Citizen Insane (A Barbara Marr Murder Mystery #2) (22 page)

THANKFULLY, I DIDN’T KILL WALDOANITA. For a few moments I thought I had, and while I was thrilled to have saved Howard and Bunny, killing someone would have been just too much to bear. The bullet did some major damage though, so she was carried up to the roof on a stretcher and flown to the County Hospital in a medevac.

They didn’t waste any time transporting the rest of us to the closer, more comfortable hallways of Rustic Woods Hospital. After the first shot, when my vision tunneled, I didn’t get to see Bunny pushing away from Anita who then lost control of the gun in her right hand. Anita, being quicker than we gave her credit for, had grabbed Howard by the ankle with her left hand, pulled him off balance then managed to regain her own footing and handgun at the same time. I was probably seconds away from becoming the Widow Marr.

I wasn’t hurt, but rode with Howard in the ambulance. He had a nasty gash on the back of his head from the fall. “I love you, I love you, I love you, I love you,” I said, planting kisses on his lips, cheeks, nose, and forehead. If it was kissable, I kissed it.

“Gee,” he said with a weak smile, “I think you love me.”

“Say it back.”

“It back.”

I swatted him playfully. “That blow to your head didn’t harm the bad joke region of your brain, did it? Come on. Say it.”

“I love you.”

“That’s better.” I held his hand and we were quiet for the rest of the ride.

In the ER, a nurse who had been on duty the previous evening recognized me.

“Weren’t you here last night?” She peered at me over a pair of half-eye glasses.

“Was it only last night? Feels like a year ago.”

She looked me up and down. “What angry tornado swallowed you up and spit you back out again?”

It was the first time I actually surveyed my own body since the explosion. Cuts and bruises dotted my arms and I didn’t even want to see what my face and hair looked like.

“No tornado,” I said, “just a wayward hand grenade. Those suckers pack a punch, I’ll tell you.”

She didn’t smile but she did blink once or twice before shaking her head and pulling me over to a chair. “Sit. Let’s clean you up a little.” She disappeared, and a few minutes later a small, shy nurse’s assistant came by with cotton balls, anti-bacterial wash, and band-aids. Sadly, she didn’t have a brush or a magic wand to help with the hair, but at least I was less likely to die of a staph infection.

After the nurse left me looking like a walking ad for Johnson and Johnson, I stood up to see where they had taken everyone.

Someone called from behind the curtain next to me. “Barb?”

I peeked around to find Bunny on a bed, smiling. “Hi!” She even gave a little wave. How Bunny of her. She had already been seen by a surgeon and would be wheeled in as soon as the room was ready.

“I’m so sorry.” I tried to be strong, but that didn’t go so well. I cried.

This time she was the one handing out tissues. “It’s okay. It was my idea, remember?”

I nodded, not convinced.

“The surgeon says you were a terrible shot. The bullet just grazed my foot. I broke my ankle and tore a ligament in the fall.”

“You were so brave. I don’t think I would have done what you did.” It was the truth. Bunny Bergen was my new heroine. I’d never say a bad word about her again and I’d make up for all of the times I had in the past.

“We were both brave.”

“And I’m sorry I talked about you behind your back and said those things about your boobs.”

“Hey, as I see it, that’s a compliment, right?” She smiled then closed her eyes. The nurse said they’d given her an oral sedative to prepare her for surgery and that I should leave her be. So I touched her arm and said a prayer, then went looking for my two favorite men, Howard and Colt.

Wouldn’t you know they were right next to each other in the trauma room and no one had pulled a curtain to give them privacy. Roomies again. Neither seemed to mind, although I found it a little awkward. Howard’s gash had already been stitched and he was waiting to see if they were going to keep him overnight for observation.

Colt’s leg faired beautifully—it was swollen and bruised but not broken. His foot was another issue, however. He was waiting for an orthopedic surgeon to survey the damage and give his opinion.

I sat between them ready to chat for a few minutes before heading out to my mother’s. It was too late to take the girls back home, but I just wanted to see them, even if they were asleep.

“So,” I said to Howard. “Bunny tells me that she knows you love me very much, but she won’t tell me how she knows this. You wanna fess up, fella?”

“Yeah, How ol’ boy,” Colt said, wincing as he moved a bit in his bed. “Do tell.”

Howard looked at me warily. “Did she tell you anything?”

I shook my head. “But with this relationship you two seem to have, not to mention the woman at Fiorenza’s . . . well, as Ricky Ricardo says, ‘You got some ‘splainin’ to do.’”

“Do we have to do this here?”

“I’m cramping your style,” Colt said. “Nurse!” he yelled. “Can someone move me out of here so these two lovebirds can do their thing in private?”

Just then a very young and attractive female doctor threw back the curtain. “Who’s making all of the noise here and where is Howard Marr?”

“I’m Howard - the one making all of the noise,” said Colt.

Howard rolled his eyes. I could see Colt was getting to him.

I slapped Colt’s hand. “Act your age or they’ll send in a pediatrician instead of an orthopedist. This handsome, mature man is my husband, Howard Marr.”

The doctor smiled at Colt, but moved very professionally to Howard and started doing her whole doctor routine. She asked a few questions, checked his reflexes and looked in his eyes. She scribbled on her clipboard then said, “I’m admitting you for the night. I want you here for observation, Mr. Marr.”

I sighed, sad that I wouldn’t have him home for the night. I was looking forward to taking care of him. “Do you want me to stay until they get you in your room?”

He just shook his head and closed his eyes. I thought of pressing him to talk a little more, but wondered if he just didn’t feel well. So I kissed his forehead and went to leave.

Colt, still playful, couldn’t let me leave without a tease. “Don’t I get a kiss too?” I laughed and was about to respond when Howard cut me off.

“Don’t you two ever stop? Do you see that I’m here?”

Uh oh. Amber’s words came flooding back. “I think Daddy only pretends to like Colt,” and “Maybe ‘cuz you hug Colt a lot.”

“Howard—”

“Barb, would you just go please.”

“But—”

He closed his eyes and shut me out. Two attendants came and wheeled Colt to a different trauma room where the surgeon would look at his foot. I couldn’t even look at him when they did. I could only think that maybe it had been me the whole time. Me that had hurt my marriage. I cried in the cab all the way to my mother’s. Did I want to see my mother? No. But I really wanted to see the girls, so I had no alternative. It was late—1:30 in the morning—but she had waited up and opened the door after my first light knock.

“Mom,” I said before she could open her mouth. “It’s been a LONG day and a lot of awful, awful things have happened to me and to people I love. I’ll tell you another time but I DO NOT want to talk right now. I just want to see the girls. Promise me you won’t ask any questions?”

She stared me down in that way that makes me feel like I’m a three year old caught dipping a finger into the freshly frosted cake. I was gearing up for a fight, but her face softened and she nodded her agreement.

She had put Amber on her couch in the den and Bethany and Callie in the two single beds in her second bedroom. I visited each, kissed their foreheads and felt their warm breaths on my face. It was the medicine I needed. Knowing they were safe, feeling their energy near me. Those are the moments I treasure in all of life—the moments when the love for my children fills me completely. I can’t imagine there is any greater power in the entire world—or the entire universe even—than the power of that love.

So when I found my mother in the kitchen putting Oreos on a plate next to a cold glass of milk, I realized that she knew it, too. She sat quietly with me while I dipped Oreos into the milk and cried in between yummy bites. When I was done, she suggested I stay rather than go home. It would be good for the girls to see me when they woke up.

“Where will I sleep?”

“In my bed—you did it all the time when you were a little girl.” Of course, that seemed so long ago, but it was true. When my dad went on business trips, she and I would climb into their big king sized bed and curl up together. She had a way of making me feel safe. Sometimes, when my mother’s antics irritated me, I forgot how much I loved her.

“Okay,” I said, “but no spooning.”

“Barbara—don’t be a silly goose.”

Chapter Twenty-Two

SOMEHOW WE ALL MADE IT through the rest of the week. Roz and Peggy, it turned out, had been escorted home by FBI agents after a not-so-brief debriefing. Peggy was enjoying the limelight and had exciting tales to tell of their abduction by master of disguise Waldo Fuchs/Anita Abernathy, Shashi the crossing guard, aka Marilyn Schmutz the bank robber, and Krystle Jennings the yearbook killer, aka KiKi Urbanowski the cop shooter. Roz, on the other hand found no joy or excitement in any of it and vowed to move from Northern Virginia altogether. She’d had enough of Mafia and FBI’s Most Wanted living in her backyard. Peter wasn’t convinced, but Roz didn’t care. She told him to march right into his office and demand a transfer—out of the country if he had to. I was sad. Roz was my best friend, so I just hoped and prayed that she would settle down once Rustic Woods stopped buzzing over the whole affair.

“It’s like one of those towns in those ridiculous mystery books—murders every week and the same person has to solve all of the crimes,” she ranted once after three glasses of wine. “We’ve become characters in a silly mystery book.”

Peggy laughed. “I know, isn’t it great? I’ve taken detailed notes of everything that happened so I can use it for my writing class.”

Roz frowned. I’m pretty sure that’s one book she wouldn’t be reading.

Frankie was pleased that he had finally made amends in a big way, especially to Roz. And Karma rewarded him nicely. In the form of thirty-thousand dollars—the reward money that the FBI offered for the tip that led to the apprehension of the long-disappeared, but not forgotten Dynasty Dames bank robbers from Wembsley Women’s College. He didn’t feel right taking it though, and instead, gave the entire sum to the Alexander family to help defray doctor and hospital fees.

As for Michelle, she came out of her coma and was eventually moved out of the ICU. It turned out Lance was never a suspect in her murder, at all. The story had been fabricated in hopes the real shooter would come out of the woodwork and make a mistake. The police had been assisting the FBI who figured Michelle must have been the anonymous caller a week earlier, tipping them to Krystle Jennings’ true identity. And of course, who had been working the case? Howard. If he’d only told me, I could have saved us all a lot of time and pain.

When Howard was released the next day from the hospital, I told him in no uncertain terms that I wanted him to come back home. It was time to fix our marriage. I needed him and the girls needed him.

His answer was lukewarm at best. “I’ll think about it.”

“What does that mean?” I asked, as I drove him to his condo.

“It means . . . I will think about the idea of moving back home.” He looked out the window. “KiKi Urbanowski and Marilyn Schmutz are both alive, did you hear?”

“There’s a way to change the subject.” I actually had been curious though. “You know Marilyn helped us. Things could have ended badly if she hadn’t.”

“Can’t make guarantees. No deal was made.”

“She’s a good person, Howard.”

“It’s out of my hands, Barb.”

“I did this, didn’t I?”

“What are you talking about?”

“Our marriage. It’s my friendship with Colt, isn’t it? I’ll end it. I’ll tell him to cool things. Stay away. No more learning to shoot a gun. No more tutoring in private investigation. I promise.”