by T. E. Woods
“No divine plan? No mysterious force guiding us?”
Ronnie looked down into her wineglass and considered the questions. “I don’t know the answer to that. One of the great things about being a physician is I get to see miracles up close and personal. I don’t mean the whole miracle-of-modern-science stuff. That kind of thing I see every day. I mean the flat-out, can’t-explain-it, shouldn’t-have-happened-yet-it-did kind of thing. Those are miracles. Like a woman I’m working with now. She and her husband had been seeing me for years. Desperate to get pregnant. We ran tests. She was fine. His sperm, though? It was a billion to one he’d ever impregnate anyone. Neither was interested in sperm donation or adoption, so they came to accept the fact that they would be a childless couple.”
“And now they build orphanages in Ethiopia.”
“No. Nothing like that. They hunkered down and focused on their careers. She walked into my office about a year later. Pregnant.”
“By him?”
“So says the DNA. She’s due in about three weeks. Those are the miracles I’m talking about. You and me and how we got here? That’s just one day following the last.”
Sydney considered her friend’s assessment. Perhaps there was nothing mystical about life. Maybe it was all nothing more than action and reaction.
“And right now, if I know what’s good for me, I’ll put my one foot in front of the other and head home. I’ve got a busy day and I know you, Dr. Pernod, probably have an even busier one.”
“I don’t know about that.”
Sydney set down her wineglass and stood. “Well, at least a day that’s filled with important-sounding tests and the possibility of new life.”
“You okay to drive?”
“That’s why I’m leaving that second glass of wine right there on the table. Come on. Walk me out.”
“Are you dodging the whole when-do-I-meet-Clay thing? Because I can get Nancy on the phone right now. The two of us can do a gang-up on you that Houdini himself couldn’t escape.”
Sydney reached down and pulled her friend into a standing position. “Like when I was scared to get fitted for braces? You came over and asked Mom to take us for ice cream. I had no idea the two of you had colluded to get me into the car.”
“I hope you thank us every time you see your beautiful smile. When do I meet Clay?”
Sydney knew there was no winning this one. “Are you free tomorrow night? Say around nine-thirty? Meet me at Hush Money. We’ll walk over to the Low Down. Maybe then I can convince you it’s more than a bar.”
“Barring any surprises, I’ll be there. And don’t worry. My interrogation will be so subtle Clay won’t even know he’s under the microscope.”
“If only I could hope the same thing from Mom.” She dug her keys out of her purse.
The rain had stopped and despite the damp grass, Ronnie didn’t bother to change out of her slippers for the short walk to Sydney’s car.
“Thanks for the visit,” she said. “It’s been too long.”
“Another one real soon,” Sydney promised. “And of course there’s tomorrow.”
“I’ll be good. You have my word.”
The two women hugged good night. Sydney was stunned that her car door sounded so loud as she opened it. A second thunderous pop brought a spray of sparks from the concrete.
“Sydney!” Ronnie yelled. “Get down!”
A third gunshot ended in Ronnie’s pained scream. Sydney felt the air whoosh as a fourth bullet barreled past her ear.
“Ronnie!” she screamed to her friend, flattened on the grass. “Help! Somebody help us! Help!”
Porch lights came on at the houses on either side of Ronnie’s bungalow. They cast enough light for her to see the flood of red covering her friend’s white T-shirt.
“My God!” a man in striped pajama bottoms cried out. “What’s happened?”
“Call 911!” Sydney shrieked. “Now!”
Chapter 31
NOW
It was just after dawn when Sydney walked into her condo building. The concierge stood behind his desk, his morning-bright smile disappearing when he saw the ravaged state of her cocktail dress. Instinctively Sydney followed his gaze and looked down at the stains of dried blood, mud, and grass that marred the delicate butter-colored chiffon. She reached a hand to her head and felt the snarled tangle of hair and twigs.
This ain’t no walk of shame, buddy.
“Miss Richardson. You okay? You want I should call somebody?”
Sydney waved him away as she passed to the elevators. She could explain, of course. But why burden the kid?
I’ll bet the ink’s still wet on your high school diploma. What if I told you I spent the night at the hospital? And before that I was dodging bullets. I got lucky. My friend didn’t. She spent four hours in surgery before they wheeled her into intensive care. What’s that? You say I look tired? I don’t see why I should. Between waiting for the surgeon’s reports and answering ten thousand questions from the police, I had a perfectly lovely evening.
Three police cars and an ambulance appeared in the blur of time after Ronnie went down. EMTs loaded Ronnie onto a stretcher and wanted to do the same for Sydney, but she waved them away, insisting she was fine. The paramedics settled for her sitting in a second ambulance. She needed to be examined, they told her. Sydney didn’t fight them. Her only demand was that she be taken to the same hospital as her friend. It didn’t take long for the ER physicians to clear her.
Ronnie was another story.
A trauma team ran alongside her gurney, calling out readings and barking orders as they rushed her down the hall. A nurse told Sydney they’d taken her to surgery. She directed her toward a waiting room.
“Are you family?”
“Yes,” Sydney lied. “Sisters.”
The nurse handed her a square brown pager. “The surgeon will update you on this. Can I get you anything?”
Sydney thanked her but declined. She sat on the green vinyl couch and closed her eyes.
You said there was nothing mystical to life, Ronnie. You said it was one foot in front of the other. Take what happens and make the next right move. What step led to this? What are we supposed to do now?
“Kitz?”
Sydney opened her eyes to see Horst Welke standing in front of her. The big man wore jeans and a maroon velour sweatshirt under his jacket. He sat next to her and pulled her into an embrace. “Thank God you’re all right.” He kissed her hair and released her.
“How’d you get here? How’d you know?”
“Shots fired. I got the call. The officers said two women. House titled to Veronica Pernod. Your car in the driveway.”
“Does Mom know?”
“It’s almost one a.m. I didn’t want to disturb her until I knew what was happening. You want me to call her?”
Yes! I want my mother. Someone shot my friend. They almost shot me. Yes! I need my mother.
“No. Let her sleep. I’ll swing by her place in the morning. She’ll be worried sick about Ronnie. There’s time enough for her to fret.”
“What about Veronica’s parents? Should we call them?”
Sydney shook her head. “Her father left the family ten years ago. Ronnie hasn’t heard from him since. Her mom’s traveling. Last I heard she was in Thailand. Something to do with a cultural exchange program, I think.”
Horst took her hands in his. “Tell me what you need.”
She focused on the concern and compassion in his eyes.
How many times are we going to meet in emergency rooms, Horst? How many times will we walk out of here with fewer people to love than when we walked in?
“Did you guys catch him?”
“The person who fired the shots? No, Kitz. But we’ve got people on the scene. Gathering evidence. Checking with folks living around there.” He pulled a notebook and pen from his jacket. “You said ‘him.’ Did you see someone?”
She shook her head.
“What about a car? Did you s
ee how this shooter got there? Might have gotten away?”
“No.”
“Did anybody say anything to you before it happened? Maybe come up to you and ask a question? Maybe ask for money?”
She shook her head again. “We were saying goodbye. We’d had a glass of wine. Talked. We were relaxing.” Sydney felt miles away from the man sitting next to her. Her words came out in a robotic cadence. “We’re going to get together again tonight. She’s going to meet Clay.”
“Clay?”
She shook her head and her mind snapped back into the moment.
“He’s a friend of mine.”
“This friend have a last name?”
“Clay Hawthorne. He has nothing to do with this. He doesn’t even know Ronnie.”
“A friend of yours? Why don’t I know him?”
I can’t get into this now. Ronnie’s in surgery. Please, God. Please don’t let her be dying.
“Can we talk about this later?”
“These minutes are precious, Kitz. Impressions get fuzzy. Memories fade. I know it’s hard, but you have to tell me everything you can remember. It’ll help us. It’ll help Veronica.”
She knew he was right. How many times had her father talked about his cases? He had taught her the first few hours were the most important. How every case, from a minor shoplifting incident to cold-blooded murder, grew more difficult to solve with every tick of the clock. She pulled her thoughts away from scalpels and operating rooms and blood and focused on her time with Ronnie. They’d relaxed. Ronnie had poured her a second glass of wine. She hadn’t drunk it. It had been time to get home. Ronnie had walked her to her car.
“I teased her about walking out in her slippers. The rain had stopped, but the grass was wet.”
Horst nodded. “Did anyone else comment on that? Someone walking by, perhaps?”
Sydney strained to recall. “No. There was no one. I opened my car door. I heard it.”
“What? What did you hear?”
“It was loud. I thought maybe my door needed oil. But I heard it again. Saw sparks by my feet. I heard Ronnie scream. She was yelling at me to get down.”
“Veronica realized it was gunfire?”
“I guess. Maybe. Her screaming…It was so filled with fear…with pain.” For the first time since the incident Sydney began to cry. “Horst! Ronnie got shot! Somebody shot Ronnie!”
Horst rocked her while she wept. Sydney leaned into him and tried desperately to believe the warmth of his embrace could make everything all right.
The pager in her lap vibrated, startling them both. Sydney picked it up. A message appeared in the center, amber letters across a brown screen.
2 bullets removed. Surgery proceeding.
“Two. There were two,” Sydney whispered.
“They know to save those bullets, Kitz. Evidence.” Horst used his thumbs to wipe away her tears. “Your friend is strong. Like you. The bullets are out. This is good news.”
There’s no good news to be had here. When Ronnie’s at the hospital, it’s supposed to be to guide a new life into the world, not fighting for her own.
“Yes,” she whispered. “Good news.”
“When’s the last time you ate anything?”
“I can’t think of that now.”
“How about some coffee, then?”
She shook her head.
“Anything else you can remember? Don’t filter anything.”
She didn’t have the energy to tell him there was nothing.
“Use your senses, Kitz. Think back. Did you smell anything when you walked outside?”
“The rain. Everything smelled earthy.”
“Okay. Good. How about something that didn’t belong? Maybe cigarette smoke or the aroma of food? Perfume? Smell anything like that?”
“No. Nothing.”
“Okay. You’re doing great. How about hearing? What did you hear when you stepped out onto Veronica’s porch?”
A sharp stab of grief pierced her heart. “Ronnie was laughing. Reminding me about our date tonight.”
“Date?”
“I told you. We were going to meet Clay.”
“And it was a date? You were fixing Veronica up with your friend?”
“No. Clay’s a man I’ve been seeing. Ronnie wanted to meet him.”
Horst’s body stiffened. He scribbled in his pad. “Clay Hawthorne?” He spelled the last name. “Do I have it right?”
She nodded.
“Did this Clay person know you would be at Veronica’s tonight?”
Sydney realized the dots he was connecting. “No, he didn’t. And Clay has nothing to do with this. Like I said, he doesn’t even know Ronnie.”
Horst tapped his pen against the notepad. “Do you and Veronica talk about intimate things?”
“She’s my best friend! My sister! We talk about everything.”
“Has she said anything about worries lately? Maybe about someone being a little too close? Perhaps a patient of hers angry with her? An ex-boyfriend who can’t let go? Anything like that?”
“No. Her patients love her.” Sydney’s voice wobbled. “Everyone loves her!”
“Easy, Kitz. I’m just doing my job.”
Sydney looked down at the pager, too desperate to speak to anyone. She willed another message to appear. One that would tell her Ronnie was safe.
None came.
Horst patted her knee, then stood. “I’m heading back down to the scene. I’ve got two officers right here for you. If you need anything, remember anything, you go to them. They’ll know what to do.”
Sydney nodded.
“And when you’re ready to get some rest, you tell them that, too. They’ll drive you home.”
“My car’s at Ronnie’s.”
“Your car’s evidence right now. My officers will take you home.”
She squeezed his hand. The next hour was filled with two different officers asking her the same questions Horst had. By the time the first officer came back in to start the cycle again, Sydney was making no effort to hide her irritation. Fortunately, the pager vibrated again.
Surgery complete. Patient resting in recovery. Will transfer to ICU approximately 90 minutes.
The next hour and a half inched by. Finally a nurse came to escort Sydney to the ICU.
“She’s heavily sedated,” the nurse said, “but I believe she’ll be able to hear you.”
Sydney entered the glass-walled room. Ronnie was a pale ghost lying in the bed. Her blond hair was brushed back away from her ashen face. Tubes seemed to crisscross every inch of her body. Machines purred and beeped as they monitored her friend’s life force.
“Just a few minutes,” the nurse instructed. “The best thing for her now is sleep.”
Sydney stepped toward the bed and reached for Ronnie’s hand, careful not to disturb the oxygen monitor on her index finger.
“Hey, Ronnie,” she whispered. “The doctors say everything went well. Now it’s up to you, honey.” She swallowed hard, trying to keep the tears out of her voice. “Don’t worry about anything. I’ll call your clinic. Your patients will be fine. I’ll find a way to reach your mom. All you have to do is get better, okay? Heal.” She bent over to kiss the limp fingers. “I need you, Ronnie. Come back to us.”
She straightened, still holding her friend’s hand. Willing those pale fingers to curl around her own in assurance she’d been heard.
Ronnie’s hand remained limp.
The nurse came back into the room, telling Sydney the visit was over.
“I’ll be back.” Sydney found a spot on Ronnie’s forehead to kiss. “Next time you’ll be awake, okay? Rest well, sweet girl.”
A police officer was waiting outside the ICU. Tall. Muscular. Thick dark hair. Chestnut eyes focused on her. A beautiful golden retriever alert at his side.
“Officer Sheffield.”
“Friends call me Rick.” He glanced down at his partner. “This guy’s Jocko.”
Sydney was impressed with ho
w the animal’s deep brown eyes eased her tension.
“How you doing?” Sheffield asked. “Or is that too stupid a question to ask someone walking out of the ICU?”
“My friend…Ronnie…” She ran a hand through her hair. “Shooting.”
“You don’t have to say anything. I know what happened. I know it’s bad.”
Sydney felt her throat close. Without thinking, she stepped toward Rick Sheffield. He opened his arms, pulled her close, and stood steady as she cried for the second time that evening.
She didn’t argue when he suggested it was time for her to go home. Except to give him her address, she said nothing during the ride to her condo. Sydney flipped down the visor and used the mirror to focus on Jocko. The dog, in the cruiser’s backseat, stared back at her. In his eyes she saw the wisdom of the ages. Sydney sensed him offering her his strength, sending her a trans-species oath that everything would work out okay.
Sheffield pulled his cruiser to a stop in front of her building.
“I could come up,” he offered. “Jocko and I could hold the fort while you get some sleep.”
“Thanks. But I’ll be okay. I have lots to do.”
“You won’t do anybody any good if you crash. Get some sleep.”
She forced a smile. “I promise.”
“Call me if you need anything.”
She nodded.
“Can I see your phone?”
“What?”
“Your phone. May I see it, please?”
She reached into her purse and handed it to him. He took it, manipulated the keyboard, then handed it back to her.
“There. You have my number. It’s under ‘Rick the Cop’ in case you forget my name.”
“Thanks.”
“Use it. Anytime. Any reason.”
She pulled herself away from her numbing fatigue to turn toward him. She saw a face filled with compassion and kindness.
“You’re one of the good ones, aren’t you?”
His smile was easy. “My mom likes to think so. Now go. Get some sleep.”
—
Sydney closed the front door behind her and let herself slide down to the floor. Her exhaustion was total. She drew her knees to her chest and rested her head on them.
I should take a shower. Clean up. Get to the restaurant.
