A Bodyguard to Remember (21 page)

I lined up to order a vanilla latte, then went to the washroom while it was being made. When I was done, I took the scenic route back to my table, via the adjacent bookstore. The man who was probably not a sales manager was leaving my table.

Bingo.

I picked up my coffee and went back to work. An innocuous message to Merrick informed him that the game might be afoot. Now I just had to wait for further instruction.

Anticipation of what would come next didn’t exactly make it easy to get down to work. After staring at my screen for a few minutes, I gave up. I opened one of my many story rejects. It was a quick read and well deserved rejection. I moved on to another. Midway through my third short story, I had mail. It was from the General Hospital.

“Your follow-up X-rays are scheduled for 11:45. Please report to Imaging.”

Eleven forty-five.

That was in less than fifteen minutes.

“Shit,” I muttered.

I gulped down the last of my latte and packed up. Naturally, my power cord got tangled and I almost knocked my cup off the table. I made a great save. One of the baristas was bussing the tables. He stepped in and took the cup from me before something else happened.

“Everything okay, Pru?”

He was one of a handful of staff that knew my name and my favourite drinks.

“Yeah, I’m just running late. Forgot an appointment.”

I flashed a quick smile and headed for the door. I had ten minutes to make a fifteen-minute trip—twenty-minute trip if the lights went against me. Of course, maybe getting there on time wasn’t that important. I was pretty damned sure that the hospital hadn’t sent out the notification. Still.

It wasn’t until I was out the door that I remembered an important detail. I had walked to the mall. It would take me at least ten minutes to power-walk home. I’d have to run and it would be faster if I cut through the mall. I turned to open the door again when I heard a car horn toot.

A taxi pulled up and leaned across to speak to me through his open passenger side window.

“Ms. Hartley?”

“Yes?”

“You need a ride to the hospital?”

I crouched down and looked into the cab. Zeke grinned back at me. I hopped into the front seat.

“How? When?” I sputtered.

“Seatbelt first.”

I secured my seatbelt. The window beside me raised. Zeke rolled on.

“Explain,” I demanded. “Have you been lurking, waiting for a call?”

Zeke chuckled.

“I was just in the right place at the right time.”

“With a taxi,” I said.

“I guess you could say that the taxi has been lurking. Someone’s been on call nine to noon, Mondays, Wednesdays, and Fridays for the last few weeks. You must have known that.”

“Merrick said I’d have backup when I needed it,” I said, giving a half shrug. “I wasn’t expecting you. I thought you were busy with another case.”

“I was in the neighbourhood.”

I waited, letting my silence serve as a vacuum for him to fill.

“You know if I told you . . .”

“You’d have to kill me,” I finished for him.

The hospital appeared on our right. He turned into the entry for emergency and out-patient services. “There you go ma’am.”

“You’re not coming in with me?”

He shook his head. “I’ll see you soon.”

Act natural, I told myself as I got out from the taxi. During the few steps between the car and the automatic doors, I felt exposed, vulnerable. Once I was inside the hospital, the feeling faded. This was familiar territory. I used this entrance when I visited my mother daily, for six weeks, after her stroke. I’d brought the kids here for X-rays and I’d lost count of the times I had been to Emergency.

A volunteer in a candy-stripe smock, offered to sell me coffee and asked if I needed directions. I shook my head. Even if I hadn’t known where I was going, her kiosk was right outside Imaging. Through the glass walls, I could see there were several people waiting to be seen, a couple lined up at the intake desk. I joined the queue, pulling out my Health Card while I waited.

“Do you have a requisition?” I was asked as soon as I reached the head of the line. “Did your doctor give you a form to bring here, or was it faxed in?”

Before I had a chance to answer, she read my Health Card.

“Oh. You’re the one . . . hmmm . . .”

She looked me up and down, possibly looking for signs that I was something special—someone warranting the cloak and dagger measures being taken. I could just tell she was disappointed.

She paper-clipped my Health Card to a pink sheet of paper, then handed it back to me.

“Go through the door and down the corridor to the left. Someone will show you where to go.”

Merrick was waiting for me.

“Another pleasant surprise,” I said and I felt some of the tension leech out of me. Irrationally, I felt safer. Also, I was smiling so hard it hurt.

“You didn’t really think I’d miss the finale, did you Hartley?”

“You think this is it?”

“Let’s find out.”

Merrick led the way to an examination room. Set out on the table were the contents of a forensic toolbox— gloves, tweezers, print kit, plus stuff I couldn’t identify. He handed me a very expensive digital camera.

“I know you have experience, so you can be my photographer.” I must have looked panic-stricken because a smile fought to get out as he added, “Don’t worry, I’ll guide you through the process.”

I photographed the outside of my pack and each stage of Merrick opening it up for examination. During the entire time, all I could think of was, what if there was nothing there? What if that guy really was a sales manager who was just curious about what I was doing?

“Take a look in the side pocket,” Merrick said. “Do you recognize that piece of paper?”

It was a business card, not brightly coloured like the other two suspicious cards, but not one I had picked up either. I shook my head.

He indicated the best angles to photograph the card, then he used tweezers to carefully pull it out. He lined it up against a square so that my next photograph showed the card’s dimensions. He turned it over and I took another photo.

“Did you touch the card?” he asked, holding up his digital recorder so I knew I had to answer aloud.

“Not to my knowledge,” I replied.

Zeke joined us while Merrick lifted prints. The man had been careful. He couldn’t wear gloves in the coffee shop, so he’d only touched the edges of the card. Next, Zeke scanned the card with a machine small enough to fit in his jacket pocket. His grin told me that we weren’t dealing with a regional sales manager.

Not sure whether to be pleased or scared shitless, I did my best to maintain a Merrick-like calm, which was totally destroyed when someone knocked on the door. Merrick caught the camera while Zeke went to the door.

“Time for your X-rays, Pru,” Zeke announced. “Your pack will be ready when you’re done.”

“X-rays?”

My voice squeaked with panic.

“I’ve had broken ribs often enough to know that your doctor will order a follow-up X-ray,” Merrick said, steadying my shaking hands. “Now, he won’t have to and you won’t have to lie about going for X-rays.”

I nodded. Made sense. Of course, it wasn’t the X-rays that were shaking me up. It was leaving this little room and the security it offered. I knew that as soon as the X-ray technician released me, I’d walk out of here with my pack and the curtain would go up on what I hoped would be a successful show. It was just butterflies.

I squeezed Merrick’s hands and released them. Then, like Androcles going to face the lions, I lifted my chin and marched out. The effect was only slightly marred by the fact that Merrick followed me with my forgotten coat and purse. He followed me to the little stall they provided for undressing. He hung up my coat and put my purse on the bench.

“I’ll be okay now,” I assured him. “I know the plan.”

“Just remember that plans don’t always go as intended,” he said, very serious, almost gruff. “If anything goes wrong, hit the panic button. Nothing . . . nothing is more important than your safety.”

He left and I let my knees give in to the wobbles. I sat on the bench for a minute or so and collected my thoughts. The technician called out my name, asking if I was ready. That made me scramble out of my sweater and bra and struggle to get the right arm in the right hole of the gown.

When I eventually returned to the stall, my pack was on the bench under my coat. A taxi was waiting for me at the entrance. Not Zeke, but I was guessing he also worked with Merrick. He dropped me off at the mall and didn’t ask for his fare.

I wished he had taken me straight home. I was tired and made more so when I saw Rick half way home.

“I’ve been looking for you, Pru. Jensen said you were out for coffee. We need to talk.”

“Rick—”

Maybe I heard something, or maybe it was hyper-vigilance making me scan the area, preparing for an attack. I looked over my shoulder and caught a glimpse of that damned white car again. It was throwing up salt and gravel as it sped towards us.

“Run!” I yelled, pushing Rick off at right angles to the oncoming vehicle.

Rick swung around a tree. I ran across the next yard and over a pile of leaves that were frozen into an icy mound with the rain and freezing weather. This time the vehicle ignored Rick, skipped the curb and headed straight for yours truly.

I jumped from the leaf pile into someone’s naturalized garden, hoping to put their decorative granite boulder between me and the SUV. I almost reached it when I heard a horrible metallic scream. A second later, something ran into the back of my legs. I was shoved forward, onto the boulder. My hands stopped my ribs from taking another beating, but it was a near thing. The car was a near thing too. It stopped inches away from my backside. Later, I found out that I was saved by a cable access box, half hidden in the leaves. It ripped through the undercarriage causing that horrible screech.

That was later. At the moment, I was seeing red. I slid out from between the rock and car, marched around the vehicle and hauled open the driver-side door. The airbag had deployed and the woman pinned behind it looked dazed.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” I demanded.

She undid her seatbelt and started wriggling out, not bothering to turn off the engine. I grabbed her, by an ear and pulled. At first, I was acting out of anger. Then I smelled gas.

“Stop fighting me. The tank is leaking.”

I dragged her away from the car, keeping hold of her ear. With my free hand, I groped for my phone.

“Stay back,” I shouted at Rick. On cue, there was a deep
whomp
and the car caught on fire. I dialled 9-1-1. “I need fire and police,” I said. “I was just assaulted with a vehicle—again—and this time it caught fire.”

I gave the directions, confirmed my name and address, and was told that the firefighters should be there shortly and a patrol car had been dispatched.

“Thanks,” I said. “Oh, if you can, let Detective Parrino know. This is related to one of his investigations.”

As I hung up, the woman tried to pull away from me. I twisted her ear. That made her stop.

“Forget it,” I said. “I’m not letting go until you tell me who you are and why you are acting like a juvenile delinquent.”

“Juvenile delinquent?” She bristled indignantly, looking as haughty as a woman caught by the ear can.

“What else do you call someone who suspends all reason and their sense of responsibility to engage in such a dangerous prank?”

“Prank?” She tried to straighten up, but I wouldn’t let go of her ear.

“Who are you?” I asked.

“She’s my ex,” Rick said. He had made a wide circle around the burning vehicle to join us. “Please let her go.”

“Stay out of this, Rick. Who are you?” I repeated.

I knew who she was. Maybe I had been hanging out with police officers too much,
but long before Mike told me about his ex,
I had asked Zeke to find out who was calling and hanging up. It could have been a terrorist, right?

He traced the number, then did a background check. I hadn’t known she was the one behind the vehicular assaults, but it wasn’t a huge leap once I’d met her.

“My name is Lorraine Charles. I am Richard’s wife.”

“You’d prefer to be his widow?” I asked, letting go of her ear. “Doubt it would do you any good. I’m pretty sure common law wives don’t automatically inherit— especially if the couple has separated.”

“It’s not about money,” she said, looking down her nose at me. “I don’t need
his
money.”

“She’s right, Pru,” Rick added.

We ignored him.

“I just wanted to scare him,” said Lorraine.

“But you wanted to kill me?”

“Lorraine—” Rick started.

I glared at him. Once his mouth was closed, I turned back to Lorraine.

“Well?” I prompted.

“I’m not sure,” she admitted. “I was just so angry. I wanted to hurt you.”

Rick sighed. I could hear the sirens in the distance. Lorraine heard them and took on the startled look of a deer in headlights. She wanted to run, I could tell, but she was frozen in place.

I took Lorraine’s hand and patted it.

“It’s okay,” I soothed.

She was taller, thinner, better dressed and maybe a few years older than I was. Setting aside being slightly dishevelled by the air bag, she seemed to have it all together, until she looked you in the eye. Something wasn’t right there—and it wasn’t just that she was scared.

“I understand your anger,” I said, trying to sound soothing without being condescending, “but the person you are really hurting is yourself. Why did you and Rick break up?”

She gave a brittle laugh. “He said I was crazy. I knew he was having an affair. I would have forgiven him
that
. But he said
I
was crazy.”

Rick went to meet the firefighters and police that were rolling onto the scene. I hoped he’d find me a paramedic. Lorraine started to follow him, but I kept hold of her hand. With my thumb and index finger locked around her wrist, she couldn’t pull away easily.

“Do you feel crazy?” I asked.