Sprinkled in Malice

by Catherine Bruns

  "Sally," Brian said softly.

  "Please let me see his face."

  He placed his palm gently on the back of my neck. "All right, but I need to look first. It might be a—" Brian didn't finish the sentence. "You need to try to prepare yourself for his—for what's underneath the tarp."

  I understood what he meant but couldn't bring himself to say. For all we knew, Mike might not even have a face left. I was fully aware of what a gunshot could do, especially at close range. Could I deal with seeing my husband like that? Did I want to remember him that way? No. In my mind I saw his rugged, tanned face, the black, unruly curly hair that always needed a trim, and those midnight blue eyes, which always stared so tenderly into mine.

  "Okay." My head bobbed up and down. "You look first."

  Brian gave my hand a little squeeze and got to his feet. I slowly raised my head and watched him. He put on a pair of latex gloves, his eyes pinned on me the entire time. The other officers moved back to make room for him. I noticed another man, with horn-rimmed glasses and a digital camera in his hands, approaching us. One of the officers went over to him and spoke in a low, hushed tone. The man nodded and looked over at me, his expression somber.

  Brian's jaw hardened as he stared down at the body. He glanced over at me one last time, and I noticed that his right hand was trembling slightly as he lifted the tarp.

  My heart pounded against the wall of my chest and into my ears with such force that I was afraid I might pass out. I'd have to be brave and carry on without him. But how? Another whimper broke from my mouth. I'd loved this man for so long. He was my soul mate, a part of me. I simply couldn't go on without him. All I wanted was to curl up somewhere and die myself.

  "Sally," Brian said in a flat, emotionless voice, "it's not Mike."

  Relief washed over my body like a tidal wave. Feeling dizzy, I placed my palms flat against the floor in an attempt to keep the room from spinning. One of the other officers came forward and helped me into a standing position. The room tilted to one side as I looked over at Brian with new hope. "You—you're sure?"

  He gave a grim nod and then gestured for me to come and stand next to him. On trembling legs, I moved forward.

  "It's not a pretty sight," he cautioned. "But I can tell you that it's definitely not Mike."

  Sucking in a deep breath, I stared down at the lifeless man who would never see the light of day again. Yes, it was definitely Mike's jacket. The seafoam green was sprayed with blood across the front of it. The body did not belong to my husband, though. This man had carrot-colored hair and a dusting of freckles across his ruddy cheeks. I couldn't see his eyes since his lids were shut, but I knew they were a striking amber color. A bullet hole had been placed strategically in the center of his forehead. There was dried blood in his hair and on his face.

  I pressed my face into Brian's jacket, not wanting to see any more. "Oh dear God, no."

  Brian stroked my hair gently. "Do you know him?"

  "Yes," I whispered. "It's Mike's employee, Trevor Parks."

  CHAPTER THREE

  Brian let the tarp gently fall back over Trevor's face. He crooked his finger at the man with the camera who must have been from forensics, indicating that he could come forward. Brian guided me toward the front of the store and sandwiched my hand between both of his. "I'm sorry you had to see that."

  Not knowing what else to say, I simply burst into tears again, and he held me against his chest while I sobbed. My emotions were all over the place. I was thankful it wasn't Mike—oh, so thankful—but I also felt guilty. Trevor had been a nice guy, hard worker, and Mike had considered him a good friend. It seemed wrong to experience relief as I'd stared down into his lifeless face. Plus, there was still one huge question left to be answered. I pushed back from Brian and stared up at him. "Where's Mike?"

  Brian glanced around the store's chaotic state. "You're positive he was here with Trevor?"

  Once again, fear gripped me in a tight hold. "Trevor was wearing Mike's jacket. Maybe Trevor got something on his—they were painting the inside of a house today. Mike was bringing him to our house for dinner, so yes, he was with him. Oh, God. Could the gunman have taken Mike as a hostage?"

  Adam came hurrying over to us. "I couldn't help overhearing, Sally. The gunmen got away. There were two of them, both wearing ski masks." He addressed Brian, "From what I've been told, one was about six feet tall, the other about Sally's height. No one here said anything about them taking a hostage, but"—he hesitated for a moment—"I just learned from Bruce that another man has already been rushed to Colwestern Hospital with a gunshot wound to the chest area."

  "No." The terror was back, rising in my chest, threatening to suffocate me. "It must have been Mike."

  Adam nodded soberly. "I'm sorry, Sally. The description that a witness gave me matches him perfectly. Doesn't he own a Dodge Ram? There's one out in the parking lot, and we haven't located the owner yet."

  A high-pitched wail rose from inside me as I rushed for the exit. Brian was quick to grab my arm.

  "Let go of me!" In desperation, I tried to shake his hand off.

  "Sally!" His tone was sharp, and he tightened his grip. "I'll take you. You're in no condition to drive yourself, especially in this weather." He looked back at Adam. "Is there enough coverage here?"

  Adam waved a hand at him in dismissal. "It's fine. Go ahead. We're expecting more units any minute."

  Brian ushered me through the crowd of spectators outside. A woman in a brown ski parka rushed up to Brian with a microphone. "Officer, we've heard there's a fatality inside. Can you give us any details?"

  Brian only shook his head at the woman and guided me to the passenger side of his cruiser. The cop directing traffic immediately waved him through. Snow was coming down heavier, and the road was barely visible.

  For a few minutes, we said nothing. I was lost in my own world of terror and prayer while Brian probably wished he'd never gotten mixed up with me in the first place. To my surprise, he reached across the seat to touch my hand. "Think positive, Sally. He's a tough guy."

  "Why did this happen?" The words broke from my lips in an outburst of anger, as if a light switch had suddenly clicked on in my brain. The questions wouldn't stop coming. Why Mike? He'd already been through so much in his life. Why was life so fragile? We never knew what tomorrow might bring. Had I told Mike I loved him on the phone earlier? I couldn't remember. "If I hadn't asked him to stop at the store, this wouldn't have happened to him—or Trevor."

  Brian screeched the car to a stop at the curb next to the emergency room and whirled around to face me. Even in the semidarkness, I spotted a muscle tick in his jaw. "Don't you dare blame yourself. This is not your fault. Understand?"

  I nodded mutely, a bit shocked by his tone. He came around to my side of the vehicle and helped me out of the car. "Ally's working in the emergency room tonight. Maybe we can use that to our advantage."

  Ally Tetrault was Brian's girlfriend. They'd started dating about a year and a half ago, shortly before Mike and I had gotten married. Ally and I had gone to high school together, and although we'd never run in the same circle of friends, I'd always liked and respected her. She'd expressed doubts about her relationship with Brian when they first became a couple, worried that he might still have feelings for me, but I'd been quick to assure her that I had no interest in Brian other than friendship.

  A few months back, when Brian had helped me solve the hit-and-run of my upstairs tenant, he'd surprised me with the confession that he was still carrying a torch for me. An uneasy thought flickered across my mind. If Ally saw us in the waiting room together, she might not understand. Or would she? We were all adults, and I couldn't spend any more time worrying about possible hurt feelings. My husband was my only concern right now.

  We hurried over to the receptionist desk, where an older woman with salt-and-pepper curly hair was hanging up the desk phone. She looked up and smiled knowingly at Brian. "You just missed her, Bri. She went in to assi
st Dr. Hanson with immediate surgery. Young guy with a gunshot wound—the result of an armed robbery. Looks pretty bad."

  My knees wobbled like Jell-O, and I reached out to Brian, who was quick to put an arm around me in support. He glared at the nurse. "Sonya, I need to know who that man is in there. He may be this woman's husband."

  Realizing her mistake, the woman's face turned the color of a forest fire. "Oh my goodness. I'm so sorry. Let me see if they have identification on him yet." She couldn't scurry through the adjoining door fast enough.

  "Do you want to sit down?" Brian asked me anxiously. "You look positively green, Sally."

  Weakly, I shook my head in reply. I couldn't sit down—couldn't do anything until I found out for sure if Mike was in the operating room. Deep in my heart, though, I already knew it had to be him. He'd been at the store with Trevor and hadn't attempted to contact me since I'd asked him to pick up the sprinkles. It was time to face the truth here.

  Sonya reappeared. She glanced over at the other people in the waiting room and then gestured for Brian and me to come behind the counter. She opened the door for us, and we stood in the small area next to the curtained-off rooms used for emergency room patients. "You're Mrs. Donovan?" she addressed me.

  With a sinking heart, I nodded. "The fact that she knew my name reaffirmed my fears. "Is he okay?"

  She gave me a small, sympathetic smile. "I don't have a lot of details, but your husband Michael is in surgery right now. It appears that he suffered a gunshot wound to the chest area."

  "I need to see him!" I tried to move toward the location of the operating room, but Brian grabbed me by the shoulder.

  Sonya shook her head at me. "I'm so sorry. No one's allowed in there during surgery. Please be assured that Dr. Benson is the best we have. Why don't you have a seat in the waiting room? As soon as your husband's out of surgery, the doctor will come and find you."

  My husband might be dying, and there was nothing I could do about it. His fate rested in the hands of a man I'd never even met or heard of before. "I can't just sit out there and wait!" I struggled to free myself from Brian's grip. "Don't you understand? I need to be with him!"

  "Sally!" Brian's hands tightened around my arms, and I was forced to meet his eyes. There was no anger in them—only pity for me. "There's nothing you can do for him right now." He stared at Sonya. "If Ally comes out, will you tell her to find me in the waiting room?"

  Sonya looked from me to Brian and bobbed her head up and down, doing her best imitation of a mechanical man. "Of course, but it's highly unlikely she'll be out until the surgery's over."

  "Thanks, Sonya." Brian placed a hand on the small of my back and guided me out the door, past the receptionist desk, and into the small waiting area. He gently lowered me into a metal chair.

  I slumped forward in the seat, my head in my hands. "Please tell me this is all a bad dream."

  Before Brian could respond, my phone buzzed from my jeans pocket. I drew it out and saw a text message from Gianna. Where are you? What's happened?

  Oh crap. My family had been coming for dinner. That was over an hour ago. They must be worried sick about me. I dismissed the message and saw that I had ten unanswered calls, five voice mail messages, and several other texts from both my mother and Gianna. "My family," I said dully to Brian. "I forgot to text them. They were coming to my house tonight to celebrate Mike's birthday."

  Brian's eyes widened in surprise. "Today's his birthday?"

  "Yes." That was when I remembered the fortune cookie message from earlier at the bakery. Today is a day you'll always remember. I thought I might be sick. "He has to be okay."

  "He will be," Brian assured me. "Mike's a fighter, Sally." There was a small pause before he continued. "And he loves you—more than anything. He'll make it."

  We sat in silence for several minutes until Brian spoke again. "Would you like me to call your parents for you?"

  Before I could respond, my phone buzzed, and Gianna's name popped up. "No, my sister's calling. Let me take this." I pressed Accept. "Gianna?"

  "Sal, what's going on?" she asked, the concern evident in her voice. "We've been waiting here for over an hour. Are you sick? Did something happen?"

  I cleared my throat, determined not to cry again. "I'm at the hospital. Mike's been shot."

  "What?" Her voice rose in alarm. "Is he okay? What happened? What hospital are you at?"

  "Colwestern. Brian's with me in the waiting room. Mike was shot in the chest during an armed robbery at the mini-mart."

  "Oh my God." Her voice trembled on the other end. "I just saw something about the robbery on Facebook. We're all on our way over. Stay strong, honey. We'll be there soon."

  With a sigh, I clicked off and shut my eyes. My mind was preoccupied with Mike and memories of the last time I'd seen him—this morning, before he'd left for work. We'd spent a generous amount of time in bed, and then he'd gone to take a shower and brought me coffee. I'd said I wanted to be a lady of leisure and stay in bed all day with him, and Mike had laughed. He'd held me in his strong arms one last time, and we'd kissed for several minutes before he left. "I love you, princess," he'd told me gently. "This is one very happy birthday boy."

  Tears rolled down my cheeks again before I could stop them, and Brian put a hand on my shoulder. "Can I get you anything? Some coffee? Water?"

  I shook my head. "I just want Mike."

  Another awkward silence, and I exhaled deeply. "I'm sorry about what I said before. This isn't your fault, and I had no right to imply that. Thank you for bringing me here. You're on duty, so I understand if you need to get back to the market."

  "Actually, I'm not on duty. I chose to respond when I heard the call. As soon as your family gets here, I'll run back over and see if there's anything I can do. But I don't want to leave you alone." His green eyes watched me intently "Sally, you were upset, and it's understandable. People say a lot of things in stressful situations that they don't mean. As a cop, I see it all the time."

  I twisted a tissue between my fingers. "What happened to the gunmen? Have they been caught?"

  Brian studied his phone screen. "Adam texted me. We've got an APB out on them, but there aren't any concrete descriptions circulating yet. The surveillance cameras didn't catch much. There's only one, located at the front of the store, which explains why they must have made everyone go to the back and why Trevor's body was—" He stopped abruptly. "When Mike is out of surgery and able to talk, I'd like to have a chat with him."

  His statement that Mike would be awake and talking soon gave me profound hope. "Of course."

  "What's really weird is that these guys only made off with about fifty dollars," Brian mused as he typed out a text.

  I turned to stare at him. "That's all?"

  He nodded. "Adam talked to the cashier, who confirmed it. He said the gunmen didn't even seem concerned about the money. Plus, there's a sign displayed in the front window that says there's less than one hundred dollars after six o'clock at night."

  "Okay, so what you're actually telling me is that two guys killed a man and wounded another one—my husband, who might be in there fighting for his life—over a crappy fifty dollars?" I was incensed with rage. This made no sense.

  Brian gave me a grim look. "It's hard to believe, I know. But there are people out there who kill when there's even less money involved. You, of all people, should know this, Sally."

  That was true enough. "Trevor—he has a girlfriend named Tina. They live in an apartment complex on the outskirts of Colwestern. He's got an ex-wife too, but I don't know where she lives."

  "We'll find them." His hand closed over mine, and he massaged the palm of it with his thumb. I knew he was trying to be comforting, but the gesture seemed too familiar, and I stiffened slightly. Brian must have noted my reaction because he quickly removed his hand and picked up his phone again.

  The clock in the waiting room said eight thirty. Two hours ago, I had been happily planning a birthday dinner for my husband
. Now I couldn't even remember if I'd turned the oven off, and Mike might be critically injured—or worse.

  "Interesting," Brian mused.

  "What?" I asked.

  He tapped out another quick text. "Adam told me something else that seems kind of strange. The cashier said that the gunman who shot Trevor seemed especially interested in him from the start. In fact, they charged into the store right after Mike and Trevor came inside. She said that the shooting almost felt…well, personal to her."

  I rubbed my arms for sudden warmth. "Are you saying that Trevor and Mike could have been shot deliberately?"

  Brian looked at me soberly. "At this point, and considering that there was only fifty dollars taken, we're certainly not ruling it out."

  What could I possibly say to that? I was sorry about Trevor—very sorry. He'd been an easygoing guy and a hard worker. He hadn't deserved to die. But all I could think about was my husband now. I slumped forward in my chair.

  Brian put his arm around my shoulders. "It's okay, Sally. I promise you, everything will be all right."

  Someone cleared their throat, and we both looked up. Brian's girlfriend, Ally, was standing there in a short, dark blue winter coat, her pink scrubs sticking out underneath the hem. From the look on her face, all hell was about to break loose.

  Brian removed his arm from my shoulders, and we both rose to our feet. "Mike—how is he? You were in there with him, right?" I asked her nervously.

  Ally glared at Brian. Then her gaze met mine, and she spoke gently. "He's still in surgery, Sal. I can't say much about his condition, but he's stable, and I believe the doctor is almost done. I—uh, started to sneeze while I was in there, so of course the doctor ordered me out immediately. Another nurse has already taken my place. I can't be in surgery if there's any chance I'm getting sick. Personally, I think it's only allergies, but you don't argue with Dr. Benson."

  Brian slid a sideways glance at me. "Sally, I hate to leave you alone, but I'm going to take Ally home. Then I'll go back and—"