part0046

I faded in and out of consciousness for the next several hours, but a few rather perplexing images have stayed with me. For instance, I swear I saw Caesar Newland and his gardener’s cart roll in and park beside Maybelline. Abigail sat in the passenger seat, but instead of her feather duster, she held a pair of lopping shears. Gerald was in the back, sitting cross-legged atop a pile of mulch.

The memory gets even more odd, because I swear Caesar took his shears from Abigail, stepped over to the bough that had toppled both me and Coco, and gave it a good lopping. The offending branch landed on Coco, but the next thing I knew, she had joined the gang in the cart, and as Caesar pulled away, Piers issued orders to keep a close watch on her until the police arrived.

Evidently, Karen, Piers, and I, and Maybelline, Badger, and Nell, also vacated the reforestation area. I recall thanking the EMS personnel for saving me from the heebie jeebies as they loaded me onto a stretcher.

“Heebie-who?” one of them asked, before someone else suggested I try to rest.

I must have done so, because I came to in the emergency room.

Wilson was there. He was gripping my hand—my left hand. “Look at me, Jessie,” he kept saying, and I focused on the baby blues while some sadist claiming to be an MD reset my shoulder. For the record, it wasn’t broken, just dislocated. And getting it back in its socket? As mentioned—sadist.

I opened one eye. “Thanks for not killing me.”

“Don’t tempt me.” Wilson leaned over, gave me a gentle kiss, and worked on getting my bed into position so I could sit up comfortably. Well, he tried. “Great job on the safety first thing, Darlin.’”

I shrugged, immediately thought better of it, and took a few deep breaths. “Karen?” I asked .

“Dehydrated, but otherwise fine,” he said. Yet, even so, she and I were both destined to spend the night at the Clarence Medical Center. “For observation,” he added. “Piers pulled a few strings so you’ll be sharing a room.”

“He wrote a check,” I said and came to learn construction of a new pediatric critical care unit would begin the following week.

I braced myself and mentioned the other, not so heroic, Rigby cousin. “Is Coco okay?” I asked, and Wilson told me it depended on what I meant by okay.

“She twisted an ankle, but that’s the least of her problems,” he said. “I take it you figured out motive while you were—” He frowned and pointed to my shoulder.

“The second before it happened,” I said. The million-dollar answer to the million-dollar question about that measly million-dollar ransom demand was Coco Rigby, the millionaire. “She’s jealous of Karen,” I said. “In particular, she was unhappy Piers altered his jet-setting, globe-trotting lifestyle now that he has Karen.”

Wilson nodded. “She used the phrase ‘Pee-Pie’s tiresome girlfriend’ about a dozen times in her confession.”

“She’s already confessed?”

I braced myself again. “Did Coco hurt her?” I mentioned that horrible scene in the west wing bathroom, but Wilson assured me there had been no struggle. “But what about her tool belt?” I asked.

“Coco kicked it,” he said. “But she took out her frustrations only after she had her tied up in that shack.”

I was shocked Karen hadn’t put up a struggle, but Wilson suggested I think about it.

“Coco told her about the old shack, and—” He stopped and waited, and I groaned out loud.

“She told Karen the shack needed some work,” I said.

“Very good. Keep going.”

I stared at my feet under the covers. “Coco regaled her with descriptions of sagging floorboards and leaking roofs until Karen couldn’t resist taking a peek.” I looked up. “Nothing gets Karen Sembler more excited than the thought of putting her tool belt to good use. ”

“Yep,” Wilson agreed. “They took the Land Rover most of the way.”

And then, unfortunately, things had gotten more violent. A bitter irony—Coco used a wrench from Karen’s own plumbing supplies to knock her out.

“And she already had some rope from the stable stashed out there to tie her up.” Wilson raised an eyebrow. “Coco’s not much of a planner, but it’s clear she planned all that.”

I blinked at a machine monitoring my—heck, I have no idea what it was monitoring. “Wayne Stasson wasn’t involved yet?” I asked.

“Not before the weekend.”

I snarled. “He got involved when he figured out what she was up to. And his motive was money—funding for his pie in the sky business plan.”

“Very good. Keep going.”

“They must have disagreed about the ransom,” I continued hazarding guesses. “Wayne became ‘tiresome,’ and Coco killed him.”

“I’d say very good, but that was very bad.” Wilson held me with the baby blues. “That was first degree murder.”

The baby blues were saying—screaming—something else.

“What aren’t you telling me, Captain Rye?”

“She’s been charged with first degree murder.”

“Yes, Wilson. You just mentioned that.”

He reached for my good hand and cleared his throat. “But the kidnapping charges will probably be dropped.”

“What!?” I jumped and boy! Did that smart!

Wilson held onto me with both hands as I gasped for breath. “Coco already has a whole team of lawyers,” he was saying. “The best that money can buy.”

“So what!?” I practically spat the words. “She kidnapped Karen. Karen might have—”

I stopped and took a few more breaths, and needed a few more when I learned Karen Sembler herself had agreed to make a statement on Coco’s behalf .

“Think about it,” he told me. “Think about your pal Karen in particular.”

I stared at that machine at the foot of the bed and thought about Karen. She may exude a tough as nails exterior, however. “Karen has firsthand knowledge of Coco’s emotional instability,” I said quietly.

“She wants Coco to receive the psychiatric help she so desperately needs.”

When I looked up, Wilson was smiling. “Karen Sembler has a heart of gold,” he said, and even though it hurt a little, I cried a lot.

I cried a lot more when I got to see her again. As did Karen. Wilson situated my wheelchair next to her bed, and took a seat near Piers, and eventually we got a grip. Karen pointed to the sling on my arm. “You okay?”

“Absolutely. And you?”

“Peachy.” She smiled. “Piers says you understood my clue. I knew you would.”

I shook my head. “I understood it was a clue, anyway.”

“I wanted to call you ‘chum.’ That would’ve been a great clue, but it also might have—”

She stopped and took a deep breath.

I did the same. “It was so good to hear your voice that day, Karen.”

“Girlfriend, you have no idea how good it felt to hear yours.”

We were threatening to cry again when Piers cleared his throat. “There is something I’m trying to understand.” He waited until I would look at him, and I braced myself for the question I knew was coming. “Why did you and Maybelline run away from me?” he asked. “Right there at the last minute, Jessie?”

“Oh, that.” I waved my good arm. “That was Wilson’s fault.”

“Yes, you,” I said firmly. “You ordered me not to be caught alone with anyone. ”

Wilson folded his arms and glared. “Try again, Jessie. Like you ever listen to me?”

“Always,” I lied and explained that, when I found myself alone with Piers at the outskirts of the estate, it seemed just the thing to heed Wilson’s advice. I nodded to Karen. “As usual, I obeyed my husband.”

Okay, so after everyone finished guffawing at that ludicrous notion, Karen stated the truth. “You thought Piers kidnapped me, Jess.”

“And killed Wayne,” Piers added.

“But only for a minute,” I said. “It was Maybelline’s fault.”

“I’m a cat person. And Maybelline’s a horse. How is anyone supposed to think straight on top of a horse?”

Karen turned to her beau. “She does have a point.”

“And I have been warning her to be careful all week,” Wilson added.

“And safety first is my motto,” I said, and everyone guffawed again.

Wilson more or less tucked me in. “Get some rest,” he told me.

“Ditto,” Piers told Karen, and after the guys left, my roommate and I spent some time smiling and giggling at nothing in particular.

I sighed a contented sigh. “I haven’t been to a sleepover in decades.”

“Ditto, girlfriend. If I remember right, we’re supposed to talk about boys.”

And unfortunately, I thought of a particular boy. I got serious and asked about Wayne Stasson. “I’m still unclear about his role in this.”

“Oh, Jess. I feel so bad about Wayne.”

“Wayne saved my life.”

“Excuse me?” I repeated, but Karen insisted it was true .

“He fed me,” she said. “He gave me water. Heck, he even let me go outside to—” She curled her lip. “You’re a writer. Use your imagination.”

I told her I would rather not, but remained on topic. “Wayne took care of you because Coco found it tiresome?”

“Bingo. She kept reminding me she’s not a servant.”

Okay, so I conceded Wayne might have possessed one or two redeeming qualities, and Karen admitted she had been terrified the first time he set foot in that shack. “But I was even more terrified when he stopped showing up,” she said.

“Did you know he was dead?”

She suspected as much, and she insisted Wayne had been about to do the right thing. “I really think he was about to free me and turn himself in, Jess. That’s why Coco killed him.” She gave me a meaningful look. “I knew I was next. It was only a matter of time before she abandoned me.”

“What!?” I jumped, instantly remembered not to do that, and winced instead. “She would have left you out there to starve to death? Please tell me that wasn’t her plan.”

“She never had a plan,” Karen said. “Other than keeping me away from Piers until he forgot about me.”

“No, really. She didn’t understand why Piers was so distraught all week. She kept telling me that.”

I shook my head and sputtered a four-letter word.

“Coco doesn’t think like the rest of us, Jess. She has problems.”

At the risk of sounding unsympathetic I replied with a simple “No kidding.”

But we were supposed to be discussing boys, correct? I smiled and wiggled my eyebrows, and abruptly changed the subject. “So?” I asked. “Did Piers tell you?”

Karen blushed in answer.

“And?” I persisted. “What did you tell him?”

She took a moment. “I told Piers I love him, too.”

“You love Piers!” Candy Poppe popped through the doorway and stepped aside to let the orderly behind her roll in another bed. “I was hoping we’d talk about boys,” she told us. “That’s what sleepovers are for.”