Kind of like Dr. Muncie just now. If the patient were a friend, Frankie thought, concentrating on dating the paperwork correctly, you’d think he’d be a tad more considerate.
The dialysis room must’ve been just around the corner because less than a minute later the doctor strode out alone, brushing past Frankie so closely they touched.
She cleared her throat. “Dr. Muncie.”
“Yes?” He turned to her, forehead creased in a frown. Maybe it was her imagination, but she thought his frown faded a little as he eyed her from top to bottom and back up.
“I just wanted to ask—how is the girl my partner and I treated at the lake the other day?”
He looked perfectly blank for a moment. “What? Who?”
After a pause long enough Frankie began to think his memory shorted out even worse than her own, recall apparently flooded in. “Oh, right. You’re one of the local EMTs, aren’t you? I suppose you mean the young woman who ran into my dock with her Jet Ski. I really can’t say how she is. She’s not my patient.”
She blinked. That sounded pretty cold. “Even so—” she began, but he cut her off.
“I’m sorry if I sound crass, but in my position, I don’t dare show too much concern. There’s a certain element that would take that as an admission of some sort.” He looked at his watch, a platinum Omega, and sighed.
“Admission of what?” Frankie drew a blank. What was he talking about?
“In this case, of supplying the dock the girl rammed, thereby causing injury.”
Enlightenment dawned. “Oh. You mean a lawsuit.”
“Exactly. If you’re curious about her condition, ask at the front desk. I’m sure they can give you an update.” He strode out through the ER’s automatic doors without pausing, supremely confident they’d open in time to keep him from running head first into them.
Open they did, whooshing apart just in the nick of time.
Lew, his arms full of supplies, showed up while she was still staring after the doctor.
“Ready to go?” His elbow in the ribs brought her attention back to business.
“Yep.” She hit enter, sending the paperwork into the system.
Once outside, they stacked the supplies in the rear of the ambulance and headed back to Hawkesford with all due speed. Neither wanted to be away from town any longer than necessary, in case... just in case.
Dawn stabbed pink fingers of light into the milky sky as they climbed the hill south of Coeur d’Alene. Below them, Cougar Bay glimmered darkly.
“Was that Doc Muncie you were talking to?” Lew dimmed his headlights for an oncoming semi.
“Trying to, yes.” Frankie made a face. “Do you know him well?”
Lew cracked one of his rare grins. “Me? Know him well? Frankie, I’m a paramedic, he’s a doctor. What do you think?”
“Oh. One of them.” She grinned too. “He’s a study in contrasts, isn’t he? Do you know he hasn’t even bothered to see whether that girl we treated on his dock lived or died?”
“Not surprised. Under his wife’s advice, I’m sure.”
“His wife? What’s she got to do with anything?”
“She’s someone big in the legal profession. Keeps an eye on her husband’s malpractice insurance claims, from what I hear.”
“Does he have many?” Frankie’s mouth twisted.
“Don’t they all?”
“Hmm. But on the other hand, he’s up early helping some poor old guy make his dialysis appointment.”
Lew blew a raspberry. “I wouldn’t give him angel wings, Frankie. Doubt if his time goes unbilled.”
She looked over at him, a little surprised by his mockery. “What do you mean?”
“I mean Dr. Muncie has a large practice. Really large. And many of his patients are elderly, just like you saw. The doc makes sure the old geezers get in for checkups early and often. Word is, he has Medicare on speed dial.”
“Oh.”
“Yeah.”
Disillusioned by Lew’s comments, Frankie was unable to stop worrying about—among other things—her dogs, locked in the Ranger. She needed to get them out of there. Banner could be depended on not to pee on or tear up the seats, but Shine was an unknown factor. More worrisome, she could feel the rapidly rising sun shining through the ambulance’s side window, already gathering warmth. And her pickup was sitting right in the sun’s full blaze without a trace of shade. Everybody knew the statistics when it came to animals—and small children—left any length of time in a closed vehicle.
Lew noticed her agitation as she glanced at her watch—a big old Timex with an indispensable sweep hand—for the umpteenth time. “We don’t pay overtime, in case you wondered.”
“Huh?”
“I said—”
Realization of his meaning struck. “It’s not that. I don’t care about the time. Or I do, but it’s because the dogs are shut in the cab of my pickup. Do you think I can call Gabe and have him let them out? Maybe put them in the duplex’s bedroom.”
Lew’s foot came down on the accelerator. “I wouldn’t recommend it. He’s the officer in charge now. He’ll be working his butt off to bag this murderer ASAP. Be my guess he’s got enough to worry about without babysitting a couple dogs.”
The cosmic universe must’ve been listening because no sooner did he close his mouth than Frankie’s phone rang. She picked up.
“Frankie!” Jesselyn squeaked. “What the heck is going on at your place? I heard cops are swarming around like flies on poop over there.”
If Jesselyn hadn’t heard about Howie’s murder, it must mean either the grapevine had crop failure, or the sheriff’s office—meaning Gabe—was keeping a tight lid on things. But now people would be getting up. Word would spread. The murder wouldn’t stay hidden long.
“It’s Howie,” she said. “He’s been... killed.”
“What?” Jesselyn’s voice went shrill with shock. “Killed? How? What happened? Don’t tell me someone ran over him as he was staggering home from the bar!”
“Good guess, after what happened to his arm, but no. Not that.” Frankie knew no other way to say it. “He was at home. Somebody murdered him.”
“Are you serious?” Jesselyn’s question rose into a high-pitched mini-scream.
Holding the phone away from her ear, Frankie nodded as if Jesselyn could see her. “I’m afraid so.”
“Who did it?”
“Don’t know yet. Turns out the detectives assigned to the case had a collision with a deer. Now it depends on whether Gabe and Rudy have caught anyone or not. Lew and I had to go on a run, so we’ve been out of the loop.”
Jesselyn was silent a few moments, then said, “Wow. I’m glad you were working. What if you’d been there? You might’ve been murdered, too.”
As if the idea hadn’t been tumbling over and over through Frankie’s brain since it happened. “I was there,” she admitted. “I’d gone home to check on the dogs when I heard a shot.”
“Jeez, he was shot?”
“Yes.” Now Frankie was the one who sounded stark. She didn’t want the vision of how Howie had looked, lying there with—Didn’t want the picture in her memory, didn’t want a reminder of the smell. Didn’t want the sound of gunfire reminding her... Reminding her.
“Did you see the killer?” Jesselyn whispered.
“No. Wish I had. Gabe would have this all wrapped up by now.”
But Jesselyn just had to put a name to Frankie’s fears. “But, Frankie, what if the killer saw you? What if he knows you were there?”
In Frankie’s opinion, her friend could’ve gone all day—or forever—without bringing up that point. Anyway, what difference did it make if Howie’s killer had seen her? He’d known she was there. That was enough.
“Oh, he knows.”
“He does? Frankie, you didn’t try to—”
Her mouth tightened. “Try to what?”
A silence. Jesselyn said, “Play hero.”
“No.”
Grit
ting her teeth, Frankie shifted the conversation, asking Jesselyn if she’d mind checking on Banner and Shine. But by the time she finished explaining how she’d acquired Denise Rider’s dog and answered at least fifty more excited questions with monosyllables, they were cresting the hill into Hawkesford, and it was no longer necessary. Relieved, she hung up.
“Jesselyn should’ve hired on as a detective.” Lew sounded sympathetic. “She’s got the question asking part down pat.”
Frankie, feeling like she’d been twisted into knots, could only agree.
“Anyway, it’s quitting time for us, partner.” Lew winked at her. “I’ll drop you off at the duplex. Chris and Marc should’ve checked in for their shift by now. It’ll probably fall to them to transport St. James’s body to the morgue—if the ME hasn’t made other arrangements. If she has, our guys can clean the ambulance and put away supplies. Give ’em something to do besides scratch their asses and bitch.”
Even to herself, Frankie’s laugh sounded a little forced, but she had no desire to argue. “Better them than me—cleaning the ambulance I mean, not the other.”
Now, if only she could decide what to do next. Staying at the duplex horrified her, the mere thought of sleeping there made her legs go weak.
In a perfect world—heck, even a week ago—she would’ve asked Jesselyn for a bed. After all, she’d be at work while Frankie slept. The request had been right on the tip of her tongue as they talked. But the way Jesselyn blew her off when Frankie mentioned staying there the other day had stuck. And she’d been joking then.
“Who’s Jesselyn’s boyfriend, Lew?” Her former curiosity rose to the surface as they turned down the street where police cars still took up most of the space.
“Damned if I know.” Lew threaded the ambulance between Gabe’s Expedition and a state police cruiser. “Don’t care. But probably somebody who’s not good for her.”
Frankie sighed. “The usual, in other words.”
Stopping in the middle of the road, he waited for her to get out. “You got that right. Ask Maggie. If anyone knows, she does.”
Frankie resolved to do that very thing. Maybe later today if Maggie was on shift again. But for now, she had to see to the dogs and find a place to sleep, someplace other than Jesselyn’s place. Or in Gabe Zantos’s spare bedroom. She couldn’t—just couldn’t—impose on him again.
Waving to Lew as he drove off, Frankie was relieved to see Banner with his nose pressed against the window, in no apparent distress. She hurried to unlock the door and let him jump to the ground. Shine, smart dog, waited for help.
As she looped a collar around Banner’s furry neck, Gabe strode to meet her as if he’d been on the lookout for her return. Although more than likely, Frankie thought, the cop standing outside the duplex had warned him of her arrival.
“Sorry, Frankie,” Gabe said, not sounding sorry at all. “I can’t let you back in the duplex. Crime scene people are going over your unit along with Howie’s.” He eyed the bichon, who was barely able to walk, as she squatted at their feet. “This Ms. Rider’s dog?’
“Yes.”
“Looks like she’s in tough shape.”
Frankie nodded.
“And you don’t look much better.” Gabe’s comment didn’t exactly make Frankie’s morning.
“Thanks.” Her sarcasm earned a narrowing of his eyes.
What difference does how I look make? she wondered a moment later. Why should she waste a second’s thought? Gabe wasn’t likely to become interested in, let alone involved with a woman sporting a foot prosthesis and a skull that set off metal detectors every time she went through a security gate. She figured him for a kind man, taking pity on a wounded warrior.
How she hated that phrase—almost as much as she hated being one.
“I’m just saying.” Gabe leaned against the Ranger, arms crossed, his hip rubbing a clean spot in the dust. He appeared tired, too, hazel eyes red-rimmed, new lines apparent in his face.
“I know how I look,” she blurted. “No need to rub it in. And maybe you ought to look in the mirror yourself.”
His hand rubbing the dark stubble on his chin failed to hide a grin. “That wasn’t meant as an insult.”
She shrugged
He started over. “I just meant—”
A hound baying on the hill above the duplex cut him off. Gabe’s head turned sharply toward the ominous peals.
The other dog’s noise raised Banner’s hackles. He tugged at the leash, almost pulling it from Frankie’s hand. “Stay,” she told him.
Rudy Swallowtail popped from the doorway of Howie’s unit. “Hey, Zantos,” he called to Gabe. “Listen up. Sounds like that Freak is on to something.”
Chapter 13
Gabe’s face came alive. Straightening from where he’d been leaning against the pickup, he waved acknowledgment to Rudy. Wired, from all appearances, by Swallowtail’s message, Frankie plummeted from his “pressing concerns” list.
She didn’t blame him a bit.
“Give me a second and we’ll go see what he’s found,” he called to Swallowtail. “You know where I keep the house key,” he told her, dusting road-dirt off his rear. Excitement sparked in his eyes. “Take the dogs and make yourself at home. I need to talk to you as soon as I’m done here.”
“I can’t—” she started, but he interrupted.
“Can’t what? Stay at my house? Sure, you can. Just say it’s so I’ll know where to find you later.”
This last came from over his shoulder. He was already taking long strides to meet up with the tribal policeman. With a brief order to the remaining deputy to keep an eye on things, he and Rudy trotted off on foot, following the bloodhound’s yodel.
“Huh. Okay. But only because I want to talk to you, too.”
Frankie’s mutter chased the two men as they disappeared into the woods behind the duplex. She didn’t much like acceding to Gabe’s... um... order, but with no other likely option presenting itself, set about gathering the dogs into the pickup again.
“Starting to smell pretty funky in here,” she complained to Banner.
He stared at her out of dark, almond-shaped eyes and smiled.
“Yeah,” she put the Ranger in gear, “some of it’s the new kid, but not all, buster.”
A portion of the odor might even have been herself. God only knows she felt soiled enough.
At her grandmother’s house, she carried in her traveling bag of clothes, everything dirty now. The laundry room was exactly as she remembered. Sometime in the last fifty years, a handyman, probably her grandfather, had boxed in one side of the back porch where the washer, dryer, and a huge freezer lined up side-by-side. The appliances were all leftover from her grandmother’s day.
Before tossing her clothing into the top-loader, she rinsed the blood from her uniform shirt in cold water at the scullery sink and couldn’t help smiling just a little at the old word. Scullery. It had been one of Grandma’s favorites. Frankie thought it was because the old lady had read tons of Gothic romantic suspense way back when. And unless Gabe had disposed of the library, they were probably still stashed somewhere in the house.
Gabe had recently done laundry, too, and hadn’t had a chance to put his stuff away. Without thinking twice, she stole a white T-shirt from a stack sitting on the dryer to use as a sleep shirt.
A ripple feathered her skin as she slipped it on. The shirt smelled of a clean-scented detergent... and something else. Gabe. The combination pleased her.
When the wash cycle completed, she loaded the dryer, hit the go button, and dropped into bed like a wounded thing...
Frankie fell, tumbling in a riot of blood and noise. Panic flooded her system. Sweat drenched her body. Pain. Fear. Heart pounding. Lightning slashing at her brain. Explosions pulsating in her ears. Where was she? Couldn’t breathe.
They were coming. Enemies with cloth-wrapped heads. The rifle. Fire the rifle. Lieutenant Jay’s face twisted in agony. Drag him out of the wreckage, out of the fire.
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Get to the machine gun. Shoot. Shoot them all. Him and him and him and—
Noise.
Oh, God. It hurt—she hurt—so bad.
Couldn’t breathe!
The instant she hit the floor, Frankie’s nightmare vision shattered. A hard landing. Painful. Bones crushed beneath the weight on top of her. She was yelling. And crying. Bewildered.
Frantic, she pushed at the weight.
“Frankie. For God’s sake. Frankie!”
Who is that?
“Take it easy. Calm down. You’re all right. Frankie, you’re okay. You fell out of bed, is all.”
Strong hands gripped her shoulders, not quite hard enough to bruise.
Whoever it was continued to speak. Quietly. Soothingly, but with an undercurrent of tension. How did he know what she needed to hear?
He?
Gabe Zantos.
She could smell him, knowing his scent from the shirt she wore. Knew his voice. Just couldn’t see him. Not yet. Not until the flashing lights behind her eyes settled down. And they would when she did. But dammit. Dammit! He was right on top of her, and he’d see... he’d see the damage the war had done.
As if this episode hadn’t shown him, plain as day.
Shit.
She went still and wished for invisibility. It didn’t happen.
Tears seeped from between her closed eyelids, but she wasn’t crying. Not really. She was just a little... leaky.
“Are you awake now?” Gabe asked, almost whispering. “Look at me.”
She opened her eyes. Another flash blinded her, but then something changed. The pain evaporated, and vision returned. Another blink and Gabe’s face bobbed into focus.
She nodded. “You’re squashing me. Get off. What are you doing in here, anyway?” She knew she sounded combative, but damn it all.
“I heard you cry out and then a thump.” He brushed the hair from her eyes. “Didn’t know what was going on. Sorry.”
Hometown Homicide Page 12
