Competition Can Be Murder (26 page)

My cell phone rang. I couldn’t believe I’d forgotten Drake.

My purse had landed near the fence. I pounced on it. Stepping away from the crowded hubbub, picking my way between headstones, I fumbled for the right button.

“Drake?” I answered.

“It’s Meggie.” A high edge of panic tinged her voice.

“Meggie, what’s wrong?” A wad rose in my throat, making my voice come out strangely.

“They’re back,” she said. “But . . . there’s . . . there’s a problem. Charlie, you better get here.” Her voice broke.

“Meggie, what problem? What’s the matter?”

Hiccupping sobs punctuated indecipherable words.

“Meggie, hang on. I’m coming. I’ll be there right away.”

Something that sounded like assent came through the line, then she hung up.

I stumbled over a grave marker, caught myself, and hurried into the church. There was not a soul in sight. I rushed through, to the street—thinking, driving, pushing. No car. How would I get there? The train station was only two blocks away. Surely there would be cabs . . .

Every negative thought went through my mind as I ran. One of the aircraft had gone down, Drake was hurt, Drake was gone . . . Tears blurred my vision and the squeal of brakes jerked me back to reality. The driver gave me an impatient look--crazy American, looking the wrong direction and stepping off the curb. I crossed in front of him, swiping at my eyes with my sleeve.

Four cabs waited at the stand in front of the train station. I ran to the first one. The driver looked up, took one look at me and recoiled. He rolled up his window and drove away. I forgot how I must look. My clothes and hands were covered in blood. The next cabbie rolled forward, glanced, and kept rolling. I ran to the end of the line, into the shadows, to the last cab. Whipping the back door open, I jumped open.

“Please, there’s been an accident,” I said in a whoosh of pent-up breath. “I have to get to the airport.”

“No problem, mum,” the man said, not even looking at me. He gently steered the car around the others lined up at the curb.

“Hurry!” I softened my voice. “Please.”

“Sure, mum. I’ll get you there.” He punched the accelerator and I fell back against the seat.

I looked down. My phone was still in my hand. Bringing up the auto-dial for Drake’s cell phone number, I pressed it and listened to the quick set of chirpy beeps. It rang four excruciatingly slow times before the automatic voice came on. “We are sorry, the cellular phone customer you are—” I clicked off in disgust. I dialed Air-Sea’s number. Maybe I could get something coherent out of Meggie now. The phone rang repeatedly. No one picked up and the answering machine didn’t kick on. My gut clenched a little tighter.

The ride to the airport felt endless, although according to the cab’s little clock the driver managed it in record time. I directed him to the left, around the main terminal toward the general aviation facilities.

“Oh my god,” I whispered.

The entire area in front of the hangar and office buildings was jammed with the flashing, pulsing lights of emergency vehicles.

I threw some money at the cab driver and ripped open the door. Stumbling over a parking barrier I ran into the melee.

The two helicopters sat on the tarmac, in roughly their normal places. The Astar had landed at a cockeyed angle to the building, not the usual precision ninety-degree positioning Drake usually achieved. Meggie stood to one side of the JetRanger, her skirt fluttering in the breeze, hugging herself with arms clad only in a thin sweater. I started toward her. Then I spotted the gurney beside the Astar.

Oh, god, Drake.

I ran toward it.

Paramedics crowded around the wheeled stretcher; a flight helmet lay on the ground beside the aircraft’s skid. The flashing lights flared off the windshield, giving the helicopter a frightening, evil-eyed look. Onlookers ringed the scene, shifting with curiosity. I threaded my way in, pushing people aside until I reached the nose of the Astar.

The body on the gurney wasn’t moving. Salt-and-pepper hair. Blood on the flight suit. A scream rose in my throat.

“Charlie!”

My head whipped around to find him. Drake rushed to me and took me in his arms. Relief weakened my knees.

“Oh, thank god,” I mumbled into his flight suit. He hugged me until my ribs creaked.

“What happened?” I asked, pushing back to look into his face.

“Brian’s been shot—” His eyes widened as he looked closely at me. “Charlie! Blood—what’s happened to
you
?”

“Richie. We got him back. I’ll tell you later.” I pointed at the gurney, my hand shaky. “Brian’s shot? What—who?”

“Don’t know for sure,” he said. “I . . . can’t think too straight. It was all I could do to bring him in.”

“Let’s see if we can find out something,” I said. Belatedly I turned to him again. “You’re not hurt, too, are you?” I backed away and looked him over. No wounds that I could see.

Meggie spotted us and rushed over. “Oh, Charlie, it . . . it’s so awf—” She burst into tears. Drake and I both put our arms around her.

“It’s okay,” Drake soothed. “You did everything just right.”

“When you called . . .” Wracking sobs interrupted every few words. “I didn’t know . . . I mean, I dialed . . . Just glad they came . . .”

“Me too,” he said, “me too.” He rubbed her back and found a handkerchief somewhere in a deep pocket.

“They’re taking him,” I said.

The paramedics had covered Brian with a blanket and strapped an oxygen mask to his face. Drake trotted over to them as they pushed the gurney into the ambulance. I saw him exchange a few words with one of them. He stood back while they cranked up their sirens and roared away.

“Come on,” I said to Meggie. “Let’s find out what we can do.”

A police officer had approached Drake by the time we got to him and I caught the end of an exchange that had something to do with examining the Astar.

“It’d probably be easier for you to do that indoors,” Drake said. “I’ll have the maintenance man put both aircraft into the hangar.”

The officer nodded then turned and gave my clothing a long, hard look.

“Separate incident,” I said. “A kid with a bad cut.”

I could tell he was torn between questioning me further and making sure evidence on the helicopter wasn’t destroyed. Since Fergus was in the process of hooking up the tug to tow away the aircraft, the evidence won out.

“We better get to the hospital,” Drake said. “Brian’s condition isn’t good. Meggie, you don’t have to come if you don’t want to.”

“I do,” she said. “I wouldn’t relax at home, not knowing.”

“Lock the office. We’ll all take the van,” he said.

I hugged him again as she walked away. “I know this is selfish,” I said. “But I’m so thankful it wasn’t you.”

“Probably just sheer luck,” he said, holding me tightly. “I don’t think that sniper cared which he got. He tried for both of us.”

The emergency room bustled with activity. Drake inquired at the desk about Brian, and was told that we couldn’t see him yet.

I’d just asked about Richie Campbell, when a pretty, red-headed woman approached the desk.

“I’m Karen Swinney,” she said breathlessly. “My husband was brought here.”

Drake turned to her. “Karen, I’m Drake. This is my wife, Charlie.”

Karen’s creamy complexion was marred by red blotches. Her workout attire suggested that she’d been at exercise class when she got the call. Her flame-red hair was pulled back into a ponytail and a headband circled her forehead. When the woman at the desk told her she couldn’t see Brian yet, her face crumpled.

“Sit over here with us,” Drake said, guiding her elbow.

She allowed herself to be led to a chair beside Meggie, where she stared in disbelief at a point in the middle of the room. Drake started in gently, telling her what had happened so far. Since it was the stuff I already knew, I quietly excused myself to go check on the situation with the Dunbars.

Richie was in another cubicle, where I found him lying on an exam table, an IV in his arm and a neat row of stitches under his jawbone. His color looked a hundred percent better although dark circles made his eyes appear that they were sunken into deep pools.

“Cut missed that main artery by mere centimeters,” Robert said, coming to my side. I hadn’t seen him in the corner.

“What were you boys thinking?” I asked Richie.

His eyes closed and a tear slid from each, running sideways to his short sideburns. “Dunno. Stupid, wasn’t it?”

“Yes, it was.”

“Boring summer . . . just thought it’d be fun to watch em squirm.” He wiped at his eyes and pushed himself up a little higher on the bed.

“Why didn’t you just run off and join the circus? Why put your family through this torture.”

“Wasn’t meant to be torture,” he responded, more fire showing in his eyes. “More like a scavenger hunt.”

“But you didn’t need the money—what was that all about?”

He shrugged. “Lewis wants to get into a good college. Alasdair—he’s itching to get out, travel, do some adventures. Me? Dunno.”

“And Janie? Was she in on this? What was she getting out of the deal?”

“She wasn’t part of this,” he said, raising his voice. “Don’t blame her.” His gaze skittered away, fixing on the floor. “Guess she’ll get nothing but a quick abortion from it.”

I heard Robert’s gasp. I turned to see that his face had gone somewhat gray. Poor man, he was learning a few new things about his grandson tonight.

“Where are the rest of the family?” I asked Robert. “Have they been here?”

“Talked to Sarah awhile ago,” he said, dragging his eyes away from Richie’s prone figure. “Told her only what you see here—doctor says the boy can go home in a little while, after they get a bit more fluid into him. Didn’t go into the rest of it. Guess that’s for later.”

“Well, I’ll leave you to it. I’ve got another emergency here in the hospital,” I told him. “One that, unfortunately, is more serious than this.”

I turned to walk away and nearly collided with a man who’d just come around the edge of the curtain. Ian Brodie was standing in my path.

He gave my bloodied clothing a startled look, then turned his face to Robert.

“Sorry to intrude, sir. I just heard about the boy.”

I stepped aside and saw Ramona behind him, just the other side of the curtain divider.

“Brodie? Why—” Robert sputtered slightly. I knew he’d held firm to the idea that Ian had something to do with Richie’s kidnapping and was having a hard time assimilating his appearance now.

“I’ve returned the lambs, sir,” Ian said. He shifted from one foot to the other, twisting his knit cap in his hands.

Robert’s face registered absolute confusion.

“My wife, sir, she made me . . . uh, she made me see the error of me ways. I might disagree with your politics, sir, but it don’t give me the right to take your property.”

I glanced at Ramona’s face. A tiny smile of pride flickered there, until she noticed I had seen it. She blushed, pink with embarrassment.

“The lambs,” Robert finally said. “Well, thank you for returning them.” He stretched out a hand to the other man.

I stepped outside the curtain and faced Ramona. “You made him come all the way down here to say this?”

“Well, we went to the castle first. Had the lambs in tow. I told Ian he had to face up to this. Mrs. Dunbar, she told us what had happened with the boy and that it might be late before Mr. Dunbar got home.” She shrugged. “This wasn’t easy for Ian, but I knew it would be even harder in the morning.”

“Look, I’ve gotta go,” I said. “But I’ll stop by soon.”

She smiled and squeezed my hand.

Down the hall, I walked into the waiting area to find a doctor in messy scrubs facing Drake and Meggie and Karen.

“I’m so very sorry,” he said.

For an instant it felt as if the air had gone out of the room. Then Karen’s wail pierced the air.

“No—”

We all felt it. That Brian was gone had to be impossible. We’d just eaten lunch together. He and Drake had just flown back from the rig. Drake’s lower lip trembled and he pulled on it with his teeth. Meggie covered her eyes with her hands and sobbed.

In the way grieving people tend to do, we clung together. From what had looked to be a long night in a hospital waiting room, we’d suddenly gone to having nothing at all to do. The bustle went on around us but we stood like a tiny island, waves of noise crashing over us. The doctor offered to show us to a quiet room for a few minutes peace, but Karen shook her head. “Home,” she said.

Drake slipped an arm around her shoulders and guided her toward the door. I pulled some tissues from a box on a small side table and handed them to Meggie, then led her to follow Drake. My mind couldn’t seem to go beyond one tiny, mundane thing after another. The reality of the big picture was still too much to accept.

Thank goodness for Drake’s calm presence. He led us out to the van, safely buckled the ladies into their seats, and drove through the quiet dinnertime streets of Inverness to Brian and Karen’s cute stone house with its tiny garden out front. It was the only residence on the street that stood in darkness.