Old Chaos (9781564747136) (16 page)

“Is she coming around?”

“I think so.”

“Chester! No-o-o-o!”

A warm, rough hand clasped hers. The touch comforted her a little. She gripped hard. That was what she had to do, hold on. She gulped air. Now—under again. She was losing him. She heard a high wail. “No!”

“Hush, love. You’re all right.”

But she wasn’t all right. Her head hurt horribly, her body ached. Why couldn’t they understand? Why couldn’t he…? Her eye blinked open on the pale blur of a face. “Where is he? I lost him.”

“It’s Charlie, Kayla. You’re all right.”

But she wasn’t. Why was he lying to her? She closed her eye. Darkness was better than knowing, better than pain, than loss. She felt a sharp jab and drifted back into comforting darkness, but it was a long time before her grip on the hand eased.

Meg and Rob watched the eleven o’clock news, which featured one and a half minutes of Beth McCormick’s press conference.

Beth, who was sitting in a wheelchair with her leg sticking out in a cast, looked calm but tired, a neat dressing just visible in her short silver hair. She wore a hunter green blazer over a pale blouse and a long tartan skirt. The commissioners and three of her children flanked her. Meg recognized Dany and John, Dany solemn and John dazed.

Beth spoke in a clear, flat voice. She thanked the commissioners and the governor. She intended to fulfill her husband’s plans, so recently endorsed by the voters. She had confidence that Latouche County’s employees would carry on with their duties like the skilled professionals they were. She would call on them all in the next few weeks to hear their ideas.

Deliberately bland, Meg thought. The wide-eyed newscaster seemed to think appointment of a female sheriff was a daring move on the governor’s part. She gave statistics of the incidence of women in county government and went on to a story about a man knocked off a motor scooter at three
a.m.
by a hit-and-run driver.

“Daring,” Meg muttered, blanking the screen. Not hardly, in a state with two female senators and a female governor. Meg didn’t know what she thought about the appointment. It was one thing for women like Patty Murray or the California senators to win public office in open elections, but there was something vaguely medieval about a widow taking on her dead husband’s role. Not a giant step for womankind. Still, Meg liked Beth and recognized a kindred intelligence behind the dumpling façade. Beth would probably do a good job.

Meg turned to Rob, who was drowsing again. “What do you think?”

“About Beth? She’s mad as a hornet.”

“As in crazy?”

“As in furious.”

“Really? How on earth can you tell?”

“Voice, shoulders, fists. She’s mad.”

Meg thought he might be right. He knew a lot about anger. She heard a noise outside. Distracted, she stood and peered out the front window. Lights went on at Kayla’s house, and she could make out the bulk of Charlie’s truck in the driveway. “Your cousin. I’m going to call him.”

“Give the guy a break.”

She shut the TV off, picked up her cell phone, and speed-dialed Kayla’s house. Charlie answered on the third ring.

“How’s Kayla?” she asked without preamble.

She heard him take a gulp of air. “Doped up. Confused. Upset that she lost her patient.”

The poor kid. “How are
you
?.” Meg ventured.

“Tired.”

“Tired but wired?”

“Well, yeah.”

“Come over. I’ll feed you something hot and give you a drink. Then you’ll be able to sleep.”

“Uh, okay. Ten minutes.” He hung up.

She looked at Rob. “Stop grinning.” She was tired of being teased about feeding strays. She stomped to the kitchen, thawed soup from the freezer, cut bread, and poured a beer. By the time she returned to the living room with her tray, she could hear Charlie on the front porch. She opened the door before he got a chance to ring the bell and gave him a comprehensive hug. He looked worse than tired.

While Charlie ate soup and drank some beer, Meg and Rob brought him up to date on the day’s happenings. He seemed bemused but didn’t comment until Rob told him about the death of Fred Drinkwater.

“He what?” He was chewing bread.

“Jeff Fong thinks he was murdered.”

Charlie stared and shook his head hard, shedding crumbs. “That does it. I’m going back to Pullman. All we have there are Wazoo freshmen getting drunk in Idaho and driving into bridge abutments on the way back.” In Idaho the drinking age is eighteen. It’s twenty-one in Washington.

Rob’s mouth twisted in a grin. “And a few Aryan warriors.” He’d met one that fall.

Charlie shrugged. “They’re no problem. Spend all their time going potty in the woods.” He finished the beer in a single gulp and stood up.

Meg said, “What are you doing tomorrow?”

“Lectures at eight and eleven. Hospital afterwards.”

“I have a library meeting in Vancouver at ten. I could drive you. Kayla’s at the OHSU hospital, isn’t she? I’d like to visit her. Will they have to do a bone graft?”

“On her cheekbone? Maybe. It’s too soon to tell.”

“Her family…”

Charlie grimaced. “Her mother’s on a Caribbean cruise. I talked to the lady. She was ready to fly back, but I told her she ought to speak to Kayla first.”

“What was she like?”

“Ditsy but nice. On her sixth honeymoon.”

Meg digested that. It brought Kayla into focus. “I’ll go see her tomorrow. Does she need anything from the house?” They talked a while. Charlie agreed to let Meg drive. Rob watched them.

When Charlie had left, Rob said, “You do know you’ll have to break the news of Fred Drinkwater’s death to her.”

“Oh, no! Can I just not mention it?”

He watched her.

She plumped down on the armchair. “I’ll have to, won’t I? She’ll hear about it on TV, or some fool will mention it in passing. How fond of him was she?”

“I don’t know.” He frowned. “I think Kayla avoids attachment. Fred took her places she enjoyed, gave her a chance to gussy up. She likes that, and she likes sex.”

“Yes, but he can’t have been much of a lover.”

He cocked an eyebrow. “I’d better not comment.”

“No. I expect he liked to be seen with her, but she wouldn’t want to be any man’s trophy.” Meg sighed. “All the same, it’s bound to be a blow to her. On top of everything else.” She tidied the remains of Charlie’s snack and carried the tray to the kitchen. She thought Rob would be asleep when she returned, but he wasn’t.

Meg yawned and stretched. “Me for bed. Anything I can get you before I go upstairs?”

“You could come here, trophy.”

“What!” She went to him.

“I like to be seen with you.”

“Horrible man.”

His smile faded. “Will you ask Kayla about Drinkwater, Meg? She knew him as well as anybody.”

Meg sat with a thump on the edge of the hide-a-bed. “I can’t believe you want me to interrogate a suspect.”

“She’s not a suspect. By the time he was killed she was already in the hospital.”

“Even so.”

“I know. It ain’t nice. And she may not be in any condition to talk. Forget it. I’ll send Linda to see her.”

“Why don’t you phone her yourself?”

“I probably will later. Maybe you could just explain that I’ll need to talk to her about him.” He shut his eyes, frowning again.

She kissed him between his eyebrows, and he pulled her down for a more intensive kiss that went nowhere near satisfying her.

By five-thirty, she was up, showered, and still arguing with herself. When she heard Rob stirring in the living room, she fixed toast and coffee for two, but he took a long time getting vertical and using the bathroom, which didn’t have a shower. His toast was cold by the time he came into the kitchen, freshly shaven. He looked rotten.

“Going out?”

He ignored the sarcasm. “Two more boring days on my back.”

“Boring?”

“Passive, then.”

“I must admit I’m surprised you aren’t charging around against doctor’s orders.”

“Like a true macho jerk?”

“Hey, I didn’t mean it. Is the pain worse today?”

“No. That is, I cut back on the Vicodin, so it’s worse in that sense. The pills gave me technicolor nightmares,” he added when he saw her expression.

Some nightmares. She refrained from comment.

He poured coffee and stood by the counter while it cooled, as if sitting would be a bad idea. He ate the toast methodically. To her surprise he didn’t say anything to her about questioning Kayla. Rob could be very shrewd.

Meg had meant to have a long talk with Charlie on the drive in to Vancouver, but he fell asleep almost as soon as the car was in motion. It was kinder not to wake him.

“Ready to navigate?” she asked when he straightened and blinked awake. “I don’t know my way around.”

“Take the I-205 exit north.” He wriggled his shoulders. “Good thing I didn’t drive myself.” They chugged west past Camas with its paper mill billowing fumes. Rumor had it the plant was going to close.

The WSU branch campus was new and nicely landscaped. Meg dropped Charlie off, promised to return a little after noon, and headed south into Vancouver on Interstate 5. Her meeting at the Hilton Convention Center went well, and Charlie was waiting for her when she returned. They bought messy enchiladas at Muchas Gracias, ate them in the parking lot, and drove on across the Interstate Bridge.

Oregon Health Sciences University comprised a cluster of high rises on a bluff in Portland’s west hills. The state was constructing an aerial tramway up to it. Meanwhile, parking was at a premium in the multi-story garage. Meg lucked out and found a space near the elevator.

Laden with Kayla’s belongings and a sheaf of flowers Meg had bought near the Vancouver convention center, they entered the hospital, Meg following Charlie, since he knew the way. Some nice artwork hung on the walls.

He paused at a set of double doors. “I’m dreading this. She wasn’t fully conscious last night, but she will be today.” He pressed a square metal button, and the doors swung open.

“I hope her mother called her.” Meg followed him down the corridor, noting the tense set of his shoulders under the professorial tweed jacket he wore over the usual jeans. His legs were so long she had to trot to keep up.

They found Kayla in a hospital gown being helped back from the bathroom. She gave a small shriek. “Tell me you brought me some clothes!” She looked strange—her dark hair tangled, half her face covered in bruises and bandages, the other half perfect as always. The bruises on both of her bare arms testified to the brutality of her ordeal.

Meg pointed to the small suitcase Charlie had packed.

Kayla snatched it. “Thank God. Good of you to come, Meg.” She unzipped the carry-on, pulled out her wool robe, and groaned. “The brocade, Charlie. I’ll swelter in this.”

“Sorry.” Charlie was grinning.

With relief, Meg guessed. She thought his relief was misplaced. Kayla’s jauntiness seemed feverish.

The aide, a black woman with stylish oval glasses, frowned. “Time to lie down. And you can’t wear that robe, Kayla. Doctor gonna want to install the drip again.”

“I’ll talk him out of it.” She yanked the garment on and climbed up onto the bed with a lavish, unselfconscious display of leg and hip. Then she wilted against the pillows. “Head hurts.”

“I expect it does,” Meg murmured. “Did your mother call you?“

Kayla gave a soft hoot. “From the S.S. Matrimonia afloat in the azure Caribbean? You bet she did. We talked. Step-daddy will be mad when he sees the charges.”

“Is she coming home?”

“Home? Home is Cabo San Lucas. She’s coming to see me here. Next week. I told her no hurry, I’ll be here forever.” She rubbed the unbandaged side of her head, and her hand fell, limp, to the bedclothes. “I can hardly wait to see Mumsy’s face when she sees little Kayla’s face.”

Charlie said softly, “Stop it, Kayla.”

“What?”

“Stop playing the fool. You hurt, and your mother wants to help you. We do, too. We just don’t know how.”

A shudder shook her. “How can you help me? I deserve to hurt. I lost him. His hand was in mine, and I just let go. I lost him.” Tears streamed from her remaining eye, and she leaned back against the pillows, sobbing.

Charlie watched her, his face contorted with sympathy. That much Meg could see through her own tears, but she was unprepared when he roared, “That’s enough. You’re wallowing in self-pity, and it doesn’t make a damned bit of sense. Stop sniveling.”

Kayla choked on a sob and blinked at him.

Meg blinked, too.

His voice was hard and even. “Do you know what water weighs? Do you?”

Kayla sniffed. “It’s heavy.”

“Sixty-two point four pounds per cubic foot.” He wiped his eyes with his sleeve. “You weigh maybe twice that. A ton of water fell on you, not to mention the tree branch that hit you. Of course you let go. You couldn’t help it. For that matter,
he
let go. So stop whining about losing the man. You did your best.”

“Well, my best wasn’t good enough.” She sounded almost petulant.

“That’s right. It wasn’t. Live with it.”

Kayla’s eye closed. She was still crying, but quietly. Meg went to her and held her. The aide had disappeared. Meg’s bouquet had long since fallen to the floor.