White Lies (26 page)

“Hell, no,” he said loudly. “I look like something that was sewn together by Dr. Frankenstein. I’ll take care of my own arm.”

Neither Clare nor Benton looked at him.

“Yes, I’ll deal with the bandages,” Clare said.

“In that case, here are the instructions for wound care,” Benton said, handing her a sheet of paper and the prescriptions he had just written.

Clare scanned the list of instructions. “I assume I can get these things at any good drugstore?”

“Shouldn’t be a problem,” Benton said. “Or you can pick them up at the hospital pharmacy on your way out. You can fill the prescriptions there, too.”

“I’ll do that,” Clare said. She folded the paper and tucked it into her shoulder bag. “Thank you, Doctor.”

“Hey, it’s what I do,” Benton said, smiling broadly. “Got to tell you, Mr. Salter was definitely one of the more interesting cases I’ve seen in a while. We don’t get a lot of gunshot wounds here in Stone Canyon. They show up all the time at the big hospitals in Phoenix and Tucson, of course. But this town is not exactly Crime Central.” He glanced at Thompson. “Isn’t that right?”

“We like to think we have a nice, safe little community here.” Thompson studied Clare with a considering expression. “Haven’t had a gunshot fatality in six months.”

“Right, the McAllister murder,” Benton said genially. “I didn’t start working here until a couple of months after it happened but people were still talking about it. McAllister’s death was a big sensation at the time. They never caught the killer, did they?”

Jake was starting to get irritated by the way Thompson was looking at Clare.

“Case is still open,” Thompson said.

Benton nodded thoughtfully. “Officially they chalked it up to an interrupted burglary, but as I recall there were a lot of rumors going around. Everyone seemed to think the truth was that McAllister was murdered by his lover, who just happened to be his wife’s half sister. One of those messy love-triangle situations.”

“Something like that,” Thompson agreed.

“I guess it only goes to show that just because a family is rich and powerful doesn’t mean it can’t be just as screwed up and dysfunctional as any other family,” Benton said. He punched in the code to unlock the security doors again. “Well, folks, you’ll have to excuse me. Got a long night ahead. Lives to save and coffee to drink, you know. Hope I don’t see you in here again anytime soon, Mr. Salter.”

The doors closed solidly behind him.

Jake looked at Clare. Her mouth was very tight at the corners.

Thompson had removed a notebook from his pocket. “I didn’t catch your name, ma’am.”

Well, damn, Jake thought. He could almost see Thompson’s cop-brain grinding away. He tried to shake off the fuzzy, disoriented sensation that had enveloped him.

“Clare Lancaster,” Clare said politely.

“Thought so,” Thompson said. He made a note.

“Hey,” Jake growled. “Stop that.”

Neither Thompson nor Clare looked at him.

“Do you have any idea who shot Jake?” Clare asked aggressively.

“Not yet,” Thompson said.

Clare narrowed her eyes. “Shouldn’t you be out looking?”

“We’re working on it. I just finished taking Mr. Salter’s statement. Do you mind telling me where you were around six o’clock this evening, Miss Lancaster?”

“I was at Mr. Salter’s house,” Clare said. “Cooking dinner.”

Jake put his good arm around her shoulders. “Nothing a man looks forward to more after a hard day’s work getting shot than coming home to a nice home-cooked meal. What are we having, sweetheart?”

“Grilled salmon with pesto sauce,” she said.

“Excellent,” Jake said. He winked at Thompson. “Fish is good for you, I hear.”

Thompson made a note, but Jake didn’t think it had anything to do with the benefits of eating fish.

Thompson was looking very hard at Clare again. “Anyone else there at the house with you?”

“No,” Clare said.

“Make any phone calls?” he asked.

“No,” Clare said.

This was not going well, Jake thought. Probably ought to do something. But it was hard to think through the murky haze the painkiller had created in his brain.

Thompson wrote something else on his notepad. “Anyone call you, Miss Lancaster?”

“The only call I got was the one from this hospital telling me that Jake had been injured,” Clare said evenly.

Jake tried revving up his senses to beat back the pleasant mushy-headed sensation. When the psi energy pulsed through him he managed to glimpse some clarity amid the clouds.

“Get a grip here, Thompson,” he said. “I was shot with a scoped rifle, remember? You’ve got the bullet I dug out of that stud. You know as well as I do that you’re looking for some guy who likes to hunt.”

Thompson nodded. “Yes, sir.”

“Well then, that proves it,” Jake said.

Thompson’s brow furrowed. “Proves what, sir?”

“That Clare had nothing to do with my getting shot, of course.” Jake gave her an affectionate little pat on the top of her head. “Doubt if my little Clare has ever hunted a day in her life. Right, sweetie?”

Clare stiffened. “Hunting is certainly not my thing.”

“See there, Thompson?” Jake said, “What did I tell you?”

Thompson made the derisive snort all hunters make when someone informs them that not everyone considers shooting animals to be a fabulous way to spend an afternoon.

“Feel sorry for Bambi?” Thompson asked Clare.

“I know that there are some legitimate reasons to hunt,” Clare said through her teeth. “Thinning the herds by removing diseased animals appears to be at the top of everyone’s list of justifications. But why anyone would want to kill and eat a diseased animal is beyond me.”

Thompson scowled. “That’s not the only reason.”

“Well, I suppose there is the sport factor,” she agreed politely. “But in my opinion gunning down unarmed creatures with a high-powered weapon does not strike me as something that a civilized person would do for the sheer fun of it.”

“She’s not from around here,” Jake explained confidentially to Thompson.

“Yeah, I got that impression,” Thompson said.

“Comes from San Francisco.” Jake patted Clare on the head again. “CFL territory.”

“What,” Clare asked in a dangerous tone, “does CFL stand for?”

“Certified Flaming Liberal,” Jake explained. “Yes, sir,” he said, turning back to Thompson. “I think it’s safe to say that my little Clare is a genuine, card-carrying member of the bleeding heart antigun lobby.”

“Speaking of bleeding,” Clare said, giving him a steely smile. “We need to get you home and into bed. You heard what the doctor said. You’re supposed to rest.”

“Okay,” Jake said. He looked around, trying to be helpful. “Which way is home?”

“This way.” Clare took his good arm. She glanced at Thompson. “Can we leave now? Jake looks like he might collapse at any moment.”

“Nah,” Jake said. “Steady as a rock. That’s me.”

The room tilted on its axis. Clare steadied him.

“The doc was right,” Thompson said. “Whatever was in that pain shot is hitting him hard.”

“Yes.” Clare steered Jake toward the door. “You know where to reach us if you have any more questions.”

“You need some help with him?” Thompson asked.

“No, thanks,” Clare said. “I can manage.”

Jake smiled benignly. “She’s stronger than she looks.”

He allowed himself to be maneuvered through another set of glass doors and out into a hallway. He was vaguely aware of Clare pushing him gently into a chair while she made some purchases at the hospital pharmacy.

A few minutes later she eased him carefully into the passenger seat of her rental car.

He closed his eyes and leaned his head against the back of the seat. He heard Clare’s door open and close. Then he felt her fumbling with his seat belt.

“You know what Thompson was thinking,” he said without opening his eyes.

“Not hard to guess.” She fired up the engine. “Another mysterious crime here in the fair town of Stone Canyon, Arizona, and what do you know? Clare Lancaster just happens to be in the vicinity again.”

“You do seem inclined toward a lot of bad luck whenever you’re in this burg,” Jake said.

“You’re the one who got the rotten luck today. Dear God, Jake. Someone tried tomurder you.”

He forced himself to focus hard on the subject. “Could have been a hunter’s stray shot.”

“I don’t believe that for a second and neither do you. It’s connected to the fact that you’re helping me find out what was going on in Brad McAllister’s life at the time he was killed. It has to be.”

He opened his eyes. “I’ll admit that getting shot today did sort of strike me as something of a coincidence.”

“Did you tell that cop that we’re investigating the circumstances of Brad’s death?”

“Hell, no.”

“Why not?”

“It’s kind of complicated,” Jake said.

“I’m getting a bad feeling here. Define ‘complicated.’”

Time to level with her, he thought.

“This is Jones & Jones business,” he said.

“Damn,” Clare whispered. “I knew you were lying right from the start.”

Jake felt that he should probably try to respond to that accusation but he couldn’t seem to think anymore.

So he went to sleep, instead.

She pulled into the drive, switched off the engine and looked over at Jake. He was still asleep. The only thing that had kept him from sprawling forward against the dashboard was the seat belt.

“Jake?” She leaned around him to shake his right shoulder very gently. “Wake up. We’re home.”

He raised his lashes a little and looked at her with unfocused eyes. “Home?”

“Yes.” She unfastened his seat belt. “Do you think you can make it into the house?”

He inhaled deeply. “You smell good.”

“Pay attention, Jake. You’re going to have to help me here. I can’t carry you inside.”

“Too bad. Sounds like fun. Never been carried over a threshold before.”

She got out and went around to his side of the car. When she opened the door he almost toppled out onto the driveway. She barely caught him in time.

“Hang on, let’s try this.” She inserted her arm between his back and the seat and maneuvered him out of the vehicle.

When she got him on his feet he gripped the edge of the car door to steady himself. He peered at the entrance.

“No sweat,” he said. “Piece of cake.”

“Good.” She draped his good arm around her shoulder. “Here we go.”

She was breathing hard by the time she got him into the front hall. When they finally reached his bedroom he was leaning on her so heavily she was afraid she might go down beneath his weight. If that happened she would have to leave him on the floor for the night, she thought.

But he managed to make it as far as the bed. His eyes closed as soon as his head hit the pillow.

She took off his shoes and placed them neatly on the floor beside the bed. After briefly considering his blood-spattered pants, she elected not to remove them. He was asleep now and she did not want to disturb him anymore. Even an agent of the legendary firm of Jones & Jones probably needed a little rest after taking a bullet.

She checked the bandage one last time. There was no sign of increased bleeding.

Satisfied, she turned out the lamp beside the bed and went to the door.

“Clare?”

She paused and looked back at him. “Yes?”

“You’ll be here in the morning?”

“I’ll be here,” she said.

“Good.”

She stood there for a long time, watching him sleep. Her insides were still tied up in the ice-cold knot that had formed when she got the call from the emergency room.

She went into the kitchen and made a large pot of tea. When it was ready she filled a mug to the brim and went back down the hall to Jake’s bedroom.

He was sound asleep. She put her palm on his forehead and then on the bare skin around the bandages. Satisfied that he was not in the grip of a raging fever, she sat down in the reading chair near the window, put her feet up on the hassock and took a sip of tea.

She did a meditation on the moonlit night and prepared to wait for the coyotes of dawn.

She was in the kitchen whipping up eggs when she heard the sound of a car in the drive. Given that it was not yet eight o’clock in the morning, the arrival of a visitor did not bode well, she thought.

The news of the shooting incident was in the morning edition of theStone Canyon Herald lying on the table. By now most of the local residents had probably read it.

She set the bowl of beaten eggs in the refrigerator and went down the hall to open the door.

Elizabeth was on the front step. Unfortunately, she was not alone. Archer and Myra were with her.

“What the hell is going on here?” Archer demanded. “Paper says Jake was shot last night.”

“Is he all right?” Elizabeth asked anxiously. “I called the hospital but they said he hadn’t been admitted.”

“He’s here.” Clare stood back, holding the door. “Still asleep. Please keep your voices down.”

Myra was the first one into the hall. Her eyes were shadowed with accusation. “The paper says the police believe Jake may have been the victim of someone who was hunting out of season. Is that true?”

“Probably not,” Clare said.

Myra frowned. “What is that supposed to mean?”

“Long story,” Clare said.

“What about you?” Elizabeth said. “Are you all right? You look terrible.”

“Thanks.” Clare managed a wan smile. “One of the great things about having a sister. Total honesty.”

Myra gave her a second cursory glance. “You do look a little pale. What’s wrong?”

“Nothing major.” Clare closed the door. “I didn’t get much sleep last night, that’s all. Why don’t you come into the kitchen? I’ll make some coffee.”

She got Elizabeth, Myra and Archer seated at the kitchen table and went to the counter to make a pot of coffee.

“Let’s have it,” Archer said.

“I think someone tried to murder Jake yesterday.” Clare concentrated on spooning coffee into the filter. “Probably the same person who killed Valerie Shipley and Brad McAllister.”