Seeing me, Maggie paused.
“You,” she said, not unpleasantly.
“Me,” I said.
“Go get the car ready,” Leonie said to Jason.
“Hold your horses, please,” Maggie said.
She pulled over another chair, smiling warmly at Shasta. “Hello, my lovely.”
“Hey, Mags.”
“Let’s have a peek... Oh my. That’s a good one.”
Leonie chewed her thumbnail. “Is it bad?”
“I’m afraid we’re going to have to amputate.” Maggie opened her bag. “Shoo, all of you.”
Jason turned to go. Leonie remained rooted in place.
“Lee,” he said. “C’mon.”
Leonie stormed out, brushing by him.
He and I followed her into the living room, and the three of us stood in awkward silence, Jason nodding indecipherably and Leonie refusing to make eye contact while I peered around, a dumb smile plastered to my face, feeling time slip away.
If not for the crash I’d be halfway to Millburg by now. Amy was expecting a call from me as soon as I regained service. Through the perforated shades, the sky glowed pewter. Fog drifted over high, violent surf. I felt desperate to escape, gripping at the carpet with my toes, through my shoes, to prevent myself from running.
In the kitchen, Maggie Penrose was performing a mini mental status exam. Shasta answered in an undertone.
The dog had quieted. Mournful yips emanated from down the hall.
Jason started toward it. “I’m gonna let him out.”
“Leave it, please,” Leonie said.
“I don’t want him to have an accident.”
“I said leave it.”
He relented.
One two three bright light Dr. Penrose said.
“So...,” Jason said.
“Clay,” I said.
“Clay. What brings you to our neck of the woods?”
“Just visiting.”
“Where from?”
“Bay Area.”
“Right on. Welcome to Swann’s Flat.”
“Thanks,” I said.
Leonie stared resolutely at the carpet.
“How long you here for?” Jason asked.
“I came in Monday. I was actually on my way out of town.”
“You were at the hotel?”
“Yeah.”
“Enjoy your stay?”
I nodded.
“Awesome,” he said.
Maggie Penrose said Wiggle your toes.
“Must be nice to have a doctor for a town this size,” I said.
“One of everything you need,” Jason said, smiling. “None of what you don’t. Drink?”
“I, uh— I’m good. Thanks.”
He crossed to a corner bar with a mini fridge. Popping open a bottle of Sierra Nevada, he flopped on the couch, patting the cushion for Leonie. She didn’t move.
Wind roared, waves crashed, the dog continued to keen.
That’s good Dr. Penrose was saying. Deep breaths.
Whomp-whomp went my head.
“You have a beautiful home,” I said.
Leonie rotated toward me like a tank turret.
Maggie Penrose emerged from the kitchen, drying her hands on a paper towel.
“How is she?” Jason said.
“Good, all things considered. She’s a toughie. How’d she seem, right after it happened?”
“Dazed,” I said. “But not for long. She did complain of feeling hot.”
“Mm.” Maggie turned to Leonie. “I’d like to bring her to my place and take an X-ray.”
“Is it broken?” Leonie said.
“Doesn’t look that way, but I’d like to be sure. You, too,” Maggie said to me. “I need to look at your head.”
“Where am I going?” I asked.
“Oh no you don’t,” Leonie said. “You’re not jumping in your car and running off.”
“Honey,” Jason said.
“It’s okay,” I said. “I can go with Dr. Penrose.”
“I want a copy of your driver’s license,” Leonie said. “I want your phone number and your insurance and the name of your attorney.”
I couldn’t give her those without blowing my cover. I also didn’t see how I could lie without committing a crime.
I was ready to reach for my wallet when Shasta hobbled into the doorway, her shin mummified in gauze and tape.
“Can we please go?” she said.
Jason got up from the couch. “You two go on ahead. Come on, kitten.”
He accompanied Shasta through the kitchen toward the garage.
Maggie said, “We’ll be back soon.”
“Yes,” Leonie said. She was speaking to me. “You will.”
Chapter 15
I got into Maggie Penrose’s green Subaru Outback and she started down Beachcomber.
“Quite the exciting vacation you’re having,” she said.
“That wasn’t the goal.”
“Do you have medical training?”
I’d tipped her off by mentioning Shasta’s temperature.
“I took a first-aid class last year,” I said. “We had a unit on concussion.”
“Mm.”
“I did offer to bring her to the hospital. She wouldn’t let me.”
“Well, that’s Shasta for you.”
“I would’ve just taken her but I don’t know where it is.”
“There’s a clinic in Benbow, and a small site in Fortuna. Anything major, we go to Eureka.”
“That must take — what? Three hours?”
“By car. Faster by boat, depending on the tide.”
“Do you think Shasta will need that?”
The doctor eyed me.
Was I expressing sincere concern? Or fishing for an out?
“I’m going to reserve judgment,” she said.
Short drive: Hers was the mansion closest to the marina, which explained how and why she walked to the cove every evening. The layout was identical to the Clancys’ — central living room, patio, spiral staircase — but slightly smaller and with a dead-gray decorating scheme even more tired, as if both houses had been built from the same basic plan.
“I’ll want to see her first before I get started on you,” Maggie said.
On cue, Jason Clancy called out: “We’re here.”
He entered with Shasta leaning on his shoulder.
“Would it be possible for me to make a phone call?” I asked.
“In my office,” Maggie said, pointing to the back hall. “Third door on the left.”
“Thank you.”
I found the right room and shut the door quietly. It was about seven forty-five a.m. With luck I could catch Amy before she left to drop off the kids and head to work.
I dialed from the desk phone. It rang once and went to voicemail.
“Hi. Everything’s fine. Call me on this number. I don’t know if you can see it. It’s...”
I checked the desktop for personalized stationery or a prescription pad, moving tchotchkes and photos but finding nothing. I balked at rifling drawers; that felt invasive.
“I’ll call you again soon,” I said and hung up.
I slumped in the desk chair. The goose egg was throbbing now, too, in addition to the whomp-whomp. Competing drummers playing out of sync. The furniture and walls seemed to be — not where they should be.
How hard had I hit my head?
I leapt up and took a lap around the room, flapping my limbs to restore a feeling of immediacy. Diplomas on the wall from Williams and Case Western Reserve School of Medicine. Shelving units with well-thumbed clinical texts on a wide range of topics, back issues of JAMA, smattering of psychology books. A small-town GP wore many hats.
The phone rang.
I lifted the receiver. Cartoons blared in the background. “Amy?”
“Where are you? I thought you left already.”