by B R Snow
“Don’t make me call your mother.”
“You wouldn’t dare.”
“Watch me,” Josie said, reaching for her phone.
“All right,” I said, shaking my head. “I’m leaving. But how about I make lunch and bring it down later?”
“That you can do,” Josie said, giving me a finger wave as she headed for the exam room.
I spent the next few days doing as she suggested, and being surrounded by seven dogs while I convalesced was better than any of the painkillers I’d been prescribed.
After a week, the sling came off, and I was able to use my arm for most daily activities. But my shoulder still ached, and it looked like I was definitely going to be left with a scar, a not so friendly reminder of my encounter with a flare gun that had been fired by a scared, young woman who’d gotten caught up in the moment and decided she was out of options. Josie and Chef Claire are both encouraging me to get a tattoo to hide the scar. I’m thinking about it, but I’m leaning toward keeping it as is to serve as a reminder of how easy it is for your life to be over in a flash if you stop paying attention.
Either that or a puppy tattoo.
I did call Jessie after I heard she’d been institutionalized again, and we spoke at length. She seemed relatively stable but was still furious about being held against her will and unable to resume her life as a college student. I felt bad for her and felt even worse when I realized that there was really nothing I could do for her. She has a very long road to recovery ahead of her, and she’s going to have to do pretty much all the driving.
I tried twice but was unable to connect with Missy. Either the prison where she was being held wasn’t letting her take calls, or she simply didn’t want to speak with me. But through Detective Williams, I was able to follow the progress of her case that was heading for a speedy trial and a very lengthy sentence. The detective and I made our peace after he apologized for his behavior, and I promised not to get snarky with him or bring up the fact that he somehow managed to get wedged in a doorway at the exact moment my life was in danger.
Really? A doorway?
Unfreakingbelievable.
I’ve gone back and forth more times than I care to admit about what really motivated Missy to kill the two men. And every time I find myself dwelling on that question, I always end up stuck in a loop with a neuron headache. The closest I can come to a conclusion is that it might actually have had a lot more to do with Missy’s history with both men than it did about her trying to protect Jessie from herself. And I wondered if Jessie’s situation was simply a good excuse for committing the murders and then rationalizing them away. But given Missy’s intelligence and educational background, she has a much better chance of decoding her real motive than I do, and she’s certainly going to have a lot of time to figure it out. And when she does, maybe she’ll be kind enough to explain it to me someday.
Sammy and Jill returned from their honeymoon content and tanned and still basking in their newly-married glow. The fact that her beloved godmother had killed two men continues to torment her, and the death of her father lingers just below the surface. Occasionally, I’ll find her sobbing by herself in various sections of the Inn, but instead of burying it, she’s definitely dealing with her grief, and it appears that in some strange way it’s making her stronger and bringing her and Sammy even closer together. I like their chances going forward.
Chief Abrams, with my mother’s help, continued to labor under a self-imposed sense of guilt about how close I’d come to getting killed and decided to try and make it up to me by hovering. At first, I thought his constant dropping by to see if I needed anything during my initial recovery was thoughtful and cute. Then it started to annoy me. And after a week, I finally had to sit him down for a serious chat about my need for space, how I really wasn’t in that much danger that night, and, despite his comical attempt to get through the bathroom door, it wasn’t his fault. There was no way Missy was going to be able to get anything in my mouth, and getting hit by the flare was a one in a million combination of a lucky shot and stroke of bad luck. Eventually, he settled down, and our friendship was back on solid ground.
At the moment, he’s standing next to me in the kitchen and looking over my shoulder watching me add the final ingredients to the beef stew I’m making. It’s Monday, family dinner night, and the adults have the house to themselves now that we’ve put all seven dogs outside to enjoy the warm evening air and the impending sunset that promises a lot of purple and orange, one of my favorites. The three labs are growing like weeds, and even I’m forced to admit that having seven bruisers in the house can be a bit much. But then I start rolling around the floor with all of them, and I’m toast.
In the living room, I can hear my mother regaling Josie and Chef Claire with a story about one of her recent dates and soon they are all laughing loudly.
“Who’s the guy your mom is talking about?” the Chief said, grabbing a wooden spoon and stirring the stew.
“I don’t know,” I said, chopping Italian parsley. “But based on what’s she saying, he’s obviously not a keeper.”
“What about you?”
“What about me?” I said, pausing from my chopping to look up at him.
“Are you any closer to finder a keeper?”
“I haven’t found anybody, much less know if he might be a keeper,” I said as I grabbed a handful of parsley and dropped it into the stew.
“Maybe you just need to start looking a little bit harder,” he said, slowly stirring.
“Maybe you need to stop spending so much time around my mother,” I said, cocking my head at him. “What’s going on, Chief? Has giving me relationship advice been added to your penance?”
“Maybe.”
“Unbelievable,” I said, shaking my head.
“But if she asks, make sure you tell her I made an effort.”
“I’ll do that, Chief,” I said, laughing as I headed for the fridge. I rummaged around but couldn’t find what I was looking for. “I can’t believe it.”
“What?”
“I forgot to get sour cream,” I said, closing the fridge and wiping my hands on a dish towel. “I need to run to the store. I’ll be right back.”
“No, I’ll go,” he said, reaching into his pocket for his car keys.
“Are you sure?”
“Not a problem,” he said, heading for the door.
“Thanks. I appreciate it.”
“I’ll be right back.”
“Hey, Chief.”
“Yeah?”
“You need any help getting out the door?”
“Don’t get smart with me, young lady.”
I laughed hard.
“Oh, that was so close. You almost had it.”