The Girl Who Wants
Page 30
In the bedroom doorway, Mick stood, draped in a hospital gown, gun in his hand. Tiny Harley stood beside him, her bird-chest puffed, yapping at the dead man, daring him to rise.
Mick wobbled and slapped a hand against the jamb to steady himself.
“I’m going to fall now,” he said, his knees beginning to buckle.
Shee tossed her gun onto the sofa as she lunged forward to catch her father. Croix followed inside.
“Get Cough,” said Shee as, from the bedroom, Angelina pointed the way back to Mick’s bed like a helpful crossing guard.
Croix nodded and ran back to the entrance, nearly crashing into Cough as he appeared.
Mick leaned against his bed, his bleary, blue eyes rising to meet Shee’s.
“You’re home.”
Shee threw her arms around her father. He squeezed.
“I’ve missed you so much,” he whispered in her ear.
“I’m so sorry,” she said.
Cough moved in. “You should lie down—”
With a sniff, Mick released Shee and wiped his eyes to better glower at the doctor. “Where the hell have you been?”
Cough slapped a hand to his chest. “Me?”
“Yeah, you. Where’s Martisha?”
“Dead,” said Shee.
Mick acknowledged the information with a glance and then returned to Cough. “Where were you while she was poisoning me?”
“Poisoning—?”
“She woke me up every day, and then put me back under—” Mick waved his hand in the air as if motioning down the long road he’d traveled under Martisha’s care.
Cough’s attention swiveled to the I.V. hanging beside the bed. “I gave you one of my bags this time. She must have used something else to induce your coma. Thiopental, maybe. I’d have to—”
Mason burst into the room and everyone jumped. Croix lifted her gun and then lowered it, looking relieved.
“Today’s not the day to enter without knocking,” she muttered.
Mason stood, wide-eyed, weight shifting to his good leg. “Mick?”
Mick’s forehead wrinkled. “Mason? What are you—” He looked at Shee. “Are you two—?”
Shee ignored him. “What’s going on downstairs?” she asked Mason.
“They’re all dead, but Bracco and Trimmer are hit.”
“Trimmer?”
“The gardener.”
Shee nodded and turned to Cough. “The cook, too. He’s stable, hiding in the dining room behind the kitchen.”
“I’m on it,” said Cough.
“Trimmer’s in the back yard. Bracco’s in the kitchen,” said Mason. “I’ll go with you. Call an ambulance.”
Cough glanced at Mick. “You good?”
“I’ll be fine when somebody tells me what the hell is going on.”
Shee put a hand on her father’s shoulder. “We’ll fill you in. Why don’t you rest?”
He snorted a laugh. “You couldn’t get me to lie back in this bed again with a gun to my head.”
“That could be arranged,” said Croix, waggling her weapon. She grinned at Mick. He grinned back.
Shee felt a tinge of jealousy.
Outside, sirens wailed. Mick frowned, struggling to his feet.
“Help me get dressed,” he said to Angelina. “I need to keep whatever happened here out of the paper.”
&&&
The next morning, Shee sat on the porch with her coffee, watching a pair of osprey circle over the river, searching for fish.
It had been a long night. The police had a lot of questions. Only Mick’s pull with the sheriff kept them all from being dragged to jail until the authorities sorted out what happened.
“You’re up,” said Angelina, pushing through the screen door. She lowered herself into the Adirondack chair beside Shee and balanced her own mug of java on the wide arm.
“Kind of,” said Shee. “I feel like a crazy person.”
“Three hours of sleep can do that to you.”
“Yeah. I’m sure that’s all it is. Lack of sleep.”
Angelina took a sip of her coffee. “So how’s it feel to be free?”
Shee took a deep breath and slowly released it through her nose. “That’s what I was thinking about. You know, I’m not sure free is the word. I feel more...untethered.”
“A lot to process.”
“Yep.”
“But Mick’s awake. Mason’s here...”
Shee scoffed. “Not for long.”
“I dunno...” Angelina bounced her head left to right. “Mick asked him to stay.”
“Here?” Shee stabbed a finger toward the ground as Angelina nodded.
“Yep. Mick says he needs to bulk the staff. We almost lost them all last night.”
Shee laughed. “I’d like to think that isn’t going to happen again.”
Angelina shrugged. “I wouldn’t bet on it.”
One of the osprey dove and the women fell silent, watching as the bird plucked its breakfast from the river.
“He didn’t ask me to stay,” mumbled Shee.
“Mason?”
“Dad.”
Angelina rolled her eyes. “That’s a given. Don’t be a stupid mopey kid.”
She sighed. “And Mason said he’d stay?”
“He did.”
Shee chewed on her lip as Angelina watched her.
“You don’t want him to?”
Shee shrugged. “I don’t think he can forgive me.”
Angelina reached out and placed her hand on Shee’s.
“He’s staying.”
“But—”
Angelina held her gaze. “You don’t stay to not forgive someone.”
Shee smiled, hot tears brimming in her tired eyes.
Something clattered in the kitchen behind them. Mick’s voice roared.
“What the hell happened to my kitchen?”
THE END
Want to read about Shee’s first two weeks in Jupiter? Read Pineapple Turtles.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Amy Vansant is a Wall Street Journal and USA Today best-selling author who writes with an unique blend of thrills, romance and humor. She lives in Florida with her husband and several gopher tortoises who refuse to pay rent.
To keep up with Amy visit her humor blog/author site and sign up for her newsletter at:
http://www.AmyVansant.com
Other Books by Amy Vansant
Pineapple Port Mysteries
Funny, clean mysteries full of unforgettable characters
Kilty Urban Fantasy - Romantic Comedy/Thrillers
Funny, suspenseful thrillers with a touch of romance & fantasy
The Slightly Romantic Comedies
Classic romantic romps
The Magicatory
Middle-grade fantasy