twenty-one

Back in the hallway, I stared at Dr. Boht. “Amnesia?” I repeated dumbly.

Dr. Boht nodded. “I’m afraid so,” she said. “It’s not uncommon, especially with these kinds of head injuries. In most cases, however, it’s temporary. Does she have any family that you know of ?”

I nodded. “Yes. She has a sister in New Jersey. I’ll call her.”

Dr. Baht nodded. “Fine. If she has any questions, have her call me. It might be helpful for her to come out, if she can. Familiar faces can help jog the memory back.”

I nodded again, my movements wooden. “Right. I’ll see if I can book her a flight.”

Dr. Boht reached over and touched my arm. “She’ll be fine. I promise you. It just takes time,” she said kindly. “Now, I think the best thing you two can do is to go home and get some sleep,” she said. “You look exhausted. If there is any change in Ms. Evans’s condition, we’ll call you right away.”

Nigel and I thanked Dr. Boht and numbly walked out of the hospital and to the parking garage. I then called DeDee’s sister, Nancy, and relayed what little information I had. After arranging a flight and hotel for her, Nigel and I drove home. There we collapsed into bed, where we remained for several hours. When I finally awoke, it was to the sensation of a long body stretched lazily over mine. Opening my eyes, I found myself looking up into two brown ones.

“Nigel?” I said, as a nose nuzzled against my neck.

“Hmmm?”

“Are you comfortable?” I asked.

“Very. Why?”

“Because, I’m not. Help me out, will you?”

Next to me, Nigel rolled over, laughing when he saw me pinned underneath Skippy’s massive frame. “Aw, don’t make him get off of you,” he said. “He’s just saying ‘hi.’ Besides, he looks so comfy.”

“That’s great, but I think my lungs are in danger of collapsing.” Skippy wagged his tail and began to enthusiastically lick my face. “That is, if I don’t drown first,” I amended, as I tried to push Skippy off of me. With Nigel’s help, I was finally able to squeeze out from under him, and roll toward Nigel’s side of the bed. Skippy happily settled into my vacated spot and laid his massive head on my pillow.

“See, he just wanted to snuggle with us,” Nigel said as he used his T-shirt to wipe the drool off of my face.

“That’s not snuggling,” I said. “That’s full-body-contact sleeping. In fact, in some countries I think we’d be legally engaged now. I feel like I’m covered from head to toe in dog slobber,” Nigel laughed and continued to wipe off Skippy’s drool, until I pointed out that “head to toe” was only an expression, and that I wasn’t comfortable performing in front of an audience. Nigel conceded the point and made the necessary adjustments. When we finally stumbled out of our bedroom sometime later, Skippy was patiently waiting for us on the living room couch.

While Nigel made us coffee, I attempted to shove Skippy off the couch. After awhile, I gave up. When Nigel returned, I was curled up in the club chair reading the recaps of the evening. There were pictures of various celebrities as they left the Vanity Fair Party: Frank and Barry clinking their Oscars together in celebration; an unsmiling Jules and John as they ducked into a black limo; and one that seemed to catch a laughing Christina, Sebastian, James Franco, and Seth Rogen as they ran from something inside. There was also a shot of Nigel and me. Nigel’s face wore an easy smile. Mine looked like I’d just been goosed. Which was only fair, seeing as I had been. “You made the gossip page,” I said as he handed me my coffee.

Nigel took a deep breath. “I was afraid of that,” he said as he took a seat in the chair opposite mine. “Let me just start by saying that it was David’s idea to begin with. You see, he bet me …”

“Nigel, it’s an article about the Oscars,” I said before taking a sip of my coffee.

Nigel affected a look of relief. “Oh. That does make more sense, now that I think about it.”

I smiled at him over the rim of my cup. “But since you mentioned it, what bet?”

“Exactly,” said Nigel with a wink. “Best to play it dumb should anyone ask.”

I rolled my eyes and resumed reading the paper. After a minute, I said, “Why do they always have to mention the fact that I’m an ex-detective like I did a stint in prison?”

Nigel laughed. “What did they say this time?”

“Among last night’s attendees was Movie Magic founder, Nigel Martini,” I quoted. “The former playboy attended the ceremony with his wife, Nic, and their dog, Skippy. Mr. Martini looked impeccable as always in a tux by Oscar de la Renta while Mrs. Martini donned a lavender gown by Christian Dior—a far cry from her days in uniform as a New York City Homicide Detective. Not to be outdone, Skippy was also dressed for the occasion, sporting a black silk bowtie on his stately neck.”

I threw the paper down. “‘A far cry from her days in uniform’? Honestly? Detectives don’t even wear uniforms.”

“A fact which, as I’ve said before, makes role-playing all the more difficult. But look on the bright side. You got top billing over Skippy.”

After we finished our coffee, we inspected the damage from DeDee’s attacker. “This makes no sense to me,” he said as we surveyed the living room. “If it were the tapes that they were after, why would they rip open our cushions? They can’t have possibly thought that we would have hidden them in there, could they?”

The room was certainly a disaster. It looked as if someone had turned the room upside down, shaken it violently, and once it was righted again, ripped open everything that hadn’t fallen open. “Is anything missing?” I asked.

“Besides the tapes—no,” he answered. “Thank God, the rest of the tapes are at the office. At least they didn’t get all of the footage.”

I drank from my cup. “I’m guessing that the person who did this wanted to draw attention away from the tapes,” I said. “I mean, even we didn’t think of it right away.”

Nigel walked over to the desk and bent down to put the drawers back in, while I began to put books back on their shelves. “If that’s the case, then someone went to a hell of a lot of trouble,” he groused.

“That they did,” I agreed. “But, I’ll be damned if I let it pay off for them.”