Olive and Let Die (18 page)

Hank turned to Melanie. “Would you like to come over and see Rainbow Acres? We've expanded quite a bit since last time you were there.”

She shook her head. “No thanks. Communes aren't really my thing.”

He stiffened. “We're not a commune. We're a cooperative educational farm. Big difference.”

“You say tomato, I say tomahto.” Melanie gave her coffee a little stir.

“You say Melanie, I say Shirley,” he said. And he gave her a smile and leaned back in his chair. “So who owns this place now?”

“Doreen left it to me,” Melanie said.

“That's fitting. Your parents were wrong to cut you off.”

“I don't know,” she said. “Sure, it was tough. But I never would have gotten where I am if they'd . . . loved me.” A tear glistened in the corner of one heavily made-up eye. She cleared her throat.

My gut clenched. She'd done essentially the same thing to me—she hadn't thrown me out, but she'd left me to fend for myself when I was only eighteen. The end result was the same.

Like any card-carrying member of the Man Club, Hank retreated in the face of female emotion. “I'd like to buy this place,” he stated matter-of-factly.

“What?” Melanie shook her head as if to clear it.

“We've been wanting to expand the apple orchards—we want to get into the hard cider business—and open a yoga retreat center. You've got what? Six bedrooms here? And the barn would be perfect for yoga with some renovations. I've got plenty of free labor from the college kids who come stay here over the summer instead of getting paying jobs.”

“I'll think about it,” Melanie said.

“You do that. We had a good year last year. I'll pay you market value—though I'd appreciate a small friend discount.” He rose. “Don't get up. I'll see myself out.”

When the door shut behind him, Melanie seemed to deflate. “Well, that was awkward,” she finally said.

“What was he—an old boyfriend?”

“Something like that.”

And then a thought popped into my head. She'd never told me who my father was. Had he just walked out the door? I filed away the question for another time. There was plenty here to deal with, without adding a pinch of paternity to the stewpot right now.

Melanie went to the front window and pulled aside the curtain just enough to watch Hank drive away. She looked around. “We've got a lot to do,” she said. “I don't even know where to start.”

“I do. We need to go through this pile of mail and see if any bills need to be paid and cancel her credit cards. Then we can start going through her things, room by room, to decide what to keep, donate, or throw away. And while we're doing that, you can tell me what brought you back to Bonaparte Bay.”

She picked up the stack of envelopes and shoved it into
her purse, which was the size, shape, and weight of a fully loaded bowling bag by now. “I'll look at this stuff later. Caitlyn can make herself useful.”

Caitlyn. I wondered what our sneaky assistant was up to. “Where'd you find her? Do you trust her?”

She looked at me sharply. “She came to me from an agency, with impeccable references. She used to work for Susan Lucci. And of course I trust her. Don't be ridiculous.”

“Just asking, Mel.”

“Don't call me Mel. I hate that.”

One more name to add to the list of things I couldn't call her. Shirley. Mel. Mom.

“We've got a couple of hours before I have to go back into town, so let's use the time efficiently.” I headed back to the kitchen and pulled out a couple of trash bags, which I placed one inside the other. I opened the refrigerator door and began to bag up the contents.

Melanie just stared at me. “What are you doing? We have a whole house to deal with here and you go for the fridge?”

“Just being practical. We can't leave food to spoil. Why make a bigger mess? Why don't you go outside and see if you can find a trash barrel? We should have asked Hank what people do about trash removal here—probably they take their stuff to the transfer station, but there's not too much here, so if there's no barrel, I'll just double bag it and put it in the Bonaparte House Dumpster.”

She looked like she was going to be sick, as if trash were something that didn't exist. Well, for her, perhaps it didn't. But she went outside anyway and came right back in. “Nothing.”

I frowned. Well, whatever. I made quick work of the fridge
and freezer. Doreen apparently hadn't shopped in a while, or she ate most of her meals at the school, because I filled only one bag. I gave the top a twist and a knot. Next I bagged up the unopened food items in her cupboard. Opened or expired things went into the trash bag. Anything unopened and still good went into a bag for donation to the Bay Food Pantry at the Methodist Church. An unoccupied house out in the country was bound to have hungry mice waiting to descend on it. No sense giving them anything to eat.

I sprayed down the inside of the fridge and wiped it, then repeated the process with the freezer. I unplugged the unit and propped the door open with a kitchen chair. Task one, accomplished.

“Come on, Melanie. Show me the bedroom.”

Doreen's bedroom was papered in a pattern of pink and blue flowers—not a duck anywhere, thank goodness. The bed was neatly made, surrounded by stacks of paperback novels. I opened the closet door and was greeted with a rod full of sweatshirts, most embellished with some kind of sparkly design. She also seemed to favor stretchy knit pants—let's face it, who didn't favor comfort like that?—of which she seemed to have an endless supply. I pulled out a big armful of clothes and piled them on the bed. I decided to take the clothes to Watertown to the Salvation Army. Dolly would help me wash everything—in fact, maybe I'd just pay her to take care of it all for me. I couldn't see Melanie or Caitlyn knowing laundry detergent from Blue Curaçao, so there'd be no help there. And Dolly would want extra money for her trip to Branson.

“Come on, Melanie. Help me.” We carried the trash and
donatable food out to my car. Melanie teetered on her high heels under the load. The food went behind the passenger side seat and the trash went into the trunk.

Melanie's collagen-plumped upper lip curled in distaste. “You don't expect me to ride back to town in that overstuffed car, do you? We'll look like the Beverly Hillbillies.”

“Just be glad I don't strap a rocking chair to the top and make you ride up there. Are you going to sell to Hank?” Her face was impassive. Did she really feel nothing for the place where she'd grown up? I couldn't see myself living here, now that I thought about it. But on the other hand, I'd hate to see it go to a stranger.

“Hank's offer is tempting,” she finally said.

“It would make things neat and easy,” I agreed. I scanned the countryside. The property, at least what I could see of it, consisted of overgrown hayfields and several outbuildings, including a large barn that had once presumably housed cows. Who knew what was stored in there now? But exploring the outbuildings would have to wait for another day.

My eyes fell on the barn again. There must be some use for it—maybe winter boat storage? I wondered how many boats could fit inside. I frowned. There was a door on the side and it appeared to have blown open.

As I made my way toward it to close it, a shot cracked through the air, then another. I instinctively hit the ground, grabbed Melanie and pulled her down with me, and rolled up to the car. A bullet pinged off the Honda. “Get in the car!” I shrieked. Melanie seemed to be in shock, so I grabbed her and shoved her into the passenger seat, keeping as low as I could. “Get down!” She slumped over. “Damn it, Melanie!”
I dove into the driver's seat as another bullet pinged off the car, then I threw it into gear and peeled out. “Melanie! For God's sakes don't go catatonic on me now.” She remained slumped over as I sped down the country road, my tires spitting up bits of gravel as I fishtailed out of there.

When we reached the main road, I relaxed a bit. Until I looked over at Melanie and realized that a dark stain had appeared on the left side of her jacket. She'd been hit.

SEVENTEEN

Oh, hell. What should I do? I was only five miles from the Bayview Hospital. If I wasn't being followed, I could drive her there faster than an ambulance could mobilize and get out here. And I couldn't just pull off to the side and wait. I had to do something. I drove on and hoped I'd made the right decision.

“Stay with me, Melanie,” I said. “It's gonna be okay.” My words sounded unconvincing, even to myself. But adrenaline took over and I handled the car like an Indy driver. I glanced in my rearview mirror. A truck with tinted windows was following me. Impossible to tell if it contained our assailant. Melanie's breathing came in ragged gasps and she began to shiver. Keeping one hand on the wheel and my eyes on the road, I reached blindly into the backseat and grabbed the first garment I found. I placed Doreen's sweatshirt over
Melanie as best I could while maintaining control of the car. It would have to do.

I pulled up at the Emergency Room doors at Bayview Hospital, then exited the car and raced inside. “Gunshot victim in my car,” I said breathlessly. “Hurry!”

Gloria Campbell, the nurse on duty, mobilized immediately. Within seconds a gurney was being wheeled outside, and a moment later Melanie was in the hospital. Her face was pale and her eyes unseeing as she rolled past me. I looked around stupidly. The nurse came out from behind the counter and placed a warm blanket around my shoulders.

“We have to call the police,” I said. “Somebody shot at us. They might have followed us here.”

“Already done, and I've got the hospital on lockdown. Standard procedure when a gunshot comes in—of course, we see a lot more of that during hunting season.” Gloria put her arm around me as I started to shiver. “Is there someone you'd like me to call?”

“What's happening?”

“They'll stabilize and evaluate her, then decide if she should be moved to the House of the Good Samaritan in Watertown. But they may just call the trauma surgeon in here if it's not too serious.”

“How can a gunshot not be serious?” I demanded. “She was bleeding like crazy! She can't die. She's . . . my mother.”

“Have a seat, Georgie. We'll know more soon.” She patted my back and sat me down in a visitor's chair. “Who do you want me to call for you? Sophie? Spiro?”

Even in my semihysterical state, they would not be my
first choices. I was the one who handled things in our unconventional family unit, not them. I shook my head to clear it, then took a deep breath. “Uh, could I have some water? I'll make my own calls.”

“Of course. I'll be right back.” Her scrub top was cute, I noticed, kittens on a pale green background. It looked comfortable too. It felt good to fixate on something normal.

I reached into my pocket and pulled out my cell. I punched in Caitlyn's number, but the phone went straight to voice mail. Where the hell was she anyway? “It's Georgie. Call me. It's an emergency.” I hung up. And then I thought about how she always seemed to disappear just about the time people got hurt. Or worse. No. What possible reason would Caitlyn have to shoot at us? Melanie was no doubt a complete pain to work for, but Caitlyn had a good job—as long as Melanie was paying her. If Caitlyn had a reason to want Melanie dead, I had no idea what it might be.

Jack picked up on the first ring. “I'll be right there,” he said. A warm feeling spread throughout me, dissipating the adrenaline-induced chill that had permeated my body. I felt absurdly grateful to have someone I could actually count on. I was getting ahead of myself, but a picture of a future that included Jack had parked itself in my brain along with an endless supply of quarters to feed the meter.

The nurse came back with a bottle of water. She unscrewed the cap and poured some into a paper cup, then handed it to me. I took a sip.

“You look better than you did a few minutes ago,” she said, her voice kind but matter-of-fact. “Keep that blanket around you for a while longer, okay?”

“Is there any news? About Melanie?”

She patted my hand. “We're in luck. Dr. Dinsmore is on duty today, not Dr. Fletcher, who's old as dirt and has shaky hands. She's stable, but they've decided not to move her. The surgeon should be here anytime now.”

Relief washed over me, perhaps prematurely. If they weren't racing Melanie in an ambulance to the better-equipped Watertown hospital—or worse yet bringing in the Lifestar helicopter to take her to Syracuse—the medical personnel here must have thought she was not in terrible shape.

“Now,” the nurse said, her voice crisp and efficient. “Did you say you were a relative?” Her eyebrows rose just a titch. “Because we need to fill out some paperwork.”

How much help could I be? “Right,” I said.

“Do you feel up to it now?”

“It will give me something to do. Oh. I need to go and get her purse for the insurance information. Do you think it's okay for me to go outside?”

She consulted her computer. “Tim Arquette is outside on duty. By the way, you'll need to move your car out of the ambulance loading zone.”

“Then I'll do that now.” She buzzed me outside, where I blinked in the bright sun. My eyes darted around until they landed on Tim. I was glad it wasn't Chief Moriarty, who had been out of the Academy long enough that his cop skills other than diner patrol seemed a bit . . . rusty. Tim nodded and I walked over to him.

“Hey, Georgie,” he said. “Got yourself into some trouble again?”

“Yeah, something like that. Can't seem to help it these days.”

He smiled, but kept his hand on the butt of his service weapon.

“I've got to move my car. I'm a little nervous.”

Tom looked around. “We've got another officer patrolling the grounds. I'd say you're as safe as you can be. Go ahead.”

I had my doubts about that, but made a beeline for the car. In all the excitement of getting Melanie to safety, I'd neglected to lock it, so I was glad to see that both my purse and Melanie's were still on the floor of the passenger side. There were also wet, dark splotches staining the gray upholstery. Bile rose in my throat. How much blood had she lost? Would she live?

I pulled the car away from the curb and steered it into the visitor's parking lot. With both purses in hand, I locked the car and made my way back to the ER. The nurse buzzed me back in, and I sat down and opened Melanie's purse.

The bag was full with Doreen's mail and Melanie's other essentials, including the pepper spray. I replaced that gently into a zippered compartment. Was it time for me to learn about guns? Bonaparte Bay wasn't safe anymore. Dolly sometimes hunted in the fall. I could have her give me some lessons. I'd be starting from scratch, since I didn't know the safety from a souvlaki.

Suddenly the bag shifted in my lap and the contents spilled out on the hospital floor. Damn. Who knew what kind of cooties were breeding down there? I righted the bag and set it on a chair next to me, then bent over to pick up the mail.

I fanned through the envelopes. Electric bill. Cell phone bill. Bank statement. Flyer from the Akwesasne Mohawk Reservation in Hogansburg inviting Doreen to play in a Bingo tournament with twenty-thousand-dollar stakes. I shot my eyes upward. I hoped Doreen was winning in heaven.

The next envelope felt familiar—the paper was thick and expensive. The return address confirmed that this letter was from MacNamara and MacNamara, the same law firm that was handling my divorce. Well, there were only two law firms in the Bay, so it was hardly surprising we had the same lawyers. What had Lydia, the secretary, told me when I was in a few days ago? Doreen had redone her will recently. Perhaps this had something to do with that. The envelope was open, so Doreen had read it. I started to pull out the page within when the nurse called me. I shoved everything back into the bag and carried the whole kit and caboodle over to the registration desk.

“Find what you need?”

I fished around until I came up with Melanie's wallet. I felt a little uncomfortable opening it up, even under these circumstances. A person's wallet contained such personal information.

I found Melanie's driver's license and insurance card and handed them to the nurse, who was not someone I recognized. Her name tag read, “Reva Wallace, R.N.” She typed the information into her computer, then made photocopies of the cards and handed them back to me. “Emergency contact? Next of kin?”

I debated. Maybe Melanie would prefer that I list Caitlyn as the contact. “Me,” I said. “I'm the emergency contact and the next of kin.”

She was used to dealing with private information and was too professional to say anything, but this information clearly interested her. Things could get pretty dull around these parts, especially once all the tourists went home in the fall.

“That's that, then.” She made a few more swift keystrokes and finished up with a flourish.

A voice came over the intercom. “Reva? It's Tom. Somebody's here for Georgie. You can let him in.”

We both turned as the electronic doors glided open. A familiar figure strode through them. Jack.

My shoulders sagged with relief. He'd dropped whatever he was doing and come. For me. Strong arms wrapped around me in a hug I wished would never end. I burst into tears.