Hot Dish Heaven: A Murder Mystery With Recipes (31 page)

“Anyhow”—He started over after clearing his throat—“I’m glad we got here when we did.”

I thought about that for a second or two. “How did you know to come?”

He leaned his head to the side. “Barbie called me.”

“What?” That didn’t sound right.

“Barbie called,” he repeated. “She heard some commotion over here and sent Buddy and Buford to investigate but thought I’d better stop by too.”

I shifted my elbow. “Barbie?” It still didn’t make sense.

“Yeah, she’s been really concerned about you, watching over you while you were unconscious and everything.”

“You mean she wasn’t involved with Buford and Buddy?”

“What?” He wrinkled his brow in apparent concern. “You’d better shush, now. And lie still.”

I tried to sit up, but my head was a brick. “No, I need to know. I deserve to know what happened.” I sounded much gruffer than I intended.

Randy took hold of my shoulders and, in a resigned tone, said, “Okay. Okay. Don’t get all riled up. Lie down, and I’ll tell you.”

I smiled. “Good.”

Before I put my head down, I glanced behind me to see what was serving as my pillow. “Is that your jacket?”

“Yeah, and it’s still dirty. Sorry.”

I sniffed the air. “I thought you said someone spilled glorified rice on it?”

He nodded.

“But it smells like fried rice.”

He shrugged. “Glorified rice. Fried rice. Whatever.”

Concussion aside, that statement made absolutely no sense. Yet I let it slide. My brain was in no shape to take on very much, and I wanted to concentrate on what had occurred earlier. So I said, “Okay, just tell me about Buford and Buddy.”

As I rested my head on the dirty jacket, the deputy covered me with another one—a clean one—wrapping it around my arms and tucking it under my chin. “Well, once upon a time …”

“Very funny.” Yep, even injured, I was ready with the snappy comebacks. Or not.

Randy cast his eyes downward. “Well, um … I guess it’s possible that Buddy and Buford had nothing to do with Samantha’s death.” He voice was low, practically inaudible.

I couldn’t help but smile, although, in truth, I didn’t try very hard to stop myself. “So your instincts were wrong?”

Randy teasingly glowered. “You’re supposed to be quiet.”

“Yeah, yeah.” I really wanted to give him a hard time, but my head was throbbing. I’d have to wait for another day.

“Besides,” he proceeded to say, “if I’m not mistaken, you reported ‘bad vibes’ from Buddy too. What’s more, my instincts weren’t totally off. The twins were hiding something.”

He once more squirmed on the cement. “You see, to get through the first anniversary of their mother’s death, they evidently barricaded themselves in a hotel room down in the Cities and drank themselves unconscious. And while they won’t admit it, I think there were some other chemicals involved too. You know, anything to numb the pain.”

I turned my head to catch a glimpse of Buddy and Buford. They were standing outside, behind Harriet. And they weren’t moving a muscle. From the look of it, they were intimidated by the cop. Understandable since even in street clothes, the guy resembled an army drill sergeant.

“Anyhow,” Deputy Ryden said, “from what we’ve learned, Father Daley found them or found out what they were doing and agreed to cover for them. Not because of Samantha. It had nothing to do with her. He just didn’t want the twins in trouble for under-age drinking. Or, more likely, illegal drugs.”

“So that’s why no one saw them? That’s why they refused to take a lie-detector test?”

“Exactly.”

“And Father Daley told you all this?”

“No, he won’t say a word. At least not yet. Priest confidentiality and all. But the boys confessed parts of the story.” He paused. “We may not be members of the clergy, but we have our ways.” He raised an eyebrow.

“On top of that,” he continued, “I received some information late today, before coming back to the bar, that corroborated my suspicions about Buford and Buddy and their illegal drug use. I just can’t go into it right now.”

“Fair enough. But it makes me sad.”

“What do you mean?” He stopped for a beat. “Are you telling me you feel sorry for Buddy?” Another beat. “Hey, you didn’t fall for him after just a couple of dances, did you?”

I attempted to laugh, but my chest ached too much. Most likely I had some bruised ribs to go with my bruised noggin. “No, nothing like that,” I uttered after a shallow breath. “But the information you received explains why you seemed more concerned about me tonight than earlier in the day.”

“And?”

“And here I thought you were showing more interest tonight because, at some point after our dinner together, you discovered you really liked me.” Yep, head injuries and all, yet I could still flirt. It was downright shameful.

“I do like you.”

My face grew warm. At least I had the decency to be embarrassed. “Well, um … ,” I stammered. “Tell me … um … tell me the whole story about Samantha Berg’s death.” When flustered, change the subject. Words to live by. “I want all the details.”

Randy squirmed some more. He really shouldn’t have been sitting on the cold, hard, concrete floor, but I was glad he was. “We’ve only been here a while, so we don’t know everything. But it appears that when Vern went to Samantha’s house that last night, he ripped her a new one for destroying Ole and Lena’s family. With it being the one-year anniversary of Lena’s death, we didn’t find that too surprising.” He took my hand in his and played with my fingers. A simple gesture that felt pleasantly intimate.

“Back then, Vern also told us that Samantha became furious with him. Again, not surprising. But now, tonight, we learned from the Anderson sisters that after Vern left Samantha’s house, Samantha noticed that Harriet had been watching them and decided to take her left-over rage out on her. So she headed next door.”

He glanced at Harriet before proceeding with his story. I did the same. She was once again wiping away tears.

“Anyhow, Samantha wasn’t aware of Harriet’s fragile state of mind. If she had been, she probably would have stayed home or gone to the bar, like she’d promised Jim.

“She supposedly taunted Harriet, which sounds about right. Samantha loved to badger people. But most weren’t unstable. It drove Harriet over the edge.” He shook his head.

“She apparently grabbed the dandelion digger from her gardening box, which also serves as a bench in the entry. We’re checking it out right now.” He nodded in the direction of the old ladies’ house. “She stabbed Samantha, thinking she was killing Elsa Erickson, the woman who stole her boyfriend some seven decades earlier.”

The deputy raised his eyes to the elderly man standing over him. “Oh, Doc, I didn’t see you there.” He unwrapped his legs and rose to his feet. “This is Emerald Malloy.”

“Hi, Emerald, I’m Doc Watson.”

The old man bent down next to me. His face reminded me of driftwood, and he had more hair growing over his eyes and in his ears than on top of his head.

He flashed a pen light in my eyes and felt around my head and neck. “Since you were out cold for a while, I’ll need to run some tests. And I’ll want you to stay with me at the hospital tonight.” He glanced at his wrist watch. “Or what’s left of it.”

I fidgeted. “I really don’t think I need—”

“Exactly. I really don’t think I need you second-guessing me. I’m the doctor. You’re the patient.”

“Doctor, I didn’t mean—”

He interrupted again, “And you never know. You might like it. Some women actually enjoy spending the night with me.” He winked, and the deputy chuckled. “So let’s get you into my car. You’ve been waiting here too long as it is.”

He looked to Randy. “She doesn’t appear to weigh much. Think you can carry her?”

“No,” I lifted my arms in protest. “No one needs to carry me.”

“Well,” the doctor said as he stood, kneading what appeared to be a sore back, “I don’t have a gurney here, and you, young lady, aren’t going to walk. So …”

Before I could object further, Randy threw aside the jacket that covered me and scooped me into his arms. “I promise I won’t drop you.” And without another word, he trailed the doctor out the garage and down the driveway.

Not knowing what to do with my arms, I clasped them in front of me. But that left me feeling as if I might fall, so I ended up draping them loosely around the deputy’s neck. And only because my head hurt an awful lot, I rested it on his shoulder.

He moved slowly across the alley, where small groups of gawkers gathered, watching and waiting for who knows what. And after a glimpse at them, I again burrowed my head between his neck and his shoulder.

Reaching the car, the doctor opened the front passenger door, and Randy carefully slid me onto the seat. “I have to stay here a while,” he said, settling me in. “But later, after Doc gives you a clean bill of health, call me, and I’ll come get you. You’ll need a ride because your car’s at the café, and that’s where it’ll stay until Doc says you can drive.” He slipped a business card into my shirt pocket. “My personal cell number is on the back.” He winked, and my face grew warm. He was teasing me for shoving my business card into his pocket after kissing him earlier.

“In the meantime,” he added, his forehead again falling into thoughtful lines, “just remember, you’re safe.”

“Huh? What do you mean?”

He leaned closer. He smelled like fresh air and pine trees. “Your brain’s putting up a good fight right now, Emerald. But at some point, it’s going to give in, and you’ll fully realize what happened here tonight. That may frighten you. But that’s okay. Just let Doc know. He’ll help you through it.”

“Randy, until you brought it up, I’d managed to avoid thinking about pretty much everything that occurred tonight.” I felt myself blush, yet added, “At least the bad stuff.”

He smiled, his face within kissing distance of mine. “Yeah, well, you won’t be able to pick and choose for long,” he replied. “But Doc will talk to you more about that at the hospital.”

He pulled back, then must have decided, what the hell, because he dipped forward and lightly brushed my lips with a kiss. I quivered, and he chuckled. “Now, I’m not bragging, Emerald, but those shivers have absolutely nothing to do with your concussion. My kisses have that effect on all the women.”

With a smirk on his face, he yanked his head from the car and hollered, “Hey, Doc, she’s cold. Must be the shock. You got a blanket in the trunk?”

He gently closed the door, and I laid back and shut my eyes. My head was pounding, but I couldn’t get rid of the stupid grin on my face. I could feel it as I pictured him kissing me. Sure, he was goofy and, at times, infuriating, but I liked him just the same.

As for the stuff he’d said about me being unable to keep my mind off bad things? Well, he didn’t know me all that well. I was quite accomplished at keeping the boogeymen at bay. I’d done it for years. Sure, sometimes my emotions got the better of me. But that’s why I saw a therapist, although I did my best to avoid thinking about anything that might upset me. To date, it had proven to be a fairly effective strategy, even if my therapist—and now Deputy Ryden—didn’t seem to endorse it.

I shifted in my seat. Where was the doctor? I was chilly and wanted that blanket. I was tempted to open my eyes and check for him, but the gawkers were still out there. I could feel them staring. So I kept my eyes shut and took my mind off my goose bumps by focusing on the music softly playing on the car radio.

It was a favorite Kristofferson song of mine—from my parent’s era. It carried me back to evenings when I was young, and the three of us would dance in our living room. And now, tonight, after the song was over, the last few lines replayed through my mind, a family reverie I apparently wasn’t ready to let go. “
’Cause the moral doesn’t matter. Broken rules are all the same. To the broken or the breaker. Who’s to bless, and who’s to blame?
”

That’s what I thought. Just a warm memory to comfort me during a tough time. But then one of my little voices broke in and said,
Hey, Emme, do you really know? “Who’s to bless, and who’s to blame?”
And after that, images flashed through my head. Images of Ole and Lena, Samantha Berg, Vern and Vivian, the Johnson twins, Rosa, Father Daley, and the Anderson sisters. “
Who’s to bless, and who’s to blame?”
More images. My parents crashing through a guardrail. Me accepting a check written in blood. Samantha taunting Rosa. And Harriet stabbing Samantha.

I yanked my eyes open. My lips were quivering. And my hands were shaking. “
’Cause the moral doesn’t matter. Broken rules are all the same. To the broken or the breaker. Who’s to bless, and who’s to blame?
” My breath caught in my throat. And tears began to fall uncontrollably down my face.

“Damn!” I didn’t want to give into my feelings. The last time I did, on the anniversary of the death of my parents, I think I cried for six or seven hours. And it changed absolutely nothing. It only led me to think about things. Hard things. Painful things.

Beyond that, it merely made me hungry. No, not hungry. Ravenous. And here I was on my way to a hospital. An institution not known for fine cuisine. Not even particularly good comfort food. So tell me. How was I supposed to make it through the night?