“So, she’ll be able to come home in just a few weeks?” another male voice asked, and after a moment I realized it was Dave.
“Yes, in all likelihood.”
“What about after that?” Dutch again.
“After that she will need some time to recover. A terrible trauma has occurred to her body, and it is not unusual for a woman of Abigail’s size and stature to require three months of bed rest.”
“That long?” my sister asked.
“That’s typical,” the doctor replied. “Sometime down the road she may also want to see a plastic surgeon about the scar on her chest. But other than that, she will most likely make a full recovery.”
“Thank you, God,” another man said across the room. Duffy.
“Oh, poor, Abby,” a woman wailed. “It’s all my fault, Duffy!” Ah, Ellie was here too. Geez, I thought, how many people do they let into a hospital room, anyway? With effort I tried to move. Nothing happened. I thought about moaning, but the thing in my throat hurt something fierce, and I decided against it. Finally I settled for fluttering my eyes open—it appeared this was the only part of my body I could actually move.
No one seemed to notice that I was awake, so I had no choice but to try to make a sound. I waited until the air had been pushed into my lungs to try an “Unh!”
A very pretty woman with deep red hair and eyes the color of brandy stepped forward. “Ah,” she said as she pulled the stethoscope from around her neck and plugged it into her ears. “I see our patient has woken up. Abigail,” she said to me, “I’m Dr. Amstadter, and you’re in Denver General Hospital. We’ve got you on a machine that is pushing air into your lungs to help you breathe. If you can understand me, please blink your eyes once.”
I blinked.
“Very good,” she said with a smile. “Now I’m going to give you some medicine that will make you very sleepy and will let you get some rest so you won’t have to feel the tube in your throat while you’re asleep, okay?”
I blinked again.
“Good,” she said, and reaching into her lab coat she pulled out a vial and a syringe, drew some liquid with the needle, then walked around to the other side of my bed. She picked up the IV cord snaking its way from a metal hook to my arm and slowly inserted the liquid into a plug on the line.
While she was fiddling with that I looked around the room at everyone I loved in the world as they stared back at me with that same emotion reflected in their eyes, and in an instant I knew I’d made the right decision to come back and see things through. I put every ounce of energy into the tiniest of hand waves, and the room broke into a grin. A few seconds later I was off to la-la land.
If ever anyone tells you how fast time seems to be flying for them, suggest they check into their local hospital for a two-week stay and see if they don’t die of boredom. The good news about lying around all day with nothing to do but channel surf was that I was awake for only a small portion of each hour of daylight. I’d never felt so exhausted in all my life, and everything seemed to tire me.
I’d been taken off the vent about thirty-six hours after my operation. It was a painful extraction, and I was given sorbet to soothe my raw throat. Dutch, Cat, Duffy and Ellie had each taken turns sitting with me, around the clock. I was incredibly humbled by the fact that they were all willing to take so much of their time to spend with me. Dave had stayed until I’d been taken off the vent; then he’d gone back home to get Eggy out of the kennel and continue to take care of him until I recovered.
I’d learned from Duffy that a frantic call had come in from the Bureau to one of the agents out in the field with him. He had answered it, and learned that a Michigan-based FBI agent needed assistance right away. What I hadn’t understood when Dutch had given me his Valentine’s Day present was that these phones weren’t just standard-issue to the agents in the field; they could also be set to receive direct GPS tracking signals from one another. Dutch had received my exact location from the phone I’d used to call him. To his amazement and relief he’d learned that other agents were a mere quarter mile away.
Word had spread through the group gathered under the water tower, where they found Biggins’s body, that I was being held at gunpoint, and Duffy, his deputies and the FBI agents had hightailed it over to me as fast as they could run.
They’d heard Kelly shoot me and honed in on our location. One of the agents, a sharpshooter, had taken her out a nanosecond before she could pull the trigger again, which explained why I thought I’d heard her gun go off second time. It wasn’t her gun after all.
I’d also learned that it was Kelly who had booked Gina’s flight to California, knowing that if Gina’s body was never recovered, Ellie might think her friend had simply abandoned her.
Kelly had also been the one to text-message Ellie from Sara’s phone that Sara wouldn’t be attending the bachelorette party. It looked as if Kelly had intended to make it appear as if all of Ellie’s friends were abandoning her, at least until we found Gina; then she changed tactics to make it look like she was the only one to survive. It didn’t matter to Kelly who got blamed for murder, be it Eddie or Biggins. Duffy said he’d learned all this from the journal Kelly kept in her apartment, amidst dozens and dozens of pictures of Ellie. The poor girl had been obsessed with her friend. As he dug deeper, he discovered that Kelly’s mental illness stemmed back to when she’d discovered her father’s body after he’d hanged himself. Her fragile brain hadn’t been able to handle it, and Duffy learned that she’d had two mental breakdowns in six years.
Kelly’s brother had also told the police that he hadn’t had anything to do with her in quite some time, suggesting that she’d “gone over the edge” when he and Ellie broke up two years earlier.
I’d also learned a few things in my own personal life that gave me lots of time to reflect and make a few more key decisions. It started with the second day I came off the ventilator, when Cat burst into my room with a suitcase that was almost as big as she was. “Surprise!” she said as she came in the door.
“Hey,” I said from the bed. “What’s all that?”
“Things to cheer you up,” Cat announced, and she flung open the lid to the suitcase and began removing little knickknacks from my home. There were three pictures of Eggy (these made me cry; I missed him!), along with a photo of Cat and the twins, and a mug shot of Dave. She also included some of my favorite DVDs, along with a brand-new portable DVD player to play them on, a figurine of an angel that I’d had for years and years, and my favorite afghan from Dutch’s house. “Awww,” I said as she piled the frames and knickknacks around the room. “Cat, you shouldn’t have!” I said, hugging the picture of Eggy with my left arm.
“It’s important to keep your spirits up. I flew to Detroit this morning, packed this stuff as quickly as I could, then came back lickety-split!”
“Thank you,” I said, my eyes very moist.
“Oh!” she said. “And I almost forgot about this!” She thrust my old cell phone into my hand. “It was in your study, still plugged in from the last time you went to charge it. I think you have voice mail, because it keeps making these little beeping noises.”
I looked at the display, which held a small envelope in the right-hand corner. Flipping open the lid I hit the 1 button, which was preprogrammed for voice mail, and waited for the messages to come in. “You have eight new messages,” the robotic voice said. Surprised, I clicked the 1 button again and listened. “First message,” the voice said. Then I heard, “Hey, there, Edgar. Sorry I haven’t called you in a couple of days. Listen, I don’t like how we ended our evening the other night. I really want to talk to you. Will you call me? Soon?”
The message was stamped the day I flew to Colorado.
“Next new message,” the voice said again.
“Edgar,” Dutch said. “It’s me. Come on, babe. Call me, okay? I meant to write down your new number the other night, but I didn’t get a chance before I left, so when you get this message call me on your new
cell phone so I can record it into my speed dial. Seriously. Call me.”
“Next new message,” the voice said.
“Abby Cooper,” Dutch again, his voice singing my name. “Sweethot, this is silly. I miss you! I want to talk about this, okay? You can’t just dump me like that and not talk about it, so please call me on your new cell.”
“Next new message,” the voice said.
“Abigail. Dutch. Listen, Milo and I are headed to Guzzoline Alley tonight. How about if you meet us there and we can talk in person about this? Milo said he’d be willing to take your side,” Dutch joked. “I told him, ‘So what else is new.’” And he chuckled. “Come on, babe. Please meet me up there. I don’t want you to go to your friend’s wedding hating my guts. Maybe I can get a night off and meet you in Denver. Come on out and we’ll talk about it, okay? Please?”
I flipped the phone closed and looked up at my sister, who was studying me with a steady gaze. “Dutch?”
“He didn’t know my new number,” I said as the tears that had formed in my eyes spilled over. “Jesus, Cat! It was all a huge misunderstanding!”
“Mercury retrograde,” my sister said as she came over and tucked a hair behind my ear. In that moment I saw my grandmother reflected in her face and mannerisms.
“I’m glad you’re here,” I said to her.
“I’m glad you are too,” she said, and her own eyes misted. “You gave us quite a scare, you know.”
“Gotta keep you on your toes,” I said with a smile.
Later, Duffy came by and pulled up a chair to keep me company. “How goes the channel surfing?” he asked me.
“It goes. What have you been up to?”
“Making sure Eddie’s acquittal is swift and soon.”
“They’re still charging him with Gina’s murder?” I asked, thunderstruck.
“No, but the county prosecutor has to decide if they’re going to proceed with the case for escaping incarceration. My guess is that, given the circumstances, they won’t pursue it. He’s also got a hell of a lawyer, and the DA has never won a case against him. Eddie should be cleared of everything pretty soon. And then it’s off to the islands for him and Ellie.”
“Too bad they didn’t get to have their ceremony,” I said.
“They’re eloping, which, if you ask me, is the only way to go.”
“Good afternoon, Abigail; how are you feeling?” Dr. Amstadter said as she breezed into my room. I was again taken by how pretty she was, with her gorgeous red hair and her glorious eyes. I noticed a moment later that I wasn’t the only one taken with her.
“Hello, Doctor,” Duffy said, standing up when she entered.
“Ah, Sheriff McGinnis. Good to see you again. How is our patient doing?”
“She’s fine, just fine. I’m keeping an eye on her, though.”
I smiled as I watched the two of them. Sparks practically flew between the pair. And then I remembered back in the woods the outline of the redhead in Duffy’s energy. Amazing how some stuff works out, ain’t it?
After Dr. Amstadter left, I turned to Duffy and said, “Sheriff, we need to talk.”
Twenty minutes later I’d put a permanent end to the Duffy and Abby variety show. Being the swell guy he is, Duffy actually pulled off looking disappointed. Still, he said that he understood, and knew the moment he met Dutch that he was the one for me. I’d tell him later that the moment I met Dr. Amstadter, I’d known she was the gal for him.
Much later that evening I was groggy from the little catnap I’d had when I heard the door open and soft footfalls come across the tile floor. I opened my eyes and they were met with those of midnight blue. “Evening, Edgar,” Dutch said.
“Hi,” I said shyly. “How’re you?”
Dutch smiled as he pulled up a chair to sit with me. “The question is, how are you?”
“Better, now that you’re here.”
“Ditto,” he said as he reached up to stroke my hair. “I’ve missed you, ya know.”
“Double ditto,” I said, flashing him a grin.
“You still intend to give up on us?” he asked me after a long moment.
“Would you believe I never really did?”
“You wouldn’t return my calls,” he said. I called your house, your cell, your office….”
“I didn’t know you made any of those calls until this afternoon. I left my old cell at home when I came to Denver, and I never got a chance to check my other voice mails.”
Dutch looked surprised, then shook his head with a grin. “Kind of stupid of me to give you a cell phone for Valentine’s Day and not jot down your new number.”
“Is the stupid part you’re referring to about the cell phone for Valentine’s Day, or not jotting down my new number?” I said with a grin.
“Probably a little of both, although, one of those two things saved your butt in the end.”
“Best damn present I ever got,” I said quickly, and then we both grew silent.
After a bit Dutch said, “I want you to come home and stay with me while you get better, Edgar.”
“You do owe me after I played nursemaid to you when you got shot,” I said, picking up my hand to stroke his arm. “But are you sure you really want to?”
“Take care of you? Absolutely.”
“It won’t ruin your powers of concentration?” I asked.
“I guess I deserved that.”
“I guess you did.”
“So are you gonna take me up on my offer?”
I took a big breath. There was something I needed to tell him, because I couldn’t go to his home, let him take care of me and pretend like something hadn’t happened that could very well be the final straw between us. “First, I have to confess something,” I began, and despite my best efforts my voice shook.
“What’s that?”
“See, I really thought you and I had broken up. So when I came out here, I was under the impression that I was single. And I was so torn up inside that I just wanted some comfort, if you will. Just a body to—”
“Edgar,” Dutch said interrupting me as his big blue eyes bore into mine.
“Yeah?” I asked.
“What happens in Vegas, stays in Vegas. Capisce?”
“You don’t hate me?” I asked, and my eyes filled with water again.
“No, you silly little do-do,” he said with a grin as he leaned in and hovered his lips over mine. “I love you, babe. I really, really love you.” And then he kissed me tenderly.
When he pulled back to look at me, all I could manage was, “Ditto, cowboy.”
* * *
Read on for a sneak peek at the
next book in the Psychic Eye series
Crime Seen
Coming from Signet in June 2007
* * *
As I look at it, there are two kinds of people in this world: cat people and dog people. And as a general rule, you’d be better off mixing oil and vinegar.
Or so I thought as I lay on the couch in my boyfriend’s house, recovering from a bullet wound to the chest I’d received three months earlier. My sweetheart, Dutch, owns a fat, annoying, allergy-producing tomcat named Virgil. I own a cute, cuddly, hypoallergenic dachshund named Eggy. I guess you can see which side of the dog vs. cat smackdown I fall on. Yes…I’m biased—so sue me.
On this particular day, however, as Eggy and I were snuggling on the couch, easing into a really good nap, my nose wrinkled. Something smelled off…really off. “Ugh,” I said as I took a sniff. “What is that?”
“Abby?” I heard Dutch call from his study. “Did you say something?”
I sat up on the couch as Eggy gave me an annoyed grunt. “There is really something foul around here,” I said as I sniffed again.
“What?” he asked, coming into the living room. “Did you need something?”
“What is that smell?” I asked him as I looked around and caught Virgil trotting over from behind an end table to twirl figure eights around Dutch’s leg. It was then that I spott
ed something foul and smelly on my purse, which was lying near where I’d seen Virgil come from. “Oh, no, you didn’t!” I said aloud.
“What’s the matter?” Dutch asked me.
I pointed with a growl and snapped, “Your cat just pooped on my purse!”
Dutch turned to look where I was pointing, and I swear I caught a small smirk on his face before he turned back to me and said in a calm, soothing voice, “I’m sure he didn’t mean to.”
“Of course he didn’t mean to, Dutch!” I said angrily as I got up off the couch and headed into the kitchen for some paper towels. “Just like he didn’t mean to pee on my side of the bed the other night, or hurl his hair balls on top of my clean laundry, or use my backpack for a scratching post. I’m sure it’s all just a big fat coincidence!”
“Edgar,” Dutch said, using his favorite nickname for me, after famed psychic Edgar Cayce. “Come on, he’s just a cat. He doesn’t have a malicious bone in his body.”
“Tell that to the dead chipmunk he showed up here with yesterday,” I groused as I came back into the living room and scrunched up my face as I wiped up the poo. “I’m sure those two had a bunch of laughs before Virgil ate him.”
“Try and look at it from Virgil’s perspective, Abs. He ruled the roost until you and Eggy moved in, so he’s had to make a pretty big adjustment.”
With the wadded-up paper towel in my hand, I glared at my boyfriend, letting him know what I thought about Virgil and his “adjustment.” “Eggy’s had to make some concessions too, you know, and you don’t see him walking around pooping on everything.”
Dutch sighed and picked Virgil up protectively. “Can we not fight about this?” he asked me.
I rolled my eyes and stomped into the kitchen. Normally I like cats. I mean, I like them as long as they don’t defecate on my things and generally keep to themselves. But ever since I’d come here to recover from my wound, Virgil had been the bane of my existence, and Dutch refused to believe that his feline was out to get me.
I strolled back into the living room, about to continue the argument, when the phone rang. Dutch gave me a “saved by the bell” smile. Looking at the caller identification, he said, “It’s Candice. That’s the third call this week. Think you’d better talk to her this time?”
Killer Insight Page 27
