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I have never stayed in the Myerton Inn myself, having always been in the Rectory, either as a guest or as Saint Clare’s rector. In fact, the last time I was inside was when I accompanied Helen to a crime scene—our first one.
Of course, things were much different then, and I really didn’t notice what the room was like.
Probably because of the dead body on the floor.
It’s actually nicer than I thought it would be. Apparently, someone intervened on our behalf—I have no idea who—and the manager goes out of his way to say that he’s given us a room overlooking the retention pond instead of the parking lot.
Helen, for her part, is thrilled that our stay includes an all-you-can-eat breakfast buffet.
As soon as we get to the room, we throw our bags on the floor and jump into bed.
Now, before you read too much into this, it would be more correct to say we fall into bed, fully clothed. We intended to discuss the rest of the week, but as soon as she snuggles up against me, her warm cheek under mine, I lose all interest in planning and we’re soon both asleep.
We wake up about 4:00 p.m. and slowly begin to unpack.
“How long did Anna say we’d be here?” Helen asks, hanging up the black velvet dinner dress she had worn when we were invited to the Captain’s table.
“About a week,” I reply. “She insists that the heat would have been back on by the time we got back.”
“I don’t really know how she thinks she could control that,” Helen grumbles, closing one of the drawers with a resounding bang, causing me to jump.
“Helen,” I say, shaking my head. “I don’t like it anymore than you do, but it is what it is.”
“I know, and I’m sorry,” she says with her hands on her hips. “It’s just—I’ve been waiting so long to move into the Rectory. I’ve told you, my heart already lives there.”
I smile and take her in my arms. “I know, darling. But it’s only a few more days. We just need to make the best of it.”
She puts her arms around my neck and gives me a kiss. “You’re right,” she sighs. “I think I just exhausted all my stores of patience over the past six months.”
“Hey, that I can understand,” I grin. “But what we really need to be thinking about now is where to go for dinner. There’s no room service here, anymore than there’s a way to order champagne in the middle of the night.”
“That’s probably for the best,” she admits, “given that we have obviously lost all sense of self-control.”
I pull her close and whisper quietly in her ear, “Oh, I do hope so.”
She purrs softly. “We’ll see. But in the meantime, can you try to figure something out? I need to call Martin and see when I can talk to him.”
She picks up her phone as I try to think what I’m in the mood for. One of the things about a cruise is there’s always food somewhere, in great variety and seemingly limitless quantities. Myerton has some good restaurants, but I’m hard-pressed to decide between—
“Oh, you don’t need to do that,” Helen says into her phone. After a pause, she says, “Well, if you’re sure. Let me ask Tom.”
“Ask Tom what?” I say.
Helen says, “Martin wants to know if we want to come eat with them. Apparently, Aunt Louise is cooking up a big Polish dinner and there’s plenty.”
“That’s fine with me,” I say.
“Tom says that’s great,” Helen says. “What time? . . . Great, we’ll see you then.” Hanging up, she says, “Martin says dinner’s at six.”
“Great,” I say. “We’ll have plenty of time for a shower.”
Walking to the bathroom, I hear Helen say, “Want some company?”
I turn and give her a sly smile. “I did say we, didn’t I?”
***
We’re in the dining room of the mansion—there’s really no other word for it—of Dr. Martin Maycord, Chief of Trauma Surgery at Myerton General Hospital, being quizzed on the particulars of our honeymoon.
“Did you see dolphins?”
Helen looks up from her plate of kielbasa, cabbage, and pierogies and smiles at Martin’s niece Lucy, the middle child of the three. “Oh, yes,” she says. “When the ship pulled out of the harbor, the dolphins followed us for a long time.”
“Really?” Therese, the youngest, squeals.
“Really,” Helen nods. “They were jumping out of the water, racing to keep up with us. They looked like they were having the time of their lives!”
Martin’s nieces, along with a few of the younger siblings of his fiancée, Mae Trent, ‘oh’ and ‘ah’ with delight.
Mae says, “I’ve heard so many things about the market in Nassau. What was it like?”
Helen and I glance at each other across the table. She’s a light crimson as she says, “Well, to be honest, we didn’t get off the ship in Nassau.”
“Why was that, Mrs. Greer?” Sophie, Martin’s oldest niece, asks.
Mae and Martin’s Aunt Louise shake their heads quickly at the child, but Helen says cheerfully, “Well, you see, Sophie—there—there was just always so much to do. You know, classes in towel-folding and cooking and that kind of thing.”
Mae nods and says, “Well, does everyone have room for dessert?”
Her attempt to change the subject proves futile. Martin looks at me and, with a twinkle in his eye, asks, “And how were the classes?”
“Oh, great!” I say a little too enthusiastically. “We really learned a lot.”
Helen coughs, and I realize I’ve failed to make things better. I feel my ears getting hot as Martin says, “Oh, I’m sure you did. But Tom, you know that real mastery of any skill depends on frequent and focused practice. I’m sure that Helen—Mae, stop kicking me!”
At this point, Louise stands and says, “Marty, why don’t you show Father Tom and Helen into the sitting room. The girls and I will clear, and I’ll bring dessert.”
Martin opens his mouth, but Mae jumps up. “Great idea. Marty, will you show the way?”
“I think you bruised my shin,” he grumbles.
Mae leans over and whispers something in his ear, causing the surgeon to stand up suddenly. “Excellent idea, my love. Tom, Helen, this way, please?”
We follow Martin and Mae into a pleasant little sitting room just off the dining room.
“Oh, I love the way this is decorated, Martin,” Helen says.
“Well, I’m about to have some work done on it,” Martin says.
“Oh?” I say.
“Yes, Tom,” Mae says with a smile. “Marty’s going to turn this into an office for me.”
“So, you’re going to run your therapy practice out of here?”
Mae nods. “I cleared it with the group I’m a part of. That’s the wonderful thing about the new way of doing things. More people are working from home, so people will think nothing of coming here to see me. Marty’s going to have a builder come in and put in a separate entrance, along with a waiting room and bathroom for my patients.”
“It sounds wonderful,” I say as I watch the two of them, her talking and him just basking in their shared dream.
Helen asks, “Are you going to keep working at the hospital?”
“Well, at least until I’m pregnant,” Mae says. “Then, Marty and I agree they’ll just have to find another clinical social worker.”
“You’ll be hard to replace, Mae,” I say.
“I agree,” Martin says. “I’ve told Mae that she doesn’t have to quit when we have children, that we can afford a nanny—”
“And I’ve told you, Marty,” Mae says, “that no one is going to take care of our children for us. I’ve wanted to be a mother all my life, and I’m not going to turn that responsibility over to someone else.”
“Now, Mae,” Martin says with a strained smile, “that’s not what I’m proposing—”
“—One of my older sisters or Sophie can keep an eye on the younger children while I see patients—”
“—I just think you’re underestimating how much work—”
Helen looks at Martin and says, “Martin, I hate to bring up work, but I understand you worked on Deacon Derek.”
That stops Martin and Mae’s conversation cold, and I breathe an inward sigh of relief.
Another topic to cover in our pre-marital counseling sessions, I guess.
“Yes, Helen,” Martin says. “I was on call that night.”
“What can you tell me about his injuries?”
Mae takes Martin’s hand as he sighs and shakes his head. “He got to the hospital about fifteen minutes before I did. They called me as soon as the ambulance arrived on scene. He had been stabbed three times by what was most likely a very sharp, possibly even new knife.”
“Why do you say new?”
“It's just a hunch. The cuts were very clean, almost like they’d been made with a scalpel, though they were too wide for that. Very few store bought knives remain that sharp for long. Also, there was no debris in the cuts, at least none that I saw. Most knives, even clean ones, leave something somewhere.” He looks at me. “I have recent experience with knife wounds, you know.”
I nod. Not only did he save Helen’s life after she was shot weeks after our engagement, he sewed me up after I was stabbed in the back and he saved Mae’s life after she was stabbed in the abdomen.
“How deep were the cuts?” Helen asks.
He looks at Mae, who gives him a slow nod of support. “See, Helen, that’s the thing,” he says. “The cuts weren’t that deep. They were bad, yes, but not much worse than Tom’s. His kidney and his spleen were both lacerated and he had lost a lot of blood, but we were replacing that. The worst wound was to his lung, but again, we had him intubated and I should have been able to repair it. He just kept crashing, almost like he just didn’t want to live. Like he was trying to die.”
Martin hangs his head and takes more than a sip of his brandy as Mae pats his hand. “Martin,” I say quietly, “I can’t imagine how hard it is for you to lose a patient. But you have to know—”
“—No, Tom, it's not that. I don’t feel guilty or think I made a mistake. He really did not want to live. I know that makes no sense to someone who hasn’t seen it, but there have been several studies that have borne it out. For some reason, Deacon Derek didn’t put up a fight. He had no interest in even trying to survive.”
We all sit with this for a minute until Helen asks, “Did he say anything to you?”
“He wanted a priest, and I assured him Father Wayne was on his way. Then he asked me to pray and I did. I asked him if he wanted me to ask the church to pray and he nodded his head. Then he lost consciousness for the last time.”
“Martin,” Helen says firmly, “I hope you know that I will work just as hard to find his killer as you did to save his life. One possibility is that it was a mugging gone bad. Have you seen anyone else with similar injuries come through the E.R. lately?”
Martin shakes his head. “No, Helen. You know as well as I do, the thieves in Myerton don’t hurt people. They snatch purses and run but they don’t stab old men. If I saw this in Baltimore, I’d say mugging. Here? No, I don’t think so.”
We sit with this observation for a few moments before I realize how wrung out both Martin and Helen are by this conversation. Standing, I say, “Martin, Mae, thank you for a lovely evening. Helen, darling, if you want to stay, you’ll have to find your own way back to the hotel, because I am worn out.”
Helen gives me a sly smile and says, “Hardly the best proposition I’ve gotten all week.”
Martin nearly falls to the floor laughing as I drag my giggling bride out the door to the car.