She tried again to sit up, then grabbed her head and fell back to her pillows. “I have to go to him.”
“I’ll check on him for you, okay?” I covered her up with the sheet again, wishing we’d met under different circumstances. I had a feeling that in another life, we could have been best friends.
I didn’t want to push her, but went for it, anyway. “I need to ask you something.”
She stirred and opened her eyes again. A slow frown creased her face. “You didn’t tell me your name.”
“I’m Marcella Hollister. Remember, we talked on the phone? I was coming to meet you at the shop today.”
As if it all flooded back to her, tears slipped from her eyes and she tried to sit up again. “Can you crank the bed up a little?”
I found the lever and adjusted the head up a few inches. “There. Is that a little better?”
“Thank you.” She turned to me. “I’m so sorry. My ex-boyfriend is such an ass. He and his stupid brother helped some guy kidnap your mother for two thousand lousy bucks.”
“Did Barski tell you where she is?” I leaned forward with fevered anticipation.
She shook her head. “Just that it’s some cabin down by Speculator.”
My heartbeat quickened. At least this was better news than searching for one lone cabin in the whole six million acres of the Adirondack State Park.
“Did he say why they took her?”
“For the money.” She fell back against her pillow. “I don’t know what I ever saw in Wendell.”
“For what money?”
As if losing interest, her eyes half closed. “I don’t really know. He kept talking about ‘the money.’ Said he’d cut me in on it if I kept quiet. But I couldn’t. I screamed at him and told him he had to go to the police. That’s when my grandfather walked in and Wendell flipped out.” Rita started to weep. “My God. He hit him so hard. I thought he was dead.” Her shoulders shook and she covered her face. “I wanted to call an ambulance, but he wouldn’t let me. He dragged me out to the truck.”
“Shh. I know.” I stroked her hair and held her hand. “It’s okay now. The police are watching Wendell, and your grandfather’s in good hands. I’ll go find him, okay?”
I handed her some tissues and she pulled herself together.
“I’ll be back.”
A slim blond nurse caught me on the way out, scolding me. “Visiting hours are over, miss.”
I tried my sweetest smile. “I’m staying overnight with my husband. He and Rita were in an accident together. I just wanted to be sure she’s okay.”
She melted a little. “Oh. I see.” She checked the chart on the wall. “She came out of the coma a few hours ago. We moved her down from the ICU, but her grandfather’s still up there.”
“Can I see him?”
She smiled at me as if I were a slow child. “No one’s allowed inside the ICU except family, honey. And it’s too late, anyway.”
“Is he okay?”
“From what I heard, he’s stable. We’re hoping he’ll come around soon, but there’s no telling. Why don’t you go back to your husband now and try to get some rest.”
I hid my disappointment, thanked her, and walked back to Rita’s room to tell her the news. She thanked me, kissed my hand, and closed her eyes. I waited a few minutes until her breathing became slow and steady, then returned to Quinn’s room.
My beautiful but damaged husband still snored, lying on his back with his mouth open. I was glad he couldn’t think about all the germs that could have been sucked into his lungs.
I kissed his cheek and settled onto my cot, trying to get comfortable. It wasn’t easy with the frequent visits by nurses, the beeps across the hall, and the constant movement and chatter out in the hallway, but around eleven I drifted into a fitful sleep.
Chapter 29
I woke abruptly at 2 AM to the clamor of nurses in panic. Moonlight washed into the room, limning the outline of beds, tables, and chairs. Quinn’s monitoring machines were conspicuously silent. No beeps. No flashing LEDs.
No power.
I bolted up in the bed, ignoring the crick in my neck from sleeping on the skimpy pillow. Footsteps raced past our room, and voices filled the hallway, yelling something about a backup generator. It seemed the damn thing hadn’t kicked in yet, and if it didn’t provide power to the ventilators and other life sustaining equipment soon, I figured the critical patients would die. Fast.
Quinn remained asleep thanks to the high-powered pain drugs he’d been given. His IV would continue to drip—gravity was the only thing needed to keep the solution going. The rest of the devices were simply reporting back his heart rate and other vitals. The power outage shouldn’t hurt him.
I tried to relax and leaned back against my doubled up pillow to listen to the commotion. My heart rate slowed a bit, and the cobwebs in my brain parted.
What knocked the power out? The weather had been still—I’d heard no evidence of thunderstorms in the area. At least they hadn’t woken me up in the past two hours.
Maybe a car hit a telephone pole?
An image of Wendell Barski popped into my head.
Could he have woken up and somehow vandalized the power system to cause turmoil so he could escape?
I grabbed my cell from my purse on the table and dialed McCann’s number.
Jaworski picked up, her voice slightly breathless. “Hello?”
An alien movie played in my head. Jaworski and McCann, their bodies entwined and sweaty. Handcuffs dangled. Whips cracked.
I shuddered and whispered into the phone. “Agent Jaworski? I thought I dialed McCann’s number.”
She didn’t hesitate. “You did. He’s right here.”
The bizarre sex movie went into fast forward and I almost retched. “Oh. Er… Sorry to bother you two, but the power’s out at the hospital and I wondered if—”
McCann’s voice boomed into the phone. “Marcella? We’re on our way over. Just got a call from the officer on duty about the outage. Stay put now, you hear?”
I lied without guilt. “I will.”
He hung up before I’d finished. I jumped out of bed and wrapped myself in my sweatshirt. A nurse poked her head into the room, playing a flashlight over Quinn and me. “Mr. and Mrs. Hollister? You two okay?”
I couldn’t see her face, but recognized her voice. “We’re fine, Jessie.” I squinted in the light, then bent down to feel around on the cold linoleum for my running shoes.
Jessie hid her fear well, maintaining a soothing tone. “The backup generator…”
“I heard. But don’t worry about us.” I slid my feet into the shoes and started to lace them up. “Quinn’s sleeping through it. You tend to your critical patients, hon. And God bless.”
I heard a smile in her voice. “Thanks, Mrs. Hollister. Just hang tight.”
I snugged the second lace tight and sprang to my feet, following her flashlight as it bobbed down the hall. Bypassing the elevators, I felt my way along the wall until my hand connected with what I hoped was the stairwell door. I yanked it open and stared into pitch black. The clanking of the door echoed down the stairs, confirming my hope that it was the stairwell.
The moonlight that filtered into the hall windows stopped about three feet into the stairwell. I nearly ran back to the safety of our room. But Barski was just one floor down. If I could hang onto the railing and take one step at a time, I could make it. I needed to be sure he was secure and that the only link to my mother’s whereabouts didn’t slip out into the dark night.
I grabbed a heavy chair from the waiting area opposite the elevators and dragged it over to prop open the door. A flicker of light trickled into the passageway, and I was able to find the railing after following the wall with my hands.
My sneakers scuffed on the cement stairs and my heart felt like a taut djembe drum, pattering at twice its usual speed. No flashlights played on the walls, and no voices came from below. I moved slowly, taking one step at a time while leaning again
st the wall.
One, two, three. Breathe. Four, five, six. Breathe. Seven, eight, nine.
A landing.
I moved across the flat surface, turned ninety degrees, and headed down the next section of steps.
Perspiration dotted my brow and my underarms grew damp.
Lovely. No deodorant within miles, and here I was—a sweaty, smelly wannabe Nancy Drew. Now, if this were a movie, I’d be pristine, smelling like apple blossoms and cloves, with my hair perfectly coiffed and not a wrinkle in my pretty frock.
Fat chance.
I laughed at the image. The creepy sound bounced and echoed down the stairwell. In a weird way, it comforted me, assuring me that I was alive, and I continued down the stairs, feeling a bit braver.
A door squeaked open at the bottom of the stairs and a pale sliver of light shimmered toward me.
“Hello?” My voice sounded tinny and weak, in spite of my earlier resolution of bravery. No answer. “Anybody there?” I stopped and listened. “Hello?”
A strong aroma wafted up the stairs, accompanied by the faint sliding of shoe leather on cement. The air filled with the spicy fragrance of sandalwood.
The door below swung shut on its slow hinge. Blackness returned, thicker than before. My throat constricted, and I felt I’d suffocate in the dark.
A shoe scuffed on the steps, moving closer.
“Hello? I hear you there. Don’t make me hurt you.”
I almost laughed at the sound of my quavering voice and the words of false bravado. I sounded like a kitten threatening a drooling Rottweiler.
Footsteps. Faint. Deliberate.
I froze.
Someone’s breath puffed in my ear. “I don’t think that will be a problem, Mrs. Hollister. I’m quite sure you won’t have to hurt anyone.”
My bladder almost let go and that maddening, sugary voice stabbed me with dread. “Tiramisu!” The hard nose of a gun poked my side.
He clicked a penlight and shined it in my eyes. “My good fortune continues, dear lady. I came here just to see you, and am so fortunate to meet you in this perfect location. It’s splendid, so far away from all those nosy nurses.” His eyes bulged with excitement. “By the way. Your dear mother sends her greetings.”
Chapter 30
Tiramisu shoved the gun deeper into my side. I felt an instant bruise rise on my rib. He slid the penlight into his breast pocket, casting a narrow beam along his heavy jowls and bushy eyebrows. His black eyes glittered and narrowed. With his free hand, he snagged my wrist and tightened the vice until my knees buckled from the pain.
“Up to the landing. Now.”
I groaned and shuffled up a few stairs. “Loosen up a little. That hurts like hell.”
He maneuvered us into the corner of the landing, then eased up on his grip.
“The key, Mrs. Hollister. Where is the key?”
This time he ground the gun against my ribs until I thought I’d throw up. I slumped against the wall and slid to my haunches. “What key?”
He drew back the gun and slammed it against my temple. White pain shot through my head. I moaned and closed my eyes, waiting for the stars to subside. Something warm and wet trickled down my cheek.
My tormentor steadied, repositioned the gun, and cocked the hammer with a definitive click.
“Don’t play games with me, dear woman. Your mother kindly informed me about the key. According to her, it was taped to the bottom of the birdcage.” He leaned closer until the scent of his woodsy aftershave gagged me. “The maid I bribed last night at your hotel says it wasn’t there.” He shoved the gun again. “So, where is it?”
Although I knew there was nothing for him to find in the safe deposit box, I still hated to give in. He was really ticking me off. I dabbed at a trickle of blood on my temple with my sleeve. “I… I’m not sure.”
He rammed the gun against my bicep. “Perhaps one bullet through your arm will jog your memory. It might shatter your bone. Or it could pass through the flesh. Either way, you may not enjoy it as much as I certainly will.”
I pulled away from him, admitting defeat with a scream. “Okay! Hold on a minute. Let me think.”
I scrolled back through the events of the day before when we’d gone to the bank in Honeoye. We’d taken the contents from the safe deposit box, and after we relocked the box with a bank official’s help, she’d handed me the key. I’d tucked it into the zippered side pocket of my purse. “Okay. I remember now. It’s upstairs in my purse.”
He spun me around and pushed me up the stairs.
“Move. Fast and quiet. Before the power comes back. And if you make it without raising the alarm, I might not kill you and your husband.”
I stumbled up the stairs, heart hammering. When we reached the top, he pocketed his gun and took the penlight out again, playing it across the floor.
“I can shoot you very easily,” he whispered. “Don’t try to be a hero, Mrs. Hollister.”
I had no intention of getting myself or Quinn shot. Besides, Tiramisu didn’t know we’d already raided the safe deposit box and found no money or treasure maps inside.
“What about my mom,” I said, hurrying toward our room. “Where is she? Is she okay?”
Tiramisu snorted. “Your mother may be the world’s most annoying woman. Never in my life have I tolerated the likes of her. Stubborn. Demanding. Persistent. And whiny. I would expect you’d be glad to be rid of her.”
We turned the corner into Quinn’s room. My husband snored from his bed, still drugged enough to sleep through a roaring cyclone.
With trembling hands, I felt my way over to the other side of the bed. I unzipped the side pocket on my purse. “If I give you this,” I said, “will you tell me where she is?” I closed my fingers around the key.
“But of course. You first.” He held out his hand, palm up.
I didn’t trust him, but knew he wouldn’t hesitate to shoot Quinn or me and slip out in the confusion of darkness. I stood and approached him. “It’s for a safe deposit box.”
He growled. “I know. Your mother was very accommodating after a few days without amenities.”
My brain spun out, thinking of hot food, toilet paper, and television. Those were amenities in my book. I wanted to shove him across the room, but thought better of it. “Amenities? What do you mean? Food?” My knees threatened to sag again. I held the key out. “My mother. Tell me where she is.”
He spat an evil chuckle. “Food. Sleep. Air. Water. You know, the usual amenities.”
My knees sagged again. “What did you do to her? You bastard!”
I closed my fingers around the key. We struggled, but he pried my fingers back and took it, holding me at bay with his gun and brandishing the key in the light with an otherworldly grin. “Ah. Finally. My just rewards.”
Quinn stirred but didn’t wake. I half wanted him to rip out his IV, jump out of bed, and tackle my tormentor.
“Tiramisu,” I said. “My mother. Where is she? Is she okay?”
“She’s still alive. For now.”
Without a sound, he broke our deal, pivoted, and disappeared into the shadows.
Chapter 31
I crumpled to the floor, quietly weeping. After about five minutes of giving in to my emotions, I lowered the side rail and climbed onto Quinn’s bed, snuggling under his good arm. The sheets were stiff, but already smelled of him. He stirred and woke, then frowned at the cast on his arm. “Oh, God. I’d forgotten about this.” He stared at me, then at the silent equipment sitting on the cart. “What’s wrong, baby? And what the hell happened to the lights?”
I sniffled and told him everything.
“Geez, Marcella. Why in the world didn’t you wake me up? I would have pounded the bastard.”
“He had a gun, baby. Right in my side. You or I would’ve been killed.”
His voice was quiet and determined. “But still. You shouldn’t have faced him alone.”
I ran my hand up and down his good arm. “Thanks, sweetheart. But…
” I stiffened. “Oh, damn! I’ve got to tell McCann. And we still don’t know what happened to Barski.”
McCann’s voice boomed from the hall. “Tell McCann what?”
I sat up, embarrassed to have been found in bed with Quinn. I brushed it away with an accusation. “I thought you said you were coming right over? What took you so long? A little dalliance with an FBI agent?”
The lights came up as he entered. Quinn’s machines whirred, blinked, and started beeping with regularity. I squinted until the light didn’t hurt so much, then left Quinn’s side and perched on my own bed. McCann took the chair and grunted.
“Mrs. Hollister, please. I’d like to clear that up.”
I grimaced. “You don’t have to explain.”
“Yes. I do.” He swiped at his brow and pulled up a chair. “We were in the lobby. I was just checking us out when you called. Agent Jaworski was holding my jacket and grabbed the phone when it rang.”
Color pricked my cheeks and my feet suddenly appeared to be the most interesting subject in the room. “Oh. I’m so sorry. I—”
“Forget about it.” He batted his hands in the air, as if to shoo away the ridiculous notion. “Listen, you need to know what happened.”
I heaved a sigh. “So do you. Tiramisu was here. I mean Blount. Or whatever his real name is.”
His expression tightened. “Here? When?” He jumped to his feet and made a few rapid-fire calls to alert officers on the hospital grounds. When he was done shouting into the phone, he turned back to me and gripped my arms. “Tell me what happened.”
Feeling like a schoolgirl caught smoking in the bathroom, I filled him in.
“So. It was Tiramisu.” He leaned forward, lacing his thick fingers. “Barski’s dead. Got a bullet through the head after someone—probably Tiramisu—disabled the main power grid and generator. The guard ran to investigate, just long enough for Tiramisu to murder Barski. I just came from Rita’s room; she’s okay. And her grandfather’s pretty well protected up in that citadel they call the ICU.”
“Wait a minute.” Tears pricked my eyes again. I roughly brushed them away. “Barksi’s dead?” Emotion surged inside me, stronger this time, thanks to the desperation filling my soul. “My God. He’s the only one who…” I dropped onto the edge of my bed. “Now we’ll never find my mother.”
Tall Pines Mysteries: A Mystery/Suspense Boxed Set Page 14