COLLATERAL CASUALTIES (The Kate Huntington mystery series) (22 page)

            “Or blame it on the crazy violent Americans to undermine our relationship with Colombia,” Rob speculated. “We need to report this to the authorities.”

            “That’s what I thought, too,” Rose said from the phone on the table. “I composed an anonymous letter to send to the Secret Service. Let me read it to you. See what you think. ‘It has come to our attention that there may be a plot to assassinate the president of Colombia during his state visit the end of this month. It is possible that Ambassador Garcia is unaware of this plot, but a man by the name of Ricardo Delgado has infiltrated the embassy’s security staff, under an alias, José Gonzales. If you check into Delgado’s background you will find he is not a fan of the current regime in Colombia. We are forced to bring this to your attention anonymously. Our lives are in danger because we have this information. Sincerely, several concerned citizens.’”

            “Sounds good,” Skip said. “Enough info to get them on the right track, but nothing that leads back to us.”

            “Why can’t we just go to the Secret Service or the FBI and tell them all this?” Kate asked. “They’d take the threat more seriously if we told them in person, gave them all the background.”

            “Mac assured me that they’ll take the threat seriously,” Rose said.

            “Anything that hints of danger to our president is going to be fully investigated,” Rob agreed. “No matter how far-fetched it sounds.”

            Kate’s jaw dropped. “You think this sounds
far-fetched
?”

            “Not to us it doesn’t, darlin’, ’cause we’ve been living it the last few days. But the authorities will probably think we’re a bunch of conspiracy nuts.”

            “They’d still protect us, though, wouldn’t they?” Kate asked.

            “Maybe, maybe not,” Rob said. “They might just thank us for the information and cut us loose.”

            “And if they did put us in protective custody, we’d have no means of communicating with anybody,” Skip said. “No way to make sure the kids are okay. I’d rather take our chances with our own security.”

            “I agree,” Rose said from the phone.

            “So how and where do we send this letter?” Kate asked.

            “Tomorrow I need to get to the agency office so I can print it out. I’ll send it from Towson.”

            “Snail mail may be too slow, and what if the letter doesn’t get through to the correct person?” Skip said. “Check with Dolph. He’ll know how to e-mail it so it can’t be traced back to us.”

            “Maybe we should send it both ways to be sure,” Rob said. “Since we can’t exactly ask for a return receipt on either one.”

            “Okay, I’ll call Dolph,” Rose said from the phone. “Get him to research who we should be sending it to. Uh, I’ll be over there in a little while.”

~~~~~~~

            Rose called Dolph and filled him in on all that had happened, including the fact that she hadn’t yet told the others about Janice. Then she dropped the phone she’d been using on the sidewalk and stomped on it.

            Was she doing the right thing, keeping Kate and Skip in the dark? She knew what their reaction would be. They’d feel guilty, big-time guilty. And Skip would tear back across the bay wanting to investigate. Nope, better for all of them to stay safely tucked away on the Eastern Shore, until Janice woke up and could tell them what happened.

            She walked back inside the hospital to join Lilly in the ER waiting area.

            They had handed over the baggie of wine, that had miraculously stayed intact in Lilly’s pocket. Rose had told the ER nurse there might be Xanax and possibly other substances dissolved it. The nurse said she’d get it to the hospital lab right away.

            Rose was hoping that they’d gotten to Janice in time. She hated to think what would have happened if the woman had laid there all night.

            It was well over two hours before a doctor came looking for them. “Are either of you Mrs. Browning’s next of kin?”

            “I’m her sister,” Lilly lied.

            Rose hid her surprise.

            “Are you her health care surrogate?” the doctor asked.

            “What’s that?”

            The doctor frowned. Her question had effectively answered his. “Is there any other family member who has written permission to receive medical information about Mrs. Browning?”

            “Doc, will ya please just tell me if my sister’s okay?” Lilly asked, with a plausible amount of anxiety in her voice.

            The doctor frowned again.

            “Is she dead?” Lilly belatedly brought her hand to her face in a gesture of horror.

            When the doctor still hesitated, Rose growled, “Seems like a pretty simple yes-or-no question to me?”

            The doctor sighed. “I wish I had a simple answer for you. She’s alive but still unconscious.”

            When the doctor didn’t elaborate, Rose said, “Look, Doctor, the only other relative is an estranged husband who may have tried to kill her tonight.”

            The doctor’s eyebrows shot up. “The police said it was a suicide attempt.”

            “No, the killer set it up to look like a suicide attempt, but the note was totally bogus and there are several other things that don’t add up.”

            “And you are?”

            “Rose Hernandez, private investigator, and a friend of Ms. Browning.” She pulled out her PI license to show him. “Her husband’s not the only suspect here. I’ve been investigating a situation for her, for a few days now.”

            The doctor blew out air. He glanced over at the busy nurses’ station. “I’m due for a break. Let’s go down to the cafeteria.”

            Once settled at a table far from the few other occupants of the cafeteria, the doctor took a careful sip from the cup of hot coffee in his hand.

            “Was it Xanax?” Rose asked.

            “Yes, quite a bit of it. Pumping her stomach didn’t do much good. The wine had already been absorbed. We gave her a drug to counter the effects, but those effects are exacerbated by alcohol.” He shook his head.

            “Nothing else in the wine?” Rose asked.

            “No, and we did additional blood work as well. Nothing else in her system.”

            “She’d had two thirds of a bottle of wine, and her pill bottle was half empty. Bottle about this big.” Rose held up her hand, fingers two inches apart. “Would that be enough to account for the amount found in the wine?”

            “Does she have a serious anxiety disorder?” the doctor asked Lilly.

            “She’s a trial lawyer,” Rose quickly answered. “I think she has the Xanax just to calm pre-trial jitters.”
And to subdue her cat.
She opted not to share that.

            “So probably a mild dose.” The doctor looked thoughtful as he drank more coffee. Then he shook his head. “Half a bottle wouldn’t be nearly enough to account for the concentration we found in her bloodstream or the wine.”

            “That’s what I figured,” Rose said. “The wine was doctored before she got it. And the suicide note implied her husband left her and she couldn’t go on without him. She was the one who left him, and seemed pretty happy about it just this morning.”

            “So somebody’s done their research,” Lilly said. “Knows she’s separated from her husband, but doesn’t know who left who. Knows she likes wine and has a prescription for Xanax.”

            “A good enough set-up to fool the cops, but not those of us who know her.”

            “Maybe, whoever did this only wanted to fool the cops,” Lilly said.

            Rose gave Lilly an approving look. “Excellent observation.”

            The doctor drained his cup, then cleared his throat. “I’m only supposed to tell next of kin this...” He looked at Lilly.

            “I’m just gonna tell Rose as soon as you walk away.”

            The doctor sighed. “I haven’t given up hope completely, but it doesn’t look good.”

            Neither Lilly nor Rose had to fake a look of horror. “
¡Ay, dios mio!
” Rose crossed herself.

            “In the absence of a health care surrogate, the husband would legally be the one with the authority to make decisions.”

            “We need to leave him out of the loop,” Rose said, her tone sharper than she’d intended.

            “I won’t go out of my way to find him, but if he shows up...” The doctor shrugged. “Where can I reach you all?”

            “We’re staying right here tonight, Doc,” Lilly said. “I’m gonna sit outside her door and make sure nobody gets to her.”

            The doctor stood up and patted Lilly’s shoulder. “You should go home and try to get some rest. She’s in the ICU. The nurses won’t let just anybody in.”

            “They’d let her husband in,” Rose said.

            “True. Until the police say it’s an attempted homicide investigation, we can’t stop him from seeing her.”

            Rose clenched her teeth.
You can’t but we can.

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

            At the fishing shack, the others were exploring their new home away from home. In the only other room there was another lightbulb dangling from the ceiling. It revealed two Army cots. There were four sleeping bags rolled up on one of them, with a half-inch layer of dust on top of everything.

            Off of that room–Kate was unwilling to call it a bedroom–was a tiny lavatory, with a toilet and small sink.

            She sent the men outside to shake out the sleeping bags. There was a broom in the corner of the lavatory. Half its bristles were missing but she managed to sweep the dust off the cots. Then she swept the debris on the floor into a corner, on the alert for anything that moved.

            Back in the main room, she rummaged through the metal cabinet under a porcelain sink that might have been new in 1950. On one of the sideboards of the sink rested a two-burner hot plate and a toaster. That constituted the entire “kitchen.”

            “Eureka,” she said to Rob and Skip as they came back inside, sleeping bags dangling from their arms. She held up a rusty can, the label so faded the word
Comet
was just barely visible. Armed with the vintage cleanser and the leftover KFC napkins, she tackled the grungy bathroom fixtures

            Once they had brought in the bags with their meager supply of spare clothing, Kate said, “I guess we should draw straws to see who gets the cots.” Her tone implied they would be only a slight improvement over sleeping on the floor.

            Rob’s expression said he agreed with her.

            “What’s the matter? Can’t handle roughing it for one night?” Skip said, a chuckle in his voice. “Guess this is when the men are separated from the girls.”

            Rob raised his hand in the air. In a falsetto voice, he said, “Hi, my name is Bobbi and I’d like a cot, please.”

            They all cracked up. Skip, still chuckling, said, “You guys take the cots. I’ll sleep out here on the floor, between you and the door.”

            Shortly all were settled in their sleeping bags and the lights had been turned out. Kate lay on her cot, trying not to think about what might be cohabiting with them despite her efforts. She was fairly sure she would not get much sleep tonight.

            Was that a scuttling noise she’d heard, coming from the corner? She had almost convinced herself it was her imagination when Rob whispered, “I vote we leave the light on.”

            “That motion carries unanimously,” Kate said, getting up to feel around for the dangling pull cord.

            “Wimps!” Skip called from the next room when the light came on. Rob and Kate ignored him.

            Miraculously Kate did sleep and relatively soundly, until a ray of sunlight found its way through the grime on the small window high on the wall. It danced across her eyelids, refusing to be ignored.

            She slipped out of her sleeping bag, made use of the facilities and then tiptoed into the front room. Skip was sitting at the table. Kate walked over to him. He snagged her around the waist and drew her down onto his lap.

            Putting his lips right next to her ear, he whispered, “Do you realize that’s the first night we haven’t slept together in over a year?”

            The last time had been when Kate was in the hospital, recovering from an attack by a killer.
How do we get ourselves into these messes?

            “Let’s take a walk,” she whispered back. “So we don’t disturb Rob.”

~~~~~~~

            They stepped out onto the rickety porch. Skip closed the door quietly, then took Kate’s hand. They walked past the row of vehicles parked on the packed dirt and weeds passing for a lawn.

            They were about twenty feet down the road–that was barely more than two dirt tracks through the scraggly grass–when Skip saw a flicker of movement. He stepped in front of Kate as he drew his gun. “I hope that’s you behind that tree, Claude,” he called out softly.

            Claude stepped out from the tree, gave Skip a small salute, then disappeared again.

            Skip smoothly slipped his gun back into the holster at the small of his back. They walked down the road a bit further, stopping at the edge of the woods.

            “How many men are out here?” Kate asked in a quiet voice.

            “Hopefully only our three.” He drew Kate against him, wrapping his arms around her. He dared not kiss her. He needed to stay alert just in case there were more than just their men in the woods.

            He doubted there were though. Claude and the other guards would have been in frequent communication via two-way radio during the night. Anyone hanging around would have been spotted by them.

            He rested his chin on the top of Kate’s head and took in the scenery as he held her. Before them spread a fallow cornfield. The dry, brown stalks were cut off a foot from the ground. Skip smiled when he felt what he’d been waiting for–his wife’s body relaxing against him.