Twenty-Eight

  

Whoever said things will be brighter in the morning didn’t wake up in the hospital.

The light—far too bright—wasn’t doing my aching head any favors. I oozed out of the hospital bed, limped to the bathroom and squinted in the mirror.

Blood caked my hair. A bandage traversed my forehead. A bruise the exact color of nightshade blossomed on my cheek. The rest of my skin looked gray. And that was just my head.

No wonder Mother wrinkled her nose rather than kiss me. I couldn’t go to Grace’s room looking like a cast member from Night of the Living Dead.

I turned on the shower, stepped inside and let warm water wash the blood from my body. Raising my arms to wash my hair hurt like hell. I did it anyway. I slid down the wall. There’s no rule I knew of against sitting while you shower, and if there was—well, the shower police could give me a ticket.

After a few minutes of sitting, I climbed out of the tiny stall and dried off with a towel only slightly larger than a postage stamp.

I glanced at the blood-stained hospital gown. I wasn’t putting that back on. There had to be something in the room I could wear.

I opened the door and froze.

Hunter froze too.

We stared at each other. Hunter—suave, debonair and a walking lesson in sartorial perfection. Me—wet, bruised and naked.

My muzzy brain made the connection between thought and action. I stepped back into the bathroom and slammed the door. “What are you doing here?” My tone mirrored an outraged screech owl.

“Aggie thought you might want…clothes.” The last word sounded strangled. “I brought a bag.”

Did he expect me to open the door and thank him? “Leave it,” screeched the owl.

I waited for the sound of a door opening and closing, then I cracked my own door. A small suitcase sat on the floor. The room was empty.

Hunter Tafft had seen me naked. At least he hadn’t yawned. He’d looked…stunned. Probably he’d never seen so many bruises on one body before.

I dashed—a relative term given my aching body—into the hospital room, grabbed the bag and retreated to the bathroom. Aggie had packed me a toothbrush and a tube of toothpaste. God bless her. She’d also packed clean underwear, a silk nightgown, peignoir and slippers. I dug into the bag, desperate for real clothes. There weren’t any. Just a brush, a bag of makeup, deodorant…

Damn it.

I donned the nightgown, slipped my arms into the robe and jammed my feet into the slippers. I didn’t have time to worry about my lack of actual clothes. I had to see Grace.

I scuffed my way to the nurses’ station and asked for Grace’s room number. One of the nurses, probably out of school for all of five minutes, had the temerity to suggest I should be in bed. I gave her my best Frances Walford don’t-you-dare-cross-me look.

The girl paled. “Room four-thirteen.”

I thanked her and shuffled to the elevator. It would have been too easy, too convenient, for Grace and me to have rooms on the same floor. Instead, I had to wander an entire hospital in nightclothes. At least I wore shell pink Dior and not a standard issue gown that gaped in the back.

I rode the elevator to the fourth floor, stepped out, and leaned against the wall. Since when did riding an elevator make me tired?

I waited ’til my legs felt strong enough to put together a string of steps then walked down the hall.

I paused again when I reached Grace’s door. There was no need for her to see me looking as if I might pass out from the effort of walking. I closed my eyes and borrowed uprightness from the wall.

A voice from inside the room snuck into the hallway.

“Of course we came. Donna insisted.” India Hess was visiting my daughter. “You’ve been a good friend to her.

Donna murmured something I didn’t catch.

“Still, I know this must be a very difficult time for you. Thank you for coming and for the flowers. They’re lovely.” Grace’s voice sounded strong. And polite. The latter would make her grandmother ecstatically happy. It was Grace’s strength that pleased me—she didn’t sound as if she was suffering.

I pushed away from the wall but a wave of dizziness washed over me. I leaned again. One more minute and I’d go in.

“These are for your mother.”

“She’ll love them. She’s really into flowers and gardening.”

“I thought so. That zebra plant in your living room is gorgeous, and so hard to grow. I’ve never had one I didn’t kill. And her hostas are fabulous.”

Were fabulous. My hostas were now compost, and the blame for that lay clearly with India’s husband.

I pushed away again—slower this time—then crossed the threshold into Grace’s hospital room.

“Mom! Oh my God, you should sit.”

That sounded like an excellent idea.

Donna vacated the chair next to Grace’s bed and I collapsed into it.

“Should I call for help?”

“I’ll be fine. Just let me sit for a moment.”

“Let me push the button for the nur—”

“Don’t. I just need a moment’s rest.” That and I needed to see with my own two eyes that Grace was whole. Her face was bruised, her arm was in a cast, but her skin was the color of skin, whereas mine looked like wet newspaper.

“We’ll let you two visit.” India pulled on Donna’s elbow. “Let’s go, dear.”

“Call me,” Grace said. She even mimed talking into a phone with her unbroken arm.

Donna nodded. “Okay.” The girl looked subdued. I would have expected dancing munchkin happiness. The monster was dead. But Donna looked as if…she looked as if her best friend had nearly died in a car crash.

“Thank you for coming,” I said.

“Let us know if you need anything,” said India. Kind of her to offer given what she had on her plate.

They disappeared into the hallway and I leaned back in the chair and drank in the sight of Grace. “You’re all right.”

She lifted her arm and made a scrunchy face. “I will be. What about you? You don’t look as if you…”

“She looks as if she should be in bed.” Hunter stood in the doorway looking far better than any man had a right to. “I went back to your room and you were gone. I figured I’d find you here.”

“Hi, Mr. Tafft.” Grace sounded almost chipper.

“Call me Hunter.”

Grace grinned.

Oh dear Lord. It was there, burning in my daughter’s eyes—the light of a matchmaking flame. I’d seen that exact expression often enough in Mother’s eyes.

“Thank you for bringing my bag.” That sounded more civil than asking why the hell he’d entered my hospital room without knocking first. I really ought to mention the skimpiness of the towels to Mother. She’d have the problem fixed in hours flat.

“That nightgown suits you.”

I scowled at him.

“The nurses on your floor are fluttering around like demented hummingbirds.” Hunter picked an invisible speck of dust off his immaculate sleeve. “You’re not supposed to be out of bed.”

I crossed my arms. “No one was prepared to stop me.”

He chuckled. “No one is prepared to come get you either.”

What do you know? Channeling Mother had an upside. I’d fill out the discharge paperwork from where I sat.

“They sent me to get you.”

Liar. I bet he offered.

Grace’s gaze bounced between us as if we were rallying a tennis ball.

“I have no intention of returning to my room.”

“There’s a neurologist who wants to shine a light in your eyes. He’s waiting.”

“Hmmph.”

“I’ll help you get up.” He stepped toward me, apparently unaffected by the scathing look I sent his way.

“I’m not going anywhere.”

“Go, Mom. See the doctor. You can come back later.”

Et tu, Grace? I’d raised a Judas.

“Or I can come see you,” she offered.

Hunter cleared his throat.

“You’re very bossy.” I gave up on glaring; my scowls seemed only to amuse him. Instead I crossed my arms over my chest, donned a neutral expression and stared at Grace’s hospital bed.

“And you’re a terrible patient.”

So what if I was? I faked a yawn.

“The hospital has rules about injured patients wandering the halls.”

Rules? That was rich coming from a man who made his living finding legal ways to circumvent rules. “Since when do you care about rules?” I might have sounded petulant.

“Since this one seems designed to guard your welfare. Come on, Ellison.” He held out his hand.

“You look as if you need to lie down,” said the teenage Judas.

Grudgingly, I took Hunter’s hand.

He pulled me to my feet. “There’s a chair waiting in the corridor.”

A chair? I got rest stops? Then it dawned on me. Hunter had a wheelchair waiting in the hall. “I’m walking to my room.”

“Fine. You walk out of Grace’s room on your own and we’ll forget the chair.”

I bent, kissed my sweet Judas on her forehead, stroked her hair and ignored the sudden tilt of the room.

I made it to the end of Grace’s bed. Three lousy steps, then I grabbed the bottom of her mattress for balance.

Hunter didn’t smirk. If anything, he looked concerned. “Ellison, you’ve got to let someone help you.”

No I didn’t.

I took three more steps before my knees gave out. Hunter caught me, his arms circling me, warm and strong.

“Get in the chair, Mom. Please.” Worry pitched Grace’s voice too high.

Fine. I’d ride in his damned chair. For Grace. But I wouldn’t like it.

He pushed me down the corridor in silence. Lord knows I wasn’t saying anything. I broke one silly rule and the hospital sent a high-power attorney after me. What would they do if I stole a Band-Aid? I grumbled.

“Did you say something?” he asked.

“No.”

“Are you sure? I thought I heard you say something.”

“Nope.”

He stopped the wheelchair in front of the elevators. “You don’t want to talk about it?”

“Talk about what?”

“Whatever is bothering you.”

How did he know something was bothering me? I grumbled again.

“Give me a dollar.”

“I don’t have a dollar.” In case he hadn’t noticed, I was wearing a nightgown and robe. No handbag in sight.

The whisper of fine cloth rustled past my ears, then Hunter came into view, wallet in hand. He withdrew a dollar and handed it to me. “Give me a dollar.”

I gave him the bill. Had he lost his mind, or forgotten that I was the one with the head injury?

“Perfect. I’m officially your lawyer. Anything you say to me is privileged.”

The elevator doors opened.

“What makes you think I want to tell anyone anything?”

Rather than push me inside, he crouched next to the wheelchair and looked into my eyes. “Because I know you. You’re stuck in a hospital so you can’t paint your problems away. Something is eating you. Tell me about it. I can help.”

“I need coffee.”

Hunter stared at me for a few more seconds then resumed his post at the back of my chair. He pushed me into the elevator, leaned past me and pushed the G button instead of three.

“Where are we going?” I asked.

“Coffee shop.” He’s not all bad.

He pushed me past India and Donna, both eating slices of coconut cream pie. We nodded, the uncomfortable nods of people who’ve already said goodbye and don’t want to begin another conversation.

Hunter, bless him, never slowed. He wheeled me to a corner table, ordered two coffees, folded his hands together and waited.

I glanced around the near-empty coffee shop. No one could hear us. “Privileged?”

“Yes.”

“Jonathan Hess killed Bobby Lowell,” I whispered.

He wore his lawyer’s expression, which meant no reaction.

“If I tell Anar—” A scowl flitted across Hunter’s face. “Detective Jones, he’ll want to know why. Everything Donna’s been through could become common knowledge. She’s been through enough.”

The waitress delivered our coffee and I lifted a steaming cup to my lips.

“At the time of the murder, you told him everything?”

I nodded. A mistake. The movement of my chin conjured an ice pick in my brain.

“Don’t tell him. Hess is past justice.” Hunter Tafft, problem solver.

“Doesn’t CeCe deserve to know who killed her son?”

“Tell CeCe.”

“And if she ruins Donna?” I glanced across the coffee shop at the girl whose life I might destroy.

“Then she ruins Donna. You can’t claim problems that aren’t yours.” He took a sip of his coffee. “I bet CeCe keeps it quiet. After all, Bobby loved the girl.”

“He did.”

“Problem solved.” Hunter leaned back in his chair and exhaled. “I thought you knew who killed Jonathan Hess.”

Holy damn. I put my cup down on the table with enough force to slosh coffee over its rim. I did know.