by Marja McGraw
“Do you remember what kind of car?” Chris asked.
“Not really. I wasn’t paying that much attention. Luis, did you see the car?”
“No, I just heard it, and then I found Chris on the ground. I decided it was more important to check on him than to look for the car.”
“Of course,” I said. “I think we’d better head for the hospital, Bogey Man. You need to have yourself checked out.”
“I’m fine – just pissed off.”
“Honey, you could have a concussion or something.”
“I said, I’m fine! Let it go.”
While we argued about whether or not to take a trip to the hospital, Phillip headed outside. Within moments the lights came back on.
“Thanks, Phillip,” I said, when he returned.
“Yeah,” he said. “Someone had to do it.”
“What’s going on in here?”
I turned at the sound of Lila’s voice.
“Someone attacked Chris, and now I’m trying to talk him into going to the hospital. He doesn’t want to go.”
Lila closed her eyes and said, “Lord, I pray that you’ll keep Chris and Pamela safe, and that Chris will quit being pig-headed and let Pamela drive him to the hospital.”
I stopped what I was doing and folded my hands in prayer. “Yes, Lord,” I said.
“Father,” Lila continued, “I ask in Jesus’ name that you heal Chris’s wound if she can’t talk him into the trip. And – ”
“Thank you, Lila,” Chris said, “I’m ready to go to the hospital. You two can stop praying now.”
I smiled at this woman I’d come to admire so much.
“Thank you, Lord! You work so fast sometimes. Amen.” Lila was grinning like the Cheshire cat.
I saw that Nate had followed Lila into the kitchen. He stood, watching her thoughtfully, before he smiled and said a loud, “Amen!” It appeared he was fine with Lila’s Christianity.
She smiled, looking pleased with Nate’s reaction.
“Now let’s all go to the hospital,” Lila said.
“Oh, no,” Chris said. “There’s no all in this equation. Pamela and I will go and you can help close the place up. Deal?”
“Deal,” Lila and Nate replied in unison.
“George knows what to do,” I said. “Would you please go talk to him? You can tell him what happened.”
Lila nodded and took Nate’s hand, leading him out of the kitchen.
“What a night this has turned out to be,” Luis said.
“You can say that again,” I replied, trying to help Chris stand up.
“I’m not a cripple, cookie, and I only said I’d go to the hospital so Lila would stop talking to God.”
“Whatever it takes.” I said a silent thank you before letting go of Chris’s arm.
~ * ~
I used the cell phone to call Constance on our way to the hospital, suggesting she spend the night in the guest room instead of driving home. I had no idea what time we’d be rolling in. She was concerned about Chris and said she’d stay as long as we needed her.
I also called the police. After all, Chris had been attacked. They said they’d meet us at the hospital.
Chris needed a couple of stitches, and the doctor shaved a small spot on his head. My husband was not happy, and the headache he had made his mood even worse. It was more difficult than dealing with an injured child. He whined about his injury, and he whined about the numbness where the doctor had stitched him up. He even complained because he didn’t like the questions the coppers had asked him. He whined about a headache, and he whined about my driving after we left the hospital. I bit my tongue as long as I could, and even then tried to make nice since I knew he was in pain.
I tactfully told him he should lean back and sleep until we reached the house. He started to grumble about me being bossy.
“Now!” I said, authority punctuating my word. “You’re driving me crazy, Chris, so lean back and sleep or prepare yourself for all out warfare.”
His eyes widened in surprise when he looked at me, just before he dropped his head forward. “I can’t lean back. My head hurts too much.”
“Do it any way you want to, but leave me alone while I drive home.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Ya big baby,” I said, under my breath.
“I heard that.”
Neither one of us slept well that night and yet I woke up feeling somewhat refreshed, surprising myself.
Chris had finally gone to sleep, so I left him alone while I went down to have my first cup of coffee and talk to Constance. I could hear her moving around in the kitchen.
First things first, so I fed the dogs. Constance had already taken Mikey to school, and instead of going home she’d come back to see if we needed anything. She already had the coffee brewing.
“You’re too good to me,” I said. “I don’t know why you hang around with me. It seems like I’m always asking for favors.”
“You are, but that’s okay. I’ve asked you for plenty of favors over the years, so it all evens out.”
Constance and I were both widows, each having lost our husbands to cancer. We bonded when I moved in next door to her. It was a welcome friendship, and I’d do anything I could for her. She was probably about fifteen years older than me, but our friendship knew no age limits.
“So tell me what happened last night. You were kind of vague on the phone. I tried to wait up for you, but I just couldn’t keep my eyes open.”
“Well, first the lights went out in the restaurant, and when Chris went to check the fuse box, someone attacked him. That’s about the gist of it. Chris didn’t want to go to the hospital, but Lila started praying for him. I think it kind of freaked him out. Anyway, he has stitches in his noggin, but he doesn’t have a concussion.”
Constance started to laugh, covering her mouth so she wouldn’t wake Chris. “Gotta love that Lila. She gets things done.”
“That she does.”
“Do you have any idea who attacked Chris?” Constance asked.
“No. And nobody saw a thing. Luis heard a car leaving, and I’d seen someone pull into the parking lot not long before the lights went out, but I wasn’t paying attention to the car. All I could think of was that it was too late for anyone to be coming in for dinner.”
“Do you think it had something to do with the case you’re working on for the Church Ladies?”
“I wasn’t robbed, so that had to be it,” Chris said, startling both of us. “Maybe it was a warning of sorts.”
Constance was grinning, and I turned around to look at Chris. He was wearing his bathrobe, slippers and a fedora. I started to laugh.
“Aren’t you a sight this morning? What are you dressed up for?” I couldn’t help myself. What an outfit.
“I’m trying to hide my bald patch, and I couldn’t find my baseball cap.”
Constance coughed politely, hiding her grin behind her hand. “Are you okay, Chris?”
“Been better.”
“Your bald patch isn’t all that big,” I said. “I think you’ll live.”
“How about a little sympathy here,” he said, dragging himself over to the table and sitting down. “I could use a cup of java, too.”
Constance stood up and headed for the coffee pot.
“Thank you,” Chris said, when she placed a mug in front of him.
“Can I see your head?” she asked.
Chris took off his hat and she leaned in to take a good look.
“I wouldn’t wear a hat, if I were you. You’ve got a good war story to tell with that injury. Although, I guess I’d wear it to work. The customers probably wouldn’t want to see your stitches.”
Chris took a sip of his coffee. “This had to be the work of John Jackson’s partner. Who else would have cold-cocked me like that? I know we’re in someone’s way. No one else has a beef with me that I know about. If he hadn’t made me hear the birdies singin’, I would have taken him out.”
�
�I know you would have, sweetie,” I said. “And I’m sorry you heard the birdies sing, but you couldn’t have known that someone would deliberately shut the lights off.” I had a feeling Chris thought his manhood was in question, and I wanted him to know it wasn’t.
“Was he really unconscious?” Constance asked. “Did the doctor check for a concussion?”
“He wasn’t knocked cold, but I’m sure he heard some bells ringing, at the very least.”
“What I can’t understand,” Chris said, “is why this guy is playing games instead of just doing what he was paid to do. Why hasn’t he gone after Victor yet?”
“We won’t know the answer to that until we find Jackson’s partner,” I replied.
Chapter Thirty
Before Constance left I asked her what she’d told Mikey about spending the night at our house. She said she’d been relatively honest with him. “I told him that his dad had hit his head and needed to see a doctor, but that he was okay. I told him it wasn’t anything to worry about, and he seemed fine with that explanation.”
“Thank you again, Constance. I just don’t know what I’d do without you.”
“Hopefully you’ll never have to find out.”
Chris rested for most of the day, which was unusual in itself because he was a fairly high energy man. He did, however, seem to like being waited on. I made him tea and toast, and served him in the living room. He asked if I could bring him a napkin. He wanted juice, and I brought him juice. Then he wanted more tea, but on second thought decided he wanted coffee. No, coffee might make his headache worse. Would I please bring him milk instead?
As I was returning to the kitchen, he called out reminding me that he needed a napkin. I took him two. He said he was ready for a sandwich, saying the toast hadn’t been enough food. I made him a peanut butter and jelly sandwich.
I’d just reentered the kitchen when he asked if we had a bell that he could ring if he needed anything. I clenched my fists and felt my back muscles tighten, and held my hands by my side.
“No!” I snapped at him. He was surprised at my sharp answer and I took advantage of the quiet moment and walked out the back door.
I played with the dogs and dusted the house before Mikey came home from school. Danny’s mother picked the two boys up after school and dropped Mikey off. We shared school duty from time to time.
“Hey, Dad!” he yelled, bursting through the front door. “How’s your head?”
Chris groaned, still fighting a headache. “Fine. Would you please lower your voice?”
“Okay,” Mikey whispered. “How’s your head? Can I see it?”
Chris sat up and turned so our son could see his stitches.
“Cool!” Mikey said, examining the doctor’s handy work. “Does it hurt?”
“Only when you yell, Ace. Or when I move. Or breath.”
I rolled my eyes. How could I not?
Mikey finally put his backpack down and ran out to see the dogs, after showing very little pity for his father. Chris seemed insulted by Mikey’s lack of sympathy.
“He’s seven. What did you expect?” I asked. “At the most, he may want to take a picture of your head for posterity.”
I was seeing a side of Chris I’d never seen before, although he hadn’t been sick or injured since the day we were married.
“Where did he go?” Chris asked.
“To see the dogs.”
“Oh.” He sounded disappointed that the dogs were receiving what should have been his attention.
I heard the back door open, and then the clicking of toenails on the kitchen floor. Knowing what to expect, thanks to lots of experience, I ran over and stopped the dogs in the kitchen before they could run into the living room and jump on Chris. I held my hands up, palms facing the dogs. They knew this was the signal to stop. Surprisingly, they did. Sherlock and Watson didn’t always listen to me.
“Mikey,” I said, loudly, “get the treats. I don’t know how long they’re going to mind.”
Mikey came in from the service porch with a container full of doggie cookies and handed them to me.
“Good babies,” I said, calmly. “Now stay.” Sherlock wagged his tail, mopping the floor with it, and Watson sat very still, concentrating on the container. They knew what was coming. I handed each of them a treat. Chewing it up, they dribbled crumbs all over the floor.
“Now you two have to remain calm. Chris doesn’t need you jumping all over him. Got that?” Anyone listening would have thought they could understand me – and sometimes they seemed to. When I mentioned Chris’s name, they both turned to look at him.
“Mikey, go stand by your father, just in case they ignore me.”
My son straightened his back, enjoying being the one sent to save Chris. He put his hands up as I had, with his palms facing the dogs. “You two mutts had better not hurt my dad, or you’ll be in deep doo doo.”
“Mikey!” I said.
“I just said doo doo. That’s not a bad thing to say.”
“Well…”
“Would everyone please go away and let me get some rest before I have to leave for work?” Chris sounded pathetic, and Mikey fell for it.
“It’s okay, Dad. I’ll take the dogs outside.”
Chris patted Mikey’s shoulder. “You’re a good son.”
“Big fat baby,” I mumbled, leaving the room.
“I can still hear you,” Chris called after me. “I’d like to hear what you’d sound like if someone had hit you over the head.”
I wouldn’t be whining nearly as much as you are, I thought to myself. No point in stirring things up by speaking my thoughts. I always thought men were supposed to be so manly – strong and silent. I sighed and continued into the kitchen.
Mikey put the dogs outside, handing them each another cookie, and then sat down at the table. He was ready for an afternoon snack – something to hold him over until dinner.
“What would we do without those dog treats?” I asked. “I hate to bribe them to be good, but sometimes it’s necessary.”
Mikey leaned on the table. “How about a people cookie? We got any of those?”
I handed him a couple of crackers and a small glass of milk. “Do you think this will hold you until dinner?”
“Thank you, and yes. Am I staying home or going to Constance’s house tonight?”
“I think you’ll go over to her house. She spent the night here last night, so she’s probably ready for some stay-at-home time. Okay?”
“Okay. She’s got some good games at her house, and she got them just for me.”
“That’s our Constance,” I replied. “You know she loves you like a grandson.”
Mikey smiled and ate the rest of his crackers.
Leaving him at the kitchen table with a comic book, I walked out to check on Chris. “Are you feeling any better?” I’d calmed down and realized that I was being too hard on him.
“I am. I’m sorry I’ve been snapping at you, cupcake. Headaches really put me under. Pain and I are like water and oil. We don’t mix well. Besides, I’m ticked off that someone got the drop on me. I shoulda heard him coming.”
I sat down on the couch next to him, realizing we’d finally come to the real cause for the complaining. He was embarrassed that he hadn’t been able to protect himself. “It’s okay, Chris. I’m sorry for snapping back at you. It was uncalled for, because I know you don’t feel well. Besides, obviously this guy planned it out. You wouldn’t have heard him coming.”
“I sure wish I’d gotten a look at the goon. Unless the coppers come up with a fingerprint or something, I don’t know how anyone’s going to figure out who Jackson’s partner is.”
“Maybe we can ask Addie for a better description. There must be something that would identify him. Saying he’s just plain average doesn’t help at all.” I thought for a moment. “I could call Donna again and pick her brain.”
“Donna?”
“You know, the waitress. The one who’s coming to work for us? Oh! Th
at reminds me. I’ve got to start some hype about Bogey Nights being open for lunch.”
Leaving Chris on the couch, I returned to the kitchen and phoned Sharon Stone, a reporter and sometimes friend. I hadn’t liked her initially, but after she hooked up with Davie, Chris’s best friend, I got to know her better. She wasn’t all bad, after all.
After promising me that she’d put an article in the newspaper, she asked how things were going for Chris and me.
“Oh, just fine. You know us. Work, work, work. Never a moment to ourselves.” I pointedly avoided telling her about Victor because this woman liked nothing more than to insinuate herself into our lives. She was always looking for a good story, trying to move up the ladder at work.
After we hung up I called a sign company and ordered a banner announcing the new hours and lunch.
I felt like I’d done all I could, at least where Bogey Nights was concerned.
Picking up the receiver again, I dialed Jasmine’s number. It was time to talk to Addie and see if we could get a better description of Jackson’s partner.
Jasmine answered, and after blessing me and asking if we’d made any progress, she put Addie on the phone.
“Addie,” I said, “do you remember anything about the second man who was at that diner? Anything would help.”
“Like what?” she asked.
“How tall was he?”
“About average. Maybe as tall as Chris.” She paused for a moment. “No, just a shade shorter.”
“How about his hair color?” I asked.
“Hmm. Kind of a lighter color, like a light brown. Well, not really brown, but not blond either.”
“Age?” I asked.
“Oh, I couldn’t tell you that. He wasn’t young, but I’ve never been good at guessing people’s ages.”
“Eye color?”
“I never saw his eyes. I’m sorry, Pamela, but I just got a brief look at him. I only know what the man with the mustache looked like because of him coming to my house and me hiding out in his camper.”
“Speaking of that, how are you feeling?” I asked.
“Oh, fair to middlin’,” she replied. “I really got in over my head, and it’s taken something away from me. I just don’t feel as energetic as I used to. I know it’s only been a few days since all of this happened, but it feels like it’s been a year. I’m afraid to go out of the house anymore.”