Murder on the First Day of Christmas (Chloe Carstairs Mysteries) (41 page)

     “Don’t worry about your fall now.”  Warren’s words interrupted her thoughts and brought her back to here and now.  “We’ll go over everything when you’re all fixed up.”

     “But I want you to know…”  She tried again, needing to regain control of her life, but he withdrew his arm and stood as the unmistakable wail of an ambulance drew nearer.

     “There they are.”  He smiled, near and yet removed.

     Emily let out a sigh.  There was no use talking when his mind was elsewhere, but the sharp poke and then the fall…  Given the state of their relationship these past few weeks, would he even care?  Perhaps, she shouldn’t bother him.

     “That didn’t take long.”  Warren glanced at his watch with satisfaction.  “I’ll stay right behind you in the car,” He assured his wife as he waved the EMTs in their direction.  “We’ll soon have you back together again.”

     The line, “all the king’s horses and all the king’s men,” danced through Emily’s head.  Could they put her together again?  After all, it wasn’t just her injuries that demanded healing.  Her whole comfort zone had been destroyed by actions of another.

     More and more, the world had morphed into an often ill-mannered and sometimes dangerous place as she had reached middle-age.  Still, she wouldn’t have believed that someone could shove her down an escalator and then calmly walk away.

     Well, she was an intelligent, capable, professional woman, and somehow, someway she was going to find this person and give them a piece of her mind.  The proverbial buck would stop here – no, it would come to a screeching halt, she determined as the stretcher was readied and she noted its lowered position with gratitude.

     “It’s mainly my right arm and left knee,” she explained as the younger EMT helped her up.  “I fell down an escalator.”

     “Dangerous things escalators.”  He exuded calm, but his eyes held concern.  “You hang on, ma’am.  We’ll get you to the hospital in a jif.”  He indicated his partner with a nod.  “Buddy here races at Talladega on the weekends, so don’t you worry.”

     True to their promise, the men completed the trip to the hospital in record time.

     Frank Zenni, the Harris’s next door neighbor, was leaving work as they approached.  With amazement, Emily watched as Warren whirled their friend around without an explanation and shoved him through the open emergency room doors into the glaring lights and staring faces of a waiting room beyond.

     “What the heck?”  The orthopedic surgeon’s blue eyes widened in his normally calm, bedside manner face, as he looked from her to Warren then back again, concern having replaced his initial surprise.

     With difficulty, she again subdued a laugh.  Perhaps she was hysterical, or maybe this was shock.  Didn’t people die of shock?  Emily thought they did.

     “So that’s what happened.”  Warren’s words returned her to the emergency room around them.

     “Bring those forms in here,” Frank ordered a surprised intake clerk as he indicated an examination room and then proceeded to speed them through hospital routines of paperwork and x-rays, staying with them until her results were in.

     “Your right arm’s cracked at the elbow, and your left kneecap’s badly bruised.”  Their neighbor’s calm tone reassured her, as he applied a necessary splint and sling himself.  “That was a nasty fall.”

     “Tell me about it,” Emily agreed.

     “You’re lucky you didn’t break your neck,” the surgeon glanced up.  “We have to slow down as we get older, you know, so you take care.  I don’t want to see you like this again.”

     She ignored his comment about her age, as more important thoughts of makeup and curling irons filled her head.  How would she manage with no right hand?  There would be no way.

     One thing Emily knew for sure, though.  No matter what she looked like or how she felt, she would find whoever had robbed her of her dignity and left her bruised and broken before too much time had passed.

     “That should do it.”  Frank examined his work with satisfaction.  “These’ll help both the elbow and the knee.”  He handed a small pill packet to Warren.  “Now let’s get you out of here.”  Frank offered Emily a hand.

     “I’ll fetch the car.”  Her husband hurried ahead of them along a busy corridor as their friend pushed his patient’s wheelchair forward.

     “Here you go.”  Warren opened their car’s passenger door a few minutes later.

     Carefully, Emily eased herself onto the front seat as her husband saluted their friend goodbye.

     Warren’s face, usually so kind and familiar, appeared sinister in reflected red tones from the dash as they cleared the parking lot, and she couldn’t help but wonder.  Who was this man beside her?

     Her husband, her mate - the answer came clearly in her head.

     After all these years, her pulse still quickened when he entered a room, but no matter how deep and visceral a connection she felt to him, there were no guarantees.  For a moment, as a darkened world rushed past beyond their car’s windows, she felt they were strangers in an icy land and shivered despite the warmth outside.

     “Let’s get you upstairs.”  Warren brought the car to a halt in their driveway.

     With her husband’s arm around her, leading always with her right leg due to growing stiffness in her left, Emily forced herself, one step at a time, upstairs and along the hall.

     “Made it.”  She limped into their bedroom, and restful ambience of dark wood furniture and a chintz-covered chaise lounge washed over her.  All she wanted now was to lose her pain in sleep.

     “Take it slowly.”  Warren assisted with his wife’s gown and then pulled the bedcovers back.

     Carefully, Emily edged herself onto the mattress, unwilling to move too much even for more comfort.

     “Here.”  Her husband tugged on the sheet from where he remained beside their bed.  “You’re all scrunched up somehow.”  His fingers, long and thin like himself, shook slightly as he fumbled with the covers.

     Was he so tired, or worse could he be ill?  Maybe that was why he had seemed so distant recently.  Worry filled Emily, but then resolved.

     After all, she had barely recognized herself in the dresser mirror on her way to bed.  Pain and fatigue had defined a tight, pinched expression, and dark circles beneath her eyes had produced a haunted, raccoon effect.  Even her short, rounded body had acquired a bloated appearance that wasn’t flattering.

     “It’s good to have you home again, even if it is in pieces,” Warren returned to her side, having closed the drapes.  “You were unconscious for a moment at the airport, no matter how much you deny it.”

     “You would think I had a broken neck the way you’re carrying on.”  Emily didn’t hide her pleasure at his words.

     What had affected them so adversely these past few weeks, she wondered again in the face of his concern?  Simply stated, something small and intangible, but nonetheless important, was wrong with Warren.  She sensed it, even reacted to it, but she couldn’t identify it.

     A knock down, dragged out fight would have been better, but that had never been their style.  Instead, tension grew and he withdrew as whatever it was remained beneath the surface, a boil coming to a head.

     She needed to do something, but she couldn’t defeat an unknown enemy.  And so, it simply lay between them.

     Still, as Uncle Reuben had always said if something didn’t seem right, it probably wasn’t.  Her friend’s uncle had been an old man when she was a girl, but even as a child, Emily had recognized wisdom in his trite words.

     Perhaps Warren and she could talk things out now that Matt was gone.  Memory of their youngest son’s excitement the previous Saturday morning, when he had left for computer camp, lifted Emily’s mood.  Now she and Warren had the house to themselves – a golden opportunity.

     “That’s a nasty bump along your hairline,” Warren interrupted her thoughts.  “You can’t imagine how I felt when you were flying towards me.”

     Again Emily felt she was viewing a stranger as she watched her husband reach his fingers toward the ceiling, stretch and then head to their bathroom.  Exit stage left, she thought and then realized lines from nursery rhymes and plays seemed to be filling her head, even as a vague memory from her rush along the airport concourse that she wanted to remember remained elusive.

     “Take this.”  Warren dropped one of the tablets Frank had given them onto his wife’s palm and handed her a glass of water.  “You’ll need it before the night is through.”

     “Thanks.”  She washed down the pill, returned the glass and sagged against her pillows.

     A soft mound beneath the covers defined her body except where her splint protruded as if pointing at her husband to go.  Sharp pain met her attempt to adjust her arm, and Emily ceased her efforts as he placed the glass on the bedside cabinet, looking like her same old Warren.  A wave of love passed through her, and yet, tension lay between them like an elephant in the room.

     She needed to tell him about the jab before her fall, but now was not the time.  Closing her eyes, she pulled the sheet over her face against the light and her concerns, then listened as he moved about.

     “I’ll sleep in the guest room.”  Her husband’s voice indicated he faced her again.  “That way I won’t roll into you.  Anything you need before I go?”

     “No.”  She peeked from beneath the sheet.  “I missed you while I was gone.  I always do.”

     He paused in the doorway.  “I missed you, too.”

     “I’m sorry I’ve made such a mess of things.”

     “It’s nothing we can’t work out.”  Warren shrugged and sent her a smile.  “The arm will mend.  Arms do.  Everything’ll look better in the morning,” he promised and switched off the light.  “Call me if you need anything, anything at all.”

     Emily listened as footsteps carried him along the hall.  Then slowly, so as not to disturb her injured arm, she reached her other hand around and carefully probed a large bruised area on her lower back.

     Someone had changed her life forever.  They had violated her space and stolen her security.  An umbrella?  An elbow?  She didn’t know, but whatever object they had used, someone had deliberately pushed her down the escalator.  Of that she was sure.

     But who?  And why?  And how could she abstract them from a world filled with strangers?  She must marshal her thoughts and figure out the answers now while the memory of her fall was fresh.

     But against her will, her eyelids sagged, and she realized her plans were not to be, as the little white pill Warren had dropped into her hand took control and closed her eyes for one last time.

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