by Jill Orr
I really wished he would stop using the word hog, but I didn’t have the energy to ask, so I just nodded.
“The door was unlocked and I crept in while you were screaming; a second later I saw this big guy come running down the hall with a gun in his hand. He was agitated—and for some reason, without pants—and when he raised his gun to shoot at you, I lit the flare and threw it at him a split second before he pulled the trigger. That’s why he missed and shot your leg. He was aiming for your chest.”
A chill spread through me. Jack had tried to kill me and but for the grace of God and Holman’s obsession with doughnuts, I somehow lived through it. “Where is he now?”
“Burn unit. His shoes had some chemicals on them—probably cleaning supplies from work—and when I threw the flare at him they caught fire immediately. It was bad. He was screaming and ran past me out the front door. He only got as far as the stop sign at the end of Salem Street, though. Butter caught him. He wasn’t exactly hard to spot running through the dark streets with two flaming shoes.”
“He killed Arthur—and Bennett,” I started to say.
Holman was already nodding. “I know. A lot has happened since you got shot,” he said. He leaned closer to my bed and his eyes went full bug-out. “I have to tell you something.”
“Okay . . .” I said, suddenly nervous.
“Riley,” he started to say, and then paused. “The thing is, you lost a lot of blood.”
“Okay . . .”
“And even though the bullet went straight through your calf, it hit an artery—not the femoral artery or anything, another one, the popliteal, I think. And you lost a lot of blood.”
“Yeah, you said that.”
“I don’t know how to tell you this but,” he paused. “You’ve been in a coma for six months.”
It felt like someone had injected ice water through my IV. I stared at him for at least ten seconds, my brain unable to process what he was telling me. Could it really have been six months? Was it April instead of October? Had I missed Christmas?
And then Holman started laughing. “I’m just kidding. You’ve only been in here a few hours.”
I was dumbstruck for a moment. But eventually I found my voice. “Why would you make a joke like that?” I gasped.
Holman blanched. “Are you upset?”
“Of course I’m upset!”
“Why?”
“Because you just told me I’d lost six months of my life!”
“But it was only a joke. And everyone says laughter is the best medicine.”
“Do I look like I’m laughing?”
Holman seemed confused by my question. “You’re yelling at me, so no . . .”
“So it wasn’t funny!”
“Well,” he said, lifting one long, bony finger, “humor is a highly subjective construct, so I don’t think it’s fair to say definitively that something is or is not—” He must have seen the outrage on my face and decided to reverse course. “Okay. Sorry. Geez.”
I sighed, already exhausted from our short conversation. “Tell me what happened after I got shot.”
I could tell Holman wanted to continue talking about why his joke had failed. Fortunately he fought his instincts. “Jack was in terrible pain when they brought him to the hospital. He kept screaming that he was going to die. The doctor gave him some pain medication that calmed him down, which also made him a little loopy. He was pretty out of it and started making grand declarations that he avenged his mother’s death and his friend’s honor by ridding the world of Arthur Davenport, blah, blah, blah. We’ll see if any of it will hold up in court, but Carl says they have enough for several search warrants that may end up proving his involvement, even if he decides to retract his confession.”
“Gosh, this is complicated.”
“It certainly is. I guess Brandon, Bennett, and John Krisanski, who goes by the nickname Jack, all went to high school together. According to his sister, Lauren—who is cooperating fully with the sheriff by the way—they were close friends, but Jack was always the odd man out. Bennett and Brandon were both popular and wealthy, while Jack was neither. Jack was the guy they’d dare to eat a hot pepper, or go make a fool of himself in front of a girl, that kind of thing. Things changed in tenth grade when Jack took the blame for Bennett and Brandon after they’d gotten caught with weed on school grounds. It created a strong bond between them and they remained friends all these years even though their lives had gone in very different directions.
“Lauren told Carl that Jack was diagnosed with Borderline Personality Disorder at the age of seventeen, which explained his trouble making friends, dealing with authority, holding down a job, etcetera. He didn’t go to college and floated from job to job, even did a stint in Augusta Correctional for assault; he beat up a former boss of his pretty badly. Fast-forward to about a year ago when Brandon got the idea to re-launch Invigor8 around this new tobacco-based biologic. He talked Bennett into investing millions into the company and Jack into trading his land for shares of stock, effectively making the three of them business partners.”
I tried to scoot myself up against my headboard with my good leg, the one that didn’t feel like it was coated in hot oil, but had trouble lifting my body weight.
“Here, let me,” Holman said, offering me his arm to use as leverage. “You okay?”
I nodded, ignoring the painful pulsating sensation coming from my lower leg.
“Then Jack’s mom got sick and he took her to see Dr. Davenport, not only because Arthur had the best reputation in the hospital, but on the recommendation of Brandon and Bennett—this was before he found out about the affair. Anyway, when things went south during Helen’s procedure—a truly tragic outcome that no one could have foreseen—Jack went out of his mind with a mixture of guilt, grief, and apparently homicidal rage.”
“Wow,” was all I could think to say. This was all pretty unbelievable.
“According to Lauren, Helen had always been Jack’s biggest supporter, the one person in his life who remained constant despite his struggles. Jack blamed Dr. Davenport for his mom’s death. And as if that wasn’t enough, Dr. Davenport quit the Invigor8 study a few weeks later, which Jack believed would tank the whole project. So then when he found out about the affair between Arthur and Libby, Jack not only blamed Arthur for his mother’s death and for ruining his chance to hit it big with the Invigor8 drug, but also for his friend’s heart attack. He convinced himself that Arthur Davenport was the devil himself.”
“Jack confessed to all of this?”
“Not exactly.” He shook his head. “This is all patched together from Lauren, Brandon, and Sheriff Haight.”
And then suddenly I remembered the newsroom. Why wasn’t Holman there reporting all of this? As if he read my mind, he pointed to his briefcase sitting on the window ledge. “Don’t worry. I’ve been logging updates from here. Kay knows where I am and is fine with it.”
“Thanks, Will.”
I can’t be sure, but I thought I saw him suppress a smile. “Anyway, this is a long story and I want to get through it before you pass out again.”
“I’m sorry,” I said. “Go ahead.”
“Jack told Carl that he laced the bottle of scotch with crushed Digoxigon, which he knew Thad sold because he’d seen him with it around the hospital. He dropped by Arthur’s house the night of the murder, rang the bell, and offered him the bottle as a gift to show there were no hard feelings about what happened to his mother. Jack told Carl that Arthur had been so moved he suggested they have a toast right then. Jack made up some story about being a recovering addict but watched as Arthur had himself a healthy pour.”
So I had been partially right about what had happened; I had the how down, I’d just been wrong about the who.
“Jack left and then hid out back to wait for Arthur to pass out. He even heard the whole argument between Thad and his father—which of course played right into his plan to set up Thad. When Arthur finally collapsed about an hour lat
er, Jack went back inside to make sure he was dead. That’s when he saw the knife with Thad’s initials sitting on Arthur’s desk. He said it was a last-minute improvisation to stab Dr. Davenport, to make ‘damn sure’ Thad took the blame.”
“And what about David? Why did Jack go after him?”
Just then there was a gentle knocking sound on the open door. I thought it was going to be my parents, but it was Carl. He peeked his head in the room. “Ah, so you’re awake.”
“Whatever you do,” Holman said, “do not attempt to use humor as medicine.”
Carl furrowed his brow; thankfully he knew better than to ask. “How you doing, Riley?”
The pain in my leg was getting louder but I didn’t want to tell anyone because I was afraid they’d leave, and I really wanted to hear the rest of the story.
“I’m hanging in there,” I said. “Holman was just filling me in.”
“Oh yeah? Where was he?”
“She was asking about David,” Holman said.
Carl nodded and took up the story from there. “Jack Krisanski used to go by John Krisanski years ago, then somewhere around his middle twenties, he started calling himself Jack. Said it made him feel like a Kennedy.” Carl rolled his eyes. “But his legal name is Jonathan Krisanski and that’s what he was listed as on all the paperwork for Invigor8. Remember when David told us he wanted to go through the Invigor8 files from his dad’s office?”
I nodded.
“Well when he called maintenance to see if they could wheel up the boxes, guess who answered the call?”
“Jack.”
“Exactly,” Carl said. “Jack got nervous that if David saw the name Krisanski on the investor declaration notice, he would put two and two and two together. David was one of the only people in a position to make the connection between Helen Krisanski’s death, John Krisanski listed as a principal investor in Invigor8, and Jack Krisanski working at the hospital.”
“And Bennett?” I asked.
Carl frowned. “Jack won’t say much about Bennett except that ‘it was a real shame.’ I suspect that once we take a look at all the evidence, what we’ll discover is that Bennett must have either found out or been suspicious about Jack’s involvement in Arthur’s murder. Maybe he even threatened to turn him in. In any event, I think it’s safe to assume that Jack killed his old friend and made it look like a hunting accident, and then planted all that stuff in his PO box to make it look like Bennett was the one who killed Arthur.”
I let this all sink in. Jack was an absolute sociopath. He killed two people, and he’d tried to kill two more. With each passing moment it was getting harder and harder to believe I’d walked away from my encounter with him.
A nurse walked in to check my vitals and Carl and Holman stepped outside into the hall. I knew my parents would be back soon and there was a part of me that ached to see them, to let them reassure me that I was going to be okay. But a bigger part of me felt so sorry for putting them through the worry of seeing their only daughter in the hospital with a gunshot wound. As the nurse checked the fluid levels in the bag hanging next to me, I laid my head back on the pillow and an intense exhaustion washed over me. I closed my eyes and all thoughts of Jack and Arthur and Bennett evaporated into a deep, dreamless sleep.
CHAPTER 50
By the time I woke up the next morning, I was feeling strong enough to try getting out of bed. Addie, the nurse taking care of me, helped me into a wheelchair and asked if I had anywhere special I’d like to go. A few short minutes later, I found myself face to face with my goddaughter, Rosie Elizabeth Sanford.
“She’s beautiful,” I said, unable to wipe the smile from my face.
Ryan perched on the side of Ridley’s hospital bed. They looked tired but happy. “So you’ll do it?” Ryan asked.
I had been a little shocked when they asked me to be Rosie’s godmother. And even more shocked when Ridley explained why. “You are my best friend in Tuttle Corner. Admittedly you are also my only friend, but I trust you and think you’ll make a wonderful role model for our daughter.”
I felt a bit startled, but also moved. As much as I hated to admit it, Ridley was growing on me. She was confident and open, kind and self-assured, and for some reason, she really wanted to be my friend. And I wasn’t exactly in a position to be turning friends away. The truth was, I really didn’t have any girlfriends left because, like an idiot, I had let all my female friendships wither during the years I was with Ryan. Maybe it wouldn’t be the worst thing in the world to get to know Ridley a little bit better.
“How could I refuse this little girl anything,” I said, looking down at Rosie’s half-moon eyelashes pressed against her cheeks in sleep. She had impossibly tiny pink lips that parted slightly as she breathed in and out and in and out. It was mesmerizing. I leaned in to kiss her forehead. “She’s just perfect.”
“She is, isn’t she?” Ryan said, looking at his daughter with so much love I thought his heart might burst right out of his chest.
The three of us talked for a while about all that had happened since Saturday night. I filled them in on Jack, most of which they already knew. Word travels fast in Tuttle Corner. Addie came back to get me and I carefully handed Rosie back to her daddy.
When Ryan leaned over to take her, he kissed my cheek and lingered there for a moment longer than he should have. “Thanks, Riles,” he whispered.
It felt good to have him so close, a complicated mix of longing and sadness—and in light of Rosie, hope and joy. And, if I allowed myself to examine my feelings too closely, maybe even a soupçon of envy. “It’s an honor.” And then I pressed my cheek against his a moment longer than I should have.
CHAPTER 51
What else can I get you?” My mom hovered nearby, clutching a vegan banana muffin in one hand and a bottle of painkillers in the other. This had been her constant refrain over the past five days since I was discharged from the hospital and sent home in my parents’ care. I had another couple of weeks before I could put any weight on my leg, so we decided that until then it’d be best if I moved back into my old room. And by “we” I mean “they.” I didn’t argue too much because the fact of the matter was, it was nice to be taken care of. I was feeling a little fragile in the wake of what had happened, and being fussed over by my mom and dad wasn’t the worst thing in the world. They even let Coltrane move in, despite his bitter rivalry with Tofu, their evil cat.
“I’m fine, Mom, really. Go to bridge. I’m just going to sit here and continue with this research.”
Holman, either out of endearing solidarity or bewildering insensitivity, had been emailing me research assignments to do while I was laid up. He called or came by every day to check on me under the guise of seeing how the projects were coming along, but really I think he just wanted to know I was getting better. I also like to think he missed me. Either way it had been nice because he’d become my main source of information on how the case against Jack Krisanski was proceeding.
The latest was that Lindsey Davis had filed two counts of murder in the first degree and two counts of attempted murder against Jack. He was still recovering in the burn unit and apparently would be there for some time. Holman said he had lawyered up and was now not talking much to Carl or any of the other authorities. Still, Carl had a mountain of evidence against him and expected Jack would spend the rest of his days in prison.
It appeared as though Brandon Laytner didn’t have anything to do directly with Bennett’s or Arthur’s death, but would probably still face charges for failure to report a crime, depending on what he knew and when he knew it. The prosecutor was planning to offer Jack a deal of some kind to get him to spill about Brandon’s involvement. Holman also told me that on a tip from David Davenport, the FDA opened an investigation into Invigor8’s patent development research. I had a sneaking suspicion that whatever they turned up would put an end to Brandon Laytner’s bid for pharmaceutical fame.
Libby Nichols had also dropped by my parents’ house the
day after I got out of the hospital. She said she wanted to see how I was doing and thank me for “getting to the bottom of what happened.” Jack Krisanski had killed both her husband and her lover—but more significantly, the father of her unborn child. “Yup. I’m pregnant,” she told me, “I found out for sure three days ago.” She also said she’d decided not to have the baby’s paternity tested because “It doesn’t really matter, now does it?” Bennett’s life insurance policy would go a long way toward helping her on the road to rebuilding her life and her independence. “Ironically, I have more to live for now than I ever had before.”
It was four o’clock and my mom had finally agreed to leave the house to go play bridge with her regular group, and Dad had run to the store to get more apple cider, so when the doorbell rang, I was surprised. Holman didn’t usually stop by till after work. I hobbled to the door and almost fell over (quite literally) when I saw Jay standing on my parents’ doorstep.
We hadn’t seen each other since the night he told me he was moving to DC. While I was in the hospital he’d called to see if he could come by, but I told him I didn’t think that was a good idea. Him leaving was as inevitable as it was painful, so I didn’t see any point in getting even closer. It would just make it even worse. Holman told me he’d been texting every day to get an update on how I was doing.
I opened the door standing on one leg, holding onto the frame to steady myself. “Hi.”
“Hi.” His eyes held mine for a few seconds until they flicked down to my leg and the huge brace around it. “Oh my gosh, you should be sitting—I’m sorry, let me help.” He moved to put his shoulder under my arm and help me back to my couch.