Kelsey ran out to the nurses’ station, excitedly told the woman on duty that Avery had come to and ran back to the room. There was a different physician on that morning, but he came in just seconds after Kelsey had returned to the room.
He spoke to Avery, listened to his words, asked him to point his fingers in different positions, alike and opposing, and stared into his eyes carefully with a light.
Afterward, he supported Avery as he stood for the first time, and they took a few steps together.
Finally, the doctor said, “You’re looking very well, Mr. Slater. Very well indeed. That was a nasty bump you got on your head. We’d like you to stay one more night for observation, then take it easy for a week or so.”
“Oh, I can’t stay,” Avery said.
“Avery, they said that you needed to stay in the hospital another night,” Kelsey said.
“Well, I can’t. I need to be with you. And you know that you can’t stay here. You need to be working on your grandfather’s estate,” Avery said firmly.
“I don’t want you here alone,” Kelsey said.
“Here’s the deal, Kelsey, and that’s that. I’ll stay, if you’ll go home. And if you’ll have another friend come over during the day while Liam is working. That’s it, that’s my final offer!”
The doctor looked from one of them to the other. “This is a hospital, miss. Your friend will be safe here.”
“I take it he never saw Friday the 13th,” Avery said, grinning. “Parts one or two!”
“I beg your pardon?” the doctor said.
“I’m sorry, nothing,” Avery said. He looked at Kelsey. “I will catch up on People and US. I will be fine. You’ll call someone to come and get you—someone who will stay with you. And I’ll think about what happened, and try to remember.”
Kelsey felt as if she were being ripped in two. She knew now that her grandfather had counted on her finding the reliquary, on doing the right thing with it.
She needed to go through his ledgers, to find out how he had labeled the various pieces and where he wanted them to go.
But she didn’t want Avery to be alone.
“Avery, you’re staying. I’ll get on the phone with Liam and work things out.”
She looked across the room. Bartholomew had proven he was a willing if spectral guardian.
Bartholomew was staring back at her.
“Oh, no!” he said firmly. “Where you are going, I’m going. I am not staying here and leaving you and Liam alone down there. No. No, absolutely not! No—and I mean it!”
No goat had ever deserved to end its days so heinously.
Franklin Valaski stared at Liam, shaking his head. “Liam, not to judge, but why me? Shouldn’t animal control have been called on this one?”
“We have laws against animal abuse, and this is abuse if I’ve ever seen it,” Liam said. “Hell, I don’t even know where anyone got a goat on this island!”
“Up on Stock Island, sir!” Ricky Long told him. Along with members of the crime-scene unit, he and Art Saunders were working the bizarre crime.
Liam looked over at him and shrugged. “There’s a fellow up there with goats. I mean, there may be some down here, but…roosters. We have roosters and chickens everywhere. You’d have thought this nut might have gone for a rooster. It wouldn’t be all that easy getting a goat!” Ricky Long continued.
Liam hoped that was true. That would help him a great deal.
He looked around. The men and women of the unit were all working diligently, searching the beach for any evidence—gum wrappers, cigarette butts, footprints, trash in containers, anything and everything—but he was afraid they were also thinking that he was losing his mind. They were all still working a murder; there were drug busts daily, prostitution rings, grand larceny, gang violence, smuggling and any number of other serious events happening, and they were looking for clues to a goat-murderer.
“Hey!” he snapped loudly, drawing everyone’s attention. “I have good reason to believe that whoever butchered this goat killed Gary White. We’re looking for an organized man who functions well day by day but has a seriously delusional personality. He’s taking after Peter Edwards, an historical character who supposedly sacrificed goats on the beach in a like manner to curse Southern blockade runners. And if I hear one more snicker, someone is going to be on trash duty for the next month!”
Everyone went back to work.
Liam turned to Franklin Valaski. “Cause of death?” he asked flatly.
Valaski stared at him. “Liam—”
“Cause of death!”
“All right, thankfully, I think the throat was slit first. This is an isolated area, near the fort, busy by day, dark by night. Perfect for someone to get a goat out here, and even if anyone had been around to hear, the animal would have died so quickly it wouldn’t have had much time to let out a noise. Get the windpipe, and, well….”
“What kind of a weapon?” Liam asked.
Valaski sighed, his gloved hands on the wound.
“Something incredibly sharp. Like a sacrificial knife.”