by Pamela Cowan
CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
Wednesday, September 19
When the police arrived, sirens blaring, Emma took what felt like her first full breath since being hit and run off the road. The first ambulance took Leo away. Soon after another showed up and she was quickly, and with no argument from her, whisked off to Melvin Morgan Memorial in Blue Spruce.
After arriving, she wondered what all the hurry had been about. For more than an hour, she’d been sitting in a back room in her underwear and a drafty hospital gown. This was not good for someone with no patience. Though it did gave her plenty of time to worry about Leo. All she could hope for was that the wait meant everyone was busy taking care of him. That was a sacrifice of time she was willing to make.
The police arrived before the doctor. Awkwardly she tugged at her dressing gown and did her best to answer their questions. Much of the interview seemed to take place in a fog of pain and anxiety. Her mind was far away. Finally they seemed satisfied and left, though not before telling her to come in and give a statement as soon as she was able.
A doctor finally showed up, shook her hand and introduced herself. She took a quick look at her various injuries, poked, prodded and made her move things in ways that were not comfortable. Then she said she’d order x-rays. When Emma asked about Leo she shook his head and said, “Another doctor is looking at him,” and then she left.
Another wait, a little shorter this time, before the doctor returned. Ignoring Emma, she sat in a rolling chair, opened a monitor, looked at it without expression, hit a few keys, looked some more and then spun her chair to face her.
“Let’s see. You have a bump on your forehead and possibly a mild concussion. It’s not severe so bed rest, fluids, ice for the bump and take some ibuprofen.
“There is some bruising and a few minor scratches on your neck, but we’ll clean them up and get you some antibiotic cream.
“The knee is going to take the longest to heal. I’m pretty sure it’s a sprain but we’ll see how it goes and I might order an MRI.
The ankle is a bruised Achilles tendon. You’ll need to wear a boot for a month or more. I was worried about a tear but it looks pretty good and we want to keep it that way. I want you to follow up with your own doctor and let him know if you develop a headache, or feel nauseous or dizzy. Do you have all that?”
Emma nodded. “Can I get dressed now?” She was more concerned with Leo than with her minor bumps and bruises. All she wanted was to get out of this room and find him.
The doctor gave Emma her first smile. “Not yet. I’ll send a nurse in to bandage your knee and show you how to strap your foot into the boot. She’ll also talk to you about crutches or a cane. You’re lucky the injury to your knee and ankle are on the same leg or you’d be going home in a wheelchair. I know you’ve been through a traumatic experience, so the nurse will also have a list of local counseling services. Do you have any questions?”
Emma shook her head. “No, I’m good.”
“Great. Take care of yourself.”
The minute she was out of the room, Emma scooted to the end of the bed and pulled up the bag of her clothes that they’d hung there. She tore off the gown and quickly put on her bra and struggled into her blouse. Then, so as not to waste time, she managed to get her good leg into one leg of her pants.
She was sitting there, mostly dressed, when the nurse showed up. Maybe her sense of urgency helped the nurse move faster. In any case, she was bandaged, booted, and had her release paperwork in hand in minutes.
“You’ll want a cane at least,” the nurse said, handing her a wooden cane with a rubber tip.
Emma found that, with its help, she could walk, albeit slowly, and she proved it for the nurse. No crutches needed.
“Here are some lists of physical therapists and counselors, your prescriptions, and an after care packet,” the nurse said. “Make sure you call a physical therapist as soon as possible.”
Emma took the multiple sheets of paper she’d been given, folded them in half and shoved them in her back pocket.
Now I’ll go get a wheelchair and we can get you out of here.”
“Okay,” said Emma brightly, and as soon as the woman was out of sight, limped into the hallway and down the corridor to the elevators.
Eventually she made her way to the ER registration desk and asked if Leo Vargus had been admitted. The nurse checked, then said, “Are you a family member?”
“I’m his sister,” she lied.
“Well then, Mr. Vargus was treated and released.”
“So he wasn’t hurt badly.”
“I don’t think so.”
Unexpectedly, dark gray shadows gathered on the edges of her vision. Emma’s legs felt weak and she wobbled, then abruptly sat in one of the chairs in front of the receptionist’s desk.
Bent forward, cupping her face in her hands she tried not to faint. As if from nowhere, her own invisible man, Leo, appeared beside her. She felt his arm go around her shoulders. Smelled the cologne he wore. El was there too, stroking her hair, asking if she was all right.
She took a deep breath and the darkness was gone. “I’m fine, I’m good,” she said, and it was the truth. “I guess it hit me all of a sudden. Getting kidnapped. Almost hung. Shot at. You getting shot,” she said, looking up at Leo. Can you guys take me home?”
“I can call a taxi to take us all home,” said Ellen, and Emma realized that she had no idea where her Jeep was.
Once in the taxi, they decided to go to Ellen’s house. The house had belonged to their father but when he decided to leave for Panama he’d left it for the girl’s use, to live in or rent, he’d told them.
After Mark, Emma had no desire to live with someone and said no thanks. Ellen, with no desire to look for an apartment, had moved in. Given that she carried all her worldly belongings in two large duffel bags, it hadn’t taken long.
“I think you should stay in the guest room until you’re better,” Ellen said. The guest room had once been Emma’s. Ellen hadn’t changed anything and she hoped the familiarity would be comforting.
When they arrived at the house, Leo asked the cab to wait while he helped Emma inside.
“Stay here with your sister,” he said to her. “She’s been really worried about you. “I’m going to go home, get a shower, change clothes and get my car. I’ll be back in a few hours.”
“You sure you’re okay to take a shower by yourself?” Emma asked innocently. It was only when she saw her sister roll her eyes that she realized the unintentional double entendre in the question. “I m-mean, are you feeling okay?”
“He’s fine,” Ellen said, and continued to tease her sister. “I’m sure he can shower without your help. The bullet just grazed his forearm. Nothing vital was damaged.”
“Nothing vital?,” said Leo, sounding aghast. “You call this beautiful mocha skin not vital? I’ll have you know there are women in many countries who would fight you on this.”
“Here we go,” said Ellen.
Emma lay back on the couch and closed her eyes. Safe. She was safe. The sound of Leo and El’s voices like warm water, soothing her frayed nerves.
Her thoughts drifted to the conversation they’d had in the taxi on the way here.
Ellen, who had stayed at the scene talking to the police while Leo and Emma were transported to the hospital, shared what she’d learned.
“Ernesto is dead. The police told me it looked like the other two men climbed out of a bathroom window and took off. They're looking for them but,” she shrugged. “The cops think they’re connected to a Mexican cartel, so I’m guessing they’ve got the resources to get away clean.
“Maybe,” said Emma. “Then again, they didn’t seem all that smart.”
“What I don’t understand,” continued Ellen, “is what in the actual fuck is going on? I mean, you were looking into an arson and sort of tripped over a murder and drug dealers. I thought this Willy kid was the killer and the case was solved.”
“You got
some ‘splainin to do, Lucy,” said Leo.
Emma brought them up to date on her investigation. At least the main points. She knew they’d want to go over it all again in greater detail. That would have to wait for later. She was tired, exhausted, plus, the pain killers were starting to kick in.
Sleep was at the end of a narrow tunnel that her thoughts kept sliding toward, thoughts about the investigation, the puppet master who was still out there, pulling strings, moving pieces. No, that was a chess master. Pawns, that what chess masters moved. Poor little pawns like her, like Willy, like Bonnie.
Her eyes snapped open and Emma sat up.
“What is it?” Ellen asked.
“I forgot about Bonnie.”
CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE
Wednesday September 19
When Ellen called to say they couldn’t reach Leena on her phone, and were going to drive out to Jansen’s Mill, Leo had rushed over.
While he drove, Emma had filled them in on all she knew about Bonnie. The girl’s belief in her cousin’s innocence. Her terrible home life. The guilt Emma felt for not taking some kind of action, maybe even taking Bonnie out of there. She’d do that now. Take Bonnie home, at least for now, at least until she knew she was safe. If Leena got in the way she was more than sure El or Leo could handle her. Once she got them to buy in. If she could get them to buy in. It wasn’t looking so good.
When Emma told her what she planned to do, Ellen said pretty much what she expected. “She’s not your responsibility. Lots of kids have tough lives.”
“But what if, by telling me that Willy didn’t kill Dodge, she made the wrong people angry?”
“You’ve had a really rough day. You’re seeing monsters under the bed,” said Ellen.
Emma wondered if her sister was thinking of her breakdown. Was she calling her crazy?
Before she could respond, Leo, sensing the growing tension said, “Let’s just get out there and see how she is. We’ll decide from there.”
Emma turned to Leo to respond. That was when she had seen the smoke, hanging like a dark curtain in the distance, and knew. She didn’t want to know, was afraid to say anything in case the words somehow magically created a reality she didn’t want. Maybe, like Schrödinger’s’ Cat, if she didn’t look inside the box . . .
Even in Leo’s Dodge Charger, with him ignoring the speed limits and pushing the sleek machine as much as he dared, it took forever to get there. Finally, they reached the road to Jansen’s Mill. Leo slowed down, pulled off the highway and onto the side of the dirt road, then stopped the car.
“I can’t drive this car up that,” he said, as he took in the deep ruts and rocks in the unmaintained road. “She’s too low slung. We’d get stuck. I’m sorry.”
“It’s okay,” Emma told him, putting her hand on his arm. “You got us this far.”
They got out of the car. No one questioned Emma or suggested she stay behind. Instead they bracketed her between them. Leo, offered her his arm while Ellen put her arm around her waist. The eerie ululations of police and fire sirens echoed from the surrounding hills.
On the highway, traffic sped by unconcerned, tires tires hissing on the asphalt like massive angry snakes. As they drew closer they saw lights reflected off the trees, a visual metronome flashing red, blue, red, blue.
The sun was beginning to set, changing the color of the forest, bright greens in daylight, but now with shadows like dark stains rising from the ground.
On the horizon, dark pink and orange clouds stretched across the sky like torn banners, announcing something grim, and final.
Trudging forward, Emma finally saw what she’d been dreading. Fire had turned Leena and Bonnie’s home into a pile of dark rubble, framed with thin sheets of seared metal. Their twisted shapes, standing like strange abstract art, were evidence of the heat of the fire. A rainbow in the fire hose spray, faded with the sun. Water dripped from every surface and created vapor that hovered like fog.
The wind changed, blowing the smoke toward them. It was thick with the musty smell of charred wood, and the sweet scent of melted insulation. Beneath those was something else. Emma brought her hand up to cover her nose and mouth. She turned to Leo and said, “Will you ask?”
His expression was grim, jaws clenched.
Ellen squeezed Emma’s shoulder and they watched as Leo walked toward the group of neighbors, who were clustered near the scene.
When he returned he looked at Emma, then at the ground, and said, “They say two bodies were carried out on stretchers. It might not have been Bonnie.”
Emma shook her head. She knew better. It was okay to speak now. The spell had been broken.
“She told me she heard the shot, that it couldn’t be Willy. I wasn’t sure I believed her, but I should have. Ernesto told me he did it. He said, “ ‘I blew his head off.’ He told me the truth, and so did Bonnie.
“And you’ll share that truth with the police,” said Ellen. “You did what you set out to do. You found the person who killed Dodge. You also did what Bonnie asked you to do. Prove her cousin was innocent.”
“The only thing they have is my word that he said what he said.”
“They’ll believe you. You have nothing to gain by lying. Besides, maybe they’ll find the shotgun he used in that garage. Maybe they’ll find a lot more. Like you said, it wasn’t the first time they’ve done something like this.”
“Even if they do believe me, that’s not the end of it,” said Emma.
“It is,” said Leo. “Ellen ended it when she killed Ernesto.”
Emma shook her head stubbornly. “No, she didn’t. I know Ernesto killed Dodge. He bragged about it. He also talked about someone else, someone who warned him that I’d be trouble. I think that’s the person who is responsible for everything, the drugs, the arson, Dodge.”
“This fire?” asked Ellen.
“Was no accident. Ernesto’s boss did this. He killed them. He murdered Leena and Bonnie.
“Then it’s not over,” said Leo.
“Not by a long shot.”
OTHER TITLES
Storm McKenzie Vigilante Series
Storm Justice
Storm Vengeance
Storm Retribution
Eulalona County Thrillers
Something in The Dark (Mystery)
Cold Kill (Suspense)
AUTHOR
Pamela Cowan is a Pacific Northwest author best known for her contemporary crime novels. Cowan is the author of the Storm series which includes Storm Justice, Storm Vengeance and Storm Retribution, books which follow probation officer, Storm McKenzie, on her single-minded quest for justice. She is also the author of two stand-alone novels based in fictional Eulalona County, Oregon, Something in the Dark and Cold Kill.
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Learn more about Pamela’s novels and short fiction at pamelacowan.com