I pulled out my phone to dial 9-1-1 and shouted for Craig. He arrived at a gallop just as I was telling the dispatcher that a man had been injured and was unconscious. I gave the address and then sent Craig out to the street to meet the first responders and lead them out back.
Tony wasn't moving, and I was afraid the moan I'd heard had been his dying breath. I set my laptop and messenger bag down a safe distance from the body and knelt to check his pulse. I was relieved to find that he had one, although it seemed faint and erratic to me. Of course, all I knew about medical matters came from reading medical reports to prepare for trial, and that was a lot different from hands-on experience with an injured person.
I sat on the lawn beside Tony, taking his hand in case it would help him to know, even while unconscious, that he wasn't alone and help was on the way.
Who could possibly have wanted to hurt Tony? He was such a cheerful, caring person, dedicated to his work and the people on his route. It had to be related to Miriam's death. Perhaps the killer had thought he'd gotten away with the murder until I'd started poking around. The way the local grapevine worked in Danger Cove, I wouldn't be terribly surprised if Frank Dreiser had heard that I'd convinced Tony to talk to the police about Miriam's arguments with her ex-boss. If those arguments had led to Dreiser murdering Miriam, then he might well have decided to silence Tony before he could say anything to the police.
I squeezed Tony's hand, hoping he could feel it, despite his unconsciousness. "It's going to be okay."
I wasn't sure if that was true, and I felt as if what had happened to him was my fault. Not legally, of course. Only the person who'd attacked Tony could be charged with any wrongdoing. Still, I couldn't help thinking that I'd started the whole chain of events that led to Tony bleeding in Miriam's yard. If I'd stuck to my official job, appraising the quilts and not asking any questions about the murder, Tony might not have been targeted.
I couldn't do anything about his injuries, but I would do everything possible to make sure his attacker—and presumably also Miriam's killer—was brought to justice.
* * *
Officer Fred Fields was among the first to arrive in response to my 9-1-1 call. His expression was so grim, I wouldn't have been surprised if after the scene was cleared, he headed straight for the Cinnamon Sugar Bakery to eat his way through the entire menu.
"I don't like it," he said. "This is a nice neighborhood. Or it always used to be. And now, not just one, but two people were assaulted in a period of just a month."
"I'm not a professional like you," I said, "but I can't help believing the two incidents are related."
He glanced over his shoulder at where Detective Bud Ohlsen's vehicle had just arrived.
Fred leaned toward me to speak in a low tone. "I don't know what Bud's thinking—he doesn't like to commit to a theory before he's done some serious investigating—but I agree that both crimes have to be related. What really worries me is that the violence is escalating, in terms of intent. It's possible that Miriam's death could have been an accident, but all my years of experience tell me that what was done to Tony had to have been intentional, possibly even premeditated."
At the sound of Ohlsen's car door opening, Fred straightened and pulled out his official notebook. "Right. I need to take down a brief statement, along with the other witness's. Then you can both leave. The detective will contact you if he has any questions."
Once Fred was done with us, Craig gave me a ride to his office. There, I handed the notebook directly to Aaron and told him about the spreadsheets in the back and the attack on Tony Flores. Still in shock and acting on autopilot, I arranged to meet Craig at Miriam's the next morning to finish the inventory and then headed across the street to let Gil know the latest development.
I was approaching the stairs to the second floor of the museum when I heard my name being called. I turned to see Faith Miller with two preteens and a toddler—presumably her children—in the room dedicated to the lighthouse and its keepers. I went over to join them.
Faith sent the older children off to find three examples of the application of math to everyday life in the 1800s and picked up the toddler, propping him on her hip before she turned to me. "What can you tell me about what happened to Tony?"
I must have looked confused, because she continued. "Tony Flores, I mean. His cousin and I have been friends since we were born on the same day in the same hospital. I was on my way here when Sheila called. She wanted me to watch her kids when they get home from school this afternoon. At first, I was as happy as the kids were to have an excuse to abandon the math problems we'd been working on all morning. It's not my best subject—I always need to get help from the other quilters when I'm figuring out how much fabric I need for a new design—so it's hardly surprising that my kids struggle with numbers too. But then she told me that she was on the way to the hospital because Tony was injured and that you'd found him."
Faith's expression was tight, and I thought she was only holding herself together for her kids, not wanting to scare them. It had been hard enough to imagine her losing her temper with Miriam, but I really couldn't believe she'd have hurt Tony. She obviously cared about him and his cousin. Besides, I couldn't see how she could have nipped over to Miriam's house and attacked him while simultaneously homeschooling her children. If I was right that the two incidents were related, then Faith's alibi for Tony's attack meant that she also hadn't killed Miriam over the theft of her quilt design.
"I don't have any idea what happened after the ambulance took Tony away," I said. "I've been tied up with the police and then with Miriam's lawyer. I'm heading to the hospital to check on him right after I have a quick word with Gil."
"I won't keep you then," Faith said. "Would you let me know if you find out anything?"
"Of course." I glanced at the preteens, who were remarkably well-behaved, going from case to case, bickering only a little over the possible answers to their assignment. "I don't suppose you know anyone who might have wanted to hurt Tony, do you?"
"I don't know him well, but Sheila just adores him. Tony is an only child who envied other people their siblings, so they kind of adopted each other. Tony got a sister and Sheila got to hang out with an older brother instead of her pesky younger sisters." Faith peered at me anxiously. "Don't the police have any idea of what happened to him?"
"They didn't say anything to me, but I'm assuming their first thought was the same as mine, that it was related to Miriam's death somehow."
"But she died almost a month ago," Faith said, looking genuinely puzzled. "Why would anyone attack Tony now?"
I didn't want to speculate publicly, so I just said, "People who resort to violence aren't always rational."
"True." The bickering of Faith's kids was escalating slightly. She adjusted the toddler on her hip and turned to give the preteens her Evil Mom Look. They quieted down, and she turned back to me. "I can't imagine who would have hurt either Tony or Miriam. I didn't know Miriam very well, since she didn't come to many of the regular guild meetings. I was pretty angry with her—still am, really—but killing her wouldn't have fixed what she did to me. All I really wanted was an apology and an admission that she'd copied my design. I'll never get that now."
The younger of the preteens gave the older one a halfhearted shove, sending him into one of the—fortunately—sound exhibit cases with a slight thunk. Faith excused herself and hurried over to usher them out of the museum.
It was just as well. I needed to talk to Gil and then go to the hospital to find out what price Tony was paying for my meddling in a murder investigation.
* * *
Someday, I told myself, I was going to ask Gil to teach me the blues song she'd been singing as I left her office after giving her the news about Tony Flores. They lyrics were about having "troubles so hard," something I could relate to a little too well at the moment.
I caught a cab to the hospital and found my way to the intensive care unit visitors' room. Someone had tried to make the place more cheerful with some fresh floral arrangements, but they weren't enough to compensate for the industrial flooring, dingy walls, and faded upholstery.
Matt was there already, having heard about the incident from a colleague monitoring the local police scanner. I took the seat beside him, nearest the entrance.
The only other people in the room were two women at the opposite end, near the door that led into the ICU itself. One was older, at least in her sixties, in jeans and a pink knit tunic. Despite her red, puffy eyes, I could see the resemblance to Tony, suggesting that she was his mother.
The second woman was younger, somewhere in her thirties, with mousy brown hair, in chinos and a navy sport shirt.
She patted the hand of the older woman and came over to sit on the other side of Matt. Her lanky build and washed-out appearance had nothing in common with Tony's stockier build or darker coloring, but she introduced herself as his cousin, Sheila Flores.
"I'm Keely Fairchild. How's he doing?"
She looked over her shoulder at the older woman and lowered her voice. "They won't let me in to see him, so I'm getting all my information from his mother, and she's pretty distraught. All I know is Tony was hit on the back of his head, and there's internal bleeding putting pressure on his brain. Apparently, the doctors have put him into a medical coma, and they aren't saying for how long or even if he'll ever come out of it."
"I'm so sorry." Not just because Tony's condition sounded so serious, but also because if he was hit from behind, it meant he probably hadn't seen his attacker and couldn't identify him for the police.
I tried not to let my despair show. Sheila and Tony's mother were the ones who truly had troubles so hard, and I didn't want to distress them any further. "I've heard that the doctors here are amazing."
Sheila nodded. "I just can't understand any of this. Everyone loves Tony. My kids adore him. I sometimes think they're actually glad when I have to work overtime on the days when we've planned to go to Two Mile Beach, because it means Tony will take them there for me. And I've never heard anyone say anything negative about him. Why would anyone do this?"
"I was wondering that too," I said. "I've only known him a few days, but I can't picture him getting involved in any sort of a fight, physical or verbal."
"Oh, he'd get into fights." She smiled sadly. "Not brawls, but he wouldn't hesitate to get between a bully and his victim. In fact, he came home with a black eye a few weeks ago."
"Do you know who hit him?"
Sheila stared down at her hands for a moment before shaking her head. "He didn't mention any names. Just said someone was bothering a woman on his route, so he stepped in to try to calm things down. He can usually do that with just his goofy sense of humor. But not that time. The guy clocked him for interfering. Do you think that bully might have done this?"
"I know the detective on the case," I said. "I'll have a word with him. He may want to talk to you about that previous incident."
"I'll do anything that would help catch this person. It's just so unfair. Tony shouldn't even have been on that street today when he was attacked. He's usually done there by noon and home by 2:00 when my kids get out of school. So what was he doing still on his route at 3:00?" Sheila was distracted by a muffled sob from the older woman at the other end of the room. "I've got to go back to Aunt Josefina now. I'll try to remember more about how Tony got his black eye, though. Tell the detective he can find me at work at the Ocean View B&B most days."
"I will."
Sheila left, and Matt beckoned me out into the hallway, where we wouldn't be intruding on the privacy of Tony's family.
Once the door had shut behind us, Matt said, "I found Miriam's car."
He didn't go on to explain, so I prompted, "Well?"
He sighed. "I was hoping you'd throw yourself at me in gratitude and tell me what a brilliant reporter I am."
I raised my eyebrows. "I imagine you've had that happen with other women, but seriously? You expected that of me?"
"Not really," Matt said. "I like to be thorough though, so I had to see if you were at all susceptible to bribes."
"I'm not," I said. "And we're supposed to be in this together. You for your newspaper story and me for protecting the museum from bad publicity. Although I think that ship may have sailed. This is completely off the record, but I found evidence that Miriam had embezzled from her ex-boss, Frank Dreiser. He was seen at her house a few days before she died, so I'm wondering if he finally noticed her embezzlement when he was preparing for the sale of his business assets and went to confront her about it. That would make him the prime suspect, as far as I'm concerned."
"Then you don't think her missing car has anything to do with her murder? And you don't want to know where her car is?"
Matt looked so disappointed, I would have let him tell me what he'd found out, even if I weren't curious. "I'm not certain about Dreiser. Just inclined to believe it was him unless you can tell me something particularly interesting about Miriam's car."
"I'm not sure how interesting it is, but her car is at a repair shop," he said. "She dropped it off a few days before she died, and they must have missed the news about her death, because they've been wondering why she hadn't come to pick it up. They're a little anxious about getting paid for their repairs."
"I'll let Aaron Pohoke know," I said. "Did they tell you what was wrong with the car?"
"Pretty much everything, according to the mechanic," Matt said. "And he wasn't just saying that to sell some unnecessary work to a clueless customer. He showed me the intake sheet, and there was a note that Miriam had told them she'd been sold a lemon and the car had been worked on by the dealership where she bought it practically once a week since she bought it. She'd finally gotten fed up and taken it to this place to find out what was really wrong with it. They thought the car had been in a major accident, perhaps declared a total loss, and then someone had done the very minimum of repairs before selling it to Miriam."
"I met Wayne Good, the guy who sold the car to Miriam, and he's probably right behind Dreiser as a prime suspect in her death," I said. "I got the impression that he'd been pretending to be her friend, first to sell her the car, and then later to keep her from returning it as a lemon. I couldn't picture him in a real relationship with Miriam. He was outright dismissive of the only thing she seemed to care about—her quilts—when he was talking to me."
"That makes him sound like a jerk, but not necessarily a killer."
"There's more," I said. "He was a little too anxious to get inside Miriam's house, and I can't help thinking that he knew about the cash hidden there and was hoping to grab it. I'd give a lot to know if Wayne had found out that Miriam wasn't blinded by him any longer and had had the car taken to the garage."
"You think that if Wayne knew Miriam was on to him, he might have gone to her house to try to smooth things over, and instead they got into an argument, and he killed her?"
"I think it's possible."
"While you finish up the quilt inventory, I'll see if I can find out more about this Wayne Good and where he was on the day Miriam was killed," Matt said. "Unless there's something else I can do to help you finish the work at Miriam's house so we can set a date to tour your bank vault?"
I couldn't help thinking of poor Miriam, and how she'd trusted Wayne Good, inviting him into her home and her heart. It was likely she'd been taken advantage of, and possibly even been killed, because of her failure to anticipate what could go wrong with their relationship.
But I wasn't Miriam, and Matt wasn't Wayne.
The worst that could happen when Matt saw the contents of my vault was that his image of me would be shattered, and he wouldn't like the real me. Putting it off would only delay the inevitable.
"We can set the date for the bank vault tour now," I said, apparently taking him by surprise. "I'm guessing it'll take you an hour or two to check out Wayne's alibi. I can't go back to Miriam's house until tomorrow, but I would like to talk to someone about the quilt guild's meeting space before I go home. It shouldn't take long, though. Why don't you stop by my place whenever you've got some information on Wayne?"
Matt glanced at his watch. "I've got a meeting at the newspaper at 4:00. I'll come by after that. I can pick up something for dinner on the way."