There was a sickening sensation of nausea creeping up from her throat. She felt bitter bile trickling from her mouth. Lying on her stomach, staring at a small puddle of black liquid emanating from her forehead, she wondered if she was dying. She was pretty sure she didn't want to but was undecided if asking god to spare her would be hypocritical. Even in this situation. I think too much.
She didn't know which she hated more, the pain or losing all control of her body. Spenser's ears were not just ringing they were frantically pealing like Westminster Cathedral. Her arms and legs felt like petrified wood. Her eyes stung from the salt of her tears. She was trying her best not to panic, but the helplessness of the situation was becoming all too clear. Even in this hazy reality, she recognized death.
Still, irrationally, she wanted to know who and why. Not that it mattered. It was just the principle of the thing, dammit. Then, in the split second before she lost all consciousness, she recognized a dirty pair of paint splattered Keds casually exiting the shed.
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
Sunday - early morning
Dr Brianne Saunders was sitting at her seventy-year-old hand-hewn mahogany desk staring at her perfect French-manicured fingernails. But instead of seeing the delicate pink polish all her eyes beheld was Gina Mae's ravaged face.
Everything was unraveling. Her plans for the Sunflower, for the residents, everything was slipping away. Death was understandable, accepted even. But not murder.
There was evil here. And she knew its name. She'd tolerated his insolence, his incompetence, his malevolence out of fear. Fear that he could destroy all that she had worked so hard to achieve.
"No more." Her sharp words cut through the darkness.
Dr Brianne Saunders' perfect fingers traced the words she'd written on her fine, expensive, embossed stationery...Ival Overoye...Ival Overoye...Ival Overoye...
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
Sunday - early morning
Lt Tessa Youngquist was arguing with herself. It was almost six o'clock in the morning and was she in Benson Kilonzo’s soft bed listening to the rain lull her into a nice, peaceful sleep? No, she was not. She was in her car, traveling east on Route 66, on her way to Cucamonga.
"I'm outta my mind." Why was she allowing some half-baked idea from some Twilight Zone woman disturb her perfectly open and shut case? "A notebook, for crying out loud." A story that had absolutely nothing to do with absolutely nothing. "This is ridiculous."
She knew better than to let her emotions get in the way of her police work. But she also knew to trust her instincts. Something told her that the Watts kid wasn't a murderer. Call it a hunch. Call it woman's intuition. Call it seven years of experience.
There was something hinky about this case. Even Ben had doubts. The notebook was nonsense, obviously. But it was a curiosity. She'd had her people check all the rooms yet again and still it had not been found. Not even in Overoye's cottage. And if the Isaacs woman was right and the kid wrote down his daily activities maybe something relevant could be gleaned from his stories. Bolstering their case against him or maybe even pointing the finger at someone else. Like a pirate? Tessa Youngquist clenched her teeth.
"Isaacs." Saying the name aloud made her head hurt. There was something about that woman. Annoying, most definitely. Nuts, absolutely. But also, an extraordinary quality that Tessa found stimulating. It was her loyalty. So fierce was its purity.
The lieutenant's head was throbbing by the time she parked her car in front of the Sunflower. Lights were on in the Admin building. Tessa hoped someone in authority was available at this ungodly hour. After showing her badge to the personality-deprived Chip, she was escorted to Dr Saunders’ office who, like Tessa, was up before the chickens as her mother would say.
Tessa didn’t even try to explain why she wanted to see inside the maintenance shed, she simply requested that she be allowed admittance. Brianne Saunders was just curious enough to grant permission. She grabbed the master keys and both women headed to the tool shed.
With each muddy step Tessa’s silent epithets for Spenser became more and more colorful.
Her anger turned to concern when they reached the shed and found the door wide open. “Stay here, Doctor.” Tessa unholstered her gun and walked cautiously through the door sweeping the weapon from side to side. She saw a small beam of light shining on the floor at the far end of the shed. When she reached the light, her stomach somersaulted.
"Isaacs," she whispered, but the body did not respond. She saw the blood and feared the worst. Still wary that the assailant may be in the shed, she crouched down to feel Spenser's carotid while scanning the interior. When she felt a pulse, she let out a sigh of relief. "Dammit, Isaacs." The detective was surprised by her concern for this nuisance woman.
"Doctor,” called the lieutenant. Brianne walked into the shed and let out a cry. “Call 911,” said Tessa. “Tell them that an officer is on-scene.”
The doctor nodded and raced out of the shed. Tessa unfurled her muffler and wrapped Spenser's bleeding head. "Hang on, Isaacs." Tessa Youngquist, hard boiled cop, hoped they were in time to save a life.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
Sunday - morning
It really was extremely annoying. That incessant screeching sound. And Spenser was going to put a stop to it, just as soon as she could remember how to open her eyes. She couldn't figure out if the noise was giving her the headache or if the pain was separate. She didn't really care. She wanted both to cease.
"Spenser..."
What a bizarre dream she was having. Now she was hearing Lt Youngquist's voice.
"Spenser..."
That is Youngquist! Spenser decided to give her eyelids one last try. They fluttered then slowly opened a slit that revealed Youngquist's face. It's not a dream. It's a nightmare.
"Can you hear me?"
Spenser's eyes opened wider and took in the entire scene. This was very confusing. The ache in her head was far too real to be a dream. The screeching was the siren of an ambulance. And Youngquist really was calling her name.
"What a trip." Spenser's words barely made a ripple in the sea of other noises around her. A young man in green was taking her blood pressure while a woman in the cab of the ambulance was screaming into a mike. Something about a serious head trauma. That would be me. If only she could focus.
"Spenser...can you tell me what happened?"
Not a problem, Lieutenant. Just give me a clue and I'll take it from there. Damn, her head was hurting. And what’s with the nausea?
Youngquist began to fidget. She'd seen head injuries before, so she knew this one looked serious. She took Spenser's hand in hers and annoyingly found herself not as detached as she'd like to be. "What happened in the shed?"
The shed? Oh yeah. Overoye's tool shed. She felt a stupid smile draw itself across her face. I'm not dead! She stared at the lieutenant. "You..." Her throat suddenly closed up, full of fire and phlegm. She coughed and felt her insides explode.
"Take it easy, Isaacs." The young cop pressed her hand against Spenser's forehead. "I found you in the shed." Then self-consciously she removed her hand. "You looked like shit."
Youngquist? My savior? Well, life really was full of surprises. Thank you. Maybe she should try that out loud.
"Spenser, what happened?"
Okay, let's try this one more time. She was in Overoye's shed and she was looking for...looking for... "I found..." Spenser caught herself up short. Breathing and talking were totally incompatible.
"Yes, I know. A locket." Youngquist took a plastic evidence bag out of her jacket and showed Spenser the locket. "We found it under you. It must have broken when you fell."
Ah. The snap. Thank goodness it wasn't her nose. It’s the little things that bring joy to our lives. I should tell her about, "Jewelry..." Her speech sounded forced even to her ears. And, damn it all to hell and back, it hurt just to open her mouth. What’s up with that?
"Jewelry? There was more?" asked an interested Youngquist.
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Spenser started to nod affirmation but thought it unwise. "Yes," she whispered. "Overoye...”
"Overoye? He attacked you?"
"Yes."
"Son of a bitch."
Spenser agreed. Silently. The screeching finally ceased. Spenser felt the ambulance jerk to a stop. She felt the gurney being transferred out of the ambulance and into the hospital. She even felt Youngquist's hand squeeze hers just before the blackness overcame her again.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
Sunday - late morning
Tessa Youngquist's thoughts were so full of concern it surprised her. She watched as the ER crew wheeled Spenser into a room. So many voices giving so many commands. She knew they'd do their best for her. She just hoped it would be enough. And that surprised her, too. "Back away, Tessa." She looked around to make sure no one heard her talking to herself and caught sight of Brianne Saunders coming through the ER entrance.
"How is she?" Brianne was out of breath and worried.
"Don't know yet."
"What the hell happened?"
"She says Overoye attacked her."
"What?" Brianne tried to sound shocked, but it was an effort. She knew Overoye was capable of this. She should have taken care of him a long time ago. If anything happened to Spenser she'd never forgive herself.
"We searched his cottage and the grounds. He's missing. Do you have any idea where he may have gone, Doctor?"
"No." Brianne hoped the lieutenant hadn't heard the hesitation in her answer.
The detective produced the broken locket and fingered the monogram. "CN. Chloe Newcomb?"
"Yes." The director was devastated. "That belonged to Chloe."
"Spenser said there was other jewelry as well. But we didn’t find any in the shed."
"My God. He was the thief."
"Didn’t you tell nothing was stolen, only missing?"
"Yes,” the doctor whispered.
“So you lied to me, to the police?” Youngquist was getting even more upset.
“We've been trying to take care of this in-house,” Brianne hesitated. “With discouraging results."
"You should have informed us," reproved Youngquist.
The doctor looked away from the lieutenant's steady gaze. "Yes."
"Lieutenant..." Bea's shout cut through the hospital corridor. "What happened? Is she okay?" Bea ran to the cop with Little Mary and Bruno in worried tow.
"I'm Spenser's mother. Is she all right?"
"I'm Lieutenant Youngquist. We haven't heard from the doctors yet."
"But what happened?" Mary was on the verge of losing control.
"She received a blow to the head."
"Someone hit her?" Bruno was incredulous.
"Yes."
An older doctor in hospital green and sporting a two-day stubble came out of the ER. "Someone here for Isaacs?"
"I'm her mother." Mary closed the six-foot gap between her and the doctor in a New York minute.
"Your daughter sustained a blunt force trauma to her forehead." The doctor guided a shaky Mary to a chair. "She does have a mild concussion and blood loss was considerable. She has a good twenty stitches, but there's no cerebral contusion or subdural hematoma."
"Which means...?" Mary's throat strained from the effort of trying not to cry.
"Barring any complications...she's going to be just fine."
"Thank God." Bruno's voice was husky from emotion.
Everyone let out a sigh of relief. Even Youngquist. "I'd like to keep her here under observation for at least eight hours just to be on the safe side," continued the doctor.
“Oh course,” answered a distracted Mary.
"She'll be weak from the blood loss especially, so she'll need to rest." The doctor rose gingerly, feeling all of his fifty-two years. "And, she's going to have one hell of a headache. But, she should pull through very nicely."
"Thank you, Doctor," said Mary, relief washing over her.
"You're welcome."
"May I see her?"
"She needs rest right now. It'd be best if you came back in a few hours."
"But..."
"She's not going anywhere," interrupted the doctor, smiling reassuringly. "Why don’t you try the cafeteria? I'll tell the nurse to come get you when your daughter can have visitors. Okay?" The doctor patted Little Mary's shoulder. "She's going to be fine. Honest. Excuse me." Then he was gone.
"C'mon, Mary," offered Bruno. "We'll go get some coffee, come back later like the doc said." A hesitant Little Mary allowed her big brother to walk her to the cafeteria.
Brianne was slowly overcome by the hour and the worry. "I better get back to the Sunflower and tell everyone that Spenser's all right."
"If you hear from Overoye...," began Youngquist.
"Don't worry, Lieutenant. I want him caught as much as you do." Brianne turned to Bea. "If you need me, you call, all right?"
"Thanks, Brianne."
"Tell her I'll see her later." She turned and walked out the emergency exit.
Alone now, Bea took Youngquist's arm and forced her into a quiet corner, holding back tears and anger. "Was it Overoye?"
The young cop hesitated. "We’re pretty sure it was. She was in his tool shed."
Bea closed her eyes, gained control then faced Youngquist. "She was looking for that damn notebook."
"What is it with this notebook anyway?"
Bea paced the four square feet in front of her. "Tucker's story..."
"About pirates." Offered a helpful Youngquist.
"...Mentioned a cave with tools in it and Spenser thought it pointed to Overoye. She thought there may be even more references that would specifically incriminate Ival, otherwise known as One-Eye the Pirate."
"Of all the reckless, irresponsible, ridiculous, insane..."
Bea stopped inches away from the detective. "Oh really? So, if it was so absurd why is Spenser in the ER?"
Youngquist was defensive. "Because she is foolish and rash and...” She forced herself to calm down. “And because I told her to back off and she didn't listen."
"The last time she backed off it cost her dearly."
"Oh? What? Her boyfriend dumped her because of her obsessively neurotic behavior?"
Bea words came spitting out of her mouth. "Her lover told her to back off and then committed suicide. So, no, now, she never backs off." Bea turned to leave but swung around again to face Youngquist. "And if you have a problem with her, keep it to yourself." She turned and stomped out of the hospital leaving a humbled Youngquist in her wake.
The lieutenant watched as an orderly wheeled Spenser out of the ER, down the hall and into a private room. She followed, then stood in the doorway watching Spenser breathe. "Damn."
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
Sunday - afternoon
Spenser was having a really weird dream. She was in her cramped trailer laying down a small section of n-scale track on a giant plywood board. Picking up a small cobbler’s hammer and ¼” spikes, she began tying down the rails. With every rhythmic strike of her hammer, she would hear an echoing strike just outside her tin home. She would strike a nail and a twin strike would sound. Her curiosity piqued, she lay down her tools and walked to the door, but when she stepped outside, she was no longer in Laguna Bonita. Before her was a scene out of the 1930s. Railroad track lay to her right and to her left as far as her eyes could see. And directly in front of her were gandy dancers working on the track.
Spenser had read about these old-time railroad workers who laid and maintained track. Songs, or calls, were sung by the lead caller and responses came from the gandy dancers. The caller would use rhythmic chants or even gospel songs to synchronize the labor. When lining track, each man would face one of the rails and work the chisel end of his lining bar down at an angle into the ballast under it. Then everyone would take a step toward their rail and pull up and forward on their pry bars to lever the track over and through the ballast.
Spenser watched in fascination as the caller set t
he rhythm for the liners, a two-line, four-beat couplet... “Joint ahead and quarter back, that's the way we line this track”. The members of the gang were tapping their lining bars against the rails until every man was in perfect synch. “Hey man won't you line 'um...huhn. Hey man won't you line 'um...huhn,” the men answered the caller.
As Spenser watched this amazing display, the caller metamorphosed into Tessa Youngquist. “Listen all you railroad gang, Tucker, he is goin’ to hang,” she called out. And when Spenser looked again at the railroad workers, the gandy dancers had all turned into Tucker.
Death on Planet Pizza Page 16