Good Night Sleep Tight Don't Let the Stalkers Bite (Charlie Bannerman Mysteries)

by Teresa Watson

  I sat down in a dining room chair, shaking like a leaf as Dr. Lance put his bag on the table. “A bit jumpy, aren’t you, Charlie? Can’t say as I blame you, considering the week you’ve had.”

  If Dr. Lance weren’t married already, I’d consider marrying him myself. He’s in his mid-40s, brown eyes, salt and pepper hair, with a very warm smile. He is a great patient advocate, always listening to their concerns, no matter how small or petty they may seem.

  He pulled a chair in front of me and sat down. Taking my left hand in his, he unwrapped the bandage and felt for broken bones like the paramedic did before rewrapping it. He picked up my right hand and looked at the knuckles. “Fighting again, Charlie?”

  “It wasn’t much of a fight. My opponent never had a chance to swing back.”

  “Rather hard when he was wearing handcuffs,” Keaton laughed.

  Dr. Lance looked at me in surprise. “Fighting dirty?”

  “He drove his truck into my house.”

  “Sounds like he got off easy, then. What did you do to him?”

  “Broke his nose.”

  “Again,” Keaton added.

  “You hit Cash?” he shook his head at me. “The fingers and knuckles aren’t broken. Have you been resting like I told you to?”

  “Except for this evening, yes,” I said.

  “Keaton told me what happened. Let’s get her into the bedroom so I can take a look at those broken ribs and make sure nothing else is wrong.”

  They helped me to the bedroom, and Keaton left us alone. Dr. Lance is nothing, if not thorough. It took a half an hour for him to check me out, and by the time he was done, I hurt more than when he started. Why is it you always hurt more after the examination? I thought doctors were supposed to make you feel better, not worse!

  He called Keaton back into the room. “She really needs to stay in bed for a few days. No running around, no driving. Those ribs need time to heal. I’ll give her a shot to help with the pain, and you make sure she takes her medication like she is supposed to.”

  “I can’t stay here a few days, Dr. Lance. We have to get out of town. If Cash knows I’m still in town…”

  He interrupted. “I understand that, Charlie. Keaton explained your plans to me. But you have to understand my position. I’m trying to do what is best for you, and the best thing for you is to stay still. Riding in a car down country roads will make you hurt more. You could end up with a punctured lung, and then you will end up in the hospital with a chest tube sticking out of you.”

  “Can’t you give me something strong enough for the pain so we can make the trip?”

  “No, Charlie. You are staying right here. Don’t make me call Bernie and ask him to put you under house arrest. I’m counting on you to make sure she stays put, Keaton.” He took out a syringe and a small bottle, filled the syringe and gave me the shot in the arm. “This should help you sleep for at least eight hours. The fact that you are worn out will give you a few more hours, I’m sure.” He closed his bag. “Call me if you need me.”

  Keaton walked him to the door, locking it behind him and arming the alarm. Picking up the bags, he went back to the bedroom. “It’s been a long day,” he remarked as he put the bags on the floor. I nodded in agreement. “Is there anything I can get you?”

  “No, thank you.”

  “How about a shower?”

  “I’m so tired I don’t think I could stand up long enough.”

  “Why don’t you at least change your clothes then? They are torn, dusty and a bit bloody.”

  I looked down. He was right. There were rips in my sweats, a bloody handprint on the right leg, and dust everywhere. I definitely needed a shower. “Maybe I better have a quick shower,” I said “before that shot Dr. Lance gave me kicks in.” But when I stood up, a wave of dizziness overcame me, forcing me to sit back down. “On the other hand, sitting is good.”

  “I’ll help you in the shower.”

  “I don’t think so.”

  “Now is not the time for false modesty, Charlie,” Keaton said. “You can barely stand up. I’ll keep my clothes on. Just stay there on the bed while I start the shower and find some towels for you.” When I didn’t argue, he left.

  Grabbing some towels from the linen closet, Keaton turned on the shower, letting it run until it was hot. Making sure there was shampoo and soap where he could reach it, he went back to the bedroom. But when he went in, he knew there would be no shower.

  I was already asleep.

  Chapter 21

  When I woke up, the room was dark. I wasn’t sure where I was at first. There was a clock sitting on a table to the left of the bed and I squinted at it. 2:35. Was it a.m. or p.m.? I had no clue.

  Was it possible to hurt this much and still be alive? I slowly crawled out of bed and carefully made my way to the bathroom, briefly blinded by the light when I turned it on. As my eyes adjusted, I gasped. If it was possible to fall in love with a bathroom, then I have died and gone to heaven.

  Done in different shades of browns, there was a double sink cabinet under a long mirror, white sinks with silver faucets. In a corner, there was a beautiful garden tub Jacuzzi. A beige toilet was discreetly hidden behind a wall. To the left there was a walk-in shower with jet sprayers pointing in every direction. I was torn between wanting to soak in that tub and standing under those sprayers to relax my sore and tired body. But I didn’t think I was quite ready for a shower yet, so I settled for another sponge bath.

  When I came out, Keaton was sitting on the end of the bed. “That bathroom is absolutely amazing!” I gushed.

  “Glad you like it,” he smiled. “My mother helped me design it. She said it was the kind of bathroom she had always wanted.”

  I sat down next to him. “What time is it?”

  “It’s 2:45 p.m.”

  “How long have I been asleep?”

  “About 15 hours or so.”

  “No wonder I am hungry! Have you heard anything about Braden?”

  “They did the surgery this morning,” he said, helping me up and leading me to the kitchen. “It went well, and he should be able to go home in a few days.”

  “Oh thank God, that’s great to hear.”

  “Same thing your mother said when I talked to her.”

  “You didn’t tell her I was here, did you?”

  “No, she thinks we are out of town.”

  “Good. She would really be upset if she knew I was staying here.”

  “Why?” he said, puzzled.

  “It’s that preacher image issue. It doesn’t look right, both of us staying here and not being married.”

  “I could call the justice of the peace and take care of that right now if you want,” Keaton joked.

  “Not even funny,” I said. “We would have a whole new set of problems then. My mother would be furious that I denied her the mother-given right to plan my wedding. It would get very ugly. Best not go down that road.”

  He laughed. I hadn’t noticed before, but he had a great laugh. And his dimples showed when he did it. Oh boy, I had it bad. Is there a shot that would keep a person from falling for dimples? Yeah, I didn’t think so.

  “What do you want to eat? I still have those groceries I bought the other day, plus plenty of meat in the freezer.”

  “Anything but liver and onions and Chinese food.”

  He made a funny face. “Not my favorite things to eat, so you are safe there.” He started rummaging in the freezer, pulled out a package and started fixing the food.

  “How long are we going to stay here?” I asked him as he got out a skillet.

  “Well, I figure we should just stay here for now,” he replied. “There is no reason to leave. Cash is still in jail; his mother is refusing to bail him out right now. Bernie said she decided he could just sit there for a while.”

  “I wonder how long that will last before she changes her mind or he talks her into it.”

  “Bernie said she was pretty mad, so it could be a few days. I figure it
will buy us some time.”

  “There are some things that are starting to bother me.”

  “Like what?” Keaton said, cutting up some cucumbers.

  I snatched one and took a bite. “There are some questions I want to ask Bernie. Do you think we can get him over here?”

  He wiped his hands on a towel and picked up his cell phone. “Bernie? It’s Keaton. Do you think you can stop by later? Charlie wants to talk to you.” He looked at his watch. “Sure, that will be fine. See you then. Five o’clock,” he said as he hung up.”

  I went back to the bedroom, took a notepad and a pen from my backpack, went back to the kitchen and sat down at the dining room table. “Could I have something to drink?” I asked as I flipped the notepad open.

  Keaton filled a glass with ice and poured a Dr Pepper, placing it in front of me. “Fifteen hours of sleep seems to have helped your brain begin to function again,” he remarked.

  “Food and this Dr Pepper will help more,” I laughed.

  “So, what’s bugging you?”

  “Well, for starters, the reasons why this whole mess started in the first place. That note that was left on the Beetle: ‘MINE, NOT YOURS. GET YOUR OWN!!’. What does that even mean? Does it refer to a material thing, or is it referring to a person?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “Me, either. Bernie said that Cash admitted to putting the sugar and potato in the car to damage it. But why? He may have threatened to take a sledgehammer to my car once, but he didn’t. He wouldn’t. He loves old cars too much, even though he won’t come right out and admit it. Repairing old engines like the one in the Beetle are hard work; he knows that because he works on engines. I think he’s covering for someone.”

  “Deja?”

  I nodded. “Yes, I think so. Did Bernie really recover fingerprints from the car before he confronted Cash in the hospital or was he bluffing? I don’t think he had enough time to do it, if you want the truth.”

  “So he bluffed him, but Cash didn’t know that. But if he didn’t do it, why confess?”

  “Deja thought Cash was chasing after me again. What made her believe that? What if the fight they had on Tuesday night was a break-up fight?”

  “What if they broke up before that night?” Keaton countered. “Maybe she had a hard time accepting the situation.”

  “I don’t know.” I chewed on my lip. “If they broke up before Tuesday night, then maybe she was the one who also left the note.”

  “And the “mine” she was referring to is Cash.”

  “Possibly. Did we ever give that note to Bernie to get it checked for fingerprints?”

  “If we didn’t, any fingerprints that were on it would have been destroyed when Cash drove through the house last night.”

  I cringed at the memory. “Any news on the house?”

  “Chet said it can be fixed, but it is going to take a few weeks.”

  “I’ll just add finding a new place to live to the list of things to do,” I said morosely.

  “You’re welcome to stay here,” Keaton smiled.

  “My mother would plotz, and my dad would have a heart attack,” I said.

  “You’re already staying here,” he pointed out.

  “Yes, but they don’t know that,” I said.

  “Good point. What else is bugging you?”

  “Well, since we are just loading up with suppositions here, let’s say that Cash had broken up with Deja on Monday. If that was the case, then why is he so upset about her death?”

  “Possession obsession?”

  “I don’t think so. Once he makes up his mind to break up with someone, it is usually a clean break. He doesn’t look back.”

  “There seems to be an exception to the rule.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “You,” Keaton said. “He doesn’t seem to be able to let go of you.”

  I thought about that for a moment. “But he didn’t break up with me. I broke up with him. Oh,” I said, realization coming to me.

  “He doesn’t take rejection well apparently, because he is coming after you. It’s only a clean break if he does the rejecting, not the other way around,” Keaton pointed out. “It is like a challenge to his manhood.”

  “Do all guys have this problem?”

  “No, just jerks like Cash who feel the need to control every aspect of their lives.”

  “This isn’t over with him, is it?”

  “I don’t think so,” Keaton answered, shaking his head. “Not until he says it is over.”

  I sighed. It wasn’t what I wanted to hear. Quite frankly, I could have gone a few more days without knowing it. But hiding my head in the sand when there is trouble was not something I did well. Yes, I know what you are going to say. Don’t point out the obvious: I’m hiding.

  Keaton placed a plate of food in front of me: chicken, green beans and sliced cucumbers in vinaigrette dressing. “I was going to make a salad but I didn’t have any lettuce in the crisper.”

  “This looks wonderful,” I said, picking up my fork and digging in. He brought his own plate over and sat down across from me. We ate in companionable silence, lost in our thoughts. To be honest, I had no idea what to say. No one had ever tried to kill me before just because I had ended a relationship. I had walked away because things had become toxic for me, and I felt I was losing my identity. Cash tried to control every aspect of my life when we were together. At first, I thought it was wonderful that he wanted me to spend so much time with him. But I started to realize he was cutting me off from my family and friends. I needed them. They made my life complete and without them, I felt like I had been set adrift in choppy waters with no anchors.

  Cash didn’t see things that way, and never understood why I broke things off. That had been nine months ago. My life was steady again; my family and friends were around me, and things were good. At least everything had been good until this week. Now I felt like I was adrift again, and there was no one to hold on to.

  Keaton placed his hand over mine. “You look so sad. Why?”

  “Everything is topsy turvy in my life again, and I don’t like it. No car, no house, hiding from my family and friends because some nut case can’t stand to be rejected.” I held my hands over my mouth for a minute before dropping them. I didn’t know how to explain my emotions. A wave of fatigue hit me and I just wanted to lie down again. I stood up, picked up my empty plate and carried it to the sink. “I’m sorry. I guess I’m not very good company. Thank you for the meal, it was wonderful. You’re an excellent cook.” I smiled at him before making my way to the bedroom, closing the door behind me.

  I slid under the covers, pulling my cushy pillow close to me. Crying probably would have helped relieve some of the stress, but I was tired of crying. Besides, it made me sound like a plugged up foghorn.

  Keaton knocked on the door before he came in. He sat down, leaned against the headboard and pulled me closer to him, my back against his chest. “Charlie, I don’t know what your life was like with Cash, and I won’t ask. You can tell me one day if you want to. But right here, right now, you’re with me, and I promise I will do my best to keep you safe. I won’t hurt you, or try to control your life. Hopefully, someday, you’ll let me be a bigger part of your life. For now, I can offer you my friendship, my help, and a shoulder to cry on if you need it.”

  “Thank you.” I didn’t trust myself to say more, and I don’t think he expected me to. At that moment, with his arms around me, I knew I was safe.

  Chapter 22

  I must have fallen asleep, because the next thing I knew, Keaton was calling my name. “Bernie is here early. Do you still want to talk to him?” Nodding, I pushed myself into an upright position and gasped as pain shot through my ribs. I must have gone pale because Keaton’s eyes widened for a moment before he put some pillows behind my back and eased me into them. “Are you sure you want to do this?”

  “We need answers. I can’t spend the rest of my life hiding in your condo.”
r />   He grinned. “I wouldn’t complain about it.”

  Rolling my eyes, I shooed him out the door. “Grab that notepad off the table when you come back, please,” I called after him. Bernie came in carrying one of the dining room chairs, putting it near the bed as Keaton handed me the notepad and sat down next to me.

  “How are you, Charlie?” Bernie said, concern etched across his face. “You look a bit pale.”

  “The pain shot Dr. Lance gave me is wearing off,” I said. Keaton started to get up to get me a pain pill, but I put my hand on his arm to stop him. “Wait until we are done. I want a clear mind for this.”

  “Keaton said you have some questions. What about?”

  “When Harry was fixing my car, did you send someone over there to check for fingerprints?” He nodded. “Did they find any?”

  “Three sets. Yours, Cash’s and one unidentified set.”

  “Where did you find Cash’s fingerprints?”

  Bernie thought a moment. “On the roof and the trunk.”

  “Not on the gas tank cover or the tail pipe?

  “No.”

  Keaton looked at me. “You were right.”

  “Right about what?” Bernie said.

  “It wasn’t Cash who sabotaged the car, it was Deja. I’m pretty sure she left that note on my car, too.”

  “Where’s the note?

  “Somewhere in the middle of the mess that used to be my house. It isn’t important now anyway. Deja’s dead.”

  Bernie rubbed his chin. “If Deja did it, then why did Cash say he did it when I confronted him at the hospital? That doesn’t make any sense. He has enough problems; he doesn’t need to go borrowing trouble.”

  Keaton said, “We think he did it to protect Deja, perhaps out of guilt. Charlie believes that Cash broke up with Deja on Monday, feeding her fears that he was dumping her to get back together with Charlie.”