Midnight Before Christmas (11 page)

“No, please. Keep it. It’s yours. Merry Christmas.”

His eyes softened a bit. “Really? Hey, thanks.” He turned abruptly. “Here, let me get you something.”

Megan held up her hands. “Don’t bother. I—”

“No, I want to.” He walked over to his desk and pulled a small object out of a box. “Here. You take this.”

Megan held out her hands and received the gift. It appeared to be a small plastic reproduction of a school bus. “Gee, thanks.”

“My sister sent it to me. Apparently it’s all the rage in Europe.”

Megan tried to imagine it—a tiny plastic bus was all the rage …

“It’s a record player.”

She looked up. “Beg your pardon?”

“A record player. See?” He flipped over the bus. “That’s the needle on the underside. These holes on the sides are speakers. The wheels make it go around in a circle.”

“But how—”

“You put it on top of a phonograph record, and as it drives around in a circle on top, the needle plays the music, which comes out the speakers. Ingenious, huh?”

“More like incredible.”

“Sounds like hell, of course, and it destroys the record. But it’s a great gimmick, don’t you think?”

“Great isn’t quite the word.” She opened her purse. “You’re sure you want to part with this?”

He waved his hand. “Oh, yeah. It’s a CD world now, right? I sold off all my LPs a long time ago.”

“Swell.” She dropped the bus in and closed her purse. “Well, if you’re sure you can’t help, me…”

“Wait.”

Megan stopped in her tracks.

“Look … I shouldn’t do this …”

Megan listened intently, hoping for a
but.

“But since you’ve been so nice, let me tell you something. There really wasn’t much more we could determine. The food
was
poisoned. Rat poison, absolutely deadly.”

“It must taste awful.”

“Yes, but the taste would’ve been masked by the strong spices of the food.”

“Tommy wouldn’t have known it was poisoned.”

“Probably not. If he’d taken more than a few bites, he’d have died almost instantly. We couldn’t possibly have saved him.”

Megan nodded her head grimly. Then Carl really was trying to—

“There was one interesting factor, though.” He riffled through the papers on his desk, searching for the report. “Chemical analysis revealed a very low absorption rate.”

“Low absorption rate,” Megan repeated. “What does that mean?”

“It means the poison was still mostly topical. It had not soaked into the food.”

Megan nodded her head. “Is that important?”

“Could be. We tested the food ourselves independently, with separate samples of poison we had here in the office. Toxin absorption didn’t take long at all.”

Megan was beginning to get the gist of the matter. “Then if the poison on Tommy’s food hadn’t soaked in much, even by the time you got it in the lab …”

Barney nodded his head. “Then it hadn’t been there very long. One of the witnesses in the restaurant said their food had been delivered as much as twenty minutes before you arrived. There’s no way the poison was applied that long ago.”

“Then it must’ve been added later,” Megan said, thinking aloud.

“Right,” Barney confirmed. “It must have been added—well, not long before you arrived at the scene.”

Megan nodded her head slowly. “Or after.”

“D
INNERTIME, MR. CANTRELL.”

Carl snapped out of his reverie. The painkillers had made him forget all about the pain in his arm. What occupied his thoughts now was that woman. That priest—or ex-priest or whatever. He had almost forgotten what it was like to actually talk to another human being, to be able to explain how you feel, to have the sense that the person on the other end was actually listening. She truly seemed to care; when she said she would check into the situation, he believed her.

The candystriper plopped the plastic tray across his lap, attaching the metal clamps on either end to the rail of his bed. “Looks like they’ve got something special for you tonight.” She cast her eyes down toward the tray. “Red Jell-O with bananas and marshmallows. I love that stuff.”

“You’re welcome to mine,” Carl growled.

The candystriper laughed. “Oh, what a card you are. But I doubt if the docs would approve of that. Or the two guards at the door.”

“I’m surprised they let you in.”

She opened his milk carton and poured it into a glass. “Everyone has to eat, Mr. Cantrell. Even when they’re under guard.”

“Did they taste it? To make sure I’m not being poisoned?”

The candystriper wagged her finger. “I get the impression they’re more worried about what you might do than they are about what someone else might do to you.” She smiled, then sauntered out the door.

Carl stared down at the plate. The effects of all the alcohol he had downed earlier had faded, but he still didn’t have much appetite. Especially not for mystery meat. Or white milk. Or red Jell-O with bananas and marshmallows.

Well, he supposed he should eat something. He yanked the white napkin out from under the silverware.

A scrap of paper fluttered into his lap.

What’s this? He recovered the scrap, frowning, and unfolded it.

It was a note. A Post-it note folded three times over.

The text was simple enough
: BE READY TO GO IN FIVE MINUTES.

Who was this from? he wondered, brow creased. The candystriper? Surely not. She must just be the courier—and probably an unwitting courier at that.

Bonnie? Tommy? Stop dreaming, he told himself. It was clear now that Bonnie wouldn’t lift a finger to help him, and Tommy was too young to pull off something like this.

The lawyer-priest? She did say she would do some checking. He didn’t expect anything like this … but it seemed the only possible explanation.

He glanced at his watch. At least a minute had passed since the candystriper left the room.

He scooted the tray away and climbed out of bed. He didn’t know what was going on, but if he really was going to have a chance to get out of here, he didn’t want to blow it.

He found his clothes draped over a hanger in the closet. They were in pretty bad shape, particularly the shirt, but at the moment, he couldn’t afford to be choosy. He slipped out of the peekaboo hospital gown, crawled into his clothes, collected his cell phone, and waited.

He didn’t have to wait long. A few minutes later, a huge explosion rocked the building. One moment he was leaning against the wall, and the next he was flying across the room, spiraling out of control.

Instinctively Carl gripped the bed. The floor shook violently, like someone had driven a semi into the foundations of the hospital. Everything that wasn’t nailed down began to rattle and crash.

He staggered to the door and peered through the glass window in the center. Everyone outside had been caught off guard. People were reeling, falling. Thick files tumbled down, sending paper flying in all directions. Medicine bottles smashed down, hitting the tile floor and shattering into pieces.

“Not again!” one woman cried, and Carl knew immediately what she meant. Not again, not another bomb in Oklahoma City.

After a few seconds had passed, the trembling began to subside. Dust and smoke flooded into the waiting area, adding to the general confusion.

“Over there!” he heard the nurse-receptionist cry. She pointed toward an operating room in the back. “It came from over there!”

Carl saw the two guards outside hesitate, glance at each other. They knew they were supposed to watch his door. At the same time they were the only authority figures in sight.

“In there!” the woman shrieked. “Hurry! I saw someone go in! There might be another bomb!”

A chorus of shouts and panicked cries punctuated her sentence. “Another bomb!” one of the interns cried.
“Run!”

That made the decision for them. The two guards raced across the waiting area, plowing through the smoke to the operating room down the corridor.

Carl knew this was his chance. Making as little sound as possible, he pushed the pneumatic door open and slid through the opening. With all the confusion and smoke and dust in the air, no one noticed. He passed quickly by the elevator and headed for the stairs. Another couple of seconds and he was in the stairwell, moving down fast, but not too fast. As far as he could tell, no one had spotted him.

He hit the ground floor and broke into a sprint. He didn’t really know what was going on, but he was smart enough to know he didn’t have much time. This had been a gift—a Christmas gift, if you will—but it wouldn’t last forever. Soon police and medics would be rushing to the scene of the explosion. And even sooner, those two guards would return to his room and see that he had hightailed it. When that happened, every cop in town would be looking for him.

He had to get back to his grungy apartment and collect a few things, before it got too hot. After that … well, he just didn’t know. Until five minutes ago, he didn’t think there was going to be an after that.

The brisk night air wrapped itself around him, invigorating him. He was glad to be out, to be free, but it didn’t stop that one central question from nagging at him, tearing at his brain.

He couldn’t kid himself—there was no way that lawyer-priest would set a bomb to bust him out of the hospital. So who did?

And more important—why?

W
HEN FRANK CAME THROUGH
the front door of the house, Bonnie was waiting with a perfect vodka martini, olive included. “Mission accomplished?”

Frank slid out of the thin white coat, took the drink, and downed it in a single gulp. He bit down on the olive, sliding the toothpick out between his teeth. “Mission accomplished.”

“And you didn’t have any trouble getting in?”

“Not the least.” He flopped down on the sofa and propped his feet up on the hassock. “Once I put on the doc’s coat and draped a stethoscope around my neck, everyone in the hospital started treating me like God.”

She sat down, cuddling against him. “So did you get him out?”

“He got himself out. Where’s my next martini?”

She jabbed him in the ribs. “Tell me!”

Frank grinned, then slid down lower on the sofa. “Slipped a note onto his food tray. Candystriper carried it in to him, never the wiser. Told him to get ready to run.”

“And then?”

“Then I created a diversion.”

She grabbed a pillow and beat him over the top of the head. “Will you stop making me beg for it? Tell!”

He grabbed her wrists and pulled her lengthwise across his lap. “I sparked an oxygen tank in one of the operating rooms. Created an explosion.”

“No!”

“But I did.”

“Was anyone hurt?”

“I sincerely doubt it. It was more show than substance. Made a huge noise, generated a ton of smoke. But I doubt if it did much real damage. What it did do, however, was allow your dear ex-husband to make his getaway.”

She wrapped her arms around his neck. “You are so brilliant.”

“I do my best.”

“Where is he now?”

“How should I know? Probably crawled back to some bar. Doesn’t matter.”

“But we have to get in touch with him.”

“Yes, darling, I know. But we don’t want to be too speedy about it. Even an imbecile like him might think it a bit coincidental if—”

He stopped in mid-sentence. His head jerked around.

Tommy was crouched behind the banister. He was wearing Star Wars pajamas and clutching a teddy bear.

Bonnie whirled. “Tommy! What are you doing out of bed!”

Tommy had a miserable expression on his face. “I’m not sleepy.”

She ran toward the stairs. “I don’t care if you’re sleepy or not! When I say get in bed, that means get in bed!”

Tommy took a step back. “Were you talking about Daddy?”

“You miserable brat!” Her hand whipped back and slapped him hard across the cheek.

“Ow!” Tommy squirmed away.

Bonnie grabbed him by the shoulders and shook him hard. “What did you hear, you sneak?
What did you hear?”

“Nothin’,” Tommy said. He twisted, unsuccessfully trying to get away. “I didn’t hear nothin’!”

“Tell me!” Her hand reared back and cracked him again across the face.

“I didn’t!” Tommy began to cry. “I didn’t!”

Frank came up behind them on the stairs. “There, there, now. Let’s all get a grip on ourselves.” He sat down between them and laid his hand gently on Tommy’s knee. Tommy pushed it off. “Bonnie, if he’d heard anything, he would’ve told us, I’m sure.”

“I didn’t hear anything,” Tommy repeated, choking.

“Of course you didn’t. Your mother was just surprised to see you up again after she sent you to bed.”

“I wasn’t sleepy.”

Bonnie leaned forward. “I don’t care if you’re—”

Frank gently pushed her back, silencing her. “Of course you’re not sleepy,” he said, maintaining the same even singsong voice. “Who would be? It’s Christmas Eve. Tell you what. Are you hungry?”

Tommy shrugged. “A little.”

“Well, then. Let’s go get some food. A Christmas feast, I think. What’s your favorite?”

Tommy glanced at his mother, then quickly looked away. “I like McDonald’s, but Mommy says—”

“McDonald’s it is, then. Happy Meals all around. After all, it’s Christmas!” He patted Tommy on the shoulder. “Now you run upstairs and put your clothes back on. Get down here as soon as you can. We’re going to party!”

Tommy wiped his nose, then wordlessly scrambled back up the stairs. A second later, they heard the door to his room close.

“And what was that all about?” Bonnie asked, hands on hips. “One minute you’re a terrorist, the next you’re Mr. Rogers.”

Frank smiled thinly. “You weren’t going to get any information out of him by beating him over the head. Didn’t your mother ever tell you that you catch more flies with honey than vinegar?”

“My mother wasn’t exactly the homespun wisdom type. And our family wasn’t exactly a ‘Good night, John-Boy’ bunch.”

“Well, then let me take the lead. We have to gain the boy’s trust. Eventually he’ll tell us what he knows.”

“And if he knows too much?”

Frank’s eyes narrowed and darkened. “I’ll leave that to your discretion.” He glanced at his watch. “Speaking of family matters, I think it’s time I called your ex.” He started down the stairs. “Do you think he’s still carrying his cordless?”