The soft thunk of the door unlatching had her reaching for the handle again, but before her fingers could connect, three things happened at once. Dan cried out. Liss heard an ominous thump. And the entire truck rocked as something heavy fell against it.
“Dan? Are you okay?” Her heart in her throat, she was already running toward him, circling the hood, the shortest route from her side of the truck to his.
“Watch your footing!”
Liss skidded to a stop, but her anxiety skyrocketed. That was pain she heard distorting Dan’s voice. When she saw him lying on the ground next to the driver’s side door, she ignored his warning and rushed to his side. Even before she knelt beside him, she could see that his right leg was twisted at an awkward angle, but it was his head he held clasped with both hands.
“How badly are you hurt?” She wanted to throw her arms around him, but she was afraid of doing more damage.
“Hit my head on the door.” Dan sounded short of breath. “And I think my ankle is broken.”
“Don’t talk if it hurts to speak. You might have a broken rib.” Liss fumbled in her purse for her cell phone to call for help.
Dan had lowered his hands, but he seemed to be having trouble focusing. “Slipped on something,” he said. “Hit the side of the truck. Landed wrong.”
In Liss’s ear, the 9-1-1 operator asked for the nature of her emergency.
The glow from her cell phone was sufficient to verify that something was wrong with Dan’s ankle, but Liss didn’t have enough light to get a good look at his head. As soon as she’d relayed the pertinent information and responded to the operator’s questions, she used her teeth to tug off one glove and ran the fingertips of that hand over Dan’s scalp. It didn’t take her long to find a tender spot. His grunt of pain put an end to the gentle exploration.
She’d kept a death grip on the phone with the other hand. Relief made her almost dizzy when the 9-1-1 operator assured her that an ambulance was on its way.
“Sit tight,” the dispatcher said. “Five minutes, tops.”
Liss relayed this news to Dan, hoping she sounded bracing. Inside she was terrified. She’d suffered a good crack on the head herself once and knew that head injuries were nothing to take lightly. That was why so many contact sports required helmets. And why wearing them was encouraged for skiers, bicyclists, and those who rode motorcycles. Right now she’d vote for adding anyone who was planning to get into a motor vehicle to that list.
“Lucky for me, I’ve got a hard head,” Dan muttered.
Liss’s attempt at a smile faltered and died. She didn’t suppose it mattered. She doubted he could see the expression on her face in the gloaming.
“I slipped.” Dan sounded stronger but very confused. “How could I have slipped? There’s no ice.”
“It’s shady over here,” Liss said, as if that explained it.
Except it didn’t. The temperature had risen steadily all day. Any icy spots had long since melted, even those shielded from direct sunlight. And since the number on the thermometer hadn’t yet dropped below freezing for the night, no new ice had had a chance to form.
Tentatively, Liss touched her fingertips to the ground. She moved the hand that wasn’t still clutching her phone first one way and then the other. She froze when her thumb came in contact with a thick oily substance.
“It feels slick here,” she said. “Maybe one of the cars that parked here earlier today had a leak in its oil tank.”
“Just my luck. I probably stepped in the only slippery spot in the entire town.”
“You always were a klutz,” Liss said in an effort to cheer him up. “Oh, no, wait! That would be me.”
This pitiful attempt to be funny won her a weak chuckle. Encouraged by his response, she squeezed his hand. Maybe he’d escaped a concussion, after all. She felt even more optimistic when she heard the distant wail of a siren.
“Don’t move,” she ordered and stood up to wave the ambulance over once it turned into the parking lot.
For the next hour and more, Liss was too busy to think beyond the next moment. First there were the mechanics of getting Dan loaded into the ambulance and transported to the nearest hospital. Then she had to deal with paperwork, all the while worrying about what the emergency room doctor might find. Fortunately, there were no patients ahead of Dan. His injuries received immediate attention.
As soon as Liss finished filling out forms, a helpful nurse directed her to the exam rooms. She heard Dan’s voice from the far end of a short corridor.
“Concussion? How can I have a concussion? I wasn’t knocked out.”
“You don’t have to lose consciousness to have a concussion, Mr. Ruskin.” From the tone of voice alone, Liss could tell that the emergency room doctor was rapidly losing patience with his patient.
She entered the small exam room before the debate could escalate. Although she sympathized with her husband’s desire to leave the hospital, she wasn’t about to let him take any chances with his health.
“Save the arguments, Dan. You’re not going anywhere.”
“Liss, I’m fine. Really. Nothing’s wrong with me except for a little headache.”
“And a fractured ankle,” the doctor said in a dry voice. He was a middle-aged man with deep bags under his eyes, but he had an air of competence about him that Liss found reassuring. “He’ll need a cast.”
“Fine. Put me in plaster. But then I’m out of here. She’ll drive.” His attempt at a careless nod in Liss’s direction had him grimacing in pain.
Not going to happen, Liss thought.
“Your skull came in abrupt, hard contact with the side of your truck,” the doctor said. “I strongly advise that you stay overnight for observation.”
“I don’t see why I—”
Liss cut him off. “Not thinking clearly is a symptom of concussion, right?”
The doctor’s lips twitched, but otherwise he betrayed not a hint of amusement. “That is correct, Mrs. Ruskin. As I’ve already told your husband, concussions are tricky things. Some people recover completely in a couple of hours. Others still feel the effects a month later. In some very rare instances, there is permanent brain damage. You can’t be too careful with something like this. That’s why I’d like to keep Mr. Ruskin here until tomorrow. You can come and get him in the morning, or I can arrange for a cot and you can stay in his room with him.”
“I’ll stay.” Liss spoke without hesitation, settling the matter before Dan could get another word in.
While he went off to have the cast put on his ankle, Liss located the hospital cafeteria. There would be no steak dinner tonight, and now that her worst fears had been assuaged, she was aware of the first pangs of hunger.
The food offered for sale was much more varied than she’d expected. There was a cook on duty, who, according to a sign on the wall, would be happy to whip up anything on the health-conscious menu. The smell of garlic, onions, and green peppers sautéing in olive oil tempted Liss to order the stir-fried chicken, but she decided not to risk it. Dan wasn’t out of the woods yet, and worry had a tendency to unsettle her stomach. A bowl of homemade vegetable soup struck her as the safest and most comforting choice under the circumstances. She carried it and a slice of crusty bread to a corner table.
When she had finished eating, she glanced at her watch. The nurse had told her it would be an hour before they’d have Dan installed in a room. She’d managed to kill only fifteen minutes. After she bused her bowl and ordered a cup of tea, she fished in her purse for her iPad mini. The hospital had Wi-Fi. She used it to connect to WebMD.
What she read about concussions both alarmed and reassured her. The advice given online echoed what she’d been told a few years back and what the emergency room doctor had verified. For the next little while, Dan should get plenty of rest. If he tried to do too much too soon, he could make his condition worse. On the other hand, if he behaved himself, there was no reason why he shouldn’t make a full recovery. She’d have to keep an eye
on him, that was all—ride herd on his tendency to overdo.
On the lined, five-by-seven tablet she also carried in her bag, Liss made a list of the symptoms she’d need to watch for. Most made sense, given a hit on the head—headache, blurry vision, dizziness, problems with balance. A few were less obvious and therefore more alarming. She’d have to take Dan to their own doctor pronto if he showed an extreme sensitivity to light or became more emotional than usual.
Easily upset or angered, she read. Sad. Nervous or anxious. Who wouldn’t be after whacking his head on a metal truck door?
She uncapped her felt-tip pen and wrote another note to herself. Don’t overreact.
Easier to diagnose would be Dan’s sleep habits. If he slept more than usual, less than usual, or had trouble falling asleep, she would be sure to notice. In the normal way of things, he was regular as clockwork, drifting quickly into slumber when it was time to sleep and waking up a minute or so before the alarm clock went off in the morning.
The cats provided a handy backup. On the rare occasions when Liss and Dan decided to sleep in, Lumpkin and Glenora had their own methods for convincing the humans in their lives to get up and refill their food bowls. Thinking of the two family felines made Liss wonder how they were getting along with their cat sitter. Most people she knew would have put their pets in a kennel for the week, but she and Dan were too softhearted. If the cats couldn’t have their people around, the least they deserved was to stay in their own digs for the duration.
It would be comforting to have a cat in her lap right now, she thought. Something soft to stroke. The rhythmic, calming sound of a purr.
She smiled at the fancy as she glanced around her. Neither Lumpkin nor Glenora would be calm or comforting in this setting. Glenora would hide under the table, wary of strangers. Lumpkin would bite an ankle or two on his way to help himself to any food left unguarded.
She went back to enumerating the list of symptoms.
Changes in sex drive came next.
That one ought to be easy to spot. Liss smiled to herself as she added it.
When she next glanced at the clock on the screen, three-quarters of an hour had gone by. She put the iPad, tablet, and pen away and stood. With any luck, Dan would have been assigned to a room by now. She’d go there and wait for him.
It came as a pleasant surprise to discover that all the rooms in this small rural hospital were private. They didn’t have that awful hospital smell, either. She was also impressed by the staff. While a nurse was getting Dan settled, the doctor who’d examined him took her aside to give her an update.
“I expect to approve your husband’s release from the hospital in the morning,” he told her, “but I strongly advise against making the three-hour drive back to Moosetookalook right away. I’ve been there a time or two. The entire distance is on winding, bumpy rural roads. Wait until the worst of the aftereffects—the splitting headache, the dizziness, and the nausea—have abated a bit.”
It was good advice. Liss intended to follow it.
After he had been installed in his hospital bed and an orderly had set up a cot for Liss, Dan continued to grumble about having to stay overnight. Liss ignored his complaints. Before long, he exhausted himself. When his breathing evened out and Liss was sure he slept, she retreated into the tiny bathroom and, leaving her underwear in place, exchanged her slacks and blouse for a hospital bathrobe. The door to the corridor was left open for the convenience of the nurses. She had no intention of sleeping in the buff.
In the harsh overhead light of the bathroom, Liss couldn’t help but notice an ugly grease stain on one knee of her good wool slacks. She stared at it, trying to think how it had gotten there. Then she remembered the feel of oil on her fingers as she knelt in the parking lot. Her brow furrowed. That was the only place this spot could have come from, and yet it didn’t appear to be motor oil. It wasn’t the right color. An oil leak from a car would have left a darker stain.
Cautiously, she lifted the fabric to her nose. The smell was elusive but somehow familiar. She sniffed again. It was definitely not motor oil. Nor was it any other petroleum product. But it had a distinctive aroma. After a moment, she identified it as a scent she’d encountered only a short time earlier right here in the hospital.
Olive oil.
Liss rubbed her forehead, where a dull throbbing had begun, trying to make sense of her discovery. Could she be mistaken about when she’d stained her clothing? Could she have come in contact with the olive oil during her supper break?
No, she thought. A stain in that location and of that size and shape could only be the result of kneeling in a substance, and the only time she’d been on her knees was in the parking lot.
It was the parking lot of a grocery store, she reminded herself. It was possible that some unlucky shopper had dropped a bottle of cooking oil.
She’d have liked to believe that theory, but it wouldn’t stand up to close scrutiny. Break a bottle of olive oil and you’d have a lot more of it on the ground. There would be fragments of glass, too, although nowadays most cooking oil came in plastic bottles, which wouldn’t have broken and spilled in the first place.
What Dan had slipped in hadn’t been a puddle. It had been more like a slick.
Had someone deliberately poured olive oil on the ground beside the truck?
That explanation didn’t make a lick of sense, but when there was no logical solution to a problem, then the illogical one that remained, no matter how unlikely it seemed, had to be the right answer. So quoth Sherlock Holmes, more or less.
Liss took a deep breath and reviewed the “facts” as she knew them.
The oily spot had not been there when she and Dan went inside the grocery store. She was certain that Dan would have noticed it if it had been. He’d have stepped right in it when he got out of the truck.
Someone could have created the oil slick while they were doing their shopping.
It was right beside the driver’s side door, in a spot where Dan would have to place his feet in order to climb into the truck.
That meant someone—person or persons unknown—had intended that he slip and fall and injure himself.
And that meant that the accident wasn’t an accident at all.
Chapter Six
“This is insane,” Liss whispered.
So was talking to herself.
She took her clothing with her from the bathroom into Dan’s hospital room. He was still asleep. That relieved her mind. If he saw her face right now, he’d know something was wrong.
With great care to be quiet, she hung her slacks and blouse in the room’s tiny closet, next to Dan’s garments and her coat. Her hands were shaking, making the hangers rattle on the metal clothes bar. Once that small task had been accomplished, Liss didn’t know what to do next. She didn’t even know what to think next.
Why would anyone want to set a trap for Dan? Unless you counted Mrs. Purvey, they hadn’t offended anyone since coming to New Boston. For a moment, Liss seriously considered the chief of police’s mother as saboteur, but the notion was too far-fetched. Even with her vivid imagination Liss had trouble visualizing the elderly lady pouring olive oil on the pavement. Besides, how would she have known which vehicle belonged to Dan and Liss?
Liss sank into the room’s only chair and stared at nothing. She couldn’t make sense of what had happened. She just knew that it had.
Think, she ordered herself. What did the person who set that trap hope to accomplish? A fall was a chancy way to murder someone. Dan might have been much more seriously injured than he was, perhaps killed, but even more easily, he might have done no more than lose his balance for an instant, escaping unscathed. Did the perpetrator care? Was the whole thing an impulsive prank? Or was there some specific motive behind the madness?
If the goal was to get them to leave town, it was a strange way to go about it. The result was the exact opposite. Because of Dan’s concussion, they might have to stay longer than they’d intended.
&
nbsp; When she realized she was clenching and unclenching her fists, Liss flexed her fingers, rotated her shoulders, and ordered herself not to tense up. It didn’t help that the chair was singularly uncomfortable, but the only other place to sit was on the cot. Tempting as it was to crawl under the covers and pull them over her head, Liss knew she wouldn’t be able to sleep until she had a handle on the situation.
Think. Reason it out.
What if the goal was to keep them away from the Snowe farmhouse overnight? Was someone searching the place even now? Liss gave a huff of frustration. If that was the case, there wasn’t a darned thing she could do about it. She’d feel like a fool if she asked Chief Purvey to check on the property. He’d be certain she was imagining things. He’d probably be right.
Still, she liked that scenario better than the one in which someone tried to murder her husband.
Don’t panic, she warned herself. And don’t get paranoid. While it was true that one man with a connection to the Snowe Christmas tree farm had been murdered and another had disappeared, that did not mean that she and Dan had put themselves in danger by staying there!
Argue with herself as she might, Liss couldn’t help but fret. Someone had caused Dan’s fall. That was enough to make anyone worry. Why some unknown person had arranged his “accident” was only part of the puzzle. Discovering who was behind it had to be the key. Liss fished in her bag for the five-by-seven tablet and a pen. The culprit had to be someone they’d met since their arrival in New Boston.
Although they’d been in the area only since yesterday afternoon, they’d encountered a fair number of people. She listed them in the order of their appearance, starting with the crusty old gentleman in the parking lot of the grocery store. She didn’t suspect him or the young woman who worked in the market or the woman who’d suggested they try asking for directions at the town office, but she jotted down their descriptions, anyway.
Ho-Ho-Homicide (A Liss MacCrimmon Mystery Book 8) Page 9