Russian River Rat

by Abramson, Mark

  On Monday morning Tim was moved from ICU to a private room. As much as Nick tried to assure Ruth that the injuries were minor, he was sick with worry and guilt. He sat for hours beside Tim’s battered body, listened to his shallow breathing and the steady blips of the monitors. Sometimes he imagined that Tim’s bruises had darkened and spread.

  Ruth checked into a nearby motel. It was close enough to walk back and forth to the hospital where she spent days and nights watching Nick watching Tim. Sometimes they sat on opposite sides of the bed and one or the other of them held Tim’s hand, careful not to bump the IV tubes between his knuckles. Ruth wondered what Tim was dreaming now. Sometimes he moaned a little and seemed to blink his eyes, but he hadn’t been fully conscious ever since before the paramedics pulled his battered body from the wreckage of Nick’s truck on Sunday morning.

  “You must be exhausted, Nick,” Ruth said. “Don’t you want to go home for a while and get some sleep? I’ll be right here. I promise to call you if there’s any change.”

  “Thanks, Ruth, but I-I don’t know.”

  “He’s going to be all right. The doctor said they’re keeping him sedated, but none of his injuries are life-threatening.”

  “Thank God for that.”

  “If it had been you in that truck, instead of Tim…” Ruth stopped herself. She didn’t want it to come out wrong, but it was too late.

  “What? If it had been me, Tim would be fine right now? Is that what you meant to say, Ruth? Don’t you think I know that? Don’t you think I feel bad enough as it is?”

  “Nick, that’s not fair! And it won’t do Tim any good for the two of us to snipe at each other. I’m sorry, but that wasn’t what I meant to say at all. Tim is going to be fine… in time. What I meant was that if you were the one in this hospital bed, Tim would be sitting here worried sick with tears in his eyes and big bags under them from lack of sleep. If you were the one in that bed, Tim would be even more miserable than he is now.”

  “I know.” Nick stared at Tim’s unshaven face as if he could will it to move. “I’m so sorry. Maybe I do need some sleep.”

  “Tim is young and healthy, all things considered. He’s going to be fine.”

  “By the way, he told me that you and he had a talk about HIV and AIDS. At least we’re both doing fine in that regard.”

  “Thank God and modern medicine,” Ruth said. “I’ve been studying up about it, you know. So many people out there don’t realize how far we’ve come since AIDS was a death sentence. Nick, I still want you to be careful, and it’s not AIDS I’m worried about. I don’t think Tim could handle it if anything happened to you. Who do you think—why do you think someone has it in for you. Or your cousin?”

  “I don’t know, Ruth. Honest. I thought it had to do with Nate being a policeman and the drug bust in New Orleans. Now I’m not so sure. Maybe it’s because of something closer to home.”

  “Like what? Do you have any enemies? Does Tim?”

  “I don’t know.” Nick thought back to New Orleans. He saw lots of people he didn’t know at the funeral and afterward. Almost any one of them might be a suspect. But it still seemed that his cousin Nate was the logical one to have enemies, being in the narcotics division and all. Nick thought further back in his own life. He’d made some foolish mistakes when he was young, but who didn’t? “I honestly don’t know.”

  “Just watch your back, honey. Okay?”

  “I will. I promise,” Nick said as he leaned over Tim’s still body and kissed his cheek. “Maybe I should try to get some rest. Call me if there is any change at all, will you?”

  “I promise I will. I have your numbers in my cell phone. You get out of here and get some rest. At least get some fresh air.”

  Nick gave Ruth a hug and walked out to the parking lot. He was startled for a moment to see the red Thunderbird parked there. He’d forgotten he drove it into town when he followed the ambulance on Sunday morning. Tim’s car was his sole means of transportation for now. As much as he needed sleep, Nick headed toward the nursery first. He had to see how Jenny and Kent were doing.

  Ruth’s cell phone rang. It wasn’t as if it would wake up Tim, but she jumped to grab it from her purse on the windowsill before it could ring a second time. The purse fell open and scattered nickels, pens and pencils across the floor. She dropped the phone and picked it up again. “Hello?”

  “Ruth, dear… are you there?”

  “Sam. Where are you?”

  She stuck her toe under Tim’s hospital bed to kick a roll of breath mints. “It’s so good to hear your voice. Yes, Tim will be all right in time. I’m glad you’re home safe and sound. No, we don’t know. It’s a long story, but… yes, it’s Palm Drive Hospital. I don’t even know if there’s another hospital in Sebastopol. I’m sure they’ll move him someplace closer to home as soon as he’s better.”

  Ruth caught some movement at the doorway out of the corner of her eye. She saw a pair of tall legs in blue jeans, but the face was hidden behind a bouquet of flowers. A voice behind the flowers said, “Hello! Is this Tim Snow’s room?”

  “Yes it is,” Ruth answered and then said into the phone, “Are you at home, Sam? There’s so much I want to talk with you about, but someone’s here with flowers for Tim. I’ll call you back in a few minutes, okay?”

  Ruth dropped her cell phone back into her purse. “What beautiful flowers. Who on earth?” Ruth’s initial pleasure at the flower arrangement was dampened by the realization that it was Phil, the piano player carrying it. From what she’d heard, she knew that Tim didn’t like Phil, but she didn’t know why. “You’re the last person I expected to see here.”

  “Where should I put them?”

  Ruth stepped back to let Phil and the flowers get past her in the small hospital room. “Maybe you could set them on the window ledge. Are they from you?”

  “They’re from Arturo and Artie, plus Tim’s co-workers and some of the customers chipped in. Half of Castro Street, really. Everybody is so worried about Tim. Just tell him they’re from the whole gang, okay?”

  “I’ll tell him when he wakes up. The flowers are lovely, but what brings you to Sebastopol? You didn’t come all the way up here just to deliver these to Tim, did you?”

  “I have a… a client in Santa Rosa. I volunteered to drop off the flowers on my way, as long as I had to drive up here today anyway. Arturo and Artie didn’t want to trust some local florist they don’t even know.”

  “They could have just called Nick’s nursery.”

  “Oh, I wouldn’t know. Where is Nick, by the way? I was hoping to meet him.”

  “You’ve never met Nick?”

  “I don’t think so. I knew Jason when he and Tim were together, but Nick and I have never been… introduced, you know?”

  “No, I didn’t know. Nick just left. I’m surprised you didn’t bump into him on your way in here, but I guess… if you don’t know him…” Ruth stood between Phil and Tim, instinctively wanting to protect her nephew, even from someone who was bringing flowers. “Nick has been at Tim’s side every minute since the accident. He’s exhausted, and I finally talked him into getting some rest.”

  “How is Tim?” Phil peered beyond Ruth’s shoulder toward the sleeping body on the bed.

  “He’s going to be fine,” Ruth said again, trying to convince herself as much as to answer Phil’s question. “He has several broken bones, but nothing more serious. It’ll be a long recovery, but he’ll be just fine.”

  “I’m really sorry I missed Nick,” Phil repeated.

  “Why? You just said you’d never even met him.”

  “Oh, you know, for Arturo and Artie’s sake. You know how romantic they are. They asked me to give both Tim and Nick their regards. Oh, and they sent their love to you too, of course.”

  “I see,” Ruth said, although she wasn’t sure if she should buy any of this.

  “No… no… make it stop…” Tim murmured.

  Ruth lunged for the call button to get the nurse and
put one hand on Tim’s arm. “What is it, Tim? Make what stop?”

  “Keep him away from me. Someone has to stop him. Where’s Nick? He’s not safe.”

  “Nick just left, Tim, but he can’t have gotten far.” Ruth reached for her phone again to try calling Nick this time.

  “Tell him to go to the nursery right away…”

  Tim’s eyes were wide open, but Ruth didn’t think he was really awake. He was delirious. “Don’t you want him to come here, Tim?”

  “No… tell him to stay away from the nursery. It’s not safe!”

  The nurse arrived, a heavy middle-aged woman who walked as if her feet were sore. “What seems to be the trouble here?”

  “He woke up,” Ruth said. “He started to talk, but he doesn’t make any sense. ‘Go to the nursery… stay away from the nursery’… I don’t know what to think.”

  The nurse checked Tim’s IV tubes and took his blood pressure, but Tim was quiet, and his eyes were closed now, as if the outburst had never happened. After the nurse left the room Ruth looked around and realized that Phil was gone, too. And she noticed that some of the flowers he’d brought were already wilted. And the flowers were wrapped in plastic.

  Ruth had been watching TV just the other night when a husband brought home a bouquet of flowers for his wife. It was their anniversary, and the flowers were wrapped in this same kind of plastic. The wife thought he was being romantic, and she went to get a vase full of water, but he took the plastic off the flowers and smothered her with it, the poor thing.

  Ruth had promised Nick she would call if there was any change. Tim had woken up and said a few words. But then he’d slipped right back into his coma. If Tim was right back where he was before, had there really been any change? Ruth was at a loss what to do. She knew that Tim’s psychic visions sometimes came to him in his sleep, and they could be important, but “Go to the nursery,” followed by “Stay away…?” What was she supposed to make of that? Tim looked like he was sleeping peacefully now. She wished she could grab him, shake him awake and get a definite answer, but the only thing she could think to do was keep her promise to call Nick.

  Chapter 26

  Nick’s employees were hard at work. Jennifer Armstrong’s day had started out with a call from her mechanic in Santa Rosa. She was in a foul mood when she found out how much it would cost to fix her car. Then she had to call Kent and ask for a ride into work again. They’d both been working too much, and they tried not to complain, even to each other, but things were nearing a breaking point. It was time for Nick, the boss, to get back to the nursery and take up some of the slack.

  Jen worked in the last greenhouse this morning, all the way in the back. She started by taking an inventory of the stacks of wreath forms. Soon she would wrap them in the fresh evergreen boughs that covered the table beside her and decorate them with ribbons and ornaments. Jen took a deep breath and considered that there might be something to that New Age nonsense called aromatherapy after all. Christmas was her favorite season, and this was a job she loved, making dozens of wreaths to sell in the store and to deliver to homes and businesses across Sonoma and Napa counties.

  She jotted down some figures on a notepad and grimaced with a cramp. Damn, her period was due now, too! The phone rang and Jen didn’t even hear the car drive up outside. There was a telephone extension right beside her, so she picked up and heard a woman’s voice.

  “Nick? Hello, is Nick Musgrove there please?”

  “No, he isn’t. Would you like to leave him a message?”

  “I thought this was his cell phone number, but they’re all so close… only a digit off.”

  “This is the nursery. Would you like to leave him a message?” Jen repeated.

  “Well, maybe, oh, gosh I’m not sure. I promised to call if there was any change. This is Ruth Taylor. I’m sorry. I should have explained right away. I’m Tim Snow’s aunt, and I’m here in Sebastopol at the hospital. Nick just left, and I promised him I’d call if there was any change in Tim’s condition—”

  “Nick hasn’t been here in quite a while, but I’d be happy to tell him you called.”

  “What’s your name, sweetheart?”

  “Jen.”

  “Jen, I’m afraid there might not be time to leave a message. My nephew Tim has these dreams sometimes, you see, and—oh, I don’t want you to think I’m some crazy person on the line. You’ve just got to believe me. You simply must. I’m afraid there might be some trouble on its way there right now. Are you alone?”

  “No, Kent should be around here someplace.”

  “Who’s that?”

  “He works here, too.”

  “Is he someone you trust, dear?”

  “Of course I do.” Jen was about ready to hang up on this woman, but something in her voice sounded too sincere.

  “I don’t want to alarm you. It may mean nothing, but sometimes Tim’s dreams have a way of—oh, there isn’t time to explain, but you should check on Kent. I think you should stick very close together.”

  “Well, I can go see what he’s doing, I suppose.”

  “Please do, Jen. And when you see Nick, please do have him call me right away. Thank you so much. Goodbye.”

  Jen set down the phone and took another deep breath of evergreen. Yes, she loved Christmas almost enough to sweep away all her problems. Then she noticed another smell that had nothing to do with Christmas or the nursery. It struck a memory sense, too, but the memory had to do with a different time of year, and something wasn’t quite right about it. It reminded her of the Fourth of July—that was it, fireworks, the smell of a burning fuse just before it went off. Gunpowder and maybe a trace of gasoline. As Jen walked through the greenhouses from the back to the front, the smell grew stronger.

  Kent sorted through the mail that had been piling up while Nick was gone. It was a huge job he’d put off for much too long. He made four tall stacks—bills, orders, payments and miscellaneous. He wouldn’t throw anything away, not even the obvious junk mail. That would be for Nick to decide when he got back.

  From the office it was easy to hear tires on the gravel driveway unless it was pouring rain. Kent heard the car drive up and was relieved at the sound. It must mean Nick was returning to work at last. Kent was nearly finished sorting the mail, so the timing couldn’t be more perfect. When he heard the front door open, Kent yelled, “Hey there! Is that our wayward wanderer finally back?”

  No answer. It must be a customer after all, so Kent said, “I’ll be with you in a minute. Have a look around, okay?” The store was one of those places that most people liked to browse. Sometimes the longer you left them alone, the more they bought. A customer might come in for a packet of vegetable seeds and leave with a shopping cart filled with blooming plants and potting soil, fertilizer, clay pots and sundries.

  Most of the greenhouses were open to the public and customers liked to wander. Rows of seedlings filled one of them. Another area was set aside to house dormant orchids. Nick said that the women who could afford to put their furs in summer storage were of the same mindset as people who stored their orchids when they were out of bloom.

  Several minutes passed without another sound, and Kent nearly forgot about the customer. The phone rang once, but Jen must have picked it up in the back. Kent placed the last envelope on the order pile and raised his arms to stretch. He heard footsteps outside the office door and remembered there was someone there. “Did you find what you were looking for?” Kent yawned and looked up to see a man standing in the open office doorway holding a gun.

  “Keep your hands in the air and don’t move!” The gun was level with Kent’s head. His mind was spinning. Why would anyone hold up the place on a Monday morning? They hadn’t even made a sale yet today. There was the bank deposit from the weekend, but most of that was in checks and credit card slips. Kent didn’t have the combination to the drop safe, anyway. Was there was enough money in the cash register to satisfy a robber?

  The stranger came behind Kent
and covered his mouth with a wide band of silver duct tape, then used the same tape to bind his hands to the arms of the chair. “You are one sorry son of a bitch, Nick Musgrove!”

  Kent could only squirm in his seat. The man set the gun down and taped Kent’s feet together. “I missed you the first time when I threw your damned cousin off that bridge and then your boyfriend got in the truck after I fixed your brakes. You know what they say, though. The third time’s the charm!”

  Kent’s eyes were fixed on the gun in the middle of the desk. If only he could reach it, move it, will it to point away from him and toward this madman. Kent noticed an envelope on top of the “in” pile. It was thick, a bank statement for an entire month of business at the nursery. Kent had left it on top so that Nick would see it first. It moved.

  Below it were several bills, some payments and a couple of slick catalogues. Maybe it was the thud of the gun when it landed so close to them or a few seconds later when the madman slammed his hip against the desk to tape Kent’s feet together. Something started the motion and one pile touched the next pile. By the time the bank statement hit the floor all of Kent’s careful work was sliding away. Here he was facing a crazed killer, and all he could think about was his careful morning’s work being ruined and having to start all over again. At least it distracted him from that single dark eye inside the barrel of the gun.

  “All these years you’ve been living high on the hog with your fancy nursery, Mr. Musgrove. I bet you forgot all about poor Larry down in Lompoc. I bet you forgot how this business of yours got off the ground.”

  Kent’s eyes grew wider, and he shook his head, but he couldn’t move.

  “But you paid Larry back with a nice little present before he got sent up, didn’t you? You gave him a real nice present, and he passed it along to me. Now you can afford all the best doctors and carry on with your new boyfriend while Larry rots in prison with AIDS. But you don’t care, do you, Mr. Musgrove?”

  Kent watched this lunatic who ranted at him because he thought he’d finally found the man he wanted to exact his revenge upon. “I’m not Nick Musgrove, you asshole!” was what he wanted to say first. And then something about how AIDS doesn’t necessarily kill people anymore. Kent was HIV negative, but he knew what some of his friends had gone through. He would never wish AIDS on anyone, but he might make an exception for this fool.