Chapter 27

CHET HAD ME pinned beneath him. My face was pressed into the junction of his neck and shoulders, and his arms were wrapped protectively around my head. We lay still—except for my terrified trembling—for the longest minute of my life. This was the second time somebody had tried to kill me, and my heart was pounding so hard I was sure Chet could feel it.

“What just happened?” A stupid question, but it proved my voice still worked.

“Somebody shot at us,” he whispered. “Are you all right?”

“I think so. Are you?”

“Yes.”

Keeping below the level of the shattered window, he raised his torso just enough to support his upper body with his elbows. That took some of his weight off me and I was able to breathe more easily. With his face only a few inches above mine, he looked down at me and joked, “I don’t usually do this on the first date.”

I managed to smile back at him. “I never do this on the first date. That glass is too expensive to replace.” Humor is my coping mechanism; I stopped shaking.

“I’m sure whoever did it is gone, but let’s not take any chances. Can you inch across the floor with me until we get away from the window?”

“I’ve crawled for a mile through the African bush after a wounded Cape buffalo; I think I can make it fifteen feet across my living room.”

“Tough girl.” He gave me a quick peck with his lips on the tip of my nose and then rolled off of me. With Chet in the lead, we started slithering on our bellies toward safety.

“Ouch,” he said. “Watch out for the broken glass.” A shard from the vase had cut his hand. He was bleeding.

We made it to the archway between the living room and the den and stood up just as the phone rang. It was near where I was standing, on the end of the library table, well away from the windows. I picked it up. “Hello?”

“Mrs. Tyler—it’s Frank, down on the desk. Somebody shot at your window.”

“I know. I was about to call the police.”

“I did already. Are you okay?”

“Yes. Thank you, Frank.”

“I was outside on my break, having a smoke. I heard the shot. Jeez. The sniper was across the street, in the park.”

Sniper? Before I could ask him anything else, we heard the wail of a police siren.

“Here come the cops,” Frank said.

“Good. You’ll send them up?”

“Right away.”

I put the phone back on its stand and turned to see Chet examining the wall opposite my smashed living room window.

“What are you doing?”

He indicated a place on the wall that was about level with his shoulder. He tapped it lightly with the knuckle of his left index finger. “The bullet lodged here,” he said. “The cops will be able to dig it out. If it isn’t too damaged, they may be able to make a match.”

“I wonder if it’ll be from the same weapon as—”

I stopped just in time. I wasn’t supposed to say anything about the bullet in Damon’s head. So far, the police had managed to keep that piece of information out of the press reports.

“The same as what?”

The ringing of the doorbell saved me. I opened the door and admitted two uniformed officers. “Thank you for coming so quickly,” I said. “I’m Morgan Tyler. This is Dr. Thompson.”

“I’m Officer Williams. This is Officer Riley.”

Officer Williams had very pale skin, blond hair and the bushiest eyebrows I had ever seen. Officer Riley, in spite of his Irish name, was African-American. They were both young and boyishly good-looking. In their immaculate uniforms they looked more like actors we might cast as police officers rather than the real thing.

“Nobody we know has been in this building since John Lennon was killed,” said Officer Williams. “I wondered what it looked like inside.”

“They say these exterior walls are three feet thick,” said Officer Riley.

We led Officers Williams and Riley into the living room. They surveyed the destroyed window. Officer Williams turned to look at the opposite wall and Chet pointed out the spot where the bullet was lodged. Officer Riley asked, “Do you two have any enemies?”

“I don’t live here,” Chet said.

“What about you, Miss Taylor?”

“It’s ‘Tyler.’ ”

“Tyler. You maybe got some ‘ex’ who’s not a good sport about being dumped, Miss Tyler?”

“My life isn’t that exciting.”

“You mean it didn’t used to be,” Chet said.

At that moment the familiar figures of Detectives Phoenix and Flynn pushed through the partially open front door. Phoenix quickly looked me over, scanning my face and body for visible signs of damage.

“Are you all right?”

“Just a little shaken up,” I said. “What are you doing here?”

Detective Flynn answered. “We’re supposed to be notified when something happens to one of the—” Flynn was about to use the word “suspects,” but he made a quick course correction and finished with “—uh, when something happens involving the people in the Radford case.”

Phoenix was staring at Chet. “And you are—?”

“A friend of Morgan’s,” he said. “Kevin Chet Thompson.” He extended his hand to Phoenix, then realized it was bleeding and pulled it back. “Sorry.” He took a white handkerchief from his pocket and wrapped it around his hand.

“I’ll clean that cut,” I said.

“Hold it,” Phoenix said. He turned to the two uniforms. “This room faces the park, so the shot had to come from there. Canvas the neighborhood to see if anybody saw the shooter, and get mounted officers to search inside the park.”

Officers Riley and Williams nodded and left.

Flynn was detecting in the living room.

“The bullet’s in the wall,” Chet told him, indicating the location. Flynn went over to examine the entry hole.

“I’d like to take care of Chet’s cut,” I said.

“I’m okay.”

Phoenix was busy judging the angle from where the bullet had entered the room to where it had penetrated the wall. “Where were you standing?” he asked, at last.

“In front of the window, looking out at the park,” I said. I felt my face beginning to flush with embarrassment and hoped he didn’t notice.

Phoenix turned the chandelier switch to the “Off” position, leaving the room illuminated by a lamp on the end table next to the phone. “Show me how you were standing,” he said. “Exactly. But don’t go near the window.”

Chet and I moved to stand within a few inches of each other, side by side, looking out. My posture was unnaturally stiff.

Phoenix had a skeptical expression on his face. “Is that exactly how you two were standing?”

“Not precisely,” Chet replied. He moved closer to me, looked down and said softly, “This’ll only hurt for a moment.” Then he took me in his arms.

Detective Flynn made a sound that was somewhere between a grunt and a chortle. “So you two had a little lip-lock action going,” he said.

I could have killed him.

Chet released me. I stepped back a good two feet.

“I don’t want to stay anywhere near this window,” I said.

“You don’t have to. I found out what I wanted to know.” With that terse comment, Phoenix-the-tight-jawed went to the window and closed the wooden shutters. I stepped several more feet away from Chet.

Flynn flipped the lights back on and asked, “Do you have any other rooms that face the park?”

“The den and the bedroom.”

“Until we find out what’s going on,” Phoenix said, “keep your shutters closed.”

Chet, Phoenix and I stood on our respective spots as though we had taken root. I glanced at Chet and saw that he was trying not to smile at our awkward situation. At least it was awkward for me. The only two men I had gone out with in years were, ironically, in the same room, sizing each other up.

And Phoenix was here because someone had just tried to kill me. Again.

The tension was broken by the last person I would have guessed could lighten a mood—Detective Flynn.

“You got any coffee?” he asked.