If Aislynn stirred during the night, I didn’t hear her. If Rafe
stirred, I didn’t hear him, either. When I woke up, he was still
wrapped around me, with a hand splayed on my stomach. He likes to
sleep spoon-fashion, with his nose buried in my hair. It’s
nice.
And like most men, he wakes up ready to go. That’s nice, too, especially when—like now—my hormones were pinging off the wall from the baby.
After a refreshing little interlude, it was finally time to talk. “Did anything happen overnight?”
He shook his head.
“She didn’t move? Mendoza didn’t call?”
“Nobody did nothing,” Rafe said, stretching. I watched as muscles bunched and relaxed under his skin. In case you were in doubt, he’s extremely nice to look at.
“That’s good, right?”
“Means your friend’s body didn’t turn up at the morgue.”
I shuddered. “That’s definitely good.”
“She’s prob’ly home,” Rafe said, relaxing back down beside me again. “Either worried about her girlfriend, or wishing she wouldn’t have been stupid last night.”
“You think she was stupid last night?”
“Some people are,” Rafe said. “I don’t know her.”
“I guess I should get ready and go over there.” I glanced at the clock. Just before eight. “I need a shower first.”
“I’m gonna put in a couple hours in the gym,” Rafe said. “Some of the boys’ll prob’ly be there. I can usually count on’em giving me a workout.” He grinned.
Since the boys—the young TBI recruits he was training—were on average ten years younger than he was, and determined to beat him, I imagined he could.
“You can get in the shower first.” I was never really ready to get out of bed these days. It takes a lot out of a woman, growing a baby.
“Don’t mind if I do. I’ll be quick.” He rolled out of bed and padded toward the door to the bathroom. I watched until he was gone—I always watch—and then I closed my eyes again.
Fifteen minutes later, he was shaking me. “Darlin’. Time to wake up. You’re gonna be late.”
“Shit. I mean... shoot.” I kicked like an overturned beetle for a moment before I got myself turned sideways and over to the edge of the bed. “Help me up.”
Rafe chuckled, but he extended a hand and hauled me to my feet. And then he pulled me into his body and held me for a second. He was still damp from his own shower, with a wet towel riding low on his hips, and I was in a hurry, but as usual I put everything else aside and just enjoyed being close to him.
Until he let me go and swatted my butt. “Go on. I left you a little hot water.”
“You better have.” I scurried for the bathroom. The last thing I saw before I closed the door—and it gave me a moment’s pause—was that he dropped the towel.
By the time I got out of the shower, he’d dressed and gone
downstairs. I could hear him moving around in the kitchen, and
smell coffee. And Aislynn must be down there with him—either that,
or he was on the phone again—because I could hear his voice.
I did a quick blow-dry on the hair and threw on some clothes before heading downstairs. By now, it was already almost nine, but I figured with Aislynn here, and with Kylie not answering her phone, it wasn’t the end of the world if I didn’t make the nine o’clock appointment time.
And Aislynn was here, sitting across the table from Rafe drinking coffee. When I looked surprised—I hadn’t realized caffeine was an approved poison—she told me, “I only drink coffee once in a while.”
“It doesn’t matter to me,” I said, although I’d kill for some coffee. I’d been off it for five months because of the baby, and it was hard to get up in the mornings. I poured myself a glass of milk from the fridge instead, and sat down with them. “Any word from Kylie?”
Aislynn shook her head. “She’s still not answering her phone.”
“She might be asleep.”
Aislynn shrugged.
“Has this ever happened before? That she doesn’t answer her phone when you call?”
“When we’ve had an argument,” Aislynn said. Which wasn’t cool, as far as I was concerned. You don’t punish your lover—or your boyfriend/girlfriend or spouse—for an argument by not picking up your phone. What if something was wrong?
If Rafe tried to pull a stunt like that, he wouldn’t like what I had to say about it afterwards.
I glanced at him, wondering whether I should say so. He met my eyes, and I kept my mouth shut. There was no need to say anything. He knew, and was beaming the message back to me that I’d better not try to pull anything like that, either.
As if I would.
“We should get going,” I said, finishing my milk. Aislynn got to her feet, obediently, and went to gather her belongings.
“Virgil’s visitation starts at eleven,” I told Rafe while I waited. “I thought I might go.”
He nodded.
“You’re welcome to come along if you want.”
“No offense, darlin’, but I think I’ll pass. I ain’t that big on funerals.”
I wasn’t, either, but I thought there was a chance that something interesting might happen at this one. If nothing else, a showdown between Kenny and Stacy over the casket. Perhaps an arrest, since the murderer often attends the victim’s funeral. Aside from which, someone ought to represent LB&A at the proceedings. Granted, it was more Tim’s place than mine, as broker and as Virgil and Stacy’s former agent, but if I left it to him, I’d miss out on whatever happened.
“I’ll probably be home around one or two. Then we can decide what we want to do with the rest of the day.”
“I vote we go to bed early,” Rafe said, as Aislynn’s footsteps sounded on the stairs.
“Didn’t you sleep well?”
“I slept fine. There are other things we can do in bed than sleep.” He grinned.
I grinned back. “Of course there is.” And by then, after attending a funeral, I’d probably need some of those other things.
Aislynn clomped into the kitchen in her army boots, and I told Rafe, “I’ll stay in touch.”
He nodded. “Let me know if you need anything. If not, I’ll see you this afternoon.”
I told him he would, gave him a quick peck—since Aislynn was watching; otherwise I would have made it a proper kiss—and headed out.
The drive was quick and painless. There wasn’t a lot of traffic
early on a Saturday morning. Ten minutes after we left Potsdam
Street, we pulled up in front of Aislynn and Kylie’s house.
Kylie’s blue Volvo was parked in the driveway. “Looks like she got home safe,” I told Aislynn, and steered my own blue Volvo over to the curb.
She nodded, and didn’t even wait for me to cut the engine before she opened her door. I got out and dropped the key in my purse while Aislynn scurried into the yard, past the car, and up to the front door, digging for her key. While she got it out and into the lock, I made my own way to the Volvo and put a hand on the hood. It was cool. Whenever Kylie had come home, it wasn’t in the last few minutes.
The door opened and Aislynn disappeared inside. I headed for the front door, and was halfway there when I heard her scream.
I covered the rest of the distance at warp speed, especially considering the shoes I was wearing. I had given up on really high heels when my center of gravity changed—it was hard enough to balance the basketball on my stomach without tipping forward while I was barefoot—but Mother would never forgive me if I wore flats for anything but exercise. So I had compromised on a couple of pairs of wedges for this summer. Not much heel to speak of, but an extra inch in height from the sole, and sexy straps across the instep and ankle.
Anyway, I ran in my wedge sandals: up the steps, across the porch, and through the door, leading with the stomach. And found Aislynn standing in the doorway to the office, where Kylie and I had sat just two days ago looking at poison pen letters, screaming her head off.
I pushed her aside and took in the office at a glance.
It was a mess. The books were off the shelves, and the knick-knacks were scattered across the floor, many of them broken. Papers from the desk had sailed everywhere. Drawers hung open or had their contents dumped in piles on the floor. And in the middle of it lay Kylie, the back of her head red and sticky.
My stomach heaved, and I stumbled back outside while I fumbled for my phone. My first call was to Rafe—“I need you!”—and my second to 911. They kept me on the phone while they dispatched the ambulance, so by the time I heard the sound of sirens coming up the street, Rafe had already brought the Harley to a screeching halt behind the Volvo and was on his way through the yard.
By then, I had conquered my squeamishness—more or less—and gone back inside the house to A) shut Aislynn up, and B) see if there was anything I could do for Kylie.
She was alive, but unconscious, so that was the good news. And the bad news too, I guess, since alive was good, but unconscious wasn’t. It was better than dead, though, so I’d take it. And while I’m not an expert, I felt for her pulse, and had no problem finding it. Hopefully that meant she wasn’t in danger of dying.
Aislynn’s screams changed to hiccups once we determined that Kylie would live. By the time Rafe burst through the open door and the ambulance came to a squealing stop outside, she had herself pretty well in hand. So did I. The knowledge that I wasn’t looking at another dead body had done wonders for my peace of mind.
I told the 911 operator that the ambulance had arrived, and disconnected. Then I looked at Rafe. “Thanks for coming.”
He nodded, taking in the room. “You OK?”
“Fine. A little shook up when I called you.”
“She OK?” He glanced at Kylie’s immobile body.
“She seems to be. She’s breathing and her pulse is strong, but she’s unconscious. Concussion, maybe. I didn’t know what to do for her, so I just left her alone. Rather than do the wrong thing, you know? In case I shouldn’t have tried to move her, or whatever.”
He nodded. “The EMTs are on their way in. Let’s get outta their way.”
He extended a hand. I took it and let him haul me up. Getting to my feet took more effort every day. Good thing he was strong.
We hustled Aislynn out the front door just ahead of the EMTs coming in, and put her on the porch swing. I took a seat next to her and patted her hand, while Rafe went back inside to communicate with the EMTs. That TBI badge works wonders, even when the guy wielding it is wearing gym shorts and a sleeveless T-shirt.
Or maybe especially when the guy wielding it is wearing a sleeveless T-shirt. One of the EMTs was female.
“This is my fault,” Aislynn sobbed. “If I’d been here last night, this wouldn’t have happened.”
“You don’t know that,” I told her, although between you and me, I suspected she might be right. A burglar might think twice about entering a house where there are two people. Then again... “And if you’d been home alone last night, that might have been you in there, instead of Kylie.”
Aislynn whimpered, and then got to her feet when the EMTs came through the door with Kylie on a stretcher. We stood and watched as they carried it down the stairs and over to the driveway, and then they flipped down two sets of legs with wheels, and rolled it the rest of the way to the ambulance.
Aislynn twitched her hand out of mine. “I want to go with her!”
“I don’t think they’ll let you,” I told her, but she wasn’t listening. “Aislynn!”
She didn’t stop. I turned to Rafe, who had just come out onto the porch. “They won’t let her ride in the ambulance, will they?”
He shook his head. “Go find out where they’re going. Then you can follow’em in the car. I’ll stay here and wait for the cops.”
“Did you call the cops?”
“Not yet. I just got here as fast as I could.” And it wasn’t easy to maneuver the Harley, wear a helmet, and make a phone call at the same time.
“I appreciate that.” I leaned into him for a moment, enjoying the warmth and solidity of his body. “Although I’m sorry to ruin your workout.”
“I can work out another day,” Rafe said and gave me a push. “Go.”
I went. Over to the EMTs, who were arguing with Aislynn about why she couldn’t go in the ambulance with Kylie.
“It’s against the rules, miss. No civilians in the bus.”
“But I don’t want her to ride on her own!”
“One of us will sit with her,” the female EMT said patiently. “She won’t be alone. And we’ll get here there as fast as we can. It won’t be a long drive.”
Aislynn bit her lip, clearly not convinced.
“Come on.” I took her arm. “I’ll drive you there. We’ll stay with the ambulance the whole way. I promise.”
“But I want to stay with her,” Aislynn said stubbornly.
I shook my head. “You can’t. And the longer you stay here and argue, the longer until they can leave, and the longer until they get her to the hospital.”
She sent me an unfriendly look, but finally allowed herself to be towed away. The female EMT hopped into the back of the ambulance with Kylie, and the male EMT shut the doors before swinging himself up into the driver’s seat.
The ambulance rumbled to life.
“Come on.” I hustled Aislynn over to the Volvo. “Hurry.”
We sorted ourselves into our seats as the siren started. Aislynn winced. I turned the key in the ignition and followed the ambulance as it peeled away from the curb and headed down the street, lights flashing. Up on the porch, Rafe had his phone to his ear. He lifted a hand as we shot out of sight.
The trip to the hospital was quick. A little quicker than was
comfortable, since I had to follow in the wake of the ambulance the
whole way there. Rafe drives like a bat out of hell under most
circumstances. He wouldn’t have had any problems. I’m usually a
pretty cautious driver, and getting more cautious the more pregnant
I get. The baby is closer to the surface now than it used to be,
and just the idea of having to stop fast, and slamming my stomach
into the steering wheel, is scary.
When we arrived at Vanderbilt Hospital, the ambulance shot, screaming, into the ambulance entrance. Aislynn and I had to go around the building to the ER. I let her out at the doors, and took off to find a parking space. By the time I made it inside, she was arguing with the nurse at the duty desk about wanting to see her girlfriend.
“I’m sorry, miss,” the nurse kept repeating. “Only family allowed. And not yet.”
We’d been here before, Aislynn and I. In this place, and this situation. This was where Kylie had ended up after the traffic accident in December, and the hospital staff hadn’t been helpful about giving Aislynn information then, either. Now it was six months later, and gay marriage had become legal, but Aislynn and Kylie weren’t married. Guess it was up to me to save the day again. I sighed—silently—and went to the rescue. “I’m Kylie’s sister. She was here six months ago, after a traffic accident. You should have her in your records from then. I’m probably there, too. Savannah Martin.”
I showed her my driver’s license while she pecked at her computer.
“You have different last names,” she told me.
“Marriage,” I answered, flashing my brand new wedding ring.
It must have satisfied her, because she didn’t say any more about it. “Any changes in her insurance since the last time she was here?”
I glanced at Aislynn. She shook her head. “No,” I said.
She tap-tapped some more. “If you’ll take a seat, someone will be out to talk to you shortly.”
“Thank you.” I grabbed Aislynn by the arm and hauled her away. “They probably don’t know anything yet. She just got here.”
We ended up in two uncomfortable plastic chairs over by the wall, where we had a good view of the swinging doors into the ER. Aislynn got busy gnawing on her fingernails. Since they were lacquered black, I didn’t imagine it could be good for her, but I didn’t say anything about it. We were in a hospital. If she poisoned herself, presumably they’d know what to do for her.
It got on my nerves after a few minutes, though, and I cast about for something to say. “Kylie’s been married once, right?”
Aislynn nodded, but didn’t take her thumb out of her mouth.
“Did you ever meet him?”
She shook her head.
“Why not?”
“It was before we met,” Aislynn said. And promptly stuck her finger back in her mouth.
“She told me about him. Although I can’t remember...”
“Damian,” Aislynn said.
I nodded. “Was Mitchell her married name? Or did she go back to her maiden name after the divorce?”
“Does it matter?” Aislynn wanted to know.
Not really. I was just making conversation to pass the time, and to stop her from her cannibalism. Although it might be helpful to know Kylie’s maiden name when I was pretending to be her sister.
“Mitchell was Damian’s name,” Aislynn said when I explained my reasoning, but not without an eye roll. “Kylie’s maiden name was Williams.”
“Is Damian here? Or did she move to Nashville after they got divorced?”
“Kylie’s always lived here,” Aislynn said, which I took to mean that yes, the marriage had been local and Damian was still around. “But he doesn’t need to know that she’s in the hospital. They aren’t married anymore.”
That hadn’t been on my mind at all, actually, but now that she mentioned it, and sounded adamant about it, I was curious. “Do they see each other these days?”
Aislynn shook her head. “Kylie felt bad about leading him on. When she married him, she didn’t realize she was gay.”
I nodded. She had told me that. And that it had been a remark of her ex-husband’s—about how she seemed to prefer her girlfriends’ company to his—that had spurred the realization.
“He wouldn’t be behind this, would he?”
Aislynn looked shocked.
“Is he still upset about what happened?”
“I don’t think so,” Aislynn said.
“What do you think happened?”
“To Kylie? Someone broke in and hit her.”
Obviously. Or more likely, someone broke in while the house was empty, and Kylie came home and found him or her in the process of ransacking the office, and then he or she hit her. Most burglars have enough sense not to break into a house when people are home.
Aislynn and Kylie’s house had sat empty all day long, though. It made a lot more sense to break in then, when they were both at work. Anyone who knew anything about their schedules would know that Kylie worked regular business hours and Aislynn’s waitressing job was in Brentwood, a thirty minute drive from the house. It wouldn’t have been hard to check that she was there. Just stop by and look.
Yes, late morning would have been a much safer time for a foray into the house than evening. Especially since the backyard was fenced and private for someone to come and go without being seen.
And that reminded me... “Do you know a guy in a plaid shirt?”
Aislynn stared at me.
“Blue and green plaid. Sort of light.” And yes, I did realize how stupid the question was. All someone in a plaid shirt had to do, was take off the plaid shirt, and he’d no longer be someone in a plaid shirt.
“I’m sure we do,” Aislynn said. “I think Kylie has a plaid flannel shirt that she uses in the winter. And I have a plaid skirt.”
Not quite what I’d been looking for. But rather than telling her the reason I asked—since I didn’t want to worry her any more than this incident with Kylie already had—I just thanked her and didn’t say anything else about it.