Monument to the Dead (21 page)

Nurses came and went, poking and prodding James, and
removing several attachments. I stayed, although I kept out of their way, sitting
quietly in a corner. This was James: being with him now trumped my queasiness about
blood and stitches and all that stuff. One nurse even cranked up the head of his bed
just a bit, so it wasn’t so difficult for him to look at me, although I could tell
that moving his head at all hurt him. James kept drifting in and out of awareness,
and I didn’t know if I should worry about that or not.

It was afternoon when Marty finally reappeared. She stopped in the doorway to check
out the scene. Her face lit up. “Hey, you’re awake, Jimmy! That’s certainly an improvement.”

“I think so, although maybe you should check with me when the painkillers wear off,”
James said.

“The docs have anything new to say?” Marty’s glance shifted back and forth between
James and me.

“The nurses seemed to be pleased by his progress,” I told her.

“Good to hear,” Marty said. Another white-coated person came in, a woman who looked
to be about my age. I deduced that she must be a doctor, based largely on the name
stitched on the front of the coat, which was followed by M.D. She glanced briefly
at Marty and me, then turned to James. “Mr. Morrison?”

“Agent Morrison,” James corrected her.

“Ah. Right. How’re you feeling?”

“My head hurts—what do you think? When can I get out of here?”

The doctor studied him. “We want to keep you another day or two, to make sure there’s
no cranial bleeding or swelling. Let’s see how you feel tomorrow, and we’ll think
about releasing you then.” She turned to Marty and me. “Would you mind waiting in
the hall? I have to check a few things.”

Marty and I dutifully trooped out into the hall. “You want a ride home?” Marty asked.

“Am I leaving?”

“I think you should. Jimmy’s awake and in good hands, and you look like you need some
food, a shower, and time to collect yourself. He’ll understand if you take off for
a while.”

“All right. Thank you. But I have to tell James I’m leaving first.”

“No problem. I’m not in a hurry.”

“Are you going to talk to Louisa? And Rodney?”

Marty’s brow wrinkled. “Oh, shoot, you’re right, I should. When this story hits the
press, somebody is bound to track them down. I’d better warn them, although I doubt
they’d talk to anybody. Still, they should know.”

An irrelevant thought popped into my head. “You realize that Edwin gets yet another
moment in the spotlight? I hope he’s enjoying it, wherever he is.”

The doctor emerged from James’s room, scribbling on her clipboard. I intercepted her.
“How is he, really?”

“And you are?”

“His, uh, fiancée,” I said, at the same time Marty said, “She’s the woman who saved
his life.”

The two-pronged attack seemed to rattle the doctor. “Well, there’s no permanent damage.
The knife wound in the arm caught an artery, which was why there was so much blood,
but we took care of that. What was the weapon?”

“An antique Bowie knife.”

“You’re kidding? The real thing?” When I nodded, she went on, “Well, the best I can
say is that it was clean and sharp. Good thing we gave him a tetanus shot anyway.”

“And the concussion?”

“We’re keeping him just to be on the safe side. Head injuries can be tricky, and problems
don’t always show up immediately. If there are no further problems, his recovery should
be typical.”

“What’s typical?”

“He’ll probably have headaches, maybe blurred vision. Balance problems. He could be
irritable or have trouble concentrating. You going to be able to take care of him?”

What? Oh, God, she must be assuming we lived together and that I’d be there when he
got out. I wasn’t about to argue now. “Uh, sure. How long before he’ll be able to
return to work?” I asked. I had a feeling that if he couldn’t, or even if he had to
sit out for a long time, he might go crazy.

“Hard to say. A month, maybe? Depends on how quickly he recovers—there’s a lot of
variability, so I won’t try to guess. You should make sure he doesn’t try to do too
much too soon.”

“I’ll do my best. Can I go back in now?”

“Sure. I’ve given him something to keep him comfortable for a bit longer, but we have
to keep him awake. He might be a bit loopy.”

I glanced at Marty and then went back into the room. “Hey, Nell, you look good.” He
grinned at me. Must be a great painkiller.

I took his hand again. “Hey yourself. Your doctor says you’ll be fine, and they might
let you out tomorrow, or the day after.”

“That’s good. What happened to my gun?”

“I think the police have it. It’s evidence.”

“Oh, right. I want it back.”

“James, you don’t need it right now.”

“I guess not. Maybe tomorrow.”

“James, I’m going to go home for a little while now, but I’ll be back tomorrow.” I
wasn’t sure he understood what I was saying, or if he’d remember in three minutes.

So I was surprised when he said, “Nell?”

“Yes, James?”

“You sure you’re all right? You weren’t hurt?”

“I’m fine, James. You kept me safe.”

“Good. I’ll see you later.”

I rejoined Marty in the hallway. “I’m ready to go. Which way?”

We found an elevator that led to the main lobby. No newshounds in sight, and nobody
seemed to recognize me. Once outside, Marty led me to her car, parked nearby, and
now festooned with a couple of parking tickets. She removed them and pitched them
into the backseat. “Next stop, Bryn Mawr.”

I think I fell asleep as soon as I was belted in. I didn’t
wake up until she shook my shoulder. When I opened my eyes I realized we were in front
of my house. “That was fast. Thanks, Marty.”

“Don’t thank me just yet. I’m coming in with you. There are some things we need to
talk about.”

That didn’t sound promising. I fished my keys out of my bag and managed to get my
front door open. Marty brushed past me as I was trying to extricate my key from the
lock.

“You got anything to eat here?” Marty said, making a beeline for my tiny kitchen.

“Uh, I don’t know?” It seemed like days since I’d been home. Or eaten a meal.

Marty was muttering to herself as she rummaged through my cabinets. “Olive oil, pasta,
garlic, cheese—okay, I think I’ve got it.” She turned to me and spoke up. “How about
anything to drink?”

“Wine in the fridge, hard stuff in the cabinet next to the dining table.” Should I
be concerned that I knew I had alcohol but wasn’t sure about food?

“Right,” Marty called out. “Go take a shower. Food’ll be ready by the time you come
back.”

I followed her orders, marveling at how Marty had taken over my house, and why. Nonetheless,
the shower felt wonderful, and I let the water run until it turned cold. Maybe I couldn’t
scrub off the last twenty-four hours, but at least I’d be clean enough to face what
was coming. I toweled off and pulled on cotton shorts and a tee shirt.

When I came down the stairs, Marty handed me a filled wineglass and told me to sit
at my table. Arguing would take too much energy, so I sat. Three minutes later, she
emerged from my kitchen with two large steaming bowls that smelled wonderful. She
set one in front of me, then set the other at the end of the table and sat down in
front of it. “Eat,” she said. I ate.

After I’d consumed most of the bowl of food, Marty took a critical look at me and
said, “Okay, you look halfway human again. Like I said, there are things we have to
talk about.”

Ominous start to any conversation. I took a swallow of wine and said, “Like what?”

“Like Jimmy.”

Of course. “Marty, I thought you agreed not to meddle.”

“I changed my mind. I’ve been watching you two, and I think you both need a swift
kick. What do you think you’re doing?”

“We’re taking it slowly.”

“Yeah, right, like a glacier. Heck, even the glaciers move faster these days. Look,
yesterday he almost died. You spent the night next to him holding his hand and hoping
he’d wake up, which, let me tell you, wasn’t a sure thing. Doesn’t that mean anything
to you?”

“Of course it does!” I protested, trying to stifle the memory of James’s blood running
warm through my fingers. “So?”

Marty cocked her head and looked at me with something like pity. “Nell, you are in
such deep denial. Didn’t I hear somewhere that you’d been married before?”

I really was having trouble following her train of thought. “What’s that got to do
with anything? Marty, why are we talking about this?”

“Because I care about you, and I care about Jimmy, and I have to wonder what your
problem is.”

I shrugged. “I was married, it didn’t work out, end of story. He didn’t beat me or
cheat on me, if that’s what you’re wondering. Things just didn’t turn out the way
we’d expected. No hard feelings on either side.”

Marty slapped the table, hard, and I jumped. “That’s the point! Doesn’t that bother
you that you could let it end so easily? That your husband mattered so little to you?
Nell, don’t you see that you’re taking the easy route—no risks? And that’s not going
to work for much longer. You’ve got to
give
more. What the hell are you so scared of?”

Ah, well, that was the question, wasn’t it? Here we sat in my careful crafted little
home, which had room for only one person. My hidey-hole, built to suit me and only
me. Not even a cat, for God’s sake. And that was the way I had wanted it.

And, damn her, she was right about my emotional life, too: I’d made safe, boring choices,
unwilling to get hurt again.

Until James had come along. He knew my relationship history. He was willing to take
his time, or let me take mine. Did I want more with him? I had begun to think the
answer was yes, but I had no clue how to make that happen. And then the disaster at
the Water Works had happened.

Marty was still watching, silently, letting me work through this. Now she said softly,
“How did you feel when he went down?”

I shut my eyes and something inside me tore. I opened my eyes in tears. “I was terrified.
Not for myself—somehow it never occurred to me that I might die there. But I realized
that if I didn’t do anything, then James would die, and I couldn’t let that happen.
He told me to leave, and I couldn’t. I had to do something, so I shot Nicholas.”

Marty sat back in her chair. “Interesting answer. I think you’re getting closer to
the truth. Were you worried that somebody was going to blame you for screwing up?
Or is there more? Come on, Nell—you can say it.”

“I didn’t want to lose him,” I whispered, almost to myself. “I love him.”

Marty didn’t answer, but she raised her glass to me.

The evening wound down shortly after that. Marty had
squeezed from me the answer she wanted to hear, and now I felt empty. She announced
that she was spending the night on my couch because it was late and it had been a
long day and she didn’t feel like driving back to the city. Reading between the lines,
I wondered if she thought she’d been too hard on me and was afraid to leave me alone.
I didn’t argue—I was glad for her company—and too tired to argue. I headed for the
stairs, but stopped on the first step and turned to face her.

“Marty? Thank you.” Then I went up the stairs to my bedroom, fell into bed, and was
out like a light.

I woke up with the sun and lay in bed, trying to piece together my life. Today was
Saturday, or at least I thought it was. I would have to deal with the press today,
so I couldn’t just hide out here wearing my jammies and eating ice cream. Not that
I would anyway: I was going back to see James. I was going to spend as much time with
James as he and the hospital would let me. And after he was out of the hospital.

Marty had been brutal the night before, but she hadn’t been wrong. When had I slid
into taking the easy way out? Did I really think that little of myself?

Apparently the answer was yes, and Marty had recognized that. What was I waiting for
to commit? James was a terrific guy. He cared about me, and he’d shown it. And when
he lay bleeding under my hands, something had changed—I just hadn’t allowed myself
the time to think about it until Marty had all but rubbed my nose in it. If he had
died, I would have been devastated.

But I had a second chance, and if I didn’t take advantage of it, I didn’t deserve
any sympathy—or James. I was scared to death of screwing this up, but I wouldn’t be
able to live with myself if I didn’t try.

Practical considerations: the hospital would release him, today or tomorrow, and all
he had to look forward to was his rather spartan apartment in Philadelphia. No matter
how much he might protest, he wouldn’t be in any shape to take care of himself for
at least a few days, and he needed somebody to watch for problems. So what was I going
to do about it?

I was taking charge of the situation. I just needed to work out how. Bring him here?
But then if I went to work, he’d be stuck out here. Therefore I’d have to stay at
his place, which would enable me to spend time at work but still get to him quickly
if he needed something.

The press was going to start digging into the Nicholas story. There was no way to
stop it. What a shame no one had gotten pictures of our deadly tableau on the banks
of the Schuylkill. I had to figure out how to spin the story to the Society’s advantage.
Daring Heroine Saves the Day? (or at least Saves the Life of FBI Agent?)
Nell Pratt, president of the Pennsylvania Antiquarian Society, fought off an armed
killer to save the life of FBI Special Agent James Morrison in a deadly confrontation
at the Philadelphia Water Works.
Part of me cringed at the idea of being the focus of that kind of attention (and
I was pretty sure that James would hate it, too), but the president side of me said
it was what was best for the Society. My shy side would just have to suck it up.

I heard thumps from downstairs and deduced Marty was stirring. Time to get moving.
I found my shorts and tee, slipped on flip-flops, and went down the stairs.

“Coffee?” I asked to the lump on the couch that was Marty.

“Please. Pretty please. Why are you so bloody cheerful this early?”

“Because you finally explained to me what was wrong with my life, and today I am going
to start fixing it.”

“Wonderful,” Marty muttered, then untangled herself from the blanket and stumbled
toward the bathroom.

I went to the kitchen, where I made coffee. By the time the French press had done
its thing, Marty was back, looking more alert.

“Seriously? You’re not mad at me?” Marty said. “Because I was pretty blunt with you.
And I was scared, too, about Jimmy. That was too close for comfort.”

“Marty, I know you’re right and I needed to hear it. And I know you have my best interests
at heart. And James’s.”

“You mean you’d tell me if you thought I was wrong?”

I nodded. “You want food?”

“Of course. I think I saw some English muffins hiding in there.”

When we had all the components of breakfast, we sat at the table. I decided to start
the ball rolling. “Marty, we have to get ahead of the press story. Do you have a relative
at the
Inquirer
? Or the local news stations?”

“You have to ask?”

“Then call him or her or them and let’s see if we can promise them a full story for
the Sunday edition for the paper, and maybe the Sunday morning news shows. Tell me
where to be and I’ll show up and spin my heart out. Just make sure they clear the
facts with the FBI.”

“I love it. Is that all?”

“No. Whenever the hospital lets James go, he’s going to need some help. I assume he’s
not going to go back to Mom and Dad’s and let them baby him?”

Marty swallowed a laugh. “I think he’d eat glass before he did that. What’s your idea?”

“I’ll take care of him. It doesn’t make sense to park him out here, but I can stay
at his place for as long as he needs me. Think he’ll object?”

“Unlikely. Or it will be once he tries to stand up and realizes how helpless he is.
You okay with changing bandages and that yucky stuff?”

“I’d better be. If not, I’ll find a visiting nurse or someone like that to take care
of that part of things, and let the FBI foot the bills. But I’ll be there.”

Marty sat back in her chair and contemplated me with a smile. “Wow! When you decide
to change things, you don’t mess around. Okay, you’ve gotta know the news was all
over this, but so far nobody at the Society has said anything publicly. I alerted
the Society board that it was coming, so they weren’t caught by surprise, but we all
agreed that you should be the sole spokesperson. So you’ve got to get out there and
do it—fast. And you’ll tell it so you look like you saved the day, right?”

“Of course. If I’m going to keep stumbling into crimes, I might as well make it work
for me, and for the Society. Go ahead and set up the interviews for later this afternoon,
will you? We can meet at the Society. I think I should talk to the interviewers in
the reading room, because it looks less snobby than my office, but it’s still impressive—shows
off the Society well.”

Marty straightened her back and saluted. “Yes, ma’am! Right away, ma’am!”

I fixed her with an eagle eye and she relaxed. “Okay, I’ll do it. You’ll be seeing
Jimmy before that?”

“Yes. I’ll find out when they’re letting him go and plan from there.”

I drank my coffee and listened with half an ear while Marty made arrangements over
the phone to meet a journalist and a photographer later in the afternoon, in time
to make the deadline for the Sunday local news section, and then she talked to various
people at the local network affiliates. I dressed smartly because I needed to look
like someone who was in charge. And who could shoot. In a way I hated to go public
with that, but if it made it a better story . . .