by Deb Baker
"See," April said, sweat glistening on her face. "My immersion plan is working. I'm not afraid." But she hadn't taken two more steps before she grabbed Gretchen and Nina for support. "Oh, Lordy, I lied. I feel real weak like I might faint."
"Sit down for a minute," Gretchen said. They guided April to an open spot on the lower bleachers. "I'll get you something to drink. That'll make you feel better."
"I'll get it," Nina said, hurrying off. Her white cowgirl hat bobbed through the crowd.
"I'll go with her." Britt ran to catch up.
"I'm really sorry." April wiped her forehead with her sleeve.
"I'm proud of you for making the effort. You're doing great."
April's eyes bulged. She stared down the aisle. "Here comes one. Oh, no."
"You'll be fine." Gretchen didn't believe it for a second. April looked like she was about to have a fatal heart attack.
"I'm going to faint."
"Put your head between your knees."
April complied. The big woman's upper torso swung down. Her cowboy hat fell to the ground. The clown approached. He stopped in front of them. "Don't look,"
Gretchen warned April. "Stay where you are and take deep breaths."
"Word on the street," the clown said, "is that you're looking for Daisy."
Gretchen saw April turn her upside-down head to the side just enough to see the clown's big, red feet. "You're okay." Gretchen patted her back reassuringly.
Without a word, April heaved forward and crumpled facedown between Gretchen and the clown. No one in the stands seemed to notice. All eyes were focused on the cowboys.
"Too much to drink?" the clown asked.
"You need to leave before she opens her eyes and sees you again," Gretchen said, squatting beside April, wondering what to do. Just then, the crowd seemed to part. Gretchen looked up and saw Matt Albright weaving toward them. Nina and Britt appeared next to her, carrying trays filled with food and drinks. April started to move.
The clown trotted away. Gretchen watched him until he stopped at an exit door and looked back at her. "Help April," Gretchen said to Nina, rising from her prone friend. She was afraid to take her eyes off the clown for fear of losing sight of him. "I'll be right back."
She followed him out the door and into the darkness. He moved quickly, heading away from the lights of the parking lot. Gretchen hesitated under a light, aware that she would become vulnerable to an attack if she continued. She was putting herself in a position that she'd been careful to avoid her whole life. Her mother would flip if she knew Gretchen was chasing a man through the night without protection. So would Nina. But she had to know what had happened to Daisy.
Wait. She still had Nina's lipstick pepper spray. It was buried somewhere in her purse, where it wasn't doing her a bit of good at the moment. Next time, she'd have it ready.
All Gretchen could see in the darkness was the clown's white face paint. He'd stopped moving. "Where is Daisy?"
she asked.
"Daisy sends a message."
"Tell me." Gretchen was constantly amazed at the homeless community's communications network. She wondered how it worked.
"Meet her at midnight."
"Tonight?"
"Yes."
"Where?"
"Nacho's."
"How did she know where to find me?"
The clown's teeth flashed when he smiled, but he didn't answer.
Gretchen relaxed slightly. He wasn't going to attack her.
"What if I hadn't been at the rodeo tonight?"
"Then we would have found you tomorrow. Daisy says come alone."
The clown turned his white face away and faded into the night.
Gretchen used her cell phone to contact Nina. Matt was still attending to April. "She's playing it for all it's worth,"
Nina said. "She's drooling all over him."
"Tell her to snap out of it," Gretchen said, walking toward the car. "Meet me outside. I'm not coming back in."
The last thing she wanted was an introduction to Matt's latest conquest.
27
Gretchen stood in the darkness under a viaduct. Cars roared by overhead. Even at this late hour, the city was alive with activity. Streaks of light from passing cars exposed graffiti on the sides of train cars parked on the crisscross of tracks nearby. Ten minutes to twelve. She had worried about her safety at the rodeo. That was nothing compared to where she found herself now.
If she screamed, no one would hear, no one would come to her aid. If she was murdered tonight, her body wouldn't be found for days, or weeks, or ever. Yet Daisy was at home in this isolated corner of Phoenix where shadows constantly shifted and social outcasts roamed. Gretchen didn't see any signs of life at the base of the massive concrete supports. Nacho's home. She remembered her surprise at that. A homeless person with a home. The destitute man usually lived inside his head, inebriated more often than sober, but Daisy loved him. They had a better relationship than Gretchen had ever had. She put her personal problems out of her mind. There would be time later for self-pity.
Nacho had reconstructed his home several times. He called it upgrading. When weather conditions destroyed one of his makeshift homes, he built again in the same place, risking flash floods to live here instead of in one of the shelters where he would have to abide by someone else's rules.
His house consisted of cardboard walls framed around an enormous steel beam, secured with duct tape and painted steel gray to blend into the surrounding concrete. His home cleverly fooled the eye. Unless Gretchen looked very carefully, she couldn't see that it was there. She stood motionless, unwilling to approach the cardboard house. Whose blood had stained the shed and Daisy's shopping cart? That was the thought that kept going through Gretchen's mind. Was Daisy hurt? What about Nacho? Had he returned from his trip to San Francisco?
Sensing someone behind her, she whirled, preparing to release a blast of her pepper spray. Daisy stepped forward.
"I was worried about you," Gretchen said with relief, reaching out for the homeless woman. She hugged her close, ignoring the ripe odors.
"Why worry about me?" Daisy drew back, uncomfortable with Gretchen's display of affection. "I get by just fine."
"I went to the shed and found blood on the door and on your shopping cart. I took your belongings to protect them. What's going on?"
"I'll show you. Follow me." Daisy moved out ahead of Gretchen, in the direction of Nacho's house.
Inside, newspapers were taped on the makeshift walls and on the ground, serving as insulation to keep the chill of the desert night from seeping inside. The small room had enough space for several rolled-out sleeping bags, an old propane camp stove, and a few boxes of miscellaneous items.
"Watch where you step," Daisy advised when they entered. "I'll get us some light."
Gretchen waited while Daisy fumbled around in the dark. The homeless woman struck a match and touched it to a lantern wick. Low light played against the cardboard walls, illuminating the women and casting gigantic shadows on the walls. Someone slept on the ground inside one of the sleeping bags.
"It's him," Daisy whispered. "I found him in the alley, and I thought he wasn't going to make it."
"Nacho?" Gretchen blanched. "Oh, no. What happened to him?"
Daisy shook her head. "Not Nacho. Ryan Maize, the crazy druggie."
"You're kidding." She hadn't expected that. She drew closer but couldn't see any signs of life from the sleeping bag. "Is he alive?"
"He almost wasn't. I found him hiding behind a Dumpster two nights ago. He was in bad shape. He spent yesterday in the hospital."
"What's wrong with him?"
"Plenty." Daisy sat down on a sleeping bag next to Ryan. He didn't move.
Gretchen bent over him and checked for life. The dirty sleeping bag moved slightly with his shallow breath. He didn't react when she placed her fingertips on his neck and felt for a pulse. "His pulse isn't very strong," she said.
"I had to break him out of
the hospital yesterday. The place is more like a prison than a place to fix people."
"I thought you didn't associate with drug people."
"I don't. But I'm the one who found him. He's my responsibility now."
Daisy felt responsible? That was a switch. Gretchen knew that most of the homeless were on the street because they couldn't accept society's constraints. Responsible wasn't an adjective commonly used to describe the indigent.
Yet here she was, claiming responsibility for a fellow human. Maybe Daisy was on the right path after all. Gretchen knelt beside Ryan. "Why didn't you leave him at the hospital where he was getting professional care? He looks very, very sick."
"If they had found out who he was, it would have been jail for him. He didn't even want to go to the hospital, but he was too weak to run away."
"What's wrong with him? An overdose?"
"I told them I was his mother. The doctor said Ryan snorted some toxic drug. He burned it, inhaled the gases, and it caused horrible hallucinations. Ryan thought demons were slicing him into pieces. He fought them off with a knife but ended up cutting himself. They sewed him up at the hospital, but it's the drug that hurt him the most."
Gretchen recalled her first meeting with Ryan and his bizarre behavior. "He must have been high on the same drug when he hit me."
Daisy nodded. "He's been in one long, ugly nightmare. The doc said he's taken the stuff more than once or twice based on the amount they found in his blood. He might have permanent physical and mental problems and be disabled. There's no way to tell."
"What a messed-up kid."
"Whoever sold him this stuff," Daisy said, "had to know how bad it was."
"Dealers don't care what happens to their customers,"
Gretchen said. "They're sociopaths without a conscience."
"This dealer really didn't care."
"What makes this one any different from any of the others?"
"Ryan took something called ep. . I can't remember the name of it. The doctor wrote it down." Daisy dug around in her layers of clothes, searching through her pockets. She handed a crumpled piece of paper to Gretchen. "That's the thing he inhaled."
Gretchen couldn't believe her eyes. It couldn't be possible. "Epinephrine?"
Daisy snapped her fingers. "That's it."
"Are you absolutely sure that's what the doctor said?"
"It's his writing. The doc wrote it down for me."
"And he said Ryan inhaled it?"
Daisy nodded. "That's exactly what he said."
"Are you sure he didn't say Ryan injected it?"
"No, he inhaled it."
Gretchen rubbed her eyes and studied the dirty paper again. "His aunt died from a severe allergic reaction," she said. "Sara might have lived if her epinephrine wasn't missing. That's the medicine she needed to overcome the reaction. Without it, she died."
"I didn't know anything about that," Daisy said. "You think Ryan stole it from her so he could get high?"
"I don't know. I've never heard of such a thing,"
Gretchen said. She remembered saying almost the same thing when she learned that Charlie had died from a nicotine overdose.
"Drug addicts will try anything to get a rush," Daisy said. "The doctor said the same thing you just said. He'd never heard of it, either."
"What does Ryan say when he's awake?" Gretchen nodded toward the sleeping bag.
"He doesn't say anything. He was conscious enough to help me get him into a wheelchair at the hospital, but that's the last time he's been awake. Getting him to Nacho's wasn't easy at all."
"We have to take him back to the hospital. He's very sick." Gretchen pressed her fingers against his cold flesh again.
Daisy shook her head and crossed her arms. "Don't worry about him. He'll recover."
"You don't understand," Gretchen said. "I can't find a pulse."
28
Daisy hadn't returned the wheelchair after abducting Ryan from the hospital. She had stashed the getaway vehicle behind a pylon. Gretchen and Daisy would have had a hard time moving him without it, and they were determined to change his location before help arrived. Nacho's carefully hidden home had to remain their secret.
After using Gretchen's cell phone to call in the emergency, the two women wrestled Ryan's limp body into the wheelchair and pushed it up the hill. He weighed very little. Ryan Maize must have used what little cash he was able to panhandle to buy drugs, not food. His face was drawn, with dark circles under his eyes; his body wasted away to the point of starvation. He didn't respond in any way when they lifted him. If he was alive, it wasn't by much.
"I thought I was doing the right thing," Daisy said with a catch in her voice. "I wanted to help him the same way you help me."
Gretchen nodded in understanding. An ambulance siren pierced through other night sounds. "Go away and hide,"
she said to Daisy. "I'll think of something to tell them."
What could she possibly say? What had compelled Daisy to take Ryan from the hospital? If he died and the police found out, they would blame the homeless woman for his death. Gretchen chewed the inside of her lip while Daisy ran back down the hill and disappeared into the night.
She maneuvered the wheelchair over the curb and followed along the edge of the street, traveling as far as possible from Nacho's house before the ambulance would find them. She was tired of ambulances and police, and especially detectives. It took a special kind of person to do this sort of work every day, and she didn't think she had whatever it was. If Charlie's son died, she was finished, no more involving herself in things that she couldn't possibly understand or prevent. From now on, she'd leave the dark side of humanity to people better suited to handle it. She'd follow the sun-climb Camelback, work out with her doll club group, and confine her curiosity to the finer points of doll restoration. No more running off into the dark, chasing cold trails into blind alleys. Gretchen stopped the wheelchair and laid her palm on Ryan's chest. She felt for movement. Nothing. A fire truck and an ambulance turned onto the street running parallel to the viaduct. Gretchen pushed the wheelchair toward them and flagged the vehicles down when they came close enough. The firemen had Ryan on the ground in a matter of seconds, starting oxygen and taking his blood pressure and pulse.
While Gretchen watched, she worked on a believable story. If she said she found him lying on the street, they wouldn't have his medical history. What if there was a drug to counter the effect of the epinephrine overdose?
Gretchen came forward. A woman hooking Ryan to a heart monitor glanced questioningly at her. "He overdosed on epinephrine," she said.
The woman looked startled, like this was the first time she'd ever heard of that. "How do you know?"
"Um. . he told me before he lost consciousness."
"Thanks. We'll take care of him. He's stabilized," the woman called to another paramedic. "Let's get him on a cot."
Gretchen still stood close to the huddled group. "You mean he's alive?"
"He's alive. Could you step back, please?"
Gretchen stepped out of the way and watched them load Ryan into the ambulance.
Soon she was alone on the street, the darkness closing in around her. She hurried toward her parked car. She and Daisy had pushed Ryan three blocks from the enormous girders that supported Nacho's home. Her subterfuge had been unnecessary. None of the rescue workers had asked who she was or where she came from. Or why she was standing in this desolate spot in the middle of the night. Neither the firemen nor the ambulance crew had questioned her about anything at all. Daisy was safe for the moment, Gretchen hadn't had to lie, and Ryan was alive.
Yes, everyone was safe for the moment.
Everyone, that was, except Gretchen. Because Detective Matt Albright's unmarked car was parked behind hers. The detective leaned against the hood of his car, waiting for her. The expression on his face was unreadable. Gretchen didn't feel friendly. The night had been long and complicated, and she needed to sleep. "Detective Albright,"
she said as formally as possible, with enough frost in her voice to freeze his private parts. At least she acknowledged him. He didn't even deserve that after leading her on. Matt arched one of his eyebrows. "It appears to be quite a night for you," he said. And for you, she wanted to say. Where's your date?
Gretchen unlocked her car. Did the man ever sleep? He seemed to pop up at all different times of the day and night.
"What's wrong with Ryan Maize?" Matt asked.
"Epinephrine inhalation."
"Ah," he said, like he knew exactly what that was.
"How did you find me?"
"I happened to be driving by and saw your car."
"Not a very likely story."
"You're a very suspicious woman. Want to go to the hospital with me and follow up on his condition?"
"It's two o'clock in the morning."
"I hadn't thought of that." Matt pushed off from the hood and strode around to the driver's side of his car. He opened the door. "I'll call you later with an update."
"You're going?"
Matt nodded. "I need to know how soon I can question him. He's an important link." Or the final link. She saw it in his eyes, even though he didn't say it. Ryan didn't have much hope of walking out of the hospital if or when he recovered. Steel bars and prison guards were in his future.
"I'll follow you," Gretchen said, swinging into her car. What about her vow to follow the sun and forget about murder and mayhem? She'd start tomorrow. Right now, she wanted to make sure Ryan would survive.
All the way to the hospital, she tried to figure out how Matt knew where she was and what she had been doing. Earlier in the evening, he was at the rodeo with another woman, so he must be off duty. Why roam around Phoenix this late when you could be. .? Gretchen didn't want to think about what he could be doing with the other woman. Matt couldn't have been following her, or she would have known sooner. He would have tracked her into Nacho's home or revealed himself when she and Daisy left with the sick man. She was absolutely sure Matt hadn't been near her car when she wheeled Ryan along the street. Someone must have told him where she was. But who?