Marjorie Hawkins grabbed Ginny by the arm, pulled her away from the shelter, then swung her around so that Ginny’s back was to the edge of the roof. Ginny could feel Hawkins’ fingers digging into her flesh, even through the sleeve of her coat.
“What do you think you’re doing?”
“Let go of me!” Ginny tried to break the iron grip that held her.
“You were supposed to wear that red nose!” She pushed Ginny backwards, towards the edge of the roof.
“Stop it! Let me GO!” With a furious wrench, Ginny tore her arm free and tried to run, but her foot came down on a slick spot. She fell, landing on the rooftop, just shy of one of the concrete wheel stops that kept cars from going over the edge.
There was a sound like a wet kiss, followed by a crack, then a small gasp. Ginny lifted her head and looked at the other woman. She was staring down at her chest.
A cheerful splash of red had materialized on her heavy white sweater, where the pendant of a necklace would have been, had the Head Nurse been wearing one. It might have been any Christmas themed ornament—a poinsettia blossom, a clump of holly berries, a red bulb off a string of lights—but it was none of the above.
Ginny saw the stain growing larger, but the meaning didn’t sink in until she connected it to the sound. She watched in horror as the woman in front of her collapsed, landing just inches from her nose.
In the next moment, she realized there were other sounds: men shouting to get down, more gunfire, screams and cursing and someone calling for help and a stretcher. She turned her head toward the sounds and saw the volunteers running, cannonballing into one another as they tried to escape or reach the fallen, all of them in motion. All except one. She was lying on the roof, on her side, a man’s arm around her waist. On her head was a pair of reindeer antlers and on her face glowed a bright red nose.
“Ginny, lass, talk to me!”
Himself knelt down beside her, his artificial beard pulled askew, his eyes shadowed by the arc lights behind him. In the same instant she saw him, the lights went out, to be replaced by flashlights wielded by men in uniforms.
Ginny felt arms slipped under her, turning her over, raising her head.
“I’m all right,” she gasped. “I think.”
“We’ll get you looked at,” someone said. “Come on.”
“Ms. Hawkins—”
“We’ll take care of her, too.”
Ginny was hauled to her feet and supported into the elevator, then out again on the ground floor, into the ER, and straight into Jim’s arms.
“Bring her in here.”
In no time flat Ginny was bundled into the big scanner used to locate foreign objects in trauma victims. When Jim was sure she had not been hit by a bullet, he let her get dressed again, but would not let her go back to her floor. She sat in his office, wrapped in blankets, shivering.
“Drink this.”
The coffee was warm between her hands, but he had to help her hold the mug still enough to drink from it. When she had managed to swallow half a cup, she pushed it away.
“Jim, can you get Himself down here?” she asked.
The Laird must have been nearby for he and DeSoto were there in five minutes. The Laird pulled up a chair and sat down, facing her. “Now, lass, tell us.”
She took a deep breath, hiding her still shaking hands in the folds of the blankets. “It was an ambush.”
Jim’s face seemed to solidify into something harder than granite. DeSoto’s registered a grim satisfaction. The Laird’s did not change, though the shadows deepened. “Go on.”
“It was supposed to be me, and it was Marjorie Hawkins who arranged it.” Ginny explained about the Rudolph nose and how the Head Nurse had reacted when she found Ginny had given it to Lisa. “When she saw the red nose wasn’t going to work, she hauled me over to the edge of the roof.”
“What happened next?” DeSoto asked.
“I thought she was trying to push me off. I was fighting, trying to twist away. I slipped and fell.”
“And in that moment, the shooter put a bullet in her heart. Interesting.” DeSoto’s phone went off and he stepped away to take the call.
Ginny turned to Jim. “What about Lisa? Is she dead?”
“She’s in surgery. She had a stroke.”
Ginny blinked. “A stroke? Not a gunshot?”
“No bullet wound.”
Ginny fell silent, trying to make sense of it. Marjorie Hawkins clearly intended for the shooter to kill the woman wearing the red nose, but he hadn’t aimed at Lisa, not for the first shot, anyway. If he had, she’d be dead.
DeSoto turned back to face them.
“Did you catch him, the shooter?” Jim asked.
“We found the sniper nest, in a van parked on the roof of the garage across the street.” DeSoto slid his phone into his pocket. “He left the gun, the brass, everything. Which means we won’t find a thing on any of it.”
“A pro.”
DeSoto nodded. “He rappelled off the back of the building, leaving the ropes, so the odds are we won’t be able to trace them either, then slipped away into the night. Which means we can’t ask him who his target was.”
“Can you tell anything from the trajectory?” Jim asked.
“We’ve got the forensic team on the roof mapping the scene, but with so many people in such a small area, it’s going to be hard to draw any conclusions.”
He turned to face Ginny. “Except that she pulled you away from the others, toward the shooter, then turned your back to him, to make a large, well-lit target.”
Ginny looked at DeSoto. “You think it was me.” And he’d missed putting a hole in her back only because she slipped on the ice.
“We can’t rule out that possibility.”
Ginny’s mouth felt dry as cotton. “So, I might be shot at again.”
Jim jumped to his feet. “Not if I have anything to say about it!”
“Peace, lad.” The Laird of Loch Lonach rose from his chair and faced DeSoto. “Things ha’e changed. You and I need tae talk.”
The DEA agent nodded. “Give me a couple of hours.”
The Laird nodded. “’Twill gi’e me time tae distribute the gifts. I’ll find ye when I’m done.”
When the other two had gone, Jim pulled Ginny into his arms. “I don’t think I can stand another fright like this. Please tell me you’ll stay out of the line of fire from now on.”
Ginny nodded. “I intend to. But Jim—” She looked up at him. “I can’t live like this. It has to stop, and if I need to help make that happen, I will.”
He drew in a shuddered breath, pulling her closer. “I know,” he whispered. “God, help me! I know!”
* * *
Chapter 39
Day 17 – Sunday morning, Christmas Day
Neuro ICU, Hillcrest Regional Medical Center
A few minutes after five a.m. on Christmas morning, Ginny slipped into the Neuro ICU and approached the desk.
“Lisa Braden.”
“Room four.”
Ginny let herself into the glass-walled room and sat down beside Isaac. He looked over at her, then went back to staring at the figure in the bed.
“How is she?” Ginny asked.
Isaac sucked in a breath. “Too soon to tell. They’ve induced a coma and put her in therapeutic hypothermia.” He looked over at Ginny. “I’ve never heard of that. Does it make sense to you?”
Ginny nodded. “They’re trying to protect her organs—to minimize the damage done by the blood loss.”
“Oh.” He fell silent.
“Isaac, you told me there was a reason why Lisa couldn’t have murdered Phyllis, but you couldn’t break confidentiality to tell me what it was. Can you tell me now?”
He gestured at the woman in the bed. “That’s why.”
Ginny looked at Lisa’s still form, then back at Isaac. “I don’t understand.”
“We were warned. Any exertion could kill her.” His face twisted and Ginny found herself liste
ning in growing distress to the tale of the aneurysm. Isaac shook his head. “She couldn’t have strangled that woman without killing herself.”
“Why didn’t you tell Detective Tran?”
“Lisa wouldn’t let me.” He looked at Ginny, the tears welling up and spilling down his cheeks. “When the gunman opened fire, I grabbed her and pulled her down with me. Too hard. She hit her head. That’s why it ruptured. It’s my fault.”
Ginny reached over and laid her hand on his arm. “No. You’re not responsible. Not for the gunman and not for the rupture. Put the blame where it belongs and hang onto the hope she’ll make a full recovery.”
He wiped his face with the back of his hand. “You think there’s a chance?”
“There’s always a chance. The surgeon got to her almost immediately, and we have some of the best people in Dallas right here.” Ginny put her arm around his shoulders and gave him a squeeze. “You must take care of yourself, too. She’s going to need you when she comes out of this.”
Isaac nodded, his eyes back on Lisa.
Ginny let herself out, her mind churning. Lisa’s bizarre behavior had an organic cause and she, Ginny, had never once considered the possibility. She felt sick at heart. Here was a patient, in mortal danger, terrified, and angry, and lashing out, and all of those behaviors were understandable, in context.
She made her way back to the Medical ICU, completed the end-of-shift chores, then met Jim in the ER. She didn’t want to talk about the events of the night and he didn’t press, just took her home and said he’d see her at the kirk.
Her mother was almost as restrained, but her mother knew her better. She gave Ginny a hug.
“Let me know, darling, when you’re ready to talk.”
Ginny nodded, then slipped upstairs. She fell onto her bed and closed her eyes, wishing she had a magic wand she could use to make the whole thing go away. But she didn’t. And it wasn’t over. And now she had Lisa on her conscience, too.
* * *
Sunday noon, Christmas Day
Forbes residence
It was just after noon on Christmas Day and Ginny couldn’t help wishing she felt better. Between the assassination attempt, the police, and Christmas Communion, she had gotten only three hours of sleep. The kirk had been awash with kilts and tartan sashes and it always did her heart good to see the Scots all dressed up, but she was glad it was behind her. At this point, she was wedged into the corner of the sofa, trying to keep her eyes open.
As per tradition, the stockings had been dumped, Christmas dinner eaten (and was doing nothing to help her stay awake), and toasts made to the assembled company. The final step in the festivities was the tree and the gifts beneath it.
Even the attendance of little Luis didn’t bolster her spirits. He sat among the packages, poking listlessly at them, his eyes dry, but his heart clearly not in the celebration. Ginny’s conscience smote her. She should try harder to be cheerful, for his sake, if not for her own.
Jim was handing out the packages. “Here’s one for you. From Santa.”
She looked up to find him bending over her, smiling mischievously. She pulled herself upright and took it from him, glancing around to find everyone except Luis watching her.
Ginny tore off the wrapping paper and examined the outside of the box. No clue there, just plain brown cardboard. She pulled it open, then slid a smaller box out and ran an appreciative finger across the purple velvet. It had “Edinburgh” stamped on it in gilt letters. She flipped up the lid and caught her breath. Inside was a silver brooch. It was a penannular, with a Celtic knot design stretching from finial to finial and a pin that glided sweetly from one end of the curved shape to the other.
“Oh! It’s lovely!” She looked up to find her mother smiling at her. “Thank you!”
Sinia Forbes shook her head. “It wasn’t me, though I may have given Santa a suggestion or two.”
Ginny turned next to Jim, but he shook his head as well. “Nope. Santa.”
That just left the Laird. Ginny let her pleasure show. “Tell me about it.”
“’Tis a reproduction o’ a family piece. Th’ original was made in 1650 by a craftsman in Edinburgh, in gold. ’Twas too soft, ye ken, fer wearing. It broke and was mended many times and ended in th’ museum, but I’ve always thought ’twould make up well in silver. I’m glad ye like it.”
Ginny rose and went over to give him a hug and a kiss. “I love it! I’ll treasure it always.” She took her seat again thinking it was absurd to feel better because of a piece of jewelry. She shouldn’t be so shallow. But, on consideration, she realized it was the care that had gone into the selection and production and presentation of the gift that warmed her heart. She loved it because of the love that had gone into it.
When Jim finished passing out gifts, he came over and sat down beside her, wrapping an arm around her shoulders.
“When you wear it,” he whispered, “you’ll be wearing a piece of Mackenzie history.”
Ginny snuggled closer. “I want to hear all about it, but right now I wish we could do something for Luis. He looks so sad.”
Jim sighed. “Yes, he does.”
It had been a hard Christmas for Luis. In early September, he and his friend, Joey Kyle, had been cast as shepherds in the Christmas Pageant at their church. Luis even had a speaking part (“Look! A star!”). After Phyllis’ death, the Kyle boy had appealed to his grandmother, and his family had decided to let him participate as planned. He had insisted Luis be included.
So, on Christmas Eve, Sinia Forbes, in the company of the Kyle family, had taken Luis to the Roman Catholic Children’s Christmas Mass. He would have preferred Ginny, and said so, but she was not available so he had condescended to let Ginny’s mother stand in.
Ginny had asked her mother to keep an eye on the crowd, just in case Maria Perez dropped in to watch her son perform, but Maria hadn’t appeared. After church, Sinia had brought Luis home so he wouldn’t be in an institution over Christmas.
Both the Forbes and the Mackenzies had showered Luis with gifts, given him his choice of foods, and let him dictate the video specials he wanted to watch, but it was clear what he really wanted was his mother.
He was rolling a bright red fire engine across the rug, making small siren noises when his head shot up. “Mama!” he shouted. “Mama!” He jumped to his feet and ran toward the kitchen.
“Mama!” he said. “It’s Mama!” He grabbed a chair and dragged it over to the counter, climbing up on it and reaching for the cellphone that lay there.
Ginny had found the phone in Luis’ backpack on the first day. For two weeks they had been keeping the battery charged, activating the device at intervals, in the hope that Maria Perez would pick up the call or reach out to her son. Each time the recorded voice had said there was no service and each time the hope that Maria was still alive had faded a bit more.
“It’s her music, when she calls me it’s her music!” Luis had the phone now and had it to his ear. “¿Hola? MAMA!” He launched into an ecstatic, then tearful stream of Spanish much too fast for Ginny to understand. She exchanged wide-eyed looks with Jim, then reached for the phone.
“Let me talk to her, Luis.” She gently pulled the phone away from the child’s ear and brought her own down close to it.
“Maria? Don’t hang up! We want to help you. Maria? Maria!” The line went dead.
Luis went into hysterics. Ginny pulled the boy into her arms and tried to console him, kissing him, and telling him how much his mother must love him, and how wonderful it was to hear from her. She did not tell the child that she was relieved beyond measure to know the woman was still alive.
“We’re going to find her, Luis. I promise!” She handed the phone to Jim. “Can we trace the call?”
“We can try.”
Ginny took Luis back into the living room and settled down with him, letting him cry himself out while Angus contacted the authorities. Unable to raise either DeSoto or Detective Tran, he left messages, and gr
udgingly allowed the call to be routed to the officer on duty at the police substation.
“Can’t we just hand it to the patrol car out front?” Ginny asked.
Himself shook his head. “They’ve orders tae stay here and stay alert. We dinna want tae distract them.”
Sinia smiled. “You should have told me that before I took turkey and dressing to the pair of them.”
Himself looked at her and lifted an eyebrow. “Ah, weel. I suppose e’en th’ constabulary must eat.”
The officer on duty at the station was very polite and asked them to bring the phone in, at their earliest convenience, and not to use it in the meantime.
Jim snorted. “Like we would! What does he take us for?”
“He works with the public,” Sinia said, “and he’s probably seen his share of contaminated evidence.”
“I suppose so.” Jim picked up his coat. “I can drop the phone off on the way home.” He turned to Sinia and took her hand, engulfing it between his own. “Thank you for your hospitality and for including me. I wasn’t looking forward to a frozen dinner alone.”
“That was never going to happen,” she said. “You’re family, Jim, and always welcome.”
Jim gave her a hug, then pulled on his coat. He made eye contact with Ginny. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”
“And sae will I,” said Angus, planting a kiss on Sinia’s cheek, then Ginny’s, “but first I’ve tae see a man aboot a dog. Happy Christmas!”
When the men had gone, Sinia turned to Ginny. “I’ll take care of Luis. You go get some sleep.”
Ginny kissed her mother, then gratefully retired to her bed. The discovery that Maria Perez was alive meant she had some thinking to do, when her brain started working again. As she drifted off, she sent a silent prayer heavenward, mingling thanks and entreaty. It was a modified version of one of the O Antiphons. “O Heavenly Father, source of all grace and wisdom, show me the path to knowledge and give me strength.”
* * *
Chapter 40
Day 17 – Sunday afternoon, Christmas Day
The Swick and the Dead Page 26