CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

 

 

CJ Bluestone sat at my kitchen table, rotating a cup of hot tea. “Carlee’s surgery went well.”

“Thank goodness.”

“They’re keeping her until tomorrow.” He looked deeply into the tan liquid. “I have an important delivery today, and I am unable to stay with her.” He looked up. “Could you stop by and see her?”

“Of course.”

He exhaled and sat back. “I didn’t think parenting would be so difficult.”

Dad took that moment to glide into the kitchen. He snorted. “Little kids, little problems. Big kids …” He caught my stink eye and poured himself a cup a coffee. “What do you have going on today, Doc?”

“Halvorson Farms has a cow ready to deliver but she had complications last time, so my presence has been requested. They’ve scheduled a hemilaminectomy for Buster, and Sheba is expected to whelp her goldens in the next twenty-four to forty-eight hours.”

“We’d love to visit Carlee, wouldn’t we Dad?”

“Anything you say, darlin’.”

CJ promised to keep in touch and get our take on Carlee’s condition.

Ida loaded a box of gingerbread cookies, snickerdoodles, million-dollar cheesecake bars, peanut butter cups, divinity, and fudge to make our visit to the children’s ward successful and I agreed. She also sent a box of holiday reading geared for kids of all ages.

“They have such a shortage of books. Please leave them with Rachel. She’ll know what to do. And tell her, if all goes well, I’ll be by for caroling soon.”

She reached for the door and Dad said, “Ronnie hasn’t stopped by again, has he?”

“No,” she said. “But they haven’t arrested anyone yet.”

The door closed behind her.

I grabbed the goodies and Dad tilted his head as we walked into the cold. “Who did it? And don’t give me that look. I’ve seen the wheels turning. Talk to me.”

“I’m just thinking out loud. McCall took advantage of several people. Yvonne Nygren almost had a small mutiny on her hands when the blank canvas was unveiled at the gala. Fortunately, Anita Jones finessed a plausible explanation for the switch and made an acceptable substitution—one of her own pieces—and it’s obvious to Ida Anita’s the better artist. McCall’s wife, Paula, almost missed out on the fruits of his success, which also might have happened to Anita.” I pulled into the parking garage. “Daniella Jericho is everywhere and she’s made a friend of Jordan Quintz, Miss Grace’s long lost relative.”

“They all attended the gala.”

“Jordan too?” We entered the hospital.

“He sat with Grace, Pete, and Susie,” Dad said as he pushed the button on the elevator. “You just weren’t focused.”

The aroma alone gave me a sugar high and I’m certain if I’d have been by myself, I’d have been mobbed by the other visitors trapped in the elevator smothered in chocolate, peanut butter, and vanilla fumes. Ida’s skill in the kitchen was unsurpassed. Fortunately, Dad never left my side.

A tan puppy slid to a stop in front of the elevator doors, clutching an orange stuffed toy in his mouth. He dropped it and sat, panting. Dad picked him up and set him in Ricky’s open arms.

“Thanks,” the little boy said with a smile like a crescent moon. “I’m Ricky and this is Tucker.”

“Hi, Ricky. I’m Harry.” He tilted his head toward me. “And this is—”

“Hi, Katie.” As if it was a big secret he whispered to Dad behind his cupped hand. “We’ve met.” He screwed up his face, searching his memory. “You came caroling too?”

Dad nodded.

Ricky had more color in his cheeks and clearer, brighter eyes.

“Hi, Ricky. Would you like a Christmas cookie?”

He looked over his shoulder at Anita. “Can I?” She nodded, smiling at his enthusiasm. “Thanks,” he said.

I waved two fingers at Anita. She returned the greeting.

He grabbed the largest gingerbread cookie, but before he could take a bite, Tucker jumped onto his lap. Ricky held him at bay. He squirmed in the chair and took a treat from the nylon bag clipped to his armrest. Tucker snatched it and trotted over to a well-worn patch of carpet before nibbling.

“Did you come to sing again?”

“Nope. We came for a visit. Do you know Carlee?”

“I signed Carlee’s cast … twice. Once with a snowflake and once with an eighth note. We both take piano lessons. And she knows some magic tricks,” said Ricky. “C’mon. I’ll show you where she is.”

He wheeled his chair to the last room down the hall, farthest from the elevator, and knocked.

“Who is it?” sang a voice from within.

“Guess,” said Ricky.

“Go away,” she said. Ricky’s contagious giggle snagged Dad and me and then I heard the chortling from behind the door.

“I come with snacks,” he sang.

“Is it George?”

“Nope.”

“Is it …”

They exchanged a string of meaningless names until the little boy whined, “It’s me, Ricky.”

“Come in, Master Ricky.”

Carlee beamed from the bed. “My dad said he was busy today, so I was prepared to hang out with my little buds, but I thank you most sincerely for visiting. Galen left about fifteen minutes ago.” Her eyebrows raised and she pointed to a ceramic vase filled with beautiful pink flowers. “And Lorelei said she’d try to visit too.”

“We brought treats to share.”

Fully cognizant of the Wilk culinary aptitude, the fear on her face only disappeared when I assured her the treats were made by Ida. She grabbed a bar and so did Ricky.

“I guess I’ll let you go,” he said around a mouthful of crumbs, and he rolled out the door.

“What a sweetie.” Thoughtful, her eyes misted. “He’s so brave. His mom said he might have to stay over Christmas. She brings Tucker to visit every day.”

I silently counted my infinite blessings.

“What else do you have?” Carlee tilted her head.

Dad tipped the grocery bag and the top few books slid out and onto Carlee’s bed.

“Books! Let me see.” She pawed through the bag. “I can’t wait. My little buds will love these—A Visit from St. Nicholas, How the Grinch Stole Christmas, The Christmas Pig, The Polar Express, and Ricky will think this one is a hoot.” She held up Santa’s Underwear.

Dad snagged it. “Let me see that one.”

Carlee rooted around for the last book, crinkling the bag, and gently extracted a novel. She hugged it and hummed. “I’ve always wanted to read the real story. I’ve seen all the movie adaptations.” She turned the book for me to read the cover.

“That’s one of my favorites too. And I live with a Scrooge,” I said, gauging whether Dad was listening.

He tore his eyes away from the amusing words on the page and worked a Dickensian scowl onto his face. “Very funny.”

“I think you’ll love A Christmas Carol.”

Ricky quickly rolled into the room but not before sneaking a glance over his shoulder. “She’s back,” he hissed.

Carlee threw herself onto the pillows and pulled the white bedclothes up to her shoulders. “Shut the door, please,” she said urgently.

Ricky wheeled himself farther into the room and I closed the door with a whisper.

Dad removed his glasses and stared at Carlee. “What’s going on?”

Ricky couldn’t contain himself. “The black fur ball keeps coming back and asking to see Carlee. I almost blew it the first time, but I heard Carlee’s dad tell her some of the same things my mom tells me, and it reminded me not to talk to strangers. And let me tell you. No one is stranger than that lady.”

“Who is she? What does she want?”

“I dunno, but Nurse Rachel moved Carlee in here after the first time she showed up and swore me to secrecy.” He crossed his heart and held up three fingers.

Dad and I exchanged looks. Ricky understood the look. “You aren’t a stranger, Katie. Can I show them, Carlee? Can I?”

Carlee pulled the covers over her head, and we heard a muffled, “Okay.”

Ricky opened the door and positioned his wheelchair so he could stick his head out far enough to see down the hall. Dad grabbed onto the doorframe and peered over Ricky’s head, and not to be outdone, I leaned over Dad. We had a clear view all the way to the nurse’s station. Rachel stood with her arms crossed over her chest listening to a blustery tirade by a short woman in a black fur coat.

Daniella Jericho.

A throat cleared behind us and toppled our spying totem pole.