Tuesday
IN THE SOUTH Shore Regional Hospital lobby, Landon scanned the signs until she found one pointing to the elevators. She’d spoken with a very drowsy Ciara last night and texted with her today between classes. Once the doctors agreed to keep her another night, the frantic volume of texts had settled down.
Ciara’s stepfather had hired a guard in case the attacker tried again. The uniformed woman checked Landon’s name against her list before allowing her to pass. Landon rapped her knuckles on the wooden door. “Ciara? It’s me.”
“Come in.”
The injured girl lay propped up against pillows, her short brown hair flattened against her skull. As pale as the linens, her skin took a sickly hue from the faded seafoam hospital gown. Her left hand lay on the blanket, pinkie finger in a silver splint.
She set her phone on the side table and mustered a pitiful smile. “Thanks for coming. They stuck me in here all alone where they can ignore me, but it’s better than kicking me out in this much pain.”
Landon scooted a chair nearer and settled into the moulded plastic seat. “Last night you said your stepfather paid for a private room for better security.”
“Okay, he did. But they’re still avoiding me. And before you think he did me any favours, having a family member languishing in a crowded ward wouldn’t reflect well on his successful lawyer persona.” She yawned. “Plus, the sooner I recover the sooner he can push me out of town.”
A few gentle breaths kept Landon from rolling her eyes. Whatever painkillers Ciara was on weren’t helping her filters. “Does it still hurt a lot?”
“My ribs are the worst. Or the headache. The shoulder not so much now.” Her lipstick-free mouth quivered. “What hurts most is knowing someone attacked me.”
Landon hadn’t asked about clues on the phone, and she hadn’t planned to now. Today was about comforting her friend. The investigation could start tomorrow. But since Ciara brought it up… “Dylan said you didn’t see your attacker. Do you have any idea who’d want to hurt you?”
“None.” A tear tracked down her cheek. “I was leaning on the fence rail watching the gulls fly. He picked me up and just—threw me.”
“I heard you scream from the car. Did Dylan tell you about the guy who helped you?”
“Yeah, some people still help strangers. Who knew?”
“When I found him crouched beside you, I yelled at him—I thought he’d attacked you. But he kept you from falling further.”
“I woke up in the ambulance. It was terrifying!”
“The EMTs were great. The fire department showed up too.”
“I missed hot firefighters? Now I’m really sad.”
Landon laughed. At least Ciara was trying to rebound. “Recover fast and go down to the station to thank them. Take food.”
“Great idea.” But she lay against the pillow, her breath shallow, her hands limp on the blanket.
Pink roses on the windowsill spread a sweet fragrance. “Gorgeous flowers. Who brought them?”
“Mom sent them this morning. She even talked to me for a few minutes when I phoned. But she’s not coming in.”
“Sometimes we need our moms.” Or dads. Landon’s parents weren’t there for her either. “But hey, guess who I met today? Ken and Kimi Sanu are staying at the inn. You recommended it to someone they know. They didn’t think they should come to the hospital, but they asked me to pass on their care.”
Colour seeped into Ciara’s cheeks. Her eyes sparked a faint fire. “So you know about his company.”
“He said you worked for him in BC, but they both seem more interested in enjoying their vacation than talking about work.”
Ciara flattened her palms into the sides of the bed and pushed herself higher on the pillows. A wince hitched her breath. “Last time I saw Ken, I was in a designer sweater and killer heels. I can’t face him in a hospital gown on pain meds.”
A knock edged the door open enough for the security guard’s head to appear. “Orran Ashwell and Tait Hansen?”
“Aww…” Emotion choked Ciara’s voice. “Yes, please.”
The woman retreated, and Orran stepped inside, carrying a tall vase of peach and yellow glads. “Some people will do anything to make the news.”
Tait followed.
Orran set the flowers on the sill where they towered above the roses. “Good to see security at the door. The news coverage didn’t say much. What happened?”
As she stared at the flowers, Ciara’s expression lost its guarded look. Then she hiked her chin. “I didn’t fall, and I wasn’t doing anything stupid. Someone attacked me.” Her defiance turned plaintive as the story poured out. When she finished, the rigid cast of her jaw revealed how hard she fought the tears.
Frowning, Orran approached the foot of the bed. “What does the doctor say?”
“I’ll live. It’ll just hurt for a while. Three cracked ribs and a punctured lung, various scrapes, and a monster headache from a concussion.” She wiggled the splint on her baby finger. “They think I broke this and dislocated my shoulder trying to grab the fence and let go of Moxie’s leash at the same time. I’m glad that bully didn’t throw him too.”
As Ciara’s cheeks crumpled and the tears came, Landon grabbed the tissue box from the side table and set it in Ciara’s lap. “Do you want us to go?”
“I don’t want to be alone.” The words came through a double-fisted wad of tissues.
Orran’s breath rasped in the silence. “Can we do anything?”
“Take care of Moxie.” She blinked tear-heavy lashes. “He has a spot, but it’s not ideal.”
“I suppose your parents won’t take him.”
“Phil said to kennel him. After all the poor boy’s been through.”
With a low growl, Orran took the second visitor’s chair. “I’ll keep him for you.”
“I beg to differ.” Leaning against the hospital-beige wall, Tait scowled at his partner. “Pet dander and your lungs are not a good match.” He shot Ciara a saucy grin. “Good thing one side of the partnership is healthy. Your pup can stay with me till you’re better.”
Ciara’s eyes had rounded. “Oh, Orran, I didn’t think—why didn’t you tell me when we were at your place? He could have waited outside.”
“Don’t worry about it. I have puffers for short-term. More than a few hours would be a problem though.”
Her lips trembled, then firmed. “In the future, he’ll stay home. And, Tait, thank you. So much.”
“Someone has to protect Orran from himself.” Tait bobbed his head lightly against the wall as if he’d been still too long. “What I want to know is why someone would try to kill you.”
Her fingertips covered her mouth, but a thin whimper escaped.
Tait scrubbed his hands down the sides of his jaw and bunched them into his pockets. “I shouldn’t have been so blunt. But it seems obvious that a person who’d do this wasn’t simply trying to scare you. I’ve been to The Ovens. That’s a mighty drop from the cliff trail.”
“The police asked me about enemies, but couldn’t it be a random mugger?”
“Did he steal anything?”
“My bracelet’s gone.” She slid the hospital ID band up her arm to reveal a red line on her wrist. “But he didn’t touch my backpack.”
Orran gave his head a slow shake. “Ciara, I’ve been in the security business a long while. I don’t believe in random. Think about who might have a grudge, real or imagined.”
Fingers worrying her ID band, she pouted. “I don’t know.”
“Was your bracelet valuable?” Landon hadn’t noticed it. Leave it to Ciara to wear expensive jewellery on a hike.
The name Ciara mentioned meant nothing to Landon, but Tait and Orran inhaled simultaneously. Tait spoke first. “There’s your motive.”
“But who’d know I had it on? It’s not something to flaunt.”
Wasn’t it? Ciara had always been about having—being—the best. Designer clothes and accessories had been her tools of the trade in school.
“What about a professional jewel thief?” Landon watched Tait as she spoke, building from the motive he’d identified. “Someone stole a fancy brooch the other day in Liverpool. If he’s scouting around, he could have noticed Ciara’s bracelet at the store or anywhere he happened to see her with it. Maybe he followed her.”
Tait had stiffened at first as if to nod agreement, but he relaxed against the wall again. “Good idea, except that other theft was an antique taken from a collector. Plus, a professional would have lifted the bracelet from Ciara’s jewel box, not torn it off her wrist. There goes his resale value.”
These two were security experts. They could be a great resource in finding Ciara’s attacker. Tait’s questions showed he was already thinking about it.
He folded his arms. “Some street thieves take jewellery, and they’d have an eye for what to grab. Maybe he left your backpack because he couldn’t separate it from you in a hurry. Not like a shoulder bag.”
“Maybe.” Ciara sniffed. “Was the Liverpool brooch one of your clients?”
Orran let out a harsh laugh. “Not on your life. I don’t work with fools of that magnitude.”
Interest sparked in her eyes. “There’s a story there.”
His lip curled as if he tasted something foul. “When someone posts an image of a valuable item online with the hashtags eighteenth century, cameo, and private collection, what do you think will happen?”
“You follow him online?”
“I monitor certain keywords as a way to identify potential clients. Thieves can do the same to find targets.”
“Did you contact him about installing a security system? He might have appreciated your advice.”
With a lazy lift to the corner of his mouth, Orran glanced at Tait. “There are times you have to let nature take its course.”
Ciara’s brow puckered. “Did he have any security at all?”
“He seemed to think so. We do manage a few private East Coast homes, but our fees are higher than the mid-level collectors can stomach.”
Tait snorted. “And worth half that again. Private sector owners require a lot of hand holding.”
He might be thinking of specific clients, but his dismissive attitude seemingly put Ciara’s emotional reaction in the same throwaway box. Landon dug her fingernails into her palms to keep from retaliating. Tait wasn’t the enemy here. “Maybe they take their treasures more personally. A loss may hit their hearts even more than it damages their net worth.”
“Exactly!” Ciara’s cry brought more colour to her cheeks. “Museums and corporations are all about the ledger and prestige.”
“Public or private, for the true collector, it’s always about the heart.” Orran spread his palms. “Although the heart holds pride and jealousy as well as affection.”
Grimacing, Ciara wriggled herself higher on her pillows. “Says the man who insists everything be strictly functional. If your television didn’t double as a big digital frame, there’d be nothing. No art, no trinkets of any kind. Even the ruby goblet I was so excited about as a kid was a simple prop for your girlfriend’s theatre group.”
Orran’s eyebrows rose. “Fancy you remembering that. But you always did have a taste for pretty things. I have a picture somewhere from the play. The fake jewels caught the stage lights like liquid fire.”
Ciara traced the scratch on her wrist. “I do like pretty things, but I also appreciate them as investments. I guess I shouldn’t try to have the best of both worlds. Wearing a few months’ rent on a hike didn’t end well.”
A few months’ rent? Landon choked. “Tait, you said breaking the bracelet ruined its resale value. So should the police be checking the pawnshops? Ciara, did you give them a description?”
“No.” Her fingers clasped her wrist as if she could will the bracelet back into place. “I wasn’t thinking about a thief. I thought I’d lost it in the fall.”
Voices sounded in the hallway. A food services worker in pastel blue scrubs opened Ciara’s door. “Hello, folks. It’s mealtime.”
Landon jumped up and rolled the mobile bed table into position for her friend.
“Thank you.” The man deposited a plastic-filmed meal tray on the tan laminate surface and offered Ciara a warm smile. “It tastes better than it looks. Enjoy.”
His rubber-soled shoes squeaked on the polished tiles as he left.
Orran eased to his feet. He seemed to catch his breath before speaking. “We should leave you in peace. I didn’t mean to stay so long. Listen, kid, have you been into Halifax for that new gallery opening?”
“I meant to.”
“They have a Burmese ruby pendant on loan that’ll take your breath away. The exhibit closes this weekend. You obey the nurses and get yourself discharged, and we’ll go. Maybe Friday.”
“I’d love that.”
Tait threw a vague salute toward the bed. “While you recuperate, I’ll tend to your dog. Is there anything I should pick up at your place? Where do I find him?”
“Landon, pass me my backpack?”
Ciara fished the jingly key ring from the outer pocket of the supple leather bag. She held out the keys to Tait. “The square one with the dot opens the apartment building and the plain square one is for my unit.”
She recited the address and directions and rattled off so many care instructions for Moxie that Tait’s lips took on a pinched look. “The poor little boy needs someone to comfort him. I’m sure Bobby’s doing his best, but he doesn’t have the vet-prescribed food or the doggy bed or anything. Plus, his grandfather’s allergies aren’t very hospitable.”
Tait swallowed visibly. Regretting his offer? Nonetheless, he keyed Ciara’s and Bobby’s addresses into his phone.
Landon said, “Stop at the inn beside Bobby’s place first. I kept Moxie’s car seat. If I’m not home yet, Anna will get everything for you. I’ll text her now.”
As his eyes widened at the word everything, she grinned. “Moxie may be small, but he comes with a lot of worldly goods.”
“And a huge heart.” Ciara produced the brightest smile Landon had seen today.
After the men left, Landon checked the time on her phone. Dylan wouldn’t be here for another half hour. Today was his day off, and he was still spending it driving around and stopping at the hospital. At least Anna had brought her over after the commuter van delivered her home from the city.
Still standing, she texted Anna about Moxie’s things and returned her phone to her pocket. “Want me to let you eat in peace?”
“Can’t you stay a little longer? It’s so lonely here.”
“Okay, but don’t let your meal get cold. Is hospital food as bad as they say?”
“As bland, anyway.” Ciara lifted the cover from the plate, releasing a savoury aroma.
Landon settled into a chair. “Bobby said you put it on social media about yesterday. Were the police okay with that?”
“I didn’t say anything about the investigation—if they can find anything to investigate. Just that I’m hurt and in the hospital.” Ciara poked her fork into her mashed potato and swirled it around. “Virtual sympathy is better than nothing.” She pointed her utensil at Landon. “But then you came and so did Orran and Tait. Thank you.”
“I was feeling bad for you here alone and in so much pain. You’ll do better when you can be home with your furry friend.”
Ciara replaced the fork and plucked a brownie from its small white dish. “Days like this call for eating dessert first.”
“Amen, sister.”
It was almost time to go when the guard knocked again. “Shaun Riggs?”
“I don’t—”
Landon interrupted, sitting forward to grasp Ciara’s hand. “He’s the guy who saved you.”
“Oh.” Ciara drew the bed sheet up to cover her thin hospital gown. “I—yes.”
Shaun hesitated in the opening, one hand in the pocket of his leather jacket, dark bangs hanging low on his forehead. When he saw Landon, he seemed to lose a bit of tension.
“Okay if I come in?”
Ciara opened her mouth, but the tears came first. She pressed the paper napkin from her meal tray to her eyes, shoulders shaking.
Beckoning to Shaun, Landon reached to comfort her friend. “Try to breathe slower. Be careful of your ribs.”
“And lung.” The words came out watery.
Shaun edged toward the hall. “I can come back.”
He’d driven all this way from the campground. “Maybe give us five minutes? I know she wants to meet you.”
“Yup.” Then he was gone.
Stroking the sobbing girl’s hair with a gentle rhythm, Landon whispered, “You’re safe now. Shaun will understand this isn’t about him. And it isn’t who you really are. It’s the hurt and the fear.” She hauled a fistful of tissues from the box, jostling it onto the floor. “Here.”
Gradually Ciara’s breathing levelled, and her little squeaking hiccups ceased. She mopped her cheeks, sniffled, and mopped again before raising a glass of water to her lips. Some sloshed onto her gown, darkening the pale green.
Tears clung to her lashes, and a dusky shade tinted her rounded cheeks. “Great first impression.”
Landon squeezed her hand. “This was a second impression. The first is what he’ll remember—you needing protection.” She offered the wastebasket, and Ciara tossed the wadded tissues. The box had landed right side up, so she set it in Ciara’s lap.
Her friend plucked another two and dabbed her eyes. “I’ll bet I look horrible.”
“Like someone who belongs in a hospital. But alive. Would you rather meet him later, once you’re discharged and dressed in your own clothes?” Maybe she shouldn’t have been so quick to invite him in.
Ciara drew another slow breath, deep enough to make her wince. “After this performance, I’d never have the nerve to go find him.” She leaned forward. “Help me with these pillows so I can sit straighter?”
“Do you have a brush or makeup in your bag?”
A watery giggle burst free. “Rule number one—don’t make it look like you’re trying too hard.”
Pillows adjusted and bed table positioned like a shield—food tray and all—Ciara nodded. “It’s showtime.”
Landon poked her head into the hallway and spotted Shaun loitering in front of a bulletin board. “Psst.”
He shuffled toward her. “I’m not sure this is such a good idea.”
“She’s embarrassed, but she wants to thank you. She’s in a lot of pain and isn’t at her best right now.”
He curved an eyebrow. “You don’t say.” One corner of his mouth twisted to match the brow. “I’m not at my best either. Here goes nothing.”
Thumbs hooked into the front pockets of his skinny black jeans, he sidled past her and approached the foot of Ciara’s bed. “So I’m Shaun, and I saw you fall.”
Landon leaned against the wall where she’d have a clear view of Ciara’s reaction. If this wasn’t a good idea, the mysterious rescuer would be out the door, gratitude or no gratitude.
Ciara gave him a fast once-over and half-raised her hand to flutter her fingers in a timid sort of wave. “Thank you for saving me. I’m sorry for my meltdown.”
“What meltdown? I just got here.”
Her fingernails, marred from the rocks, tapped the bed table. “They said you couldn’t identify the guy.”
“I saw him from behind. Don’t you know who it was?”
“I don’t have a clue. One of my friends thought it could have been a robbery.” She held up her banded wrist. “My bracelet’s gone. The chain left a mark when it broke.”
“Fancy move, seizing it off a falling victim. Why not knock you down and unfasten the thing?” He glanced at Landon, then Ciara. “I’m from the States, but our laws can’t be that different. Wouldn’t murder or attempted murder pull a heftier jail term than theft? If he’s caught?”
“Then someone was after me. That’s worse.” Ciara’s fists clenched. Her face scrunched into a fierce scowl as if to defy a second outburst in front of Shaun.
The effect would have been comical if it wasn’t so tragic. Landon breathed a quiet growl. Whoever had broken this perky spirit had a lot to answer for.
Shaun hiked a shoulder. “It feels like you should know if anyone hated you this much. Maybe it was random after all. Some dude having a breakdown. Or who mistook you for someone else. You don’t have any enemies? No evil ex?”
Ciara’s chin came up. “He has better things to do. But if we were both at the edge of a cliff, I wouldn’t be the one going over.”
An approving nod moved his whole body. “You hold onto that fighting spirit, and you’ll be fine. I’ll get out of your space now that I know you’re okay.”
He started for the door, then pivoted. “If you need anything, I’m camping at The Ovens. You can get a message to me through the office.”
As soon as his shadow cleared the doorway, Ciara sniffled. “I’m scared.”
Landon tried to infuse comforting warmth into one last meaningful look as she scooped up her purse. “My ride’s been waiting. I didn’t want to leave you alone with him, but I have to go. Text me later tonight?”
A couple of tears escaped. “Thanks for being here.”
The elevator took forever. Once it reached the ground floor, Landon quick-marched to the exit.
The fluffy clouds from the afternoon had darkened, shedding a dismal drizzle. As she stepped outside, a green motorcycle emerged from the parking lot. The black-helmeted driver cleared the crosswalk and swerved out toward the road, revving the engine.
The biker who dodged Ciara’s car on the way to The Ovens rode with the same swagger. Same colour machine and helmet, with California plates. Not many people would drive so far on a motorcycle. Shaun’s clothes matched too. And he’d said he was from the US.
By the time she found Dylan’s Jeep in the parking lot, the bike was long gone. The road incident was a flimsy motive for murder, but if Dylan wanted to check it out, they knew where to locate Shaun.