Bullet in the Night (10 page)

“Smart move on our part.” Ellen grinned.

My pseudo-sleuth office manager loved when I said “we” and “our” and “us.” She beamed at me. “I’ll do my best.”

I pushed up my sweater sleeves. “Tracing the ex-convicts still on parole with early release dates shouldn’t be a problem. Those that served their sentence and have since taken off can easily slip out of the tracking system.”

“What shall I say when I call?” Ellen’s face, normally pale, looked radiant. In spite of the serious nature of our discussion, I chuckled. My gal read mystery novels like an addict.

“Just confirm the basic info. I’ll make contact next to find out if any prisoner heard via the grapevine about a vendetta against Lenora before or since getting out. And I’d like to know if they have an alibi for the night Lenora was shot. Now I need my next client’s file. Why isn’t it on my desk?”

Ellen cupped her hand over her mouth. “Sorry, I forgot.”

While waiting for my appointment to show, I called Tucker for an update on Lenora’s health.

His deep, throaty voice sounded lighter. “The doctors tell me she’s making progress.”

“Great news.”

“Now if she can sustain it.”

“I have a question about the man I met last night at your house, Chuck…”

“Denton, a nice neighbor. He usually keeps to himself. I was surprised he came over. A good guy, an officer at the bank downtown and helpful to the foundation, although, he has some difficulties at home that limit his involvement. His wife’s been ill, and he has a daughter to care for. What else can I tell you?”

“What’s his wife’s name?”

“Angela.”

“I’m wondering if she’s the woman I saw out walking the other day. Have you met her?”

“No. Angela’s a recluse. According to Denton, the poor woman had a nervous breakdown before they moved here. Why?”

“Wouldn’t it seem natural for Lenora to either befriend or counsel Angela Denton?”

“Didn’t happen that I’m aware of.”

“Okay, forget it. Could you request permission for me to visit Lenora? I’d like to be with her and pray.”

“Sorry, still no visitors except immediate family.”

“Let me know the minute that changes.” I knew I failed to keep the disappointment out of my voice as I said goodbye. I longed to see my friend. The death of both my parents after extended hospitalizations was still a fresh memory. I opened the file on my desk and switched my focus to my next counselee for her benefit and mine.

Lenora, of all people, would understand.

* * *

Nick called as I was putting on my coat for lunch. “Glad I caught you.”

“What’s up?” My voice was terse, as I had barely enough time to get to Panera for a bowl of soup.

“Guess.”

“Nick Trevor, you like games and quizzes more than me, remember.”

“C’mon, try.”

“Good news or bad?” It had to be good, or Nick wouldn’t be teasing.

“Not sure how to answer that, but Kirk’s out on bail.”

I eased onto my desk chair and dropped my keys. “That fast? I mean, I’m glad for him, I think, just surprised at the timing.”

“Nothing to delay it. No gun, no solid evidence, and he’s got a decent lawyer acting on his behalf.”

“Who put up the money?”

“Some guys from his church. Another guy from my men’s group at church, Thad Turner, is giving Kirk a place to stay until this blows over and he can get another job.”

“What about Kirk’s work at the foundation?”

“Tucker won’t let him back. He’s pegged Kirk as guilty. You can understand his reluctance.”

“Do the police really think Kirk’s innocent?”

“Not necessarily. They couldn’t hold him in jail on circumstantial evidence, but he’s still a suspect.”

“What’s Thad’s phone number? I want to stay in touch with Kirk to continue what Lenora started. I’m concerned about him getting despondent over her.”

“I’ll find out and e-mail it.”

“Don’t forget. I have a late client and won’t be home until after dinner.”

“Got it covered. The kids talked me into pizza. Afterwards I’ll drop them at church for youth group in time to get to my class action briefing appointment. I can pick them up later.”

“Thanks. A few peaceful hours alone sounds heavenly.”

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

The night air thickened into sticky fog by the time I hobbled through my front door shortly after seven. The misty weather matched the state of my brain.

I tossed together a dinner salad, layering pre-cooked chicken strips, diced pepper, and tomato wedges over chopped romaine. I drizzled it with peppercorn ranch and dug in.

Watching a house makeover on Home and Garden TV entertained me as I ate. Those work teams astounded me with all they accomplished in days. Where were contractors like this when I needed them?

After dinner, my body craved exercise. I switched into a gray sweat suit, laced up my yellowing, leather tennies comfortably creased in the right spots, and did a couple warm-up leg stretches. I slipped neon-orange bands over my wrists and selected my cap with the headlight. Having three kids gave me impetus to model safety habits.

The moist overhang of sky had lifted enough for me to run. Streetlights streamed decent visibility despite the giant shadows cast by huge elms. I breathed in the rain-fresh air of the woods as a delicious peace washed over me.

A few more warm-up stretches on my driveway and I headed off past my neighbors’ homes, spaced on half to one-acre lots. Thick woods bordered both sides of our road. I could easily run the route blindfolded. As my ears adjusted to the sounds of the night, a rustling echoed through the trees, hopefully raccoons or woodchucks. My pulse picked up and then went down a few notches when I spied three deer lope across the road fifteen yards ahead of me. I paused in awe of the grace of these amazing creations of God.

I resumed jogging toward the unpaved area of new construction and had run about a mile, when crackling branches behind me jolted me from my pace. I turned but saw no one. Yet a sensation of eyes poking holes into my flesh unsettled me.

The running noise stopped when I did and restarted when I took up my pace again. Weird. A bead of sweat rolled off my upper lip. I tasted salt.

This path is in a safe neighborhood of custom homes, I reassured myself. I run here twice a week. All the same, prickles ran up my back. I’ve worked with rape victims enough to learn there’s no such thing as a totally safe place. I considered turning back, but it would be shorter going forward to complete my circle.

Settle down, Jennifer
. I hated the vulnerability women dealt with simply by being female. I faced real danger without flinching, but the unknown could put bumps on my skin.

I kept an eye on the path ahead of me, checking behind me every few minutes. I saw no one, yet the steps grew closer. My neighbors, mostly older people, were seldom out after dark.

When I made the turn onto Winston Street, a loud crack exploded behind me. I jumped. Was that a gunshot?

I picked up my pace but halted when my shoe struck a fist-sized stone on the path. I tripped and hit the ground hard with no time to break my fall. Pain seared through my shoulder, but worse was my jack-knifing ankle. Over the thumping of my heart I heard the pounding of feet running the other way.

My right hand stung. Daggers of pain ran up my ankle. Indentations of gravel were pressed into my palms. I tenderly dabbed at my forehead. To my relief no sticky, bloody substance, just a burgeoning goose egg on my temple.

I pushed down on my left hand, struggling to my knees. That was as far as I got. I commanded my body to get up but couldn’t. How long I stayed there, I wasn’t sure, but several minutes at least. Every time I tried to stand, I started sweating and breathing heavily then dropped back down in intense pain.

I searched my pockets. Why hadn’t I grabbed my cell phone? Once again, I’d been in too much of a hurry. I chided myself, wasting energy.

Lights danced in the road. A car approached from the south, slowed, and then pulled off to the side of the road. My heart caught in my throat as a shadowy, darkly clad figure rushed over. I drew back until I saw it was a woman around my age dressed in jeans, tee shirt, and a denim jacket.

Concern darted across her face. “Are you okay?” she asked in a husky voice.

“Not really.” Bathed in the glow of her headlights, I rubbed my ankle. “Nasty sprain I think. How graceful am I not!”

She smiled gently with soft brown eyes. “Been there, done the same thing.”

“If there are no protruding bones it can’t be too bad, right?”

She swiped at strands of brown hair, loose and shoulder length, blowing against her face as she bent over to help me up. “Lean on me. Can you put any weight on it?”

I winced with pain and shook my head. “Apparently not. It may be broken.”

“You need to get it looked at.”

I leaned against her car, nauseous from the sudden, intense pain. 
Jesus, help me
. “I’ll be all right in a minute.” I said it aloud, more to reassure myself than her.

“Lucky I came along. I was driving back after dinner and saw you.”

“Do you live nearby?”

“No. I’m here on a work assignment and stayed a few days extra for a little vacation.” She held out her hand. “Name’s Chris Lepsell.”

“Jennifer Trevor.” I offered a limp handshake. With every passing minute there was more certitude I needed medical attention. How would I get it? Nick was at a meeting. His calls would be fed into voicemail. The kids were at church youth group. Not only could I not get home to my car on my own, how would I drive to the clinic?

“I’m staying nearby at the Abbey Resort. I can either take you home or to the hospital ER if you’ll direct me.”

“Thanks. That’s very kind of you.” I studied my rescuer. Straight nose and intense eyes framed by smooth olive skin. About fortyish and around a hundred and sixty pounds. Her teeth were small and slightly yellowed. I smelled cigarette smoke on her clothing. Funny, I always noticed teeth and noses first on faces. “Williams Bay Mercy Hospital isn’t far. If you’re sure you don’t mind, I’ll take you up on your offer of a ride.”

“Sure.”

No sooner had I agreed than I panicked. This woman had shown up out of nowhere. I’d heard of people being kidnapped after a contrived accident and held for ransom. For someone terribly frightened ten minutes ago, I was being extremely trusting.

Stop the paranoia from TV news, Jennifer.

What choice did I have? No phone. No nothing.

Chris helped me into her car. I made nervous banter as I twisted in the passenger seat trying to find a comfortable position.

Another vehicle approached and slowed down. The driver stared then whipped his head in the opposite direction and sped up.

“Hopefully it’s only a sprain, but a doctor can tape it up far better than my husband could.” I huddled as close to the door as my seat belt would allow.

Chris turned the key in the ignition. “Now which way?”

“Turn on 67. Take it through Williams Bay to the corner of Highway 50. You’ll see it on your right.” Bile rose in my stomach, and I bent over clutching my arms across my chest.

“Are you okay?”

“A little queasy but I’ll be all right.”

Next time I looked up, we were at Mercy. Chris had driven directly to the ER entrance. Three wheelchairs, lined up under the overhang, waited like a welcoming committee.

Chris got out, grabbed a chair, and helped me into it while I assumed the role of a ninety-year-old invalid. I was too busy dealing with pain to protest as she pushed me to the registration desk. I breathed a deep sigh, grateful for assistance
.

A curly-headed, fortyish blonde intake clerk with a harsh face that contrasted with the smiley face circle pin at her neck wasn’t thrilled about registering me when I told her I didn’t have my insurance card on me. Lack of medical I.D. required a check in the bowels of the computer bank to confirm I was a reasonable risk for bill payment. She sighed non-stop while her hands busied themselves on the keyboard.

A young man ran in behind me and dropped on the floor moaning. He managed to say, “I need to see someone immediately. I think I have a kidney stone.”

The clerk glanced at him and said very calmly, “I’ll be right with you.”

I was about to tell her to make him a priority when she finished checking me in.

“Next time remember to run with your medical card between your teeth,” Chris quipped as a nurse wheeled me to a curtained-off cubicle twenty minutes later.

A row of beds were separated from one another by canvas drapes on ceiling rollers. Nurse Sheri and an aide who appeared from nowhere helped me onto one of the narrow slabs covered with a white sheet. Hospital furniture designers must think only twig-like people needed medical attention.

The aide promptly swirled yards of white curtain with one swift tug along a thick aluminum track, shutting me off from the other curtained cubicles. Good thing. Voices chattered in the reception area. Things were starting to hum around here.

A dark-skinned female doctor, who appeared to be about thirty but could have been fifty, breezed into my cubicle. I described what happened in response to her questioning. She probed my leg, my ankle, and foot. I tried to decipher the long Indian name sewn on the pocket of her white jacket.

By now my anklebone looked like a ball of Silly Putty had been stuck under it. She ordered x-rays of my head, too, and used scary words like “possible concussion.” I tuned out the possibilities of additional injuries running in my head.

“My head’s okay; it’s my ankle. I don’t do concussions,” I insisted.

She said nothing, turned her back on me, and disappeared.

I squeezed my smarting, blood-spattered hands into fists. They still hadn’t given me so much as a Tylenol for pain.

The aide returned and wheeled me off to x-ray. I closed my eyes while pictures were taken. My first quiet moment to think. Had I been incredibly foolish or was someone chasing me? Could that
crack
have been a gunshot? I was certain those were footsteps running behind me. A sudden chill ran down my spine. Chris had appeared out of nowhere. Was that simply providential or strange?