Kateri craned her neck to see the red, jagged wound over her ribs. “If only that included pain relief.”
Dr. Frownfelter pulled on his gloves, lifted a syringe and prepared to inject it close to the stitches. “If the frog god had provided that, you’d simply do more stupid things to injure yourself.”
“I didn’t injure myself,” she snapped. “I was shot.”
“Most patients would lie down and recover. It is considered the wise move to make. Let’s use some pain relief and clean this up.” He couldn’t resist adding, “Again.”
Peggy lifted the cloth off the tray and revealed an impressive array of instruments.
Dr. Frownfelter placed the syringe in the disposal container. “Mike Sun called me about the autopsy he’s doing. Asked me about Monique Ries, where exactly the slashing was relative to her face and neck, wanted to know what I thought had been used to cause the injury.”
“What did you tell him?”
“She was slashed along the jawline, right at the bone, with something incredibly sharp because she didn’t realize at first that she was being cut. That accounted for the clean line along the first two inches. After that, not even booze could dull the pain. Monique went berserk and the cut got ugly.” He went to work cleaning up Kateri’s ribs. “I thought the assailant had aimed for her throat and missed, but Mike said the slashing on the deceased was exactly in the same location—and then some.”
“All around the jaw, up…” Kateri realized she’d better not visualize that again, not while Dr. Frownfelter was working on her ribs. “It was such a precise cut. About two hours ago, Mike sent me the report. I forwarded it to Garik Jacobsen, but I haven’t had time to read it. Did Mike tell you what was used to make the incision?”
“He didn’t know. I suggested a scalpel, but he said no. Not a razor blade, not an X-Acto knife … How long’s it been since you’ve eaten?”
Kateri couldn’t remember. “Why?”
“Because your stomach’s growling so loud we can hear it,” Peggy said.
“Can you round her something up?” Dr. Frownfelter worked on the injury, dabbing and pressing. “She’ll need something in her gullet before she takes any medication.”
“Gullet? Is that official medical talk?” Kateri asked.
“Soup. Jell-O. Pudding. Rice. The usual for this time of night. Then I’ll call down to the cafeteria and have them bring up a meal.” Peggy whipped out the door.
“Saw my old friend Bertha Waldschmidt and ordered her an X-ray,” Dr. Frownfelter chuckled and shook his head at the same time. “What a woman. Holds off a maniac with a machete, chases him out of her bar, shoots him in the butt, then fractures her hip jumping up on the bar in a rage.”
“Is she going to have to have surgery?”
“Hairline fracture. She saw the orthopedist. If she uses crutches, keeps the weight off of it, uses heat and cold and the X-rays show normal healing—no. But she’s older, so I give a fifty/fifty chance of it healing on its own. If it doesn’t, I don’t want to be the one who tells her she has to head to Seattle for a hip replacement.” He opened a wide package and pulled out a sterile dressing.
“No.” Over Dr. Frownfelter’s shoulder, Kateri observed Rainbow’s still figure, her waxy complexion, the shallow rise of her chest. “Is she worse? I can’t tell.”
“Still hovering on the brink. Every day someone from town comes in and sits with her, talks to her. That anchors her, I believe. Most nights she’s alone and she slips a little farther along the path.” He taped the dressing in place.
Kateri wanted to go home, to sleep in her own bed with Stag and Lacey, but she said, “I can stay tonight.”
To her surprise, Dr. Frownfelter didn’t argue. “We’ll bring a cot in.”
Peggy came back with chocolate pudding and a cup of beef bouillon.
Kateri drank the bouillon and burned her mouth. She used the pudding to soothe her tongue.
Dr. Frownfelter stripped off his gloves and tossed them. “You got any other injuries that require attention? How’s the hip, the knee, the … how’re all the artificial joints?”
“I’m stiff. But this food was amazing.”
Dr. Frownfelter laughed creakily. “We don’t hear that every day.”
“I’ve got a tray on the way,” Peggy said. “And a cot. Is there anybody you want us to call?”
“Stag Denali. I can do it. He’s probably going to yell, and it might as well be at me.” Kateri started to stand.
Dr. Frownfelter and Peggy each grabbed an arm and helped her up.
“Thank you.” Kateri limped over to the bed, leaned over Rainbow’s face, smoothed the hair away from her forehead. “Rainbow,” she called softly. “I’m here. I’m staying with you tonight.”
Dr. Frownfelter shoved a chair under her knees. “Sit down before you fall down, at least until the cot gets here.”
Kateri sat and held Rainbow’s cool hand between both of hers. “So much is happening, Rainbow. Did you hear any of what I was telling the doctor? It’s very exciting. My life is full of adventure. And you wouldn’t believe the stupid thing I said today about me and casual relationships. Or maybe you would.” She half expected to hear Rainbow laughing at her, booming out wisdom, talking so fast the words tumbled over themselves.
Yet except for the whoosh of the door as Dr. Frownfelter left the room and Peggy’s careful cleanup of the tray, the room was silent.
When Dr. Frownfelter returned, a mug in each hand, Peggy indicated Kateri, head resting on the mattress, sound asleep. “Still holding Rainbow’s hand.”
“This is going to be a tough one for her.”
Peggy took a blanket from the warmer and tucked it around Kateri. “Do you want me to call Stag Denali?”
“I already did it. He’s a big guy. Young. When he gets here, he can move her to the cot.” Dr. Frownfelter handed Peggy one of the mugs. “Come on, old girl, let’s do our final rounds and when the next crew comes in, we’ll head for home.”
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
Benedict stared out the windshield at the dark, windy coastal road lit only by the sweep of the headlights. “I don’t think I’ve ever had a woman buy dinner for me before.”
Merida was driving; she had limited herself to one glass of that very fine wine, so she couldn’t blame the alcohol. But without thinking, she lifted one hand from the wheel and signed, “Yes, you have. Remember—” Horrified, she caught herself.
“Remember what?” His head turned toward her and he stared.
Remember when I dragged you to the Hickory Barn for barbecue and I paid? “Nothing. I was thinking of … nothing.” She put her hand back on the wheel before she blurted out another word.
The trouble with using Benedict as protection was that, other than the fact he had tried to kill her, she liked him. Tonight, as before, they talked, they argued, they laughed. Her hands hurt from signing so much.
He looked back at the road. “I still believe we’ve met. But how could I have forgotten you?”