Sinister Stage: A Ghost Story Romance and Mystery (Wicks Hollow Book 5)

by Colleen Gleason

  Instead of taking a seat, she tracked down the café inside the hospital and grabbed a few granola bars and a couple of waters and coffees. Who knew how long they’d be waiting, and she figured Jake wouldn’t want to leave to eat.

  When she came back to the emergency room waiting area, the woman behind the counter waved her over. “Are you here with a patient? Someone is waiting for you in the back, but I can’t give out the name.”

  “DeRiccio,” she said, and the administrator nodded.

  “Yes, the son is back there with him and said you could come back too.”

  Vivien felt a shudder of relief. If Jake was inviting her to come to the examination room, then it must not be desperate.

  Unless it was horribly desperate, and he wanted someone to wait with him…

  The nurse who led her back past rows of curtained rooms didn’t give any indication of Mr. DeRiccio’s status, and Vivien didn’t want to ask. She’d find out soon enough. The place smelled like antiseptic and medicine and other scents she figured were things she’d rather not identify, all things considered.

  “Okay for her to come in, sir?” asked the nurse, stopping at one of the curtains and poking her head around the edge.

  “Yes, please,” came a grumpy, gravelly voice. “I want a witness in case he tries to kill me.”

  “You almost did that yourself, Pop,” said Jake as Vivien slipped in through a gap in the curtains. His eyes lit on her, and the relief and warmth in them made her feel a little wobbly inside.

  “Thank God you came with him,” said Ricky DeRiccio, who was lying on the hospital bed. “Otherwise, who knows what he’d do.”

  Vivien had to stifle a gasp at the sight of the old man. He looked frail and ashen, and his face was a mess of swollen red wheals over the weak pallor of his skin. What she could see of his arms—he had an IV needle stuck into the back of his hand, and the other arm had a blood-pressure cuff around the bicep—were also covered with the same angry red bumps. His thick black hair was an unruly mess, and his mustache bristled every which way as if it needed a comb.

  “Pop tangled with a bee’s nest,” said Jake before she could ask. “After I told him not to—”

  “You did nothing of the sort, sonny. You told me you’d take care of it, but you didn’t, and it was a week ago, and I wanted to trim the bushes under that window,” replied his father stoutly. “So I took care of it myself.”

  Vivien swore she heard Jake counting under his breath before he replied very calmly, “When I told you I would take care of it, that meant for you not to do it, Pop. And it meant that I would as soon as I could. And it was only two days ago that I told you I would take care of it.”

  Jake looked at her with something like pleading in his eyes. She wasn’t certain if he was asking for her to side with him against his father (as if), give him a break from his dad somehow, or simply empathize with his frustration and worry. Having a difficult parent of her own, Vivien could relate to the latter, at least.

  “Well, it looks like the bees got the best of you, Mr. DeRiccio,” she said, coming closer to the bed. “I’m sorry to see that. I hope you’re not in too much pain.”

  “Not anymore. They fixed me up just fine.” He pouted a little and looked even more Mario-like with those big eyes and the forward-thrust lower lip below his mustache. “I was being very careful, even though Genius here doesn’t think I know what I’m doing. I used a rake to knock it down, but when I was running away, I tripped over a damned stone and fell on my a—fell, and the blasted bees attacked.”

  “Ouch,” Vivien said. “I’m very glad you aren’t allergic.”

  “That makes two of us,” Jake muttered. “Pop, I have no idea what possessed you—”

  “Now don’t you lecture me, Elwood,” growled his father. “I’ve had enough pain in my ass for one day. I don’t need you on there too, like a damned boil.” He turned his attention to Vivien and managed to look adorably pathetic. “Got stung so many times, I got to feeling all weak and lightheaded. Started getting a pain in my chest, too. Genius here don’t care about that, he just wants to lecture me about—”

  “Pop, that’s not true,” Jake said, his eyes bulging and his jaws clamped tight. “You almost went into cardiac arrest. Your blood pressure was dropping—Christ, Vivien can tell you I was terrified all the way here that something was going to happen to you before I could get here, like—like Mom.”

  That last bit plopped right down there among all of them, landing like a meteor, and Vivien winced a little inside. There was a flash of grief in Ricky DeRiccio’s eyes, but it was gone in an instant. The silence was broken when the blood-pressure cuff on his arm turned on with a little hum and began to tighten for a reading.

  “Well, I’m glad you’re all right. I’d hate to have to recast Mr. Gibbs,” she said, interrupting the two men as they eyed each other with mingled fury and sadness.

  “Yeah, that reminds me,” said the patient a little grumpily. “Mr. Gibbs is a Presbyterian, isn’t he? I don’t think I can play a Presbyterian—and I don’t look like one of them either,” he said, as if they were easily identifiable or contagious. “Can’t you make him a Catholic? With a good Italian name?”

  Jake muttered something that sounded suspiciously as if he were taking the Lord’s name in vain, but Vivien ignored him. “I don’t see why not. It’s a small role and it’s only in one scene. Let me know what name you’d like to use, and—”

  “Excuse me,” said a nurse, peeking in from around the curtain. “Mr. DeRiccio, your room is ready, and so we’re going to move you there in a few minutes.”

  “Room? I thought I was going home! I don’t want to stay here,” Ricky said, suddenly looking upset and even frightened. “He’s a doctor—my son—so he can stay with me. At home. I’m going to go home.”

  “Pop, they just want to keep you overnight for observation,” said Jake, exchanging meaningful glances with the nurse. “Your blood pressure was pretty low, and you did have chest pain.”

  “I don’t want to stay here,” Ricky said again, his brow furrowing. “I don’t like hospitals. And their food is inedible—no offense, miss,” he added to the nurse.

  “None taken. And I happen to concur with your assessment,” she said with a smile. “About the quality of the food, anyway, but not about you going home. And neither does Dr. Frantner.”

  “And neither does your son,” added Jake, “who, as you’ve so kindly mentioned, is a doctor. It’s just overnight, Pop. Oh, I know—how about if Vivien and I go and get you something from Luciano’s? It’s one of his favorite old haunts from when he lived in Grand Rapids,” he told Vivien. “Not far from here.”

  “They closed down two years ago,” replied his father in disgust—probably for his son not knowing this vital information, not because the eatery was closed. “Luciano dropped dead of a heart attack while he was rolling out pasta—ended up with imprints from the metal thing all over his face—and his wife retired and moved to Florida.

  “But now that you mention it, you could go get me something from Federico’s—they’re down on Ionia. Their osso bucco is almost as good as my nonna’s was.” His eyes had lit up, and Vivien swore he was salivating. “I can have it—I didn’t have a heart attack! They said my heart’s just fine, sonny, so just shut your mouth and don’t argue for once.”

  Jake sighed. “Fine. I suppose you deserve something after all of this. Oh, man, Vivien, I’m sorry. Would you mind terribly?” he asked, as if suddenly remembering she was stranded at the hospital with him for as long as he was here.

  “Not at all. Italian sounds amazing to me—I haven’t had a real meal in two days.” She was completely fine with ignoring the fact that she had two granola bars and a couple bottles of water in her bag. Authentic Italian won the day over granola bars, Thai, and—if she were being honest—even Mexican, every day.

  Plus it would give her an excellent excuse not to be back at the theater for a little while.

  Just so she could
think about things.

  Not Jake.

  Definitely other things besides Jake.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Jake would never have imagined his first “new” date with Vivien would be at an Italian restaurant getting carry-out for his father in the hospital.

  “You get going, sonny,” ordered his pop. “It’ll take’em an hour to get me settled in my room—no, you don’t need to wait with me. Where the hell am I going to go anyway? They’ve got me all wired up and stuff—look at this crap in the back of my hand and in my arm. It’s like I’m on my deathbed or something. And I’m sure as hell not going to get lost—this pretty lady isn’t going to let me go anywhere but to the john or to my room is she?” he added, giving the nurse a wink.

  “Not a chance, there, sir,” she replied with a laugh. “We’ll strap you down if we have to, and jam a catheter up your urethra if need be.” She was about fifty years old with a very capable air, and Jake figured she’d seen it all when it came to feisty old men in the ER. He concluded his dad was in excellent hands.

  “The sooner you get going, Elwood,” continued his annoyingly bossy parent, “the sooner you’ll be back with my osso bucco…which I haven’t had made properly for at least twenty years. Don’t mention anything to Mattie, though, because she made it for me last year on your mother’s recipe—which never turned out right in forty years, but I never told your mother—and Mattie’s was so tough that I had to chew it for five minutes—how can anyone make osso bucco tough?—but I didn’t tell her that, of course.”

  Jake hadn’t seen his father so animated since…hell, he didn’t know when. He could hardly believe that less than three hours ago, Pop had been on the verge of cardiac arrest, his blood pressure in the toilet, and he’d been almost catatonic from the numerous bee stings.

  Amazing what the thought of a good meal could do for a guy. Oh, and drugs.

  “Elwood,” Pop said, plucking at Jake’s sleeve just as he was ready to leave the little curtained room.

  “What is it, Pop?” Jake asked, suddenly nervous, and searching his father’s face for the truth. “Are you feeling all right? I can stay, you know—I’m sure Vivien would go and get—”

  “Yes, yes, I’m fine, for Pete’s sake—Jesus, Mary, and Joseph, I’m not made out of glass, Elwood.”

  “What is it, then?” Jake asked.

  Pop glanced at Vivien, who was prudently waiting just out of earshot at the edge of the curtain, then he said in a low voice, “You take your time, sonny, all right? It’ll be hours before they get me settled and get all the testing done and let me eat—I know how these prisons work—and so you just take your time at the restaurant. I picked a really nice one—God knows you can afford it. Wine and dine her a little—I’ll still be here when you get back. No need to rush.”

  Jake straightened up and looked at his father askance. “Pop, what the—”

  “She’s the one, isn’t she? The girl in New York? From way back? I didn’t put it together right away—and you didn’t bother to tell me, you blithering idiot—but then I remembered her.”

  Pop shook his head like he didn’t know what to think of his son—like he’d just been arrested for murder—and continued, “You can thank me later for setting this up, and don’t mess things up this time, Genius, all right? And you bring me the best damned osso bucco in Grand Rapids as a thank you—and make sure they put polenta with it, not potatoes, not tonight—and some cannoli, yes three cannoli—one pistachio, two chocolate, you got that? You do that, or I’ll run off with her myself. And you know we DeRiccios are irresistible to women.”

  Jake barely managed to control a smile. “Well, Vivien did tell me she thought you were adorable. So I guess I’d—”

  “She did?” Pop actually shot up from his half-reclined position in the hospital bed. “She said that?” His cheeks pinked a little beneath the bee stings.

  “Yep. And since I’m a good guy, I promise not to smother you—my rival—in your hospital bed, and instead I’ll go off and wine and dine her while you get poked and prodded and show your bare ass to the nurses— Oh, don’t deny it, Pop. I’m a doctor. I know how things work in a hospital,” Jake said with a broad smile as he made his escape.

  Thank God. Thank God Pop’s all right.

  That sentiment—and the silly fact that his pop was playing matchmaker from his hospital bed—made Jake feel almost giddy as he came out of the curtained carrel in the ER.

  “Well, you heard the man,” Jake said to Vivien. “We’d better go get him some dinner. And he said to take our time so he can get settled in his room.”

  “What about your sisters?” Vivien asked as he started for the driver’s-side door of his car. “I’m sure they’re waiting to hear from you. I’ll drive so you can text them.”

  Jake sighed and pivoted to go to the passenger door. “I might just as well call them—even if I text, they’ll just call me anyway. Look.” He held up his phone and she saw six missed calls from Mattie and five from Irene, along with twenty text notifications.

  Fifteen minutes later, they were seated at Federico’s. Even though it was Friday, because it was midafternoon, they were able to get a cozy booth tucked in the back. It was terribly, horribly, wonderfully romantic, with lush navy velvet upholstery and a cluster of three real candles on the table, along with a small bud vase of fragrant peonies. Traditional Italian music played at the perfect volume in the background, and the light sconces on the walls cast golden glows on idyllic paintings of Tuscany landscapes. Vivien felt like she was in The Godfather.

  Vivien ordered a negroni, and between phone calls, Jake decided on a glass of Primitivo. He was still talking to one of his sisters—maybe Irene, whom Vivien was pretty sure was the second one; Mathilda, a.k.a. Mattie, was the eldest—but Vivien could tell the conversation was wrapping up. He’d had to give each of his siblings all of the same information despite the fact that he’d probably texted the info as well, and she could see that he was quite ready to be done with it.

  Just as their drinks—and a bread basket—arrived, he disconnected the last call.

  “I really need this,” he said, lifting the wine to smell it. “Mm. Nice. My sisters make me crazy sometimes. Most of the time.”

  Vivien submerged a quiet pang of sorrow that she didn’t have a sister to drive her crazy (although sometimes Liv did anyway, at least in her mind). She helped herself to a hunk of crusty bread and dragged it through the greenish-yellow olive oil sprinkled with salt and pepper. She was starving.

  There was silence for a moment as they looked through the menus. Vivien felt both awkward and utterly comfortable—how was that possible?—sitting here at a restaurant across from the man with whom she’d once shared everything.

  Finally, he put the menu down and looked at her with those dark, dark eyes as candlelight smoldered between them. “Vivien…thank you.” That was all he said, but there were volumes in the tone and in his gaze.

  The lump in her throat made it impossible for her to respond right away, so she nodded, then lifted her glass. “To Ricky,” she said when she found her voice. “May he live another three decades or more, thus ensuring all of your thick, gorgeous hair goes completely gray.”

  Jake laughed, his eyes warm over the rim of his wine glass. “To Pop’s health.”

  They placed their orders, including the to-go, and then there was nothing left to do but talk.

  “What happened with your mom?” Vivien spoke first purposely in order to divert the conversation from the uncomfortable topic she knew was coming.

  “She was being treated for colorectal adenocarcinoma—uh, colon cancer—and she seemed to be doing well, responding to chemo as expected. We’d all visited her here—it’ll be two years ago in September. Then one day in November I got a call from Pop—not much different from today’s call—that they were on their way to the hospital because she was feeling really sick. We were all in shock when she died later that night—it was sepsis from the chemo, and it took her
really fast—before any of us could even think about getting on a plane.”

  “So none of you really got to say goodbye to her.” Vivien reached across the table and touched his hand. “That’s awful. I’m sorry.”

  “No, we didn’t—although at least we’d all seen her a short while earlier. That’s why everyone was so—tense, I guess, today. My sisters and Dom were already making reservations to fly in.” He turned his hand upside down so that her fingers slipped into his palm.

  His hand, his skin, the texture, the shape…it all felt good. Right. Familiar.

  Vivien pulled her hand away under the guise of adjusting her seat.

  Too much. Too much.

  “How’s your mom? And your grandmother?” he asked.

  “Gran died last year,” Vivien replied. “She left me a little bit of money, and that’s how I bought the theater with cash.”

  “I’m sorry. I know you were close. I only met her the one time, but she was a nice, really fun woman. I loved the way she just broke out into song and dance right in the middle of Bryant Park—remember, you were talking about some hot new show on Broadway? She collected quite the audience. I think it had something to do with the content of the song, but I can’t remember.”

  Vivien’s eyes stung a little, and she laughed through the glimmer of tears. “I remember that. It was ‘Ohmigod You Guys’ from Legally Blonde, and she inadvertently made about fifteen bucks in tips that night after singing and dancing her butt off for five minutes—which she donated to the animal shelter in Wicks Hollow. Oh, I do miss her a lot. But it’s because of her that I was able to move back here. So I’m okay with it. She had a good, long life.

  “And as for my mom—well, she’s living in Boise with her husband. She’s been clean and sober for six years and counting now. He’s really good with her—they met at a dog park near where she lived at the time. She got an emotional support dog to help with her anxiety and addictive behaviors, and it’s really helped keep her healthy.”