Chapter Twenty Four
May 26, 6:18 PM
I turned Count Amethyst and asked him to open up as he crossed my PVC-pipe dressage arena. On the diagonal, he escalated to a huge floating trot, and I whooped silently for joy. But then suddenly Keith Tolliver, the man with no lower legs was in the ring as well. He looked huge, frightening, his horse was trotting toward me–he grinned his handsome Superman’s grin as he flashed past me…but this was a dressage competition, unless it was a
pas de deux,
he must have come into the ring illegally–I kept riding, but I had faltered, the judge would catch it-–mark me down–my head was aching, someone was trying to lure me out of the ring, saying my name over and over–
“Bryn. Bryn.”
My eyes opened. Faint smell of starch. White mounds on either side of my head. A pillow. The dressage competition vanished, leaving me feeling reluctant to wake up–I wanted to finish my ride, beat that Tolliver guy–Arthur was leaning over me, calling my name.
“Arthur!” I sat up. Wished I hadn’t. The room blurred, my head ached as if it was on Arthur’s anvil and he was hammering on it.
He smiled at me. “You’ve gone and gotten yourself another concussion. You aren’t supposed to be asleep.”
“Can you crank this bed up somehow?” He found the button on the side of the bed and a motor hummed and slowly I rose. Arthur patted one of my hands. “Okay?” he asked.
“I’d be fine if you just stop hammering at my temples.”
“I’m not hammering–”
“I know. It just feels like it.”
I looked around. For sure, I was in a hospital and panic came over me. I flung the covers back. “Darn it, Arthur, I’ve gotta get out of here!”
He made pushing motions with his hands. “No. You need to get checked out again by the doctor. There’s tests–”
“
Tests!?
No! You don’t understand! I can’t afford this! I’m self-employed. No health insurance.” He stopped trying to stop me. I eased my legs over the side of the bed. I was in one of those string-tied-at-the-back hospital nighties. I pulled the covers over my bare thighs.
“Before you get up,” said Arthur, “there’s one thing.”
“What?”
He looked pale. “Your dog, Lulu.” The barking of a dog, the sound of a shot. Omigod.
They’d shot my dog!
“Did they hit her?” Tears filled my eyes.
Arthur’s hand was out again. “Yes. But, she’s alive. In surgery.” For a disoriented moment I thought she was in surgery here, but realized that wasn’t possible.
“Where?” I asked.
“I remembered that her vet is Dr. Stoddard. She’s at his place. She got a bullet in the shoulder. They’re getting it out.”
Shoulders were close to hearts. “Will she live?”
“I sure hope so, Bryn.”
A figure appeared behind Arthur and Tuan came into the room. “Here you are,” he said.
“Hi, Tuan. They get those guys?”
He smiled, “Yep. Both of them. How are you?”
“If someone would just quit banging on my skull I’d be perfect. Of course, I’d be even better if I knew my dog was going to live.”
“She saved your life, Bryn. The New Orleans police got there seconds after she was shot which helps her chances for recovery. I sure hope she makes it.”
“She saved my life, twice, I think. “
I batted my eyes hard against tears that had returned. I needed to be at that vet’s praying hard for my dog’s life. I paused right then, closed my eyes and thought,
Please God, let Lulu make it, please. Thank you for your help.
I opened my eyes. Both men stood there looking concerned. On top of the headache I was filled with anxious adrenaline.
“This is nice chatting with y’all, gentlemen, but I have to get the hell out of this joint, right now.”
Arthur said, “Tuan, talk to her.”
“Why can’t you relax for a while, Bryn? Let them take care of you?”
“Tuan. No health insurance. I can’t afford this.”
“Oh,” he said.
“It’s only a concussion, right? I can sit under a bag of frozen veggies just fine at home. And for free.” I looked around at the nice hospital room, just me in it, walls painted a soothing lavender, saw dollar bills rushing like a herd of bats out the window.
“Actually, I’m surprised they let me in.”
“You had a police escort. That might have helped.”
“Oh. Thank you, Tuan.” I smiled at the men. It moved skin along the sides of my face and made the hammering escalate. “Ooooh,” I said. And my hands went up to my temples. “Damn!”
“Uh, Bryn? They are not one hundred percent sure if it just is a concussion. They X-rayed you to see if there’s any kind of skull fracture.” Arthur had spoken.
Skull
fracture! No–that couldn’t be what the hammering was. I couldn’t afford a skull fracture. I scowled.
“How the hell do I get a nurse around here?”
“Grouchy, isn’t she,” said Tuan to Arthur. Arthur nodded solemn agreement.
I whined on. “And Arthur, when you woke me I was having a wonderful dream about competing in a dressage class–” Boy was I cranky! Blaming him for messing up a dream! I also remembered the dream was not wonderful, it was all screwed up by Superman on his horse, invading my ring time. As I was thinking all this, I scrabbled around till I found a button thingy attached to a cable. I pressed a red button.
“I’m calling for a nurse,” I told the men, “I want the status of my case.”
While we waited, Arthur picked up the phone on a table beside my bed. He dialed. “Hi. This is Arthur Svendquist. I brought in Bryn Wiley’s poodle. She’s in surgery?”
He nodded. I watched him, rigid with fear. Tears flooded my eyes again and this time they over-flowed the banks and ran in heavy rivulets down my face. I didn’t care. Arthur was nodding and nodding. I couldn’t stand it. I grabbed the receiver from him. Just that motion caused the room to blur and then ooze back to clarity.
“Excuse me? Hi–this is Bryn Wiley–it’s my dog–”
A man’s voice on the line. “–asleep, Arthur–Oh! Bryn. Hello there.” It was Dr. Stoddard.
“How is she, Doctor?”
“She’s out of surgery. The bullet grazed her shoulder, took off some flesh and some muscle. We cleaned her up and stitched her up. But she lost a lot of blood. I’d like to keep her overnight.”
“Keep her as long as you need to.” I did have health insurance for my dog and my horse. Much more affordable than human insurance. Would Lulu be okay? My brave, beautiful girl! The tears were still making tracks down my face. I hung up the phone. “She’s needs to stay in the hospital for a while. But she’s alive. Arthur, thank you. Thank you for getting her to Dr. Stoddard!”
Arthur said, “Thank Tuan–he got her across the lake, called me, and I just took over from there. He stayed with you, followed the ambulance here.”
For a woman alone, I wasn’t all that alone.
“Thanks to both of you, how can I ever–”
A nurse walked in. He was short and muscular and wore navy blue scrubs. “Ms. Wiley, you’re sitting up!”
“Hi. You’re a nurse, right?”
“Good guess.” He grinned at me. “And I have good news. No skull fracture. Just a concussion. But the doctor would like you to spend the night for observation.”
“Nope. If you will shoo these guys out of here I will get dressed and maybe one of them can get me home–gosh! Tuan! Where’s the Tempo?”
“Back in New Orleans.”
Arthur spoke. “I have some business there tomorrow. If you’re well enough I can drive you over and drop you at your car.”
“Okay, thanks. Can you drive me home now?”
“I could manage. If they’ll let you–”
“Thanks, and they can’t stop me. So please go away. For a minute. Let me get dressed.”
The nurse said, “Ms. Wiley, you need to stay overnight–”
“Are you going to pay my bill?”
“Why no–”
“Then please leave the room and let me get dressed. Please get whatever papers are needed for me to check out.”
He held my eye for an instant, saw my determination, then swung around and left the room. Arthur and Tuan trailed after him. Gingerly, I lowered my bare feet to the cool floor. Holding onto everything I could lay a hand on, I slowly pulled my clothes on.
Chapter Twenty Five
May 27, 7:10 A.M.
I was tottering out to the barn to feed Amethyst the next morning when the phone rang.
Too early to talk to people. I hadn’t had my coffee or my
Tao
. And I definitely needed more time under a bag of frozen veggies. I still abruptly lost focus then suddenly regained it. So, I ignored the ringing. I was lifting hay into Am’s feeder when I heard a car crunch into my front yard. I dusted my hands. Am had a full bucket of fresh water and his nose was deep in his ration of sweet feed. He was fine for hours. Moving as carefully as if I had a five-gallon water jug on my head I left the stable and walked around to the front yard. Simon Asprey was getting out of his gray Mazda. He had a cell phone in one hand and a briefcase in the other. Not seeing me come toward him from the rear, he headed to my front door.
“Simon!” I called. He stopped, saw me, changed direction. His feet disturbed the gravel.
“Good morning, Bryn. Tried to call you on the cell–guess you were riding?”
“Nope. Feeding. What brings you out to the country this early?” Moving slowly, I entered the house, Simon behind me. I felt some nervousness. I’d tampered with a fair amount of evidence and I’d given that tip to Tuan about the papers I’d rescued from Anton Delon’s shredder. There might be some questions as to what a copy of Delon’s check stubs were doing in Marcie’s office. Also, I felt at risk that I might just fall over.
“How’s about a coffee?” I asked him. I had made some even though caffeine was not on my ‘have’ list. He thanked me, said yes, he’d like a cup. I poured out some dark chicory brew, set two mugs on a tray, put out my cream and sugar set, added some 2% milk to the creamer, tossed some Sweet’n’Lows onto the tray, then realized I might drop the entire ensemble. Simon had gone into my living room. I called to him, grinned sheepishly and asked, “Could you carry this in for me? I’m getting over a concussion.”
“Sure. And yes, I heard, Bryn. How are you? Seems like you’re moving slow.”
“Yep. Still a bit goofy from it. And if you don’t mind I think I’ll put something cool on my head. Helps.” He went into the living room with the tray and I opened the freezer and extracted a bag of frozen French fries, plopped them on my head, walked into the living room and sank into the loveseat. I felt a little annoyed when Simon sat down beside me. There was a perfectly comfortable rocking chair available, opposite me. As unobtrusively as possible, I scrunched away from him.
The tray was on the glass coffee table. He helped himself to the milk and a Sweet’n’Low and I did the same.
“So,” I asked brightly, “what’s in the briefcase?”
“Aah. Something I think you might find very interesting. But first, a favor.”
I felt a twinge of fear, but all I said was, “Of course.”
“I want you to tell me if you’ve had any of those…impressions…since finding Marcie’s body.”
He wanted to know if I’d had a woo-woo? Woo-woo was Sheriff MacWain’s scornful term for the One Time I had an ESP experience on the first case I ever worked. A little Covetown girl had gone missing. After days of the populace searching, I suddenly had an awful picture of a small body tangled in weeds at the edge of a bayou. I called the sheriff’s office and passed this on. They searched bayous and found her body. This had a two-fold effect: I’d gotten a reputation as a psychic with the law and I’d gotten hooked on helping out on murder cases.
“Simon. You’re kidding.”
They must be desperate.
“No. I am not.”
They are desperate.
“You’ll just make fun of me. Go back and tell all the guys Bryn’s latest psycho episode.”
“No. Scout’s honor. I wouldn’t treat you like that, Bryn.”
Uh-oh.
My nervousness increased. “Okay. In that case, yes, I’ve had some in fact.”
I told him about my deep unease in Marcie’s kitchen, and my further impression of the horseshoe nailed to the stick and someone, I couldn’t tell who, pile driving it down into darkness. I didn’t mention Cade Pritchard ramming into the horse.
Then he backed the car up….drove through the fence to the pool where his wife lay unconscious from drugs dissolved in alcohol….and….
“I knew it.” Simon was speaking. “So we’re looking for a stick with a horseshoe nailed on one end.” He leaned back and his thigh almost touched my knee. I moved my knee a half an inch away.
I felt mild delight that he seemed to be taking me seriously, because sitting under a bag of French fries it’s tough to look serious about anything. And with no makeup on either. But Simon seemed not to notice how awful I must look. His knee kept edging over.
Simon Asprey!
Not Simon having a crush on me! Pale, clammy Simon.
Oh, no!
“I could be wrong,” I said. “Did you check Marcie’s kitchen floor for blood stains, Simon?”
“No. But sure will now. Honestly, Bryn, we don’t have much to go on. So far, we have isolated eighteen different fingerprints. Eleven of them from people who had a legitimate reason for being in the barn and the house. Still working on the identity of the remaining seven. No murder weapon if we eliminate the horse himself. A few folks with motives. Your–”
“Hallucinations?”
“Your–visions. I prefer that word, and as far as I am concerned, the horse absolutely didn’t do it.”
“The judge thought so at the inquest.”
“I know, but don’t think some people still want to wiggle things around so he’s the guilty party. Saves a lot of time and money, you know. No more fussing around looking for some elusive killer. Execute the horse, people feel satisfied.” I was surprised at Simon’s directness.
I adjusted the French fries and said, “Until this by-now very cocky killer gets in another jam and uses murder as his solution. Then we’ll all be so sorry–but a gorgeous and valuable breeding animal will be lost to us. He’s a wonderful sire. I hate the thought of losing those genes forever. Besides. He’s innocent!”