“Shock,” said Uncle Mick, stepping in front of Kev and blocking him from my view. “It will take a while.”
Now Kev’s head appeared on the other side of Uncle Mick. “The docs say you’re going to be all right. You’re pretty well drugged up now, so don’t worry if you feel woozy.”
I did feel woozy. I needed to start worrying soon.
“Lucky, though,” Kev chirped.
Mick turned on him. “Stop saying that, Kevin. She’s not lucky. She could have been killed.”
Kev never knows when to shut up. I realized that even if he didn’t.
“But she should have been killed when that truck whacked her and tossed her through the air like an old—”
Uncle Mick cleared his throat warningly.
Kev blundered on. “But hey. She’s all in one piece. If that ain’t lucky, I don’t know what is.”
Even in my drugged state, I could see that Uncle Mick was on the verge of a medical event himself.
Kev babbled on. “You can thank those leaf bags.”
“What?”
“You can thank those leaf bags.”
Uncle Mick stomped out of sight. Probably needed to get away so he didn’t pop Kev in the jaw or something.
I had no idea what he meant. “Leaf bags,” I said. “What leaf bags?”
“Just what I said. Leaf bags.”
I would have stomped off to join Uncle Mick if I hadn’t been flat on my back on a gurney with my head swimming. “I heard you, Kev, but I still don’t know what that means. Why should I thank them?”
“You went flying through the air and landed on the leaf bags by the side of the road.”
“And the driver?”
“Gone. Vanished. Vamoosed. Up in smoke. Disappeared.” Kev was even wordier than usual.
Uncle Mick had returned, but it wouldn’t take much to set him off again. The freckles on his forehead now formed the word “DANGER.” He said, “We get the point. Will you settle down, Kevin?” Uncle Mick’s cheeks were now Christmas red, but Kev never really notices details about people. He added, “The driver was nowhere to be seen.”
Uncle Mick glared at him. “Could you ever keep quiet for one minute of your life?”
I felt like a spectator watching a play on a distant stage.
“Lucky me,” I said with a smile.
“Double lucky,” Kev said, “because this other woman was out walking her kids in the stroller. She came around the corner, saw you get hit and called 911.”
“Right. That must have been Audra.”
Kev said, “Yeah, yeah. That’s her name. Nice-looking lady. She called me.”
“She called you?” I was spinning again. I closed my eyes. I felt like I was being flushed down a toilet.
Mick glared at Kev. “Keep quiet. And Jordan, maybe it would be better if you didn’t try to talk until later.”
I said, “But what happened to all those cinnamon buns?”
With that, I drifted off to sleep, watching Mick’s shape-shifting freckles turn into cinnamon swirls.
* * *
IT TOOK NEARLY an entire day before I was back at Uncle Mick’s. There was quite a welcoming committee. Uncle Lucky and his new wife, Karen, were bustling around. Mick was busy whipping up a giant batch of macaroni and cheese dinner with a wiener upgrade. Walter and Cobain thought that kisses would make me get better, and they may have been right about that. They were curled up on the end of my bed while I recuperated. Uncle Danny and Uncle Billy were visiting as well but mostly telling tall tales in the kitchen. I knew most of those tales by heart, but it was soothing to hear snippets of them and the whoops of laughter drifting up the stairs. I thought I’d overheard Uncle Connie’s, Uncle Tiny’s and Uncle Paddy’s voices, but why would they be there?
Kev was back too. I guess it was one step short of an Irish wake.
Every now and then, I heard them whispering. Wakes bring out the conspiracies in the Kellys.
I was starting to be more aware, glad to be alive and conscious. The sight and sound of all those Kellys in wake mode told me I must have had a really close call. I wiggled my hands and my feet, fingers and toes. I lifted my arms, one after the other, and bent my elbows. I tried the same thing with the legs. Bent the knees. Lifted my feet, one after the other. I sat up and moved my head from side to side. Major aches and some pain, but everything appeared to be working. Well, maybe not the sitting-up part. I closed my eyes and let my head rest on the pillow again. Walter’s curly tail thumped against the pink bedding. Cobain licked my hand.
Everyone was supposed to let me rest, but Kev couldn’t resist sneaking upstairs. “So, do you remember anything?”
“No. I do remember the doctor saying that I may never remember what happened.”
“Lucky for you that woman can describe the vehicle that hit you. The cops will want to talk to you about that.”
“I can’t tell them anything. I didn’t see it. I didn’t even know I’d been hit until I heard about it from you in the hospital.”
“Why were you on Maple Street anyway?”
“Oh. I am starting to remember that. I was talking to Tom and Mindy Snow about the Delgados. They are Audra’s neighbors. They were very helpful. Except they were holding back on something to do with Carmen Delgado. Not sure what it was, but I intend to go back and see them.”
Kev blinked. “Who’s Carmen Delgado?”
“Apparently, she was Muriel’s mother. There’s some kind of story there. Some bad things happened.”
“That reminds me: This woman, Audra Something, was trying to see you at the hospital. She seems to be a bit mixed up about your name.”
“Oh boy. I really liked her. I told her and the Snows that I was Clarissa Montaine and that I worked for Lawson and Loblaw down in Albany and was searching for a C. Delgado. I left my Pucci scarf at the Snows’ so I’d have an excuse to go back again and try to get some more information on Carmen.”
“This Audra saved your life.”
“I am grateful.” Even though I’d deceived her.
Kev said, “And then she called me. Otherwise, I don’t know what would have happened.”
I let that go. Didn’t want to think about the other possible outcomes. “How would she know to call you?”
“That burner phone was thrown right out of your hand, I guess. She must have picked it up and I was the only contact except for herself and the geezers down the street.”
“The Snows.”
“Whatever. Anyway, she said you were being taken to Grandville General Hospital.”
“And did she really say ‘the geezers’?”
“Not exactly those words. She mentioned older neighbors. The geezers came out to help too, I guess. Put a blanket on you and kept you warm until the emergency vehicle arrived.”
“One more time, Kev, the geezers are the Snows. Do they know who I am?”
He had the grace to look sheepish as he so often does. “You mean the gee—the Snows? I think so. The paramedics checked your wallet and you’re listed as yourself here at the hospital. I didn’t know enough to keep them in the dark. You should call me first when you’re out pretending to be someone else. I love that kind of thing.”
My head hurt. “Does Vera know I’ve been hit?”
Uncle Kev couldn’t meet my eyes. “She does.”
“How did she find out? Was it on the news?”
“I told her after I got the call. I thought she needed to hear it. The signora was hysterical. More hysterical than usual, anyway. As it wasn’t you calling me or me calling you, I figured the no-contact rule wouldn’t apply.”
“And did it?”
Kev frowned. “She didn’t say one way or the other.”
“Well, what did she say? Was it ‘Unless Jordan’s at death’s door, no one is to make contact under any circ
umstances’?”
He shrugged. “You know Vera. Stranger things have happened.”
I tried not to roll my eyes, mainly because it hurt. “Back to the question, Kev. What exactly did Vera say?”
He shook his head, still not meeting my eyes. “She didn’t say anything.”
“Nice.” I’d treated her cats’ hairballs with more consideration than she’d given me.
“I don’t get it,” Kev said. “I think the news really bothered her, but she didn’t let on to Muriel. She spent the rest of the day in her room, if it’s any consolation.”
It wasn’t.
“You said that Audra saw the vehicle that hit me.”
“That’s what she told me when she called.”
“Did she say what kind of truck it was?”
“She didn’t tell me. She was pretty upset.”
“Well, I bet she told the police. I don’t suppose you spoke to them?”
Kev paled. He’s not good with police and in fact is skilled at avoiding them. Probably all for the best.
I lay back against my stacks of pillows and closed my eyes. “It has to be Muriel. Nothing else makes sense. I was snooping into her past and talking to her former neighbors when someone did a good job of trying to kill me.”
“And would have succeeded if those leaf bags weren’t there.”
“Thanks, Kev. But how would Muriel have known I was checking out her background?”
“What do you mean? Oh, maybe she followed you. No, she couldn’t have done that. She was at home—” A guilty expression stole across his face. “I meant she was at Van Alst House all day.”
“Even when I was hit?”
He nodded.
“It’s all right, Kev. She may have been at Van Alst House, but I know she’s still behind it. Even if I can’t prove it, I’m not going to let her mess with my head. I’ll concentrate on finding out about her and her hold over Vera. I don’t want to be distracted by negative emotions.”
Kev nodded. “Like wanting to kill her?”
It only hurt when I laughed.
“Why yes, Kev, like that. How would Muriel know that I would be in that neighborhood? She must have gotten spooked by one of her previous neighbors. A woman on Lilac Lane was making a phone call to someone after she saw me. Muriel could have arranged to have someone else follow me, but she wouldn’t have known it was me. Jordan Bingham was nowhere to be seen. I was out and about as Clarissa Montaine. I didn’t use my name. I didn’t drive my car. I wore the red wig. I left the Saab parked in front of the shop.”
Kev’s ginger eyebrows furrowed in puzzlement. I’d lost him at “why yes.”
I said, “And you of all people—as a Kelly—should be aware of how easy it is for people to appear to be somewhere and yet to be somewhere completely different.”
“I wish she didn’t have such a great alibi.”
“Maybe it’s not airtight.”
“It is. She was in the house in full view. She’s usually in her suite doing who knows what. But at the time you were hit, she was in the kitchen meddling with the signora’s cooking, telling her what kind of menus she wanted. Did I mention she hates Italian food? I was there too. She got everyone into a real flap. Even Vera got called into it and she got really riled up and you know she couldn’t care less about who eats what.”
I found myself pouting a bit. It happens if you’re around Kev for too long. I said, “Fine, so even if she had found out I was there on Maple Street and her previous addresses or even if she decided to stage an attack on anyone asking questions about her, she still couldn’t have been the one to hit me.”
“Yeah. It would have been great if she had.”
“Oh thanks.”
“You know what I mean.”
“Yes, Kev.”
He prattled on. “Well, if she’d tried to kill you and she was seen and then the police could tie her to the vehicle that hit you, she’d be arrested and we’d be rid of her.”
“I can’t believe I’m agreeing with you. Did she talk to anyone—?”
The door was flung open at that minute and Uncle Mick made sure that Kev was out of the room.
“For the last time, Jordan needs to rest. You know what they said at the hospital, Kev. Out. Now.”
I wanted to protest that Kev’s presence was less of a disaster than usual as we were in the middle of an important conversation, but instead I slipped off to dreamland instantly.
* * *
WHEN I AWOKE, I stared around at my room. I lay there trying to think clearly, although my thinker was kind of messed up. Still, I could feel a glimmer of intelligence trying to assert itself.
I was clinging to a thought that had finally bubbled up from my subconscious. I fumbled for a scrap of paper and a googly-eyed troll-haired pencil and scribbled it down. I was afraid that it might vanish forever otherwise. I knew it was important. My subconscious had made a breakthrough. I wasn’t the first person linked to Muriel to suffer a hit-and-run collision. So I wasn’t going to call it an accident or being in the wrong place at the wrong time. The timing told me it was deliberate and I was the target. Muriel had to be behind it. Her stepfather had died that way. I called that a pattern. Muriel’s alibi was a smokescreen. She had confederates and I knew it.
I managed to scrawl something down before sleep descended. This is getting boring, I thought before dropping off yet again.
When I woke up, I was still clutching the paper. It said STEPFATH before the letters trailed away. Not too helpful. But on the upside, my head felt much clearer. Too bad the note wasn’t that meaningful.
I knew that I had to find out what was going on, and there was probably no way to do that without talking to Audra and the Snows. A small voice in my head asked if perhaps they were the same people who had been responsible for alerting the person who hit me. After all, I didn’t really know anything about any of the people on Maple Street. They seemed nice, but appearances can be deceiving. Certainly Clarissa Montaine was proof of that. I pondered that and thought back. The Snows had been with me all during my visit and they hadn’t known I was coming. So I didn’t see how they could have made the contact. Audra was a possibility, I supposed. But she had saved my life. That didn’t match up. If she had contacted someone to let them know that I was asking about the Delgados, why wouldn’t she have stayed in the house and pretended to know nothing? Why would she have come to my aid? She’d called 911 and stayed with me until help arrived. Then she’d picked up my phone to reach someone who knew me.
No. It was a pretty sure bet that Audra wasn’t involved. She had asked her husband about who had owned the house after my first visit and before I was hit, so he was a possible link. Or he may have mentioned it to someone else who picked up on it. But that was getting a bit unlikely. Logic told me that the source was probably the couple back on Lilac Lane. That angry older woman who’d been on the phone when I was leaving had been hostile right from the beginning, unlike her mate, if that was who he was. What was that about?
She’d really had no good reason to take such an instant dislike to me. But they knew Muriel. Perhaps they were still in touch. Could she have called Muriel to tell her that someone was asking questions about the Delgados? If so, Muriel could have found someone to follow me. Of course, I hadn’t stayed on Lilac Lane long enough after her call for anyone to arrive to shadow me. Unless the person was already there? But that didn’t make sense either. What were the chances that I would have taken that approach, based on a few old city directories in the library? Who even knew that I’d done that? Somehow it didn’t seem right.
So what was possible?
I drew a mental map. I had gone from Maple Street to Lilac Lane to Willows Road and then back to Maple Street. After my alarming visit to Lilac Lane there was plenty of time for someone to tail me to Uncle Rick’s and then to Maple Street. And who knew if anyo
ne had seen me on Willows Road, where they don’t answer their doors.
Muriel had intended to get me out of Vera’s life. That much was obvious, starting with my sudden firing. Now there were the instructions to Kev and the signora to have no contact with me. For some reason, Vera was doing her bidding. Why? The thought that anyone could intimidate Vera was, well, intimidating. Muriel was one scary lady.
I figured it might take a while for me to figure out what Muriel would get out of it. But there was also a “how,” as in how could I prove that the hit-and-run was not a random event? Could I convince the police that the driver had targeted me? To the average cop, I would sound like a nutcase. Maybe I was wrong, but the odds were I was right. In fact, it didn’t seem that the cops were taking this at all seriously. I would have expected to give a statement. The cops should have asked many questions to establish links between me and whoever had hit me. Or maybe they had and I just couldn’t remember.
My memories of the collision were non existent and my time in Emerg still flashed in my brain like a fragmented nightmare. My impact points throbbed.
Back to my problem: It made sense that there was something to uncover, something about Muriel and her family. Something that she didn’t want uncovered. And that something had to do with Vera.
Questions kept rocketing around in my poor sore brain.
Whatever the connection was, it must be serious business. We all have small scandals, things we regret in our lives. But face it, in our era, there’s not much that people would kill to conceal. Politicians brazen out sex scandals. Wall Street cheats never see the inside of a jail. Predatory mortgage-debt packagers ruin lives and walk free. Whatever Muriel had to hide would have to be hugely damaging to merit a murder. Muriel had been a child when she lived on Lilac Lane and Willows Road and a young woman when she left Maple Street after her mother’s death. What could she need to hide? How bad could it be? I remembered my note about STEPFATH and pictured a young Muriel scowling as she pumped herself higher on the swings.
My subconscious had been telling me something. Was it to do with her stepfather’s death? That had been another hit-and-run. Coincidence? Hit-and-run deaths happen, but both of these had a close link to Muriel. But what would she have to gain from killing me? If she hadn’t gotten me fired in the first place, I never would have been snooping into her past. I couldn’t believe it was my bad luck to get hit by a truck the day after I got fired.
The Wolfe Widow (A Book Collector Mystery) Page 8
