Chapter Thirteen
“I can’t believe you betrayed me like this,” I muttered when I woke up and found myself laid out on a gurney. I was surrounded by a flimsy curtain in some cubicle at the urgent-care center.
“You were hit hard, honey,” Dad said, clutching my hand. “There was a lot of blood. You needed a doctor to check you out, make sure everything’s okay.”
I hadn’t seen him look this pale and anxious in years, and that frightened me almost as much as being hit in the head had.
“Okay, I get it,” I whispered, squeezing his hand as I closed my eyes. “Thanks, Dad. You’re right.”
“You know how much I love to hear those words,” he said, chuckling softly.
I smiled weakly. I hadn’t mentioned that I still felt dizzy in both my head and stomach and my eyesight was a touch blurry. So, yeah, probably a good thing he’d brought me here.
I raised my hand to my head, but I couldn’t feel a thing. “What did they do to me?”
Dad pulled my hand away gently. “They wrapped your head in a bandage. I think they gave you a shot of something, too.”
“Ah.” I sighed, then slipped under. I must’ve dozed off for a few minutes, because when I opened my eyes again, my father was gone and the person holding my hand was Police Chief Eric Jensen.
“Oh. Hi.” I slipped my hand away.
“Hi,” he said.
“Is my dad gone?”
“No, he’s waiting outside with your uncle. I wanted to try to catch you when you woke up. Do you think you can talk for a minute?”
“Yeah,” I said, my voice a little croaky. “I’m sorry I didn’t see who did it. I heard something like a branch snap or a leaf crackle behind me. That was my only warning that someone else was there. And then he hit me and I blacked out.”
“Okay.” He pulled a chair over to the gurney and sat so that his blue eyes were focused right on me. He reached for my hand again and I didn’t protest because his hand was big and warm and callused enough to feel safe and real.
“Let me try to jog your memory a little,” he said. “And if your head starts to hurt or you feel sick or anything, I’ll stop. Deal?”
“Yeah.”
“When did it happen?”
“Not sure of the exact time, but the sun was setting. I watched it disappear behind the ocean.”
“That’s a nice time of evening,” he said. “So it was dusk, not quite dark yet.”
“Yes.”
“You didn’t hear anything but the sound of a branch snapping or a leaf crackling. Did you smell anything? Was there a scent in the air?”
“Someone in the neighborhood was burning leaves. It smelled like fall.”
He smiled. “That’s a good one.”
“I thought so, too.”
“A few seconds ago, you said, ‘Then he hit me.’ So you think it was a man who did this to you?”
I thought for a moment. “I have no idea. I said that because . . . I don’t know. It had to be someone strong. I just assumed it was a man.”
“Did you hear him take a breath?” He shifted forward in his chair. “You know how sometimes if you’re about to hit something, like a baseball, you take a quick breath before you swing the bat? Did you hear anything like that? A gasp or an intake of breath?”
I tried to remember. “No. Sorry. Whoever it was was very quiet.”
“Did you smell anything else besides the burning leaves?”
“Like what?”
“Like perfume,” he said. “Or cigarettes. Coffee. Sweat. People sometimes smell like their work. Sawdust. Gasoline. Anything.”
I closed my eyes and put myself back at the spot. I breathed in and out, then opened my eyes and stared into his. “Not anything related to another person. I smelled the salt air, of course. And there was a slight whiff of paint remover, but that probably came from the equipment in my truck.”
He nodded reflectively. “Your father said that when he was driving to your job site, he passed what he thought was a sporty black car. It was going pretty fast in the opposite direction. It’s a sketchy clue, but I’m willing to check it out. Do you know anyone who drives a car like that?”
“Whitney Gallagher drives a black Jaguar,” I said a little too quickly.
“Tommy’s wife?”
“Yes. You know her.”
“Sure. Nice lady.”
It figured she would be nice to Tommy’s boss. And Eric was such a handsome guy, what woman wouldn’t play nice around him?
“Anyone else?” he asked.
“So many.” I rattled off names. “Jennifer Bailey drives a black BMW. Emily Rose drives a black Mini Cooper. Liz Logan drives a black SUV. So does Mac Sullivan, but neither of those are small or sporty. Oh. Buddy Capello. Do you know him?”
“Capello. Yeah, we talked to him a week or so ago.”
“He drives a navy blue Porsche. He’s Luisa Capello’s brother.”
“Yes, I know.”
“I don’t know what kind of car Luisa drives. Or her brother Marco, either.”
“I can get that information,” he said.
“Of course.” I’d never been so happy to be driving a gunmetal gray truck. Nothing about it was small and it wasn’t black, either. Not that it mattered. I wasn’t a suspect anymore. Unless, of course, I thought wryly, the police decided that I’d bonked myself in the head to clear suspicion. Oh, that was depressing.
“That’s it?”
“I almost forgot Penny. She drives a dark-colored Miata. And Jane Hennessey has a dark gray Lexus.”
“Is there anyone whose car you don’t know?”
“It’s my town,” I muttered, and closed my eyes.
A few seconds later I felt Eric let go of my hand and I opened my eyes. “Are you leaving?”
“I’ve worn you out,” he said, standing. “Besides, I want to check in with a couple of officers who are combing the area around your truck for any evidence. They’ll be talking to the neighbors, too, in case anyone saw anything. The black car is a long shot, but we’ll make sure we check every one we can find.”
“Can I ask you something?” I rubbed at the wide strip of gauze that was wrapped around my head to hold the thick bandage in place over my ear. “What did they hit me with?”
He paused. Taking hold of my hand again, he said, “They used a hammer.”
I shuddered. A hammer? Damn, I really was lucky to be alive. And then it hit me, so to speak. “How clever of them.”
He scowled. “I figured they saved that one just for you.”
Because my name was Hammer, of course. It would’ve been silly if it weren’t so frightening. “You found it?”
“They dropped it right next to your truck.”
“Was it . . . ?”
His jaw tightened visibly. “Yeah, it was pink.”
I groaned softly. My missing hammer. The killer had taken it from the same toolbox from which he stole the wrench and screwdriver used to murder Jerry Saxton and Wendell Jarvick.
The only good thing about being attacked with the pink ball-peen hammer was that it was lightweight, not big at all. Still, it could’ve killed me for sure if my assailant had hit me in the right spot.
Damn, I was glad he hadn’t taken my sledgehammer or my heavy-duty framing hammer. Those would’ve caused me a lot more damage and I probably wouldn’t be here to whine about it.
I watched Chief Jensen’s teeth clench, felt his grip tighten around my hand. His reaction made me uneasy. “You look angry.”
“Of course I’m angry. I’m furious.” He pulled his hand away, paced a few feet back and forth. “I’m determined to catch this son of bitch, Shannon.”
“I appreciate it,” I whispered.
“I’m also determined to keep you alive.”
“That would be nice.” I was starting to fade a little and wondered if anyone would notice if I just drifted off to sleep.
He stopped pacing and stared down at me. “Why didn’t you tell me what happened at the gym the other night?”
I was puzzled and had to think for a minute, which made my head start pounding. “You mean with the bench press? How did you find out about it?”
“From Jane. She called me a while ago to make sure I knew.”
“That was just an accident.”
He sat down again and grabbed my hand in such a natural move that I wondered if he was trying to comfort me or himself. “Shannon, I can buy that the bench-press mishap and even your bicycle brake line might have been accidents. But tonight someone smashed your head with a hammer and knocked you out. My guess is that he was trying to kill you. That was no accident.”
I was shivering now. “Nope.”
“Right. So now I’ve got to go back over all these little coincidences and determine if they’re all connected or not.”
“Okay.” It should’ve been obvious to me that he would have to go back over everything that had happened to find a pattern or a time line that fit a particular suspect, but I hadn’t been thinking too clearly. I had to pause and breathe for a moment to help myself think. “While I was working out on the bench press, Penny was spotting me and Jennifer Bailey came over. She was holding on to the rack and sort of swinging back and forth. It bugged me. It was rude, you know? Penny was trying to help me and Jennifer was a distraction.”
“Penelope Wells, from the bank,” he said.
“Right. We saw you later at the pub.”
“Yes.” He smiled.
My eyelids drooped until they closed completely. I was losing steam, but I had one more thing to tell him. “I was going to ask you to sit with us that night, but Penny didn’t want to. She’s afraid of cops ever since one of them shot a bank teller where she used to work.”
“I can’t hold that against her,” he said easily. “A lot of people are afraid of cops.”
“I’m going to sleep now.”
“You do that,” he whispered.
? ? ?
The doctors moved me to a hospital room and forced me to spend the night. Nurses kept coming in and waking me up every two hours to make sure I wasn’t dead, I guess. When I got cranky and whined about it, the nurse in charge said, “You have a concussion.”
“I know.”
“In other words,” she continued, “you were hit hard enough that it injured your brain. We know this because you complained of dizziness and blurred vision. You’re having a hard time thinking and making decisions. So, now it’s our job to make sure you don’t stroke out while you’re on our watch.”
“Okay, thanks.” I sighed. “That’s a really good explanation.”
“That’s how we roll.”
“I appreciate it. No more whining.”
I made it through to the next morning and then called my dad to have him come and get me.
That night, Jane insisted on sleeping over, even though my father planned to spend the night in the guest bedroom right down the hall from mine.
“I’m glad he’s home,” Jane said, “but I’m staying right here in your room with you. I’m not letting you out of my sight until I’m sure you’re fully recovered.”
She showed me pages of information she’d printed out, every little fact about concussions that she could find on the Internet. And she followed to the minutest detail the care they suggested.
She fed me a light dinner, refused to pour me any wine, woke me up every few hours to ask me my name and to check if I was slurring my words.
She checked for fever and interrogated me on my every ache and pain, and wrote it all down on the calendar in my kitchen office.
The next day was Friday and I moved myself downstairs to the living room couch, where at least I had a view of the outside world through the big picture window. Jane stacked a few books and magazines on the coffee table to keep me occupied for a while. I wasn’t about to mention that I couldn’t read anything. My vision was still too blurry.
“I appreciate your diligence,” I said, when Jane handed me a glass of diluted apple juice instead of soda or chocolate milk. “You’ll make a really mean mom someday.”
She laughed. “My pleasure. You’ve still got a headache, don’t you?”
It wasn’t a question. She could tell by the way I groaned at the least little noise and squinted at the light coming from the lamp on the side table. The woman was watching me like a mama hawk. She clicked off the lamp and lowered the other lights in the room, too.
“Thanks,” I said, although I hated that my eyes were still so sensitive to the light.
“You’re welcome. What else can I do?”
“I’m sorry I’m so miserable,” I said. “I should feel better tomorrow.”
“You will. I guarantee it, because if you’re feeling better, I’ll make you chocolate-cheesecake crepes from a new recipe I found.”
“I love you the best,” I said. “And it has nothing to do with your fantastic cooking skills.”
She smiled. “I’m staying tonight and tomorrow morning, and then I’ve got to go home to get ready for that conference I’m going to. So Lizzie will be coming by to stay with you.”
“Wait,” I said, struggling to sit up straighter. “I would love to have her here, but it really isn’t necessary. Dad plans to be here for as long as I need him.”
She just gazed at me. “Your father is a wonderful man, Shannon, but . . .”
My shoulders slumped. “You’re right. I can wrap him around my finger and get him to do whatever I want.”
“Exactly. Lizzie won’t put up with your crap for one minute.”
“Remind me again why I’m friends with you people.”
“Because we love you.” She patted my shoulder lightly and walked back to the kitchen.
As soon as she left the room, my mind drifted back to trying to solve the mystery of the person who had assaulted me. More and more, I was wondering if Jennifer Bailey could be that person. That would mean, of course, that she had also killed Jerry Saxton and Wendell Jarvick. I knew she was capable of horrible acts, so I wouldn’t put it past her. But one question remained: Why? Did she really hate me enough to try to implicate me in the murder of Jerry and Wendell? And then once she’d killed them, why did she decide to come after me, too? Had I made her so angry when I told Whitney that I saw her hugging Penny?
Ridiculous. So I had to go back to the question, Why?
And if not Jennifer, then who?
I finally pulled a lined notepad and pen out from the drawer in the side table. I forced myself to go step by step through each attack and incident from the very beginning. My penmanship wasn’t the best because I couldn’t always focus on the words I was writing.
I had gone out with Jerry on a Thursday night three weeks ago. We had a nice dinner and then went walking on the beach. He attacked me, ripped my clothes, and I kicked him in the general vicinity of his family jewels to make him stop.
An audience had gathered on the pier to watch the action. Had Jennifer been part of the crowd? Or, worse, had Jennifer been dating him secretly?
The only person I could ask was Whitney, but would she tell me? Of course not. I supposed I could ask Tommy to ask her, or even Eric, but would the chief yell at me again for running my own little side investigation?
I was hoping we might be past all that, but he seemed to be a stickler for keeping nosy people away from police business. But, really, how could he blame me for trying to figure out who had bopped me over the head?
Turning back to my step-by-step process, I wrote down that according to the coroner’s report, Jerry was killed sometime Friday night, the night after our date. I didn’t find his body until late Sunday afternoon at the Boyers’ house.
Stan Boyer’s neighbor Daphne had been walking her dog by their house, and when the dog began to bark she went to investigate and heard water running. She had called Stan to let him know. And then she left for Europe.
The following day, Monday, was when Wendell Jarvick arrived in town. I tangled with him almost instantly, first over whether I would carry his suitcases upstairs and then, a while later, I told him to move his car out of my driveway and he refused. My two neighbors had overheard my argument, but was there someone else in the vicinity who heard it, too?
Around that time, my closest friends and I decided to find out what had really happened, mainly to draw suspicion away from me. They began to talk to people around town, asking questions, gathering information. Did one of them spark someone’s indignation? Did someone object to my friends asking too many questions?
The next night, I was in the pub with Jane and Emily and saw Wendell attack Whitney with the ketchup. Joyce and Stan had been there that night, too, and Penny and her friends. Eric and Tommy were there, and Jennifer, as well. She might’ve gone after Wendell in retribution for humiliating her best friend.
The following Sunday, my truck battery died. I had never considered it a part of the bigger picture, but now I had to wonder if the dead battery was another “coincidence” connected to my other so-called accidents.
That same afternoon, I’d had a late lunch by myself at the Cozy Cove Diner and witnessed Wendell treating Cindy the waitress very badly. I could still hear that coffee mug shattering against the wall and wondered how traumatized Cindy was. She might have been angry enough to kill Wendell in that moment. But, then, what did she have against Jerry? Or me?
I almost crossed Cindy’s name off my list. I felt ridiculous for suspecting her and had no doubt that she was completely innocent in all of this.
I tried to remember who else was eating in the diner that afternoon when Wendell pulled his juvenile stunt. I visualized the booths; saw Penny and her bank friends in one, Stan and Joyce Boyer huddled together at another against the back wall.
There were plenty of other townspeople dining there, too, because of the Sunday prime-rib special. I wouldn’t be surprised to find out that Wendell had had run-ins with every single one of those people. I wished I could recall who else was sitting at the front counter, but all I had seen were their backs.
And that was the same afternoon I had met Luisa Capello and her brother Buddy, practically right outside the diner. Maybe they’d had a run-in with Wendell earlier, but that was admittedly a long shot.
The following day, on my bicycle ride out to the lighthouse, my brakes had stopped working and I’d crashed into a field. That’s when I met Mac Sullivan fortuitously.
If my bicycle brakes had been tampered with, would it automatically have been done by the same person who killed Jerry? When would he have done it? And how would he have known I would be forced to ride my bike for the next few days?
Had he screwed around with my truck battery? Or had he merely seen me riding around town on Sunday? Maybe he had seen my truck being towed to the auto shop. It was either one of those possibilities—or it was all one big coincidence.
The next night, I picked up my truck and parked it in my driveway. The following morning, Wendell was found dead in his car. Two days after that, the bench-press rack broke—or was tampered with—and I was almost strangled by the heavy barbell. If the gym incident was deliberate and connected with the other attacks, then Penny and Jennifer were the ones to watch. Whitney had been there, too, but had left early. Or so Jennifer claimed. Had another suspect been at the gym that evening? Someone I hadn’t noticed? Stan or Joyce? What about Luisa? Or her brothers, Buddy and Marco?
Three days after the gym accident, I was bashed over the head with my own hammer, less than two hours after a nasty run-in with Jennifer and Whitney.
And that was it.
No wonder I was exhausted. And dizzy. I stared at my list of occurrences and couldn’t quite believe I had been through all that grief and trauma in just a few short weeks. I wasn’t the only one, of course. Two people were dead and the entire population of Lighthouse Cove was awash in fear and suspicion and guilt.
I stared at my notes and tried to see a pattern somewhere. Sadly, though, my brain had turned to mush. I couldn’t begin to make any connections to anything with my head spinning and my vision fogging up. I would have to think about it later. For now, I popped two headache pills, grabbed the soft throw, and pulled it over me and tucked myself into the couch for a nap.
? ? ?
I woke up to eat a little dinner and then went back to bed and slept for twelve hours straight. When I arose the next morning, I felt better than I had in days.
The first thing I noticed when I stared at myself in the bathroom mirror was that my eyesight was no longer as impaired as it had been. My face wasn’t as blurry. I was so happy I almost cried, except I knew the tears would screw up my vision, so I stopped myself.
A part of me was sorry my vision was so good again, because now I could see that I looked like crap. My hair was a tangled mess because I’d done nothing but sleep and avoid showers for the past three days. I had been warned not to get the bandage wet, so while I’d soaked in the bathtub yesterday morning, I hadn’t been able to wash my hair. I now looked like a red-haired, washed-out zombie.
I went downstairs to grab some coffee and call my doctor. I needed to remove the damn bandage and finally wash my yucky hair.
“You’re looking a little more lively today,” Dad said when I walked into the kitchen. He was eating cereal and reading the Lighthouse Standard, our local newspaper. Dad always said it gave him all the news he needed.
“I feel pretty lively, except for this hair.”
He raised one eyebrow. “I don’t know. I’d say it’s looking pretty lively, too.”
“But not in a good way, right?” I chuckled as I poured the coffee and glanced around. “Did Lizzie take off?”
“She’s got something with the kids this morning. She said she’d be back later this afternoon.”
“Okay, although I really don’t think she needs to stay with me. I’m feeling so much better.”
“Glad to hear it.” He flipped a page of the newspaper. “Your new tenant came by to see how you were doing.”
“You met Mac?”
“Yeah. Nice guy.” He flipped through the newspaper to find the sports section.
“Dad, didn’t you recognize him?” I sat down at the table. “That’s MacKintyre Sullivan.”
“Who?” He gave me a puzzled look; then his eyes went wide. “Wait. You kidding me? That’s the Jake Slater guy?”
I grinned. “The very same.”
“What in hell is he doing here?”
“He bought the old lighthouse mansion and he’s going to have it restored. While that’s going on, he’s renting the apartment upstairs.”
“Whoa,” he whispered.
I grinned. “I know.”
“MacKintyre Sullivan,” he whispered reverently, and shook his head. “I love that guy.” He tried to go back to reading an article on the World Series, but he was too distracted. He finally gave up, folded the newspaper, and stuck it in the recycle bin. Setting his cereal bowl in the sink, he headed for the back door. “I gotta go call Pete. This is the biggest news in years.”
I shook my head as I watched him jog down the kitchen stairs. Great. Two grisly murders, one deadly assault on his own daughter, not to mention any number of other weird accidents lately. But Jake Slater was the biggest news in years. What else could I do but laugh?
? ? ?
Two nights later, Lizzie picked up a pizza before coming over to spend the night.
“Hooray for pizza,” I said, reaching for my first piece. “I’m feeling so much better. I didn’t want to tell anyone how dizzy I was for a while, but that’s all cleared up.”
“I’m really glad.” She poured herself a glass of wine and handed me a small bottle of apple juice. Wine was still forbidden, and that was getting old, too.
“Of course, we still have no idea who did it.”
“And it’s driving everyone in town crazy,” she said as she sat down and placed a slice of pizza on her plate. “This kind of stuff has never happened here.”
“I know. I’m as mystified as anyone.”
Lizzie swallowed a small bite of pizza. “But now everybody goes around eyeing strangers and friends alike. Nobody trusts anyone. That’s the worst part.”
“I hate hearing that.”
“Luisa Capello was taken in for questioning,” she said.
“What? No way. Really?”
“She was dating Jerry Saxton. Did you know that?”
“Yeah. I heard.” I’d included Luisa’s name on my personal suspect list right after Jerry Saxton was found. But how could she have had anything to do with Wendell’s death? Or my attack? Unless the police knew something I didn’t know.
I suppose that’s possible, I thought, and chuckled at myself.
“Things have really gone squirrelly, as Taz would say.” Lizzie grabbed her wineglass and took a healthy sip. “And what must be going through Mac’s mind? He just moved here. He must think we’re a town full of bloodthirsty pirates.”
“I wouldn’t know what he’s thinking because he’s been holed up in his room writing all week.” I was beginning to feel some pressure behind my eyes and grabbed two headache pills to ward off the pain. “Let’s talk about something pleasant. How’s the store doing?”
“Business is booming. It’s probably because I’m your friend. Everyone comes in to talk—well, gossip, really—about you, of course. And then they feel so guilty for trying to suck information out of me that they end up buying something. And I’m perfectly happy to guilt them into it.”
I laughed. “Good to know I’m helping to drive commerce.”
“You are, believe me.” She put her wineglass down and fiddled with her rings, so I knew she was nervous about something.
“What’s going on?” I asked.
“Well, don’t get bent out of shape, but I’ve met a really nice man. He’s in sales. He came into the store the other day and we hit it off.”
“What does Hal have to say about this?”
“Very funny,” she said, brushing off my question. “Look, since I haven’t seen you going out with either Mac or with Eric, I figured nothing was happening there, so I thought I would ask you if you wanted to meet Frank.”
Was my jaw on the floor? I couldn’t believe it. “You’re joking, right? You’re honestly asking me to go on another blind date?”
“No,” she said bluntly. “Look, I want you to be happy and settled. You live a good life and you’re a wonderful friend, but I don’t think you’ve been really happy for a long time. And I haven’t noticed Mac making any moves in your direction. And as far as Eric is concerned, well, does he still think you’re guilty of something? Because he’s not coming around, either. So I say it’s time to look elsewhere.”
“Like with Jerry?”
Lizzie winced. “Okay, granted, Jerry was a mistake. This guy Frank, though, is a gem. I really think the two of you could hit it off together.”
Rather than blow a fuse, I actually smiled at Lizzie’s latest attempt to set me up.
It made me realize that I hadn’t told any of my friends about Mac kissing me or about Eric’s sweet words of determination in the hospital. I knew why I’d kept mum. I just wanted to keep a few little secrets close to my heart for as long as possible, because I knew that as soon as I mentioned them to anyone, they would cease to be mine and become breaking news on the Lighthouse Cove gossip wire.
And though I wanted to keep a few things to myself, I had to convince Lizzie to quit the matchmaking already. I tried for a gentle smile. “Thank you for thinking of me, but no. I’m sure Frank is a nice guy, but I refuse any more setups.”
“Come on, it wasn’t that bad.”
“Jerry ended up dead, remember?”
“Yes, but it wasn’t your fault.”
“Thanks for that,” I said, and patted her hand. “But seriously, Lizzie, let it go, okay?”
“Fine. I’m officially retiring as your date Yoda.”
“Thank you, O wise one.” I gave her half a bow.
“Very funny,” Lizzie muttered, and sank back into the couch. Then she perked right up. “You could always try dating a woman for a nice change of pace.”
I gawped at this person I’d known since I was in first grade. I had shared countless secrets with her over the years because she had been my babysitter and an older woman by five years. She had life experience. Naturally I had looked up to her. But somehow, just recently when I wasn’t looking, she had gone bat-crazy insane.
“Are you high?” I asked.
“Of course not,” Lizzie said, and leaned forward across the table. “Shannon, men haven’t been working out for you, so . . .”
“Lizzie, listen carefully.” I grabbed both of her hands. “I like guys. Men. And when I’m ready, I’ll get one on my own, okay?”
“Fine.”
“I know a bunch of nice men.” I grabbed another slice of pizza and took a big bite. “I just meant I never want to go on a blind date again. So the next time you get a bug up your butt to set me up on a date with anyone—I mean, anyone—I want you to remember these two words: Jerry Saxton.”
“I will,” she said, sighing. “But I can’t help wishing those two words were Mac Sullivan.”
I shrugged. “We’ll see.”
It was such a wrong thing to say. I knew it the second the words left my mouth. I watched her ears literally perk up and she almost bounced in her chair. “Exactly what does we’ll see mean?”
I shook my head. “You’re incorrigible.”
“That’s right, so if you don’t want me hounding you forever, I suggest you spill your guts right now.”
I hesitated, then said, “There might’ve been a kiss.”
She froze. Then she started to shake with excitement.
“Stop it,” I said, laughing. “You nutball. It was just a kiss.”
“It was a MacKintyre Sullivan kiss.” She leaned both elbows on the table. “Tell me more.”
“There’s nothing more to tell. I brought him a basket of vegetables and a few days later he returned the basket and told me I . . . I dazzled him.”
“You dazzled him?” She pressed her hands to her heart. “That’s so sweet.”
“And then he kissed me.”
“Oh, my.” She fanned herself. “Then what?”
“And then . . . nothing,” I said. “I got conked on the head and I’ve been housebound ever since.”
“So Eric is out and Mac is in?” she wondered.
“Eric held my hand at the hospital,” I said.
She gasped. “Two men want you.”
“Not exactly,” I said, laughing. “He was giving comfort to the injured, that’s all.”
“He could’ve done that from across the room. No, he held your hand. It means something.”
“You’re a lunatic. But I love you.” I rubbed my forehead, pushed back my chair. “I need to lie down. I just hit the wall, energywise.”
She jumped up from the table, her mission suddenly clear. “We’ve got to get you feeling better. Pizza won’t do it.” She took our plates over to the kitchen counter. “Tomorrow I’m making you a big pot of healthy vegetable soup. Did you talk to the doctor? When can you take off that bandage?”
“Tomorrow morning.”
“Okay, I’ll stay in the morning and help you remove it. Then you’ll take a shower and do something with that giant Texas hairdo you’ve got going on. What is with that hair of yours, anyway?”
“It’s thick.”
“I know. I’m jealous.”
“Don’t be. Look.” I pointed to my head of hair and she nodded in sad agreement.
“Oh yeah,” she said. “That’s quite a do. Never mind—it’ll be pretty again tomorrow. And those two men won’t know what hit ’em.”