Stuart Woods: Hothouse Orchid

Her head hurt, and she realized that something was pressing on it. She felt and discovered a female hand, holding something against her head. “What?” she managed to say.

“I said, an ambulance is on the way,” he replied.

Holly felt oddly uncomfortable; there was a blanket over her, and she seemed to have sand in her jeans. She reached down and discovered that she wasn’t wearing any jeans, only her shirt. From a distance she heard the siren of an ambulance. It would be all right, she thought, and then she passed out again.

A stab of pain in her head brought her around. She tried to sit up, but someone held her shoulders.

“Just lie still,” a male voice said. “I’m almost done.”

She tried to lie still, but he was hurting her.

“There,” he said.

“I know this is a cliché,” she managed to say, “but where am I?”

“Emergency room, Indian River Hospital,” he said. “How are you feeling?”

“Oh, just great,” she replied. “What were you doing up there? Brain surgery?”

“Next best thing,” he replied. “Giving you eight stitches in your scalp. Don’t worry, I took as little hair as possible.”

“What happened to me?” she asked. “Was I in an accident?”

“What do you remember?”

“I remember driving away from my father’s house,” she said. “What happened then?”

“There’s a police officer down the hall talking with the couple who found you,” he said. “We’ll know more soon.”

“What happened to my neck?” she asked, rubbing it.

He took her hand away and inspected it. “There’s a tiny wound, like a needle prick,” he said.

“Where’s my bag?” she asked.

Somebody set it on her belly. “Here it is,” a nurse said, cranking her bed until she was sitting up a little. “Your jeans and underwear are here, too; you weren’t wearing them when the couple found you, and you had no shoes on.”

Holly found her cell phone and pressed a speed dial button.

“This better be good,” Ham’s voice said. “You woke me up.”

“Ham,” she said, “my car is on the Indian River Trail, a couple of miles south of the bridge. Will you bring it to the hospital? I don’t have the keys, so they must still be in the car.”

“Are you all right?”

“Somebody hit me over the head. Just come to the ER.”

“Twenty minutes,” Ham said, then hung up.

Holly closed the phone and looked up. A stocky young man in a police uniform was standing there.

“Holly? You all right?” he asked.

“Jimmy!” she said, glad to see him. Jimmy Weathers had been a rookie in her department.

“A couple found you out on Indian River Trail, lying in the road. You got any idea how you got that way?”

“None at all,” she said. “I had dinner at Ham’s, and the last thing I remember was driving away from his house.”

“The kids who found you said there was a car parked behind yours with a flashing blue light. Almost as soon as they saw it, it drove away, and they nearly ran over you.”

“I’m sorry, Jimmy,” she said, “but that means nothing to me. I mean, I remember some people taking care of me, but I must have passed out. Ham’s going to be here in a few minutes. Will you stay until he comes? Somebody besides me needs to tell him I’m all right.”

“I’ll help with that,” the doctor said, and she looked at him for the first time. He was fiftyish, athletic looking, with thick salt-and-pepper hair. “You’re going to stay with us overnight; you may have a concussion.”

“Whatever you say,” Holly replied, suddenly exhausted.

Holly woke up in a hospital room, and Ham was sitting beside her bed. Ginny came into the room holding two paper cups of coffee.

“Hey, Ham,” Holly said sleepily. “Hey, Ginny.”

Ham pressed the call button beside her bed. “How you feeling, baby?”

“Headache,” Holly said, groping for the bed control that would sit her up.

A nurse came into the room. “Will you tell Dr. Harmon she’s awake?” Ham asked. “He wanted to know.”

“I’ll call him,” the nurse said, then left.

“What happened?” Ham asked.

“I wish I knew,” Holly said.

“You have any idea who did this?”

“No, none at all.”

Ham held up her lizard boots. “These were in your car,” he said. “I thought you might need them when you walk out of here. There are socks inside.”

The doctor walked into the room. “You’re alive!” he said, in mock amazement. “Do you remember me?”

“The ham-handed stitcher-upper,” Holly said. “How could I forget?”

“We X-rayed you after you drifted off; you’ll be glad to know you don’t have a fractured skull, just a mild concussion. We’ve sent a blood sample out to see if there was anything odd in your bloodstream.”

“Just bourbon and red wine,” Holly said, “but not enough to be illegal.”

“That’s not our department; I was just concerned with the apparent needle mark on your neck and your propensity for becoming unconscious.”

“Okay,” she said. “What’s your name?”

“Josh Harmon,” he said, offering her his hand. “At your service.”

Holly shook his hand. “I hope I didn’t cause you to overstay your shift.”

“Nah, you’re my last call, then I’m out of here.”

“When am I out of here?” she asked.

“Let’s get you some breakfast and decaf. If, after that, you’re not suffering the aftereffects of some drug, we’ll give you the boot.”

“Please do; I’m feeling pretty good, except for the headache.”

“I’ll prescribe a painkiller.”

“Aspirin will do.”

“I’d like you to take it easy for a couple of days,” he said. “No running, no exercise. Just lie around the house and watch TV.”

“I can do that,” Holly said. “Where’s Daisy?” she asked Ham.

“In the car.”

A nurse came in with a breakfast tray and set it before her.

Holly sipped the coffee. “This is awful,” she said.

“We make it that way especially, because we don’t want you to like it here too much,” Dr. Harmon explained.

“It’s working,” Holly said, wolfing down some eggs. She finished her breakfast in record time.

“Before I go, I just want to do a little exam,” Dr. Harmon said. He held a finger before her eyes. “Follow this,” he said, moving it slowly back and forth. He finished the neurological exam. “Why are you taking up a bed?” he asked. “Get out of here.”

“Yes, sir,” Holly said, throwing off the covers and exposing more of herself than she had intended.

“I’d better get out of here while I can,” Harmon said. “I’ll call you later today and see how you’re doing.”

“You have my number?”

“Your dad was kind enough.” He gave her a little wave and was gone.

Ginny put her clothes on the bed. “I’ll bet that call isn’t going to be entirely medically oriented,” she said.

“I’ll go shoot him,” Ham said.

Later in the day, Holly woke from a nap and tried to remember what she had been dreaming. Something about being stopped by a cop. Her headache was gone, but her hair looked awful. They had apparently washed the blood out at the hospital, but they hadn’t exactly styled it when they were done. She got into a shower, then dried her hair properly. She put some antibiotic cream on her scalp wound and covered it with her hair. It looked perfectly normal.

She was hungry, so she dressed and went downstairs for a sandwich. She had just finished it when the phone rang.

“Hello?”

“Hi, it’s Josh Harmon, your friendly ham-handed stitcher-upper. How are you feeling?”

“Pretty good, actually,” she replied, “and I want to thank you for not taking any more hair than you did.”