“I’m fine. I would have been here sooner, but a detective had to take my statement while it was fresh. How’s Miguel?” My first thought when I walked in was he had to be okay or people would have been crying.
“He’s in surgery,” Emory said, stepping back but keeping a hand on both my and Elvia’s shoulders. “Apparently he had a collapsed lung, but the doctors seem to think the bullet passed through without any unfixable damage. They’re worried about infection, of course, but he was darn lucky. A half inch to the side and . . .”
Elvia started crying, and I hugged her tighter. “Oh, sweetie, he’s going to be okay. Miguel has always been a tough little nut. Remember when he fell out of the peach tree and got a concussion? He’ll pull through this.”
“I know,” she said, her words muffled into my shoulder. “I hate whoever did this!”
“I know,” I said, this time glancing up at my cousin’s worried face. “How long will he be in surgery?”
“They don’t know,” Emory said.
At that moment, Sophie Lou, held by Señora Aragon, let out a strangled cry. Elvia instantly released her hold on me.
“She’s hungry,” she said, taking Sophie from her mother. “Maybe they have an empty room I can use.”
“I’ll come,” her mother said, glancing worriedly over at the door to the surgical unit.
“We’ll come get you if we hear anything,” Emory assured them.
After Elvia and her mother left, everyone found a place to sit. Ramon, Miguel’s younger brother, changed the channel since the news report was over and a rerun of the television show M*A*S*H started playing. It showed the doctors in a bloody operating room cracking jokes, not something that any of us wanted to watch right now.
“Let’s sit down,” Emory said, pointing to a quiet corner away from the television set, which was now showing a basketball game. “Are you really okay? It had to be pretty scary for you.” We sat down next to each other on the olive green tweed sofa.
“You know me, I’ll collapse two weeks from now when I’m shopping for eggs or ice cream or something.” It was how I reacted to things—days or weeks later when it made no logical sense.
“Maybe you should get checked out by a doctor,” he said, taking my hand. “Your hands are as cold as a chunk of ice.”
“Cliché,” I said, giving him a weak smile.
“Who can be William Faulkner during a time like this?”
“I don’t need to see a doctor. Who I need to see is my husband. Has he been here?”
“He dropped in for a moment right when they took Miguel in for surgery. Said he would be back before Miguel came out. I’m assuming he has someone monitoring it and keeping him informed.” Emory squeezed my hand.
“He said he was worried about you, but that he’d made sure you were in good hands.”
I nodded. I knew that. Once he heard I was physically okay, I didn’t expect Gabe to come running to find me when he had this critical situation to deal with. Every minute counted right after a shooting. I had learned long ago that this was part of being a chief’s wife. Our own personal fears and relationship would have to take a backseat until this was resolved.
I held Emory’s gaze. “Did he seem all right?”
Emory’s lips pressed together, a strand of blond hair falling over one eye. “He was completely calm and in charge. Same old Gabe.”
I inhaled deeply. “Yes, same old Gabe.”
“Hey, guys,” Ramon said, walking over to us. “I’m making a trip to the cafeteria. Need coffee or a soda or something?”
“Sounds good.” Emory stood up and reached for his wallet.
“Got it covered, hermano,” Ramon said, waving him back. “What do you want?”
“Black coffee,” Emory said.
“Hot chocolate, I guess,” I said.
After taking everyone’s order, Ramon and one of his teenage nephews left for the cafeteria. Minutes later the waiting room door opened and a doctor still in green scrubs walked in.
“Mr. or Mrs. Aragon?” he said. His face was long with heavy jowls like a human equivalent of a basset hound.
“Sí,” Miguel’s father said, standing up. “I am Miguel’s father.” His sons and their wives stood behind him in a semicircle. Emory and I stood behind them. Señor Aragon’s gruff voice held a slight tremble. “How is my son?”
“I’m Dr. Chambers,” he said. “Officer Aragon’s going to be fine, eventually. It was a close call, but the bullet just nicked his lung. We have to worry about infection, of course, but he’s a young, healthy man and with some time and rest should be almost good as new. I wouldn’t recommend any strenuous exercise for a few months, but there’s no permanent damage.” He paused a moment. “He was very lucky. Another inch or two could have been a lot more serious.”
No one spoke, contemplating his words for a moment.
“He can still work as an officer?” Señor Aragon asked. “He will ask me that first.”
Miguel’s family nodded in agreement. Miguel loved his job and would want to come back to work as soon as he could.
“No reason he can’t do everything he did before,” Dr. Chambers said, smiling. He glanced up at the television set. “Any news about the sniper?”
“No,” said Rafael, the oldest of the six Aragon brothers. “Not that we’ve heard.”
I turned to Emory. “I need to tell Elvia and Señora Aragon the good news. If Gabe comes by . . .”
“I’ll keep him here until you get back,” Emory said.
“And call Dove,” I said. “I told her I’d let her know how Miguel was.”
“Will do.”
The hospital hallway was quiet, since visiting hours had ended an hour ago. Police officers guarded either end of the hall, and I wondered where else they were stationed in the building. Though I would never actually second-guess my husband and his work decisions, I could not help thinking—Miguel is the last one in danger right now. The sniper already shot him. Then again, I didn’t know the whole situation, and Gabe was very good at his job.
I walked to the center nurses’ station and asked where Elvia and her mom went to feed Sophie.
“Room sixteen,” said a nurse wearing green scrubs. “They . . . oh, there they are now.” She pointed behind me.
I turned and saw them walking down the hallway toward me. Señora Aragon carried Sophie, so Elvia ran toward me.
“What . . . ?”
“He’s out of surgery,” I told her. “He’s going to be fine.”
Elvia crossed herself, then burst into tears. I put my arms around my friend and held her as she sobbed. Señora Aragon kissed the top of Sophie’s head over and over, murmuring “Gracias, El Señor, gracias, gracias . . .”
“Can we see him?” Elvia asked.
“I didn’t ask. The minute I heard, I came to find you. Your dad and brothers probably have more information.”
Back in the waiting room, Gabe stood next to Señor Aragon, explaining something to him in Spanish. Seeing me, he said to Elvia’s father, “Un momento.” He crossed the small room in two strides, pulling me into his arms.
“Querida, querida,” he whispered into the top of my head. “Are you all right?”
“You heard about Miguel? He’s going to be okay.”
“Yes, I had someone here keeping me informed. I’m sorry I wasn’t there when you were questioned . . .”
I pressed my cheek into his chest, trying to absorb his warmth. “I was in good hands. Jim was there. You had a job to do.”
He hugged me again. “I have to go on camera in a few minutes. For the eleven p.m. newscast.”
I looked over at the large black and white clock next to the muted television. It was a quarter to eleven. “I can’t believe it’s this late.”
“What are you going to do?” he asked, glancing over at Elvia and her mother.
“I’ll offer to spend the night, but I know they’ll refuse. They’ll probably take shifts, and the ones staying will keep everyone els
e informed. You know Señora Aragon won’t leave.”
Sure enough, a few minutes later Elvia called her family together and they started drafting a chart, deciding who was staying, who would go home and sleep, who would come back tomorrow and relieve the night watch. Neither Miguel nor his parents would ever be alone.
“I’ll meet you by the rose garden in twenty minutes,” Gabe said, kissing my forehead. “The interview shouldn’t take long. There’s not much I can do except tell them we, the sheriff’s department and every agency who can spare someone are working on it. And that there’s now a $75,000 reward for information leading to the capture of the sniper.”
“Maybe that’ll convince someone to step up and give information.”
Gabe’s face was shadowed, his cheekbones stark, like they had been laser cut from a hunk of granite. “We can only hope. Right now, we don’t have enough information to do much.”
For some unrealistic reason, I felt guilty. “I’m sorry I couldn’t be more help.”
He stroked my cheek with the back of his knuckles. “Yvette said you were great. That you remembered an extraordinary amount of detail.”
“It happened so fast. I hope something I told her will help.
“You never know what will be the link. Chances are this person knew this area well enough to use the woods by where you and Miguel were walking, then run down the creek bed so that it would be difficult to find any trace of him. Whoever is doing this is smart.”
“What can your detectives do then?”
“There’s a group of homeless people who tend to camp down by that section of the creek, so we’re interviewing them. Every spare officer I have is on this. The FBI is working up a profile. The bullet they cut out of Miguel is on its way down to the forensic lab in Santa Barbara with a rush on it.”
I took his hand and squeezed it, wishing there was something else I could do to help. “Good luck with your interview.”
“Thanks, I’m going to need it.”
CHAPTER 11
“IS THERE ANYTHING YOU NEED?” I ASKED ELVIA A FEW MINUTES later. She sat next to her mother on the waiting room’s scratchy sofa. While I was gone, the crowd of Aragon family and friends milling around in the Intensive Care waiting room had thinned considerably. “Where’s Sophie?”
“Emory took her home,” Elvia said. “Maria went with him.” Maria was her brother Jorge’s wife. “I have breast milk in the refrigerator. My nieces and nephews think it’s great they get to camp out at our house.” Elvia gave a tremulous smile.
I sat down on the other side of Señora Aragon, whose face was hollow-eyed from exhaustion. I touched the top of her cold hand. “Señora, you know that God and the San Celina PD are watching over Miguel. He’s safe here.”
“Gracias, mija,” Señora Aragon said, her voice thick. It was probably the fiftieth time she had thanked me for being there when Miguel was shot. “I know my Miguel safe. I know doctor say he is fine. God is good.” She clutched her ruby-colored rosary to her chest. I put my arm around her fragile shoulders.
“He’s a tough boy,” I whispered to her. She smelled of talcum powder and the sweet cucumber soap she liked. “A strong man. He’s going to be up and teasing you again in no time.”
I could feel her tremble in my embrace.
Elvia walked me to the waiting room doorway. Gabe was at the end of the hall talking to some officers. I gestured to him that I’d join him in a minute.
“Will you be okay?” I asked Elvia. Her eyes were red-rimmed, but after the initial shock, in her typical type-A fashion, she’d taken charge of Miguel’s welfare.
“I’m fine. I’m worried about you, though. Are you sure you’re okay?”
I gave her a crooked smile. “I’ll fall apart when I can fit it into my schedule.”
She touched my cheek with her fingers. “You take care of yourself, hermana. Try to convince Gabe there is no way he could have prevented this. It hurts my heart to see him blaming himself.” Though I knew that Emory had kept his promise to me and not told her the details of Gabe’s emotional struggles, this woman knew me. And she understood Latino men, having been surrounded by them her whole life.
“I’ll do my best, but you know how he is.”
“I’ll call you tomorrow.”
Our drive home was silent. I rested my hand on Gabe’s thigh, wanting to say something comforting but not able to think of one single thing.
Scout sat inside the front door, his anxious expression like a mother too fretful to sleep while her teenage kids were out on a Saturday night. He accepted my neck rub and words of apology with his usual patient forbearance. His eyes seemed to say—why must you worry me like this?
“Do you want to shower first?” Gabe asked, his voice tired and hoarse.
“You go ahead. I’ll close up downstairs.”
He turned and went up the stairs; his back had been ramrod straight throughout our time in the waiting room, befitting his police chief role. Now I could see the slight slump in his shoulders, the defeat he felt. However, I knew my husband. By morning, his resolve would return, and no one except for me would ever know that he felt any doubt.
After my shower, I went into the guest room to kiss Gabe good night, Scout at my heels. He lay on his back and stared at the ceiling.
“Are you sure you want to sleep alone tonight?” I asked.
He didn’t move. “I can’t talk about that right now.”
I waited a moment to see if he’d say more. “Well, good night, Friday.”
I sat down on the edge of the bed and kissed his lips.
His hand slipped behind my neck and pulled me closer. I thought for a moment that I felt it tremble.
“Good night, querida,” he whispered.
When I walked down the hallway toward our bedroom, poor Scout stood halfway between the rooms, torn between where to sleep. Finally, with a sigh, he followed me and flopped down next to my side of the bed.
“You can go sleep with him,” I told him, reaching down to stroke his velvety head. “I won’t be insulted.”
But Scout stayed next to me. No doubt, he knew that even if he went to sleep with Gabe, he would be sent back with the admonition to “protect Benni.”
I picked up my cell phone and dialed Gabe.
“Chief Ortiz.” His voice was strong, in control.
“Don’t you look at the screen before you answer?”
“My eyes are closed.”
“I just wanted to say good night. And that I love you.”
“Me too. You know, you could have just yelled down the hallway.”
“That’s a little too Waltons, don’t you think? This is the modern version of good night, John-boy.”
“Dream sweet, querida.”
“You too, Friday.”
Though I thought I’d have a hard time falling asleep, I didn’t. If Gabe had bad dreams during the night, I didn’t hear them. I couldn’t help feeling guilty when he came into the room early the next morning and opened the closet door.
“What time is it?” I mumbled from beneath the down comforter. Rain beat on our roof in a regular, heavy rhythm most likely messing up any evidence that the police might have found in the woods by the creek. Had the sniper been smart enough to do this on a night right before rain was expected? The cold-blooded calculation of that possibility made me shiver even in my warm cocoon.
“Five thirty,” Gabe said. “Sorry to wake you up, but I need to get to the office by seven. I’m going by the hospital first, to see if Elvia or her mother need anything. The nurse on duty said Miguel had a quiet night, thank God.”
“That’s good,” I said, sitting up. “Where’s Scout?”
“Downstairs. He’s already gone outside and is waiting for breakfast.”
“I’ll get up . . .”
“Go back to sleep. I’ll feed him before I leave.”
The warm bed tempted me for a few seconds, but my better self won the battle, and I threw back the covers. “No, I have a million
things to do to prepare for the Memory Festival tomorrow.” I swung my legs out and searched for my house slippers. A gust of wind and rain rattled the bedroom windows. “That is, if the festival is still on.”
His back was to me while he flipped through his shirts. “Will you cancel if it rains?”
“Depends on how hard it is raining. But I was wondering if it would be canceled because of the sniper.”
He turned around, a white shirt and his darkest gray suit in his hands. “No, same reason we didn’t cancel the farmers’ market. We have no idea when or where or even if this guy will strike again. You can’t cancel life.”
“Or she,” I said, wrapping my robe around me.
“Doubt it’s a woman.”
I shrugged, feeling cranky. “I’m just saying.”
“Nevertheless,” he said, opening his sock drawer. “As far as the police department is concerned, your festival is good to go.”
“Then all I have to worry about is rain.”
By six thirty we were both walking out to our respective vehicles. The rain had turned into a fine mist, and the normal neighborhood sounds were muted, as if a thick blanket covered the whole world.
“Don’t forget to eat breakfast,” I said, standing on tiptoe to kiss him good-bye. His lips were damp and salty, his mustache warm. “Two cups of coffee is not the breakfast of champions.”
“There’ll be food at the station,” Gabe said. “Maggie’s making sure we are all eating healthy. She’s amazing.”
“Yes, she is. And so are you. You’re going to catch this person soon.”
“Let’s hope so.”
I contemplated going by Liddie’s for breakfast, but I needed time alone to go over my schedule and the half-dozen separate lists concerning the festival. At Liddie’s I was sure to see people I knew. We would start talking about the sniper, what happened last night, Miguel’s condition, and then two or three hours would be gone. I did not have the time to spare today. I would probably be answering those questions ad nauseam tomorrow. A less public place for breakfast was needed.
So I decided to drive twelve miles north to Morro Bay. Though I knew a few people in town, I wasn’t as well known as I was in San Celina. My chances were better for a breakfast unencumbered by curious questions.
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