Marty and I dutifully trooped out into the hall. “You want a ride home?” Marty asked.
“Am I leaving?”
“I think you should. Jimmy’s awake and in good hands, and you look like you need some food, a shower, and time to collect yourself. He’ll understand if you take off for a while.”
“All right. Thank you. But I have to tell James I’m leaving first.”
“No problem. I’m not in a hurry.”
“Are you going to talk to Louisa? And Rodney?”
Marty’s brow wrinkled. “Oh, shoot, you’re right, I should. When this story hits the press, somebody is bound to track them down. I’d better warn them, although I doubt they’d talk to anybody. Still, they should know.”
An irrelevant thought popped into my head. “You realize that Edwin gets yet another moment in the spotlight? I hope he’s enjoying it, wherever he is.”
The doctor emerged from James’s room, scribbling on her clipboard. I intercepted her. “How is he, really?”
“And you are?”
“His, uh, fiancée,” I said, at the same time Marty said, “She’s the woman who saved his life.”
The two-pronged attack seemed to rattle the doctor. “Well, there’s no permanent damage. The knife wound in the arm caught an artery, which was why there was so much blood, but we took care of that. What was the weapon?”
“An antique Bowie knife.”
“You’re kidding? The real thing?” When I nodded, she went on, “Well, the best I can say is that it was clean and sharp. Good thing we gave him a tetanus shot anyway.”
“And the concussion?”
“We’re keeping him just to be on the safe side. Head injuries can be tricky, and problems don’t always show up immediately. If there are no further problems, his recovery should be typical.”
“What’s typical?”
“He’ll probably have headaches, maybe blurred vision. Balance problems. He could be irritable or have trouble concentrating. You going to be able to take care of him?”
What? Oh, God, she must be assuming we lived together and that I’d be there when he got out. I wasn’t about to argue now. “Uh, sure. How long before he’ll be able to return to work?” I asked. I had a feeling that if he couldn’t, or even if he had to sit out for a long time, he might go crazy.
“Hard to say. A month, maybe? Depends on how quickly he recovers—there’s a lot of variability, so I won’t try to guess. You should make sure he doesn’t try to do too much too soon.”
“I’ll do my best. Can I go back in now?”
“Sure. I’ve given him something to keep him comfortable for a bit longer, but we have to keep him awake. He might be a bit loopy.”
I glanced at Marty and then went back into the room. “Hey, Nell, you look good.” He grinned at me. Must be a great painkiller.
I took his hand again. “Hey yourself. Your doctor says you’ll be fine, and they might let you out tomorrow, or the day after.”
“That’s good. What happened to my gun?”
“I think the police have it. It’s evidence.”
“Oh, right. I want it back.”
“James, you don’t need it right now.”
“I guess not. Maybe tomorrow.”
“James, I’m going to go home for a little while now, but I’ll be back tomorrow.” I wasn’t sure he understood what I was saying, or if he’d remember in three minutes.
So I was surprised when he said, “Nell?”
“Yes, James?”
“You sure you’re all right? You weren’t hurt?”
“I’m fine, James. You kept me safe.”
“Good. I’ll see you later.”
I rejoined Marty in the hallway. “I’m ready to go. Which way?”
We found an elevator that led to the main lobby. No newshounds in sight, and nobody seemed to recognize me. Once outside, Marty led me to her car, parked nearby, and now festooned with a couple of parking tickets. She removed them and pitched them into the backseat. “Next stop, Bryn Mawr.”
CHAPTER 32
I think I fell asleep as soon as I was belted in. I didn’t wake up until she shook my shoulder. When I opened my eyes I realized we were in front of my house. “That was fast. Thanks, Marty.”
“Don’t thank me just yet. I’m coming in with you. There are some things we need to talk about.”
That didn’t sound promising. I fished my keys out of my bag and managed to get my front door open. Marty brushed past me as I was trying to extricate my key from the lock.
“You got anything to eat here?” Marty said, making a beeline for my tiny kitchen.
“Uh, I don’t know?” It seemed like days since I’d been home. Or eaten a meal.
Marty was muttering to herself as she rummaged through my cabinets. “Olive oil, pasta, garlic, cheese—okay, I think I’ve got it.” She turned to me and spoke up. “How about anything to drink?”
“Wine in the fridge, hard stuff in the cabinet next to the dining table.” Should I be concerned that I knew I had alcohol but wasn’t sure about food?
“Right,” Marty called out. “Go take a shower. Food’ll be ready by the time you come back.”
I followed her orders, marveling at how Marty had taken over my house, and why. Nonetheless, the shower felt wonderful, and I let the water run until it turned cold. Maybe I couldn’t scrub off the last twenty-four hours, but at least I’d be clean enough to face what was coming. I toweled off and pulled on cotton shorts and a tee shirt.
When I came down the stairs, Marty handed me a filled wineglass and told me to sit at my table. Arguing would take too much energy, so I sat. Three minutes later, she emerged from my kitchen with two large steaming bowls that smelled wonderful. She set one in front of me, then set the other at the end of the table and sat down in front of it. “Eat,” she said. I ate.
After I’d consumed most of the bowl of food, Marty took a critical look at me and said, “Okay, you look halfway human again. Like I said, there are things we have to talk about.”
Ominous start to any conversation. I took a swallow of wine and said, “Like what?”
“Like Jimmy.”
Of course. “Marty, I thought you agreed not to meddle.”
“I changed my mind. I’ve been watching you two, and I think you both need a swift kick. What do you think you’re doing?”
“We’re taking it slowly.”
“Yeah, right, like a glacier. Heck, even the glaciers move faster these days. Look, yesterday he almost died. You spent the night next to him holding his hand and hoping he’d wake up, which, let me tell you, wasn’t a sure thing. Doesn’t that mean anything to you?”
“Of course it does!” I protested, trying to stifle the memory of James’s blood running warm through my fingers. “So?”
Marty cocked her head and looked at me with something like pity. “Nell, you are in such deep denial. Didn’t I hear somewhere that you’d been married before?”
I really was having trouble following her train of thought. “What’s that got to do with anything? Marty, why are we talking about this?”
“Because I care about you, and I care about Jimmy, and I have to wonder what your problem is.”
I shrugged. “I was married, it didn’t work out, end of story. He didn’t beat me or cheat on me, if that’s what you’re wondering. Things just didn’t turn out the way we’d expected. No hard feelings on either side.”
Marty slapped the table, hard, and I jumped. “That’s the point! Doesn’t that bother you that you could let it end so easily? That your husband mattered so little to you? Nell, don’t you see that you’re taking the easy route—no risks? And that’s not going to work for much longer. You’ve got to give more. What the hell are you so scared of?”
Ah, well, that was the question, wasn’t it? Here we sat in my careful crafted little home, which had room for only one person. My hidey-hole, built to suit me and only me. Not even a cat, for God’s sake. And that was the way I had wan
ted it.
And, damn her, she was right about my emotional life, too: I’d made safe, boring choices, unwilling to get hurt again.
Until James had come along. He knew my relationship history. He was willing to take his time, or let me take mine. Did I want more with him? I had begun to think the answer was yes, but I had no clue how to make that happen. And then the disaster at the Water Works had happened.
Marty was still watching, silently, letting me work through this. Now she said softly, “How did you feel when he went down?”
I shut my eyes and something inside me tore. I opened my eyes in tears. “I was terrified. Not for myself—somehow it never occurred to me that I might die there. But I realized that if I didn’t do anything, then James would die, and I couldn’t let that happen. He told me to leave, and I couldn’t. I had to do something, so I shot Nicholas.”
Marty sat back in her chair. “Interesting answer. I think you’re getting closer to the truth. Were you worried that somebody was going to blame you for screwing up? Or is there more? Come on, Nell—you can say it.”
“I didn’t want to lose him,” I whispered, almost to myself. “I love him.”
Marty didn’t answer, but she raised her glass to me.
CHAPTER 33
The evening wound down shortly after that. Marty had squeezed from me the answer she wanted to hear, and now I felt empty. She announced that she was spending the night on my couch because it was late and it had been a long day and she didn’t feel like driving back to the city. Reading between the lines, I wondered if she thought she’d been too hard on me and was afraid to leave me alone. I didn’t argue—I was glad for her company—and too tired to argue. I headed for the stairs, but stopped on the first step and turned to face her.
“Marty? Thank you.” Then I went up the stairs to my bedroom, fell into bed, and was out like a light.
I woke up with the sun and lay in bed, trying to piece together my life. Today was Saturday, or at least I thought it was. I would have to deal with the press today, so I couldn’t just hide out here wearing my jammies and eating ice cream. Not that I would anyway: I was going back to see James. I was going to spend as much time with James as he and the hospital would let me. And after he was out of the hospital.
Marty had been brutal the night before, but she hadn’t been wrong. When had I slid into taking the easy way out? Did I really think that little of myself?
Apparently the answer was yes, and Marty had recognized that. What was I waiting for to commit? James was a terrific guy. He cared about me, and he’d shown it. And when he lay bleeding under my hands, something had changed—I just hadn’t allowed myself the time to think about it until Marty had all but rubbed my nose in it. If he had died, I would have been devastated.
But I had a second chance, and if I didn’t take advantage of it, I didn’t deserve any sympathy—or James. I was scared to death of screwing this up, but I wouldn’t be able to live with myself if I didn’t try.
Practical considerations: the hospital would release him, today or tomorrow, and all he had to look forward to was his rather spartan apartment in Philadelphia. No matter how much he might protest, he wouldn’t be in any shape to take care of himself for at least a few days, and he needed somebody to watch for problems. So what was I going to do about it?
I was taking charge of the situation. I just needed to work out how. Bring him here? But then if I went to work, he’d be stuck out here. Therefore I’d have to stay at his place, which would enable me to spend time at work but still get to him quickly if he needed something.
The press was going to start digging into the Nicholas story. There was no way to stop it. What a shame no one had gotten pictures of our deadly tableau on the banks of the Schuylkill. I had to figure out how to spin the story to the Society’s advantage. Daring Heroine Saves the Day? (or at least Saves the Life of FBI Agent?) Nell Pratt, president of the Pennsylvania Antiquarian Society, fought off an armed killer to save the life of FBI Special Agent James Morrison in a deadly confrontation at the Philadelphia Water Works. Part of me cringed at the idea of being the focus of that kind of attention (and I was pretty sure that James would hate it, too), but the president side of me said it was what was best for the Society. My shy side would just have to suck it up.
I heard thumps from downstairs and deduced Marty was stirring. Time to get moving. I found my shorts and tee, slipped on flip-flops, and went down the stairs.
“Coffee?” I asked to the lump on the couch that was Marty.
“Please. Pretty please. Why are you so bloody cheerful this early?”
“Because you finally explained to me what was wrong with my life, and today I am going to start fixing it.”
“Wonderful,” Marty muttered, then untangled herself from the blanket and stumbled toward the bathroom.
I went to the kitchen, where I made coffee. By the time the French press had done its thing, Marty was back, looking more alert.
“Seriously? You’re not mad at me?” Marty said. “Because I was pretty blunt with you. And I was scared, too, about Jimmy. That was too close for comfort.”
“Marty, I know you’re right and I needed to hear it. And I know you have my best interests at heart. And James’s.”
“You mean you’d tell me if you thought I was wrong?”
I nodded. “You want food?”
“Of course. I think I saw some English muffins hiding in there.”
When we had all the components of breakfast, we sat at the table. I decided to start the ball rolling. “Marty, we have to get ahead of the press story. Do you have a relative at the Inquirer? Or the local news stations?”
“You have to ask?”
“Then call him or her or them and let’s see if we can promise them a full story for the Sunday edition for the paper, and maybe the Sunday morning news shows. Tell me where to be and I’ll show up and spin my heart out. Just make sure they clear the facts with the FBI.”
“I love it. Is that all?”
“No. Whenever the hospital lets James go, he’s going to need some help. I assume he’s not going to go back to Mom and Dad’s and let them baby him?”
Marty swallowed a laugh. “I think he’d eat glass before he did that. What’s your idea?”
“I’ll take care of him. It doesn’t make sense to park him out here, but I can stay at his place for as long as he needs me. Think he’ll object?”
“Unlikely. Or it will be once he tries to stand up and realizes how helpless he is. You okay with changing bandages and that yucky stuff?”
“I’d better be. If not, I’ll find a visiting nurse or someone like that to take care of that part of things, and let the FBI foot the bills. But I’ll be there.”
Marty sat back in her chair and contemplated me with a smile. “Wow! When you decide to change things, you don’t mess around. Okay, you’ve gotta know the news was all over this, but so far nobody at the Society has said anything publicly. I alerted the Society board that it was coming, so they weren’t caught by surprise, but we all agreed that you should be the sole spokesperson. So you’ve got to get out there and do it—fast. And you’ll tell it so you look like you saved the day, right?”
“Of course. If I’m going to keep stumbling into crimes, I might as well make it work for me, and for the Society. Go ahead and set up the interviews for later this afternoon, will you? We can meet at the Society. I think I should talk to the interviewers in the reading room, because it looks less snobby than my office, but it’s still impressive—shows off the Society well.”
Marty straightened her back and saluted. “Yes, ma’am! Right away, ma’am!”
I fixed her with an eagle eye and she relaxed. “Okay, I’ll do it. You’ll be seeing Jimmy before that?”
“Yes. I’ll find out when they’re letting him go and plan from there.”
I drank my coffee and listened with half an ear while Marty made arrangements over the phone to meet a journalist and a photographer later in the aft
ernoon, in time to make the deadline for the Sunday local news section, and then she talked to various people at the local network affiliates. I dressed smartly because I needed to look like someone who was in charge. And who could shoot. In a way I hated to go public with that, but if it made it a better story . . .
CHAPTER 34
Marty left for the city before I did, since she still had to change clothes—no way was she going to miss my big interview. Before I went out the door to my car, I took a look around at my home, most of which I could see from where I was standing. It was so small. If it was the extent of my personal universe, it was kind of sad. But I had a feeling that would be changing.
In the city, I parked in the lot across from the Society and walked the few blocks over to Jefferson Hospital. Without knocking I walked into James’s room and shut the door behind me.
He was half sitting, trying to read a battered paperback that some pitying soul must have handed him, with a pair of reading glasses perched on his nose. I found it both sweet and funny that he had never revealed to me that he needed glasses. He must have had them in his pocket all along. Still pale, but he looked better—so much better. He looked up when I entered and did what was nearly a double take, as far as his aching head permitted. “Nell? Why so dressed up?”
“You’ve seen me cleaned up before.”
“Of course I have. I guess I expected you to look, I don’t know, a bit more casual.”
I approached the bed. “May I?”
“Sit? Of course.” He scooted over a bit, but not without wincing, I noted.
“It won’t hurt you?”
“I’ll survive. Sit, please.”
I sat. “The reason for the fancy duds is that Marty has set up an interview with a reporter from the Inquirer, and a couple of others. I thought it was important to get my side of the story out before the press twists it beyond recognition. I doubt that I’ll be able to keep you out of it, but I’ll make sure your boss knows what’s happening. But the focus of this piece is the Society and its take-charge leader—me.”
Monument to the Dead Page 23