Richard shrugged. “Pretty much—but only in a good cause.”
“And who judges what constitutes a good cause?”
He didn’t even blink. “Me.”
It was a good thing I trusted Richard with my life, because that kind of knowledge could be used for God only knew what.
I sipped the last of my bourbon and looked at the clock. We still had another ten or more minutes before the pizza was to be delivered. I wondered how much longer Richard and I had before the ladies joined us once again. I plunged ahead with my questions, because I might be too wiped in another half hour to be able voice them.
“Being able to hack into computer files and leave no trace could be an enormous asset to a fledging business like you propose.”
“You got that right. Unfortunately for us, what we need to learn about Alice isn’t available to us via that route.”
“No, but it could come in handy for other investigations.”
“You almost sound like you’re interested.”
“I admit, I’m intrigued. I’m just not sure I can reconcile myself from living off that tainted Alpert fortune. You know I’ve fought against it for most of my life.”
“Yeah,” he said miserably. “I figure those who can afford to pay us should do so. But what about people—or entities—like Alice? Doesn’t she deserve to find resolution? You can’t bill a dead woman. But what if it’s your destiny to get vibes from those who’ve passed on—to help them move on—to find justice? More importantly, to help them find peace.”
“So, you think we’ll find paying—and non-paying—clients for this proposed business?”
“Who knows?” he said, and though I can’t read my brother’s emotions, I could hear a sense of optimism in his voice. And for the first time, I had to acknowledge that I felt the same way. How cool would it be to solve crimes—like Batman and other super heroes—and yet remain virtually anonymous?
Yeah … definitely cool.
And yet … the whole idea was also troubling.
“Whenever people delve into what they think are righteous crusades, they often lose their moral compass. I don’t want that to happen to us. Ever.”
“I have a suggestion.”
“Which is?”
“We bring in a third party to act in that capacity.”
“Oh, yeah? And who would that be?”
“Brenda,” he said succinctly.
I nodded. Richard and I trusted one other person on the planet implicitly: his wife—and my friend.
“Would she want to be involved?” I asked.
“She’s a great wife—a terrific Mom—and she’s bored stiff without a job.” I doubted that last part.
“We wouldn’t be offering her real employment.”
“No, but she’d have an opportunity to give back and, honestly, that’s all she really wants.”
I nodded. “The three of us would need to sit down and talk about it in minute detail.”
“Is tomorrow too soon?”
I shrugged. “Have you run this by her?”
“Not in great detail. But I know her as well as I know myself. She’s the smartest, most articulate, and most grounded person I’ve ever met in my life.”
“You don’t have to sing her praises to me. But would she be willing to help us?”
Brenda was suddenly standing in the doorway. “Do you even have to ask?”
Maggie was just a step behind her. “What do you mean? Did I miss something?”
Brenda looked at both Richard and me, then Richard looked at me with an expression that seemed to convey an “I told you so” message.
“We’re good then,” I asked. Richard and Brenda both nodded.
“Good for what?” Maggie asked, confused.
“Pizza,” I said.
And as if on cue, the doorbell rang.
“Ah, dinner has arrived,” Brenda said, sounding cheerful. “Richard, go pay the guy while Maggie and I set the table.”
“Will do.” He got up from his seat.
Brenda went to the cabinet that held the dinner plates. She took out four of them and handed them to Maggie, who set them on the table. I snuck a glance at Brenda. Her smile mirrored the anticipation that seemed to be building inside me.
Richard reentered the kitchen, pizza box in hand. He set it in the middle of the table, and the three of them took their seats. Brenda opened the box and started doling out pieces. After my big lunch, I wasn’t sure I’d even be able to eat an entire slice. Besides, I had way too many possibilities whirling through my brain.
Maggie started talking about packing up the contents of her home. The rest of us sat there, eating, and looking at each other, trying to suppress smiles.
14
Despite the almost three-hour nap I’d had after my experiences that day, I’d been right in thinking that I’d still begin to sink fast—unable to eat even an entire slice of that wonderful pizza before I began to droop.
“I’m sorry, but if I don’t hit the sack soon, someone is going to have to hire a crane to haul me back to my bed.”
Brenda shot a look in Richard’s direction. He pushed his chair back, but before he could stand, Maggie piped up. “I’ll do it.”
“Are you sure?” Brenda asked.
“Of course.” Maggie rose, grabbed my crutches and handed them to me. “Come on, big boy. Time for beddie-bye.”
The exertions of the day left me feeling drained. I wasn’t even sure I could haul myself to my feet. It was on my third try when Maggie finally grabbed my right elbow and hauled me to my feet.
“Thanks.” I looked in Richard’s and Brenda’s direction. “See you in the morning.”
“Good night,” they chorused.
I stumped my way toward the bedroom and was surprised when Maggie shut the door from the kitchen to the butler’s pantry behind us.
“What’s going on?” I asked as we made our way to my temporary digs.
“Apparently while you and Richard were out today, Brenda went to your room with an armload of clean laundry and Herschel escaped. It took her more than an hour chasing him around the house before she could capture him and bring him back here.”
Aw, shit.
“He’s got to be lonely,” Maggie went on as I opened the door. Sure enough, Herschel shot out of the room as through blasted from a canon—only with the door to the kitchen shut, he couldn’t go far.
“Herschel!” I called, but the cat ignored me.
“I’ll make sure he’s locked down before I leave,” Maggie said and reached into the room to flick on the overhead light. She knew the spare room almost as well as I did. After she’d nearly died when my car had been forced off the road in Vermont almost two years before, she’d been injured and sentenced to use crutches. She’d stayed a week with Richard and Brenda until she was able to navigate stairs and could return to the second-floor apartment in her duplex.
I hobbled over to the day bed, which had already been turned down—by Brenda’s hand, no doubt—and sat. Maggie stood over me. “Now what happens?”
“I peel off the day’s clothes and put on a sleep shirt. But I can sleep in this one. I just need to get rid of the sweats. They make it too hard to pee in the night.”
“Oh?”
“Brenda always makes sure my little buddy—the urinal—is close by.”
Maggie’s eyes widened with what looked like dread. “Who empties it?”
“Whoever gets me up in the morning.”
“They take turns?” she asked, and didn’t sound exactly thrilled.
“Yup.”
“Oh. Well … I guess as medical professionals they’re used to that.”
“I can’t exactly use the crutches and carry the thing to the can to empty it myself.”
“I guess not.”
She towered over me, just looking at me.
I scooched until I could pull the sweatpants off my ass, but couldn’t do much more. “Can you yank them off?”
“Oh, sur
e.” And she did, but I was pretty sure she wasn’t enjoying the procedure. “Now what?”
“The hamper,” I suggested and pointed.
Maggie’s smile looked forced. She’d never had to take care of an infirmed someone. When her ex-mother in law had had a stroke, her ex-husband paid for in-home care after the old lady had left the rehab facility and until he could make arrangements for her to move to Florida to join him and his husband. Maggie had held the old lady’s hand during her stay in the hospital and rehab, but she’d never had to actively take care of the old lady and seemed ill-equipped to take care of me, too.
“Now what?” Maggie asked.
“I either go to the bathroom or pee in the urinal.”
“Oh. Can you make it to the bathroom?” she asked, sounding a little desperate.
It was my turn to force a smile. “Sure.”
Again, she helped me to my feet, handed me my crutches, and stood away from the open bathroom door while I took care of business.
“You didn’t wash your hands,” she told me as I hobbled back to the day bed.
“It’s kind of hard to do when you can’t really stand at the sink.” Had she forgotten the drill from her much shorter stint on crutches or was it because her injury—while painful—had healed a lot faster than I was likely to do? As I recalled, she was on crutches for maybe ten days before she moved on to use a cane. I would have to rely on them for six to eight weeks.
“I’ll bring you some hand sanitizer the next time I come.”
“I’ll bet Brenda has a bottle socked away. I’ll ask.”
“Or I can before I leave.” Maggie sounded like her escape might be imminent. I was a little disappointed, but I couldn’t say I blamed her.
“Herschel needs to be fed.”
“Oh.” Was that her new favorite expression? “Where’s his food?”
“The kitchen. Usually Brenda brings it when she puts me to bed.”
“Oh.” She stood there for long seconds. “I guess I can go get it. I’ll be right back.”
She left the room and I heard Herschel make a quite vocal protest before I heard the door to the kitchen shut firmly.
“Herschel! Come here, boy!”
My cat did not obey my call, and I heard him paw the door to the kitchen. Richard would have a shit fit if Maggie opened the door and the cat made another escape. An almost-empty packet of cat treats sat on the two-drawer file cabinet that acted as a nightstand next to the day bed. I shook it and, sure enough, Herschel came running. I fed him treats one by one until Maggie reappeared. Not only did she have a can of cat food and a clean plastic bowl in hand, but a pint-sized bottle of sanitizer.
“Hold out your hands,” she told me, and squirted a dollop onto my palm. I rubbed my hands and then Maggie grabbed a tissue from the box on the dresser, squirted the clear goop on it, then slathered the handholds of my crutches with the stuff. “All nice and clean,” she said and forced yet another smile.
I can read Maggie like a map—and the vibes I was getting were pretty confused. She cared about me—I knew that—but delivering the kind of personal attention I needed right then was definitely not her thing. We were great together, but I wasn’t sure that we’d ever be good actually living together. What a bitter pill. I’d harbored the idea—the desire—that one day we’d cohabitate, but I was also sure that now—or even some time in the near future—was not the time for that to happen.
I peeled off the cat food lid, dumped it into the bowl, used the lid to chop it up, and handed it back to Maggie. “He eats in the bathroom.”
“So I gathered.”
Herschel was dancing around her legs as she moved to the bathroom, put the food down, tossed the old bowl into the wastebasket, and changed his water. She joined me once again. “Now what? Should I tuck you in?”
I shook my head. “That won’t be necessary.” What I really wanted was for her to lie down next to me. I wanted to wrap my arms around her and fall asleep, spooning. That wasn’t likely to happen in a single bed.
I patted the mattress. “I’m pooped, but could you just sit with me for a few minutes?”
“Sure.” She sat beside me all right: stiffly.
I put my arm around her shoulder and pulled her closer. As I’d hoped, Maggie melted into me, wrapping her arms around me and leaned in to give me a kiss. That’s when her cheek rubbed against mine—and the road rash I’d nearly forgotten about, screamed in protest. I recoiled, hitching in a breath.
“Oh, God, I’m sorry!” Maggie wailed.
“No, No—it’s my fault I—” But I wasn’t sure what to say. I was getting damned tired of apologizing.
Maggie pulled away from my embrace. “It sure looks like our love life is going to be put on hold—yet again.”
“I’m sorry.” I winced at having to make yet another apology.
She patted my good knee. “It’s not your fault. None of this is your fault. But damn—are we what’s known as star-crossed lovers? Nothing ever seems to go right for us.”
“The same thought has crossed my mind. But that doesn’t change the way I feel about you.”
Again she patted my bare knee. “Me, too.” She leaned forward to place a gentle kiss on my lips, then retreated once more. “I might not be around much in the next couple of weeks. Now that I’ve made the decision to move, I want to get it done as soon as possible.”
“I wish I could help.”
“I know. I spoke to Brenda about it. If Richard agrees to take care of Betsy—and I don’t think he’ll object—she’s going to go with me to look at open houses on Sunday.”
“What’s your criteria?”
“A two- or three-bedroom bungalow in Tonawanda with a fenced yard for Holly, and a place that’s pretty much turnkey.” She paused. “I sure wish it was you helping me pick out a place.”
“Me, too. But moving around is really hard right now. I had to force myself to go out today. I’m going to try to do more of it, but it’s pretty exhausting.”
“It’ll get better,” she assured me and patted my knee once again. She gave me one of her most affectionate smiles. “You look tired.”
“I am.”
“What else do you need before you go to sleep?”
“A pain pill and some water.”
Maggie stood, found the yellow pill container on top of the dresser, doled one out, and then got me a glass of water from the bathroom. I took it and handed back the glass.
“Do you need help getting that leg up on the bed?”
“I can do it myself—but I wouldn’t say no to a helping hand.”
Between the two of us, I got settled on the bed.
“You never sleep on your back,” she commented.
“I don’t have a lot of choice right now. I hurt no matter what position I’m in.”
“It won’t last forever,” she said, echoing what both Richard and Brenda had told me.
“Believe me, I’m counting the days.”
Maggie pulled the sheet up, covering me, then leaned down and gave me a sweet good-night kiss. “I love you.”
“I love you, too, Maggs. I’m sorry I’m not in a position to show you just how much.”
“You will,” she said, and it felt like a promise. “I’d better scoot before Herschel tries to make another great escape. We’ll talk again tomorrow.”
“Good night.”
She headed for the door, switched off the overhead light, and left me alone with just the glow of the nightlight on the far wall.
I leaned back against the pillow and focused my gaze on the darkened ceiling above. Okay, for the time being the two of us were in limbo … or perhaps in stasis. She was too tied up in her desire to move, and I had at least two months to heal. Our times together were going to be hit or miss for a while, but maybe I could talk her into coming to stay with me across the driveway for the occasional weekend. Richard actually liked Maggie’s dog, Holly, so maybe he and Brenda would be willing to take care of her and let me go back to m
y own place for a short respite. God, how I missed my own bed—my home.
Herschel suddenly levitated to land beside me—without a sound and without jostling the bed. He nestled close to me and purred with gusto.
I closed my eyes and tried to relax. Maggie and I might not be totally in sync, but we were in a better place than we’d been and there was the possibility that Richard, Brenda, and I could become a team. The thought pleased me, even though I had no idea how it would work—or how I was going to support myself. A part of me looked forward to never having to punch a time clock again—but what Richard proposed might expose me—my mind—to untold horror. Reliving a death and the emotions that accompanied the experience could be a devastating, and yet the possibilities intrigued me.
I couldn’t wait for morning to come so that Richard, Brenda, and I could discuss the future. I just wasn’t sure Maggie would be happy about whatever we came up with. Our relationship too often teetered on shaky ground.
Maybe it was wishful thinking, but it seemed like the pain pill kicked in and I pulled the sheet up to my neck and finally slept. But then I dreamed of a murky sky, a hooded figure, hollow footfalls, and the shock of a terrified scream…
And I wondered who it was that was destined to die.
15
Brenda was my designated caregiver the next morning, and like Maggie, she closed the pantry door to the kitchen so that Herschel couldn’t escape. “You’re going to take a shower today,” she commanded, and produced an aluminum and hard plastic stool that barely fit the three-quarter shower stall in the tiny bathroom that adjoined the craft room.
“I don’t want to do this. I don’t care if I stink.”
“Yeah, well, I do.” Brenda produced a large, heavy-duty black garbage bag, a roll of duct tape, and sat me down inside the shower to figure things out. Once I’d taped the loose ends of the bag over the top of my thigh, she came in to turn on the water, angling the spray away from me until she decided the temperature was within reasonable tolerance. She handed me a washcloth and a bar of soap.
“Go to it,” she said, and retreated.
The hot water felt wonderful as it pounded against my skin. I worked up a satisfying lather and washed as much of my body as I could, and then rinsed. Then I sat back, with eyes closed and let that magnificent hot water pummel me for long minutes.
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