Блейз Клемент - Even Cat Sitters Get The Blues

He said, “Any idea how long you were out?”

“Just a minute or two.” I had no idea at all.

“Any amnesia?”

“No.”

He recommended that I stay overnight in the hospital. When I refused, he didn’t seem surprised.

He said, “Look, a concussion’s not something to fool around with. It’s especially important not to have another one anytime soon. I’m not kidding. A second impact syndrome can cause enough pressure in the brain to kill you.”

“I don’t plan on having another one.”

“Nobody does, but once you’ve had one, you’re four times more susceptible to another. Just be extra careful until this has had time to heal. Wait at least a month before you go skiing or bungee jumping or anything like that.”

The kid actually thought I might leap off a bridge from a bungee. Made me feel about two hundred years old. I signed some papers, acknowledging that I was leaving against medical advice and absolving the hospital of any blame if I died during the night, and wobbled out to where Guidry waited.

The pubescent intern followed me. He said, “Somebody should stay with her tonight. Don’t give her any anti-inflammatory drugs for her headache. They’ll stop the pain in the short run, but in the long run they’ll keep soft tissue from healing and create chronic pain. If her pain persists, bring her back for an MRI. Sometimes a concussion represses vasopressin, so if she experiences frequent urination in the next few weeks, she should see her doctor. It would be best if she didn’t sleep for several hours tonight. If she falls asleep, wake her every thirty minutes and check her pupils. If they contract any more than they already are, bring her back.”

Guidry nodded and shook the kid’s hand, the way men do when they’re signaling each other that their superior male wisdom is ensuring a woman’s safety. For once, I didn’t mind. I just wanted to go home and take a nap.

With one hand on my arm, Guidry steered me out to his car in the cop’s reserved place outside the emergency room doors. I sank into the seat and leaned my aching head back on the headrest and didn’t look up until the car stopped beside my carport. Without saying a word, Guidry swiveled out of the car and trotted around to my door. Tender as a mother, he helped me out and stayed so close behind me as we headed for the stairs to my apartment that I could feel his breath on my neck. When we got to my shuttered French doors, I stopped and groaned.

“The remote’s in my purse. In the Bronco.”

The metal storm shutters started rising anyway, folding into neat little accordion pleats and disappearing into the soffit over the door.

Guidry said, “I got your purse.”

If I’d had all my faculties, I would have given him my grandmother’s lecture about how you never, ever, under any circumstances, stick your paws into a woman’s purse without her permission. But since my faculties seemed to be taking a sabbatical, I was just glad he could get us inside my apartment.

Guidry reached around me and unlocked the French doors, using the keys from my purse—the purse I hadn’t given him permission to open. Then, with one arm around my fuzzy pink shoulders, he ushered me into my living room and steered me toward my grandmother’s sofa with the green flower-printed slipcovers.

I said, “I want to take a shower.”

“Not unless I’m in there with you.”

I tried for indignant, but the most I could muster was a weak pout.

“My mouth is nasty.”

“Okay, we’ll go brush your teeth.”

We?

“Guidry, you aren’t going to the bathroom with me.”

“Honey, you can pee without me, but only with the door unlocked. I know you. You’ll push the limits and end up getting hurt.”

I considered that while I tottered into the bedroom and kicked off my high-heeled boots.

I said, “I’m already hurt.”

“Because you pushed the damn limits. What were you doing at the Kurtz house, anyway?”

Oh, God, I hadn’t told anybody what had happened. In fact, I’d completely forgotten it. The thing about having amnesia is that you don’t remember what you’ve forgotten.

Carefully, I turned around to face him. “Guidry, the woman was there. The woman with the dog.”

His eyes narrowed. “The woman with the dog.”

“Yes! Her car was there, but she was gone. That’s her car parked in front of my Bronco. I was going around her car when somebody hit me.”

“After you called nine-one-one about the fire?”

“No, before. Somebody hit me and knocked me out. I smelled smoke when I came to, and then I called nine-one-one.”

“Dixie, you’re confused. Somebody hit you after the firefighters arrived, not before. The chief thinks the arsonist must have been lurking on the grounds and attacked you because he thought you had spotted him. Did you?”

I shook my head and groaned at the pain the movement caused.

“No, no, I was hit before the firefighters came. When I came to, there was smoke in the air. I called nine-one-one, and then I moved my Bronco so the fire trucks could get past. I was on my way to tell the fire marshal about the woman when I fainted. She may be under the bushes, unconscious.”

“You say her car is still there?”

I nodded and groaned again. God, I had to stop moving my head. “It’s a Ford sedan. It’s the same one she was driving the first time I met her.”

Guidry had pulled out his cell phone and was punching in numbers with his thumb. I left him and started down the hall toward the bathroom.

As I stepped into the bathroom, I heard him behind me speaking to a deputy.

“Check out the plates on the Ford sedan in front of the Bronco. And start a search of the grounds around the house. You’re looking for a woman. Maybe hurt.”

I pushed the door, but Guidry’s foot slid into the opening so it wouldn’t close.

“That’s far enough for modesty. I’ll wait out here, but if I hear any thudding sounds, I’m coming in.”

“Come on, Guidry, I have pet hair and grass and vomit and God knows what on me! Just a quick shower, okay?”

There was a pause on the other side of the door. “I’ll make a deal. You get undressed and cover up with a towel. I’ll turn on the water and help you in the shower. I’ll give you two minutes, and then you turn off the water and I’ll hand you a robe and help you step out.”

I opened my mouth to yell No! Then I remembered the squishy feel of the areca palm frond just before I fainted, and the somber warnings of the adolescent emergency room doctor.

“It’ll take me awhile to get undressed. I’m moving slow.”

“I noticed.”

Peeling off tight leather pants is tricky under the best of circumstances. When it makes you woozy to lean over, it’s a bitch to get them down to your ankles. By the time I’d stripped to my panties, I didn’t have the strength to take the sweater off too.

Gingerly, I leaned over the sink to brush my teeth and splash my face. Leaning made my head feel like it might explode any minute. When I straightened up, the room began to spin, and I had to clutch the edge of the sink until it came to rest. Taking a shower suddenly seemed like climbing Mount Everest.

When I opened the door in my underpants and pink fuzzy sweater, Guidry took one look at me and scooped me into his arms like a daddy picking up a tired two-year-old.

I said, “I’ll just stay dirty for a while.”

“At least you don’t have nasty teeth anymore.”

“I’d like to take a nap now.”

“We’re going to talk awhile first.”

“I need Extra Strength Excedrin for my headache.”

“I have Extra Strength Tylenol, and I’ll make you some coffee.”

His cell rang as he lowered me into the green chair and tucked my grandmother’s afghan around my legs. He answered as he started toward my little cubbyhole kitchen. At my bar, he stopped and grabbed a notepad and pencil.