Cut to the Corpse (24 page)

“Fine,” Brenna said. She wished the gauze covered her whole head as she could feel her face get hot as she discussed her bathroom success with Nate in the room.

“Your head took quite a blow,” Dr. Gershon said. “There’s no sign of bleeding or a fracture. You’re very lucky. I’m going to okay your release, but I’ll want to check you in a few days and you’ll need to have a ride home. No driving for a couple of days.”

“I can take her,” Nate volunteered. “We’re neighbors.”

“I’ll start getting your papers in order,” Dr. Gershon said. “Call me immediately if you have any symptoms of severe headache, nausea, seizures, or difficulty with walking.”

“Will do,” Brenna said. “Thank you, Dr. Gershon.”

The doctor smiled and left.

“Has Chief Barker been by?” she asked them. “I want to file a report.”

“Early this morning,” Nate said. “He said he’d stop by later.”

An enormous bouquet of daffodils appeared in the doorway, followed by the Porter twins.

“My dear, it’s all over town,” Ella said as she moved into Nate’s space, forcing him out while she plopped the overflowing vase on Brenna’s rolling tray. “You were attacked!”

“And big, brave Nate came to your rescue,” Marie said. She beamed up at him, and Nate was forced back even farther from the bed.

“Thank you for the flowers,” Brenna said. “They’re lovely.”

“Well, you’ll need them to cheer you up,” Ella said. “We saw Chief Barker in the lobby and he’s on his way.He doesn’t look very happy.”

“Who doesn’t look happy?” Chief Barker asked from the door.

“Stan at the diner,” Marie lied. “The froth on his latte was flat today.”

Chief Barker lowered a bushy gray eyebrow at her, but she just blinked at him, the picture of innocence.

“Do you all mind if I talk to Brenna alone for a minute?” It was posed as a question, but it was clearly an order. The four of them reluctantly left the room.

“Am I in trouble again?” she asked.

“What do you think?” he asked.

“Yes?”

“Do you want to file a report?” he asked. He unfolded a sheet of paper from the inside pocket of his jacket, and Brenna knew it wasn’t negotiable.

 

The next twenty minutes were spent with Chief Barker asking her specific questions about the attack. Brenna was disheartened to realize that she didn’t remember much of anything and hadn’t even gotten a glimpse of her assailant. The chief looked pretty down about it, too.

“Why do you think you were attacked?” he asked.

“I don’t know,” she said. “It’s not as if I know anything about the murder that you don’t know, so why attack me?”

“Unless Clue’s murderer thinks you know more, in which case, they’re either trying to scare you or kill you, too.”

“Comforting,” Brenna said.

“I’m going to have Officer DeFalco monitor you while you recover. He’ll maintain a schedule of drive-by check-ins until we catch who did this,” he said. He glanced at the gauze wrapped around her head. “Nice hat, by the way.”

“Is that supposed to be funny?” she asked.

“Just to me, apparently,” he said.

“You think I had it coming,” she accused.

The humor was wiped off his face like an eraser took chalk off a blackboard. “No, I’d never want to see you hurt. But that is a heck of turban you’ve got going.”

Brenna frowned. “Mirror. Stat.”

Chief Barker looked bewildered and patted his pockets as if he might have one handy. “Hey, I’m not a girl. I don’t carry a compact.”

“The bed is on wheels,” she said. “Just scooch it so I can see the mirror in the bathroom. I was too fuzzy-headed to look before.”

He did as he was told, and Brenna got her first glance of herself in full hospital headdress.

“My God, it’s the size of a fruit basket,” she said. “I look like I should have a pineapple and some grapes up there.”

Chief Barker pressed his lips together beneath his mustache, obviously trying not to laugh, and patted her shoulder. “It’s not that bad.”

She glared.

“Okay, it is that bad, but you do carry it off with a certain flair.”

“Don’t you have murderer to catch?” she asked.

“Yes, ma’am.” Chief Barker headed toward the door. She heard his bark of laughter as soon as the door shut.

Nate refused to let her take the bandage off once they were in his truck, so he was on her bad list as well.

She bit back a moan of pain when she climbed out of the truck cab. The pain in the backs of her legs was severe and if she were any less stubborn, she might have cried. When she started across the grass to her cabin, Nate stopped her with a hand on her elbow.

“What do you think you’re doing?” he asked.

“Going home,” she said. She thought it spoke well of her that she didn’t add “duh” to the end of her sentence.

A bark sounded and Hank came tearing across the lawn to greet her. Brenna reached down to pat his head, careful not to bend over too far and give herself a walloping headache.

“That’s too far of a walk,” Nate said. Before she could protest he scooped her up into his arms with only the smallest of grunts. He was careful to keep his arm up away from the bruises on the backs of her knees.

“You don’t have to carry me. I think I can manage it,” she lied.

“Yeah, and when you faint halfway there, who is going to look like the big jerk for letting you hoof it?” he asked.

“That would be you,” she said.

“Precisely,” he said. Hank trotted beside them as if appointing himself her backup carrier.

As Nate strode across the grass, Brenna marveled that after months of daydreaming about being in his arms, she finally was and, surprise, it wasn’t anything like she had pictured it.
Go figure.

Of course, she had pictured them sharing an embrace after a nice dinner date when she was having a particularly good hair day, not when her head was wrapped up like a stuffed cabbage and she had hospital antiseptic stink on her.

She did notice that she liked the smell of him, however—it was woodsy and masculine. And she liked that he hadn’t actually broken a sweat while carrying her.

“Oh, my heavens, is that Brenna?” A shout came from a nearby cabin and Twyla came out with Paul and Portia Cherry, two of Nate’s other renters, on her heels.

All three were somewhere in their fifties, retired from other careers, and enjoying life lakeside while pursuing their art.

“What happened?” Portia asked. She was a former nurse, who worked primarily in glass and was married to Paul, a retired economist, who worked in clay.

“Brenna had an accident,” Nate said. He stepped up onto Brenna’s porch and made for the door, but she stopped him, gesturing toward her cushioned wicker love seat instead.

The sun was warm and the breeze was cool. It was a perfect day in June, and she wanted to sit outside and soak up the beauty around her for a while. Although she hadn’t allowed herself to dwell on it, she was very much aware that the attack last night was probably intended to be fatal.

“An accident?” Paul asked. “With what?”

“It’s okay,” Brenna said to Nate. “You can tell them.”

“Brenna was attacked behind Vintage Papers last night,” Nate told the others as they crowded up onto the porch.

“What?” Portia asked. “Is there a fracture? A hematoma? Shouldn’t you be at the hospital?” Once a nurse, always a nurse.

“I was,” Brenna said. “They did a CT scan, and I’m fine unless I suddenly lose my ability to walk or form sentences.”

“Tea,” Twyla said. “I’m going to brew you some of my peppermint tea. It’s good for headaches. It’ll fix you up in a jiffy.”

Twyla hurried back across the lawn with a twirl of her raspberry skirt.

“Was it a burglar?” Paul asked. “Did you catch someone trying to break into the shop?”

“No,” Brenna said. “They came up behind me when I was going to my car, and the next thing I knew I was down and Nate and Hank were there.”

Paul’s and Portia’s heads swiveled in unison to Nate for his portion of the story.

“Hank and I had just run into Matt and Tenley on their way to a movie, and they said Brenna was still at the shop, so I figured I’d stop by so Hank could see her. He misses you.”

Brenna smiled and scratched Hank’s ears. He had stationed himself beside her like a sentry keeping watch.

“When I got there, she was on the pavement and her assailant was running. I think he must have heard us. Anyway, I stayed with her instead of giving chase.”

“Good decision,” Portia said. “There’s no telling what would have happened if you hadn’t found her.”

They all sat with her while she drank the tea Twyla brought her, which amazingly did seem to help. The conversation moved away from Brenna’s melon to other happenings around town, the upcoming women’s auxiliary rummage sale, the Elks Lodge brass band’s next concert, and the proposal to lower the speed limit on Route 9. As if by silent consent, no one spoke of Clue Parker’s murder or of Brenna’s attack.

When the tea was gone and the sun was higher in the sky, Brenna let out a big yawn. The others took this as a sign to let her get some rest. Twyla promised to bring her some soup, while Portia offered to re-bandage her head for her tomorrow.

“Come on,” Nate said. “I’ll help you up.”

He helped her to her feet while Hank sat and watched, as if he knew she was frail and was afraid he might knock her down with his exuberance.

Brenna knew she should have welcomed the restful silence of her small cabin after the noise and bustle of the hospital. Instead, the quiet seemed ominous, as if whoever had done this to her was just biding their time, waiting to get her alone. Brenna shuddered. She hated feeling weak and afraid. It reminded her too much of those crippling days in Boston after the gallery had been robbed.

“Hank and I are going to stay and keep watch,” Nate said when they reached her bedroom. He raised his hand as if expecting an argument. “This is non-negotiable.”

Brenna would have argued, but she didn’t have it in her. With a grateful smile, she went to spend some quality snuggle time with her pillow.

 

It was the sound of ice cubes rattling in a glass that awoke her first. It was followed by the sound of hushed voices, both male and female. Hmm.

Brenna sat up slowly, but was delighted to find her head no longer throbbed. She felt weak, probably from not eating all day, and was surprised to find it was dark in her room and outside. She had slept the day away.

She pushed back her covers and carefully put her feet on the floor. She hadn’t forgotten Dr. Gershon’s words about suddenly losing her ability to walk, and she didn’t want to add a face plant on her hardwood floor to her list of injuries.

A bark sounded and she knew that Hank was still in residence, which she found very comforting. The door to her bedroom eased open and a familiar blond head appeared.

“Hi,” Tenley said and gave her a sympathetic smile.

“Do I still look that bad?”

“Well, it’s just . . .” She gestured to Brenna’s head.

Brenna rose and looked in the mirror. Yep, the mammoth gauze chapeau was still on her head, only now it had shifted and loosened. She must have had a restless sleep, and it looked like she was wearing a lopsided beehive.

“Is Portia around?” she asked.

“Outside with everyone else,” Tenley said.

“Everyone else?”

“Nate, Twyla, Paul, Matt, Tara, and Jake are here and Officer DeFalco keeps popping in,” Tenley said. “Marie and Ella were here but the early bird special at Stan’s started at four and it’s meat loaf tonight.”

“He makes a good loaf,” Brenna said. She looked back at her reflection and sighed.

“I’ll go get Portia,” Tenley offered.

“Thanks,” she said.

There was a sharp rap on the door and she turned to greet Portia. But instead of her sturdy neighbor with short gray hair and glasses, in strode tall and stocky with an energy force field all his own.

“Dom!” Brenna said. She fought the urge to dive under her covers.

“I’m going to kill him,” he said. “Whoever did this to you, I am going to kill.”

“I appreciate the sentiment, but given that you’re trying to reform the family image, you should probably rein it in a little.”

Dom cupped her chin and stared into her eyes. His dark brown gaze was magnetic and Brenna couldn’t look away as his eyes swept over her as if reassuring himself that she was fine.

“Are you all right?” he asked.

“I called your house this afternoon and your landlord told me what happened,” he said. “I’d have been here sooner, but I was down in Bayview and the rush hour traffic was thick.”

“You didn’t have to come. It’s not as bad as it looks,” she said. “Trust me.”

“I want you to come back with me,” he said.