“My father had his phone turned off.” I crossed my arms. “I left him a message. He would have called you right back in the morning.”
He looked up at me, his expression still difficult to read. He looked angry. I'd never seen Logan like this, but if I saw a man I didn't know making that face, I'd say he was angry.
I asked, “Are you mad at me?”
“No,” he said, practically growling. “I'm not mad at you.”
I tapped my fingers on my forearm. “That's not terribly convincing.”
He looked away, out into the hallway as someone in blue scrubs rolled by with a cart of cleaning supplies.
“Come in here and sit down before you get us both kicked out.” I jerked my head toward the chair, which was a mistake. Stars danced around the room. It was too soon after my incident for head jerking.
Suddenly, Logan was at my side, holding my hand.
“Hey,” he said softly. “I didn't want to find you inside this hospital, but I had to check.”
“Cheer up,” I said, my voice even scratchier than it had been a few hours earlier. “At least I'm not in the morgue.”
“Don't joke,” he said.
“Don't joke? You might as well ask me to refrain from breathing.”
“Your voice...” His eyes widened. “Your neck...”
I squeezed his fingers. “I promise I'll get better right away if you could stop being mad at me right now.”
He frowned. “I told you, I'm not mad.”
I licked my lips. “Could you get me some chocolate?” I batted my eyelashes. “I think it would help my throat.”
“No,” he said, and he pulled out his phone, set it on the edge of my bed, and started sending a message using one hand. “I'm letting Jessica know which floor we're on. She can get chocolate for you. I'm not leaving your side. I'm not leaving you for one minute.”
“Okay,” I said softly, still not sure if I was in trouble or not. He seemed really upset with me.
After a moment, I said, “Logan, I feel like I haven't seen you in a long time.”
He squeezed my hand. “It's my fault. This is all my fault. I let you down.” He clenched his jaw and looked away from me.
“You are mad.”
“I'm angry,” he said. “Dogs get mad. Humans get angry.”
“Don't be.” I pulled my hand away. “I told you the truth. I didn't do anything wrong.”
“No, Stormy. I'm angry with myself. I shouldn't have let you down like this.”
“You couldn't have known that a cheerleader was going to use my head to make gong sounds on a burn barrel.”
He blinked at me. “I have no idea what that means.”
I took a deep breath. “As soon as Jessica gets here, I'll start from the beginning.”
Right on cue, Jessica appeared in the doorway. She didn't even pause before running in at full-tilt and throwing herself at me on the bed.
Chapter 42
TWENTY-TWO DAYS LATER
A SNOWY SATURDAY MORNING IN NOVEMBER
I was awoken by sweet little kisses. From Jeffrey.
Apparently, something I'd eaten the night before was of interest to him. Unlike my other roommate, Jeffrey was fully in support of gas station hot dogs.
I gave him a hug, which he tolerated for a whole ten seconds before wriggling out of my arms and securing a safer spot on my pillow. He flung out his hind foot and started licking his tummy in an elegant cat-ballet pose.
I shifted my head over, which gave me a twinge of pain. I waited for it to get worse, but thankfully it was a mere twinge that was caffeine-related, my morning reminder that I would need my first cup of coffee shortly.
Over the last three weeks, I'd recovered from my battle injuries. The rusty old burn barrel out at the Baudelaire farm probably had a few nasty dents on it, thanks to my skull. I tried not to spend much time thinking about that night, and fighting Quinn off in the darkness. Even without the ax in her hands, she'd been a terrifying foe, like a wolverine. The memories brought back the feeling of her hands around my throat, choking me, and the heavy thud of pain at the back of my head.
Someone knocked gently on my bedroom door.
I relaxed my clenched fists and took a deep breath. It was just my roommate. I was safe at home.
“Coffee,” I called out with a croak.
“Ready and waiting,” Jessica replied. “Stormy, you've slept in long enough. I've already eaten my first breakfast, and I'm thinking about making a second breakfast. Would you please tear yourself away from the arms of your lover and get your butt out here?”
Jeffrey extended his ballerina hind leg and braced his toe pads against the tip of my nose.
“I'm trapped,” I called back. “He's using my face to rest his foot while he cleans his unmentionables.”
Jessica pushed open the door and gave us a bemused look. “You two are revolting.”
“At least one of us has had a bath today.”
“Go jump in the shower,” Jessica said. “I'll bring your coffee in and put it on the shampoo ledge.”
“Marry me.”
She laughed. “Go shower first.”
I carefully extracted my face from underneath Jeffrey's elegant paw and slid out of bed to get ready for Roomies' Day Out.
We'd had another fresh snowfall, and the world outside the door was a winter wonderland.
Before Jessica and I left the house, we let Jeffrey check out the backyard. He ran out onto the snow and stopped. He lifted one front paw from the snow and turned his head to give me a dirty look, as if to say, why did you let the snow delivery person put all this snow here?
“It's going to be around for a few months,” I said. “Jeffrey, this isn't your first winter. And you love the snow. It's just a bit of a shock at first.”
He hopped over to a new spot, found it was just as cold on his toes as the last spot, gave me another dirty look, and then shot past me back into the house.
“You'll get used to it,” I said. “A person can get used to anything.” I gave him a kiss goodbye, pulled on some warm mittens and a knitted cap, and left with Jessica.
Our plan for Roomies' Day Out was a cheap date. We took our toboggans to a nearby park, where the creek valley had formed a perfect sledding hill. It was where all the kids in town met to go sledding, and both Jessica and I had been there countless times as kids.
The park looked like a scene from a postcard that day, with fresh snow on the hill and dozens of children in bright-hued snow clothes laughing and playing on the hill.
I was reluctant to get on the wooden sled Jessica had brought.
“Isn't there an age limit? Or a weight rating?”
She adjusted her pink knitted cap and narrowed her bright blue eyes at me. “Fine. I'll go first, chicken butt.”
“You're the chicken butt.”
“You are.” She climbed onto the sled, secured her boots under the curved front, and started jerking her body forward and back to tip the sled over the berm. “Give me a push, chicken butt.”
“As you wish, chicken butt.” I gave her a push and off she went, leaning left and right like a pro to stay on the packed snow trail. I cheered for her all the way down. I really wasn't that fearful of taking a sled ride down the hill, but the concussion recovery had made me cautious.
“Hey, lady,” came a male voice behind me. I knew that voice.
I turned around to see Quinn's husband, Chip McCabe, approaching me.
“There you are,” he said as a greeting.
“Hi, Chip.” I gave him a wave with my red mitten.
He got to within ten feet of me and stopped. He glanced around before asking, “Do you wanna build a snowman?”
I was relieved he hadn't said anything about his wife, who'd killed Michael Sweet and then tried to murder me with an ax to cover up her crime.
“A snowman,” he repeated, smiling. He was wearing shorts with a winter jacket and a scarf.
“A snowman,” I said slowly. He and I had m
et in my father's neighbor's front yard, thanks to a snowman. “Chip, you don't think that's a little macabre? Me, you, and a snowman?”
He used the end of his scarf to wipe some sweat from his wide forehead. “As long as you don't put another dead body inside the snowman, I think it will be very tasteful.”
I let out a low laugh. “Chip, I didn't put the body into the snowman. I just ripped off his head.”
“Hard to believe that was almost a year ago.”
“Almost,” I said.
He looked down the hill and scanned until he stopped on a little girl, his daughter Quinby. She was talking to Jessica. By their body language, Quinby was trying to get Jessica's assistance in rolling a large snowball through the fresh snow.
Chip said solemnly, “And now everything has changed.”
“I heard they cast another little girl in the role of Kinley,” I said. “How's little Q taking the news?”
Chip turned back toward me, his expression blank. “Her mother killed her genetic father,” he said. “My wife was so worried about losing control over her child's career that she stabbed someone to death.”
I felt my breath catch in my throat. I was glad for the ten feet of distance between us.
Chip said, “So, I think that an acting job is the least of her concerns.”
I looked down at my boots. “I'm sorry,” I said.
I heard Chip sigh. “No, I'm sorry. I shouldn't have snapped at you like that. You didn't do anything wrong except care about people.”
“Caring about people is the most common predetermining factor in having your heart broken.”
He tilted his head to the side. “Who said that?”
“I did. Just now.”
He rubbed his smooth chin. “It's a good line. You've got the heart of a poet. I might use that in a song for Rain Nor Heat.” He raised his eyebrows. “If that's okay with you?”
“Be my guest.”
Quinby was calling for her father from the bottom of the hill.
He turned and waved at her and Jessica. “What is it, Q?”
She called back, “Look, Dad! It's the bottom of a snowman!”
“Good job, Q! I'll be down there to help you in a minute!”
He slowly turned back to me and gave me a shy look.
I didn't say anything.
Chip said, “I don't imagine things will ever feel normal between us, but I hope we can put the past behind us for the sake of the children.”
“Of course,” I said. “For the children.”
He raised his eyebrows and gave me an intense look. “We are all on the same side, right?”
I swallowed. Were we? I knew which side I was on.
“Let's hope you don't have to testify,” he said.
“But I will have to testify if they ask, if it goes to trial.”
“She'll take the plea.” A dark expression came over his face. “I told her to take the plea and save us all from more pain.”
“Okay.” I kept my expression neutral.
The corners of Chips mouth tilted up cruelly. “The Queen Bee will have her gossamer wings yanked off.”
I said nothing.
His daughter called out again from the bottom of the hill, more insistently. Chip waved at her before giving the thumbs-up gesture. Jessica and Quinby were being joined by Quinby's best friend, Sophie Sweet. Not far behind Sophie was her mother, Samantha Sweet. She had Michael Junior bundled up and in her arms. Samantha looked up the hill, spotted us, and waved with her free gloved hand.
I returned the wave. We still hadn't spoken since the day I'd come to her house, the day she'd had her kids taken into temporary custody. I'd heard through Jessica that she was doing much better now and didn't hold anything against me, but nobody had encouraged me to call her. Jessica had specifically told me to give the woman some space.
Samantha Sweet turned her back to me and put Michael Junior down to play in the snow. He took two small steps and immediately face-planted in the snow.
“Samantha's feeling much better now,” Chip said.
“Good to hear,” I said neutrally.
“They changed her medication, and the delusions are gone. Hard to say if it was the pills, the case being closed, or just time passing. Maybe all three.”
“It's good that she has a clear head,” I said. “That's all that matters.”
Chip took a few steps toward me. I fought the urge to flinch or roll away down the hill.
He stopped in front of me and carefully patted me on the shoulder. “A wise person told me that caring about people is the most common predetermining factor in having your heart broken.” He grinned. “Did I get that right?”
I smiled back at him. “More than you'll ever know.”
He cleared his throat and turned away. “I'd better go make that snowman,” he said.
“Someone's gotta do it,” I said.
Without looking at me, he said, “We're the ones left behind with the broken pieces. But we're going to make it. You keep putting one foot in front of the other. You just keep living, because it beats the alternative.”
The air was crisp but the sky was bright and cheerful as Jessica and I walked home after sledding.
Jessica's boots crunched through the snow as she once again wobbled away from the shoveled sidewalk. Her legs were so shaky from multiple dashes back up the sledding hill that she didn't have the best sense of balance. She kept clinging to my arm and laughing, nearly knocking me down as well.
I was teasing her and not looking where I was going when I tripped over my own boot and knocked us both onto someone's lawn. When I tried to get up, I bumped a shrub and it retaliated by sending a stream of snow straight down the back of my jacket.
“Talk about irony,” I said as I got upright and started shaking snow and water out of my clothes. “I didn't fall off the toboggan or get snowy at all, until I was three blocks from my house.”
“Statistically, that's where accidents happen,” Jessica said.
I made a face as the melted snow trickled down my spine and straight into the back of my jeans.
“Refreshing,” I said with a grimace.
We got back on the sidewalk and continued on our way home. Jessica asked what I'd been talking to Chip about, so I filled her in, and we talked about the Sweets and the McCabes.
“I predict a future merger of the Sweet-McCabe clan,” Jessica said.
“Chip and Samantha? Together?” It seemed strange, but then again it always seemed strange when two adults you already know start dating each other.
“They're already somewhat together,” Jessica said.
I gasped. “Scandalous.” It had barely been three weeks since one of their spouses had been arrested for killing the other one's spouse.
“Neither of them wanted to stay in their old houses, with all the old memories.”
“Can't say I blame 'em,” I said.
“They both moved, and they're sharing a new house.”
I stumbled and broke rhythm in my walking pace. “Not the murder house!”
“Not at all. Somebody else bought that. They're actually renting a McMansion in a new subdivision. It's one of the Canuso family's investments in town. Colt gave them free rent for a few months. I guess this is what people mean when they say tragedy brings people together in strange ways.”
Quietly, I said, “That was nice of Colt.”
“Have you talked to him?”
“No.” But not for lack of trying. I'd sent him some messages, but he hadn't responded. He'd taken down all of his public social media profiles as well. I had no idea what was going on in his life. I'd talked it over with my father and Kyle, and our best guess was that Colt had suspected his sister was involved with the homicide, which was why he'd not been fighting too hard against the charges. He must have known the blood on his shirt came from the scuffle at the casino, but he hadn't even said as much to his own lawyer. What a guy. Willing to take a murder charge to protect his sister.
; “Things will settle down,” Jessica said. “Life was pretty crazy after the whole thing at the Flying Squirrel Lodge, but people's attentions shifted.”
“Thanks to the death at the Koenig mansion.”
She punched me on the shoulder playfully. “Cheer up. There'll be another weird crime soon enough.”
I laughed hollowly.
We got back to the house, and Jessica immediately got out the cocoa powder and a saucepan to make hot chocolate.
I paused by the coat hooks, watching the melted snow dripping off her jacket and all over our shoe rack.
“Maybe I'll give these soggy things a tumble in the dryer,” I said.
“Ooh, that sounds fun,” Jessica said. “Just the way you phrased it,” she explained.
“I'm a fun girl,” I said, grinning.
I gathered up the soggy coats, hats, and mittens, and headed through the door leading to the basement that ran across the full width of the house. I checked the pockets for tissues, receipts, and hard candies before tossing the jackets into the dryer. Tissues weren't too bad, but I'd learned the hard way to check for hard candies or gum before sending damp jackets for a tumble.
My load was short by one mitten, a red one. I'd dropped it on the stairs. I headed back up and stopped when I heard voices.
The same staircase led up to two doors—one for my side and one for the side Logan Sanderson had been renting for the last year. The two units had good side-to-side sound privacy, but anyone down in the basement could easily hear conversations through the hollow-core basement access doors.
By the sound of it, Logan's sister Jinx had returned from her week-long trip to visit their grandmother. I was about to knock on their door and ask if they wanted some hot chocolate when I heard my name being spoken.
Oops. Walk away, I told myself. People who listen in on conversations get what they deserve!
But the mitten I'd been reaching for had snagged on a protruding nail on the wood steps. It took me several seconds in the dim light to unsnag the yarn loop, and by then I'd already heard enough to hook me.
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