Bite the Moon (28 page)

I thought I heard shattering glass. And then I fell forward. The sound of a gunshot pulled me out of the black abyss. My face was pressed to the floor. I had no idea of how I got there or how long I’d been there. I turned my head in time to see something large hit the floor in front of me. It was Stan. Did I do that?

No. Lisa was on his back. He reared up on his arms and tried to throw her off. She hung on like she was super-glued in the saddle. All the while, she held a huge coffee table book in her two hands and rained down blows on his head again and again.

Monica sat on Stan’s legs as calmly as if she was on her front porch in a rocking chair. She was talking on her cell phone as a thread of blood twisted and turned on its way down her arm.

If it weren’t for the searing pain around my neck, I would have sworn I was dreaming. I blacked out again, but it couldn’t have been for long because Monica was still on the phone when I woke up. I brought my fingers to my throat and felt a sickening slickness. I held out my hand to look at my fingers, but I couldn’t focus, and everything was in black and white. Where did the color go? It must be a dream. I brought my fingers to my lips and licked their tips. The rusty tang of blood raced through my taste buds. I never remembered taste in any other dream I’d had. This was real. I needed to get up and help Lisa and Monica. Before I could make a move, I was gone again.

The next thing I knew, I was in a bright room that hurt my eyes. I was lying flat on my back instead of on my face. A guy in a white jacket loomed over me. It was hard to focus on his outline because everything was so white. I was either in a hospital or in heaven. I’d be pleased with either option.

The guy leaned closer to me. Man, he was cute. Or maybe not. I either almost died or actually died and was probably delusional either way.

Then he spoke. “Hi. It’s time for you to say, ‘Where am I?’ and then I’ll say, ‘You’re in the hospital.’ ”

“
Oh.” I was alive. Good. I’d kinda gotten used to living my life that way. I reached up and felt the bandage on my neck.

“
You’ll be okay. We had some repair work to do, and you’ll probably have a scar. But I suppose in your line of work, a scar will add character, credibility and a bit of gravitas to your persona. And it will offset the absurdity of your cow-pie tattoo. So I wouldn’t worry a bit about it.”

Oh, man. That freakin’ tattoo might as well be on my face. I changed the subject fast. “Shouldn’t you be saying, ‘Young lady, you’re lucky to be alive’?” My voice was so raspy I didn’t recognize it.

“
You really shouldn’t talk unless necessary. But no, you’re lucky you have friends like those two girls who kept it from being a closer call.”

“
Where the heck did they come from?”

He laughed. “Got me. You’ll have to ask them about that.”

“
Well, where did they go?”

“
The bossy one gave the officers and deputies a hard time because she wanted to stay with you. She was clutching some oversized book that she claimed was for your protection.”

I smiled despite the pain it caused. “Must be Lisa.”

“
I don’t know. I wasn’t sure if I got their names straight. But anyway, they hustled her off to the police station, or maybe the sheriff’s office, to take her statement.”

“
Monica?” I asked.

“
The quiet one is still here. She fought us for a while. She wanted to stay by your side. Finally, we convinced her to let us treat her bullet wound.”

I lurched up to a sitting position. “Bullet wound?”

“
Nothing vital was hit. The bullet side-scraped a bone and exited out her back. She’ll have a sore arm and shoulder for a couple of weeks. Otherwise, she’ll be fine.”

“
What about . . .”

“
The guy who attacked you?”

I nodded and a pain seared from one side of my neck to another.

“
He survived, unfortunately. But he is under arrest.”

“
For murder?”

“
No, attempted murder.” He laughed. “You really didn’t die. Honest.”

“
I need to get out of here,” I said. I tried to move my legs to throw them over the side of the bed, but they wouldn’t budge. A soft touch from the white-coated guy was all it took to put me flat again.

“
Not hardly,” he said. “You need some rest. You lost a lot of blood.”

I started to object, but then I was gone again.

I knew there was a lot of activity in and out of my room throughout the night and into the early morning. I couldn’t say who or why those people came into my room. All I knew was that when I was aware of someone’s presence, I tried to wake up and speak, but my eyelids fluttered and slammed shut each time.

No one was in the room when my eyes snapped to attention, and a sense of panic shot adrenaline through my bloodstream. At first, I didn’t understand the reason for my alarm. Then I remembered. I was due in court this morning. What time was it? I looked around. No clock in sight.

I threw my legs over the side of the bed and steadied myself as a wave of nausea struck. I put a hand over my mouth and breathed deeply. When the sickness passed, I slid off the edge of the bed and onto my feet. I grabbed the nightstand as my head spun and my knees turned to weak pudding. I opened the top drawer of the little table and spotted my watch. Flecks of blood dotted the crystal. The time was 9:15. Crap.

I eased over to the closet, tossing aside my hospital gown as I walked. I pulled out my day-old panties and slipped them on. Then I grabbed my jeans. The waistband was dark and crusty with dried blood. The stain extended down to midway on the pockets. I swallowed my revulsion and slipped them on. It was my own blood, after all. With any luck, my T-shirt would cover up the worst of it.

Then I looked for my bra and T-shirt, but they weren’t there. A shadow of a memory crossed behind my eyes. Someone in white cut off both articles of clothing while I drifted in and out of consciousness. Crap. Crap. Crap. I slid my hospital gown back on and went in search of a shirt.

I went down the hall, sticking my head in one room after another. I was greeted by puzzled looks from the bed-bound residents. I smiled and said hello. Finally, I looked into one room and instead of meeting another pair of eyes, I saw a lump under the blanket. Even the head was covered and the back was turned toward the doorway.

I crept into the room and eased open the closet door. Crap. It was a man. Oh well. I pulled off my hospital gown, took the plaid shirt off the hanger and slid my arms inside. Yikes. It was a very large man. The shirt went down to my knees. I looked like a derelict. On the bright side, the shirt covered the bloodstain and my misbegotten tattoo, plus it was baggy enough that no one would notice that I was braless. I whispered “Thank you” to my sleeping donor and tiptoed out the door.

I tried to look nonchalant as I scurried up the hall, down the hall and out of the building. A lot of people noticed, though. I returned each odd look with a smile.

On the sidewalk, it dawned on me. I didn’t have a car. I didn’t have a cell phone. Damn. A taxi pulled up the circular drive by the front door and disgorged a passenger. I hobbled up to the driver and asked if he could give me a ride to the courthouse. Through suspicious eyes, he scanned me head to toe. He sighed, shook his head and said, “Get in.”

Three blocks away from the hospital, I remembered I did not have my purse. I dug in all my pockets but, as I suspected, I didn’t even find a spare penny. I asked the driver to take me to the law offices of Edward Beacham instead.

After explaining to the driver that I’d be back with the seven-dollar, fifty-cent fare and a healthy tip, I burst through the front door of Eddie’s office. “Sara, loan me twenty bucks.”

“
What the hell happened to you?”

“
It’s a long story. I’ll explain later, Sara. I promise. I’ve got to pay the cab driver and get to court.”

“
You’re going to court dressed like that? Our worst client looks better than that. You gotta at least comb your hair.”

“
Please, Sara, just give me a twenty.”

She shook her head, opened the petty cash box and handed me the money. As I grabbed the bill from her fingertips, Eddie emerged from the back office. “Molly?”

“
Hi, Eddie,” I said as I headed for the door.

“
What’s up with you?”

I didn’t stop to answer.

“
She’s late for court,” Sara said.

“
Dressed like that?” I heard Eddie say as the door shut behind me.

I handed the money to the relieved driver and told him to keep the change. I walked a block and crossed the street to the courthouse. As I slipped into the courtroom, Dale Travis spoke in an earnest voice to the group of prospective jurors, asking questions and jotting down responses.

I slipped up the aisle. He turned toward me just then. His eyebrows shot up so high, I thought they might fly off. I smiled. He scowled. He turned back to the jury. I sat in the bench behind the defense table. I whispered a condensed version of the night’s events into the assisting attorney’s ear.

She scribbled a quick note and held it up in front of her chest. Dale glanced at it and waved her off. She extended her arms and pushed the note toward him and shook it.

Dale blew an exasperated breath and turned to the judge. “Your Honor, may I have a moment, please, to consult with my colleague?”

“
Yes, you may, Mr. Travis, but make it quick.”

“
Thank you, Your Honor.”

He put his arms on the table and leaned forward, casting a disgusted look at me in the process. I smiled. He listened to the other attorney and looked up at me with wide eyes and a gaping mouth. He spun around and said, “Your Honor, may we approach the bench?”

“
Certainly.”

Dale and Ted Kneipper whispered to the judge. Dale was calm but forceful. Kneipper’s arms flew in every direction when he spoke. Abruptly, the two men turned back around and walked toward their respective tables, Dale with a slight smile hiding in the corners of his mouth, Kneipper with a furrowed brow and clenched fists.

Curiosity buzzed through the rows of onlookers, causing Judge Krause to slam her gavel. The crowd noise ended as if she’d pressed a mute button. “Deputy, please escort the prospective jurors to the deliberation room.”

The men and women who’d responded that morning to the call of justice shuffled across the front of the courtroom and out the side door. When the last one disappeared from view and the deputy nodded at the judge, she said, “Court is adjourned for fifteen minutes,” and slammed her gavel again.

“
Gentlemen, I’ll see you in my chambers,” she said looking from Kneipper to Travis. She rose with a judicious swish of black robes and descended the steps. She paused then and turned to face me. “Miss Mullet, you’d best join us.”

She exited the courtroom, the two attorneys fast on her heels. I trailed behind them, and as I pushed the wooden swinging door, I heard loud voices in the back of the courtroom. I turned to find the source of the commotion and saw the red face and agitated demeanor of the Comal County Sheriff. By his side, a pale chief of police barked back at him as they entered the double doors.

I stepped into the judge’s chambers, and the clerk pulled the door closed behind me. Dale gestured to an empty chair and I slid into it.

“
Dale, this best not be another of your fancy courtroom hijinks.”

“
No, Your Honor. Trust me, I save all my hijinks until after the jury is empanelled,” Dale said with a laugh.

The judge glared at him. She was not amused.

“
Don’t trust him, Judge,” Kneipper said. “Travis is as full of weasely moves as a barn full of ferrets.”

“
You all are both lawyers, and I am one, too. Based on my many years of experience with this species, I do not believe it is wise for me to trust either one of you. But why don’t we try you on for size, Ms. Mullet. Just what is going on here?”

I pulled one side of the bandage loose from my neck, wincing with each tug.

“
Oh my,” said Judge Krause. “I don’t think even Travis would go this far for a bit of courtroom drama,” she said to the prosecutor. To me, she asked, “Who did this to you?”

“
Stan Crockett, ma’am.”

“
And you think this same man also committed the murder we are about to try Mr. Wiggins for?”

“
Yes, ma’am.”

A buzzer blared on the judge’s desk. She pressed a button and said, “Yes?” A loud pounding on the door drowned out the response at the other end.

Dale rose, cracked open the door, looked out, and then pulled it wide open to reveal the sheriff and the police chief. Both looked agitated now.

“
Sorry for barging in like this, Your Honor, but your clerk didn’t want to let us in,” the sheriff said.

“
She was just doing her job, gentlemen. Now what’s on your mind?”

“
We arrested the guy who did that,” the sheriff said, pointing to me.

“
There’s a possibility that he also killed Rodney Faver,” the police chief added.

“
Possibility? Your Honor, Stan Crockett killed Rodney Faver,” the sheriff contradicted his cohort.

“
We don’t know that with certainty yet, Sheriff,” the police chief argued.