Terry Odell - Mapleton 03 - Deadly Puzzles (14 page)

Angie dropped a canvas tote she
’d held and grasped Gordon’s hand. Hers was ice in his. The bravado, the teasing in her entrance was gone. Her blue eyes misted with tears.

He took both of her hands in his, rubbing to warm them.
“Hey, angel. I’m all right. Honest.” He scooted over on the bed and pulled her next to him.

She shook her head. Blinked. Sniffled.
“You scared me so much.” The words barely escaped, and as soon as they did, full-blown sobs followed. He didn’t know what to do—crying women always unnerved him—so he stroked her back until she finished.

“
I’m okay,” he said again.

“
The news. Said a man died in a fire. At the place you were going. Didn’t give a name. Only that he’d died at the hospital. I tried the B and B, but all I got was their machine. I called Ed Solomon, and he said it wasn’t you, and then we drove, and it took forever, and I wasn’t sure I could believe him. I thought you still might not make it.”

She glanced around, leaned over, snagged a tissue from the box on the bedside table and blew her nose.
“Are you sure you’re all right?” she asked, as if she had to keep hearing it, to reassure herself.

As if to prove it, he pulled the oxygen tube from his nostrils, cupped her face, and kissed her, until another coughing spell forced him to break away.

“That didn’t sound too good,” she said.

“
Angie, I’m fine. Ate a little smoke, that’s all. Sore throat because they stuck some tube down to check my airway. Residual coughing. Eyes burn. Nothing serious.”

She narrowed her eyes.
“That doesn’t sound like you’re fine.”

Another burst of coughing seemed to strengthen her argument.

“That doesn’t sound fine, either.”

He wriggled the tube into place.
“I’m not going to be running a marathon tomorrow, I’ll grant you that. But I’ve felt a lot worse with a head cold.”

“
Promise you’re not being all manly-macho?”

“
Cross my heart.” He reinforced it with the gesture. And a caress to her cheek.

“
All right, then.” She hopped off the bed and opened her tote. Rising, she held out a white Daily Bread paper bag. “I brought you something.”

Even though everything still smelled smoky to him, even though he still had an oxygen tube at his nose, Gordon could distinguish the aroma of Angie
’s cinnamon rolls. Or maybe he just remembered it. He opened the bag and pulled out the huge pastry with the sheet of waxed paper that clung to it, along with a stack of paper napkins.

“
I’m not supposed to eat until after another test,” he said. “But here.” He broke off a piece of the sticky bun and held it to Angie’s lips. She took it, then licked every trace of icing from his fingers. His response was immediate. “You know, this might be better for my recovery than anything the doctors do. I think I’ll feed you the whole thing.”

She giggled.
“Nope. Sure you can’t have any?”

He didn
’t think one tiny bite of cinnamon roll would hurt. “Maybe a smidge.”

As he nibbled the morsel from Angie
’s fingers, the thought of signing himself out of the hospital and finding a motel room looked better and better. Although he was confident—okay, relatively confident, more like optimistic—there wouldn’t be any complications from his stint in the smoke-filled cabin, there was that vision thing crowding into his thoughts. And he still hadn’t mentioned it to Angie. Should he?

No, not until he had something to report. And if everything was fine, why bother mentioning it at all?

Angie must have sensed a shift in his mood, because she eased her hands away from his mouth, wrapped the roll in a napkin, placed it in the bag, and set it on the bedside table. “You can eat some after your test, or save it for dessert,” she said.

He wrapped an arm around her.
“Tell me what’s been going on in Mapleton. How’s the new business going? And how’s Rose the celebrity? For that matter, how’s Solomon taking it? He seemed stoked when I talked to him.”

He closed his eyes, taking in Angie
’s scent as she relayed the progress of her business—good—and the day-to-day goings on in Mapleton. “Solomon’s ego was a bit puffed, but he’s a good guy and deserves his fifteen minutes of fame.”

They were interrupted when a rotund, silver-haired man in a lab coat, an ID clipped to the pocket, entered the room. He blinked behind oversized tortoise-shell glasses.
“Gordon Hepler?”

Angie sprung off the bed, her face turning crimson.

The man nodded nonchalantly at Angie and approached the bed. He extended a thick-fingered hand to Gordon. “I’m Dr. Pinson. Dr. Demming’s office sent me your files, and asked me to take a look at those eyes of yours.”

Angie
’s eyes widened, then narrowed. Without her saying a word, Gordon knew she’d recognized Dr. Demming’s name, and had questions. Lots of questions, the first one being
What haven’t you told me?

She bent to pick up her tote.
“I guess I should leave.”

“
No need,” the doctor said. “I’m going to dilate his eyes. It’ll be twenty minutes or so before it takes effect.”

“
No, that’s all right.” She practically stomped to the door. “I don’t want to interfere.”

“
Angie—please, come back,” Gordon said.

She paused at the doorway.
“Maybe later. For now, Ed and I will grab some dinner.”

Damn, he hadn
’t asked where she was staying, if she and Solomon were going to drive all the way to Mapleton tonight. “Stop by afterward. Both of you. Please.”

She shrugged and left.

The doctor didn’t seem to notice the friction between Gordon and Angie. He put drops in Gordon’s eyes. “As I said, I’m dilating your pupils. Might sting a bit, but that’s normal and will go away in a minute or two. Meanwhile, I’ll review your files and be back shortly to see what’s going on with your retinas.” He snapped off the light above the bed.

And he left. Leaving Gordon with an unfinished cinnamon roll, vestiges of Angie
’s scent where she’d rested her head on his shoulder, and his thoughts.

And boy, there were enough of them. His vision. His lungs. Wardell
’s wife. Who shot the pickup truck driver? Who was the stranger in the cabin? How did the fire start?

When Solomon came back, they
’d have plenty to toss around. And maybe he needed to come clean with Angie.

The room seemed too bright, and objects blurred as the drops took effect. He closed his eyes and tried to focus on one question at a time, but they were growing as blurred as his vision.

When Dr. Pinson returned, he shuffled to the bed and peered at Gordon’s eyes. “Yep. Nice and big.” He strapped something that looked like a miner’s headlamp around his forehead and flipped on a handheld light. “Lean back, get comfortable. Relax.”

Gordon suppressed a snort.

“I don’t do much of this anymore,” Dr. Pinson said. “But Dr. Demming and I go way back, so when he said he had a patient who needed an exam, I couldn’t turn him down.”

He snapped his light off and removed his headlamp.
“And, it’s a good thing I did. You’ve got signs of retinal detachment in your left eye. Right one’s okay, but still bears watching.”

“
So what do I do?” Gordon asked. “Can you fix it here?”

Dr. Pinson shook his head, but his expression was more compassionate grandfather than worried doctor.
“I don’t do that kind of specialty work. Don’t have the equipment. Not many places around here do. What I recommend is that you let the doctors here give you the green light on your smoke inhalation, and then get someone to drive you to Denver where Dr. Demming can patch you up. Pueblo’s the nearest place with a facility that can deal with this, but since you’ve been seeing Dr. Demming, and it’s not an emergency, I’d say he’s your best bet.”

“
When you say it’s not an emergency—”

“
I’m saying get this treated soon, but you don’t have to call Life Flight, or even an ambulance, to get you there. Tomorrow’s fine.” He smiled. “Of course, I’d advise against running into any more burning buildings.”

“
Slim chance of that,” Gordon said. “Do you know how long I’ll be laid up after my … treatment?”

“
Shouldn’t be long. Your vision will be blurred for a while—under a week, I’d say—but in most cases, everything returns to normal, and it’s business as usual.”

The doctor wished Gordon a pleasant evening and lumbered out of the room. Gordon still couldn
’t see worth a damn. He fumbled with the television remote, hoping to catch a news channel. He stopped at blurred images of a man and woman sitting behind a news desk. He listened to them tell of several more days of snow, but not blizzard conditions. Traffic accidents, pictures of slow going on the roads, but nothing about the pickup accident. Old news already. And then a report of the fire at the Yardumians. A reporter bundled in a fur-trimmed hooded parka stood in a clearing. In the background, Gordon could make out the glow of the burning cabin, and the general shape of a fire truck. Gordon squinted against the glare of the screen as the reporter told him nothing more than he already knew. All the good questions were
under investigation
. Name of the victim not released. Cause of the fire not determined. The one specific fact was that the fire was at the Yardumians’—and Gordon hoped there was some truth to that
there’s no such thing as bad publicity
saying. He waited out a stream of commercials, a report on the high price of roses for Valentine’s Day, and when the sports came on, he muted the set.

A too-young looking doctor came in and sprayed an anesthetic in his throat so she could look at his airway again.
“Looks all right,” she said when she finished. “We’ll check you again in the morning.”

A while later, an overly cheerful woman brought him a tray of something borderline edible—why hadn
’t he asked Angie to bring him some takeout from wherever she and Solomon were going?—and then he was alone with his thoughts again.

Pick a puzzle, any puzzle. He
’d start with the one that hit closest to home—the fire. Accident or arson? Could the stranger have been an unfortunate victim of his own misdoing?

The door opened and Solomon marched in, a canary-eating grin on his face. He flipped on the room light.
“Hey, Chief. You won’t believe this one.”

“
Don’t listen to him,” Angie said. “He’s trying to find more crimes to solve.”

Gordon squinted, then covered his eyes with his hands.
“First, shut off the light. My eyes are still dilated.”

Angie hurried to the switch, leaving the room in the flickering light of the television.

“Next, listen to him about what?” Gordon asked. “Solomon, Mapleton doesn’t need any crime-related publicity.”

“
Not Mapleton, Chief,” Solomon said. “But I might have a lead on the pickup truck murderer.”

Gordon groaned inwardly at Solomon
’s attempt to attach a name to an unidentified killer.

Angie rolled her eyes.
“You make it sound like there’s someone murdering pickup trucks. Your grammar is messed up.”

“
Fine.” Solomon glowered at Angie. “So I didn’t get As in English. We can fine tune the name later.” He switched his attention to Gordon. “But I’ve found three other related crimes.”

“
How related?” Gordon asked.

“
All highway shootings. All within a hundred miles of Denver. All pickup trucks.” With a pointed glance at Angie, he added, “Drivers.”

“
Three? I’d bet there are dozens, if not more. Doesn’t sound like enough to connect them. You need a lot more.” Gordon lifted his hand and began ticking things off on his fingers. “The tire was blown out on this one. Driver was male. Mountain road. Snow conditions. Two other vehicles in proximity.”

“
Of course I know I don’t have much. Yet. I’m going to poke around a little. See if I can find some commonalities. Too late to head to Mapleton tonight, and before you ask, yes, I’ve got tomorrow’s shifts covered.”

To Solomon, poking around search engines and databases was more fun than watching football.

“You know, if you want to poke around, it might be better to look into the fire victim. See who he was, and if there’s any connection to the Yardumians. And if so, if they, or their property, is in danger.”

Solomon seemed to consider that for a moment.
“Yeah, you might have something. More personal.” He grinned. “Which is why you’re the Chief.”

And, Gordon realized, if Solomon wasn
’t driving to Mapleton tonight, neither was Angie. “Where are you staying? Because if you don’t have a place, I can recommend an excellent B and B that’s not too far away.”

Solomon cocked his head.
“And where having a cop on the premises might come in handy should the proprietors be in some kind of danger.”

“
I doubt anything will happen. Not with all the media coverage, but yeah.” And if Gordon truly thought there was a danger, he’d never have suggested it. Not with Angie there, too. “Let me call to make sure they’re okay with having guests on short notice.”

He got an immediate and effusive
of course
from Mrs. Yardumian.

“
They’ll be expecting you,” Gordon said. “And a word of warning. Mrs. Yardumian’s cooking and hospitality rivals Rose Kretzer’s. Try not to let her work too hard. She’s been through enough.”

“
Not to worry,” Solomon said.

“
One more thing.” Gordon braced himself, trying to find the best way to relay the news. He opted for the frank approach, and blurted out his vision problems. “It’s not serious,” he said. “These things usually take care of themselves, but I need to get to Denver and have Dr. Demming check me out.”

While Solomon seemed to accept that Gordon hadn
’t said anything, Angie’s expression straddled anger and concern. Both of which Gordon understood. “Look, I didn’t want to say anything—no point in worrying you. As I said, the doctors say these things almost always disappear of their own accord.”

“
So that other trip to Denver wasn’t for a routine insurance exam?” Angie said. “Basically, you lied to me?” She fisted her hands at her hips.

Gordon sent a
help me out
look in Solomon’s direction.

“
Angie, you gotta understand,” Solomon said. “It’s a guy thing. We don’t share easily. Especially if it makes us look weak. Not that the chief is weak, of course.”

Well that helped a lot
.

“
Having some eye condition isn’t a sign of
weakness
.” Angie glared at Gordon. “Two people who care about each other
do
share. They support each other.”

Gordon lifted his hands in submission.
“I should have told you.” He looked at Solomon. “Both of you. Angie, because yes, I care about you. Solomon, because at some point it could have affected my work, and you deserved to know. So now you know, and since I need to get to Denver, and I shouldn’t be driving, I thought Angie could drive me. In my car.”

Angie
’s eyebrows shot upward. “You
thought?
Poof, and you’re forgiven, and now I’m supposed to do you a huge favor? One that you haven’t exactly
asked
for.”

Gordon grimaced.
“That didn’t come out right. Angie, if you don’t mind, I’d appreciate—
really
appreciate—a lift to Dr. Demming’s office tomorrow. And I promise, you’ll know everything he finds out. Straight from him.”

“
Much better,” Angie said. “When do you want to leave?”

“
I guess first I’d better make sure I can get out of here tomorrow, and then check with Dr. Demming and see what time he can work me in,” Gordon said.

Angie
’s eyes widened. “What are you talking about? I thought you said this was all routine. One night. Precautionary measures. Or are there more secrets?”

Gordon
’s hands shot up again. “No. It’s all bureaucracy. Can’t be discharged until the doctors sign off on everything, and I don’t know what time they make rounds. The last check said I wasn’t showing signs of any airway complications.”

Angie looked as if she didn
’t quite believe him. Solomon spoke before she could say anything. “C’mon, Angie. We’d better hit the road. I’ll find the facilities while you say goodbye. And don’t be too hard on him. I still get flak from my wife about all that feeling-sharing stuff.”

Gordon braced himself, but Angie perched on the edge of his bed. She leaned over and kissed his cheek.
“You’re forgiven. But if you think we can have any kind of relationship, you can’t keep these kinds of secrets.”

The fact that she
’d used the word
relationship
sent a shiver down Gordon’s spine. He dovetailed her fingers in his. “Solomon might not have a way with words, but he’s right that we try to protect the people we care about. Even when what we think is protecting them isn’t what they think is right.”

Her blue eyes held his.
“See you tomorrow, then. Call when you know something. Or even if you don’t.”

“
Will do. And see if Mrs. Yardumian will send a care package. I can guarantee your breakfast is going to be one hell of a lot better than what they’re going to feed me here.”

At a knock on the door, she broke away.

“Chief? You two decent?” Solomon’s voice came from the corridor.

“
That’s my cue to leave,” Angie said. “Feel better. See you tomorrow.”

As soon as they
’d gone, Gordon found Dr. Demming’s number in his phone, glad he’d made the call earlier and the number was stored in the phone’s call history list. Although it was after hours, the answering service agreed to put his message through. Twenty minutes later, Dr. Demming returned the call. Two minutes after that, Gordon had an appointment.

“
You relax, and I’ll see you tomorrow,” Dr. Demming said. “Get a good night’s sleep.”

Gordon switched off the television and closed his eyes. The fact that Dr. Demming had said he
’d rearranged his schedule to accommodate the procedure didn’t make relaxing—or sleeping—a likely possibility.