Mariah shook her head again.
“You girls,” she said. “So stubborn.”
After Mariah’s motherly admonishment, my stomach settled a little. But I still felt shaky.
She pulled the vehicle into a drop-off area in front of the hospital.
“I’m going to run over to Winn’s and then come back for you,” Mariah said to McKenna. “I’ll text you when I’m on my way back.”
“Thanks, Mom,” McKenna said, leaning across the console to kiss her mother on the cheek.
“Thanks,” I mumbled, my voice still weak.
McKenna glanced down at her phone. “James says Mike is in 339. He got moved out of intensive care this morning.”
“He must be doing better,” I said.
McKenna nodded. I followed her onto the elevator, still undecided about exactly what I would do when we got to the room. I’d never even met Mike beyond gawking at his unconscious body. I’m sure he wouldn’t want me lurking around his hospital room.
| Five
We followed a woman using a walker off of the elevator. The woman wheezed loudly every time she raised and lowered the walker with a click-clack of the rickety aluminum device.
The strong bleach odor and the harsh fluorescent lighting in the hallway didn’t do anything to help the wobbly sensation that was taking over me.
It looked like Room 339 would be toward the end of the hall on the left. Two men wearing dark suits, one carrying a briefcase, the other carrying a tablet, left a hospital room. They passed us quickly, their expressions grim.
McKenna didn’t seem to notice them, but I turned to watch as they rounded a corner, heading toward the elevator.
As we walked closer to the end of the hall, I could see that it was 339, Mike’s room, that the men had come from.
McKenna stopped in front of 339. She peeked into the room then turned toward me.
“Take your time,” I said. “I’ll wait over there.”
I gestured toward a set of blue and gray upholstered chairs and couches surrounding a television at the end of the hallway. McKenna nodded and walked into Mike’s room.
Before I was out of earshot, I heard her murmur a tentative “Hi Mike.”
There was only one other person in the waiting room—a dark-haired woman, about 50 years old, playing some sort of game on her phone. She had the volume full blast—piping out carnival sounds with intermittent explosion noises. I walked to the opposite end of the small waiting area and sat down.
I took my reporter’s notebook out of my messenger bag and began flipping through the pages. I didn’t notice my hands were still trembling until I heard the subtle crinkling noises one of the pages made as I balanced it on my fingertips. I wanted to review my notes—take an inventory of what McKenna and I had covered, and what I still needed to ask her about.
But every time I tried to focus on reading my notes, I remembered the wreck—the sounds of smashing metal and breaking glass. I thought about the expression on McKenna’s face the instant before the impact sent her flying across the seat. We were both lucky to be alive.
I wondered, if I’d been injured—or worse—who would help me? Who would visit me in the hospital or take care of my stuff? Not my mom.
“All right,” a man’s voice said from behind me. “Yeah. Tell him I’ll call him back tonight.”
I shoved my notebook back into my messenger bag. I thought hospital waiting rooms were supposed to be hushed, solemn places. Between this guy and the arcade lady, this waiting room was getting kind of rowdy.
“Yep,” the man continued. There was something familiar about his voice. “Okay, gotta go.”
After a beat of silence, the man said, in a questioning tone, “Jae?”
I twisted in my seat to look in his direction. It was Jacob White, the detective I’d met the previous day.
“Oh. Hi, Detective,” I said. My voice sounded small. Tired, too.
“Call me Jacob.” He walked over and sat down beside me.
“You’re here to see Mike Ayers?”
I shrugged. “Tagging along, I guess, with McKenna.”
“You didn’t go see him?”
“I’ve never officially met him, so I figured showing up at his hospital room would be weird.”
“Wow. A journalist with boundaries,” Jacob said with a smile.
I attempted a good-natured chuckle at Jacob’s remark, but it came out flat.
Jacob looked at me, a couple shallow creases revealing themselves around his eyes.
“Are you all right?” he asked.
I looked down at my hands, clenched around the strap of my bag.
“Yeah. I’m fine. I’m not hurt at all except for this little scratch on my arm.”
I twisted my arm, making yet another futile attempt at viewing the cut on my left elbow.
Jacob glanced down at my arm before quickly returning his gaze to meet mine.
“What happened?”
“Um, we were in a little accident today. A wreck. Our car got hit broadside.”
Jacob leaned back in his seat and rested his arm across the back of my chair. He nodded thoughtfully.
“Yeah, I heard about that one—by the Cathedral. Lucky no one was hurt.”
“Really lucky,” I said softly. I needed to stop talking before the tightness in my throat got any worse.
I shifted in my seat and smoothed my shirt over my abdomen. McKenna was supposed to be the basketcase, but she seemed fine. Why was I the one barely holding it together?
Jacob shook his head and let out a breath. “Getting hit broadside like that is no joke. And you were in the back seat? I don’t blame you if you’re shook up. That stuff’s scary.”
“I’m okay,” I said.
Looking around, Jacob announced, “I’m thirsty. You thirsty?”
I had forgotten my water bottle in Mariah’s car. Ever since the accident, my mouth it felt like it was full of paste.
Jacob stood and plunged a hand into his pocket. I could hear the change jingling. “How about a root beer?” he asked.
I smiled. It seemed kind of childish, but I did want a root beer. It actually sounded perfect.
“Be right back,” Jacob said as he began striding down the hallway.
I looked at the door to 339, hoping McKenna would stay in there a little longer.
When Jacob had been beside me, I’d forgotten about the annoying noises my waiting room neighbor was making. Now that he was gone, the game sounds flooded my ears again, but this time, they didn’t seem so oppressively obnoxious.
Jacob returned with two plastic bottles of root beer. He still looked concerned.
“I’m fine,” I said, wondering how shaken up I could possibly look, to be warranting this much attention. “It just, you know, caught me off guard.”
He laughed. “Car accidents tend to do that, I guess.”
My cheeks started to burn. I looked away from Jacob and sipped my drink.
“I’m sorry,” he said, still chuckling. “I’m not laughing at your trauma.”
I looked at him out of the corner of my eye. “That’s exactly what you’re doing.”
I laughed too.
“Whatever. It’s working. You look like you’re getting some blood flow back to your face.”
I didn’t tell him that the color in my cheeks was just embarrassment. I wanted to change the subject.
“Do you think that wreck could have been intentional? There was a third car that caused it—a black sports car driving the wrong way.”
Jacob folded his arms across his chest and leaned back in his seat.
“Maybe,” he said. “But it’s a really sloppy way of trying to hurt someone. There are so many unknowns. What if the driver of the third car had gotten hurt?”
He shook his head and continued. “It seems really unlikely. It was probably just an accident.”
“I know,” I agreed. “It must’ve been an accident. But there have been so many accidents—so many near misses—aro
und McKenna lately. There has to be more to it. Did you find out any more about the hot tub?”
“We haven’t had anyone in to look at it, but I still think it’s strange. Those things have grounded wiring, backup shut-off switches. That never should have happened. And the victim swears he doesn’t have any enemies.”
“You believe him?”
“I do,” Jacob said. “My sources in the casino never heard of him. He’s a guy who just does his job and gets home to his family.”
“Family?”
“His wife just had a baby last month.”
I shook my head. She must be terrified.
“The report from your accident should be done later this afternoon,” Jacob said. “If you want to stop by my precinct, we can look over it. And I could pull up the street camera footage. Hopefully, they’ll be able to figure out who was driving that third car.”
The thought of watching video of that pickup smashing into the town car made my stomach start churning again.
“I don’t know, maybe.”
“Okay. You have my number.”
I considered telling Jacob what Quinn had told me last night—that there’s at least one person on the staff who has a known history of dealing with performance enhancing drugs.
If Jacob really had close contacts at Currents, maybe he’d know if there was any drug activity going on there, too. At the very least, maybe he could rule out McKenna being involved.
Writing a big piece about McKenna’s recovery from addiction, only to later have it revealed that her show is crawling with illegal drugs, wouldn’t exactly enhance my journalistic credibility.
Before I could decide if, and how, to bring up the drug issue to Jacob, McKenna hurried into the waiting area. She was practically skipping.
“Jae! Mike’s wife brought their baby in. Her name’s Brooke and she’s so cute!”
McKenna glanced over at Jacob and then back to me. “Come on, you have to see her. And I showed Mike your articles online. He wants to meet you.”
She reached down, grabbed my wrist, and tugged until I gave in.
“All right, I’m coming,” I said. “I’m not holding her, though. Babies never like me.”
While I followed McKenna toward Mike’s room, I glanced back at Jacob. He watched me with an amused smile before offering a small wave goodbye.
I waved back.
The atmosphere in Mike’s room was like a party. Mike sat up in bed, holding his tiny infant daughter, who was swaddled in a yellow blanket.
A woman with red puffy eyelids and dark circles under her eyes sat on the edge of Mike’s bed, her legs dangling over the side. When McKenna introduced her to me as Emily, Mike’s wife, she gave me a warm, but tired smile.
In one corner of the room, James was sitting in a chair. He had been looking at his phone, but clicked the screen to black and slipped it into his pocket soon after McKenna and I entered the room.
“Isn’t she sweet?” McKenna asked while she stood over Mike, gazing down at the baby.
I agreed and tried not to be obvious as I snuck a glance at James to see his reaction to his ex-girlfriend’s adoration of the baby.
“She is beautiful,” Mike said. “A miniature of her mommy. Are you sure you don’t want to hold her, McKenna?”
McKenna shook her head. “I’d be too nervous about making her cry.”
“You’d be fine,” James reassured her with a smile.
McKenna glanced up at James, then quickly looked down at the baby again.
Mike and James asked me a few questions about my job—about what it’s like to work for Alt News America, and if I always knew I would be a writer.
“I guess I thought I’d be a poet or a novelist,” I told them. “I started news reporting for steady paycheck, and then eventually lucked into this travel thing.”
“It’s not luck,” McKenna said with a stern tone. “I’ve been reading her for years. Jae Lovejoy is the best.”
I looked at my feet while James laughed.
“You’re embarrassing your little friend, Kinny” he said.
McKenna gave me a sheepish smile.
“Sorry, Jae,” she said. “It’s true though.”
Then she took her phone out of her pocket and looked at it. “We better go. Mom’s downstairs.”
We said our goodbyes and walked toward the elevators.
But while we were waiting for an elevator, I heard a woman’s voice behind me. She was so quiet I could barely make out the words.
“Um, Jae?”
I turned to see Emily.
“Um, just, before you go, I wanted to ask you…”
“Sure. What is it?” I asked.
She looked down at her hands as she twisted her wedding ring back and forth on her finger.
“I was just wondering if you’re, like, investigating what happened to Mike—for your story,” she said.
“Not officially. Currents is only allowing me to come backstage with McKenna if I promise them that I’m only writing about her and Dream Myst.”
“Okay,” Emily said quietly. “Sorry to bother you.”
She started to walk away, but McKenna chimed in.
“Are you all right, Emily?”
Emily hung her head and covered her face with her hands, weeping softly. McKenna and I looked at each other.
“Mike’s going to be fine,” McKenna said. She stood beside Emily and wrapped an arm around her. “He’s already back to his old self.”
Emily tried to control her breathing while she wiped her eyes. “I’m just so worried about him. There was a detective in to talk to him this morning. And Currents sent a couple lawyers over. They want him to sign a waiver or something.”
McKenna furrowed her brow and rubbed Emily’s back. I rummaged in my bag for a tissue.
“Mike says he’ll sign whatever the casino tells him to sign. And he told the detective he’s sure it was an accident. But James…”
She cried harder.
McKenna and I exchanged glances, again. When Emily’s head was down, McKenna gestured toward the elevators. Her mom would be waiting for us in the car—probably getting worried.
Finally, Emily took a gulp of air and continued.
“James said a wire was spliced. He said it was done on purpose. Mike’s blowing it off. He’s afraid of losing his job. But I’m afraid he’ll get hurt again. If James is right … Why would someone do that?”
Emily broke down again.
“You know what, Emily? Jae is an awesome reporter. She’ll check it out for you, okay?” McKenna said.
I glared at McKenna.
Emily’s expression lifted immediately.
“Oh, could you do that?” She asked me. “I can’t have anything happen to him, I’m so worried. And the baby’s not sleeping…”
McKenna moved toward the elevator when Emily stopped talking long enough to blow her nose into the tissue I’d handed her. I said goodbye to Emily and followed close behind McKenna.
“What the hell?” I asked McKenna when the elevator doors closed. “I’m not supposed to get involved in this stuff. I mean, I’m worried about you—and Mike, and his family. I want to help, but I’m supposed to be doing my job.”
McKenna turned toward me and rested her hands on my shoulders. “Jae; I read every one of your stories about that murder in Denver—you solved the case, not the police,” she said.
I started to tell her it wasn’t supposed to be like that—I never wanted that. But the elevator stopped, and before I could reply to McKenna, she was off, headed toward her mom’s Land Rover. Mariah was waiting in her car, on the other side of the glass doors.
| Six
It was after lunch time when I got back to my hotel room at Currents, but I wasn’t hungry. I was tired—more tired than I could remember feeling in a very long time. I felt wrung out.
I stepped out of my shoes and sat on the bed. As I was plugging my phone into the charger, the text alert chimed. It was Colin.
“Want
another brick oven pizza lunch?” he asked.
All I wanted right now was to do a face plant into my pillow.
I replied, “No thanks. I just got back to my room. It was a weird morning. Going to lay low for a while… I’ll tell you about it later.”
And I did want to tell him about it. I knew that telling him the story of the wreck would help me know that it was really over, that I was okay. Colin replied to my last text a smiley face and an “Okay.” I fell asleep with my phone resting in the palm of my hand.
»·×·»
A gentle rattling of my hotel room door woke me up about an hour later. The hotel staff had slipped some mail under the door. There was a D.C. Press Association newsletter and another envelope with the Briar Valley logo—mom’s rehab.
I went to the desk and picked up the first envelope I’d received from Briar Valley. I couldn’t ignore my mom any more. I held one envelope in each hand, trying to decide which to open first. Finally, I opted to open the second letter. Maybe it had some information that would make the first one obsolete.
It was a hand-written letter on Briar Valley stationery, which looked an awful lot like hotel stationery. How was Mom affording this place?
I got through the first couple sentences before I realized what was going on—Step Nine. How was she already on Nine, making amends?
Angela was sorry for asking me for money, for being dishonest about her drinking, and for “All the times I wasn’t there for you.”
That’s kind of a nice way of saying that, for my entire life, she was the kid and I was the grownup. I knew that whether I responded or not—whether I forgave her or not—made absolutely no difference in the long run. She’d be drinking again soon. And she’d forget all about these amends. I folded the paper, stuffed it back into the envelope, and tossed it into the trash can.
I knew I wouldn’t be able to go back to sleep, but I curled up in bed again anyway.
The first, and probably only, time Mom really took the 12-step program seriously, I was a senior in high school. My grandparents had taken her and I out to a Mother’s Day brunch buffet.
When we were at the restaurant, it was obvious she was still drunk from the night before. She talked too loudly and laughed at things that weren’t funny. The way she walked was just a little wobbly, a little sloppy.
Assignment Vegas: The Case of the Athlete's Assassin: Jae Lovejoy Cozy Mystery Two (Jae Lovejoy Cozy Mysteries Book 2) Page 5