Dying for a Dude (Laurel McKay Mysteries Book 4) (19 page)

The niggling feeling exploded into full-blown anxiety when I saw Gran lying on the hard concrete floor. In the semi-darkness, she looked dangerously pale. As I bent over, she attempted to raise herself to a sitting position. She winced in pain and dropped back down.

“Don’t move.” I crouched next to her. “How did you get hurt?”

“After you called, I came out here to see what kind of stuff had been stored. As you can see, your great-grandparents were pack rats. They never threw anything away. I guess they figured with all of this space why bother. Our phone conversation reminded me of some items we had in the house when I was growing up. Things that could be worth some money.”

“Like what?”

She gave me a blank look. “I can’t remember now.”

I leaned closer, fearful she might have internal injuries. “Did you hit your head?”

She tenderly touched her scalp. Fortunately, for her, a curly auburn wig protected her hard head. “I don’t think so, but my memory isn’t what it used to be.”

She sent me a defiant look. “But don’t go sharing that with your mother.”

Her memory might not be what it used to be, but she was still my feisty Gran. I looked at the open boxes surrounding her, their contents scattered on the floor. A pile of dusty books lay off to her right.

I pointed to the mess. “So what exactly occurred here?”

“Sometimes I can be an idjet.” I chose not to agree or disagree with her. In my opinion, it’s our constitutional right to be an idiot every now and then.

“I was having a swell time going through the boxes, sorta like a treasure hunt. I couldn’t quite reach the top shelf, and I didn’t want to walk all the way back to the house for my stepstool, so I decided to stand on that bucket over there.” She pointed to a four-gallon metal bucket that wouldn’t have been sturdy enough for a toddler to stand on much less an eighty-eight-year-old osteoporotic granny.

“When I stretched my left arm,” she said, “the bucket tipped over. Then I tipped over.”

“Geez, Gran. Do you think you broke anything?”

“Not sure, but it hurts too much to walk. I began to think I’d die here.”

I looked at her
Red Hats Rock
tee shirt. “Where’s your Alert button? You’re supposed to wear it at all times.”

She glanced down at her chest. “Oops.”

Yeah, oops. “I left my purse and cell in your house, so I’ll have to go back to call the paramedics. Do not move without them checking you first. Did you crack a rib or anything?”

She flinched as I gently touched her ribs.

“Hang in there,” I said. “I’ll have them here in a jiffy.”

I bumped and bounced my way through the shed, relief coursing through me that Gran was okay, hopefully with only minor injuries. Once my mother heard about this accident, she would be relentless in her mission to relocate my grandmother.

Much as I hated to leave Gran alone in the dark, I didn’t want any snakes to turn the shed into a temporary timeshare, so I shut the door behind me. The western sky resembled an impressionist painting, a swirl of pink, mauve and varying shades of blue. Twilight can be a beautiful time, but it did not improve the visibility. I could barely see the house from here. With rattlesnakes on my brain, I decided to forego traipsing through the weeds. Even though my journey would be longer, the path around the tree-lined perimeter of the property might be easier and safer.

I jogged down the dirt path, anxious to reach my phone and a rescue team. My eyes remained glued to the trail, watching out for creatures either slithering across the path or coiled along the side, prepared to strike at any intruders. Engrossed, with my eyes gazing down, I failed to notice an unexpected guest until a deep growl startled me.

My head jerked up and I froze. A pair of topaz eyes glinted from a distance of fifteen feet. The eyes belonged to a cat. But not the kind of creature you want curled up on your lap while you read a cozy mystery.

This spotted cat could devour my multi-colored kitty as an appetizer before it moved on to a bigger and more satisfying entrée.

Me!

I stood still. My heart palpitations sounded louder than an arena full of Sacramento Kings fans, and I wondered if the mountain lion could hear them. Could it sense my fear?

The animal inched closer, its fierce gaze never leaving mine, as if assessing the high caloric content of a busty soccer mom. Based on his lean and wiry frame, he could devour me in one claw-licking bite.

Desperate thoughts flashed through my brain. What did the experts recommend when encountering a mountain lion? Could I outrun a fleet-footed cat? I glanced at Gran’s house, which seemed at least a mile away from my current location.

Considering that I’d come in last during my high school track meet and currently carried an additional thirty pounds, that did not seem like a practical solution.

Should I make myself small and curl up into a ball?

Hah! It would take a lifetime of dance classes for me to do that.

Suddenly a recent article in the
Mountain Democrat
about a twelve-year-old boy who pulled out his trumpet and scared a mountain lion away came to mind.

I didn’t have a trumpet, but I did have Zumba.

The mountain lion growled so loud it resembled the full-throated roar of the king of the jungle. Someone wanted dinner. His front paws bunched up as he prepared to pounce.

And so did I, putting my Zumba lessons to the test. I rocked to the right and I swiveled to the left. I swung my arms up, down and all around. I jumped forward and back while simultaneously belting out the words that accompanied this particular routine––“I Will Survive.”

The mountain lion froze in place. I could swear he cocked his head as a puzzled look appeared in his eyes. He stared at me for a full minute before he wheeled about and disappeared into the woods.

The same response I received the last time I sang this song at karaoke. Only that time I’d emptied out an entire bar.

I waited thirty seconds before I ran down the path, hoping I’d scared the feline intruder into another county. My heart pulsed so fast I worried the paramedics would need two stretchers, one for my grandmother and one for me. When I finally reached the house, I threw open the back door to the kitchen and grabbed my phone with relief.

I dialed 911, and the operator promised the paramedics would arrive at the property in less than ten minutes. Not until I dropped my cell on the tiled counter did my recent experience fully hit me.

I slid onto the floor with my arms circling my legs and rocked back and forth. That encounter felt much too close for comfort. Gran didn’t know it yet, but I planned on joining Team Barbara’s Relocation Effort. My grandmother needed to move somewhere safe––where her fiercest opponents were across the bridge table and not in her backyard.

The dispatch operator excelled at her job. An ambulance screeched to a stop in exactly nine minutes. I quickly ended my cell phone call with my mother to meet the men at the front door and explain Gran’s situation. I warned them about my recent stare-down with a king-sized kitty. The younger EMT blanched at my encounter, but his dark-skinned partner didn’t appear fazed. He radioed the Sheriff’s Department about a mountain lion sighting in town. After he hung up, he confided that mountain lions were so prevalent in the area that the authorities usually didn’t follow up unless someone or something had been eaten.

So
not reassuring.

With the two men accompanying me, carrying high-powered flashlights in their hands, our trip to the shed was like a walk in the park. Bob, the elder paramedic, examined Gran, checking her blood pressure and other critical stats. At first, she resisted the stretcher, but when I shared my close encounter of the most terrifying kind, she acquiesced. I’d brought her a couple of bottles of water and a granola bar which would hopefully tide her over until she reached the hospital.

The drive to Marshall Hospital took less than five minutes. Gran convinced the EMTs to pull out all the stops. We arrived at the emergency room entrance with lights flashing and sirens screaming. We held hands the entire time, although after my cat meet-up, I wasn’t certain who was comforting whom.

I climbed out of the back of the ambulance and waited while the men removed my grandmother. She assisted by barking out her own directional commands. At one point, Bob and his partner looked frustrated enough to unload Gran onto the gurney and leave her outside the entrance.

A familiar-looking SUV pulled into the circular drive before we entered the lobby. With Bradford in the driver’s seat, Mother exited the car the minute he put it in park and rushed to her own mother’s side.

“Ma, what have you done now?”

“No biggie,” said Gran, brushing off her concern by waving her away. “I had a small fall. That’s all. Go on back home.”

“There is no such thing as a ‘small fall’ at your age. I can’t imagine what you were thinking.”

Gran scowled at her daughter. “I tried to help my granddaughter and also clean out the shed like you asked me to do.”

“I never meant for you to do it yourself.”

Bradford interrupted their bickering by pulling his wife aside and whispering in her ear. I stayed with Gran, following her to the registration area.

I missed Bradford’s comments to Mother, but she remained silent while I assisted my grandmother with her check-in. The emergency room seemed quiet, maybe because we’d arrived on a weeknight. Within minutes, a nurse whisked Gran away, leaving the three of us to twiddle our thumbs and tap our toes in the waiting area.

“Laurel, I can’t believe you told Gran to clean out the shed by herself,” Mother complained.

“I only asked if she knew of any things I could borrow for the bank, for the Wagon Train decorating contest. I certainly didn’t expect her to climb on top of a bucket.”

She slumped back into the uncomfortable hard plastic chair. “We have to get her out of that house.”

“I couldn’t agree with you more,” I said, “especially after my mountain lion incident tonight.”

Mother replied with a wide-eyed “What?” at the same time the glass doors opened with a whoosh. The tall man dressed in jeans and a navy windbreaker bore a concerned look on his face. He rushed up to me and pulled me into his arms. I rested against the safety of his chest for a full minute before he released me.

“Are you okay?” Tom asked. He seemed to have added a few crow’s feet since our dinner the previous evening. “I heard what happened. How did you get away?”

“That mountain lion was evidently not a fan of disco. Or my singing,” I said with a wry smile as I plopped back into my chair. “I survived by belting out a few verses of ‘I Will Survive.’”

“So you soothed the savage beast.” Tom winked at me as he fell into the chair next to mine.

“It’s more like I scared the savage beast. I hope it’s traveled many miles from Gran’s house by now. How did you find out?”

“I heard the call about the mountain lion on my radio and recognized the address as your grandmother’s home. When I phoned in, they told me both of you were at the hospital. How’s she doing?”

“I don’t think she broke anything,” I said.

“But not for lack of trying,” Mother interjected. “We have to get her out of that house. Tom, there’s no reason why I can’t list it, is there?”

“I don’t see why not. We have what little evidence we found from the mineshaft in the cold case file. The DNA will take weeks to get back since it’s not a rush. We could close the file immediately without it.”

I sent him a quizzical glance. “Can you close the case without determining the murderer?”

“We could,” he said, “although you won’t like our findings.”

I shifted a few inches away from him so our shoulders and thighs were no longer touching. My brain might be annoyed with the detective sitting next to me, but other enthusiastic parts were cartwheeling with delight at his close proximity.

“I guess I’ll have to continue investigating both murders since no one in the homicide department seems interested in finding the real killer in any of your cases.”

A frustrated expression crossed Tom’s face, which probably matched the look on my own.

“I’m glad you’re okay,” he said to me. He stood and addressed my mother. “Go ahead and list the house, Barbara. I’ll keep the case file open, but that shouldn’t interfere with any sale.”

“Thanks, Tom,” Mother said. Bradford rose and accompanied Tom outside. As his former partner, my stepfather could share wise advice on the subject of dating while detecting. Maybe I should have a discussion with him myself since I sucked at multitasking between the two.

A nurse approached us with an update on my grandmother. She’d bruised one rib and twisted her left ankle. Given her age, they wanted her to spend a night or two to ensure there were no other issues.

Mother and I stopped in Gran’s room to say goodnight. She sat propped against a few pillows. Her color looked better, possibly due to the IV attached to her right arm, although her curly red wig listed to the left.

Only one penciled eyebrow remained, giving her the appearance of a cockeyed Little Orphan Annie. “If you’ve come to bawl me out,” she said, “you might as well turn around and leave.”

Mother kissed Gran on her cheek. “I’m grateful you’re okay.”

I plopped down at the end of the bed. “Don’t scare me like that again. Promise?”

She nodded, but I could see her crossing her fingers under the bed. Honestly, sometimes my grandmother’s behavior was worse than my son’s antics.

“You need to go back to the barn,” she said to me. “I found a couple of boxes of stuff on the bottom shelf that could work for your bank decorating. Some old gold pans. Even a box of satin shoes and parasols. I’m not sure how valuable that old stuff is.”

“I could have Abe appraise it first. He’s the most knowledgeable antiques dealer in town,” I replied. “If you’re sure you don’t want to keep it.”

“It’s not doing me any good sitting in that shed. Hey, did you notice those books that fell out of that box from the upper shelf?”