by Sharon Pape
Travis grabbed my arm and pulled me down on the floor. I knew he was trying to protect me from a stray bullet, but our personal wards were still active. He didn’t seem all that reassured when I whispered this to him. I compromised by getting up on my knees and peering outside between the bottom slats of the blinds. Flint fired two more rounds that dinged off the patrol car before he took off. Curtis shouted for him to stop. When he didn’t, Curtis fired, taking him down with one shot. I watched Flint crumple to the ground. Curtis approached him cautiously, gun drawn. I couldn’t tell if Flint was alive or dead. He didn’t appear to be moving. I glanced back at Lena, who was standing behind us. She couldn’t see what was happening, but she gasped at the sound of each gunshot, forgetting about the role she was supposed to be playing. Her eyes were filled with the horror of not knowing Flint’s fate. All she could be certain about was that her future would never be the one she’d created in her mind.
There was a small emergency squad located right in New Camel, under the auspices of the fire department. Curtis must have had them on standby, because the ambulance arrived so fast it was like they’d been waiting in the wings for their cue to enter stage right. Two EMTs jumped out. They did a cursory assessment, placed Flint on a gurney, and loaded him into the ambulance. They took off with sirens blaring. Would they have bothered with sirens if the patient was already dead? I wanted him to live, at least until he gave up the name of the person paying for his services. Of course if he didn’t make it, we still had Lena.
“What happened?” she asked in a barely audible voice.
“The would-be intruder was shot and is now being rushed to the hospital,” Travis said, slipping into his reporter-speak.
I was at the window when I saw Paul Curtis walking toward the fence gate. I panicked. I had to shut the wards before he came in contact with them. His gun was holstered, but that didn’t matter to the wards. No weapons allowed was one of the main principles I’d programmed into them. I never ran through the disarming spell as quickly as I did that morning. Talk about a close call. As Paul reached for the latch, the wards powered down. My heart was thudding as if I’d just missed being crushed by an eighteen-wheeler. It was a good thing no one else could hear it. As I went to open the door for him, I noticed that the deadbolt had been disengaged. If I’d had any lingering doubts about Lena, this obliterated them. She’d definitely come to help Flint get inside. I hid my reaction to the open lock.
Paul came in, looking both wired and exhausted. This could well have been his first shooting. He looked around the room and asked if everyone was all right. Travis and I said we were. Lena didn’t respond. She looked shell-shocked.
“Is she okay?” Paul asked.
“I’m sure she will be,” I said without much sympathy. Now that the drama was over, it occurred to me that Travis and I were still in our pajamas, he in a white T-shirt and pajama bottoms, I in a nightgown and robe. I felt a little uncomfortable, knowing how Paul felt about me. I wanted to tell him it wasn’t what it looked like, but of course it was. I rooted around for something else to say. All I came up with was coffee.
“Thanks,” he said, “but Detective Duggan should be here in a few and I’ll be heading out. I just wanted to make sure you guys were okay.” That’s when Lena decided to make a run for it. While we were talking, she must have recovered enough to realize her predicament was about to get worse. We heard the back door open, thanks to the squeaky hinges I’d been meaning to fix. Procrastination has its benefits. Travis took off after her through the kitchen, while I flew out the front door with a baffled Curtis on my heels. As bewildered as Travis and I were about the morning’s events, he was completely at sea.
We were all converging on Lena when she fled through the fence gate Paul had left open. In a commanding voice that left no room for argument, he told Travis and me to wait in the house as he pounded down the street after her. Although we were unaccustomed to obeying orders without some back and forth on the subject, this was one time we kept our mouths shut. We trooped back inside like good citizens and stood waiting behind the glass storm door. When Curtis returned without her, Travis grumbled to me, “I wouldn’t have let her get away.”
“You can’t know that,” I said, feeling the need to defend Paul since he wasn’t there to speak up for himself.
By the time Duggan and the forensic unit arrived from the Glen it was four a.m., and we were sleep deprived and testy from too much coffee. He wasn’t in much better shape, the circles under his eyes were as purple as bruises and the stubble of his beard was white. He asked us to describe exactly what happened between Curtis and Flint. I made it clear that Curtis didn’t fire his weapon until after he was fired upon and that he’d narrowly escaped death by waiting. Travis concurred, although not quite as ardently.
“Tell me about this Lena,” Duggan said.
“I don’t know much,” I said. “She works for County Prosecutor Epps and is engaged to Darrell Flint, the man who was trying to break in here.” Since there was no record of my nighttime journey into the courthouse, I wasn’t going to incriminate myself by admitting to seeing Lena sneak in there. That would open a big old can of worms that included the concept of teleportation. Scientists would want to dissect me, any number of bad guys would want to kidnap and use me for their heinous purposes, and the good and decent people of the world would have one more thing to keep them up at night.
Duggan frowned at me, his bushy eyebrows cinching together over his nose. “Are you in the habit of inviting people ‘you don’t know much about’ to spend the night?”
“It wasn’t quite like that,” I said. I explained the whole thing about Lena and her uncle’s Harley and the various identities of Darrell Flint. “When I told Lena the police were trying to ID him, she was afraid she’d wind up in trouble for lending him the bike. We felt sorry for her, so we told her we’d go with her to the station house in the morning to help her explain it all.”
“Wait a minute here. Are you telling me that the man who was trying to break in here was coming to silence her?” Duggan asked, trying to wade through everything I’d told him.
“That’s what we originally thought,” I said. “But now we believe he was coming to kill us, with Lena’s help.”
Duggan grunted as he pulled himself up from the couch. “I expect an immediate alert if Lena turns up again,” he said, plodding to the door as if his legs had somehow doubled in weight since he arrived.
Chapter 49
Going back to sleep was out of the question with all the caffeine and adrenalin racing through our bodies. Travis offered to make breakfast for us, his one specialty—scrambled eggs. We agreed on the addition of mushrooms and cheddar. I was relegated to making toast. Travis watched me take my first bite of his masterpiece like a nervous parent watching his child’s first recital. I gave him a thumbs-up with my mouth full. They were better than any I’d ever made for myself. Or maybe they seemed better, because I didn’t have to make them myself.
While eating, we hatched a plan that might finally lead us to the killer. Travis insisted on cleaning up, with no argument from me. Then he headed back to the Glen and I dragged myself into the shower to get ready for work. Neither of us believed Lena would ever darken my doorstep again. Duggan might have better luck finding her in the wilds of Alaska than anywhere in Schuyler County. Bradley Epps was going to need a new secretary.
When Sashkatu and I arrived at the shop, we went straight over to Tea and Empathy, where Tilly was finishing up the baking she’d started in the wee hours of the morning. Merlin was perched on his stool eating a day-old carrot muffin, his beard catching most of the crumbs. He gave it a good shake, causing crumbs to rain onto the floor to Sashki’s delight.
“So I missed all the excitement,” Tilly said petulantly, after I gave her all the details of our harrowing night. She sounded as if she’d intentionally been left out of a good time.
“You co
uldn’t have come over to my house with a gunman stalking the property. Morgana and Bronwen would have been furious if I was that thoughtless about your safety.”
“I suppose,” she said. “Between you and me, I’m not in any rush to join them over there. As dearly as I do love my mother and sister, I’m enjoying the peace and quiet for now.”
“If you’re seriously interested in helping us with the case, there may be a way you can,” I said, stressing the iffy nature of what I was about to tell her.
Tilly’s eyes lit up. “Of course, count me in! I’ll be happy to do it, whatever it is.”
“Hear me out first,” I said. I might as well have been trying to keep the lid on a tween’s enthusiasm after learning her pop idol is coming to dinner. “I don’t know if it’s something you can do or would even want to do.”
“Oh I want to,” she assured me. “Yes indeedy.” If she were younger and more lithe, she might have managed a few back flips to prove her point.
“The guy Curtis shot isn’t dead. I heard he’s in a coma. Is it possible to read someone in a coma? And there’s the issue of whether or not it’s ethical.”
Tilly’s brow furrowed. “I’ve never been asked to read a person in a coma. If I had been, I probably would have refused. Without the consent of the person, it would be an invasion of privacy.”
“What if the information in this guy’s brain could lead us to the killer and save lives?”
“That’s quite a mitigating factor,” she said. “And the patient in question has already committed crimes. For all we know, he wanted to kill you and Travis.” She gasped at her own words. “I’m in. If it’s possible to collect the information you need, I will drill my way into his head and get it for you.”
“Think about it carefully, Aunt Tilly. It won’t be easy. We’ll have to sneak you into and out of his room past a police guard.”
“Pish-posh,” she said. “That’s the fun part.”
“What about me?” Merlin demanded. “I’m more powerful than both of you put together.”
“You’ll have a role too,” I promised. In spite of his propensity for making a muddle of things, we might need his help if the situation turned dicey.
When I called Travis to let him know it was game-on, he insisted on being included too, even if it was just to drive “the getaway car,” as he put it.
“We don’t need a getaway car,” I said, “because we’re not criminals. We’re his family, come to say our final goodbyes.”
“I still contend that with Merlin along, you might need a getaway car,” he said with a chuckle.
Although we did our best to be prepared for any eventuality, there’s only so much you can control in the kind of venture we were undertaking. One thing we could control—who was guarding Flint’s room when we put the plan in motion. If Paul Curtis or Justin Hobart was there, we would scrub the mission and come back a different day. Other than Detective Duggan, they were the only cops who knew us and knew we were not members of the patient’s family. We hadn’t come up with a better ploy to be granted access to his room. Besides, who would be heartless enough to turn away the mother, grandfather, and sister of a man on the brink of death?
Everyone was pleased with their assigned roles, except Merlin. “Grandfather?” he’d sputtered. “Do I look like anyone’s grandfather?” We all nodded.
“It’s Grandpa Merlin or nothing,” I said.
“Very well,” he said imperiously, “then I will be the best grandpa you’ve ever seen.”
It was Tilly who suggested we use a memory blocker to keep the cop on duty from reporting our visit to Duggan. For all we knew, Flint had no family, or conversely, he had one the detective had already met with. In either case, our cover story would quickly unravel. Tilly claimed to know the memory-blocking spell Morgana had created years ago.
* * * *
Schuyler Hospital was less than three miles from Watkins Glen. Since Travis lived substantially closer to it than we did, he became our scout. All he had to do was pop into the hospital and find out who was guarding the patient. If it was Curtis or Hobart and they saw him, he would say he was there visiting a friend. If it was a cop who didn’t know us, he’d call and we’d pile into the car. Travis would meet us in the Glen and we’d head straight back to the hospital. Weather permitting, we could make the trip in less than an hour.
That first morning I must have checked my phone ten times waiting for Travis’s call. “Hobart’s here,” he said when I finally heard from him. “Better luck tomorrow.” We were all on edge for the rest of the day. When your adrenalin is pumping and you’re psyched to go, it’s hard to wind down to the pace of a normal day. Thankfully an unscheduled mini bus from the senior center in the Glen arrived at midday with eight women and two men who were spry enough to walk without assistance and every bit as sharp as my grandmother. Although I was a lot closer in age to the teenagers who came to New Camel, trailing behind their parents, glued to their phones, I much preferred the seniors. One elderly gentleman came into my shop with two women. While the women browsed, he came to the counter to flirt with me. He stated it right up front, said he needed practice; he was losing his touch. He had white hair and lively blue eyes and stood as straight and tall as a man thirty years his junior. We spent an enjoyable few minutes in playful banter until one of the women came up to the counter.
“George Neumann, you stop bothering this lovely girl right now.”
“He’s not bothering me,” I said, “he’s been charming. Besides, I’m not exactly a girl anymore.” She wasn’t listening. She threaded her arm through his and pulled him away.
“You old fool,” she scolded him gently. “You’re going to get arrested someday for trying to pick up girls.” It seemed George had already made a conquest, even if he didn’t know it yet.
When I saw Tilly at closing time, she’d also had a good day and Merlin was replete with leftover goodies. Lying in bed that night, I wondered how many more times we’d have to rev ourselves up for our little caper, only to stand down. I was worried we’d eventually lose our edge or whatever we had that passed for one.
The next morning, Travis called, and I could hear it in his voice when he said hello. The cop on duty wasn’t anyone we knew.
Chapter 50
Travis let us off at the front door of the hospital. The plan was for him to park in the lot and wait there for my call when we were ready to leave. Tilly, Merlin, and I found our way to the corridor, off which Flint’s room was located. The police guard was seated immediately outside his door, reading the local paper. We didn’t see any doctors or nurses moving through the hallway, but they could be in any one of the rooms, including Flint’s. If that was the case, we’d go down to the cafeteria on the basement level and have a cup of coffee before trying our luck again. If no opportunity presented itself over the course of an hour or two, we’d have to press reset. Compared to hospitals in larger, urban areas, Schuyler was tiny. Sooner or later someone on the staff was going to notice our ragtag little group and wonder why we were still hanging around.
Sometimes life hands you a lemon and sometimes it hands you a golden pass. We walked down the hall without seeing another soul. The cop didn’t look up from the sports section of the newspaper until we were nearly standing over him. The name on his ID tag was Craig Boyd. When I said, “Hello, Officer Boyd,” he dropped the paper and jumped up, looking as confused as someone caught napping on the job. He was young, fresh-faced, and most likely untried. It might work in our favor if we overwhelmed him with our distress, or it could work against us if he was gung ho to make his mark and get noticed by his superiors for being tough.
“How is my son doing, Officer?” Tilly asked in a voice tuned to a perfect pitch of anxiety and dread. She was wearing her gray and black muumuu under a black coat. It was her going to funerals outfit, minus even the jewelry she allowed herself at those times. She despised d
ark colors. Some people suffered from Seasonal Affective Disorder. My aunt suffered from wearing dark colors. She claimed they drained her spirit. Who was I to say she was wrong? Truth be told, even her usually sparkling red hair seemed less vibrant, as if it too were drained by her attire.
“Your son?” Boyd repeated. “I was told this man has no family.”
“Oh no,” she said, clutching at her heart. “Has something happened since I last spoke to his doctor?”
“No no, not at all,” he said, taking her elbow and offering her the chair. Tilly stood her ground, refusing to move.
“I don’t believe you. Something’s wrong. I can feel it in my bones.” She had worked herself into such a state that her breathing was erratic and actual tears were spilling down her cheeks.
“I swear to you, ma’am, nothing has changed. Come, come see for yourself.” Way to work it, Aunt Tilly! He walked her into the room, but as we filed in behind her, Boyd’s wits made a reappearance. “Wait, who are you two?”
“I’m his sister,” I said in a choking voice that dared him to challenge me. “And this poor man is his grandpa. His hundred-year-old grandpa.” Merlin opened his mouth to protest, but Tilly planted a subtle kick to his shin. “He’s not supposed to be out in the cold,” I said, “but he begged to see his beloved grandson.” I couldn’t have hoped to match Tilly’s performance, but I must have done well enough, because I could see in Boyd’s eyes that we’d won.
Darrell Flint looked considerably smaller and less threatening in the hospital bed with lines and tubes hooking him to various machines. “Officer,” Tilly sniffled, “may we please have a few minutes alone with him?”
When Boyd hesitated, I said, “Look at him, look at us. We’re not here to stage an escape. He’d die in seconds without the machines.”
