The Swick and the Dead

by Maggie Foster

  “Understandable.” Caroline nodded. “The bathroom is inside the breakroom, which is inside the ICU, right?”

  Ginny nodded.

  Caroline raised one eyebrow. “I expect the police think that narrows the field very nicely.”

  “If they do, they’re wrong. Normally the ICU is badge-only, but they had the doors propped open last night because of the heavy traffic.” She looked across at Caroline and raised both eyebrows. “Don’t let anyone tell you a full moon doesn’t make a difference. It does!”

  Jim nodded. “Someone could have gotten in and out again without being noticed.”

  “Bonnie Prince Charlie could have shown up in full Highland dress, with a piper, and we wouldn’t have noticed. We were too busy.”

  “Ye had four admissions, I think ye said.” Himself had turned his chair so he could face the group, his feet solidly on the floor, his walking stick planted between his knees, brushing the hem of his kilt. His hands, one on top of the other, lay on the knob of his cane.

  Ginny nodded. “Two of which were mine, and two Code Blues. On top of that, we had the photographer from Human Resources. He told us he was assigned to get pictures of the night crews with the Christmas decorations and was going from unit to unit collecting images to use in marketing and advertising. The Night Supervisor introduced him and stayed long enough to make sure she was in some of the photographs, then disappeared. We had to order him out of the way at least twice. He wanted action shots. I don’t know when he gave up and left.”

  “Ye knew th’ dead lass, I think?”

  “We were friends in school.” Ginny’s face clouded. “Two boys at home, ages three and five. Whoever did this should be strung up!”

  They all nodded agreement.

  “What happens next?” Jim asked.

  “We wait for the police to finish processing the body and the scene. They closed the Unit, moved all the patients, and sent us home with instructions not to leave town.”

  “But surely you have an alibi! All those witnesses!”

  Ginny gave Caroline a pitying smile. “Without turning around, can you tell me who is dancing at the moment?”

  “Well, no, of course not.”

  “You know the dancers. You see them every week. Did you notice if anyone was missing tonight?”

  Caroline shook her head.

  “It wouldn’t take more than fifteen minutes to kill Phyllis and hide the body. Whoever did it probably can produce witnesses who would swear she—or he—was right there, in plain sight the whole time.”

  “What about the cameras and that photographer fellow?”

  “The police are looking at the images. Let’s hope they find something. In the meantime, all we can do is wait.” She looked across the table at Jim. “At least you’re off the hook.”

  “Why is he off the hook?” Caroline asked.

  “Because he wasn’t on the Code team last night.”

  Jim nodded. “I had my hands full, though. We had the usual drug overdoses and schizophrenics and someone who wanted to save our souls, plus four car wrecks, a venomous snake bite, two anaphylaxis, one corneal abrasion, two heart attacks, and at least a dozen viral illnesses with no primary care provider. No gunshot wounds and no sexual assault last night, which is a surprise, but we did have one person who ‘accidentally’ sat on a foreign object.”

  Ginny snickered. She was fully aware of what oddities could come through the doors of a big city Emergency Room, especially at night, on a full moon.

  Caroline turned to Jim. “Did you have to go up to the ICU and pronounce death?”

  He shook his head. “Day shift got that honor. I was in the back, catching up on charting.”

  “Well,” Caroline continued, “the obvious thing to do is solve the crime as soon as possible, so you can all go back to normal.” She looked significantly at Ginny.

  “Who? Me?” Ginny shook her head. “No, thank you.”

  “You solved the last murder that happened at Hillcrest.”

  Ginny shifted in her seat. “Not exactly.”

  “You and Jim.”

  Ginny exchanged glances with Jim. It was true. Between the two of them, they had caught a murderer, but it had come at a price.

  “I think we should give the police a chance to do their job,” Jim said. “If they need our help, we can step in later.” He came around to Ginny’s side of the table. “Come on. I’ll take you home.”

  Her mother let them in. Ginny said goodnight to both, climbed the stairs, and slipped into her bedroom. She dropped her purse on the chest of drawers and sat down on the end of her bed. There ought to be a law, she thought to herself. Unless you choose to be a policeman, one murder per lifetime, no more. She could hear Jim and her mother murmuring, discussing her, no doubt, then Jim’s footsteps on the stair. He tapped on her door.

  “May I come in?” He stuck his head around the edge of the door and she nodded.

  “I have a favor to ask,” he said.

  “What is it?”

  “I want to spend the night in your guest room.”

  “There’s no need.”

  He took a step toward her. “You know your mother talks to Himself?”

  She nodded. The Laird had been acting in loco parentis to her and her brother ever since their father had been killed.

  “She told him you were having nightmares.”

  It was inevitable that the Laird’s acknowledged heir, Jim, would be included in the confidence.

  “It occurred to me that discovering a murdered woman in the bathroom might trigger one.”

  Ginny rose and stepped toward him. He opened his arms to her, enfolding her in a warm hug.

  “I’ll be all right,” she said.

  He kissed the top of her head. “I know you will. I just want to be close tonight.”

  She sighed, then broke out of his arms, and pushed him toward the door.

  “Go home, Jim.”

  “I can’t help if you won’t let me.”

  “We’ll talk tomorrow.” They had a date to meet for lunch.

  He turned at the head of the stairs, slipping a finger under her chin and lifting it until she could not avoid looking into his eyes.

  “Call me, if you wake in the night.”

  She nodded, then watched him descend the stairs and be let out by her mother. He cared and he wanted to help, but it was time he stopped treating her like an invalid.

  The sight of her friend, dead, could easily have triggered a breakdown, but it hadn’t. The professional in her had surfaced, calmly in control after months of being gone. She had turned a corner at last, and all it had taken to do it was another murder.

  * * *

  Chapter 3

  Day 2 – Saturday morning

  Forbes residence

  Ginny stirred her coffee slowly, counter-clockwise, watching the cream make swirls of pale light that faded into the darkness. Good coffee was as soothing as it was stimulating: a chemical enigma. She inhaled the fragrance and let it seep into her soul.

  “Another slice of ham?”

  Ginny raised her eyes from her cup. Her mother was adding ham and eggs to her own plate, not looking at Ginny, her face serene. It was a gift, that face, the ability to look serene no matter what the trouble.

  Ginny nodded, accepting a small slice of ham and a spoonful of eggs, then helping herself to cantaloupe, as a counterpoint to the protein. She picked up her fork and took a bite of the eggs, taking her time, concentrating on the taste and aroma and texture.

  Eating had become a challenge and she’d been shying away from admitting it, but it had to be faced. The pain she felt was psychosomatic, a construct of the emotional pain. Good food was a pleasure, she told herself. Worth the trouble and necessary for health. She nibbled on the cantaloupe.

  “How are you holding up, darling?”

  Ginny gave her mother half a smile. “Phyllis is dead and I’m suspected of murdering her. What do you think?”

  “I think you’
re handling it splendidly.”

  Ginny frowned. “Jim doesn’t. He thinks I’m a mess.”

  “Is that why he wanted to spend the night?”

  “He figures if he can catch me in a meltdown, he’ll know better how to manage my condition.”

  “Sounds like a physician. Why did you send him home?”

  Ginny’s brow wrinkled. “Are you familiar with the term, enabling?”

  “Yes.”

  “Well, that’s what he’s been doing. Every time I face an issue, or an obstacle, or a challenge, he’s there, trying to smooth the way.” She scowled. “All he sees is an emotional cripple.”

  Her eyes dropped to the kitchen table, her mind returning to the scene that had taken place here, right here. The one that made her stomach ache. She picked up her spoon and poked at the coffee cup, reluctant to admit her worst fear.

  Her mother waited patiently, and after a moment, Ginny took a deep breath and asked the question that was haunting her. “What if I can’t do it? What if I can’t bounce back?” She looked up. “Jim’s not imagining it. I am an emotional cripple. I can’t trust myself at work. I can’t force myself to face the ice. I can’t let Jim touch me without fighting down panic.”

  Mrs. Forbes nodded. “First, I have full confidence in you and so does Himself. We both think this is temporary. Second, you have the blood of heroes flowing through your veins. That hasn’t changed. You’re just a wiser version of the person you were.”

  Ginny studied her mother’s face. The Scottish blood to which she referred included some of the boldest of the Highland clans. Men—and women—who had fought on both sides of the Atlantic and, if the stories were to be believed, never once considered giving in to anyone. Some days it was a lot to live up to.

  Her mother continued. “You’re not going to be happy until you take back what Hal took from you and none of us can do that for you. But you don’t have to do it alone. You have me and Himself and Caroline. And you have Jim.”

  Ginny squirmed. “I wish he’d lighten up. He’s so serious.”

  “I think he feels responsible.”

  “He thinks he can fix everything.”

  Her mother’s mouth twitched. “He’s too intelligent and too well trained to believe that.” She smiled. “But I think you’re right that he wants to.” She put down her coffee and crossed her arms on the table, looking directly at Ginny. “It hurts him, to see you in pain.”

  Ginny scowled. “I don’t like it either.”

  “It would be a kindness, to him, if you’d let him feel useful.”

  Ginny’s frown deepened. Her role as dutiful daughter and licensed nurse and one of the Loch Lonach community meant she had an obligation to the Laird’s grandson. The question was, did it take precedence over her obligation to herself? She fought down an urge to whine. She was too old for that. Besides, it had never worked with her mother anyway.

  She nodded, then rose, and cleared away the dirty dishes. “I’m going over to Phyllis’ house for a condolence call, then out to the Homestead, then lunch with Jim.”

  “All right.” Mrs. Forbes rose and held out her arms.

  Ginny let herself be hugged and kissed, then said goodbye and headed for the garage. She and her mother had a good relationship, with mutual respect on both sides, but Ginny didn’t tell her mother everything. There was another reason Ginny didn’t want Jim controlling her life. She’d made a promise to herself—to dig out of this blue funk, regain her self-esteem, and prove to the world she was a survivor. On her own. By herself. Whatever the cost.

  She sighed heavily. What it would probably cost was her pride and that was the only thing that had kept her going since October, her stubborn, mulish, arrogant, Scottish pride. If that went, what was she going to use for courage?

  * * *

  Saturday midmorning

  Kyle residence

  The woman who opened the door to Ginny looked enough like Phyllis to confirm the family relationship: ash blond hair, hazel eyes, lean and lanky build. Ginny shifted the bags of groceries to one hand and held out the other. “I’m Ginny Forbes. We spoke on the phone.”

  “Rachel Amante, Phyllis’ sister.” She gave Ginny a wan smile. “This is so kind of you! Please come in.”

  Ginny headed for the kitchen. “I’ve brought casseroles and frozen dinners and stuff for the kids.” She set her packages down on the counter and faced the other woman. “I’m so sorry for your loss, and my own. Phyllis and I were in school together. I’m really going to miss her.”

  “Who’s there?” The voice was almost as ugly as the expression on the man suddenly appearing in the kitchen doorway.

  Ginny looked at the newcomer. He must have been six feet tall and, under better circumstances, a good match for Phyllis. At present, he was unshaven, dressed in rumpled jeans and tee shirt, his spiky blond hair in disarray, his eyes wild. Even from here, Ginny could smell alcohol on his breath.

  “Is she from the hospital? Tell her to get out!”

  “John, please! She brought food.”

  “We don’t need her food!” He stepped toward her and Ginny took a step back. She would gladly have complied with his demand, but he was blocking the exit.

  “I’m very sorry to intrude on your grief, Mr. Kyle. I’ll go.”

  “Damn right, you will! Coming here again.”

  Ginny hadn’t been over before, so she was a bit confused by the accusation.

  “It wasn’t her, John. It was the other one.”

  John blinked, then swallowed, then seemed to deflate. “Sorry.” He straightened up again immediately and stuck his finger out, pointing it at Ginny. “But you tell that woman not to show her face around here again.”

  Ginny nodded. “I’ll do that.” She slipped sideways toward the door and Rachel took the hint, stepping between her and the bereaved man, to let her out.

  “Forgive him. He’s very upset.”

  Ginny nodded. “Please let me know if I can do anything to help. You have my number.” She took her leave and headed for her car, wondering what had caused the outburst and whether the other person from Hillcrest was someone she knew and whether she had any obligation to do anything about the situation.

  * * *

  Saturday late morning

  Loch Lonach Homestead

  The grass was dappled with moving shadows cast by the live oaks that edged the Homestead exercise ground. The earth on which she sat was dry and the insects had retreated. With the sun out, white clouds adrift in a sapphire sky, and the air sweet on her face, it was easy to imagine it was a spring day, rather than deep winter in Texas.

  “Ginny?”

  She looked up as Caroline approached, in period costume and obviously working. It was equally obvious that Ginny, clad in sweats, was not.

  “What are you doing here?”

  Ginny motioned toward the field. “Watching the lesson.”

  Caroline dropped to the earth, put her hand to her eyes and focused on the closest pair of combatants.

  “Oh! That’s Jim, isn’t it?”

  Ginny nodded.

  Caroline grinned. “Well I can understand why you might want to watch that.”

  Both men were wearing white tee shirts, kilts, and body armor in the form of thick padding. They edged warily past one another, then moved in suddenly, the sound of metal on metal punctuating the moment of impact.

  Caroline cocked her head to one side. “Are they regimental?”

  Ginny grinned. “No, they’re both wearing briefs—black—as per regulations.”

  Caroline’s brow furrowed. “Is it my imagination or has he been working out? His muscles look bigger.”

  Ginny nodded. “He has figured out he must look the part as well as be able to wield both musket and sword, for which he needs muscles.”

  Caroline nodded, watching the blades flash in the sunlight. “Not bad. Who’s he fighting?”

  Ginny looked over at her friend and smiled. “Don’t you recognize him?”

&nbs
p; Caroline squinted, studying the other man. “Tall, lean, strawberry blonde. He looks familiar.”

  “He should. That’s Alan.”

  Caroline started. “Alan? My Alan? Well, not mine, but Alan Christie?”

  “Yes, dear.”

  Caroline’s eyebrows rose. “I don’t think I ever saw him on the field, just indoors. He looks older. What’s Jim teaching him?”

  “It’s the other way round. Alan is teaching Jim.”

  Again Caroline looked startled. “Really?”

  “Alan is our best swordsman. He’s also a gifted instructor.” Ginny watched Caroline’s face undergo a series of adjustments. As recently as last October Caroline had been hiding from Alan, thinking him unsuitable as a companion, even for dinner. She had done some growing up since then and appeared to be doing some more right now.

  “Hmmm.” She withdrew her gaze from the field and focused on Ginny. “Speaking of edged weapons, what about you? Are you back on the ice, yet?”

  Ginny reached up unconsciously and brushed a wisp of hair away from her left ear, her fingers tracing the scar that had formed as a result of her fall.

  “No.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because Jim was talking helmets and I refuse to wear one.”

  “You can understand his position.”

  “I can, but it’s not going to happen.”

  She’d had a good excuse—two of them—for delaying her return to the ice. Her cracked ribs had needed time to heal, and she’d had to order new skates, since the crime lab had cut her old ones to pieces.

  Actually, she had been out to the rink, to be fitted for the new boots then have the new blades positioned. Steve had let her watch and shown her there was no chance they would move. If she fell again, it wouldn’t be the skate’s fault.

  “Do you want me to go with you?”

  Ginny smiled at her friend. “No, but thanks for the offer.” She needed to go alone, so no one would see how badly she sweated at the prospect.

  Caroline’s eyes drifted back to the field. “You haven’t told me yet why you’re here. Is it a secret?”

  “Himself asked me to evaluate Jim’s progress.”