Death of a Double Dipper

by Angela Pepper

  “Uh...” I was tempted to complain, but I tried to view my current discomfort in a more positive light. “It could be worse,” I said honestly. “Earlier tonight, a woman upstairs gave birth to a twelve-pound baby. No epidural. I'm probably having an easier night than she is.”

  He grinned. “But she gets to bring home a baby.”

  I frowned. “Now you're making me miss Jeffrey. Can you run over to the house and pick him up for me?” I patted the bed next to me. “Plenty of room.”

  Kyle laughed. “You must be on a lot of painkillers. I can't tell if you're joking.”

  “Me, neither.” I patted the bed again. The room was hazy. “Where's Jeffrey? He should be here. I'm stinky, and he likes to smell my clothes when I'm stinky.”

  I wondered, am I in a hospital? Did Kyle and I wreck another police cruiser?

  “You're welcome, by the way,” Kyle said.

  The room came into focus again. The medication they'd given me for the pain was coming and going in waves. For a few seconds, I felt completely lucid.

  “Thank for showing up in the nick of time and saving my life,” I said. “How did you know to come back? Was it your interview with Trigger?” I struggled to sit upright. I had to warn Kyle! “Dimplessss,” I said, slurring. “The blond woman that Trigger saw at the house was Quinn! You've got to look out. She could be anywhere.” I could feel my eyes bugging out of my head, all the better to see my enemy. “Is she behind that curtain?”

  “Quinn?” He looked at me like I was crazy. “You're pretty drugged up. We can talk about this later.”

  “There's no time to explain,” I said. “Come here. I'm going to steal your gun.” I beckoned him toward me with my finger. “Here kitty, kitty.”

  “You're not getting my gun,” he said with an amused, patronizing tone I did not care for. “I've learned to be a lot more careful around you wily women.”

  “Hah!” I coughed some more and then sighed. My throat felt pretty nice. The pain medication was kicking in.

  “Stormy, I think I had a premonition or something,” Kyle said. “Instead of waiting and bringing Quinn in tomorrow, I had this gut feeling I had to drive out to the barn immediately.”

  I giggled. “You wanted to see me one more time in my cheerleader uniform.”

  He shook his head, grinning. “Yeah, that must have been it.”

  I fluffed up my pillows. Whatever they'd given me wasn't making me sleepy. I felt like I could stay up for hours and hours, just talking and catching up with Kyle.

  I asked him, “How's Quinn?”

  “Not happy. We arrested her.”

  “Good,” I said. “That was a good choice. You're a very good cop.”

  My compliment made Kyle laugh.

  He said, “Milano is working with her now, getting the whole confession.”

  “Good,” I said. “She always liked him. She had a crush on Tony Baloney. Did you know that? The first time Quinn ever threatened to kill me, it was after she found out about us.” I whispered, since it was supposed to be a secret, “Kissy kissy. Me and Tony Baloney.” I stuck my tongue out. “Gross.”

  Kyle gave me a sidelong look. “Are you messing with me?”

  “Of course not,” I said. “It's a secret. Nobody knows. Nobody.” I waved a hand drunkenly. “Ha ha. Just kidding. It's not true. I'm a big liar.”

  “You're pulling my leg?”

  “Blblb,” I said. I meant to say something else, but I couldn't recall what it was, and my tongue wasn't cooperating. I did know, on some level, that it was time for me to stop talking.

  “You must have a thing for men in uniform,” Kyle teased.

  “Dimplesssssss,” I said, back to my slurring. “Can you get me some coffee with chocolate in it but no coffee?

  “You want a hot chocolate?”

  “Ooh. That sounds good. Get it with chocolate.”

  He left to find the coffee machine.

  I gave myself a stern talking-to about keeping my mouth shut. I couldn't quite put my finger on what it was I'd said that I shouldn't have, but I knew I'd better stay quiet. Starting now.

  When Kyle returned, I got him to keep me entertained with videos on his phone. I managed to stop talking, stop spilling secrets. After a while, I forgot all about what it was that I was trying not to bring up again.

  Kyle Dempsey stayed by my side and kept me awake for the next few hours, constantly annoying me with his periodic inspections of my pupils, which felt a lot like him attempting to kiss me.

  The hospital room was brightening with natural light when I heard the unmistakable sound of an irritated lawyer in the hallway.

  “But I am her family,” Logan Sanderson said with vehemence.

  Kyle, who'd nodded off in his chair, jerked upright. “Your boyfriend's here,” he whispered.

  “Why are you acting surprised? I didn't call him, and I told the nurses not to, so that means you called him.”

  Kyle held up both hands as he got to his feet with cat-like agility. “Stormy, I swear I didn't call anyone, not even Finn.” He went to the doorway and peered out. “Logan's looking the other way, so I'm going to sneak out while sneaking out is an option.”

  I didn't want him to go. I didn't want to be alone. “My pupils. I think they're funny.”

  Kyle flashed me his dimples. “Get your boyfriend to check your eyes. See you around. Maybe at family dinner.” And then he was off.

  He moved so stealthily; his shoes didn't make a sound on the hospital floor. The pain medication was still affecting my senses and imagination. Suddenly, I got the strangest idea Kyle Dempsey was actually a ghost, and that was why he didn't make noises. The thought sent a chill up my spine. Then I heard Logan yelling for him. “Dimples! Hey! Officer Dempsey! Where is she?”

  Kyle must have pointed to my room because Logan appeared in the doorway immediately, red-faced and breathing hard. He grabbed the sides of the doorway with both hands and stayed there, leaning in but not entering.

  “You found me,” I said.

  His jaw worked, and his cheeks reddened, but no sound came from his mouth. His knuckles were white.

  I adjusted myself to be more upright. “What's wrong? Is everything okay back at the house?”

  He nodded, shook his head, then nodded again.

  Finally, he spoke. “You ding-dong,” he said.

  “Me?” I pointed to my chest. “I don't know what Tony Baloney said when he called you, but I didn't do anything wrong. I was simply in the wrong place at the wrong time.”

  He stayed in the doorway, still breathing heavily. “Tony didn't call me. Nobody called me.”

  “Then why are you here?”

  “Because I heard sirens, and I checked with Jessica, and she said you never came home. We've both been driving around for the last two hours looking for you. We drove out to the barn, and the police had it taped off and wouldn't tell us anything. And your father—” He leaned forward, wheezing to catch his breath.

  “My father had his phone turned off.” I crossed my arms. “I left him a message. He would have called you right back in the morning.”

  He looked up at me, his expression still difficult to read. He looked angry. I'd never seen Logan like this, but if I saw a man I didn't know making that face, I'd say he was angry.

  I asked, “Are you mad at me?”

  “No,” he said, practically growling. “I'm not mad at you.”

  I tapped my fingers on my forearm. “That's not terribly convincing.”

  He looked away, out into the hallway as someone in blue scrubs rolled by with a cart of cleaning supplies.

  “Come in here and sit down before you get us both kicked out.” I jerked my head toward the chair, which was a mistake. Stars danced around the room. It was too soon after my incident for head jerking.

  Suddenly, Logan was at my side, holding my hand.

  “Hey,” he said softly. “I didn't want to find you inside this hospital, but I had to check.”

  “Cheer up,” I
said, my voice even scratchier than it had been a few hours earlier. “At least I'm not in the morgue.”

  “Don't joke,” he said.

  “Don't joke? You might as well ask me to refrain from breathing.”

  “Your voice...” His eyes widened. “Your neck...”

  I squeezed his fingers. “I promise I'll get better right away if you could stop being mad at me right now.”

  He frowned. “I told you, I'm not mad.”

  I licked my lips. “Could you get me some chocolate?” I batted my eyelashes. “I think it would help my throat.”

  “No,” he said, and he pulled out his phone, set it on the edge of my bed, and started sending a message using one hand. “I'm letting Jessica know which floor we're on. She can get chocolate for you. I'm not leaving your side. I'm not leaving you for one minute.”

  “Okay,” I said softly, still not sure if I was in trouble or not. He seemed really upset with me.

  After a moment, I said, “Logan, I feel like I haven't seen you in a long time.”

  He squeezed my hand. “It's my fault. This is all my fault. I let you down.” He clenched his jaw and looked away from me.

  “You are mad.”

  “I'm angry,” he said. “Dogs get mad. Humans get angry.”

  “Don't be.” I pulled my hand away. “I told you the truth. I didn't do anything wrong.”

  “No, Stormy. I'm angry with myself. I shouldn't have let you down like this.”

  “You couldn't have known that a cheerleader was going to use my head to make gong sounds on a burn barrel.”

  He blinked at me. “I have no idea what that means.”

  I took a deep breath. “As soon as Jessica gets here, I'll start from the beginning.”

  Right on cue, Jessica appeared in the doorway. She didn't even pause before running in at full-tilt and throwing herself at me on the bed.

  Chapter 42

  TWENTY-TWO DAYS LATER

  A SNOWY SATURDAY MORNING IN NOVEMBER

  I was awoken by sweet little kisses. From Jeffrey.

  Apparently, something I'd eaten the night before was of interest to him. Unlike my other roommate, Jeffrey was fully in support of gas station hot dogs.

  I gave him a hug, which he tolerated for a whole ten seconds before wriggling out of my arms and securing a safer spot on my pillow. He flung out his hind foot and started licking his tummy in an elegant cat-ballet pose.

  I shifted my head over, which gave me a twinge of pain. I waited for it to get worse, but thankfully it was a mere twinge that was caffeine-related, my morning reminder that I would need my first cup of coffee shortly.

  Over the last three weeks, I'd recovered from my battle injuries. The rusty old burn barrel out at the Baudelaire farm probably had a few nasty dents on it, thanks to my skull. I tried not to spend much time thinking about that night, and fighting Quinn off in the darkness. Even without the ax in her hands, she'd been a terrifying foe, like a wolverine. The memories brought back the feeling of her hands around my throat, choking me, and the heavy thud of pain at the back of my head.

  Someone knocked gently on my bedroom door.

  I relaxed my clenched fists and took a deep breath. It was just my roommate. I was safe at home.

  “Coffee,” I called out with a croak.

  “Ready and waiting,” Jessica replied. “Stormy, you've slept in long enough. I've already eaten my first breakfast, and I'm thinking about making a second breakfast. Would you please tear yourself away from the arms of your lover and get your butt out here?”

  Jeffrey extended his ballerina hind leg and braced his toe pads against the tip of my nose.

  “I'm trapped,” I called back. “He's using my face to rest his foot while he cleans his unmentionables.”

  Jessica pushed open the door and gave us a bemused look. “You two are revolting.”

  “At least one of us has had a bath today.”

  “Go jump in the shower,” Jessica said. “I'll bring your coffee in and put it on the shampoo ledge.”

  “Marry me.”

  She laughed. “Go shower first.”

  I carefully extracted my face from underneath Jeffrey's elegant paw and slid out of bed to get ready for Roomies' Day Out.

  We'd had another fresh snowfall, and the world outside the door was a winter wonderland.

  Before Jessica and I left the house, we let Jeffrey check out the backyard. He ran out onto the snow and stopped. He lifted one front paw from the snow and turned his head to give me a dirty look, as if to say, why did you let the snow delivery person put all this snow here?

  “It's going to be around for a few months,” I said. “Jeffrey, this isn't your first winter. And you love the snow. It's just a bit of a shock at first.”

  He hopped over to a new spot, found it was just as cold on his toes as the last spot, gave me another dirty look, and then shot past me back into the house.

  “You'll get used to it,” I said. “A person can get used to anything.” I gave him a kiss goodbye, pulled on some warm mittens and a knitted cap, and left with Jessica.

  Our plan for Roomies' Day Out was a cheap date. We took our toboggans to a nearby park, where the creek valley had formed a perfect sledding hill. It was where all the kids in town met to go sledding, and both Jessica and I had been there countless times as kids.

  The park looked like a scene from a postcard that day, with fresh snow on the hill and dozens of children in bright-hued snow clothes laughing and playing on the hill.

  I was reluctant to get on the wooden sled Jessica had brought.

  “Isn't there an age limit? Or a weight rating?”

  She adjusted her pink knitted cap and narrowed her bright blue eyes at me. “Fine. I'll go first, chicken butt.”

  “You're the chicken butt.”

  “You are.” She climbed onto the sled, secured her boots under the curved front, and started jerking her body forward and back to tip the sled over the berm. “Give me a push, chicken butt.”

  “As you wish, chicken butt.” I gave her a push and off she went, leaning left and right like a pro to stay on the packed snow trail. I cheered for her all the way down. I really wasn't that fearful of taking a sled ride down the hill, but the concussion recovery had made me cautious.

  “Hey, lady,” came a male voice behind me. I knew that voice.

  I turned around to see Quinn's husband, Chip McCabe, approaching me.

  “There you are,” he said as a greeting.

  “Hi, Chip.” I gave him a wave with my red mitten.

  He got to within ten feet of me and stopped. He glanced around before asking, “Do you wanna build a snowman?”

  I was relieved he hadn't said anything about his wife, who'd killed Michael Sweet and then tried to murder me with an ax to cover up her crime.

  “A snowman,” he repeated, smiling. He was wearing shorts with a winter jacket and a scarf.

  “A snowman,” I said slowly. He and I had met in my father's neighbor's front yard, thanks to a snowman. “Chip, you don't think that's a little macabre? Me, you, and a snowman?”

  He used the end of his scarf to wipe some sweat from his wide forehead. “As long as you don't put another dead body inside the snowman, I think it will be very tasteful.”

  I let out a low laugh. “Chip, I didn't put the body into the snowman. I just ripped off his head.”

  “Hard to believe that was almost a year ago.”

  “Almost,” I said.

  He looked down the hill and scanned until he stopped on a little girl, his daughter Quinby. She was talking to Jessica. By their body language, Quinby was trying to get Jessica's assistance in rolling a large snowball through the fresh snow.

  Chip said solemnly, “And now everything has changed.”

  “I heard they cast another little girl in the role of Kinley,” I said. “How's little Q taking the news?”

  Chip turned back toward me, his expression blank. “Her mother killed her genetic father,” he said. “My wife
was so worried about losing control over her child's career that she stabbed someone to death.”

  I felt my breath catch in my throat. I was glad for the ten feet of distance between us.

  Chip said, “So, I think that an acting job is the least of her concerns.”

  I looked down at my boots. “I'm sorry,” I said.

  I heard Chip sigh. “No, I'm sorry. I shouldn't have snapped at you like that. You didn't do anything wrong except care about people.”

  “Caring about people is the most common predetermining factor in having your heart broken.”

  He tilted his head to the side. “Who said that?”

  “I did. Just now.”

  He rubbed his smooth chin. “It's a good line. You've got the heart of a poet. I might use that in a song for Rain Nor Heat.” He raised his eyebrows. “If that's okay with you?”

  “Be my guest.”

  Quinby was calling for her father from the bottom of the hill.

  He turned and waved at her and Jessica. “What is it, Q?”

  She called back, “Look, Dad! It's the bottom of a snowman!”

  “Good job, Q! I'll be down there to help you in a minute!”

  He slowly turned back to me and gave me a shy look.

  I didn't say anything.

  Chip said, “I don't imagine things will ever feel normal between us, but I hope we can put the past behind us for the sake of the children.”

  “Of course,” I said. “For the children.”

  He raised his eyebrows and gave me an intense look. “We are all on the same side, right?”

  I swallowed. Were we? I knew which side I was on.

  “Let's hope you don't have to testify,” he said.

  “But I will have to testify if they ask, if it goes to trial.”

  “She'll take the plea.” A dark expression came over his face. “I told her to take the plea and save us all from more pain.”

  “Okay.” I kept my expression neutral.

  The corners of Chips mouth tilted up cruelly. “The Queen Bee will have her gossamer wings yanked off.”

  I said nothing.

  His daughter called out again from the bottom of the hill, more insistently. Chip waved at her before giving the thumbs-up gesture. Jessica and Quinby were being joined by Quinby's best friend, Sophie Sweet. Not far behind Sophie was her mother, Samantha Sweet. She had Michael Junior bundled up and in her arms. Samantha looked up the hill, spotted us, and waved with her free gloved hand.