thanks to Amy alerting the authorities to check all her accounts for aliases.” Sunny flashed me a smile.
Aunt Lydia opened her purse and tossed in her cell phone before pulling out a tissue. “To be perfectly honest, it’s a little scary, thinking that there must be a murder gene in our family.”
“The only person I want to kill is whoever cooked this,” I said, pushing my food tray to the side.
Sunny lifted the card from an arrangement of yellow chrysanthemums and waved it at me. “Speaking of Brad . . .”
“You know that gift is just a friend thing,” I replied.
“Better be. You break Richard’s heart, and you’ll have to answer to me.”
I made a noncommittal noise.
Sunny stuck Brad’s card back with the mums and surveyed the collection of flowers and blooming plants. “Which one is his, by the way? The orchids?”
A flush heated my cheeks. “No.”
&
nbsp; “The roses, of course,” Aunt Lydia replied before I could say anything more. “Aren’t they beautiful?”
Sunny touched one velvety crimson petal. “And expensive. Wow, guess he really is a goner.”
“Look, don’t jump to conclusions. It isn’t that serious yet . . .”
Aunt Lydia and Sunny both laughed.
After she collected herself, Aunt Lydia dabbed at her eyes with the tissue. “As a matter of fact, Richard told me to bring you to his house tomorrow as soon as you’re released. He’s going to show me some of his choreography through some sort of streaming thing. Yes, I asked him to, so don’t raise your eyebrows at me, young lady. He’s also going to fix us both some lunch. Said he thought I might appreciate the break. Which I do.” She smiled at me. “It’s been rather exhausting running back and forth on top of arguing with a stubborn patient. Not to mention, I’ve also been eating hospital food. In the cafeteria, but still . . . not ideal.”
“Yeah, I guess not.” I held up my left hand. “Mea culpa. In other words, thank you both for putting up with me. I know I’ve been a bit grumpy.”
“A bit,” Aunt Lydia agreed.
Knowing she was right, I decided to overlook that comment. “And thanks for making sure Mom and Dad didn’t take the first flight home. I’d hate to ruin a trip they’ve planned for years.”
“I told them I was looking after you.” Aunt Lydia cocked her head to one side. “I haven’t mentioned Richard to them, by the way. Thought maybe you’d want to broach that topic.”
“Yeah, in time,” I said.
Sunny and Aunt Lydia shared a conspiratorial glance.
“You shouldn’t wait too long,” Sunny said. “They’d probably want to know before the engagement.”
“Engagement? We just met,” I snapped, then slumped back against the pillows as I surveyed my aunt’s amused face. “Sorry, grumping again.”
“It’s okay. Blame it on the medication,” Sunny said. “That’s what I did. Seemed to work.” When she tossed her head, her hair shimmered in the light like a golden veil. “Convinced Brad, anyway.”
I shot her a rueful smile. “Girl, you could probably convince Brad the moon was made of Styrofoam.”
A Murder for the Books Page 28