The grotesque mask loomed over me for a split second. “No more questions,” the voice hissed. A thought flashed through my mind right before everything went black. That voice. I know it. I know that voice.
16
“HELP’S ON THE way,” George Washington told me. His breath smelled like beer, but his watery eyes were kind.
“You’re going to be fine.” A woman wearing a red beret dabbed at my aching head with a dark scarf. A glittery painted spider spun a web on her cheek. I blinked my eyes and the spider crawled down her neck.
“I’m okay,” I said, struggling up. A shotgun blast exploded in my head. I gasped and lay back down. The spider lady brushed back my hair and kept dabbing.
By the time the paramedics arrived, the whole world was spinning. They talked to me in their soothing, professional voices, hooking me up to plastic bags and carefully lifting me onto a gurney. In the gathered crowd of people, I listened for the voice of the person who mugged me, the voice I recognized but couldn’t place. My head ached with the effort. A tiny involuntary groan rumbled deep in my throat. A deep shiver rippled through me. One of the paramedics tucked a blanket around me. Inhaling deeply, I gasped in pain.
“Easy there,” he said, his friendly dark eyes smiling at me. “We’ll get you to the hospital in no time.”
“Benni?” Lieutenant Cleary’s sharp tenor broke through the buzz of spectators. His worried face appeared behind the paramedic.
“Jim?” My voice sounded like a parrot’s.
He pushed up to the side of the gurney and bent over me. “What happened?” He flashed his badge when the paramedic protested.
“Someone tried to mug me,” I said, giving a small laugh. “I offered him ten bucks, but he wouldn’t go away.” Another hysterical laugh gurgled up. His warm hand squeezed my icy one.
“Did you get a good look at him?” Jim asked.
I lifted my head slightly. “He wore a mask, one of those monster kind. Gray-colored. And a wig. A rainbow metallic one.” I grabbed Jim’s arm. “Would you call Elvia Aragon, Miguel’s sister? She’s with the Blind Harry float. Tell her to call my gramma at home and tell her I’m okay. I don’t want her to hear that I’m dead or something. You know this town.” I dropped my head back down, exhausted.
“Yeah,” he said, smiling. “I know this town. I’ll take care of it. Do you want me to call Gabe over at the hospital?”
“No.”
His brown eyes admonished me.
“He has enough to worry about with Aaron,” I said. “Tell him tomorrow.”
He shook his head and stood up. “Whatever you say. I’ll get a call out on this guy, but with what little we have to go by, I don’t anticipate finding him.”
“He was probably just a junkie looking for some money,” I said, turning my head. I knew that wasn’t the case and I don’t know why I didn’t tell Jim that. But what could I tell him? That the voice sounded vaguely familiar? That he was telling me to quit asking questions I wasn’t supposed to be asking to begin with? And what questions exactly did he mean? I had to think about it, try and place that voice. But I wasn’t going to do it while I had this splitting headache.
The emergency room at San Celina County Hospital looked like a cast party of the Rocky Horror Picture Show. On the bed next to me, a turbaned man with a large gold ring in his nose held his stomach and moaned for a nurse. His companion, Cat Woman, looking as uncaring as the animal she portrayed, patted his hand silently, an unlit cigarette dangling from her black lips.
“I know this sounds like a line,” Malcolm’s brother-in-law, Jon, said, about a half hour later—he peered into my eyes with his small fiashlight—“but haven’t we met somewhere before? Follow my finger.” I did as I was told, then closed my eyes. My head felt like someone had set off a cherry bomb in it and I swore if someone didn’t stop shaking my bed, I was going to really get mad.
“Benni Harper,” I answered, groaning a little when he pressed gently on my stomach. “The folk art museum potluck ... Malcolm ...”
“Right,” he said, pulling out his stethoscope and listening to my heart. “You’re the lady who found the bodies in the museum a few months back. And a couple more recently, if I remember correctly.”
“I prefer to think of myself as the museum’s curator,” I said.
“Well, you’re my first mugging victim of the night,” he said. “Brings back old memories, believe you me.” He turned to the nurse who’d appeared beside him. “Get her into X-ray and let me know when they’re through.”
“Am I going to live?” I joked weakly.
“Got insurance?” he asked with sober brown eyes.
“Yes.”
He wrote something on my chart, then looked up and grinned. “Then we’ll do our best.”
By the time I was X-rayed, brought back down to Emergency, then stitched and bandaged by an intern, Dove had arrived. From behind my curtained-off area, I could hear her strident voice arguing with an admitting nurse.
“It’s very crowded tonight,” a stem, edgy voice told her. “You can’t go back there.”
“I’d like to see the person who can stop me,” she declared. Seconds later her voice reverberated through the emergency room, calling my name.
“Over here, Gramma,” I croaked.
“Oh, honeybun,” she said when she saw me. Her cool hand touched the bandage on my forehead, smoothed my hair. The downy feel of her fingertips, the sweet almond scent of her Jergens hand lotion let loose the flood of tears I’d been holding back
“Now, you hush that bawling,” she said, folding me into her cushiony chest. “Nobody’s going to hurt you now.”
Within minutes, we were joined by Daddy, Elvia, and Miguel. They surrounded my bed and were all talking at once when the curtain was flung back and Gabe loomed over us. His eyes were bright as marbles against his dark, angry face.
“What happened?” he demanded, looking straight at me.
“I told Jim not to tell you,” I said.
“Fortunately he realizes who his commanding officer is. All he’d tell me over the phone was you were here in Emergency. I repeat, what happened?”
“She was mugged, young fella,” Daddy said. “And you best be doin’ something about it real quick.” They stared at each other, challenge gleaming in both sets of eyes. Gabe broke away first and turned to Miguel.
“Tell me what you know and what’s being done.”
Miguel quickly told him the story as he’d heard it from Jim and what they’d found so far—nothing. Gabe turned back to me. “And?” he asked.
“And what?”
“What aren’t you telling me?”
I buried my head into the crook of Dove’s arm. “What makes you think I’m not telling you everything?”
“Benni, I swear I’ll ...” He threatened in his stern cop’s voice.
Just tell him, a voice inside me said. Then everyone will leave you alone and you can beg a pain pill from the nurse and roll over and quietly let your head explode.
“I might know the voice,” I whispered.
“What?” Gabe said, followed by echoes of similar words from everyone else.
“I said, might. It sounded familiar, but I just can’t place it.”
“What did he say?”
I mumbled into Dove’s arm.
He bent over me. The spicy scent of his cologne mixed with the scent of coffee on his breath. “What was that?”
I looked him directly in the eyes. “ ‘Not more questions.’ He said, ‘No more questions.’”
“Hijo de ... ” Gabe said under his breath. “That settles it. When they release you, you’re coming home with me.”
“I think not,” Dove said. “I’ll be going home with her tonight.”
“I think I should take her out to the ranch,” Daddy said.
“She can always come home with me,” Elvia piped up.
“I’ve already decided,” Gabe said. “No discussion.”
Dove stood up, an
indignant five feet one, and pointed a finger up at him. “Young man, if you think I’m letting her go home with you with the shape she’s in and the shape you’re in, you’re out of your ever-lovin’ gourd.”
“The shape I’m in?” Gabe asked. “What do you mean by that?”
She narrowed one blue eye. “With her weak like this and with both of y’all’s hormones all worked up like they have been the last few weeks, there’s no way she’s spending the night with the likes of you.”
“Dove!” I protested, lifting my head. “I can’t believe you’d ... ”
“You think I’d ... ?” Gabe exclaimed. “What kind of a person do you think I am?”
“A man kind of person,” Dove said, folding her arms across her chest.
Beside me, Elvia snickered. I sank back down into my pillow, wondering if it might not have been preferable for the mugger to have finished me off in the alley.
“You think I’d take advantage of her when she’s this vulnerable?” Gabe asked.
“I have lived a lot longer than you, and I know what fear can do to people. And—” she eyed him fiercely—“I raised four sons. I know what’s what. Besides, what do I really know about you anyway? I don’t even know if you’ve got some of that blood disease that’s killing everyone left and right. No, siree, Bob. I’ll be taking care of her tonight.”
“Daddy, do something.” I looked over at him helplessly. He just grinned at me and shrugged. He knew there was no stopping Dove once she got rolling.
“For your information,” Gabe said in a low, even voice, “I’ve been tested.”
“Don’t mean squat,” she said. “I heard you can have one of them tests, then go out and kick up your heels afterward and get it just like that.” She snapped her fingers.
“Look, it’s been two years since...” He clamped his lips shut, his face flushing a dark red.
“For pete’s sake,” I said, surprised. “You’ve gone longer than I have.”
Elvia snickered again. Miguel kept a straight face and studied the black and white tiles on the floor. Daddy’s smile could have posed for a Halloween pumpkin.
Gabe scowled. Dove scowled back.
“Doesn’t matter,” she said, uncompromising. “She’s still not going with you.”
“I told you I wouldn’t...” he started.
“Okay, that does it!” I struggled up. In an upright position, my head felt like a balloon at the point of bursting, but I had to speak up. It was one thing to argue about where I was going to spend the night, but when my sex life suddenly became a topic for public debate, it was time to take control. Just as I was about to command everyone to clear out, Dr. Jon walked in.
“Your cheering section has arrived, I see,” he said to me. “Got your verdict here.” He rattled the X-rays in his hand.
“How is she?” Dove asked.
“She has a couple of cracked ribs and will have a nasty headache for a day or two, but there’s no indication of concussion. The head wound is superficial. The stitches should dissolve in a week or so. Shouldn’t be too much of a scar.” He smiled at me. “You were really lucky.”
“Yeah, right,” I said, looking at Gabe and Dove who were still bristling at each other like two dogs squaring off for possession of a fire hydrant.
A thought broke through the pounding in my head. I grabbed Jon’s white-coated arm. “Am I hurt enough to stay one night here?”
He gave me a curious look. “We’ve got empty beds. I can hold you one night for observation. Your insurance will probably accept that.”
“Do it,” I said.
Before a whine of protest commenced, I started giving orders. “Daddy, take Dove home. I’ll be out tomorrow and will spend the night with you. Miguel, can you take my keys and somehow get my truck back to my house?”
“Sure,” he said.
I looked up at Jon. “What time is checkout?”
“Noon.”
“Be here at eleven-thirty,” I instructed Elvia. “And bring me some clean clothes.”
“Yes, ma’am,” she said, giving me a small salute.
“And you.” I zeroed in on Gabe. His jaw tensed, but he didn’t say a word. “How’s Aaron?”
His eyes clouded over. “He’s still having tests.”
“You need to go see how Rachel is doing. I’ll be fine tonight and we can get this all straightened out tomorrow. Now go, all of you.” I lay back against the pillow, exhausted and on the verge of tears.
With only minor protests from Dove, everyone did as they were told. Well, I thought, as they wheeled me upstairs, this taking control business is pretty simple once you get the hang of it. The nurse helped me into a hospital nightgown that, skimpy as it was, still felt better than my dirty clothes, and I sank into the clean sheets of the firm hospital bed. Fortunately, the other bed in my semi-private room was empty, so the only sounds audible were the subdued conversation of hospital personnel out in the hall. I dozed off and on, too nervous to fall into a deep sleep. At one point, I was wakened by a nurse with glossy auburn hair cut in a shag. She wore her eyeliner in the way they did in the sixties, like little bat wings flying out from the corners of her green eyes.
“How’s your head?” she asked, taking my pulse with her cool fingers.
“Still hurts,” I said.
“I could give you something for the pain. It’ll probably help you sleep too.”
“No, it’s not that bad,” I said. Maybe I’d watched too many movies, but after what happened tonight, the idea of being completely unconscious in a hospital room that anyone could walk into, made me a little edgy.
“Okey-doke,” she said, adjusting my blankets. “You know, I told your boyfriend he could come in here and sit with you, but he insists on sitting there outside your door. Been out there for hours.”
“Who?”
“I assumed that’s who he was. Tall, dark-haired guy, gorgeous blue eyes. If he’s not yours, can I have him?” Her round cheeks dimpled.
“Could you please tell him I want to see him?”
“Okey-doke.”
A few minutes later, Gabe entered the room. His eyes, glazed with exhaustion, stared down at me defiantly.
“Gabe, what do you think you’re doing?”
“My job.”
I pulled the covers up over my chest. “How’s Aaron?”
“Better. It was just a reaction to his new medication. He’ll probably go home tomorrow or the next day.”
“Well, if you’re determined to stay, you may as well sit in here,” I said. He walked over to the chair next to my bed and sat down, his posture as inflexible as the set of his jaw. “What about Rachel?”
“She’s doing okay. She’s staying in town with a friend.”
We were silent for a moment. “Gabe, you look exhausted. Why don’t you just go home? I’m sure whoever attacked me wouldn’t try anything while I’m in here.”
“I’m not leaving,” he said, his voice thick. His anxiety seemed to have a physical presence in the air, like pollen. I knew I would never be able to talk him into leaving. I watched the tight line of his jaw, wanting to touch it, to run my finger down the clean length of it, smooth out its rigidity.
“Okay,” I said. “As long as you’re going to stay, you may as well make yourself useful. I can’t sleep, so talk me to sleep.”
“What?” He gave a puzzled look.
“Tell me a story. Didn’t your mother ever tell you bedtime stories when you couldn’t sleep? Dove used to tell me one about a calf named Boom-Boom who didn’t know how to moo. He’d learned all the other animal sounds, but couldn’t figure out how to moo. He was the Rich Little of the barnyard.”
“My mother never told us stories. She’s ... well, you’d have to know her. She’s a good person, but she’s not the type to tell stories.”
“But she was a schoolteacher.”
“I don’t know, maybe she was just tired of kids by the time she got home. Anyway, it was my father who told us stories, put us to b
ed every night. He was the funniest man I ever knew.” His face relaxed slightly.
“So tell me one.”
He ducked his head. I ached to stroke the top of his glossy, black hair. “I can’t remember any.”
“C’mon, Gabe, be fair. I told you about Boom-Boom.”
He looked up and smiled. “When Dove and I are speaking again, I’m going to tease her about that.”
“Oh, don’t let her bamboozle you. She adores you.”
“Could have fooled me.”
I grinned. “Well, she adores me more. Now, out with your story, Friday, or I’ll be forced to bring out the bright lights and rubber hoses.”
He leaned back in the chair and crossed one leg over the other, tracing the maze of his hiking boot’s tread with his finger. “Dad used to tell us, me and my sisters, this story about a turtle who had a blue shell. Señor Azure, he called him.”
“Mr. Blue. Like the fifties song.”
“Yeah, not very original, but we liked it.”
“I think it’s wonderful. Go on.”
“Anyway, this turtle, he didn’t fit in with the other turtles, because of his shell, but it didn’t make him sad because...” He stopped, and cleared his throat. “I can’t do this.”
“You don’t have to,” I said softly.
“No, it’s just that, he always told it to us in Spanish. It doesn’t sound the same in English.”
“Then tell it to me in Spanish. I know enough to pick out the major points.”
He started over and the words flowed smoothly, soothing me like a low, humming song. The hard angles of his face smoothed out, making him appear to grow younger as he told the story of the lonely little turtle who didn’t fit in, but was happy anyway because he had a secret—the blue shell that made him different also enabled him to fly. I fell asleep to the melodious sounds of what I assumed was Señor Azure’s quest for a place to fit in somewhere between the earth and the sky.
Sometime during the night, while traveling through that deep murky canyon between sleep and the real world, a voice whispered in my ear, “Move over.” Habit from years of marriage caused me to obey without hesitation. I remember thinking, I’ll have to ask him how the new heifers are doing, did he lose any calves tonight. But the body that pulled me to him, my back resting against his solid chest, was different. The weight of the arm holding me was heavier, the warm male scent of him both foreign and familiar.
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