“I tried to.” I told her what had happened.
“Oh my God,” Amy said. “Are you okay?”
“I have a pretty big bump on my forehead.”
“You hit your head?”
“I’m at the local clinic. The doctor’s going to look at me when she’s done with her.”
“Is she okay?”
“Banged up, for sure. Hopefully nothing serious. We should call our insurance.”
“Do you need me to do that?”
“I’ll see if I can get to it.”
“What about a lawyer?” she asked.
“Probably, yeah.”
“Let me ask my parents who they use.”
“Okay. I’m still going to try and get out of here today, if possible.”
“Do you think you can? Are you safe to drive?”
“I don’t know. I’m pretty tired. I think that’s why I didn’t react faster. I was up most of the night, waiting for the gun guy. I should be fine once I get some more caffeine into me.”
“At least he didn’t show up.”
“He did, actually.”
“What?”
“No, it was okay. He left me money and an apology note.”
“Saying what?”
“ ‘Sorry.’ ”
“That’s it? ‘Sorry’?”
“I mean, it’s not a love poem. But I think we can assume he doesn’t intend to shoot me.”
“Can we?”
“I’m saying if I end up getting stuck here again for another night it’ll be okay.”
“Please, no.”
“The minute I can leave, I will. I don’t want to flee the scene and have them call the cops on me.”
“I thought the cops didn’t come.”
“Maybe not here. But it’s two hours to reach the highway. If someone calls ahead they could pick me off.”
“I don’t know what to say. This place is a curse.”
“I’m sorry, Amy.”
“I’m not mad at you,” she said. “It’s not your fault.”
“Let’s hope they see it the same way.”
“Are you sure you’re okay to drive?”
Whomp-whomp.
“Let me talk to the doctor,” I said. “I’ll check in when I have a plan.”
“I have patients all day. Leave a message.”
“Okay. Love you.”
“You too.”
I hung up and drew over one of the desk photos. It depicted Maggie Penrose in a moment of exultation: rising onto her toes, fists aloft, cheering at the finish line of a race. A girl of twelve or thirteen heaved through the tape.
Shasta.
The door opened. Jason Clancy leaned in. “Doc’s ready for you.”
The good news for Shasta was no broken bones.
“The resilience of youth,” Maggie Penrose said.
But there were bruised ribs and lots of scrapes and the gashed shin was nothing to sneeze at. The doctor had assigned a grade 2 concussion.
“If she starts acting very funny, passes out, seizes, vomits, anything that worries you, call me right away. Same if you can’t rouse her. Keep the lights low, keep the house quiet. No screens, today or tomorrow. We’re taking it easy, understand?”
“How will they be able to tell if I’m acting funny?” Shasta said.
Maggie smiled. “If you’re agreeable all of a sudden.”
She turned to Jason. “I’ll bring Clay over to you when I’m done.”
He nodded and put his arm out for Shasta.
“Batter up,” Maggie said to me.
The exam room was a converted den, outfitted with a padded table, supply cabinets, mechanical scale, IV pole. All the equipment showed age and wear consistent with a rural practice. A notable exception was the X-ray machine — a sleek, compact unit.
I commented on it. Maggie shrugged.
“We get hikers during the summer. They turn an ankle. Or dehydration, that’s another fan favorite. Let’s start by having you walk to the end of the room and back.”
She did a series of rapid neurological tests.
“Do you think I can drive?” I asked.
“Up to you. I won’t say no. But you have to monitor yourself and pull over if you need to. Can you promise me that?”
“Yeah.”
She began cleaning my forehead with iodine. “Where’d you get this nifty little guy?”
She meant my scar.
I gave my standard answer: “Work accident.”
“What kind of work do you do that you’re getting your head damn near chopped off?”
I’d slipped again, speaking as Clay Edison, not Clay Gardner.
“I’m in finance,” I said.
“Did you get attacked by a quarterly report?”
I laughed. “When I was nineteen, I had a summer job at a warehouse. Construction supplies. I was carrying a big sheet of glass with this other guy. With suction cups? He didn’t put his on correctly, and one of them came loose. The pane slips, hits the ground, and cracks in half. A huge shard kind of—”
I made a slicing motion. “Like a guillotine.”
“Ouch,” she said. “Nasty.”
It really was, for the poor kid it had actually happened to. He was an old coroner’s case of mine. The pane had severed his carotid and he’d bled out on the warehouse floor.
Maggie tore open a fresh gauze pad. “They did a good job sewing you up.”
“I got lucky.”
“Unfortunately,” she said, applying tape, “you’re stuck with me now.”
She stepped back. “All better.”
“Thanks. What do I owe you?”
A wry smile. “We’ll call it even for getting shot at.”
I nodded. “Thanks.”
“Well,” she said. “Time for you to face the music.”
Chapter 16
She dropped me at the Clancy residence, waiting for Jason to admit me before driving away.
“My wife’s getting Shasta set up,” he said. “Come in.”
In the kitchen he placed a mug by the burbling coffeepot. “Help yourself. Milk’s in the fridge.”
“Thank you.”
The sheepdog bounded in and headed right to me, licking my hands.
“You making friends, Bowie?” Jason said.
The dog sprawled to show me his belly.
“He must like you,” Jason said.
“I like him, too.”
“I mean it, he’s not like that with everyone.”
“I’m flattered.” I rubbed the dog’s stomach. “Bowie as in the frontiersman or as in the singer?”
“Singer. His full name’s Bowie Stardust.”
“You’re a fan.”
“I didn’t pick it.”
Footsteps approached. I gave the dog a final pat and straightened up as Leonie entered.
She said, “How are you feeling?”
The shift in her demeanor was so drastic that at first I didn’t think she was talking to me, assuming the question was meant for Jason. But she was studying me with a pinched expression. Not so much concern; there was some of that, although it was overlaid with anxiety.
As if I was the one who’d threatened her with a lawsuit instead of vice versa.
“All right. Thanks for asking,” I said. “How’s Shasta?”
“She’s resting.” A beat. “Thank you for taking care of her.”
“I’m glad I could help. I just hope she’s okay.”
Leonie nodded.
I waited for her to once more demand my contact information. Lying outright opened me to criminal charges and jeopardized my license. I didn’t think I had to volunteer anything, though.
“You got coffee,” she said.
“I... Yeah. Yes. Thank you.”
“Hungry?”
What was this? Some sort of psychological trap? Lure me in, get me talking, pull the rug?
“I’m good, thanks,” I said. “I’m happy to stick around as long as you’d like. Otherwise I was planning to head out. My wife’s expecting me.”