by Sofie Ryan
“Bull crap!”
It struck me that if Rose did have some kind of heart problem, she’d be having a stroke right now. Her hands were clenched and her face was flushed.
“Rosie, it wouldn’t hurt to go see a doctor,” Mr. P. offered.
I swung around to stare at him. He was leaning forward and he was frowning slightly.
“Alfred Peterson, you must have had a stroke yourself if you think there’s anything wrong with my brain,” Rose said.
“Rose Jackson, when was the last time you actually saw a doctor?” Charlotte asked. I could always count on her to be the voice of reason.
Rose looked up at the round red clock on the wall above the table. “About forty-five minutes ago,” she said tartly.
“And before that?” Charlotte countered, her voice quiet in comparison to her friend’s.
“I had my blood pressure and my blood sugar checked at that clinic at Shady Pines.”
“Those were nurses, not doctors,” Charlotte said. “When—other than about an hour ago—did you last see a doctor?”
“None of your business,” Rose snapped. She really didn’t like doctors. She went once a year for a physical checkup because Liz would nag her until she made the appointment and then show up on the day to drive her there.
“That’s what I thought,” Charlotte said. She brushed cookie crumbs into a little pile and swept them into her hand, dropping them onto her plate. “So make an appointment. Let the doctor check you out. It will prove to Detective Andrews that there’s nothing wrong with you and maybe”—she stressed the word—“maybe the police will take a second look at what happened.”
It was a sensible, logical suggestion because that was the kind of person Charlotte was, but I knew Rose was not in the mood for sensible and logical.
Mr. P. nodded. “I’ll go with you.” He reached across the table for Rose’s hand, but she was already on her feet.
She looked from Alfred to Charlotte. “If Sarah had told you that she saw a body, neither one of you would be suggesting she see a doctor to have her head examined. I am deeply offended.” She stalked out of the apartment, back rigid, before either of them could say anything.
After a moment of silence Mr. P. got to his feet. I caught his arm. “Let her go,” I said.
“Rosie just got out of the hospital, Sarah. She shouldn’t be walking around in the dark,” he said.
“She isn’t. She didn’t even go outside. She’s in my apartment talking to Elvis.”
Mr. P. looked over his shoulder at the door. “I mean no disrespect, my dear,” he said. “But how can you be sure? She’s very angry.”
“Rose is wearing the fuzzy slippers Avery knit for her. It doesn’t matter how angry she is. She knows how proud Avery was when she made them. She’s not going to wear them outside. Right now she’s sitting on my sofa telling Elvis how mad she is at the two of you. And Michelle. And Liz.”
Charlotte took a drink from her cup and set it down again. She got to her feet. “Stay here, Alfred,” she said. “I’ll go talk to her. I’m the one who pushed her over the edge.” She looked over at me. “It’s not that I don’t believe her. I just don’t think it would hurt for her to go see her own doctor.”
I gave her a half smile. “I know that and so does Rose underneath her dramatic exit.” I looked from her to Mr. P. “Go home, both of you. Let me handle things. It will all look better in the morning. I promise.”
“You sound like Isabel,” Charlotte said, referring to my grandmother.
I smiled. “I wish she was here.”
Charlotte smiled as well. “Me, too.”
I stood up, brushing crumbs off my T-shirt. “Please. Go home,” I said. I turned my attention to Mr. P. “I promise I won’t leave Rose alone. I’ll sit by her bed and watch her sleep if I have to.”
Alfred managed a small smile. “That might be a little excessive, my dear,” he said.
“All right. We’ll go,” Charlotte said. She picked up her cup and saucer and Mr. P.’s and carried them over to the sink. Then she came back to the table. She patted Alfred’s arm. “Sarah is right. Rose needs some time to cool down, and I trust Sarah to take care of her.”
He sighed softly. “All right,” he said. He looked at me. “Please tell her I’m sorry.”
“I will,” I promised.
I put the rest of the dishes in the sink and wiped off the table. Charlotte and Mr. P. agreed to share a cab, and I went out on the steps to wait with them. As soon as the taxi pulled away from the curb I headed back inside.
Rose was on the sofa in my apartment. Elvis was sitting next to her. They both looked up when I came in the door. The cat licked his whiskers, which told me Rose had gotten him a treat. Probably more than one.
“Charlotte and Mr. P. have gone home,” I said. I went into the kitchen, poured myself a glass of lemonade from the pitcher in the refrigerator and sat down on the other side of Elvis. “They’re both sorry they upset you. All they want is to be sure you’re all right.”
“Sorry is as sorry does,” she said, a little petulantly, it seemed to me.
“Don’t give me that,” I said, sucking on a chunk of ice. “Mr. P. wanted to go out in the dark to look for you, and Charlotte always has your back. She’s been one of your best friends longer than I’ve been alive.”
Rose stroked Elvis’s fur but didn’t say anything.
“And speaking of best friends who care about you,” I began.
That got her hackles up again. “Sarah Grayson, are you taking Liz’s side over mine?” she challenged.
I slid down until I was basically sitting on my tailbone. “I’m not taking anyone’s side,” I said. “I’m just stating a fact.” I took another sip of my lemonade. “And for the record, if the tables were turned, we both know you’d be telling me to go see a doctor, just to prove there wasn’t anything wrong with my head.”
Rose leaned toward Elvis. “That’s why I like cats,” she said. “They don’t have nearly as much to say as some people do.”
The cat murped his agreement.
I tipped my head back and rolled my neck from side to side. “They can’t drive, either,” I said. “So they can’t take anyone over to see Jeff Cameron’s sister in the morning.”
I stared down into my glass and set the ice cubes swirling. Out of the corner of my eye I could see Rose struggling not to smile. She finally lost the battle and leaned against me, grinning. “Do you always get what you want?” she asked.
I rested my head against hers. “No,” I said. “So I’m going to enjoy this little victory.”
Elvis wiggled out from between us, shook himself and jumped down from the sofa.
Rose sighed. “Detective Andrews is a lovely young woman,” she said. “And I do appreciate that she went over to the Camerons’ house with you. She’s a good friend.”
I nodded.
“But she tends to think that the simplest explanation is the right one, and while that might be true most of the time, it’s not true all of the time. Life just isn’t that neat and simple. It’s messy sometimes, and this is one of those times.”
“Yes,” I said. What I didn’t say was that I had a feeling it was about to get a lot messier.
Chapter 6
Rose yawned and lifted a hand to cover her mouth. “I’m sorry, dear,” she said. “I promise it’s not the company.”
“It’s been a long night,” I said. “We could both use some sleep.”
“I’ll see you in the morning, then.”
“Stay here,” I said, leaning forward to set my glass on the floor beside the sofa.
“I’ll be fine,” she said. “I’m just going to go home and go to bed. I won’t do anything rash, I promise.” She put her hand over her heart.
I stretched my arms up over my head. “I know that,” I said. “But you did tak
e an awful whack on the head.”
“I’m fine,” she repeated. “I don’t even have a concussion.”
“That’s because you have an exceedingly hard head.” I made a face at her and she laughed. “Humor me, please,” I said. “I don’t want to have to sneak into your place at two a.m. and hold a mirror up to your mouth to see if you’re breathing.”
Rose laughed again. “All right. I’ll stay.” She held up one finger. “As long as you sleep in your bed and I sleep here on the pullout.”
“Deal,” I said. The sofa bed had a good mattress and I knew Rose would be comfortable.
Elvis launched himself back onto the sofa between us. He poked the cushion a couple of times and then looked expectantly at Rose.
“You may have to share with Elvis,” I said.
“That’s not a problem,” she said, reaching over to stroke his fur. “He won’t be the first hairy male to share my bed.” Her gray eyes twinkled.
I clapped my hands over my ears and shut my eyes. “Too much information,” I exclaimed. I could hear her laughing anyway.
I made up the bed while Rose went to get her pajamas and toothbrush. “We have to make Rose call her daughter in the morning,” I said to Elvis. He cocked his head to one side and gazed at me with narrowed eyes as if he were thinking, How do you plan on doing that?
I was pretty sure I could nudge Rose into calling Abby. I knew she cared about me as much as I cared about her, and in the end she’d do it for that reason alone.
I’d spent summers in North Harbor with my grandmother as far back as I could remember. The rest of the year I’d lived first in upstate New York and then in New Hampshire. Both my father and mother had been only children, so I hadn’t had a pile of cousins to hang out with during the summer. My grandmother’s friends, Charlotte, Rose and Liz, had become my surrogate extended family, a trio of indulgent and loving albeit opinionated aunts.
When the radio station where my late-night syndicated radio show originated changed hands, I was replaced by a music feed from the West Coast and a nineteen-year-old guy with a tan and ombré hair who gave the temperature every hour. I’d come back to North Harbor at the urging of my mother, who knew how much I loved the town. When I decided to open Second Chance, Rose, Charlotte and Liz had been almost as thrilled as my grandmother. They were family. I’d do anything for them.
Rose came back carrying her pajamas, her toothbrush and one of her ubiquitous totes.
“What’s in that?” I asked.
She handed the bag to me. “Just a few things for breakfast. Would you stick it in the refrigerator, dear, please?”
I stuck the bag in my less-than-full fridge. Rose had been giving me cooking lessons for months now, and to everyone’s surprise—especially mine—they seemed to be starting to take. Now I needed to work on making a grocery list and making time to hit the store.
I peeked in the bag as I set it on the shelf, catching sight of eggs and what looked like Canadian bacon.
“I could cook breakfast,” I offered. Just because the doctor had said Rose didn’t have a concussion didn’t mean that she shouldn’t take it a little easier.
“I know you could, dear,” she said. She looked at the opened sofa bed. “Oh, that looks lovely and cozy.”
“You can take the bathroom first,” I said. “There’s lots of hot water for a bath. I want to check the store’s Web site before bed.”
Rose gave her head a little shake—which didn’t seem to cause her any pain, I noted. “You work too much,” she said. “At this rate the only hairy man you’ll be sharing your bed with is Elvis.”
I poked a finger in each ear. “La, la, la, la, la,” I sang loudly.
All that got me was a smile. Rose picked up her pajamas. “I think I will have a bath,” she said. “I do like that nice deep tub of yours.”
“I put out some towels.”
She nodded. “Thank you, dear. It’s a bit late now, but remind me to call Abby in the morning.”
“How did you know I was going to ask you that?” I said.
She tapped her right temple with a finger. “I’m very smart.”
She started down the hall to the bathroom. “You listen at doors,” I called after her.
“That, too,” she replied.
I woke in the morning to the smell of coffee and bacon instead of a cat sitting on my chest breathing cat breath in my face. So much for me cooking breakfast instead of Rose. I padded out to the kitchen in my pajamas and bare feet. Rose was at the stove, one of my dish towels used as an apron and pinned around her waist with a couple of chip-bag clips. Elvis was watching her every move from a stool at the counter.
“Good morning,” I said.
“Good morning,” Rose said, giving me a sunny smile. Elvis gave me his usual murp in hello.
“Before you ask, I already called Abby.”
“What did she say?” I asked.
“She told me what I’d done was dangerous and a little stupid.”
“And?” I prompted because I knew there had to be more.
“And I told her she was right.”
My eyebrows went up. “That must have surprised her.”
Rose eyed the pan, giving it a little shake. “She’s going to come for a few days at the end of the month.”
“Good,” I said. I edged past her to get a cup for my coffee. After I’d poured and added cream and sugar I joined Elvis at the counter. “What can I do to help?” I asked.
“I have everything under control,” she said.
I propped my elbows on the counter and wrapped my hands around the mug. “How do you feel?”
“I feel fine.” Rose gestured in the direction of the sofa with a spatula. “That bed is very comfortable.” She absently rubbed the back of her neck with her free hand. I’d noticed her doing that a couple of times the night before.
I set my cup on the counter, slid off the stool and went over to her. “Does that hurt?” I asked.
She frowned. “What? Oh, you mean my neck. No. It’s just a little irritated. I think I was probably dinner for some black fly last night.”
“Let me take a look,” I said. I put my hands on Rose’s shoulders and turned her body a little so her neck was in the best light. A patch of skin on the left side of her neck, just at her hairline, was a little red because she’d been rubbing it. I leaned in closer.
“I’ll just put a little calamine lotion on and it will be fine.”
I straightened and she turned to look at me. “Did they give you any shots when you were in the hospital?” I asked.
“No.” She shook her head. “They took blood from this arm.” She raised her left elbow. “But that’s all.” She frowned. “What is it?”
“It looks as though there’s a needle mark on your neck.”
Rose’s hand immediately went to the place. “A needle mark? I don’t think so, Sarah. How on earth could I get a needle mark on my neck?”
“That’s what I’d like to know. I think we should go back to the hospital.”
“Well, I don’t.” She flipped the bacon with an expert toss. “What’s that going to achieve other than waste a lot of time? I already told you they didn’t give me any shot at the hospital.”
I raked a hand back through my messy hair. “I wasn’t thinking it happened at the hospital.”
Rose moved the frying pan off the heat and turned off the burner. She wiped her hands on the tea towel and gave me all her attention. “Are you saying you think I was injected with something when I was at the Cameron house?”
I shrugged. “I don’t know. Maybe that is just a bug bite.” I looked at her neck again. “I’m far from an expert, but it doesn’t look like one to me.”
Rose moved to rub her neck again and then stopped herself. “That would explain how I could have been hit hard enough to be unconscious
for several minutes but not have a concussion.”
“We need to go back to the ER and have someone look at this who knows what they’re doing,” I said. “And maybe do some kind of blood tests.”
“I’m not going back to the hospital,” she said, a matter-of-fact tone to her voice. “If you tell me you see a needle prick, then that’s what it is. Besides, we’ll have to sit there all morning and we need to go see Jeff Cameron’s sister.”
“I’m not a doctor, Rose,” I said. “I might be wrong.”
She reached up and patted my cheek. “Nonsense. You’re as smart as any doctor. You could have gone to medical school.” She broke into a smile then and clapped her hands together. “Nicolas,” she said.
“What about Nick?” I asked. I reached over and swiped a piece of the Canadian bacon from the pan.
“He’ll know what that is—not that I doubt you for a moment.”
She was right. Not only was Nick an investigator for the medical examiner’s office, he also had a degree in biology and he’d been accepted into medical school. He’d worked as an EMT to put himself through college and had been offered a job teaching an EMT course before he took the investigator’s job. I knew that short of tying Rose up with the cord of her bathrobe and stuffing her in the back of my SUV, there was no way I was going to get her back to the hospital. Nick was my best bet.
I nodded. “I’ll call him after breakfast.”
“Splendid,” Rose exclaimed. She picked up the spatula and motioned me back to my stool with it. “Now, go sit down while I finish breakfast.”
I hesitated, thinking I should have been the one doing the cooking. As if she had once more read my mind, Rose waved the spatula at me again. “I’m fine,” she said, with just a tinge of annoyance in her voice. “Sit.”
I leaned over and kissed the top of her head. “I’m sitting,” I said.
After a bacon-and-egg sandwich on a toasted English muffin and a second cup of coffee, I called Nick.
“How’s Rose?” he asked. “I’m guessing you spent the night in her apartment.”
“Close,” I said, pulling up the cotton blanket on the bed. I was multitasking, making the bed as I talked. “She spent the night here with Elvis and me.”
