by Lucy Kerr
In the NICU, Rowan was wide awake. Donna was holding her and swaying gently as she crooned a lullaby. “You all have a night owl on your hands,” she said. “She’s been wide awake for the last hour or so.”
“Charlie will be thrilled,” I said, rolling my eyes. My sister had always been, in true Benjamin Franklin fashion, an early-to-bed, early-to-rise kind of girl. Riley too seemed incapable of sleeping past six thirty—except for today’s episode. “Can I hold her?”
Rowan felt like a cloud, soft and nearly weightless. I walked in a small circle, mindful of the monitor leads still attached to her foot. A few feet away, Jess was checking on Trey, whispering to him as she bent over the isolette.
“How’s he doing?” I called softly, and she jumped, pressing a hand against her heart. “Sorry, didn’t mean to startle you.”
She waved it off, returning her attention to the baby. “He’s doing great. A little trouble maintaining his body temp, so we’re still running some tests, but he’s very lucky, all things considered.”
“Are they going to step him down to the regular nursery or straight to discharge?”
Her hands fumbled on the tiny knit cap. “I don’t know. I hope they’ll keep him here.”
“I heard Dr. Solano saying they want him here until discharge, no matter how fast he bounces back,” Donna put in. “For security reasons.”
“Really?” Funny how Noah hadn’t mentioned that. Were they worried Miller might come after Trey? If so, a locked and monitored ward like the NICU was the best place for him, no matter what his medical status.
Donna shrugged and moved to another isolette. “It’s nice for him to have that kind of attention, poor little mite. And I’m sure it gives his father some peace of mind.”
True. I let Rowan grab tightly to my finger, worked her little arms up and down like she was lifting weights. “Look how strong you’re getting, little buddy! Keep it up, and you’ll be home before you know it. You’ll even get your own room, unlike me.”
“You don’t have your own room?” Donna asked, chuckling. “Are you sharing with Lila?”
“Riley,” I said. “The big sister. She’s sweet, but I thought I’d outgrown roommates.”
“I shared a room when I was a kid,” Jess said, glancing up from the isolette. “Four of us in a room smaller than the family lounge.”
“How’d you manage that?” I asked.
She reached in through the porthole, brushed a thumb over Trey’s foot. “Being together wasn’t so bad. Eventually we split up, but … I hadn’t minded it, really. We survived.”
“So did my boys,” Donna said, giving me a mock frown. “Builds character, if you ask me.”
“Yeah, yeah. I know. And Riley’s cute.” I tapped Rowan’s button nose, and she regarded me seriously. “Runs in the family, I guess.”
Trey squeaked, and Jess cooed softly to him.
“Has Steven been in tonight?” I asked. “How’s he holding up?”
“I was with the twins,” Jess said stiffly, nodding at a pair of isolettes across the room. “I didn’t see him.”
Typically NICU nurses stayed with one or two patients until discharge. The most critical cases might require constant one-on-one care; as the baby improved, her nurse might take on a second, less-acute case. If Jess was assigned to the twins across the room, visiting with Trey was more social than medical. Perhaps keeping an unofficial eye on him was her way of making up for last night.
“Steven was here during day shift,” Donna said. “Someone said he stepped out for a bit to make arrangements for the funeral on Monday.” She shook her head. “Imagine, burying your wife while your baby’s in here.”
Jess turned away, blinking rapidly.
“Anyway,” Donna continued after a moment, “once that was done, he came in and didn’t leave until after dinner. That manager of his was here too, though they wouldn’t let him in since his phone was glued to his ear. Someone told me he sat right out on the bench in the hall, and every time he needed something, he’d wave through the glass, and Steven would have to run out and talk to him.”
So much for suspending the campaign. But all I said was, “Election Day’s coming, I guess.”
Donna sniffed. “You’d think he’d care more about his family than a stupid election.”
“For some people, work is a refuge from the rest of their life. Maybe Steven feels that way.” I certainly had, plenty of times. “Maybe he thinks that winning the election will help him get justice for Kate.”
“Someone said it was intentional,” Donna whispered as Jess scowled. “Can you believe it? Who on earth would have done such a thing?”
“The police ID’d the driver,” I said and filled them in on Josh Miller and tomorrow’s announcement.
Both women looked at me blankly. Finally, Donna said, “It doesn’t make sense. Why would anyone want to hurt that poor woman?”
“She was a social worker,” I pointed out. “She’d taken kids away from their families.”
“For their own good,” Jess said hotly. “She didn’t do it on a whim.”
“Of course not.” No doubt, the NICU had seen plenty of babies born addicted to drugs; it was only natural they’d want the best for their patients. “But Miller probably didn’t appreciate it; the police think he was holding a grudge.”
“I suppose,” Jess said, the words heavy with doubt. With a final glance at Trey, she crossed back over to the twins.
“Did you know her?” I asked. “Kate, I mean.”
“Me?” She looked startled, busied herself with checking monitor leads. “I think she might have been in here for a case once or twice. Donna?”
Donna nodded agreement. “Do the police think they’ll find the guy? He could be halfway across the country by now.”
I hadn’t mentioned that he’d been spotted last night. Josh’s name might be public knowledge in a few hours, but Noah would want most of the case details kept quiet. “They seem pretty determined.”
Noah’s determination came from someplace more ingrained than the job. He’d had a lousy home life growing up. After he’d practically raised his younger siblings, his family obligations had kept him in Stillwater when all he’d wanted was to escape. Of course he’d want to do right by a woman who had tried to protect kids going through the same things he had. Whether he’d known Kate personally or only by reputation, I didn’t doubt that finding her killer meant more than he’d admitted to me or anyone else.
I gave Rowan a kiss on the head and handed her over to Donna. “Time for me to get back.”
On my way out, I paused to look at Trey dozing in his isolette. Technically he was younger than Rowan, but he’d had the benefit of more time in utero. Despite the trauma of the accident, he looked downright plump next to Rowan, with his bald head and rounded cheeks.
I wondered if he looked like his mother, if he’d grow up comforted in the knowledge they shared a nose, a dimple, or a chin. If he’d carry some mannerism of Kate’s within him, surprising everyone when it emerged. It was heartbreaking that he would never know his mother and she would never know him. Never see the person she’d carried inside her for so many months.
I’d lost my father young, but at least I had memories of us. Moments I could call up when I was feeling particularly lost. Trey would have none of those, and the knowledge made me want to cry for a family I hadn’t known until twenty-four hours ago, a family shattered before they even began.
Noah wasn’t the only one who was taking this case personally.
Seven
In the ER, we take our humor anywhere we can find it. Unfortunately, my colleagues had found plenty in my mom’s matchmaking attempts. By the time I’d finished my shift, they’d taken to paging me as Nurse Gundersen, changing my name on the whiteboard that listed our cases, and working it in to every conversation. The only upside was that it meant everyone was talking about my social life instead of my failure to contain Josh Miller.
Even so, I was not inclined
to go straight home after my shift. I hadn’t decided what I would say to my mother, but odds were good that it wouldn’t be appropriate for Riley’s ears. Instead, I headed for Stapleton and Sons, our family’s hardware store.
“Morning,” Charlie called from the back counter as I pushed open the front door, bell jingling overhead. When she realized it was just me, not a customer, she turned her attention back to the man in paint-spattered jeans and an old sweat shirt.
The store looked like it always had, though Charlie’s window displays were more inviting than anything my father had ever done. Inside, the aisles were still narrow, the shelves crowded with a hodgepodge of tools and building supplies. The wide, dark wooden floorboards creaked beneath my feet, the sound familiar and comforting. As I made my way to the back of the main room, I breathed deeply, filling my lungs with the smell of sawdust and machine oil and varnish, as heady and evocative as it had been when I was a child.
I boosted myself onto one of the stools at the long oak counter, propping my chin in my hands and half listening to their conversation about paint quantities and color-matching. My feet barely brushed the floor, same as always.
When they’d finished, the contractor—it was always a contractor, this early on a weekday morning—glanced over at me. “This the sister everyone’s talking about, Charlie?”
“What gave it away?” she deadpanned, holding up her long russet braid. Charlie usually kept her hair neatly tied back, while I had long ago given up any attempt to control the unruly curls, chopping it to chin length whenever I lost patience. But the color was unequivocally, unmistakably Stapleton red.
He tugged on the brim of his battered cap. “Nice work.”
I paused. “Thank you? I think?”
He raised his Styrofoam coffee cup in what was either a farewell or a toast, telling Charlie he’d be back for the paint the next morning.
“What was that about?” I asked when the bell over the door jangled as he left.
“You’re notorious now,” she said. “Clem Jensen was a handyman. You caught his killer. People appreciate what you did for him.”
I’d caught Clem’s killer in this very store and nearly lost my life in the process. “And that’s good for business?”
“Every little bit helps,” she replied. “Why do you think you get so much traffic during your shifts? Everyone wants to get a look at you.”
“Notorious,” I muttered. “Glad it’s working out so well for you.”
“I work with what I’ve got,” she said, unperturbed by my sarcasm. “Aren’t you supposed to be helping Mom with Riley?”
“I needed a cooling-off period,” I said, filling her in on Art Gundersen.
By the time I finished, her shoulders were shaking with laughter.
“It’s not funny.”
“Not to you, maybe.” She wiped her eyes and began sorting through paperwork, readying the stacks of special orders so she could pull inventory. Judging from the way she checked and rechecked the pile, worry lines carving a vee between her eyebrows, she’d been hoping for more. My newfound notoriety didn’t seem to be helping as much as she’d hoped. “How was Rowan last night?”
“Good,” I said. “That reminds me, did you see Steven Tibbs when you were visiting yesterday?”
It was what I’d been wanting to ask since I walked in. I needed some background on the man whose tragedy I’d been swept into.
She nodded absently, scrutinizing the order in front of her. “We didn’t talk much, though. I was trying to give him some privacy. Rowan’s really getting the hang of eating.”
“She’ll be home before you know it. What’s the deal with Steven running for Congress? Does he have a shot at winning?”
“Probably. You know how everyone here feels about him. The man can do no wrong in this town.”
“True. It’s strange to think of someone we went to school with as a Congressman,” I said. “Attending the State of the Union. Making laws.”
Charlie shrugged. “Not that strange. He was on student council, wasn’t he?”
Steven had been a year behind me at Stillwater High, so it’s not as if I’d paid much attention to his budding political career, even back then. Once I’d graduated, I hadn’t given Stillwater High, or its denizens, another thought. “Lobbying for a better hot lunch isn’t quite the same thing as the federal government.”
“Probably not,” she admitted. “I’m not sure trotting out the story about the fire is going to do him much good in Washington either, but he’s definitely making good use of it here. Works it into half his speeches, which is ironic considering it’s only half true.”
I gaped at her. “What are you talking about? We could have lost the store if he hadn’t come in early that day.”
She made a small noise of irritation, waved her hand like she was brushing away a fly. “Sure, but he wasn’t coming in early. He was coming back late.”
This was the first I’d ever heard of it. “Coming back from where? What are you talking about?”
She shrugged. “The story is that Steven came in early to get a head start on inventory, to help out his dad, right? So he got here at some crazy hour, like … four in the morning.”
“That makes sense,” I pointed out. “The store is open late.” Steven’s parents had sold the store and moved to Florida sometime in the last decade, but the store was still here and was still the only place aside from restaurants and bars that stayed open past eight.
“Sure,” Charlie said, “but Steven came back closer to midnight, not four. And he didn’t stay long enough to do much inventory.”
“Then what was he doing? And actually, how do you know this?”
She gave me a sly smile. “You aren’t the only one who used to hang out upstairs in the wee small hours, you know.”
I opened my mouth, eyebrows shooting to the ceiling, and closed it again. I had no good response except to ask who, exactly, Charlie had been “hanging out” with at midnight, and that felt a little too much like a nagging older sister for comfort.
Charlie flipped her braid over her shoulder, the gesture verging on smug. “Anyway, I was upstairs, and I heard Steven—and some girl I didn’t know, which probably meant she was from some other town—go into the store. They were trying to be sneaky, I think, but they actually ended up making more noise than they would have walking in like they owned the place.”
“Which Steven did, sort of,” I said.
“Exactly. They didn’t stay long, maybe ten minutes, and left with a bunch of glass bottles.”
“Booze,” I said. “Steven was stealing from his dad?”
“Probably. I was too far away to see exactly what they were, but why sneak into a convenience store to steal diet soda?” She shrugged. “I assume it wasn’t the first time he’d done it, which is probably why he wanted to be the one to do inventory. One missing bottle isn’t a big deal, but if the count was way off …”
“And you didn’t say anything?”
“I wasn’t supposed to be here, remember? I couldn’t rat him out without getting myself in trouble.”
“Were you here when the fire started?” I asked, frowning.
She shook her head. “You know how early Mom gets up. I was tucked in bed by two. It’s not as if he’s lying. He really did spot the fire; those people never would have gotten out without him raising the alarm. I could have been one of them if I hadn’t gone home. But every time I hear him tell that stupid story, I can’t help rolling my eyes a bit.”
“So it’s safe to say you’re not on board the Tibbs Train,” I said lightly.
“I don’t know,” she said, sounding nettled. “He’s fine, I guess. Saves the city, locks up bad guys, has excellent teeth.”
“I’ve never noticed Steven’s teeth.”
“That’s because they’re flawless,” she shot back. “You only notice when things need rescuing.”
“Hey!” Her words cut a little too close to the bone. “I think what you mean to say is,
‘You’re far too busy working, helping out with the kids, and covering shifts at the store to brush up on local elections, dearest Frankie.’”
“Sorry,” she said, holding up a hand. “Honestly? I’ve got my hands full with Rowan and the store. Politics and ancient history are the last things I’m worried about.”
“Rowan’s doing better. So is the store.”
“I know. But … winter is always tight. We can’t afford to have our sales drop off.”
“That’s why I’m here: I’ll draw customers in with my notoriety and charm.”
She laughed despite herself.
“We’ll think of something,” I promised, yawning midway through the words.
“Coffee?” she asked.
I shook my head. “Sleep.”
“I don’t know why you agreed to work nights.” She poured herself a fresh cup. A faded picture of Riley was printed on the side, along with her name in blocky, kindergarten writing. I had a similar mug in my cabinet at home, but the image was fresh and clear, the inside pristine. Nobody wants their coffee served with a heaping spoonful of guilt.
Now that I knew what I’d been missing, I felt even worse.
“That’s the job they offered,” I said, more sharply than I intended. With an effort, I lightened my words. “The good news is, I’m off for a while. Once I get about six hours of sleep, I can do whatever you need.”
“Great,” she said. “You can start with cleaning up the office.”
“The office is fine.”
“It’s overflowing with crap,” Charlie said. “Most of which is yours.”
“First of all, it’s not crap. It is my home, packed into boxes, because I am very kindly staying in town to help you. Second, it’s only for a few months. What’s the harm?”
“It’s a fire hazard,” she retorted. “I can barely move in there, it’s so crowded.”
“If I can share a room for three months,” I pointed out, “you can maneuver around some boxes. What’s the point in rearranging everything when I’m going to schlepp it all home soon enough.”
“Right. You’ll go home.” She put a nasty twist to the word, like one of our teenage fights.
