Sammy Keyes and the Kiss Goodbye (21 page)

“I was, like, I
love
this girl! She’s fearless! And then … then I got to really know you. And started to really love you. Because you’re so much more than just fearless. You’re
real
. You’re
deep
. You’re smart and funny, and you care about other people. And you know what? Other people care about you. I don’t think there’s ever been a girl who talks back and
hits
back and takes no prisoners like you do, and then winds up with legions of fans. The whole town’s after whoever did this to you.

“So it’s not just me. Everyone wants you back. And maybe I’m not Prince Charming with a magic kiss, but would you wake up anyway? Please?”

Now, while Casey was pleading his case inside Room 411, outside the door the rest of the group was fidgeting, waiting for something,
anything
, to happen.

At last Holly said what they all were thinking. “It didn’t work.”

“Well, of course it didn’t work,” Heather muttered.

Not having a lot of personal experience with Heather, Cricket had no problem saying, “Hey, you thought it might, too. We all did.”

“Yeah, well, we’re all stupid,” Heather snapped.

And Marissa was about to tell her to speak for herself when she noticed Sergeant Borsch approaching. “He’s not looking too happy,” she said, nodding out at the lawman.

“He never looks happy,” Heather said.

Holly shrugged. “He deals with lowlifes and criminals all day.”

“And us, too!” Billy threw in.

When Sergeant Borsch was upon them, Marissa asked, “Any news?”

The lawman sighed, then handed her the list she’d handed him earlier. It was now somewhat rumpled (and stained with coffee and the hydrogenated oils of a blueberry muffin), and it had notes written everywhere.

“Wait a minute,” Marissa said after the teens had huddled around, studying the paper. “
Out
means they’re out of jail?”

Sergeant Borsch sucked on a tooth. “That’s right.”

She looked at him, dumbfounded. “So it could be any of these?”

The lawman frowned and nodded. “Looks like.”

“So what are you going to
do
about it?”

“We were tracking down whereabouts when there was a 911 call that the perp was cornered here in the hallway. I dropped everything and raced over. As I’m sure you heard, it was just Sammy’s mother’s overreaction to that Poe character.”

Billy shook his head. “That dude is so misunderstood.”

Sergeant Borsch tried to be diplomatic. “Well, it’s understandable that he gets misunderstood.”

“No, it’s discrimination!” Billy said.

“Against?” Marissa asked.

Billy squared his shoulders. “Bird guys. Birdman guys. Guys who look like birds.”

Sergeant Borsch pinched his eyes closed and took a deep breath. “It was
understandable
because it was an
unusual person
she didn’t know in the room alone with her
daughter
. We’ll just leave it at that, okay?”

Suddenly Nurse Scrabble was there, saying, “We can’t have you congregating in the hall like this. I know you’re all friends and this is a hard situation, but we’re going to have to enforce the two-person rule. This has just gotten out of hand.”

“You kids go ahead back to the waiting room,” Sergeant Borsch said. “I want to see Sammy for just a minute.”

“No!” Billy cried, grabbing his arm. “You can’t go in there!”

The lawman cocked an eyebrow at him. “Why not?”

“Because …” Billy went a little shifty-eyed, but then blurted out the truth. “We want to give magic a chance.”

“Magic?” Nurse Scrabble said. “What’s going on in there?” But as she moved to enter Room 411, she found herself body-blocked by some very determined teens.

“It’s her boyfriend,” Marissa finally said.

“He’s going to kiss her,” Dot offered.

Nurse Scrabble stared at them a moment.

Then her shoulders slumped.

Her head wagged.

“Oh, you poor things,” she said at last, then added, “As long as he doesn’t turn off the motion sensor and climb in bed with her.”

“What!?” the teens all cried, because on the surface of things it was a rather outrageous statement. Even the Borschman gave her a look.

Nurse Scrabble said, “Well, that’s what the mother did. Twice! So she could get in bed with her.”

Sergeant Borsch gave her a little squint. “Lana was in bed with Sammy?”

“Well, the first time. The second time she denied it.”

“Denied being in bed with her?”

“No! Denied turning it off.”

“Turning what off?”

“The motion sensor!”

“But she admitted it the first time?”

“How else could she have climbed in bed without the alarm going off?” Then she added, “A motion sensor doesn’t just turn off by itself—you have to go over to it and switch it off!”

“But … how would she know where it was?” Holly asked. “Or
what
it was?”

“Yeah,” Marissa said. “I had no idea there was a motion sensor.”

“Where is it?” Heather asked.

“It’s under the patient,” the nurse said.

“But where’s the switch?” Marissa asked.

“Up by the head of the bed. But the point is—”

The gears in Gil Borsch’s head were visibly turning. He eyed the nurse. “Could it have been turned off beforehand?”

“Each rotation checks. And I reviewed the records when I documented that it had been turned off. It was noted as being on and functioning.”

Still, for Sergeant Borsch a different sort of alarm was going off. From what the nurse was saying … from what he knew about Lana … something wasn’t adding up.

“Come with me,” he suddenly said to the nurse.

Nurse Scrabble clearly had no desire to do so, but Sergeant Borsch
was
an agent of the law, so she followed him to the waiting room, where the lawman led her to Dusty Mike, who was still talking to Janet Keltner.

“Mike,” Sergeant Borsch began, “do you have any idea why Sammy’s bed’s motion sensor was turned off?”

The gravedigger gave the lawman a blank look. “What’s a motion sensor?”

So (after a nod from Sergeant Borsch) Nurse Scrabble explained the setup and the purpose.

Mike shook his head. “An orderly was there when I went in. Maybe I interrupted him?”

“What was he doing?” Sergeant Borsch asked.

Dusty Mike shrugged. “Rearrangin’ her pillow? That’s what it looked like to me.”

“Rearranging her
pillow
?” the nurse said.

Sergeant Borsch’s pulse quickened. From the nurse’s demeanor it was clear to him that there was no reason for anyone to be rearranging Sammy’s pillow. “What did this orderly look like?” he asked Mike.

“Gold glasses. Light hair. Average size.” Then he added, “The hair was a mite long.”

Nurse Scrabble gave Mike a curious look. “Are you sure he was an orderly?”

He gave a little shrug. “He was wearin’ scrubs.”

“What color?” Gil Borsch asked.

“Blue,” Dusty Mike replied.

Nurse Scrabble eyed the gravedigger suspiciously. “Hmm.”

But Janet Keltner had a lot of practical experience with both medical procedure and motion sensors from her job in a nursing home and understood the need to get to the bottom of the situation. “Can I ask something?” she asked (already asking something).

“What’s that?” Nurse Scrabble asked back.

“I was down in Sammy’s room for a short visit while Mike was out here with my daughter. Then we switched. So between the time I left and Mike went in, an unknown orderly was in there.”

“And your question is …?”

“Do you have visual profiles on your personnel?”

“We do,” Nurse Scrabble confirmed.

“Can he look at them?” Janet asked, nodding toward Dusty Mike.

Nurse Scrabble nodded. “Sure.”

But while the others went toward the nurses’ station, Sergeant Borsch headed back down the hallway, his stomach churning. He had a hunch the “orderly’s” photo would not be found in the hospital’s files.

“Where are you going?” Marissa asked as he passed by Room 411.

But the lawman hurried forward without a word.

If he was right, he wasn’t the only one who’d been pulling a Sammy Keyes.

While Sergeant Borsch was headed for the exit door at the end of Sammy’s hallway, the “orderly” was tearing his hair out. (And dying to tear it
off
.) Six different disguises. Six different attempts. Six different annoying, meddlesome, infuriating interferences.

So now what?

He couldn’t just forget about it.

If the brat woke up, it was all over!

And there was no way he was going back to the slammer!

He stood in the stairwell, not knowing if he should go and come back later, or just wait a little while and try again. He could just kick himself for wanting her to see his face last night. For wanting her to know who was doing her in. If he’d just done the job, he wouldn’t be in this predicament!

But she’d
humiliated
him.

Made his life miserable!

She needed to pay for his agonizing time in jail, but
what was the use in making her pay if she didn’t know what the payback was for?

So he’d shown his face.

And he’d heard her gasp when she’d recognized him.

It had been so satisfying!

And the terror in her eyes?

Priceless.

So yes, it was worth it, but if he could go back and do it again, maybe he wouldn’t worry so much about making it look like an accident. Maybe he’d just strangle her.

Or stab her.

Or shoot her!

He’d wanted to avoid evidence or noise, but now he had
this
whole mess. Which didn’t seem fair. Especially since he’d been so patient and careful. So meticulous in his preparations!

After his release from jail, he’d rented two rooms. One under his real name on Boone Street, and another under a fake name at the Heavenly Hotel. The Boone Street address kept his parole officer happy. The view from his window at the Heavenly kept him happy.

It was very appropriate payback, he’d thought, to watch her from his window with binoculars. It’s how he’d figured out her little jam-the-jamb trick. She thought she was so sly, but he’d verified the situation himself.

She’d used bubblegum.

And jamming the jamb and sneaking up and down the fire escape were not things you did if you were just visiting. No, she was
living
there. Illegally.

Which made her a criminal herself.

The snotty little hypocrite!

So after he’d planned and plotted and watched and let enough time pass to minimize suspicion, the embers of hatred were red-hot and he was ready to make the leap from thief to killer.

He began concealing himself in the shrubbery near the Highrise, lying in wait. Strangely, though, she seemed to stop using the stairs. Night after night he waited, but she didn’t show up. And he didn’t see her from his window anymore, either. Not in the morning, not in the afternoon, not in the evening.

Was she on to him?

Had she
moved
?

But then last night he’d seen her go into the Pup Parlor. And feeling a certain desperation and urgency, he’d hidden himself near the base of the Highrise stairs and waited.

And waited.

And (growing increasingly angry) waited some more.

And then suddenly there she was, stealing up the fire escape like a cat in the night.

By the third floor he’d caught her. “Remember me?” he’d asked, and he could almost feel his teeth sparkle in the moonlight. Then he’d put the muscles he’d built in the exercise yard to good use and dumped her.

But the brat had survived!

How could anyone survive that fall?

Even into bushes!

She was a living
nightmare
, and now she turned out to be Darren Cole’s daughter? How could she be Darren Cole’s daughter?

If he’d known
that
, he might’ve ransomed her instead!

But … her being Darren Cole’s daughter made no sense. A guy like that wouldn’t let his daughter live illegally at the Highrise! Well, unless he was one of those cheap millionaires who couldn’t bother putting his relatives up in some classy joint.

So maybe it was a trick! Something the cops had masterminded as a way to get people to call the hotline.

Which didn’t make sense, either! What would Darren Cole be doing in
Santa Martina
?

Well, at this point it didn’t matter whether it made sense. What mattered was that if the girl woke up, he was dead. And the only solution was to make sure she was dead before she woke up!

And after six attempts, the best way to make that happen still seemed to be suffocation. She was already unconscious, right?

And he was
prepared
. Last night when he’d looked up how long it took to suffocate someone (because he sure didn’t want to find out later that he hadn’t finished the job
again
), he’d stumbled upon information on the Internet about coma patients and motion sensors.

Motion sensors!

He’d had no idea.

So after reading up about those, he’d determined that all he needed was three minutes with a pillow. (The Internet said it would take six, but being unconscious was like being half dead, and it’s not like she’d fight back!)

Three measly minutes.

But there were always people there! First that damn cop.

The same one who’d arrested him, no less!

Then that kid who’d told him to shave.

Then the rock star, who’d thrown him by just
being
there. How could Darren Cole be two feet away from him? “Watertower” was one of his favorite songs. He’d lifted to it in the jail yard! Maybe he should have asked for an autograph. He coulda made a bundle on eBay.

Whatever. The second time he saw Darren Cole, he’d stayed cool and collected, and getting him to leave the room would have been easy if it hadn’t been for the mom (who made it more than clear who the brat took after).

There were also those nuns who he’d
thought
were there because she’d died on her own, but oh, no. She wouldn’t do him the courtesy of just
dying
.