His whine broke through the reverberation in my ears, and he licked my face desperately.
“I’m okay. I’m okay.” More out of the need to soothe him than anything else, I managed to touch him with one hand while slowly pushing myself to a sitting position with the other. At least, I thought I was okay. The fact that I wasn’t entirely sure sent a shot of panic through me for Watson. I yanked him to me, pulling him onto my lap in a position he normally despised, but he didn’t resist, just kept licking my face as my hands roamed over his body.
He was fine too. Watson was fine.
As Watson continued his inspection of me, I looked past him, to the car buried halfway inside Opal’s old shop. The world still seemed frozen. And blurry. Sunlight caught the cloud of dust and particles of debris floating in the air, causing the scene to be hazy. Cars had come to a stop on the street, as had all the people scattered over the sidewalk.
And then, with a nearly audible click, the world began to move again, but this time at an accelerated pace. My mother rushed from the door of the candy shop, which had somehow remained intact. And then the rest of my family spilled out behind her.
She found me instantly and rushed to my side as I stood. “Fred, baby. Sweetheart. Are you okay?” Her hands traveled over my body just as mine had done to Watson.
I didn’t resist her touch, but took a few steps toward the car, pulling her along with me as Barry and the others joined her. “Percival.” I pointed at the rear end of the Ford Contour protruding over the sidewalk. “Percival and Gary. I think it hit… I think…” Still partially in a daze, I hurried around, the others following me, and from the other side, the people on the sidewalk rushed toward the epicenter as well.
I couldn’t see them. Couldn’t see either of them. What if they were underneath the car, or had been crushed against the building as the car had plowed through.
I hadn’t been quick enough. Not even close. All I’d managed to do was trip over my dog.
As I rounded the back of the car, Gary was standing, pushing his tall frame up from the ground. I sucked in a breath at the sight of him, and then let out a cry when I saw him drop his hand and help Percival regain a standing position as well.
And then the two of them were surrounded by the family. Once more, hands everywhere, voices raised, and onslaughts of questions, exclamations, and assurances.
For once, Percival seemed speechless. His face was slack, and his eyes wide. There was a cut across his cheek, and scrapes over the back of his forearms.
Gary had similar injuries to his arms, and his pants were ripped, revealing marks from the sidewalk over his knee and down his shin.
Other than that, they seemed fine.
“What the…?” Percival blinked, shook his head, then winced. He stared at the car. “It tried to kill me.” He gripped Gary’s hand. “That car tried to kill me.” He turned toward his husband. “You… you saved me.”
“You’re okay, baby. You’re okay.” Gary pulled Percival to him. “We’re all okay.”
Sirens sounded in the distance.
Percival pulled free, fury over his face. I’d never seen him look like that. He was nearly unrecognizable, such anger combined with the blood running over his cheek. He stomped toward the car, stepping over what was left of the lower portion of the wall and into the interior of the shop. “Who is this? I’m going to murder them for trying to kill us.”
Gary hurried after him, begging him to calm down, to breathe. The rest of us followed.
I paused long enough to sweep Watson into my arms to keep his feet off the broken glass and sharp debris. He didn’t resist, and I was once again reminded that my little man needed a diet.
From out of nowhere, Leo and Katie had joined us, and Leo lifted Watson from my arms. “Here. I’ve got him.”
Watson squirmed, trying to get back to me, but I refocused on my uncles, joining them beside the driver-side door as Percival yanked it open.
Though Gary reached out to stop Percival from doing something stupid, it wasn’t needed.
Percival halted at the sight of the open door. His head cocked, fury replaced by confusion. “Harold?”
Gary stiffened beside him, and together they both ducked and leaned partially in. “Oh, goodness. Harold!”
Percival reared back, searched the crowd, and his gaze landed on my mom. “Phyllis, call an ambulance. He’s hurt. I think Harold is hurt bad.”
I glanced in, managing to see between Gary and Percival’s arms as they unbuckled seat belts. Percival started to move the body, but Gary stopped him. “We should wait. We might do more damage.”
An older man sat behind the wheel, two frail arms lying like dead weight in his lap. His entire body twitched, and his eyes, so wide, stared straight ahead, though didn’t seem to be seeing. Cuts from the glass freckled his face.
Percival laid a gentle hand on Harold’s shoulder. “It’s okay, buddy. Help’s on the way. It’s going to be okay.”
It wasn’t until that moment that it clicked who Harold was. I’d only seen him once. And now, with him bloody and shaken, he seemed even more ancient and frail. Carla’s grandfather.
It was only a matter of minutes before the ambulance arrived, as well as the police. Susan cast an accusatory glare my direction but didn’t comment. She’d been the first on scene and moved away to make room for the paramedics. She was taking Percival’s and Gary’s statements.
“He just ran his car into the shop?” Branson, who’d arrived a few minutes after Susan, looked back and forth between the car, the gaping hole in the building, the huddled masses of the other adult members of my family, and me. “Everyone else was inside, and they’re really okay?”
“They were all toward the back of the store. Miraculously.” I shuddered, the vision of how differently this might have gone if one or more of them had been near the front. I shoved the thought aside. “We were…” I swallowed, my mouth dry. “We were supposed to begin clearing out the space today to start getting it ready for Zelda and Verona’s shop.”
“You all are lucky. Very.” His blue eyes narrowed and flashed up at me. “Watson? Is he okay?”
My heart warmed at his concern, and I gave my first smile. “Yes. He’s safe. He’s in the Cozy Corgi with Katie and Leo. They took him and my nephews and nieces inside.”
“Thank goodness.” He gave my hand a quick squeeze and inspected the scene once more. “This could’ve been so much worse. So, so much worse. With all the tourists, Harold cutting across traffic, you and your family.”
We fell silent as the paramedics transferred Harold from the car to a stretcher. He was still trembling, eyes still impossibly wide, but he was mumbling incoherently.
“Grandpa!” At that moment, Carla burst through the tape that had been keeping the crowds roped off several yards away. Her eyes were frantic as she searched the scene. She’d probably just heard and ran from Black Bear Roaster. Although maybe she’d been at home, as it had taken her several minutes to get here. Not that it mattered. She spotted Harold on the stretcher and sprinted toward him, crying.
Branson left my side, rushing toward her, but Susan stepped away from Percival and Gary and got to her first, wrapping her arms around Carla in a combination restraint and embrace, stopping her before she crashed into the stretcher. “He’s fine. Carla, he’s alive.
Carla struggled for a second, still reaching for him but then gave in to Susan’s embrace. “He’s not supposed to drive. I didn’t know he took the keys. I have no idea what he was doing. He’s not supposed to drive.”
Susan stroked Carla’s hair, a loving gesture I never would’ve pictured Susan capable of making. “He’ll be fine. Going to give him all the help he needs.”
“I hadn’t even realized he’d left. Had no idea he took my car.” She let out a ragged cry and caught her breath, or at least attempted to. “He’s shaking. Look at him. He won’t stop shaking.”
She tried to break free from Susan’s strong arms once more. But Susan hel
d tight. “It’s just shock. Doesn’t mean anything. It’s just shock.”
“No!” Carla shook her head, blonde hair flying. “He has seizures. He’s having a seizure.” She glanced around as if searching. “My purse. Where’s my purse? I have his medication in my purse.”
Seizures.
That frozen moment before the impact flitted through my mind, frozen in clarity. Right before I fell over Watson. Harold’s wide and glassy eyes behind the windshield as he careened toward us. Seizures. That’s what I had seen. Maybe he hadn’t even been aware of what was happening, or if so, couldn’t do anything about it.
I hoped it was the first. I couldn’t imagine how terrifying it would’ve been if he’d been aware that he was about to crash into people, into a building, and couldn’t stop it.
Branson’s words came back to me. It could’ve been so, so much worse.
Carla was slipping into hysterics, not that I could blame her, for once. She demanded Susan help her find her purse to get her grandfather’s medication.
The paramedics were already loading Harold into the back of the ambulance.
In her terror and panic, Carla continued to look around as if someone was holding her purse intentionally just out of reach.
Her wild green gaze latched on to me. She froze and then rushed forward, breaking free of Susan’s hold.
“You!” She shoved a finger my way as she rocketed toward me. “This is your fault. He’s been a complete mess the past couple of days knowing that you’re asking questions. Trying to pin this on me!”
Though a second late, Susan rushed after Carla, but Branson stepped between us stopping Carla’s trajectory a heartbeat before she made contact. “Calm down, Carla. Get ahold of yourself.” His tone held none of the care and concern Susan had displayed.
“It’s your fault.” Carla continued to try to get at me, attempting to crawl over Branson in her fury. “Do you know what stress you put him under? Put us all under? He knows you’ve been targeting me since you moved into town. Everyone knows.”
“Knock it off, Carla. Or you’ll be taking a time-out in the back of a cop car.” Branson angled her away, but despite his strength, nearly lost his grip in the face of her rage.
“Shut up, Wexler,” Susan growled at Branson even as she slipped her arm over Carla, helping him hold her back. “You’re making things worse.”
“Come on, darling.” Mom’s small hand touched my back and then nudged me to move. “Let’s go in your shop. We’ll give them some space.”
Though it was hard to turn away from Carla, I looked down at my tiny mother, who was calm, strong, and grounded. I nodded.
“That’s it. Good girl. Good girl.” Mom patted my back as we walked toward the front door of the bookshop. “We’ll hang out there till they’re ready for us. We’ll have some of Katie’s scones, and she’ll make you one of those dirty chai you like so much.” She paused, considering. “Or maybe something more soothing. A nice decaffeinated Earl Grey or something. That might be a better choice.”
As we walked through the door, Watson crashed into me again, and I sank to the floor so he could assure himself I was fine once more.
Aspen Grove’s ability to blend in with the side of the mountain was rather astonishing considering it was a sprawling stucco structure. It was a combination of Santa Fe and old-time mountain style. Kind of charming, really.
I paused at the oversized wooden doors and glanced toward Barry. “You sure this is a good idea? What if Carla shows up? She was ready to skin me alive yesterday.”
“Nah, you’re fine.” He waved me off. “Plus, we called the coffee shop; Carla answered the phone. We won’t be here that long.” Barry held the door open for me, his blue-and-green tie-dyed tank top and lavender yoga pants looking even more outlandish than usual next to the formal ambience.
My nerves surprised me. We were going to visit a sick old man who’d had a car crash the day before. We weren’t doing anything wrong. And even if Carla did show up, she’d had a day to calm down. Right… as if Carla’s temper cooled in merely a day.
We walked to the front desk where a larger woman sat behind a computer screen, though her gaze was fixed on the soap opera playing in the spacious common room across from her.
“Martha!” Barry slapped his hands down on the edge of the front desk in way of greeting.
The poor woman nearly fell out of her seat, and clutched at her chest as she sucked in a breath. Her widened eyes narrowed as she whipped toward my stepfather and looked up and down his outfit. “Barry Adams.” Her tone left no mystery to how she felt about his arrival. Barry was most definitely an acquired taste.
“Martha Booger.” He beamed, and knowing Barry, either wasn’t aware of the reaction he stirred in Martha or simply didn’t care. “Goodness, we’re being formal today.”
Her attention flicked back to the soap opera, then returned to Barry, and finally to me, giving me the once-over as well. Her stare held when they reached my mustard-yellow boots poking out from my sage-green skirt.
It seemed she found me to be an acquired taste as well. Good thing I’d left Watson at home. Although, she seemed as grumpy as my little corgi, so maybe it would’ve been kismet.
Doubtful.
“We’re here to see Harold White.” Barry smacked the desk again in declaration, once more causing Martha to flinch, then reached for the guest-sign-in book and scrawled his name before sliding it to me.
“I don’t remember getting a call from you this morning, Mr. Adams. We’ve talked about this before.” Martha’s lips narrowed as her nose crinkled.
“And even more formal, Ms. Booger.” Barry chuckled. “And I told you before, I’m a free spirit, never know what I’ll do one minute to the next. I can hardly make plans this morning for something I might do later in the day.”
“It’s not even noon yet, Mr. Adams.”
Barry lifted the plate Mom had sent with us from my hands and peeled back the plastic wrap. “Here, have a cinnamon roll for your troubles. My wife sent them along for Harold, but I’m sure he won’t mind if you have one.”
For a moment, it looked like Martha was going to stay strong, but then she reached toward the plate, picked off the largest one, and plopped back in the chair. “Move it along, Barry. You’re blocking the television.”
He obliged, grabbing my hand and pulling me with him before I could sign the logbook as he waved over his shoulder. “Always a pleasure, Martha.”
We were partially down the hallway when I dared whisper to him, “Is her last name actually Booger, or do you just call her that because she doesn’t like you?”
He halted and turned to me, brows creased. “What do you mean she doesn’t like me?”
I couldn’t think of what to say to that.
Not that it mattered. Barry glanced back at Martha, considered, and then shook his head. “That’s just Martha’s way. She’s a doll. We see each other a few times a week. You get to be my age and most of your friends end up in a place like this. Almost like a fraternity.” He scowled. “Not that I was ever in one of those capitalist, misogynistic, drone factories.”
“I’m sure you’re right.” Knowing Barry, I could sense we were on the verge of a political rant. Wealthy or not, Barry Adams remained the hippie-dippie, combination of flower child and mountain man he’d always been. “But didn’t we need to get Harold’s room number?”
“Weren’t you listening, Fred? I’m here all the time. And Harold is one of the gang.” He wobbled his head back and forth as if judging the veracity of his claim. “Well, kinda. He was a few years older than us growing up, but he married Dolana, and she was definitely part of our gang, Lord rest her soul.” He slipped his hand into mine again and led me down the hall. “Now remember, I know you’re hoping to get some details about what he might’ve noticed the other day at the coffee shop, but our priority is to visit a friend who’s clearly having a rough time. I didn’t know the seizures had gotten so bad.”
I allowed him t
o lead me on, and for a moment, marveled at the feel of his hand in mine. In the months I had been in Estes, we’d gone from a caring yet rather awkward relationship to him acquiring the semblance of a father role. Though he could never replace what my dad meant to me, nor would he try, which made all the difference.
Barry gave the briefest of knocks on a partially open door, then walked through like he owned the place.
The room was small but cozy and clean. Harold White was asleep in a twin bed against the wall. Though there were railings attached, it was clear they’d attempted to stay away from the typical hospital bed feel.
He’d appeared so small and out of place behind the counter of Black Bear Roaster, with his too large, too white dentures beaming at me. But lying there asleep, bandages scattered over his face covering the cuts from the shattered windshield, he looked even smaller, and so frail. I couldn’t blame Carla for being protective of him. If he truly had been stressed about me asking questions regarding his granddaughter, there might be actual reason to be concerned. He didn’t seem like he could handle too much stress.
I motioned to the door. “We should let him rest.”
Barry studied him, sadness flicking over his face. “Let’s give it a minute. He might wake up.” He slid the plate of cinnamon rolls Mom had sent onto the bedside table before taking a seat in the closest chair and placing his hand over Harold’s.
Something about the gesture caused my throat to constrict, and I turned away, focusing on the large picture window on the opposite wall. I blinked away the hint of tears and then sucked in a breath and stepped toward the window seat. “Oh my goodness.”
We’d driven just a little bit out of town to get to Aspen Grove, but I hadn’t noticed how far up the sides of the mountain we’d gone. In front of us lay the entire Estes Park valley, looking like a charming toy village nestled in the embrace of mountains. Elkhorn Avenue was easily visible running through downtown and then carving its way into the national park. With the smattering of clouds casting lazy shadows, it easily could have belonged on a postcard.
Scornful Scones (Cozy Corgi Mysteries Book 5) Page 7
