Murder in Roseville

by Denise McGee

  "Fun times ahead. And here?" I reached up to touch the pulsing area above my right ear and discovered my entire head was encased in bandages. I hadn't even felt them until that moment, I'd been distracted first by Laurel and then by the bass drums in my arm. Now that I knew the bandage was there I could feel the scratchiness of the gauze tickling my ear and I had to resist the urge to pull it off. This is why they'd tied me down. Poor impulse control, thy name is Aaron. I laughed out loud and then intercepted the questioning look Laurel threw Andy.

  "He's like that," he reassured her. "He laughs at things in his head all the time."

  She smiled at him in relief and I squinted my eyes at them, tamping down a rush of jealousy. I imagined them sitting vigil over my inert form, bonding, getting closer. And why wouldn't they? He's a doctor, not to mention a great guy. And she's sexy as well as being a total sweetheart. As a match, it made perfect sense.

  I shook my head. I was being ridiculous. It's not like Andy has time to sit and stare at a comatose patient for hours. He's a highly successful orthopedic surgeon who's in great demand at two hospitals. Besides, Laurel was mine, whether she knew it or not.

  I realized I'd missed what Andy was saying about my head. "Mind went down a rabbit hole. Repeat?"

  "I said, a piece of shrapnel grazed you there and you have ten stitches. You're lucky whatever it was didn't fly an inch to the left or I'd be talking to your ghost right now."

  I hazily remembered the chunk of metal embedded in the remains of the porch swing. It'd been close. I fingered the bandages on my head reflexively and started when a feminine hand gently pulled it away and held it.

  "Don't make me tie you up again," she said humorously.

  "I don't know," I said with a smirk. "I just may like that."

  She colored a little again but kept her smile and didn't look away. From the corner of my eye, I saw Andy's eyebrows shoot up and take permanent residence under his hair. I laughed at his expression.

  Behind Andy, the nurse was messing around with the IV and I realized what he had been doing when my eyes suddenly started crossing.

  "Bastard. Just woke up." I complained.

  "You can sue me for malpractice when it wears off."

  I pulled the hand Laurel was holding to my lips and kissed her fingers. "You sleep too. I'm not going anywhere."

  I was out before she could respond.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  Followed

  LAUREL

  As I watched Aaron fall asleep, my stomach rumbled.

  "Are you finally going to eat something?" Andy asked, the corners of his mouth twitching. He'd been after me to eat since the accident. Until Aaron had opened his eyes I hadn't been able to force more than a bite or two past my lips, though. Now I was starving.

  I smiled, relief shining in my eyes. "I do believe I will." His soft laughter followed me to the door. I paused, looking back at the slumbering Aaron.

  A thought struck me. "Andy, do you have any string?"

  He wordlessly reached into a pocket and handed me a spool of thread. I raised an eyebrow in question.

  "I popped a button on my lab coat earlier."

  I loosely tied Aaron's right wrist to the rail.

  "I've got the restraints if you'd like those instead," Andy said.

  "No. This way he can get loose if he tugs hard enough."

  Andy nodded and my stomach growled again.

  "He'll probably sleep for 6-7 hours, Laurel. Go take care of yourself for a bit."

  "Thanks, Andy." He'd been nearly as concerned about Aaron's long sleep as I. I took a deep breath, forced my eyes from Aaron, and limped down the hall. It was harder to walk out the front door than I'd imagined but I managed to keep myself from going back.

  I decided to stop by my house first and get some different clothes. Cheryl had brought me an outfit to wear after the explosion had shredded what I had been wearing, but I was tired of rinsing them out in the hotel bathroom.

  The hospital reception desk called a cab for me and forty-five minutes later I was pulling up outside my battered home. There was a patrol car in the drive and I wondered if they were still gathering evidence. I asked the cabbie to wait for me and awkwardly exited the back seat.

  A uniformed officer opened the driver's side door of the cruiser as I hobbled up the drive. He stepped out of his vehicle and stopped me.

  "Can I help you?"

  "I'm Laurel Wentworth and this is my house. Can I go in and get some clothes and things?"

  "Sorry, ma'am. This is an active crime scene. No one is allowed in until the crime lab is done with the place."

  I sighed but had expected this when I'd seen his car.

  "Any idea when I'll be able to get in again?"

  "No, I don't, ma'am." He handed me a card. It was the number for the detective squad. "But if you call that number someone there might be able to tell you."

  I nodded and finally took a good look at my house. The damage was less than I expected. The windows were broken, of course, but the porch was relatively intact. Just a few broken balusters. Even the light fixture was still there. Must have been sheltered by the overhang.

  My plants were a mess, but those could be replaced. All in all, it could have been so much worse.

  I sighed and I stumped my way back to the waiting cab. Time to get something to eat and - I plucked at my bedraggled shirt - maybe buy some other clothes.

  Roseville isn't a small town but it's got that small town feel. No big box outlets or miles of strip malls. It's one of the reasons I'd made the town my home.

  We do have the obligatory fast food chains - I don't think anyplace can get away from those - but the best place to eat was a small diner called Nancy's. It was nestled downtown in a corner shop on the main street. The food was the simple fare you found in such places. But it was filling and the service was friendly.

  I slipped in the back door, took a quick look around and slid onto the wooden bench of my favorite booth, with my head down. My booted foot made a hollow thump on the base of the seat as I settled myself. It was a small, secluded booth in the back. Its size and location meant it was rarely occupied and I'd found it a great location to observe life without the emotions of the surrounding customers overwhelming me.

  Today I hoped its seclusion would allow me to eat unmolested. I'd been dodging a persistent reporter since the accident - I'd caught glimpses of him shadowing me on the rare occasions I'd left Aaron's side but so far I'd managed to avoid him.

  The smell of hot grease and cooking fries permeated the air as I glanced at the menu. I don't know why I bothered; I always ordered the same thing.

  A strange waitress came to take my order. I smiled, relaxing. Being a regular usually has its upside, but there would be no awkward questions along with today's meal.

  I should have known I wouldn't get off that easily.

  Nancy hurried from the kitchen, a broad smile on her plump cheeks.

  "Miss Laurel! I see the ticket and know it was you! You ok? Such a big boom, we hear it here." She was a large, comfortable woman who retained a hint of her Slavic ancestry in her speech.

  "I'm fine. Thank you, Nancy. Just a little banged up is all."

  "Well, I say you don't look so good. You sit while I feed you." She patted me gently on the shoulder and headed to the kitchen, yelling orders in Polish as she entered the swinging doors.

  She came back in 10 minutes with her arms full of plates and my waitress trailing behind her with two more.

  "Good God, Nancy! I can't eat all that."

  "Bah. You eat. You too skinny before, worse now."

  I looked at the array of dishes, doubt clear in my eyes. I saw my usual order – home fries topped with scrambled eggs, cheese and bacon – as well as toast, cinnamon apples, hash browns, an English muffin, and corned beef hash. She made a clicking sound in her throat, nodding at the plates. "Eat." She handed me a napkin-wrapped fork and walked away.

  I pushed the corned beef hash away. I couldn't s
tand the stuff. My tummy rumbled again. I unwrapped my fork and attacked my meal. Once the first edge of my hunger abated, I began to notice the other diners. It was before the lunch rush so there were only three other occupied booths. In one, a young fair-haired man was trying to peer into my booth but was thwarted by the decorative trellis separating the booths. I could see him through one of the holes, but he couldn't see me.

  He looked familiar but I couldn't place him. I stabbed an apple slice and munched on it while I contemplated his face.

  My fork scraped across the bottom of the bowl. All that was left was the scent of warm cinnamon. Blinking, I looked at the empty dishes on the table. I'd eaten everything but the hash. Nancy would be pleased.

  I glanced at the strange man trying to watch me. He turned his head to look at someone coming in the front door and I recognized him. It was the reporter. I bit my lip, looking over my shoulder at the back door.

  He was still looking the other direction so I tried to slip from the booth unnoticed. I'd forgotten the soft cast on my leg, however, and didn't slide out as gracefully as I'd intended. Instead, I caught the boot on the wood end and stumbled out onto the diner floor, drawing the very eyes I'd been hoping to avoid.

  Nancy hustled up, hands raised in shock. "Miss Laurel, are you ok?" She cast the stoic seat a venomous look.

  My cheeks reddened. "I'm fine, Nancy. I forgot about the stupid cast for a moment." I rubbed my wrist. I'd wrenched it when I'd stopped myself from falling.

  "You hurt your wrist. Come. We go to the kitchen and I get you some ice." I protested but she steered me through the swinging doors and into organized chaos anyway. Cooks and helpers looked up as we entered. Nancy made shooing noises at them and they lowered their heads and went back to work. Nancy wrapped some ice in a small towel and pressed it to my wrist.

  "I'm fine, Nancy," I said again. Truthfully, I didn't mind hiding out in the kitchen for a while and idly wondered if Nancy would think it weird if I crawled out a window. Pity not much happened in Roseville. It'd be a while before interest in what had happened at my house died down.

  A teen came from the back of the kitchen carrying a box of potatoes on his shoulder. Nancy waved him to a row of sinks. "Put them there. You need pay now?"

  The kid shrugged. "Dad didn't say, so I guess not."

  Nancy nodded. "I pay on Friday when rest of lettuce comes then." The kid nodded and departed the direction he'd come.

  My eyes lit up. "Nancy," my voice came out as a breathless squeak and I swallowed. "Nancy, is there another back door through the kitchen?"

  She nodded. "Is for deliveries."

  My lips spread into a wide smile. "Do you think I could go out that way? It'd be closer to my car and my leg's hurting me." I lied without compunction. My car was in pieces but I had no intention of going anywhere near that reporter.

  "Of course. You just be careful on the step, ok?"

  I assured her I would and headed in the direction the boy had disappeared. There was a short hallway at the end of the kitchen that opened into a wide storage room. Light shone in a door that was standing ajar at the far wall. I stumped to it, glancing behind me. The kitchen continued to bustle undisturbed. I just might have made it out of there without confronting the pestilential reporter.

  Stepping out into the sunshine, I found myself on a low loading dock. I clumped down the three short steps onto the pavement. Looking down the alleyway behind the row of shops, I saw nothing but a few dumpsters and a delivery scooter. I headed that direction. My hotel and the hospital were both that way. New clothes could wait.

  I'd gone past the back entrances to three stores – and their fragrant dumpsters - before I heard the footsteps behind me. They kept a steady pace, not hurrying, so I resisted the urge to look back. Whoever it was moved faster than I could on my casted foot, though. The footsteps quickly grew nearer.

  Shadows flickered into the alley as cars passed the end of the narrow lane. I was a mere store away from exiting into the bright sunshine. I increased my pace, ignoring the strain on my ankle. The incoming footsteps were maybe only five feet behind me now.

  I passed the last dumpster, trying not to inhale too deeply - the rancid odor coming from the bin tainted the air as I gasped for breath. Fear was taking over. Pretty soon I'd be hyperventilating if I didn't get hold of myself.

  The boot felt as if it gained weight with every step I took. My limp grew more pronounced. The pain was nearing intolerable levels.

  I reached the spur of sunshine wending its way into the alley and realized the soft footfalls behind me had ceased. I risked a look back as I continued forward. The alleyway was empty.

  I turned around - walking backward onto the sidewalk – as I tried to see where the reporter had gone. Other than a wrapper from a fast food joint fluttering in the light breeze, the alley was empty.

  My back collided with a warm immovable object. Hands grasped me firmly by the upper arms.

  "I'm so sorry," I gasped, trying to turn around so I could apologize properly. I found I couldn't move. Whoever held me wasn't letting go.

  A warm breath in my ear stopped my attempt to look over my shoulder. "Don't struggle," a voice hissed. The taste of his words conveyed a hard edge I had no desire to fight against. A hip nudged me forward. "Walk into the alley."

  I found myself propelled back the way I'd just come. My throat dried and my palms dampened. The hands remained until we were well within the shadows of the alley, then I was spun to face my abductor and pushed against a wall. It was the reporter.

  Suddenly, I was gloriously angry. The stupid bastard had scared me to death over a stupid story?

  "Taking 'get the story at all costs' a bit seriously, don't you think? Well, you can forget getting any sort of quote from me after this stunt." I tried to shake off his hands but he didn't let go.

  He looked confused. "What're you babbling about?"

  "Don't play dumb with me. You reporters are all alike. Harass innocent people to sell your stupid papers."

  "Lady, I don't know who you think I am, but I ain't no lousy reporter."

  I froze, uncertain now. The words tasted right on my tongue. He spoke the truth. "Then what do you want? I don't have any money," I lied. It was getting to be a bad habit with me.

  His eyes took in my clothes. "I bet you could put your hands on a pretty penny if I wanted it, though. Don't worry. I ain't after your money." He reached out and touched the stubble above the bandage on my head. The discarded food wrapper whirled in a tight spiral with some dust and other debris as the wind kicked up around us. "And while you may have been pretty enough a couple days ago, I ain't after your virtue, neither. No, lady, what I want is a bit more..."

  He cut off as the heavy dumpster rammed into his side, knocking him away from me. After one startled look, I hop-ran as fast as the heavy boot would allow me to the sidewalk. The breeze pushed helpfully at my back. I could hear the wheels grating on the alley pavement and I glanced over my shoulder as I fled. The trash bin blocked the stranger's attempts to follow me.

  I nearly stopped my flight when I realized it was doing so on its own. There wasn't a soul around except for my erstwhile abductor and myself.

  A cab appeared at the corner of Main Street and I waved frantically for it to pick me up. As it swung my direction I could hear the stranger trying to kick the recalcitrant waste bin out of his way.

  There was a crash from the alley. It sounded as if he'd slammed the dumpster out of his way and into the wall. The cab stopped and I slipped inside as the disheveled man emerged from the alley.

  "Don't stop," I told the cabbie as the stranger made a grab for the door and the driver eased up on the gas, thinking he was with me. The cab accelerated away, leaving my abductor staring after me and swearing.

  "Fight with your boyfriend? He beat you up?" I could see the driver's eyes look at my bandages in the rearview mirror.

  "Something like that," I said, not really paying attention. What in the world had just happ
ened? "Take me to the hospital, please." After the odd altercation, I felt the need to be near Aaron, even if he was asleep.

  I leaned back in the seat - waiting for the short ride to end – still trying to wrap my head around the strange behavior of the dumpster.

  We arrived at the hospital 10 minutes later but I hadn't come to any conclusions. I tried to shove the memory away as I paid the cabbie and hurried back to Aaron's floor.

  As I approached a nurse exited his room. "He's awake then?" I asked her.

  She gave me a sour look. "Perhaps you can do something with him. He's already trying my patience."

  I smiled - relieved he wasn't sleeping - and entered as a blast of sound from the TV took over the small space.

  CHAPTER NINE

  Stuck in Bed

  AARON

  When I woke again, I was alone. I pushed down a feeling of disappointment. I had told her to get some sleep and judging by the circles under her eyes, it was highly needed.

  My nose itched, so I lifted my right hand to scratch it. There was a slight resistance and then a thwang as the thread that had tied my wrist to the rail snapped. I laughed. Laurel hadn't trusted I would leave the bandage alone while she was gone. I appreciated not being fully restrained again, though, and made a mental note to thank her.

  Itch satisfied, I looked for the call button. I wanted to know when I could get out of here. It was on the other side of the dresser-nightstand thing they had at my bedside. Right beside the TV remote. Of course. Just because a guy is unconscious doesn't mean he relinquishes his right to the remote. I'm pretty sure it's a commandant or something. Thou shalt not interfereth with a man and his remote.

  These drugs were making me loopy.

  I briefly thought about sleeping off the last dregs of medication but rejected it. I didn't think I'd actually be able to sleep, for one thing. And I might miss Laurel's return if I did manage it.

  Clusters of IV bags hung on a stand beside my hospital bed. I considered removing the line flowing from them to the back of my hand. I didn't really want them to knock me out again but some of the drugs they were pumping into me were probably necessary for my arm to heal right. I decided to leave the IV line alone for now.