“So what time should I drop by for dinner?” Dylan ventured.
“Whenever.” Virginia shrugged. “But your screwing with my fire-pit plans is making me lose my appetite. I think I’ll just microwave a couple of frozen dinners. We can have fruit for dessert,” she said. “How does a nice crisp apple sound to you?”
If there was a possibility of lemonade layer cake in his immediate future, an apple sounded about as appetizing as the muffin he’d sampled earlier.
“Look, Mom.” Dylan’s tone was conciliatory as he looked down at her. “I’d like to propose a compromise.”
In the time he’d spent as his small town’s police chief, employing the art of compromise had resolved most of the disputes that had cropped up. So different from Chicago, where they’d been settled with gun or knife violence before he’d been called to the scene.
“I’m listening,” Virginia said, but her chin remained tilted at a stubborn angle.
“I’ll drop by this evening. After we both enjoy your fabulous dinner and my favorite cake, I’ll watch that episode of Granny’s Old House and we’ll make plans to build that fire pit together.” With him doing all the heavy lifting, he thought, not saying that part aloud. “How does that sound to you?”
His mother sighed. “Okay, I guess.”
Dylan leaned down and kissed his mother’s wrinkled cheek. “Great. Afterward, we can watch the baseball game.”
“Game?” His mother chuckled. “I don’t see why you don’t just haul that television you got me down to your place, too.”
“Because it was your Mother’s Day present.” His gaze automatically flicked toward the family room, where the eighty-inch television sat.
“Guess the sports package you added was for me, too?” A smile warmed the corners of her mouth as she picked up a tea towel and swatted him on the arm.
Raising his arm to block the light blow, Dylan noted the time on his watch. “Uncle Roy should be about done at the doc’s by now. I’m going to head over to city hall,” he said. “So we’re on for dinner, right?”
His mother nodded. “Although it seems to me with half the single women in town sniffing after you that you could do a damn sight better than hanging out with me on a Friday night. Folks are gonna think you’re a mama’s boy.”
Dylan liked to keep life simple, and in his experience relationships meant complications and headaches. Besides, he couldn’t care less what anyone thought. He was no mama’s boy, but as long as Virginia Cooper drew breath he intended to remain in Cooper’s Place being as good a son to her as she had been a mother to him.
His phone vibrated. Retrieving it from his shirt pocket, Dylan saw the dispatcher’s number flash on the small screen. “What’s up, Marjorie?”
Seconds later, he swiped his thumb across the screen to end the call and headed for the door.
“What’s going on?” his mother called out to his retreating back.
“It’s Wilson,” Dylan said. “He’s in the emergency room.”
Chapter 5
Lola stared absently at her hand while the doctor rattled off a list of instructions. She barely heard a word, her thoughts bouncing between the injured officer she’d brought to the hospital’s emergency room, and calculating how much driving time she’d have to make up once she got back on the road.
“The liquid adhesive should fall off in five to ten days. By that time your cut should have healed.” The physician looked up at her. “Meanwhile, if you notice any redness, swelling, increased pain, or run a fever, seek additional medical attention.”
Lola hadn’t thought the small cut on the heel of her palm warranted medical attention in the first place. However, the scrub-clad woman behind the ER registration desk had seen the blood-soaked tissue clutched in Lola’s hand, and had shuttled her into a treatment room opposite the one Officer Wilson had been whisked into.
A pale and unconscious Officer Wilson.
“About that cop I brought in...” Lola started, but the doctor wagged an admonishing finger and shook her head.
“I’ve already told you twice. I’m not at liberty to give out information on his condition,” she said.
Lola tried again. “Please. All I want to know is if he’s going to be okay.”
Ignoring her plea, the physician pulled a pen from her lab coat and scribbled on a form attached to a clipboard. She looked over her shoulder at the nurse, who had returned to the room. “This patient is ready to be discharged.”
The doctor left, and Lola hopped off the examination table. The liquid stitches sealing the cut on her hand had already begun to dry into a protective film. Still, she used her other hand to heft her bag onto her shoulder.
The nurse checked that she had understood the doctor’s instructions, handed Lola a pen and pointed to a signature line on the clipboard. Lola caught a glimpse of the clock on the wall as she signed the form. She needed to get back on the road soon. However, she couldn’t leave without confirming the cop would indeed be all right.
“I’m concerned about Officer Wilson. Can you tell me now how he’s doing?” Lola hoped the nurse would be more forthcoming than her colleague.
The woman readjusted the stethoscope draped around her neck and then shook her head, just as the doctor had. “Sorry, but privacy laws won’t allow it,” she said. “But what I can do is check whether Officer Wilson’s able to give his permission for me to update you, or maybe one of his family members who’s here.”
“I’d appreciate it,” Lola said.
“I’ll walk you out to the waiting area,” she said, as they headed toward the door. “By the way, I’m Avis.”
“Lola,” she said automatically, and then remembered the nurse had seen her name on the hospital forms.
“I recognized you the moment you walked into our ER.” The nurse nudged Lola’s side with an elbow as they walked down the corridor, and lowered her voice to a conspiratorial whisper. “So, did you cut your hand beating up on Todd Wilson like you did that guy on the airplane?”
“What?” Lola asked, stunned.
Avis looked her up and down, shook her head and laughed. “You’re a skinny thing, but those fists of yours must pack quite a punch when somebody gets on your bad side.”
“B-but I didn’t...”
“Don’t bother denying it.” The nurse waved a dismissive hand through the air. “I saw the video of that passenger you walloped on television again last night. It was the one of him being taken off the plane in a wheelchair, screaming in pain.”
“Listen, that video doesn’t tell the real story.” Lola tried to explain.
The woman continued as if she hadn’t heard a word. “Now, I’m not saying violence is the answer, but I have to admit to wanting to open a can of whup ass on Officer Wilson myself a few weeks ago.”
Lola opened her mouth to try explaining again, and then promptly closed it. She didn’t need to prove herself to a woman she’d just met in some hick town. Her goal was to arrive at that television studio on Monday morning looking fabulous. She needed to win over the viewership of America Live! and show her family all they’d lost by dumping her.
Just find out if that cop is okay, and get back on the road.
“Do you know what he did?” Avis’s question broke into Lola’s thoughts. The nurse didn’t bother waiting for a response. “Well, my grandfather was downtown, and he bought himself a candy bar from the dollar store on account of his blood sugar, which can get a bit low at times. Anyway, he accidently dropped the wrapper on the sidewalk, and that Todd Wilson gave him a citation for littering. Littering, of all things!”
It sounded like littering to Lola, but she refrained from saying so.
“Gramps had hip replacement surgery, and still walks with a cane. If he had bent over to pick up that candy wrapper he wouldn’t have been able to p
ick himself up off the street. Thank goodness our police chief is a reasonable man.” Avis continued to talk without taking a breath. “Once I took Gramps to the police station and explained, the chief dismissed the ticket immediately.”
Now in the hospital’s waiting area, Lola cleared her throat to get the chatterbox nurse’s attention. “You were going to try to get Officer Wilson’s permission to update me,” she reminded her. Then she looked down at her blood-and-dirt-encrusted clothes. “Also, where’s the ladies’ room? I’d like to clean up a bit and change my clothes.”
“Oh, of course. There’s a bathroom right near the emergency-room entrance,” Avis said. “I’ll see what I can find out and meet you back here.”
Lola cleaned up as best she could in the public ladies’ room and changed into a clean top and shorts she’d retrieved from her suitcase. She returned to the small waiting room, which was empty except for chairs lining the walls and a television. She rested her weighty purse in one of the hard plastic chairs and sat down beside it.
Sighing, she glanced up at the television. A commercial for a fast-food restaurant was on, and the image of the most mouthwatering hamburger Lola had ever seen filled the screen.
“Burger Tower,” a voice-over announcer said. “Coming soon to Ohio.”
Lola licked her lips and then looked around the small room for the remote control. She didn’t want to be tempted by forbidden burgers, when all she had to look forward to later was a tasteless shake made from the protein mix in her purse.
Remote in hand, she aimed it at the television. She flipped through the channels but found nothing of interest.
Lola sighed at the screen. Hearing her phone ringtone, she turned to her purse. A sign near the television confirmed that using mobile phones was permissible in the waiting room, so she opened the mouth of her bag wide and gingerly stuck her hand inside.
The small phone rested near the top of the multitude of items she’d deemed necessities. Her talent agent’s number lit up the small screen.
“Listen, honey,” Jill said without preamble. “A friend of mine just tipped me off that some hidden-camera reality show is looking to pull one of their practical jokes on you. I think it’s called—”
“Celebrity Pranks,” Lola finished. Tell me something I don’t already know. She thought about the cameraman and the guy in the clown costume she’d eluded back in Nashville, and stifled a grunt.
“Yeah, that’s it,” her agent said. “Word is they want to goad you into losing your temper. Tap into your notoriety, after that crap you pulled on the airplane, to boost their ratings.”
“How many times do I have to tell you, I was trying to help an older gentleman—”
“Whatever you say,” Jill interrupted.
Lola exhaled a long, weary breath. Explaining herself to people who refused to listen was getting old. In fact, she was fed up to her eyeballs with it.
“I just wanted to give you a heads-up, so you’ll be on the lookout for anything suspect,” Jill said. “We need you to show that America Live! audience there’s more to you than what they’ve seen on social media and tabloid television. We don’t want you on that practical jokes show looking like you could use a course in anger management.”
“Don’t worry. I’ll be fine.” Lola tossed the phone into her purse. As far as Celebrity Pranks was concerned, she was on high alert, and there was no way she was going to allow that show to make a jackass out of her.
* * *
Dylan wanted to be wrong, but he couldn’t shake the feeling Todd Wilson wasn’t being completely honest with him.
“I still don’t understand how you went from issuing a speeding ticket to being knocked unconscious.” He watched as the young officer sitting at the edge of the hospital gurney averted his gaze and then blinked rapidly. Gestures Dylan had learned back in the police academy were signals of a normally truthful person telling a lie.
“Heard the lady who brought him in is a real bruiser,” Dr. Hadley chimed in. He dropped into a tray the instruments he’d used to stitch up the back of the young officer’s head. “Our Wilson here got off easy. Word is she got mad a few days ago, went all MMA fighter on an airplane.”
“Is that so?” Dylan asked absently, dismissing the doc’s commentary as a tall tale built on gossip that had been embellished by too many mouths. If a woman had gone ballistic on a plane, he’d surely read it in the morning newspaper.
The doctor nodded and pulled off his latex gloves. “I figure she got the jump on Wilson here when he tried to give her a speeding ticket. Knocked him to the pavement in one punch,” he said. “In fact, my partner’s treating the woman’s hand. I think she’s an actress or some kind of model...” Doc Hadley’s voice faded. “I forget exactly what Avis said the woman did for a living.”
Dylan remained focused on his officer, preferring to hear Wilson’s account of how he’d ended up in the hospital’s emergency room. “Tell me again what happened. Start from where you asked the motorist for her license and registration.”
The young officer hesitated. “Uh...yeah, guess it was like the doc said. She came out of nowhere.”
“You guess or you’re sure?”
“Um, I guess... I mean, I’m sure.”
Dylan disappointedly noted Wilson’s eyes darted left, which meant there was a high probability he was accessing the creative side of his brain rather than his memory. However, Dylan didn’t have to call upon his academy training or his experience as a homicide detective to know the officer’s evasive responses to the questions were suspect.
He was about to press him on it when a hospital employee pushing a wheelchair entered the room. “Afternoon, Chief.” He greeted Dylan first and then turned to the gray-haired physician. “They’re ready for Wilson down in radiology, Doc.”
Dr. Hadley addressed his patient. “I’ve ordered a CT scan and a few more tests. If they check out, you should be able to go home in a couple of hours.”
Wilson avoided making eye contact with Dylan as he walked over and sat in the chair.
“I still have a few questions,” Dylan said. Actually, he had a lot of questions for Officer Wilson and not many answers.
“Can they keep until later, Chief?” the doctor asked.
Dylan nodded, returning the pen and small notebook to the shirt pocket of his uniform. The odd interaction with the rookie officer continued to niggle at him as he walked out of the treatment room.
“Chief?”
Dylan turned around at the sound of his title, which he answered to more than his name nowadays. “Afternoon, Avis.”
“The woman involved in the situation with Wilson is in the waiting area hoping to get an update on his condition,” the nurse said. “Her name’s Lola Gray.”
Good, Dylan thought, as he walked down the hospital corridor toward the waiting area. Maybe she could tell him exactly what had happened out on Old Mill Road. He also had to admit to being curious to see a woman whose fists had earned her quite a reputation.
“Is that you, Chief?”
Dylan had been so busy speculating about the woman in the waiting room, he hadn’t seen the overall-clad Jeb Dixon walking toward him. “Yeah, it’s me,” he said.
The farmer squinted behind the thick lenses of his glasses as if he were confirming it for himself.
“You and the wife doing all right?” Dylan asked.
Jeb didn’t leave his farm often. Dylan figured either he or someone in his family must be ill if he was at the hospital in the middle of the afternoon.
“We’re both good.” The farmer took off his cap and scratched his head, then replaced it. “Actually, I came here looking for you. I stopped by the station, but Marjorie said you were here with young Wilson.”
“What do you need?” Dylan asked.
“I had my daughter drive me to town
because I witnessed a crime. Wanted to report it to you directly.”
“What kind of crime?”
“At first I thought it was a kidnapping, but if Wilson is here, then maybe not.”
“He’s here,” Dylan confirmed.
“Is the kid going to be okay?” Jeb asked. “He took quite a beating.”
Dylan had seen the rookie cop just moments ago. He’d had a head injury, of course, and his uniform was dirty. However, his face was free of the bruises or scratches that would have indicated he’d been in a scuffle.
“The doc just took a look at him. He should be fine.”
Jeb nodded. “Glad the woman at least had the decency to bring him here for help.”
Dylan pulled the notebook and pen from his uniform pocket. So far, he’d heard more gossip than facts, and Wilson’s accounting of events had been sketchy at best. An eyewitness could fill in the blanks for him. He took in the thick spectacles as he looked at Jeb.
At least he hoped.
“Tell me exactly what you saw.”
“Well, I was in the fields on my tractor, checking on my sweet corn, when I saw a red car speeding like a bat out of hell on Old Mill Road, with the police car chasing it. I knew it was a police car on account of the blue lights were flashing.” He paused and stroked the gray stubble on his chin. “Although at the time I didn’t know if it was you or Wilson behind the wheel. But once he got out of the cruiser, I knew it wasn’t you. A couple of linebackers would have had a time of it trying to take down a big guy like you.” Jeb paused and looked up. “What are you—six-three, six-four?”
Dylan didn’t answer. He let Jeb continue, waiting for him to eventually tell his version of the incident out on Old Mill Road.
“Anyway, a slip of a woman couldn’t have knocked you out and then dragged you to her car like a sack of potatoes. I told my daughter so on the drive into town,” the farmer said.
Dylan tapped his pen against his notepad. He needed to rein in Jeb’s tangential nature and get to the bottom of this incident. “Did you actually see the motorist strike Officer Wilson?”
Heated Moments Page 5
