Lucky Stiff (40 page)

He chuckles and shakes his head. “I gotta give the girl credit. It was a brilliant hiding place. She knew I hated that damn cat and its nasty, smelly litter box. Speaking of which . . .” He gestures toward the litter box. “How about taking that liner out of there?”

The scalpel blade catches the light and glimmers menacingly. I swallow hard, bend down, grab the sides of the liner, and lift. It’s surprisingly light, considering what the box weighed. And in the next second, I see why. Underneath it, neatly stacked in several rows, are bundles of hundred-dollar bills.

I stand there, holding the bag of litter and watching Fletcher. His eyes grow wide at the sight of the money; a little smile breaks out on his face. Then he looks back at me and the smile fades.

“Just take the money and go,” I tell him. “I won’t do anything, and I won’t tell anyone.”

“Do I look that stupid?” he says. “Look, I’m sorry this all got so out of hand. It wasn’t what I wanted. I didn’t want to hurt anyone.”

“Then don’t.”

“It’s too late. I’ll try to make it as painless as I can for you.” He lifts the scalpel and looks at it. “One quick cut on the carotid and you’ll be unconscious in a minute or two. I’ve heard it’s not a bad way to go.”

“Really? And just who was it who told you that?”

He sighs and says, “I’m sorry.”

I’m not about to wait for him to come slashing at me with that scalpel, so I make my move. I toss the bag of litter at his head and score a direct hit. Half the litter flies out of the liner and hits his face full on. The rest of the bag hits him in the neck, and it’s enough to knock him off balance. I leap forward and shove him, making a mad dash past him and out of the bathroom. His arm flails out and a hot burn rips along my neck, making me holler out in both terror and pain, but I keep on going, heading for the door.

Hoover appears in front of me, growling and baring his teeth. I know he’s there to protect me, but my momentum is too great to stop or sidestep him and I run into him, instead. My feet tangle with his and I fall forward onto the floor. Behind me I hear Hoover growling and snapping and I try to get up. There is a pool of blood on the floor beneath me and on my hand. Panicked, I reach up and feel my neck, wondering if I’m already pumping blood from the wound Fletcher inflicted. But some distant part of my mind, the nursing part that I’ve trained to stay rational and calm in the direst of circumstances, tells me it’s okay. There isn’t enough blood on the floor, or any arterial spray. I hear Fletcher yell; I hear Hoover growl; then I feel a cold wind on me. I look toward the source of the cold and see Hurley standing in the doorway, his gun drawn. I hear Hoover yelp behind me and watch as Hurley charges across the room toward the bathroom.

I hear Hurley yell, “Hoover! Down!” Then it’s followed by “Drop it or I’ll shoot you where you stand!”

I manage to get to my knees and stand, but I feel woozy. I stumble over to the couch and drop into it. I see Hurley in the bathroom doorway, his gun pointed into the room. “Mattie, are you okay?” he asks over his shoulder.

My fingers probe the wound on my neck. It’s long, but not deep, and the blood is oozing, not pumping. “I’m cut, but I’m okay,” I tell him.

He moves to one side, still keeping his gun aimed, and Hoover comes limping past him. There is blood dripping from his face and one of his front legs.

“Oh, no, Hoover!” I push myself off the couch, my wooziness forgotten, and hurry over to my dog. He, too, is cut, in two different places: one on his foot and the other on his cheek. The one on his cheek is nearly two inches long. The one on his foot is between his toes and it’s nearly half an inch deep.

Hurley takes out his cell phone and calls 911, requesting both police backup and an ambulance.

I head for the kitchen, with Hoover limping along behind me, and grab a towel. Then I set about cleaning Hoover’s wounds.

The first cop shows up in a minute or two, and soon the place is swarming with cops and EMTs. Hurley hands Fletcher off and comes into the kitchen to hover over Hoover and me. The EMTs quickly determine that I’ll need stitches; and while it isn’t an emergent problem, they offer to take me to the ER.

“I won’t go, unless my dog comes with me,” I tell them. “He saved my life.”

“I’m sorry, Mattie,” one of the EMTs says. “We can’t take a dog in the rig. You know that.”

Hurley says, “That’s okay. I’ll take her.”

He loads Hoover and me into his car, leaving the other cops to haul Fletcher off to jail. Along the way, I fill him in on my visit from Fletcher, and the details I now know. “Thank goodness you showed up when you did,” I tell him as all three of us get out of his car and walk into the ER. “Why did you come by?”

“Izzy called me after he talked with you on the phone. He was worried about you. He told me that you quit your job and then asked for it back.”

“He already offered my position to Jonas. I thought I had a job here at the hospital, but Molinaro called me tonight and told me she wouldn’t hire me back because David said it would be too awkward.”

Hurley mutters a few colorful adjectives for David.

“So now I’m unemployed,” I finish.

We’re at the doors to the ER and I’m about to go in when Hurley stops me. He places a hand on either shoulder and turns me to face him. “Izzy also told me why you quit,” he says.

I smile awkwardly. “Yeah, well, sorry about that. I was stupid.”

“What do you mean?”

“I know it’s too late, Hurley. I came over to your house tonight, to tell you about the job and all, and I saw Tonya there. And I saw the two of you head out for dinner at the Peking Palace.”

“Tonya called me. And I only agreed to see her because you said the two of us could never be. I drove her back to her car and dropped her off as soon as Izzy called me. Why didn’t you tell me you were thinking about quitting your job?”

“I didn’t want to say anything to you until I had a chance to talk to Izzy. And I only told him this afternoon.”

Hurley’s eyes rove over my face and hair. One hand comes up and touches the bandage the EMTs put on my neck. “I nearly lost you again tonight, Winston. And that scared the crap out of me.”

Hoover chooses that moment to whimper at our feet, reminding us that we’re not alone. Hurley’s hands drop to his sides, but then he takes one of mine in his and opens the ER door. “Come on,” he says, holding my hand tight. “Let’s get the two of you fixed up, and then you and I are going to talk some more.”

Chapter 39

Nearly two hours later, both Hoover and I are patched up and ready to head out. The doctor on duty, Allan Connor, kindly agreed to stitch Hoover’s wounds, along with mine. Knowing it might get him and others on staff in trouble if we took Hoover into the ER proper, Connor set up a sterile field in the ambulance bay and stitched Hoover up there.

Not long after we arrived at the hospital, Izzy called Hurley on his cell phone, panicked because he and Dom came home and found a bunch of cops in my cottage and a bunch of blood on the floors. Hurley filled him in on what happened, assured him he would take care of me for the night, and promised to update him in the morning.

After thanking Dr. Connor and the ER staff for their help, Hurley, Hoover, and I head back out to Hurley’s car. As Hurley pulls out of the lot, I look over at him and say, “What am I going to do for a job?”

“You have the money from your divorce settlement,” he says, making me wince. “That should hold you for a while.”

I debate telling him that I’ve lost a big chunk of my settlement money at the casino, but decide not to. There’s still enough to hold me for a little while; but sooner or later, I’m going to have to find another job.

“Don’t worry about it tonight,” Hurley says. “You can start fresh in the morning.”

I decide he’s right. There’s nothing I can do about it tonight anyway. So I sit back and try to relax. That’s when I notice the route we’re taking.

“Where are we going?” I ask him.

“My place. You and Hoover are spending the night with me so I can keep an eye on the two of you. If you go back to your place, I’m afraid you’ll be haunted by what happened there and you’ll never get any rest. Besides, your place is a mess. Tomorrow I’ll take you over there and help you clean it up.”

“But I have to go back. Tux is stuck inside that cat carrier. I can’t leave him there all night like that. And what about Rubbish? He’s probably all freaked out by what happened.”

“When I spoke to Izzy earlier, he said he and Dom had both of the cats at their place. They’ll be fine.”

Hurley pulls into his driveway and shuts off the car. We get out and head inside, where I see two empty beer bottles sitting on the coffee table, a reminder of Hurley’s earlier guest. He sees them, too, and quickly grabs them up and tosses them in the kitchen trash. “Do you want something to eat?” he asks. “I can fix you up a sandwich.”

“Sure.” I settle in at the table and Hoover makes himself at home by curling up on the rug in front of the sink. Hurley tosses him some slices of ham while he’s preparing the food and then sets two sandwiches on the table. He goes over to a cabinet, takes out a couple of wineglasses, and then grabs a bottle of Chardonnay from the fridge.

“It will take the edge off things for you,” he says, filling both glasses.

The sandwich tastes wonderful; and as we eat, we discuss the night’s events some more. Somewhere in that process, my wineglass gets emptied and refilled twice. After I drain it for the third time, Hurley says, “Come on upstairs and I’ll get you something to sleep in so you can get out of those bloody clothes. You’re welcome to take a shower, if you want.”

“Thanks. I think I will.” I get up from my chair and follow Hurley upstairs. He digs out a baggy old T-shirt and some sweatpants, and then he fetches me a towel from a hall linen closet.

The shower feels wonderful; I emerge tired but feeling renewed. The issue of my job keeps trying to take the lead in my thoughts, but I act like Scarlett O’Hara and push it back, thinking tomorrow is soon enough to worry about it.

When I come out of the bathroom, Hurley and Hoover are both waiting for me in the upstairs hallway.

“Feel better?” Hurley asks.

“I do.”

“I’ve made up the guest bedroom for you.” He turns and heads down the hallway and I follow him to the first door on the right. He stops just outside and extends his arm through the doorway. I step into a simple bedroom with a double bed, a nightstand, a dresser, a closet, and a large color picture on the wall of the Chicago skyline at night. A lamp on the bedside stand warms the room with a cozy glow.

“Mattie?”

Hurley is standing right behind me and I can feel his breath on the back of my neck when he speaks. “Yes?” My heart is pounding in my chest and I dare not turn to look at him.

“You don’t have to sleep in here, if you don’t want to.”

There it is, the line drawn in the proverbial sand. Do I cross it? I’ve given up so much to be able to do so. I turn to face him, looking up into those deep blue eyes. “Where else would I sleep?”

“With me.” He reaches up and tucks a stray hair behind my ear.

He takes my hand and leads me down the hall to the master bedroom. Hoover gets up to follow, but Hurley stops at the door of the bedroom and gently tells him to stay. We head for the bed; and when we reach it, Hurley turns to me, pulls me close, and kisses me. And from that moment on, I’m a goner.

Later, Hurley and I are lying in his bed, mostly naked, side by side. Both of us are staring up at the ceiling, panting slightly, and wearing goofy grins. My brain struggles to wrap itself around what’s just happened, because the sensations Hurley awakened in me were mind-numbingly awesome. I’m also keenly aware of the line we just crossed. My mind-body argument is abruptly interrupted when I hear the ring of Hurley’s doorbell.

Hurley scowls and glances at his watch. “It’s nearly eleven at night,” he says. “Who the hell could that be?”

The doorbell rings again and Hurley sighs, clearly annoyed. He gets out of bed, pulls on his jeans, and heads toward the stairs, with Hoover on his heels. I reluctantly roll out of bed, pull on the shirt and sweatpants I was wearing earlier, and follow Hoover, stopping at the top of the stairs as Hurley opens the door below. Standing on the front stoop are a woman and a teenage girl.

“Hi, Steve,” the woman says.

Several beats pass before Hurley says, “Kate?”

“Yep, it’s me. Quite the blast from the past, eh? You’re a hard man to find.”

Apparently, not hard enough.

“What are you doing here?” Hurley asks.

“We need to talk. Can we come in?”

Though he’s clearly annoyed, Hurley nods and waves them into the foyer. He sees me standing at the top of the stairs and does a perfunctory introduction.

“Mattie, Kate. Kate is an old friend of mine.”

“I’m a bit more than that,” Kate says as Hurley shuts the door. “I’m his wife.”

For a moment, I think I’m delirious and hallucinating. My legs start to tremble and I sit down on the landing so I won’t fall down the steps.

Hurley whirls on Kate and says, “You
were
my wife, many years ago. We’re divorced.”

“Actually,” she says, looking apologetic, “we’re not.”

“I signed the papers.”

“I never filed them.”

I squeeze my eyes closed as I feel my world crumble around me. Could this day possibly get any worse? Apparently, it can. Kate proves there is no end to my misery with her next words.

“And this,” she says, putting an arm around the teenage girl who is with her, “is your daughter, Emily.”

Chapter 40

More than anything, I want to escape from Hurley’s home and return to my cottage. However, I don’t have a way to get there unless I walk, and I’m not about to head out at eleven at night in the bitter cold for an hour-plus stroll. Hoover and I stake out the living room, while Kate, Emily, and Hurley huddle in the kitchen. I can’t help but eavesdrop on the conversation.

“I didn’t know where else to turn,” Kate says. “I lost my job, my house is in foreclosure, and we have nowhere to stay.”