by Terry Odell
Angie’s eyebrows shot upward. “You thought? Poof, and you’re forgiven, and now I’m supposed to do you a huge favor? One that you haven’t exactly asked for.”
Gordon grimaced. “That didn’t come out right. Angie, if you don’t mind, I’d appreciate—really appreciate—a lift to Dr. Demming’s office tomorrow. And I promise, you’ll know everything he finds out. Straight from him.”
“Much better,” Angie said. “When do you want to leave?”
“I guess first I’d better make sure I can get out of here tomorrow, and then check with Dr. Demming and see what time he can work me in,” Gordon said.
Angie’s eyes widened. “What are you talking about? I thought you said this was all routine. One night. Precautionary measures. Or are there more secrets?”
Gordon’s hands shot up again. “No. It’s all bureaucracy. Can’t be discharged until the doctors sign off on everything, and I don’t know what time they make rounds. The last check said I wasn’t showing signs of any airway complications.”
Angie looked as if she didn’t quite believe him. Solomon spoke before she could say anything. “C’mon, Angie. We’d better hit the road. I’ll find the facilities while you say goodbye. And don’t be too hard on him. I still get flak from my wife about all that feeling-sharing stuff.”
Gordon braced himself, but Angie perched on the edge of his bed. She leaned over and kissed his cheek. “You’re forgiven. But if you think we can have any kind of relationship, you can’t keep these kinds of secrets.”
The fact that she’d used the word relationship sent a shiver down Gordon’s spine. He dovetailed her fingers in his. “Solomon might not have a way with words, but he’s right that we try to protect the people we care about. Even when what we think is protecting them isn’t what they think is right.”
Her blue eyes held his. “See you tomorrow, then. Call when you know something. Or even if you don’t.”
“Will do. And see if Mrs. Yardumian will send a care package. I can guarantee your breakfast is going to be one hell of a lot better than what they’re going to feed me here.”
At a knock on the door, she broke away.
“Chief? You two decent?” Solomon’s voice came from the corridor.
“That’s my cue to leave,” Angie said. “Feel better. See you tomorrow.”
As soon as they’d gone, Gordon found Dr. Demming’s number in his phone, glad he’d made the call earlier and the number was stored in the phone’s call history list. Although it was after hours, the answering service agreed to put his message through. Twenty minutes later, Dr. Demming returned the call. Two minutes after that, Gordon had an appointment.
“You relax, and I’ll see you tomorrow,” Dr. Demming said. “Get a good night’s sleep.”
Gordon switched off the television and closed his eyes. The fact that Dr. Demming had said he’d rearranged his schedule to accommodate the procedure didn’t make relaxing—or sleeping—a likely possibility.
Chapter 29
One of the reasons Gordon didn’t share his feelings was because it meant facing them. Fear of being in that small CSR minority, where his vision wouldn’t take care of itself, danced through his brain. So did visions of huge blisters forming in his upper airway, despite the tests showing he was clear. He tried to override them with thoughts of identifying the cause of the fire at the Yardumians. A methodical inventory of the facts. His comfort zone.
If this were Mapleton, he’d know the players well enough to come up with some possible motives. The Yardumians seemed like nice, down-to-earth folks, but he had no idea who might want to bring harm to them. Then again, the fire was in an outbuilding. If someone had wanted to hurt them, why not go for the main house? Or did someone think Raffi was still in the cabin? But who? Mrs. Yardumian thought Raffi was out there, but Gordon couldn’t see her as wanting him dead. Had someone else been watching?
The best scenario Gordon could come up with was a vagrant accidentally setting something on fire. But what had exploded? If there’d been a propane tank outside, it would have been a huge blast, and a huge blaze. Nothing gelled for him on the fire front.
Hell, accepting Solomon’s off-the-wall pickup truck murderer made as much sense.
~~~
After a restless night, filled with images of fires, pickup trucks, and bodies—not to mention interruptions from nurses checking on him, and the oxygen tube at his nostrils interfering with lying in a comfortable position—Gordon gave up on sleep at five-thirty. He stared at the ceiling. Wondered if he could shower. Last night, a nurse had said the doctors made morning rounds starting at seven and warned him that he had better not make them wait. He pulled the blanket aside. He could be in and out of the bathroom long before seven.
When he climbed into bed, even though he still wore that stupid hospital gown, he felt as though a layer of worry had disappeared with the grime. He found the remote and hunted for the news, hoping for an update on any of his puzzles. Traffic, weather, and school delays. He flipped to another channel. Nothing different. A commercial for a cell phone reminded him to check his. Per the nurse’s mandate, he’d turned it off last night—after a nice chat with Angie, who’d promised to pack his things and be at the hospital by eight. While the phone booted, he rummaged in the tote the Yardumians had brought, hoping they’d included his readers. Yes. He slipped them on. A text message. From Solomon. He opened it.
Had to bail. Nothing major. Needed in M. Angie has car keys. Ys ok.Vic IDd.
Why would Solomon be rushing to Mapleton? And why hadn’t he given the victim’s name? Gordon adjusted his readers, tried to make out what time the message had been sent. Five forty-three. While he was in the shower.
He punched in Solomon’s number. “Hey, Chief. Don’t worry,” Solomon said before Gordon could speak. “Vicky McDermott’s got the flu, and Jost’s wife went into premature labor. Short-staffed is all. I’ll be there before noon. How’re you doing?”
“Fine. Tell me about the victim. Who was he?”
“A lead. Not verified. Cops found a cell phone in the cabin. Owned by one Jase Blackhawk from Centennial. They’re checking to see if it belonged to the victim, or if he might have … helped himself … to it. Didn’t have time for much poking last night. Got the name from a Trooper Kennedy. Not for public consumption, though. I had to drop your name to get it.”
Gordon assumed Solomon had to do more than name drop—no doubt Kennedy had verified his identity first. “Anything else?”
“No, but Mrs. Y packed me one heck of a breakfast. I tried to tell her I’d grab something on the road, but she insisted. I swear she must have been up long before dawn cracked putting it together. If she and Rose Kretzer ever got together—”
“I hear you. Keep me apprised.”
“You got it, Chief. Gotta go—signal’s disappearing.”
Gordon’s attention was diverted by the same background footage of the fire he’d seen last night. Different reporter, though. He caught something about an overturned camping lantern. Whether it was accidental or intentional was still under investigation. Gordon was beginning to hate those last two words. At least when he was doing the investigating—or, to be fair, his staff—he had more pieces to work with.
Gordon knew the Yardumians used propane lanterns. But the light he’d seen in the cabin after dropping off Wardell at the car rental place had been too bright, too steady for a lantern. If Raffi was working, he’d have gone with electricity. And what had exploded?
Too much for his brain before breakfast. Smiling to himself, he pulled open the night table drawer where he’d stashed the remains of the cinnamon roll he hadn’t finished last night. Not the same without coffee, but it would take the edge off.
Six-thirty. Too early to disturb Angie.
The news channels were recycling the same basic stories. No Wi-Fi in the room. But he could make notes on his laptop. Not quite a white board, but seeing things written down helped organize his thoughts.
He pulled h
is computer from the tote the Yardumians had brought and opened a Word document. Questions first. Who was Jase Blackhawk? Should be easy enough to see if the owner of the cell phone was the same man. The fire hadn’t affected his features. Gordon tried to conjure up an image of the man he’d seen, but beyond the initial shock that it wasn’t Raffi, he couldn’t remember much. White. Unshaven, but not bearded. Maybe five-ten. Hard to say since he was lying down. His shabby clothes supported the vagrant theory, but Gordon knew better than to form a conclusion based on minimal facts.
Timeline. Raffi had been working until lunchtime, then went back to work some more. Had the man been inside the cabin then? Hiding, perhaps? Or had he shown up after Raffi had left the second time? Wouldn’t Raffi have said something if he’d thought someone was using the cabin? Gordon itched to talk to the Yardumians to fill in the blanks, but he knew the cops would have done it by now.
Could he ask Angie to strike up a conversation, casually bringing up his questions? Yeah, right.
Frustration mounted as he dealt with the fact he could only speculate, not confirm. His hospital room might as well be on another planet for all he could accomplish. He closed his eyes, did his breathing exercises. All he needed was to be trapped here another day because his blood pressure was rising off the charts.
He’d dozed off when the door opened and a man in a white coat entered. His spirits lifted when the man introduced himself as the doctor responsible for signing him out. The doctor checked Gordon’s charts, took his blood pressure, thumped, peered and listened. “Everything looks fine with your lungs, but there’s always the possibility of edema. Normally, we’d want to watch you for another day, but I understand you need to have your eyes seen to, is that correct?”
“I’ve got an appointment in Denver this afternoon,” Gordon said.
The doctor’s eyebrows bunched. “You’re not going to be driving, are you? The snow’s not bad, but with impaired vision—”
Gordon hastened to explain he had a ride coming within the hour.
The doctor nodded, scribbling something on the chart he held. “I’ll arrange your discharge papers.” He lifted his gaze. “With the understanding that if you start wheezing, you’ll get medical attention right away. That signals fluid in the lungs and needs immediate treatment. However, judging from the firefighters’ report, the heat wasn’t extreme, and you weren’t exposed very long.”
The doctor tucked his pen into the chest pocket of his lab coat. “You were fortunate, you know. Smoke kills faster than fire. The other man wasn’t as lucky.”
“You saw him?” Gordon asked. “Was smoke inhalation the actual cause of death? Can you tell how long he’d been in the building?” At the doctor’s frown, Gordon added, “I’m a cop. Chief of Police in Mapleton. And since I tried to get him out, I was wondering if I’d been faster, or—”
“Ah. No, I’m sure there was little else you could have done. His blood alcohol level indicated he was highly intoxicated.”
“I found him in the bathroom,” Gordon said. “On the floor. The window was open.”
“Which might have kept him alive a little longer, being below the smoke and intense heat, but frankly, even without the fire, with his alcohol level, death was a strong possibility. And his lungs were in bad shape, not from the fire. If alcohol poisoning and the fire didn’t kill him, his smoking would have caught up with him before too long.”
“Drugs?” Gordon asked.
“No. Only the alcohol.”
“Did you get an identification?”
The doctor shook his head, although Gordon didn’t know whether he meant they didn’t get an ID, or he wasn’t going to say anything due to privacy laws. Gordon wondered if he could play an I’m helping the locals card, but figured this doctor would want paper before he’d release anything more than he’d told him, which was a lot more than he’d have revealed to anyone but immediate family.
Okay, so he could lose the guilt trip about not saving the guy. The doctor gave Gordon one more reminder about monitoring his symptoms and left.
~~~
An hour later, Gordon had changed into his clothes, signed all the paperwork, and recovered his weapon. He was drinking the juice and eating the orange slices on his breakfast tray when Angie arrived. “Tell me you have something from the Yardumians,” he begged. “They said this stuff was oatmeal, but—” He stirred the soupy mixture and let it glop from the spoon into the bowl. “I think gruel is a more fitting description.”
“I take it you don’t want some more,” she said. “Never fear. You’ll have plenty to eat on the drive. I think we should leave as soon as we can. They’re saying the weather might get worse before it gets better.”
Angie brought his SUV around to the hospital entrance while Gordon subjected himself to the obligatory wheelchair ride. After reassuring himself that Angie could handle his SUV in the snowy conditions, Gordon relaxed and ate his way through the first twenty minutes of the trip. Two huge biscuit sandwiches, fruits, cheeses, and pastry. “Not as good as your cinnamon rolls,” he said as he devoured a strawberry Danish.
Angie laughed. “But they’re better than any Danish I can make. I was tempted to ask her if we could swap recipes.”
Sated, with the swish of the windshield wipers creating a soothing background noise, Gordon’s lack of sleep caught up with him. With apologies to Angie for not holding up his end of the conversation, he gave up the fight and dozed.
Bright sunlight penetrated his eyelids. Jerking awake, he blinked against the brightness. “Guess the storm’s passed,” he said.
“We drove through the worst of it twenty minutes ago. With luck, it’ll be clear going to Denver.”
“How long was I out?” he asked.
“Maybe two hours. Keep your eyes open for a place to make a pit stop. Wouldn’t hurt to fill up, too.”
Ten minutes later, they pulled into a mini mart gas station. Gordon pumped gas while Angie used the restroom. He took his turn, and when he stepped out into the sunshine, everything blurred. A smoky haze filled his peripheral vision.
Relax. This happened before, and it went away. It’s the shift from the dim light in the men’s room to the bright sun.
But fifteen minutes later, his left eye’s field of vision had narrowed even more.
Chapter 30
Gordon stared out the side window, closing one eye, then the other, comparing their vision. Left was definitely not getting better. Was his right eye having problems, too? He knew the CSR leaks could get worse there as well, and he might have two detached retinas, not one.
“Something wrong?” Angie’s voice cut through Gordon’s mounting panic.
“Not sure,” was the best he could do.
“So, tell me,” she said. Although her voice was compassionate on the surface, Gordon didn’t miss the irritation hovering beneath.
“It’s my eyes. Things got blurry, shadowy at the rest stop. Probably having trouble adjusting to the sunlight.” He forced an attempt at a laugh. “Haven’t seen much of it in days.”
“Or?” Angie said.
He puffed out a long, slow exhale. “Or my retina’s detaching even more.”
“What does that mean?” Alarm replaced the former blend of compassion and irritation in her voice.
“Drive,” Gordon said. “It means Dr. Demming might have to work a little harder, that’s all.”
He didn’t need twenty-twenty vision to see the doubt in Angie’s expression. He felt the car accelerating. “And no need to get us killed by speeding.”
“If I do, maybe a cop will catch us, give us a police escort to Denver.” There was a forced lightness to her tone.
“We’re doing fine. If it’ll make you feel better, I’ll call Dr. Demming.”
If he could read his damn phone well enough to find the number. Wasn’t there supposed to be some kind of voice activation system? If there was, he’d never tried it. He found his readers in his pocket and tried again. On the plus side, since he’d lo
st all his former contacts, there weren’t many choices.
He made the call, getting the same, “Someone will get back to you” response. When his phone burred almost immediately, the speed of the reply created a momentary panic. Was his condition that bad?
Gordon explained his symptoms. When he ended the call, Angie instantly said, “Tell me.”
“Dr. Demming said not to break any laws, but not to stop to do any sightseeing, either. He didn’t sound worried.”
“You’re not being manly-macho again, are you?”
“No, I’m telling you what he said.”
“So you won’t go blind if we don’t get there right away?”
“No, they fix stuff like this all the time. In his office, not even a hospital.” He smiled at her, hoping his worry didn’t bleed through. He added a wink, just in case. “And maybe we can get a room at that hotel again.”
Her attention was clearly on the drive, but she did spare a quick glance in his direction. “Only if I personally hear the doctor say it’s okay.”
He lifted his palms. “Hey, I didn’t say we had to do anything … strenuous. And that would save you driving to Mapleton tonight.”
“Let’s wait and see how your procedure goes.”
To keep himself occupied, he engaged Angie in some speculation about who had taken the memory card from his cell phone.
“So, everyone had access to it?” she said.
“Yep.” He explained what he’d already considered.
Her fingers tapped a rhythm on the steering wheel. “I agree, a prank seems silly. What fun is pranking if you don’t let the person know you did it? You know, that gotcha moment.” Some more finger-drumming. “I suppose it’s possible someone’s own cell phone was running out of memory and they wanted your card. I don’t have a memory card in my phone. But I’d put it low on the list.”