Murder Is Our Mascot (14 page)

"He's right, you know," Tad said softly as they watched the detective disappear down the hallway.

Again, Emily was silent. Naturally, she wanted those she loved safe. But 'ole Gangly-Arms was
not
right. Emily was more convinced than ever that Helen was innocent and possibly in danger. Helen knew Emily's vehicle. Helen would never hurt her or anyone else.

"They're letting Gabby go," Tad cut into her thoughts. "Let's get Nancy Drew and her sidekick home so they can rest, recover, and retire their investigative hats."

Emily followed Tad back into the hospital room. He could think what he wanted, but she knew she had implicated Helen by telling the detective that the vehicle that had run them off the road was a dark SUV. Whoever had totaled her PT and hurt Gabby was going to pay. Emily would make sure of it. And when she did, Helen's innocence would be proven once and for all.

Climbing into the back seat of her parents' car, Emily felt like she was ten years old again. Her mom, just like when Emily would have to come home early because she had gotten sick at school, had filled the car with her favorite pillows and blankets. Her mom had also had to help her into the change of clothes she had brought with her. Emily had been sure she would have to leave the hospital in one of their unsightly gowns. When one of the nurses had brought her the clothes she was wearing in the accident, she hadn't given them a second glance before tossing them in the nearest trash can.

Now safely on her way home, Emily deeply regretted that she had worried her parents, but she did not regret taking action to help Helen. She wasn't sure if she should brace for a lecture, defend herself, or both, so she decided to feign sleep. That wasn't hard since she was so tired, her hair hurt. Her dad's voice broke the uneasy silence, hanging like a curtain between them, before she could escape into dreamland. "So, kiddo, what did you and Gabby find out?"

Emily wiped a tear of relief from her cheek before she answered. Leave it to her dad to put her at ease. Her mom remained staring straight ahead, but Emily leaned forward and began telling them all they had discovered while in Peculiar Bluffs. Her dad nodded along as she described her and Gabby's talk with Mr. Wells. He seemed interested in the whole "brother in New York" angle, but her mom's back remained straightjacket stiff, and her eyes never left the road until Emily mentioned the cost of living at Serenity Falls.

"Seventy-two thousand dollars?" she exclaimed, whipping around in her seat to stare at Emily. "That's outrageous! How could Helen afford that?" Emily met her dad's eyes in the rearview mirror, but neither one of them spoke a word. Their silence strained against their belief that Helen was innocent.

To lighten the mood, she joked, "Guess you and dad will have to live next door or something if you need care in your old age." The minute the words left her mouth, Emily regretted them. If her parents were able to live next door, then Helen would not have been found. No words could soothe over the hurt, frustration, and worry that permeated every inch of the car, so Emily leaned her head back and cradled her aching arm. This time she didn't have to pretend to be asleep. Exhaustion won. She slept soundly until she heard her parents' whispered arguing. She took a bleary look out the window. They had reached the city limits of Ellington.

"What's up, Doc?" she asked. Her parents both shot her guilty looks in the rearview mirror. An "uh-oh" feeling sprouted in her stomach.

"I think that with all you've been through and the fact that someone ran you off the road, you should stay with us for a while," her mom said defiantly, her gaze challenging, as she turned in her seat to look at Emily.

Her dad's teacher voice overrode any complaints Emily might have made. He had a way of commanding attention without ever raising his voice. It was one of Emily's goals to master that voice, but at the moment, it grated. "I was telling your mom that I thought you might feel better in your own home, surrounded by your own things." Emily began to nod vehemently, but her dad continued. "So your mom wants to stay with you."

"Oh, Mom, I appreciate your concern, I really do, but I'll be fine. Really." All Emily wanted was the comfort of her own place and peace and quiet in which to think.

"You could be in danger," her mother protested. Emily looked at her dad. They both knew she was perfectly capable of taking care of herself. Emily had practically grown up on the shooting range with her dad.

"I can protect myself in my own home. You know that, Mom. And if I need anything at all, I'll call you. I promise."

Her mom sniffed. "Do you also promise not to do any more digging around in all this murder stuff? I mean, I love Helen, but you're my daughter. I couldn't live without you, Em." Now they were both sniffling. Emily promised, but she crossed her fingers behind her back, so it didn't
really
count.

Once her mom and dad had her settled on her couch with the remotes, her phone—miraculously recovered from the scene of the "accident"— and a bottle of water and some crackers and cheese, Emily finally managed to convince them to go home. The minute they left, she was up and pacing. There were too many thoughts in her head to sit still. She decided a hot shower would help her relax and clear her mind, but once the water was running, she suddenly felt exposed. The silence she had craved was now deafening. Before she stepped into the shower, she dug around in the bottom of her underwear drawer for her .38 Special, which she placed on the toilet lid. That gave her a modicum of reassurance, but unfortunately, her shower still was not relaxing as she spent the next fifteen minutes performing every kind of contortion imaginable trying to get clean but keep her cast dry. By the time she turned off the water, the floor was soaking wet, and she felt as sore as the one—and only—time Gabby had dragged her to a yoga class. She fumbled through toweling herself off and managed to pull on a pair of sweatpants. Even her baggiest shirt ended up with a tear from trying to position it over her cast. Instead of being more relaxed, she was now miserable, sore, and thirsty. She stalked her way to the refrigerator, taking out her frustrations by yelling her head off. No one was around to hear her, so why not?

She was halfway down the hall and in midscream when her doorbell rang. Emily froze. Her heart dropped into her stomach and then rebounded into her throat, where its continued dribbling had her gasping for air. She raced to the bathroom to retrieve her gun, then hovered in the doorway, thanking God that she was left eye dominant, even though she was a right-hander. Despite her nerves, she was proud to see that the hand holding her gun was rock steady.

The doorbell pealed again, and Emily toyed with the idea of calling the police. The problem with that plan was she had left her phone on the couch when she went to take a shower. The couch was in plain sight of the front windows and therefore also to whoever was at the front door.
Why hadn't she closed the blinds?
She wondered this as the doorbell rang insistently yet again. Whoever was out there was going to wear that thing out. Maybe she should replace it with chimes. That ring was awfully annoying. Wait—was she actually considering doorbell choices at a time like this? Apparently she was, so she must not be as afraid as her bouncing heart told her she was. Because, now that she thought about it, what axe murderer rang the doorbell before slitting your throat? She headed for the door, but not before shoving her gun in the waistband of her sweats where she could feel its reassuring presence against the small of her back. Just in case.

This time the ringing of the doorbell was accompanied by the banging of fists and a frantic voice. "Emily?" the voice bellowed. She hurried to undo the locks and throw the door open for a wild-eyed Tad. "What's wrong?" they both said at the same time.

"You first," Emily gestured.

"When you didn't answer, I thought something might have happened. Like you fell, or someone was in there with you, someone who wanted to hurt you," Tad panted, pushing her behind him in what she assumed he thought of as a protective gesture, scanning her living room for any evildoers. "What took you so long to answer the door?"

Emily gave a tiny shrug. "I thought you might be an axe murderer."

"Ringing the doorbell?"

"It's been a long weekend" was all Emily could come up with. She pushed the front door shut and went to collapse on the sofa. "Ouch," she muttered as soon as she sank into the cushions.

Tad was immediately at her side. "What is it? Is it your arm? What can I do?"

Emily smiled weakly. "Thanks, but I got this." She pulled the .38 Special out of her waistband, checked the safety, and then laid it on the coffee table in front of them.

"Oh." Tad looked from the gun to her and back again. "Forgot you were Annie Oakley. Guess you got things covered on the protection front."

"Yeah, I'm good. Just tired." What she really was, was thirsty, but she had never made it as far as the refrigerator. As if reading her mind, Tad opened the door, grabbed some things off her porch, and locked them in. He handed Emily a large white cup with a red straw, then turned to draw the blinds.

"It's like you read my mind. I could kiss you." Emily took a giant swig of soda, then felt her cheeks blaze with embarrassment. When would she learn to think before she opened her mouth?

"Then I can't wait to see what you'll give me for this." Tad dangled a white takeout bag in front of her nose.

"You didn't," she said.

"I did," Tad replied, pulling out crispy fried chicken and fluffy, golden biscuits. "I made sure to ask for all legs. Thought they would be easier to eat one-handed."

Emily felt tears prick her eyes. She had been telling the truth. It
had
been a long weekend, she
was
tired, and she
had
thought she wanted to be alone. But it was nice to have someone know her well enough to bring her favorite things. She had already taken a bite of warm, buttery biscuit before she saw the duffel bag at Tad's feet. Her heart slam-dunked its way back to her stomach. She motioned to the bag. "What's that for? Did my parents send you over to kidnap me and take me to their house? Because let me tell you, Tad, I'm not going anywhere."

"Good. I'm not either." With that proclamation, Tad flopped down beside her and dug into his own supper.

Emily cleared her throat of suddenly dry biscuit crumbs. "Excuse me?"

"Look, don't be unreasonable about this, Pit. Your parents are worried. Your friends are worried. I had your parents take Duke for a while, and I'm going to crash here on your couch in case you need anything." He stared at her in much the same way her mom had earlier, as if defying her to tell him no. She wanted to, but she was too tired for the whole righteous indignation act. Maybe after a chicken leg. And another biscuit. Or two. Emily shrugged in his direction and said simply, "Thanks."

Tad looked supremely proud of himself as he picked up the remote and picked out a selection of
Castle
reruns from her DVR. The television show was number one on both of their lists, so they settled in for some good food and some good TV. It was almost like having Gabby over, except Tad was male. Oh, and she never had the urge to cuddle up to Gabby. Trying to push that inappropriate thought from her mind, she said, "I wish we could examine all the clues, interview all the suspects, and figure out what happened to Jim in the next hour like Beckett and Castle do."

"Only this is real life, not television, and your mom said you promised to stay out of this from now on. Right?"

Emily only gave him a noncommittal shrug, not in the mood for an argument. She could barely hold her eyes open as it was. Saying nothing, Tad reached over and cupped her cheek with his hand, his thumb brushing gently at the corner of her mouth. Emily felt herself swaying toward him, feeling like she was in a dream, a dream where she was the princess about to be kissed by Prince Charming. Seeing the glazed look in her eyes, Tad jerked his hand away. "Crumb," he explained. Emily nodded, trying not to feel disappointed.

"Let me get your pain pills. Your mom had your prescription filled," Tad said, hopping up from the couch like a jack-in-the-box. Emily stood slowly, but still the room swayed. The pain, the lack of sleep, and the worry were finally taking their toll. She submitted without a word when Tad led her to her bedroom and tucked her in. She might have been sad to see him leave the room, but knowing he was right outside her door, she rolled over on her left side, propped her heavy, aching right arm on a pillow, and fell into a sound sleep. Analyzing her feelings about Tad would have to wait.

* * *

Emily woke with a dull throb in her arm and a faint smile on her lips. She had been having the most wonderful dream. Tad was looking into her eyes, leaning in to kiss her, and then…She couldn't remember the rest. Strange, she normally remembered most of her dreams. And she didn't normally wake in such a good mood. Turning toward the bedside clock, she let out a yelp—it was 9:45 a.m. She was more than two hours late for school! And Tad!—they must have forgotten to set an alarm. Why hadn't the school called by now? Throwing back the covers, she hurried into the living room, only to see the couch empty, a blanket folded neatly at one end. On closer inspection, she saw a piece of paper on the blanket. She skimmed it quickly. Apparently, Tad had called in for her, explaining the situation. He also promised to be back after school. The note was signed with a quick dash and a
T
. Emily stood for a moment with the note in her hand, unsure of whether to be grateful for Tad's thoughtfulness or irritated by his presumptuousness. Deciding that being grateful would make her the bigger person, Emily pushed open the blinds to let in the sun, then called to check on Gabby.

Greg answered on the first ring and explained to Emily, in hushed tones, that Gabby was still sleeping. She had been pretty woozy from the pain pills still last night. Emily apologized again, but Greg brushed her off, asking how she was doing instead. Emily knew that Greg loved her like a sister, but she also knew he had to be irritated at her that Gabby had been hurt on her watch. As she hung up, the guilt threatened to overwhelm her. Needing an outlet, she headed for her journal, then remembered she couldn't write without the use of her right hand. She backtracked and grabbed her laptop off her desk, settling onto the couch with it. It was still awkward to type one-handed, but desperate times called for desperate measures.