Balloons Can Be Murder: The Ninth Charlie Parker Mystery

by Connie Shelton

  Drake. He’d never just sit by and wait to be burned up. He’d fight to the last second, with his last scrap of energy. I owed it to him to at least die trying.

  Rachael sat on the floor with her head in her hands.

  “This is bullshit,” I screamed. “They’re not getting us!” Burning anger replaced the lethargy that had nearly taken me.

  She looked up.

  “A woman’s strength is in her hips and legs,” I said. “We’ve been wasting our time trying to move that thing with our upper bodies. Grab a towel.”

  We pressed the wet towels to our faces and opened the door again. The smoke immediately rushed into the bathroom.

  “Let’s just try to budge one edge of it,” I shouted through my soggy mask. “Lie down!”

  We wedged our shoulders against the far wall, our feet against the stubborn cabinet. With both our strength, a concerted shove moved the object an inch.

  “Yes! Do it again!” A count of three and another shove gave us two more inches. Twice more and we had a gap of a little over six inches to work with.

  “How skinny can you make yourself?” Rachael asked.

  “I think we can do it. Keep the towel over your face.”

  We jumped up. Rachael was shorter than me but slightly heavier in the hips. I pushed her forward to go first. She wriggled sideways, struggling to keep her bound hands in front of her face. One shoulder went through, one hip, no more.

  “I’m stuck,” she gasped.

  “Get ready,” I said. I pressed the middle of my back into the porcelain sink and used it for leverage as I threw both feet upward. There was just enough bend in my knees, and I shoved them out straight. The pressure in my back felt excruciating but the cabinet rocked and Rachael squeezed through. She stumbled into the smoky room but turned to peek at me through the open space.

  “Can you make it?” she shouted.

  “I think so.” I better.

  I raised the wet towel to my face again and edged into the crack as Rachael had done. My knuckles scraped against the corner of the cabinet and the belt loop on my jeans threatened to snag on the door frame, but I forced my way through.

  “Run!” I screamed.

  The yellow sofa was fully engulfed now, flames licking at the front of the gun cabinet and spreading across the floor. The backs of my hands felt singed as I dashed after Rachael, edging sideways past the burning couch and taking two big leaps through the section of burning floor. The soles of my sneakers threatened to stick but didn’t.

  Beyond the flaming area, smoke obscured everything. A pale glow indicated that the men had left the kitchen light on, but it was impossible to see details.

  I dropped to my knees to get below the smoke. The outer door was straight ahead of me. I saw Rachael’s legs, heading toward the glow.

  “No!” I shouted. “Drop down! Go for the door!”

  Somehow in the roar of fire and the craziness of our actions, she must have heard me. She fell to her knees and looked around dazedly. I dropped my towel just long enough to use my hands to point her toward the door. Snatching up the towel again, I inch-wormed my way after her.

  Cold, clear air embraced us on the wooden front porch. We both hunched on our hands and knees, gasping, sucking in the cool elixir.

  A crash sounded behind me and I spun, rolling to one shoulder. The rush of new oxygen had fed the fire, sending flames to the ceiling.

  “We better get away from here,” I panted. “This whole place is gonna go.”

  Without a plan, we stumbled to our feet and automatically headed up the road toward Sam’s house. Somewhere in the hills, the sound of a siren wafted in and out.

  Chapter 25

  Headlights came bouncing up the road behind us. I stumbled and spun to face them. A pickup truck, not Kevin’s surely. I ran for the side of the road, moving awkwardly with my hands still bound.

  “Charlie! Charlie, wait!”

  I came to a dead halt. Drake?

  The truck pulled up beside us and he jammed the gearshift in Park. Nobody had ever looked so good to me as my husband at that moment.

  He flung open the door and wrapped his arms around me. “What are you doing out here?” he asked as I began to shiver. “Where’s your coat?”

  “I . . . we . . . the fire . . .”

  He sniffed, noticing my smoky odor, and held me at arm’s length. He finally took in my sooty face, tangled hair, and the fact that my hands were tied. His eyes flitted to Rachael.

  “Oh my god,” he said. “Baby, what’s happened here?”

  He motioned Rachael over and put an arm around each of us, rubbing our backs briskly to warm us. As he murmured soothing words, I burrowed my head into his chest and let the tears spill.

  “Come on, we’ve got to get you inside,” he said, leading us toward the truck.

  We pulled ourselves inside just as the flare of red strobes began to flash off the surrounding trees.

  “Fire department. The cabin.” I nodded toward the burning structure.

  “Yeah, I noticed.” His wry grin broke the awful evening’s spell.

  “Hey, we didn’t start it,” I protested.

  “It’s not Sam’s place, is it?” he asked.

  I gave him a look. Rachael assured him it wasn’t and pointed the way. He put the truck in gear and we turned in at Sam’s driveway just as the first fire truck topped the hill.

  Twenty minutes later, after Drake had cut our bonds off and dressed our wounds (a few days of treatment with antibiotic salve and gauze would handle them), and Rachael had gone out to check on Sam’s dogs (drugged but not dead, thank goodness), and I’d babbled out most of our story, we stood around the kitchen with mugs of hot chocolate. I had a million questions but fatigue caused them to swirl in my brain in a sludge of incoherency.

  “Ron tried to call you for hours,” he said.

  “The phones aren’t working.” I’d already picked up the one in the study and found that it was still dead.

  “Before I tell you this next part, I want you to know that they’re okay, so don’t panic.”

  “What?” I gripped my warm mug. “There can’t be more. Tell me there can’t be more.” I began pacing the length of the kitchen.

  “You want to sit down? Hon, you’re exhausted.”

  “Do I look like I could sit? What’s going on?”

  He glanced toward Rachael, who sat at the counter looking numb.

  “Okay. The reason Ron and Sam didn’t get back when they said they would is because they were in an accident on the freeway.”

  Rachael’s head snapped up and I stopped in mid-track.

  “They’re at the hospital now. Ron’s got a broken arm. Sam’s . . . well, Sam’s unconscious.”

  Rachael let out a tiny whimper. I set down my mug and went to her.

  “They’re doing tests,” Drake said. “I don’t know any more than that.”

  “We have to go,” Rachael said.

  I wanted nothing more than a hot shower and to fall into one of the beds for a few hours, but I knew she was right.

  “How did you . . .?” I turned to Drake.

  “When Ron couldn’t reach you he was nearly in a panic. He called me and I flew in. I called him when I landed and he told me you two were here alone. I wasn’t even sure I could find the place but his directions were good.”

  I rushed around the house, retrieving my purse and hoping I hadn’t forgotten anything important. Over the past few days my life had become so scattered, with possessions left at Rachael’s, and here. I’d lived in such disarray that I couldn’t remember much. I had the vague feeling that I’d left my heavy jacket in Sam’s truck and I didn’t hold out much hope for ever seeing it again.

  Drake shepherded us out to his truck and turned up the heater. Once we’d bumped through a ditch to get around the fire trucks blocking most of the road, I must have succumbed to the warmth and motion. The next thing I knew Drake was gently shaking my shoulder and we were in the hospital parking lot
. His dashboard clock said it was 11:30.

  Rachael rushed ahead of us to the emergency entrance and vanished through the doors. Drake and I took time for a long embrace on the sidewalk before facing the bright lights indoors. The warmth of his familiar body made me suddenly wish we were at home at this hour, wrapped together under the covers, finding each other in the dark in one of those fun, spontaneous encounters. “Hon, there’s—” I wasn’t sure how to start. Maybe it was better to do the test before telling him about it.

  He kissed the top of my head and pulled back. “You forgot to wash your face,” he said, smiling. He wiped some black off the tip of my nose.

  Like I had nothing else on my mind. I bristled for an instant.

  “Drake! Thank god you found them.” Ron stepped out the automatic doors. “Come in a second, it’s freezing out here.”

  My eyes took a minute to adjust to the brilliant fluorescents of the emergency room. People filled the waiting area, whole families, some looking frantic, others numb and sitting in plastic chairs. Ron’s shirt sleeve had been raggedly clipped off and his right arm sported a shiny white cast supported by a blue sling. His hair stood out in tufts on the sides, the thin top section mussed into a fuzzy nest. Aside from a few tiny cuts on his face, he looked okay.

  “Sam’s been in and out of consciousness, the doctors are saying. They’ve done some kind of scan on him. They actually let Rachael go back there,” he told us. “It may be tomorrow before they have a prognosis.”

  I looked around at the crowded room. “Do you plan to stay with him?” I asked.

  “I feel like I should,” he said.

  Once again the fatigue washed over me. “Can we find someplace a little bit private?” I asked.

  Ron and I stepped out to the airlock between two sets of automatic doors. As long as we stood to the side, we managed to keep the doors from standing open, but the nearly constant traffic of someone arriving or someone leaving interrupted every few minutes.

  “I tried to reach you on the phone,” he said. “I even left a message about the new information I’d gotten on Liz Pierce on your cell’s voice mail.”

  I pulled the phone from my purse and looked. Yep, the tiny envelope icon told me I had a message waiting. “Well, we found out about Liz the hard way,” I told him. I filled him in briefly on Kevin’s breaking into Sam’s garage, our escape through the woods, the capture and the fire.

  “So, I guess Rachael will want to stay by Sam until we know he’s out of danger,” Ron said. “We should probably stay with her, in case Pierce tries anything more.”

  “Well, it’s not going to be me. I’ve had plenty of this whole situation, I’m pooped, and I’m going home. Kevin can get Rachael, for all I care, and Sam can . . . oh, god, I’m sorry. I . . .”

  “What’s with you, Charlie? You’ve been bitching at any and every thing for the last week. It’s driving everyone nuts.”

  Drake walked in right then. I caught the same question in his eyes and wanted to reassure him. But at that moment a fierce pain gripped the middle of me. I doubled over and swayed. He reached out to catch me and someone shouted for a doctor.

  Chapter 26

  I faded between darkness and light. People stood around a gurney, pushing me down a corridor, wheels squeaking, lights overhead running past like the white lines on a highway. I rolled to my side, the worst cramps of my life gripping me in the middle.

  “Drake,” I gasped. “Where are you?”

  His voice came from behind me, Ron’s from somewhere near my feet. They both murmured reassuring things but I couldn’t concentrate.

  “BP’s dropping,” a female voice said.

  My vision blurred and I faded out of the scene.

  I woke up to find myself in a quiet room with dim lighting. Drake sat by my side. When he saw that my eyes had opened, he reached out and stroked my arm. I turned toward him and discovered that my left arm had tubes and needles taped to it. He settled for twining his fingers through mine on my right hand.

  “It’s okay, sweetie,” he whispered.

  I brought my left hand over to lay the palm on my stomach. “It’s gone, isn’t it?” I asked, looking at his face for the first time.

  He nodded. His teeth clamped over his lower lip and I could tell his eyes were moist.

  “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you. I wanted to be sure.”

  “Shush, it’s okay. This last week wouldn’t have been the best time.”

  Scenes from the past few days flashed through my mind, too many things, too much to deal with. I closed my eyes and a tear slipped out.

  “We can have another one,” he said. “A lot more if you want them.”

  A little chuckle escaped me. “No, not lots. Promise me.”

  He squeezed my hand. “Okay, not lots.”

  “I . . . Drake?”

  He stroked my face.

  “I didn’t even want this one,” I said. “It’s a terrible thing to say, but when I started to think it might be true I . . . I kept thinking no, it couldn’t be. Then, for awhile, I started to get used to the idea and I thought it might be fun. But we shouldn’t have a baby just because it might be fun. We should really, really want one and be ready for the responsibility. And I don’t think I did. Do you think I could have wished for a miscarriage?”

  “No,” he murmured. “No, you could have never wished it. It just happened.”

  But I put myself in danger, I thought. The escape through the woods, the fire and smoke. I’d stressed my body more than I should have. But I didn’t say it.

  “We’ll talk about all this later. We’ll decide.” He gave my hand a squeeze and stood up. “I’m going to get you some clothes. The doctor says you can go home in a few hours. They just want to watch your blood pressure for a little while.”

  For the first time I looked down and realized I was wearing one of those flimsy hospital gowns that hide nothing. My hair still smelled like smoke.

  He caught my puzzled look. “They cut your clothes off and threw them away. It’s okay, they were a mess anyway.”

  I could well imagine, with dirt, smoke, and blood. I turned my thoughts away from that.

  “Can I have a shower?”

  “Let’s ask the nurse. Then I’ll bring you something to wear and we’ll pick up Rusty and we’ll have our family back together again.”

  Ron appeared at the doorway. “Hey, kiddo,” he said.

  I gave him a grin that felt weak and waved him over to the bed. He took my hand and bent to kiss my cheek. “We may have to rename you Smokey The Detective,” he joked. Drake blew me a kiss as he slipped out.

  “I know, I know. I’m putting in for a shower right now.” I leaned back against my pillows again. “How’s Sam? And Rachael?”

  “Things are still touch and go with him,” he said. “She’s at his side and not planning to budge until he wakes up.”

  It had been a rough night for all of us.

  “I’ll sit with you until Drake gets back,” Ron said. He propped his sling on his leg to take the pressure off his neck and shoulder. “Then I guess I better get home and figure out what’s next.”

  I couldn’t let myself go there because one thought would lead to another and I wasn’t ready to have to figure anything out yet. I must have dozed because I didn’t remember anything else until I heard Drake talking to Ron. By the time I pried my eyes open my brother had left and my husband was holding out a soft sweatsuit.

  “Rusty’s in the truck, eager to see you,” he said. “The nurse said you’re okay to go, so do you want your shower here or at home?”

  I glanced down and saw that someone had unhooked the tubes from my arm.

  “Home. Let’s just get out of here.” I’d already swung my legs over the edge of the bed and reached for the sweat pants.

  Out in the parking lot, he unlocked the truck without a word and held my door open for me. Rusty nuzzled toward me from the backseat and I gave his ears a brisk rub. I climbed in and stared out the front as
Drake started the engine. He reached for the gearshift but turned to me instead. I looked back at him.

  He reached over and took my hand, kissing the palm. “Either way, I don’t mind,” he said.

  That bothersome tingle came to my eyes again and I consciously pushed it away. This was not the night to begin dwelling on this subject. I would go home, sleep twelve hours, wake up. Soon, again, I’d have fabulous sex with my husband, and not leave the house for a week. So there.

  I’d just begun to doze again when we reached our own driveway. The place looked so good to me that I’d climbed out of the truck and nearly made the front porch before Drake locked the truck. The sky was already beginning to lighten in the east.

  If Rachael were flying today, the final Sunday of the Balloon Fiesta, we’d all be waking to our alarms right now. Thank goodness we weren’t.

  Drake and I moved automatically through the routine of getting ready for bed, neither of us saying much. I stripped out of the new sweatsuit, dumping it beside Drake’s flight bag with his week’s worth of dirty laundry, and stepped into the shower. The hot water felt good and I soaped and shampooed twice to get rid of the odor of smoke. Once I’d brushed my teeth and dried my hair, I felt nearly human.

  We climbed into bed and snuggled close together. The scent of clean skin enveloped us and he nuzzled my neck. Then he yawned largely in mid-nuzzle and was asleep instantly. I wrapped his arm around myself and rolled onto my side.

  But sleep didn’t come. Tired as my poor body felt, the combination of too much stimulation and my groggy spells at the hospital just weren’t going to let me find that deep well of concentrated darkness I craved. I lay there with my eyes wide open as the room went from black to gray to full color. At some point, Drake rolled over and began snoring softly. When the bedside clock said 8:14 I gave up. I edged out from under the covers and tiptoed past the sacked-out dog to grab my thick terry robe from the back of the bathroom door.