“Why’d you come over here, Eric?”
“I wanted to see Landry. Then I realized he was with the Carters, going over their memorial service at the crematorium. He’s known them forever. He really likes them.”
Susan put on oven mitts and pulled the cookie sheet out of the oven. The cookies were fat and soft, the way both Landry and Eric liked them. She did, too, she supposed. She put the cookies on a rack to cool, saw Eric’s eyes fasten on them, shoved one on a napkin, and handed it to him. He said absolutely nothing, inhaled, took a small bite, and groaned. He’d always thought chocolate chip cookies fresh out of the oven had to be what heaven smelled like. “Gotta say, Susan, those are as good as Mom’s.” He paused a moment, grinned. “Do you know, from the age of seventeen, I always put the toilet seat down?”
“So does Landry. Your mom used behavior modification on both of you. I’ll have to remember that.”
“Yeah, that Skinner dude started it all.” He held out his napkin for another, chewed slowly. “Better than beer, and that’s saying something. Do you know, to this day when I eat a chocolate chip cookie, I have this compulsion to go to the bathroom and make sure the toilet seat’s down?”
She shook her head at him, couldn’t help the grin. “Come on, Eric, why’d you really come home early?”
He wiped his mouth, shrugged. “Really? I came home because I was bored. Carlos snagged himself a mistress—how, I don’t know, had to be through divine intervention. Anyway, his wife found out. Now Carlos says his life’s no longer worth living. Maroni was busy telling him to tuck his money away where she can’t find it, do it fast. Otherwise he’ll get skinned like Maroni did in his last divorce.”
“I hope she nails his hide to her wall. Did you hear what Mr. Putney was telling me?”
“Yeah, but I already knew. I was pumping gas when I heard about Gunny getting hit on the head in that alley between Kim’s Dry Cleaners and Lucky Hammer. It’s all anyone’s talking about.”
“I hadn’t heard, so believe me, Mr. Putney was eager to tell me, of course. He doesn’t think she’s going to survive. Or maybe that’s what would make his story better. Do you know how she’s doing?”
Eric took another swig of his beer, set the bottle on the counter, lifted another cookie from the sheet. “No, only that she’s in the hospital. Did you see the news conference the Feds held in Willicott yesterday?”
“Sure, some of it.” She leaned against the counter. “I can’t imagine why anyone would hurt Gunny because she knew who owned a belt buckle. I mean, why?”
He walked to the sink and washed his hands. He said over his shoulder, “Who knows? Well, maybe Gunny does.”
She looked at her brother-in-law, married and divorced in his twenties, and now forty, four years younger than Landry. Landry said Eric looked tougher than a lumberjack and was probably meaner. He had survived Afghanistan. Her husband looked his polar opposite, tall and slender, an aristocrat with his blade of a nose and high cheekbones. She watched Eric pull out his cell. “I’ll tell you what, I’ll call the hospital, see if Gunny is still alive. I always liked her. I remember once this putz tried to put the moves on her at the crematorium, some idiot there for his uncle’s memorial service, and I stepped in.” He paused, added, “I asked her if she was okay, and she said she knew how to protect herself, Chief Masters had taught her. She’s a beautiful girl.” He shrugged. “It’s a pity she’s so slow.”
Susan listened to him speak to Marjory, once a high school girlfriend, now in hospital administration. He listened, thanked her, and hung up. “All she knows is Gunny’s in surgery, no word yet. Gunny’s mom and Chief Masters are walking the floor. I tell you, Susan, it makes no sense.”
37
* * *
HAGGERSVILLE COMMUNITY HOSPITAL
TUESDAY
Only four people were seated in the waiting room of the Haggersville Community Hospital ER, none of them looking particularly sick, very different from the ERs Sala had been to in Washington, D.C. Ty and Sala identified themselves to Nurse Grady at the desk. Her eyes sparked, and she leaned over the counter, told them Gunny’s mother was Lulie Saks, who owned the Heaven Sent bakery, and that Gunny was simple. Nurse Grady didn’t know how Gunny was doing, she’d only been in surgery with Dr. Ellis less than an hour now. “She didn’t look good when they wheeled her into the CT scanner. She was unconscious, and blood was caked over the back of her head. Someone left her to die in that alley. I’m praying she makes it. Everyone is.”
Nurse Grady’s eyes followed an older gentleman leaving the ER with a cane, watched a woman beside him hold her hand out, ready to steady him if he needed it. She leaned close. “Gunny’s always been a good girl—well, she’s not a girl any longer, she turned thirty last week. She’s always been slow, bless her heart, but nobody ever minded that. You just had to remember to shift into a different gear and go with her flow. I don’t know if she was born slow, but I suppose a doctor might have done something wrong, though I don’t know for sure. Poor Lulie, she was so scared for her daughter. Did you stop at her bakery?”
Sala said, “No, we’re just getting into town.”
Grady said, “There are usually at least a dozen people inside. It’s a good name, a good place. It’s right next to Sunny Day, Sherry Hanson’s boutique. I think the boutique does good business because they’re next door. Lulie makes the best éclairs in Maryland.”
Nurse Grady gave Ty and Sala directions to the surgical waiting room on the third floor. Like all hospitals Sala had visited in the city, there was constant movement, the hum of air-conditioning, the voices of caregivers on the intercom, techs wheeling carts. A nurse carrying a covered bedpan showed them the waiting room.
It was small, with a single window looking out over the parking lot. The floor was covered with an off-white Berber carpet, the walls painted a pale green, a line of Monet prints at eye level, a Nespresso machine that looked older than Ty on a small table in the corner. As good a place as any to wait for life-or-death news. A man and a woman sat next to each other on the single sofa, the man holding the woman’s hand, speaking to her quietly.
“Chief Masters?”
He looked up. Ty saw the sheen of unshed tears in his eyes and something else—rage. He squeezed the woman’s hand and rose. “Yes, I’m Masters, Chief Daniel Masters.”
Ty immediately stuck out her hand. “Chief, we’ve spoken on the phone a couple of times. I’m Chief Ty Christie from Willicott. This is FBI agent Sala Porto.” Sala automatically showed the chief his creds and shook his hand. Masters nodded to Ty. “Nice to finally put a face to the name.” He introduced them to Lulie Saks. She started to stand up, but Masters gently pressed his hand on her shoulder. “No, stay seated, Lulie.” Lulie Saks looked to be near fifty, about the same age as Chief Masters, her lustrous dark hair not yet showing any gray, but it was sprinkled with confectioners’ sugar, making her look vaguely like Christmas. She was wearing skinny jeans and a white camp shirt that came nearly to her knees with daubs of colored frosting and splotches of chocolate on the front, black ballet flats on her narrow feet. She was blessed with high cheekbones and was really quite beautiful. Did her daughter look like her? Her dark eyes were red from crying, her fair complexion pale from fear and anxiety. She looked from Ty to Sala. “Please, have you heard anything?”
“I’m sorry,” Sala said, and perjured himself without hesitation, “we’ve heard nothing yet, which Nurse Grady assured us was good news.”