Hat Trick

by Morris Fenris

  “Well. Been to hell and back, have you?” Over the clutch of dismay at her heart, she essayed for humor. “Car accident?”

  “Huh. Not my Jag. No, sir. Nothin’ touches my Jag. Nope. Gunshot.”

  “Gunshot!” That was beyond anything she might have imagined. “You were shot?”

  “Yup.” Clearing his throat, he reached for the glass of water conveniently placed on the bedside table and sipped through the straw. “Quite a story, Liv. Sorry—didn’t get back to you like I said. ’Nother promise—broken…”

  “I think—whatever you’ve gone through is probably—excuse enough for not getting back to me,” she answered shakily but carefully. “Are you able to fill me in on what happened?”

  “Uh-huh. You able to stay here long enough—to listen—?”

  “Bet on it.” Shifting position, she made herself more comfortable. For the duration, however long it might take. “Before we start, are you doing okay? Anything you need that I can get for you?”

  “Smile,” he told her tipsily. “Just give me—onea your smiles, Livvie, sweetheart. Otherwise, doin’ okay. Just gotta let these pain pills wear off some, y’ know?”

  Without another word, she gave him the requested smile, and then some, wishing now that it could be a kiss, instead. “How soon do you think the hospital will discharge you?”

  “Oh, I can go now.” Pausing, he took another few sips of water. “Just need to get a nurse up here, nurse with wheelchair. Got papers all signed, ’n’ everything. Hell, even took my—even took my insurance information.”

  “Well, that seems a good sign,” she offered as reassurance.

  “Only stipulation—’s long as I’m not left alone. Doc—Doctor told me—need somebody around for—day or two. Thought you might wanna—volunteer for the job.”

  No question about it, he was beginning to sound slightly more lucid. Not so much, however, that she would want to risk taking him out into the world, away from medical care. Far better to keep him talking, bringing him slowly back from whatever drugs he was on, probably for pain and shock.

  “All right, Hopalong. Let’s hear the rest of your story before I make a final decision. I want to know how much risk is involved in being around you.”

  “Risk?” Looking suddenly startled and more awake, he scooched himself farther upright against the pillows. “Never thought of that, Livvie. Don’t think any—risk—under the circumstances. But, if you’d rather not take the chance—”

  “Don’t be silly, Jeff. I was just teasing you.” Teasing. Jousting with words. Asking questions. When all she wanted to do was climb into that bed beside him, wounded or not, and fulfill a desperate craving for togetherness. “Go on, now. Talk.”

  He’d returned to the Queens Street mansion yesterday, he slowly began, remembering the sequence of events.

  “Saturday.”

  “Huh?”

  “You went there on Saturday, Jeff,” she gently reminded him. “Two days ago.”

  Surprise gave way to acceptance as he blearily surveyed her, then his surroundings. “Man. Lost some time there, didn’t I? You musta been—frantic, Liv, not hearin’ from me.”

  “Some. But we’re past all that now.”

  “It won’t—happen again,” he said huskily, putting aside the glass of water to reach for her hand across the bed sheet. “It won’t ever—happen again…”

  In a way, he’d looked forward to a confrontation with Annajane, whether at their house or in the back yard or in the very public milieu of her favorite restaurant. He’d had enough of what was going on, and he wanted to bring it to a halt. Now. Time to call their marriage quits so that each could move on, separately.

  “I was loaded for bear,” Jeff confessed, with a smile as tilted as his senses at the moment. “Ready to bust up the place—’n’ get this show on the road. And then she wasn’t even home.”

  “Not home!” echoed Olivia blankly. “Where was she?”

  “Out, accordin’ to the upstairs maid and the cook. Couldn’t find anybody else—to ask. Not such a surprise, though, since her schedule was always—her own, and she never checked in with me… ’less it was t’ be her escort. Kinda took all the wind outa my sails, though.”

  “Quite a letdown, I would imagine.”

  “Yeah. Kind of at loose ends for a while, not sure what to do. So I packed up some stuff and— stowed the bags in my car. Figured I’d find myself a hotel, once this was settled, get outa the house permanently. And then, early that evening, she—showed up.”

  Annajane had displayed no sign of astonishment at seeing him returned. Nor did she offer an explanation as to where she’d been, or what she’d been doing. Although the country club-styled golf outfit had given a hint. As he had begun to talk about his position, their estrangement, and his plan to move out, she had lifted one negligent hand to stop him.

  “Please, Jefferson, no need to be boring. You’re such a peasant about our relationship.”

  “Peasant?” he had almost choked over the word.

  Distracted by the stack of daily mail she had been flipping aimlessly through, Annajane was already turning away as if his presence counted for nothing in her scheme of things. “I told you before, darling, that I’m not finished with you yet,” she coldly informed him over her shoulder. “I will be the one to make that decision, not you. When I’m finished, I’ll be quite happy to let you know. But not for the moment. No. Not quite for the moment.”

  Furious by her casual dismissal, he had followed her up the grand marble staircase, protesting with every step and demanding to be heard.

  “Jeff, really. Stop pestering me. I’m meeting Roger for dinner, and I need time to shower and dress. Now, please, just go away and find something else to do. Your own little dalliance, perhaps.”

  She was already kicking off her shoes and stripping off garments, flinging aside everything as of no consequence on her way into the elaborate dressing room. The maid would pick up every last piece and deal with it; after all, that’s what maids were for.

  His temper rising, Jeff barged into the inner sanctum to finish off this argument once and for all. A heated back-and-forth went on, with first one, then the other scoring points with sarcasm or contempt.

  Annajane, in a huff of petulance and pique, had wrapped her splendid golden form into a silk robe even while spitting epithets fore and aft. Like some great Chinese dragon, breathing fire and brimstone. At one juncture, she furiously flung a pair of high-heeled slippers his way; directed with more force than accuracy, the extravagant bits of leather and marabou had barely missed their target to end up bouncing off the wall.

  “I’m not kidding, AJ,” he snapped at her from beside the marble fireplace. “I am well and truly done with you. It’s time we end this farce of a marriage, and pack it up. Monday morning I intend to see a lawyer and start divorce proceedings.”

  The altercation had raged on long enough that Annajane was losing control. How dare he defy her express orders? Screeching invective, she whirled from her white lacquer desk only to lob a letter opener toward him.

  Appalled by another near hit, he’d been ready to grab her arm, ready to shake her into seeing reason, if necessary. Instead, she had whipped something else from the desk drawer and—

  “Shot me,” said Jeff now, from his hospital bed.

  Involuntarily, Olivia gasped. “What? You mean your wife is the one who fired a bullet into you?”

  “Yup, sure—did. Who’d you think mighta been wavin’ a gun around?”

  “Well, I—I hadn’t considered, Jeff. Truly. It crossed my mind that you had interrupted a burglary in progress, perhaps.”

  “Huh. Not that brave, Toodles. Nope. Took a 22 caliber, at close range, right in the shoulder. AJ never did have a good aim; guess she was tryin’ for my heart. Missed, luckily. It was lucky, wasn’t it, Liv?”

  Blinking back tears of horror and relief, she managed to nod. “Very lucky, Jeff.” Her grip tightened under and over his.

  �
�Well, anyway…as you can imagine, things got a little messy after that.” His smile was meant to be wry, but ended up being only painful. “She screamed, and I fell back against the doorframe. Got kinda scraped up, which cost me some of my—dashin’ good looks. Huh. Next thing I knew, I was lyin’ in a pool of blood, and Annajane was yelling at me not to ruin the carpet.”

  Olivia mumbled something just partially under her breath that sounded quite blue in tone. At Jeff’s startled glance, she shook her head in apology and motioned for him to continue.

  He had retained just enough presence of mind to fumble his cell phone free from a pocket and dial 911 before losing consciousness almost entirely. Although within a reassuringly brief amount of time, noise had filled the house: a whole phalanx of sirens blaring outside, voices at the front door calling for entrance, heavy footsteps thundering on the stairs. Police, firemen, EMT’s, the works.

  “Good to see my tax dollars at work—in an emergency,” Jeff decided now. “Those fellas got things wrapped up in jig shape, lemme tell you.”

  While the situation was being immediately and efficiently assessed, while his wounds were tended to and he was strapped in place onto a gurney, officials got what they could of the story from him. Then they set out to find the perpetrator, who had disappeared. Annajane was discovered, he found out much later, barricaded in the pool house and threatening all sorts of mayhem (perhaps even murder) should anyone dare even lay one finger on the door handle.

  Olivia’s eyes had widened in shock. “She went—berserk! Of all things! She was arrested, wasn’t she? Please tell me she was arrested.”

  “Oh, yeah. In spades. Wish I’d’a been there to see it, but I was way outa things by then.” He was looking out of things right now, as well. Tired, complexion gone the color of aged cheese, cumbersome sling and bandages adding years and weight to his frame. “Well, they got me here, and into surgery, and patched up. ’S why I couldn’t call you for so long, Liv—just outa touch, dead to the—world. And cell phone with a dead battery, b’sides.”

  “I’m so sorry, Jeff,” she whispered. “I can’t imagine all that you’ve gone through in such a short time.”

  “Who’d’a thunk it, huh?” A shift of position moved him slightly closer to her, so his free hand could curve around her cheek and smooth back a tendril of hair. “The investigatin’ off’cer came and talked to me some more, sometime after I was admitted, and pried extra details outa me. Nice guy.”

  “Any update on—um—well…”

  “Funny you should ask—it’s kinda ironic, actually. He told me Annajane was hauled into court—kickin’ and carryin’ on like a madwoman, to be arraigned. O’ course, Old Man Merrill was there, in attendance, and her lawyer got her out on bail. But I’m thinkin’ she’s gonna be on a short leash for a long time.”

  “At least until the court date is set,” she couldn’t help sniffling a little.

  “There is that.” He smiled at her, gently rubbing his knuckles over her full lower lip. “Somethin’ to look forward to, right? Maybe we can go watch.”

  “Oh, Jeff.” The sniffles had become real tears, shining in her green eyes like forest dew. “I might have lost you.”

  “Ah, Livvie. Livvie. But you didn’t.” His hand curled around the back of her neck, massaging the muscles stiffened by stress and fear. “Wish I could—get a kiss from you, Olivia Bower. Sure could use one about now. But—t’ tell you the truth, I’m hurtin’ a little too much for that.”

  “My big brave hero,” she teased, to lighten the moment.

  “Huh. ’Fraid not, kiddo. Never made any claims to bein’ a knight in shinin’ armor.”

  She studied him, the dear face with its bruises and scrapes, the body laid low by another’s act of cowardice, of absolute insanity. “Jeff, I truly don’t believe that woman is right in the head.”

  He essayed a chuckle that came out sounding like the squeak of a rusty door. “Ya think? Look at it this way, Livvie, don’t haveta worry any more—’bout what’s cookin’ with her. She’s outa my life for good. Can’t very well fight my gettin’ a divorce now, can she, after tryin’ to—kill me dead? And there’ll prob’bly be—a damn good marital settlement—just to keep the scandal quiet as possible.”

  “I like your thinking, my friend. So. Next step. Where are the clothes you packed, Jeff?”

  Eyes closed against a sudden rush of weariness, he mumbled, “What? Clothes? Sorry, gotta wait for this stuff to wear off, b’fore I can make sense. Guess they’re still in my Jag.”

  “Very well.” She rose, carefully easing free from his clasp to pick up her discarded purse. “I’m going to the nurses’ station to get you officially discharged, and find someone with a wheelchair. Then we’ll slip over to your house and retrieve your personal belongings.”

  “Ah,” he murmured distantly, “I do like a woman who takes charge. And then what?”

  “Then, my knight in shining armor,” Olivia leaned down for a light, loving touch to his forehead, “you are coming to my house to recuperate.”

  It was time. It was way past time for this next step. She had waited long enough.

  Chapter Six

  During their twenty minute or so drive to the Quinleys’ Queens Street mansion, Olivia checked in with her office staff, telling Gwyneth that she was dealing with an unexpected situation and would return to work tomorrow. From the passenger seat, Jeff, still groggy but looking slightly more alert after exposure to fresh air and sunlight, placed a call to Patty in an attempt to explain his inexplicable absence.

  Hospital staff had, per medical regulations, wheeled Jeff from his room downstairs to the front door, where he had oozed into Olivia’s waiting Fusion with a sigh of relief. Then, by common consent, both had used her cell phone to update the members of their immediate world.

  “Patty must have been frantic when you didn’t show up at work this morning,” murmured Olivia, with a sideways glance.

  “Don’t think so. I asked one of the aides to get hold of her, just as a stopgap measure. Now I wanna have her cancel all my appointments for the next couplea days.”

  “She may have already heard the news of what happened. Social media, you know.”

  “Maybe. Plannin’ to tell her, at the moment, that I’m under the weather. Once I’m back in the office, I’ll let her know the truth. Patty deserves that much.” With a slight fever flush adding necessary color to his chalky, stubbly face, he leaned his head back with eyes closed, as if the effort to continue a conversation had become too great.

  Olivia sent him a sympathetic glance. “Jeff, I know you need to rest. But you’ll have to stay awake long enough to give me directions to your house.”

  “Oh. Yeah. Sorry.” With a yawn, her passenger sat up a little straighter and tried adjusting the safety belt around the clumsy bulk of his sling. Since it refused to adjust, he gave up after a minute’s struggle to peer, instead, out at street signs and familiar territory. “There, Liv. Turn right on Windsor. Uh-huh. Got a few blocks t’ go yet. Then left onto Mountbatten. Another half-mile or so till you reach Queens.”

  “Windsor. Mountbatten. Queens.” Her brows raised. “Seriously?”

  He gave a weak chuckle. “What can I say? I didn’t choose the damn names.”

  “Beyond the pale, Quinley. Totally beyond the pale.”

  Once pulled into the magnificent cul-de-sac, once eased onto the magnificent circular drive, once parked before the magnificent three story Colonial entitled, so he had told her, Whitehall, she had said not a word. Only a tightening of her lips indicated any show of disdain for this lifestyle of the favored rich. With the numbers of Jeff’s security code firmly in hand, she opened the garage door to liberate a bulky black trolley case and a couple of carry-ons from the trunk of his car.

  “Sorry, Liv,” he apologized profusely, watching her systemically move from the Jaguar to the Fusion and back again. “At the time I packed, I had no idea I’d be losin’ the use of an arm and have to depend on a girl to haul my s
tuff. Anything I can do in the future—”

  “You got it, buster,” she said on a little huff and puff of exertion. “Once you recover, I have some bushes in my back yard that need to be transplanted.”

  By the time they neared the outskirts of Westhalen, the late summer sun was beginning to set, lanes of traffic had filled exponentially, and her passenger was shifting position in his seat with an expression that spoke more of a fretful child than a responsible, professional adult.

  “What is it, Jeff? Do you need to get out and stretch your legs? Do you need medication for pain?”

  “What I need,” he confessed, “is food. Gotta admit, Liv, I’m sure gettin’ hungry. Been too long since bein’ served that watery mess Jamison Hospital Dietary Department called lunch.”

  “I doubt it was as bad as all that. However, I take your point. We’ll be arriving at my house soon, and I have some ratatouille and French bread that should fill up your empty stomach.”

  “Ratatouille?”

  “Uh-huh. Homemade. All ingredients from my neighbor’s garden, put together by my own two capable hands.”

  He crinkled his nose at her. “Capable. I’ll bet. Hope to see—pretty soon—just how capable, and how talented…”

  Olivia discovered she had not yet lost the capacity to blush.

  From the garage, through the laundry room, she led the way into the kitchen in order to prevent a near-collision with Bruno.

  “Yes, sweetheart, there you are. I know, I missed you, too.” For just a few minutes, while Jeff leaned tiredly against a counter, Olivia gave herself over to some extravagant hugging and ruffling of ears and hearty stroking of an excited and enthusiastic dog.

  “Well. Didn’t expect that,” her guest murmured, watching with a half-grin. “Nice.”

  “Absolutely. Jeff, meet Bruno. Bruno, Jeff.”