A Cut Above

by Ginny Aiken

  That’s more threat than promise. “Gee,” I mutter under my breath as he saunters off. “I can’t wait.”

  Max takes my hand and gives it a healthy squeeze. “Watch your mouth, Andi-ana Jones. It’s almost as hazardous to your health as the guy in the black ski hat.”

  “Yeah, okay. Fine. But why should the chief think we— I—know more about the nutcase who came to kill Laura than what we already told him? Does he really think we’d lie about it?”

  “We were the last men standing, so to speak. We’re the only witnesses. Who else is he going to hit up for info?”

  “Oh, stop being so rational, willya?” I blow a frustrated gust of breath. “All I want is for Laura to recover. And her dad.” “Who are you kidding, Andrea Adams?” He shakes his head. “It’s me, Max. I know you know you want to know what’s really going on here.”

  His gaze goes deep. The guy has come to know me too well.

  “Yeah, but—”

  “Then let the chief do his best. He doesn’t have too bad a record going in, you know.”

  As I step into the elevator, I slant him a look. “You were there. You know I’ve had to give him a nudge or two.”

  He tightens his grip on my fingers. “Not this time.”

  “Not this time. I’m out of the figuring-out-whodunnit business.”

  “And I’m going to make sure you stay out of it.”

  I head for the parking lot instead of the cafeteria, suddenly swamped with exhaustion no river of coffee’s going to help. “I won’t do Laura any good if I don’t get some real sleep,” I say when Max asks me where I’m going. “I’ll see you first thing in the morning.”

  “I’ll be here.” He looks as though he wants to say something more, but then he shrugs.

  “G’night, Max.”

  “Good night, Andie.”

  As I head for the car, I can’t shake the sense of something missing, something left unsaid. Something important.

  I cast a look over my shoulder. Max hasn’t budged. He’s still under the awning right by the hospital door, his gaze glued to me, a hard-to-figure expression on his face.

  Oh yeah. There’s a whole lot left unsaid. And I don’t think it has much to do with either Laura or Rodolfo Cruz.

  It won’t be just Chief Clark I’ll be having a tête-à-tête with soon. And with every day that goes by, I’m less and less chicken about it.

  About him.

  Could Chief Clark be right?

  Could I be right?

  The idea has taken permanent residence ever since the moment I woke up, and now, on my way to the hospital to meet Aunt Weeby, Miss Mona, and Max, I’m in the same place in my head. I know Doña Rosario wanted those emeralds, not just any emeralds, the spectacular ones Miss Mona bought. She still does, I’m sure. And I also know Rodolfo Cruz didn’t do business with her—not that I’m sure she wanted to actually do business in the first place. I got the feeling she wanted the emeralds just because, payment optional. After all, she did say she didn’t like leftovers. And I did buy Rodolfo’s absolute best.

  Besides that, you and I and the fly on the wall know Ro-dolfo’s attacker spoke Spanish.

  Is that enough to go ahead and connect the dots? Did Doña Rosario send a man to . . . to what? Kill the Cruzes? To scare them? To shake the emeralds out of them? All of the above, and then some?

  If that’s the case, is she going to send him after me too? I’m not sure she believed the results of her search. I got the sense she knew, not just thought, I had the stones all along.

  A shudder shakes me. Can’t say I want another face-off with Creepella. Or her creep.

  As far as Chief Clark goes . . . well, I don’t want him to grill me again, but I guess I don’t get a choice there. I want the man who did this caught and behind bars. So I’ll deal.

  I pull into the hospital parking lot, lock up the car, take a big breath, and head upstairs. Aunt Weeby and Miss Mona are already in the Intensive Care Unit waiting room, excitement on their faces.

  “Guess what!” my aunt squeals as she hugs me.

  Since I’m smarter than the average fence post, and we are where we are, and since they both look livelier than a string of Christmas tree lights . . . you get my drift. “Laura’s doing better.”

  Instead of congratulating me, they both look disappointed. “How’d you guess?” Aunt Weeby says.

  I roll my eyes and laugh. “It doesn’t take a genius, you two. We’ve all been worried silly about her. But that’s great news, no matter what. Now, how about Rodolfo?”

  Aunt Weeby’s cheer melts away. “He’s not doing so hot, sugarplum. No change, and he was in pretty sorry shape last night, you know.”

  “I’m sorry. I was hoping for better news about him too. Poor Laura. It’s great that she’s better, but I’d hate for her to be worrying over her daddy. That won’t help her one bit.”

  “It sure won’t,” Max says as he walks in. “Good morning, ladies. I stopped by the nurse’s station and learned they’re moving Laura back to her regular room. She regained consciousness during the night and her breathing’s fine now, even though she’ll have to keep doing breathing exercises for a few days. We’ll have to make sure she does them. Then, too, her heart doesn’t seem to have been damaged.”

  Miss Mona offers her cheek for his kiss. “Looks like you used all those sweet-talking charms of yours to get the nurses to tell you what they wouldn’t tell us, son.”

  Max frowns. “I thought when I walked in I heard Andie say Laura was better. They talked to you.”

  I give him a crooked grin. “I did say that, but that’s all I could get the nurses to tell me. Nothing about moving her back to her regular room, breathing exercises, or about her heart being okay.”

  “Maybe they had nothing to say when you asked. Maybe they were waiting for test results or doctor’s orders or something.”

  “Five minutes before you walked in? Don’t think so.”

  Miss Mona and Aunt Weeby tease him about his effect on women, while I bite my bottom lip. Nobody needs to tell me about it. I’m living proof of his abilities. What’s worse, he knows how he affects women . . . certainly this woman.

  When the orderly wheels out Laura’s bed, we all gather around to escort her back to her regular room. While we’re all thrilled she’s doing so well, our concern for her father becomes a sixth entity in that room. Then a seventh shows up.

  Of course, it’s Chief Clark, back to drum me with even more questions. He leads me to the waiting room, and then wastes no time firing away. “Mind telling me who that Creepella woman you were talking ’bout might be, Miss Andie?”

  I wince. “You’re really serious, aren’t you? You think she’s involved. Even though she’s back in Colombia. It wasn’t just my hyperactive imagination going to town on me, then.”

  The chief leans against the wall, crosses his arms, shrugs and makes a face. “Dunno about her being back in Colombia. Last I checked, you’ve had plenty of crazy folks come chasing after you and those fancy foreign stones you sell. And I only have one way to find out what’s what. I gotta focus on doing plain, old-fashioned police work. So how ’bout it, Miss Andie? You going to tell me about that woman?”

  Max walks up as I consider my options—none I can see. “Can I join you?” he asks.

  The chief shrugs. “You might could help, even.” He looks my way again. “So, Miss Andie. How ’bout it?”

  I tell the chief everything I can remember about our encounters with Doña Rosario. I describe her as best I can, with Max adding a detail or two as I go along. We even do what we can to come up with decent descriptions of her men.

  When there’s nothing more to tell, we all stay quiet. I can see the wheels cranking in Chief Clark’s head—not really, but I can tell he’s dissecting everything I’ve told him, filing bits and pieces together with whatever data he’s received from Colombian authorities.

  How do I know he’s been in contact with Colombian authorities?

  Easy.
I’ve been down this road before. And I’m getting mighty sick of it. At least, by the grace of God, no one’s dead this time.

  Rodolfo’s image forms behind my eyelids.

  No one’s dead this time—yet.

  I pray it stays that way. Please, Lord?

  “Dunno if I can agree with something you said before, Miss Andie,” the chief says. “Or maybe you didn’t rightly say it, but you sure were doubting the possibility. I’m pretty near sure that Rosie-woman is behind all this. Just as you know she was behind you being kidnapped and all.”

  I draw a deep sigh. “And all because of a bunch of rocks.” “Hmm . . .” Max says. “Am I hearing things? Is that the one and only Andi-ana Jones calling gemstones rocks? The woman I once saw run into a burning house to save her rock collection? The same woman who, just to see where rubies come from, went burrowing underground into a mine that wound up caving?”

  “Guess it’s called growing up, Max.” I slant him a glance, a wink, and a grin. “Can you deal?”

  He leans back into his armchair and crosses his arms. “Oh, Andie, Andie, Andie. I can deal. I absolutely can deal.”

  A shimmy of excitement runs through me. I meet his gaze, and find myself caught in the intensity there. Am I deluding myself or do I see a responding excitement, anticipation, caring and warmth and— Don’t get ahead of yourself, Andie. That’s the quickest way to that broken heart.

  With every bit of strength inside me, I tear my gaze away and focus on Chief Clark again. I have all the time in the world for Max. “What do you know about this whole nightmare?”

  “Well, Miss Andie, I can’t be saying much right now. It’s an ongoing investigation. But if I need to know something more, why, you can be sure I’ll be asking you.”

  I roll my eyes. “No kidding.”

  His easygoing façade takes a dive, and a totally serious law enforcement officer stands before me. “No, Miss Andie. I’m not kidding. I’d think you know me well enough by now. I don’t kid when the law’s been broken in my jurisdiction. I said it last night, and I’ll be saying it again. There’s more to this than just them stones. There has to be. I’ll be finding out what before too long.”

  Anyone with something to hide who makes the mistake of thinking Chief Clark’s slow drawl and walk match the pace of his thoughts won’t make that mistake for long. If they do, they’ll soon be guests at his lockup.

  I nod.

  He turns and heads toward the hall. “And if you haven’t been telling me all I need to know, why then, I’ll be finding that out too. And why.”

  “Bu—but I don’t have anything else to say . . .” I let my wail fade, since he’s gone. “All righty, then. Now what?”

  That’s when I realize Miss Mona and Aunt Weeby had walked in at some point, but hadn’t said a word. Never known that to happen before. I face them, and am stunned by the anxiety in their faces.

  Oh no. No, no, no, no, no. This is hazardous to mankind. Womankind. My kind.

  Whenever these two have what they perceive as a problem, they don’t quit until they “solve” it. The solution? Well, it usually means trouble. Of the sinking-ship kind.

  I’m not up for a cruisin’, if you get my drift.

  “Um . . .” I look around. “Don’t think there’s much we can do around here. The hospital won’t be too happy if we hang around and stress Laura out. At least Max and I have a show to prepare. What are you two up to today?”

  Aunt Weeby gives a vague wave. “I don’t suppose it matters much anymore, sugarplum. Things have gotten themselves all tied up in a fine kerfuffle since we made us any plans.”

  This is scary stuff. Especially since Miss Mona’s letting my aunt do all the talking. The Duo at loose ends.

  Think, Andie, think! “I don’t see where that should stop you from doing whatever you had planned. I mean, there’s nothing any of us can do for Rodolfo—other than pray, and we don’t need to be here to do that. And Laura?” I shrug. “She’s on the mend. The nurses’ll probably tell you the best thing for her is sleep, and lots of it.”

  Aunt Weeby’s eyes grow wide. “Are you trying to tell me you’re wanting us to leave that poor child all alone in this hospital again? I spent the most unsettled night, worrying myself sick about her. If you’ll remember, that guy slipped her that something when we weren’t here.”

  Water’s up around my chin, folks. “But, Aunt Weeby, you and Miss Mona need your sleep.”

  A triumphant smile brightens her face. “Why, of course we do, sugarplum. And we’re going to get it.” She points to the massive tote bag leaning against her feet. “That’s why Mona and I went shopping this morning. We bought us some real cute jammies. We’re ready for duty, taking turns napping on the waiting room couches until we can take little Miss Laura home with us.”

  I can see them now. Their idea of cute jammies leaves a lot to be desired. And their staking a claim on the waiting room is nothing but trouble waiting to happen. “But—”

  “Mona’s got the sweetest set of pots and jars of yummy toiletries in her bag,” Aunt Weeby adds, oblivious to my dinky shot at objecting. “We’re all set to move in with Laura until we can move her in with us.”

  The hospital’s not ready for the Daunting Duo. This is a disaster. I have to come up with something; I gotta pry these two lovable nuts out of here one way or another. First, though, I have to buy myself some time. Maybe Max will do his white-knight impression.

  Maybe not. Take a look at his brand-new, wild-eyed panic.

  He’s come to know them pretty well, and looks about as freaked out as I am. It’s not hard to get to know my aunt and her pal. They’re nuts. But sweet. And I really don’t want them tossed out on their ears. Nor do I want Chief Clark hauled out here to drag them to the pokey and book them for loitering or as squatters or practicing medicine without licenses.

  How’s that, you say? My aunt has a disgusting habit of bringing out her bottle of Great-Great-Grandmother Wil-letta’s cod liver oil. Aunt Weeby’s sure it cures all that ails you.

  Gotta move, gotta groove. And fast. “What were you two planning for today? I’m still curious.”

  Aunt Weeby shakes her head. “It seems so long ago now . . .” She sighs. “We haven’t hit our favorite flea market in ages. You know the one. It’s out by Buck Creek Road, about thirty miles away, and I was wanting to go hunt us up some chamber pots.”

  My eyes goggle. “Have you been to see a doctor about this problem?”

  She gives a dismissive wave. “Oh, no, no, sugarplum. I’m not plagued with no continence or nothing like that. Chamber pots just make the sweetest planting pots. You know, the ones with red trim for geraniums, the blue ones for pansies or purple petunias.”

  “But you don’t even have a house right now. Well, you do, but it’s got to be patched back together since the fire.”

  “It’s not for my house, Andrea. It’s for Mona’s garden we’re hunting.”

  Yeah, right. Chamber pots on the grounds of Miss Mona’s zillion-dollar mansion. Are they nuts?

  Oh yeah. They are.

  Me? I’m skeptical. “And you’re trying to tell me you two were going to head to a flea market with only potties in mind?”

  Aunt Weeby has the decency to blush. “Oh, you know . . . every once in a while we trip on some splendid doodad or two.”

  Uh-huh. And I’m a fireplug on Main Street. What does she plan to do with her doodad or two while the house is being done? They’re not coming into my little cottage. No way, no how. It’s already stuffed to the rafters with Miss Mona’s french-fried frou-frou and gilt.

  Why do these two always come up with impossible situations? I mean, on the one hand, they want to crash the hospital. On the other, they want to go junking. The Duo in jail versus the Duo in junk heaven.

  Yech. There’s really no choice. “I think you should go junking—er . . . flea marketing. The break will do you wonders.” And when they’re back, lugging someone else’s trash, I’ll have to find some way to deal
with the stuff. “Everyone can always do with a bit of R & R.”

  For a moment, a spark brightens her eyes. But then she squashes it. “No, sugarplum. A body’s gotta do what a body’s gotta do. And our duty’s with that little girl. Why, her daddy’s in worse shape than a tired ol’ boxing ring punching bag.”

  And how would she know what a tired old boxing ring punching bag looks like? But I don’t dare ask. She might just tell me. Something—experience—tells me I’m better off not knowing.

  “Okay, Aunt Weeby. Here’s the deal. You tell me. When you were here for your surgery a year ago, would you have wanted someone hovering over you when you were trying to sleep?”

  Miss Mona snorts. “She wouldn’t even let me visit more’n a half hour at a time.”

  Aunt Weeby glares at her best friend. “But this is different. Laura’s a child.”

  I’m not going there, okay? Nothing about pots and kettles is coming from my mouth.

  Instead, I say, “She still needs to sleep. Tell you what. Why don’t you two go jun—flea marketing, and see what kind of trash—treasure you can dig up for Laura?”

  I hope and pray the girl will someday forgive me. It might take years.

  As lame as my suggestion seems, not just to me but to the about-to-bust-a-gut Max too, it catches hold of my aunt’s imagination. “You might be onto something there, sugarplum. If we do a real bang-up job getting her something, maybe we’ll have us a new partner for our adventures once she’s outta here.”

  Max claps a hand over his mouth. Above his fingers, his blue eyes do a mischievous jig. He knows just as well as I do how hard we’re going to have to work to get Laura out of the mess I’ve just put her in.

  For the moment, though . . . “Okay. It’s a done deal. Off you go to hunt the elusive Treasusaurus Laurus. I’ll see you both later. For a late dinner after our show. How’s that sound?”

  Miss Mona shrugs.

  Aunt Weeby says, “Eh. So-so. I guess we might could go.”

  Although things are looking up, I’m not about to declare victory until they’re on their way to their junk haven. I wave. “See ya!”