I nodded.
“And that this is your honeymoon.”
I looked at Jack, who nodded.
“You should know that it is possible to have intercourse with this brace on; it will just be slightly more challenging.” She looked at Jack. “You’ll have to be careful not to put pressure on it.”
“No, of course not,” Jack assured her.
I laughed again, but somehow a few tears came out. Now I was worried. Was I, on top of everything else, insane?
Jack stroked my back and the doctor tossed in some more Latin as she competently bound my foot. Before our departure, I saw her speaking to Jack in a low voice.
When we left, I was a new woman: broken, but healing; in pain, but flying on wings of morphine; traumatized, but giddy with relief. Between the easing of tension and the workings of drugs, I was quite the humorist when we got back to Pat’s car. I was remembering jokes my brother Fritz had told me, jokes which had bombed horribly, but which now seemed amusing, and I shared them with Jack and Pat as I hobbled along on my newly-fitted crutches. I didn’t realize that I was babbling until Jack leaned over, kissed me, and said, “Maddy, you don’t have to keep up your spirits for us. We’ll understand if you just want to lie back and relax, or take another nap.”
I stared. “Am I talking too much?”
“No, no,” they both said.
They were being very accommodating, I thought. Whatever I wanted, they were happy to give. Perhaps, I thought, I should ask for diamonds.
Jack was tucking me into the car when Pat received a call on his cell phone. He spoke briefly, staring at the ubiquitous mountains and spitting once before he hung up and turned to me. “That was the police. They picked up Randy and Jim Bruder, and the two of them are basically cooperating. They say it wasn’t a kidnapping, more like they were an escort service, just helping to facilitate a meeting between you and their boss.”
“Bullshit!” Jack yelled.
“Who’s their boss?” I asked.
“Their boss is Damian Wilde, the biggest name in these little parts. He grew up here. He’s become a very successful businessman. An entrepreneur. He has a home up on the Cats’ Teeth Trail. He bought out Bruder Brothers supply a year or two ago, turned it from a little junk shop into a thriving concern.” Pat shook his head. “There’s no reason I can think of for him to be behind a kidnapping.”
“So are they picking him up, too?” asked Jack.
“He denies giving any orders of that kind to the brothers. Says the two of them are a little dotty in their old age. Cops have nothing to link them, other than the word of the old guys.”
I laughed. “They obviously didn’t plan it, Pat! They’re about as likely to mastermind a kidnapping as a cat is likely to rob a bank. Seriously! And I think Jim was having second thoughts. I think he let me get away.” I thought back; it was too convenient, Jim going out for wood right when he expected a visitor. No one was that stupid.
Pat scratched his head as he started the car. “Well, they’re assuming you’re pressing charges, Maddy. You are, aren’t you?”
I looked at Jack, who studied me with surprise. “Maddy, you’re not considering letting them get away, are you?”
“Jack, it’s not their crime! They’re just dumb fools who wanted some money.”
“That’s what lots of criminals are, Madeline!”
“I don’t know. I mean, they scared me, and they ruined my first day in Montana, but I don’t want to see them in jail for the rest of their lives. They’re just old men.”
Pat and Jack exchanged an uneasy glance. They obviously thought I was suffering from Stockholm Syndrome.
Pat sighed. “I think we’ll just leave you alone, Madeline. No point making any decisions right now, when you’re exhausted.”
“Right.” I leaned my head on Jack’s shoulder, then bobbed back up to kiss him on the side of his stubbly face. “You know, it is possible to have intercourse with this brace on,” I whispered in his ear. That elicited the first genuine smile I’d seen since Jack had picked me up at the bar.
“I don’t know, Maddy. I don’t think it would be such a good idea, not tonight. You’ve been through hell.” He squeezed my arm in a brotherly fashion.
When we reached our destination, it was dark. Pat pulled into a little circular drive in front of an attractive white house. “This is your place,” he said. “And if you need anything—” he pointed upward, where a larger, beautifully lit and landscaped place sat on a bluff—“that’s ours.”
He and Jack helped me in. Libby had been here; there was a fire crackling in the fireplace. Little Tiffany-style lamps glimmered in discreet corners. In front of the fire was a tray with sandwiches and a pot of coffee, along with a bottle of champagne in an ice bucket. I felt my hunger hit me like a bullet. “God, I’m starving,” I said. “Thank Libby for me. Jack, help me to the food,” I begged.
Jack laughed, settled me in a chair and brought the tray to me. He and Pat watched me eat like nervous mothers. “Pat, thank you so much,” I said after swallowing a few bites. “I’ve given you quite a stressful day.”
He walked to me, bent down, and kissed my mouth. “I may have just met you, but I already love you, and I’m glad you’re safe and sound.”
I felt tears burning my eyes. “Thanks,” I said.
He went to the door, waved, said, “If you need anything,” and left.
I finished my sandwich and sighed, easing back in my chair. “Well, husband, today was interesting; what have you got planned for tomorrow?” I asked. Jack had been watching me quietly, kneeling on the floor at my side.
He stood up, kissed my hair, and said, “I’ll be right back.” He left the room, going into a little hallway behind the fireplace wall. I heard water running. Eventually he returned. He held out his arms and said, “Come on,” and picked me up, then carried me to a bathroom around the corner, which either he or Libby had lit romantically with candles scattered all over the room: window ledges, countertops, even the edge of the bathtub itself. The bathtub was full of bubbly water. Jack sat me down on a little stool and began peeling off my clothes. I submitted tiredly, lifting my arms so that he could strip off my shirt and bra, then hoisting up my bottom so that he could slide off my pants and underwear. He worked them carefully over my brace.
Jack lifted my limp, naked self and said, “You’ll have to keep the broken foot over the side. And no splashing.”
I laughed sleepily as he lowered me in. The water was warm and relaxing. I looked at Jack; he was forever revealing new depths of understanding and compassion. “You are a good man,” I said.
He knelt next to the tub, produced a washcloth from somewhere, and proceeded to rub my skin with gentle circles. I leaned back and closed my eyes. “Jack Shea,” I murmured, and submitted to his gentle massage.
Eventually I felt his lips on my face, first gently, then more desperately seeking my mouth. “Maddy,” he said, his forehead against mine. “When I saw them throw you in that car, it felt like a knife in the gut. I’ll never forget it. And I’ll never forget how brave you were.”
I hadn’t felt brave at all. “I don’t know about that, but I know how glad I was to see you. Maybe this was God’s way of showing us how much we love each other.”
His eyes met mine. “Maybe it was. Maddy, I—”
I pulled his mouth back to mine, suddenly very hungry for him. We shared a delicious kiss, and Jack’s hands started to explore the slippery feel of my skin. “Mmm, Jack,” I moaned.
He grinned against my mouth. “With your leg over the side, you look very… wanton.”
“That’s me,” I agreed, rubbing against him. “Come in here with me.”
“Maddy. I don’t think I should. Let me at least carry you to the bed.”
I sighed. “All right. But I want to wash my hair. It’s got smoke in it.”
Jack gave me one last kiss and pulled away reluctantly. He helped me lean back and wet my hair; when I came back up to hunt for sham
poo, I heard a distinct knocking at the door.
My first impulse was fear. I thought I was over it all, but I realized suddenly I didn’t feel safe, not at all. “Jack! Who could that be?”
He stood up.
“Don’t leave me! Don’t leave me in here!” I cried, clutching the shampoo bottle.
“Maddy, just let me look out the window.”
“Then come right back.”
“Okay. Baby, I won’t let anything happen to you. Okay? It’s probably just Pat or Libby, sweetie.” He stroked my hair and left the room. I shampooed half-heartedly, listening for gunshots.
I heard the door open, made out the muffled sound of voices. The door closed again. I sat still, listening for more. Jack appeared, looking solemn. “Maddy, I need to get you dressed. We have a visitor.”
The police, I thought immediately. God, hadn’t they asked me enough questions?
I dunked my head a few times to rinse my hair, and Jack lifted me up, wrapping me in a soft yellow towel the size of my bedspread at home. I liked it. Libby was good at this stuff, I thought. I wrapped my hair in another towel. I found some scented powder in a cabinet next to the tub, and had a little festival, splashing it here and there until I felt quite lovely. Jack had thoughtfully removed a nightgown and a robe from my suitcase, which he now helped me to put on. Then he handed me my crutches and guided me to the living room.
It wasn’t a policeman who sat on our couch, staring moodily into the fire. This man was too young, and rather dirty. He looked at me and his eyes widened in fear or guilt.
I fell back into my chair, and Jack slipped a hassock beneath my foot. “Hello, Slider,” I said.
Chapter Seven
“You know me,” he said. He looked older than seventeen. He had a man’s build, and a handsome, rugged face. The only young thing about him was his obvious innocence, even vulnerability. Life hadn’t hardened this boy, although it may have tried.
“I know something happened. I heard Molly crying this afternoon, I heard her saying this was all her fault, that it was all because of… me. I was close by; I’m always close by, to make sure she’s okay.”
Jack stood up. “Would you like something to eat or drink?” He offered Slider the tray of sandwiches and the boy took one, still looking at me.
“Thanks. I know who you are. Molly told me a long time ago that you were coming. You’re her uncle Jack—I met you at the hospital, remember? And you’re his wife. Madeline. Molly told me about you both.” He bit the sandwich, trying to be polite when he was obviously ravenous.
“Pour him some coffee, honey,” I said to Jack. I’d never called him honey before, and it made me feel ticklish inside. Jack looked pleased as he moved to the fireplace and poured a cup.
He handed the coffee to Slider and said, “Listen. I’m not sure why you came here tonight, but I’m glad you did. People are looking for you—”
“No shit,” said Slider with a grin.
“And some people are determined to find you. So determined that they kidnapped Madeline this afternoon the moment she got off the plane.”
“Fell off, actually,” I said, pointing at my foot.
“Oh, man. Oh, man,” Slider said, running a hand through his dirty hair. “I can’t believe this. I’m so sorry.” And he was; I saw it in his expression. I understood what Libby meant about Slider’s lovable nature. His face was really much sweeter than it had looked in the picture, and handsomer, too. “I can’t believe this.” He shoved the last of his sandwich in his mouth and chewed reflectively.
Jack started again. “Slider, what happened in Finn Flanagan’s bar? Why did you run away? Did you see Finn’s murderer?”
Slider took a gulp of coffee and set down his cup. “I didn’t see him. But I talked to Finn. He didn’t—die right away.”
“Oh, Slider,” I said.
“I was in the apartment. Finn said he liked to know I was up there, because I could overhear some things, and if anyone ever threatened him, I’d be there to back up his story. You have to know Finn—he was kind of paranoid. I guess with good reason,” he said, looking sad.
“Anyway, that night Finn said he had a lot to do in the bar, but I was welcome to hang in his apartment until he was done. He said some people were coming by for this and that; Finn was always meeting people. Either men, to talk over some of his business schemes, or women, to—well—” He looked at me, rather protectively, I thought.
“Finn allowed you to be around while he was with women?” I asked, shocked.
“Not with him, no. He’d take them upstairs, if things got heavy, and send me down to the office, or just send me home. He had an apartment above the bar. Sometimes they’d just kiss, you know, harmless stuff.” He looked earnest in his desire to defend Finn. Obviously the man had been something of a hero to him. “That night I was lying on a couch in the apartment. I heard voices. The bedroom of his apartment is right above his back room—his office—and there’s this vent that you can hear most everything through. I know he had a meeting with Mr. Wilde. They were in some sort of project together.”
Jack and I exchanged a glance. “Were Randy and Jim there?” Jack asked.
“They were there earlier, having some beers. They were there most nights. Anyway, while he was talking with Mr. Wilde and his son—”
“His son was there, too?”
“Yeah, for a while. He came later, sort of bursting in on the two of them. I don’t think he liked what they were up to. But he’s always mad at his dad about something. The two of them don’t get along much.” Slider thought about this, then continued.
“I think the two of them left. Then I fell asleep. I woke up later, maybe an hour later, because I heard a noise. A pop. It was the gun, I guess. I heard someone yell something. I don’t know if it was Finn or the other guy. Then I heard feet running and the door slam. I was scared, but I ran down to the bar and in the back door. The back room faces the inside of the bar, so I saw Finn right away. He looked like he was dead. I ran to him and called his name, and he opened his eyes. He knew me; he understood what was happening.” Slider’s voice broke slightly, and he reached for the coffee mug to take another sip and compose himself.
“He told me—well, he said he loved me. And then he looked scared, and kind of grabbed my shirt, and he said he wanted me to run. He said, ‘You heard, Slider, so you know you’re in danger. He’ll get you, too. And leave Molly out of it. You don’t want to put her in danger, too.’ He was practically whispering by then. I was crying, and I said, ‘Finn, let me call a doctor.’ But he died there, he died right in front of me.”
I felt sick to hear it, and sad. I saw that even Jack’s eyes were glistening. The reality was that this boy had seen someone die, had witnessed a soul leaving its body. I’d been involved in some frightening investigations; I understood the reality of murder. I’d heard of people being killed, I’d confronted murderers, I’d even seen a man shot before my eyes; but I’d never seen someone die, and I didn’t want to.
I wanted to move closer to Slider, to comfort him, but I was stuck in my chair. Jack read my mind and sat next to the boy on the couch, putting a friendly hand on his shoulder. “I’m sorry, Slider. For all you’ve been through. But you must have known you couldn’t hide out forever.”
“Yeah. I know that. But I was hoping they’d catch the guy. See, Finn thought I knew what had happened. He said, ‘You heard, Slider.’ But I didn’t hear. I fell asleep. I wasn’t awake when he needed me.” Slider wiped at his eyes and stared out the window.
“He didn’t want you to involve Molly, but she’s already involved, Slider. Her whole family is. And from what I’ve heard, they want to help you; they want to be involved. They think of you as their family,” I said gently.
Slider looked up, his face brightening. “I don’t know what I would have done without them, that whole family. Especially Molly,” he said, and I saw devotion in his eyes. This was not some lustful teenage crush.
Jack patted Slider’s
arm. “I need to call them now. They’ll want to know you’re all right, and they’ll want to see you.” Slider sat still. “Why did you come here, instead of there, Slider?”
He sighed and looked at me. “I didn’t know what you’d been through. I had heard, from Molly, that you were sort of a detective up in Chicago. I thought I could ask you for help. To help me sort this out without involving her, so that I wouldn’t put her in danger. It’s too late for that, I guess.” Something about his face in that moment, the expression of vulnerability blended with what should have been a man’s bitter experience, brought out my dormant maternal instincts.
“We’ll help you, Slider. Jack and I both will. We’ll help you get to the bottom of this. And so will Jack’s family.” I looked at my husband, and saw, to my surprise, that he felt the same.
“We’ll need to call your father, too,” Jack said, getting to his feet.
“You can’t do that,” Slider said dully.
“Why not? He’s been here several times. He’s very worried about you,” I said.
Slider laughed. “My dad’s not worried about me. He’s worried about money, you can bet that.”
“That’s pretty cynical, Slider,” I said. “I’m sure your dad is concerned—”
“My dad used to be okay. But he’s a drunk, and all he can really think about now is staying drunk. He wants booze, and money for more booze. He lost his job at the power company, and he’s probably almost through his savings. His and Mom’s.”
I didn’t know what to say to that. I exchanged a look with Jack.
Slider sighed. “It’s just the way it is; you don’t have to feel bad about it. My mom died two years ago. That’s when Dad got a lot worse. He found out that I would be eligible to receive the money from my mom’s insurance policy—when I turn eighteen next week. So he’d been after me about why that money was rightfully his. It was a bad scene,” Slider said, too calmly. “Then he somehow found out about Finn, and how he might inherit some as well, and the shit really hit the fan.”
Jack and I looked at him. “What do you mean, he found out about Finn?”
One Fool At Least (The Madeline Mann Mysteries) Page 7