Lorna Barrett: Chapter & Hearse

“The building might be dicey, but there could be many salvageable books inside.”

“It’s not safe.”

“The firemen are inside,” Tricia pressed. “Can’t some of us—?”

“We can’t allow civilians inside. It’s too dangerous. But I’ll ask Chief Farrar about it. The firefighters often try to salvage property after a fire.”

“Thank you,” Tricia said.

“If you ladies will excuse me. . . .” Baker tipped his hat in their direction, turned, and stepped off the curb.

“We’ve got to save those books,” Tricia murmured.

“What for?” Angelica groused. “Jim’s dead.”

“He must have heirs.”

“Okay, but will they want to take a load of books? Who’s going to store them until an heir can be found?”

“Maybe the booksellers could pitch in,” Mr. Everett said. “Perhaps they could hire a storage unit for a few weeks—just until other arrangements could be made. I’d be glad to make some phone calls,” he volunteered.

Sudden tears filled Tricia’s eyes. “You’re a treasure, Mr. Everett.”

He blushed in embarrassment.

“Tricia, we should follow the ambulance to the hospital,” Angelica insisted.

“What about the Cookery?” Tricia lowered her voice. “Frannie’s obviously in no shape to close the store, and it might be hours before we return.”

Angelica looked torn.

“It’ll take only a few minutes,” Tricia insisted.

“If you’ll trust me with the keys, Angelica, I’ll take care of it. And I’ll make sure Frannie gets home okay,” Ginny said. She had worked at the Cookery before Angelica bought it.

“Thank you so much, Ginny. I’ll make it up to you,” Angelica promised.

“You don’t need to. Now, you grab your purses and go!” Ginny gave Tricia a gentle push.

Angelica didn’t need to be told twice.

It was after eleven when Bob was finally transferred from the emergency room to a semiprivate room in the hospital. By then Angelica had badgered at least seven nurses and three doctors for information on Bob’s condition. “No can do,” was the answer from all, and more than one quoted the HIPA Privacy Rule of 2003. Once a bandage-swathed Bob was in his own room, though, he was free to answer their questions for himself. Only he didn’t.

“I’ll be okay,” he insisted after Angelica had fussed around his bed, adjusting the covers for the fifth time.

“I just want you to be comfortable.”

“Right now I’m comfortable. Although when those pain meds wear off. . . .” He let the sentence trail off, and closed his eyes.

“Can you tell us what happened?” Tricia asked.

“Jim and I were talking. He went out back for a smoke. There was a loud whoosh, and then the next thing I knew, I was lying on the sidewalk outside his shop, surrounded by firemen and a lot of glass,” Bob said, not opening his eyes.

“What were the two of you talking about just before all that happened?” Tricia asked.

“Nothing much,” he said, without inflection. Bob didn’t seem very disturbed by the death of his friend.

“Did you smell gas before the place blew?”

Bob sniffed. “Not with my allergies. Look, I’m really tired. Why don’t you girls go on home? I’ll talk to you tomorrow.”

“But Angelica won’t be here tomorrow,” Tricia said. “She’ll be starting the first leg of her book tour.”

“Of course I won’t,” Angelica declared, and then lowered her voice, placing her hand gently on Bob’s shoulder. “I’m staying right here with Bob until he’s fully recovered.”

He opened his eyes. “No, you’re not. You’ve worked too hard to get all the publicity this tour will give your book. You can’t afford to cancel—especially at this late hour. And I’m speaking literally and figuratively. I will manage.” His tone indicated he was finished with that subject.

“When did the doctor say you could leave, Bob?” Tricia asked.

“Probably tomorrow or the next day. I’ll have to arrange for a ride home. Perhaps a cab.”

“Don’t be silly. I’d be glad to take you home whenever you’re released,” Tricia said.

“Yes, and I’ll stop by your place and pack a bag for you,” Angelica said. “You can’t go home wearing a hospital gown, and your clothes are ruined.”

“No,” Tricia agreed solemnly, “Captain Baker would probably arrest you for mooning all of Stoneham.”

Bob made no comment. He lacked a sense of humor at the best of times, and no doubt whatever painkillers they’d given him had also dulled his senses.

“I’ll just leave you two alone to say good night. Ange, I’ll get the car and meet you at the front entrance,” Tricia said, and backed out of the room. “I hope you feel better, Bob.”

He didn’t answer.

Tricia did not like hospitals, and neither did she like traversing a dark parking lot to find her car. But in minutes she’d retrieved her Lexus and pulled around to the hospital’s front entrance to await Angelica. Ten minutes later, she was still waiting. A security guard approached her car. She rolled down the window.

“Didn’t you see the sign?” He jerked a thumb toward a white sign with red lettering: NO PARKING OR STANDING.

“I have to pick up my sister,” Tricia protested.

The guard shook his head. “You can’t tie up the lane in front of the entrance. You’ll have to keep circling until she comes out.”

Tricia exhaled a loud sigh, started the car, and pulled away. She’d circled three times before she saw Angelica waiting on the sidewalk.

Another car stood at the curb. Where was that security guard now? Tricia pulled over, out of the fire lane, stopped her car, and shifted into PARK. As Angelica stepped off the sidewalk to cross the drive, Tricia heard the roar of an engine. She turned to see the high beams of a car come barreling up from behind.

Angelica froze, the car’s bright headlights illuminating her. At the last second, she seemed to come alive and jumped out of the zooming car’s path. Tricia heard the thud as her sister landed on the hood of her Lexus. In seconds, she was out of the car.

“Ange! Are you all right?”

Angelica did not move. Terrified, Tricia reached for her sister’s limp arm, checking for a pulse. It was there—racing.

Angelica groaned, braced her arms on the hood, and pushed herself up. “What was that?”

“A car!”

“I know it was a car,” Angelica growled. She looked around, dazed. “Where’s my purse?”

Her giant handbag had gone sailing into the air just before she’d hit the Lexus. Tricia glanced around, found the leather purse and its contents scattered across the asphalt. She stooped to pick up all the odds and ends. “Are you okay?”

“Bruised only,” Angelica said, gently touching the skin under her left eye.

“We should call the police.”

“What for?”

“Someone just tried to kill you!”

“Don’t be silly. It was probably just a teenager on a joy ride.”

“At a hospital?” Tricia asked, incredulous.

Angelica waved away her concerns. “And anyway, what would we tell the cops? Did you see what kind of car it was—or even the color?”

“No,” Tricia admitted, handing over Angelica’s purse. “But we should at least tell hospital security.”

Angelica reached for the passenger-side door handle. “Forget it. I’m tired. And we’ve still got to stop at Bob’s house so I can pack that bag for him.” She got in the car, buckled her seat belt, and leaned back against the headrest. Tricia got in, and with shaking hands turned the key once more and pulled away from the hospital’s now silent entrance.

Angelica made small talk all the way home, mostly on the subject of her upcoming book tour. Tricia kept glancing up at the rearview mirror, worried those bright headlights might zoom up behind her once again.