Lie Down in Green Pastures

by Debbie Viguié

  "We should have interviewed Larson tonight," Mark said.

  "Looks like Cindy tried to do that for us."

  "I wish I knew what she found out."

  "Hopefully we'll know shortly."

  "We have to put an end to this, Paul."

  "I think you need a vacation," his partner observed.

  "And you don't? What are you, a machine?"

  His partner didn't dignify that with an answer.

  They sat in silence, each lost in his own thoughts. Finally Paul's phone rang and he snatched it up and listened intently for a moment before ending the call.

  "We can see Cindy."

  Mark was on his feet and had tossed his coffee cup in a moment. "Any word on Larson?" he asked as they hurried back through the hospital's halls.

  "Still in with the doctors."

  Cindy was dazed but still conscious when they entered her room.

  "You know, you really do need to stop ending up in here," Mark said, trying his best to crack a smile.

  "Not my fault," she muttered.

  "Can you tell us what happened?"

  "We had coffee. He didn't . . . know anything."

  "What about the shooting?" Paul pressed.

  "Walking to my car and guy came out of doorway. He had a gun . . . wanted wallet, purse. Larson tried to knock away gun . . . it went off. . . Larson fell on me, knocked over . . . hit ground. Ambulance."

  She was getting more incoherent and her eyes were glazing over as the exhaustion and medication took over. Within moments she was asleep.

  "I don't think she's waking up anytime soon," Paul said.

  "Agreed. But as much as we need to talk to her she needs the sleep more."

  "If nothing else we know where she'll be for the next several hours. Hopefully this scare will put an end to her trying to get involved."

  Somehow Mark doubted that. He remembered how terrifi ed she had been when the Passion Week Killer had been on the loose. If that hadn't stopped her from wanting to get involved then he didn't know what would.

  One of the nurses Mark had seen earlier came into the room and checked on Cindy. When she was finished she turned to them. "The doctor is coming here in a minute to speak with you."

  Sure enough the doctor appeared shortly looking as tired as Mark felt. He checked Cindy's chart and then turned to them."She's going to be okay. The shoulder will be stifffor a few days and I'm going to prescribe some physical therapy to help strengthen and heal everything."

  "That's good news," Mark said.

  "What about the guy who was shot?" Paul asked.

  "He's going to be okay, too. Bullet went into his shoulder and we were able to get it out. We're going to keep him for a few days. He lost a lot of blood and we want to guard against infection, but otherwise he should be just fine."

  "When will he be able to talk?" Mark asked.

  "Not until tomorrow morning at the earliest. He's heavily sedated and won't be waking up anytime tonight, I can assure you. Even if he did, I think he'd tell you he was attacked by pink rabbits or some such nonsense with the amount of medication he's got in him."

  "So, there's nothing more we can really do here tonight," Mark clarified.

  "That's correct, gentlemen. Hopefully you'll have better luck in the morning."

  Tuesday morning Jeremiah could tell there was trouble the moment he stepped inside the main office at the synagogue.

  "We need a male counselor for the retreat," Marie said.

  "I thought we needed a female counselor? That was the announcement I made Saturday."

  "We did, but someone stepped forward."

  "Good, so what's the problem?"

  "Larson Beck."

  "The boys' counselor . . ." Jeremiah said, waiting for Marie to jump in.

  "Not anymore. He's in the hospital."

  "What's wrong with him?"

  "I don't know."

  A warning bell went offin the back of Jeremiah's mind.Hadn't Cindy said something about Larson in the voicemail he had deleted the night before?

  "Well, there's still time to find someone," he said.

  "They leave Thursday night. That's two days."

  "That's cutting it close. I'm sure you'll come up with someone, though," he said, moving toward his office.

  "I have."

  Something in the way she said it made him stop, turn, and look at her. "Who?" he asked, a terrible suspicion filling him.

  "You."

  "No, I can't. It's out of the question."

  "We're already having a special guest cantor for services on Saturday. You could be gone."

  "It's not just that." He blinked, unhappy that she had clearly been thinking it through. "I've never been a camp counselor."

  "It's just like being a rabbi. Just outdoors part of the time."

  "I'm allergic to trees," he lied.

  "Which is why you always go jogging in the park downtown?" she said, not budging an inch and scolding him for the lie with a lift of her eyebrows.

  "I'm not good with kids."

  "Sure you are. I've seen how you are around them. They love you."

  And there, burning just below the surface, his temper began to slip. He was the one in charge, not her. "I'm not doing it," he snapped at her.

  She flinched and took a step backward. She opened her mouth to say something, then closed it and her shoulders slumped in defeat. She went and sat down at her desk. "Then I'll just have to call the parents and tell them the trip is canceled," she said quietly.

  "Good, do that."

  There was no way he was going to spend three days in the wilderness with a bunch of teenage boys. He was having a hard enough time controlling himself lately, hiding, and being put in that environment was the last thing he needed.

  He sat down and stared blindly at his computer screen. "I need a vacation," he whispered. He hadn't taken a real one in a long time.

  Deep down, though, he knew that wasn't the answer.

  Cindy woke up in a hospital bed with only the vaguest idea of how she had gotten there. Her shoulder hurt and she felt like she was in a fog.

  "Good morning," a cheerful voice said.

  She turned her head slowly and was surprised to see Gerald Wilson sitting in a chair nearby smiling at her.

  "What are you doing here?" she asked the writer.

  "I called the police station this morning hoping to track down those detectives for at least a quick interview and heard about what happened to you. I figured I'd come down and check on you."

  "Thank you," she said.

  "Can I get you anything?"

  "I'm thirsty."

  "Say no more."

  There were a pitcher and cup on the table near the bed and he quickly poured her some and handed it to her. She started to reach for it with her right hand, then thought better of it as it sent a twinge to her shoulder. She took the cup and managed to sip a little of the water before handing it back.

  "Thank you."

  "So, it seems you've gotten yourself caught up in another crime," he said.

  "Unfortunately."

  "Maybe I should save room in my book for one more chapter?" he suggested.

  She shook her head slowly, wincing at the headache she seemed to have. "I don't think this one has the legendary qualities you're looking for."

  "You never know," he said. "Sometimes the most innocuousseeming things can set us upon quests we could never have imagined the scope of."

  "Quest . . . funny word," she said, feeling her eyelids beginning to droop.

  A nurse came in and checked on her and Cindy submitted to the brief exam and questions. Seemingly satisfied the nurse scribbled on her chart and informed her that a doctor would be in later to talk to her.

  No sooner had she left than two familiar forms darkened her door. "Detectives," she said as Mark and Paul walked in.

  "Cindy," Mark said, ducking his head slightly.

  "Miss Preston," Paul acknowledged her.

  Both men turned and
looked at Gerald.

  "Gerald Wilson," he said, introducing himself.

  "The writer?" Mark asked.

  "The same. Are you sirs the detectives who worked on the Passion Week Killer case?"

  "We are," Mark confirmed.

  "I'm anxious to interview you both. Perhaps when we're done here?"

  "Perhaps," Mark said.

  He turned to her. "How are you feeling?"

  "Not great," she admitted.

  "I'm not surprised."

  Mark eyed Gerald and then looked at Paul.

  "Why don't we step outside for a few minutes?" Paul suggested to the writer. "You can tell me about this book you're writing and maybe I can answer some of your questions about the case."

  "That would be excellent." Gerald beamed as he accompanied Paul outside.

  Mark sat down on the edge of the hospital bed and looked at her. "Tell me what happened," he said.

  She told him every detail she could remember up to the ambulance arriving to take them to the hospital. "What's wrong?" she asked.

  "I'm sorry you got hurt, especially when it didn't get us any new information."

  She shook her head. "But it did. The killer went after Larson, which means it is all related."

  "That's true. Good work," he told her.

  "You don't happen to know when they're going to let me out of here, do you?"

  "I'm guessing they'll let you go today. You dislocated your shoulder but appeared to have no other injuries."

  "That's good."

  She was feeling drowsy again.

  When she awoke again her visitors were all gone and a doctor was standing at the foot of her bed reading her chart.

  "Can I go home?" she asked.

  "I don't see why not," he said. "Everything looks good. You've got someone who can pick you up and stay with you tonight?"

  She nodded.

  "Good. Make your call while I get the paperwork in order."

  He left the room and she turned and stared at the phone, debating whom to call. She finally called the church office and got hold of Geanie. When she heard what was going on the other woman agreed to pick her up at noon.

  Around eleven Cindy was finally feeling clearheaded. She got dressed and a nurse helped her put her arm in a sling to keep her shoulder still. Then Cindy managed to make her way to Larson's room. He was awake when she walked in and gave her a watery smile.

  "How are you?" she asked.

  "Looks like we both got winged," he said, eyeing her sling.

  "Dislocated shoulder. Hardly matches up to being shot," she said.

  "Maybe I should think twice next time before lunging at the guy with the gun."

  "I don't think that would have stopped him from shooting," she said.

  "Me either."

  She stared at him for a moment in surprise.

  He looked at her and grimaced. "What you said in the coffee shop made a lot of sense. Still, I didn't want to believe it.Then that guy jumped us and I knew it was true."

  "How?"

  "The timing for one thing. And for another, he demanded you hand over your purse and you weren't carrying one."

  "You're right. I hadn't even thought about that," Cindy said."I left it in the trunk of my car and I just had my keys and some cash for the coffee in my pocket."

  "Exactly."

  "But he could have assumed."

  "I don't think so. I think a thief would have been hyper observant of the thing he was trying to steal or its absence. No, I think it was a ruse. I think he was there to kill us."

  "Us?" Cindy asked, sinking down into a chair.

  "Us. If the killer wasn't aware that you were on to him before, he certainly is now."

  Larson was right and she felt the same fear constricting her throat that she'd felt the last time a killer was aware of her presence. Just like then, she was in the wrong place at the wrong time and it was bound to get her noticed.

  And killed, if I'm not careful.

  "Have the police been in to see you yet this morning?" she asked, changing the subject slightly.

  "They left about twenty minutes ago. I told them the same thing. I think it upset them even more than it's upset you."

  She flushed. "They've had to spend a lot of time worrying about my safety."

  She knew it was their job, but they had had to do excessive worrying in her case. What did you get someone for something like that? Sending a fruit basket with a note thanking them for saving her life repeatedly seemed a little silly. But sitting there she realized that she should do something for Paul and Mark, job or not. They had more than earned it.

  "Is there anything that I can do for you?" she asked.

  "Yeah, catch this guy. You're good at catching killers. Least, that's the word on the street."

  She looked at him bemused. "Oh, really."

  "Really."

  "I'll put it at the top of my to do list."

  "Fantastic. Also, if you could let the folks at the synagogue know what happened I'd appreciate it. I left a rather cryptic message there this morning when I was making calls to let them know I wouldn't be able to be a camp counselor this weekend."

  She felt sorry for him and the kids. "You're going to ruin your iron man reputation," she teased.

  "Tell me about it. The doc said 'no', though. So did my son."

  "Oh my gosh, I completely forgot. Is he okay?"

  "Yeah. His grandmother was babysitting last night. After I had coffee with you I had a couple of late meetings to get to.One of the officers swung by the house last night and let her know what happened."

  "That's a relief."

  "For you maybe. I already get lectured on how I take too many needless risks. Somehow camping seems to pale in comparison to this. Who knows, maybe she'll stop complaining when we go on camping trips. After all, out in the forest you just have to worry about animals, not assassins."

  "True. Good luck with that," Cindy said.

  "Thanks. At any rate she should be happy for a while. The police said they were going to put a protective detail at my house once I go home."

  "I'm surprised they don't have one here."

  "I heard them discussing it as they left."

  "I'm sorry I dragged you into all this."

  He shook his head. "You didn't do anything, Cindy. Way I see it, you saved my life. Thank you."

  "You're welcome," she said, feeling embarrassed and not knowing what else to say. "Well, I've got to get back to my room."

  "They sending you home?"

  "Yeah."

  "Lucky. See if you can smuggle me in some cheesecake."

  "I'll see what I can do."

  Cindy made it back to her room and only had to wait a few more minutes for Geanie to appear. "Ready to get out of here?" she asked, popping into the room with a wheelchair.

  "More than. Did you clear it with the nurse?" Cindy asked as she sat down in the chair.

  "Maybe I did, and maybe I didn't," Geanie said mischievously as she wheeled her out of the room.

  Cindy twisted around so she could stare at her. "You're in a good mood."

  "Yup."

  Geanie waved at the nurse at the nurses' station who responded by waving a packet of papers in the air. Geanie grabbed them and handed them to Cindy. Topmost was a prescription for pain medication.

  "Thanks," Cindy said.

  Geanie wheeled her out to her waiting car and once they pulled away from the hospital Cindy gave the other woman her full attention. Geanie's cheeks were glowing and her eyes were sparkling. A perpetual grin was turning up the corners of her mouth.

  "Joseph said it, didn't he?"

  "Yes!" Geanie burst out as if she had been about to explode with the news. "He said it last night when he dropped me off at home and kissed me good night."

  "And then you said it back?"

  "Of course."

  "Congratulations," Cindy said, leaning her head back against the headrest and closing her eyes. "The two of you are in love."


  "I'm thinking we're not the only ones," Geanie said coyly.

  "What?"

  "Those came for you this morning," Geanie said, gesturing to the backseat.

  Cindy turned around and stared. There on the floor was a vase with a dozen red roses.

  8

  WHO ARE THEY FROM?" CINDY ASKED.

  "There's a card, but I didn't open it. I'm guessing if someone sent you red roses you have a pretty good idea who it is," Geanie said.

  "Not a clue," Cindy admitted. "I suppose it's possible someone heard I was in the hospital?"

  "I doubt it. We hadn't heard a word until you called in a couple hours ago. That kind of news usually travels fast."

  Cindy turned back forward. The motion of the car and the medication in her system were not making for a good combination.She would find out soon enough who the mystery sender was.

  "Who'd you leave in charge of the office?"

  "No one. I put a sign on it that said we'd be open again at one."

  "You're going to have a fun afternoon. You know how people get when the office isn't open when they expect."

  "I know, but what was I going to do, leave Wildman in charge of the phones?"

  Cindy giggled despite herself at the image. "It would be entertaining at least. And no one could complain that the office was closed."

  "Yeah, but somehow I think the other complaints would more than make up for it."

  "Good decision."

  "Could we swing by Joe's coffee shop so I can get my purse out of my trunk?" Cindy asked after a minute.

  "Absolutely."

  A few minutes later they pulled up and Cindy stared at her car. "You think I can drive?" she asked.

  "I think I forbid it. The nurse told me, and I'm sure the doctor told you, that they wanted you to keep the arm still for a couple of days until you start therapy."

  "Fine."

  Cindy handed Geanie her keys and the other woman retrieved her purse. Then they continued on their way. Once they reached Cindy's house Geanie insisted on helping her inside.

  "There's nothing wrong with my legs," Cindy complained.

  "Yeah, well as the designated transporter from the hospital it's on me if you get hurt before you're safe and sound in your own house. If you fall on your head inside your house it's on you, not me."