Elaine Orr - Jolie Gentil 03 - When the Carny Comes to Town (5 page)

She nodded.  “I thought that, too.”

“Did you hear who found him?”

She shook her head.  There was a cough from the area near the entrance to the small waiting room, and we looked up to see Dana Johnson.  She was out of uniform, and it took a second to recognize her in a pretty knit top and jeans.

“They’re telling people at the desk downstairs that they can’t come up, but I figured one of you would be here,” she said.

Ramona gestured to a chair and she sat, while we looked at her expectantly.

“Can’t tell you too much more…” she began.

“Because you don’t know or you won’t?”  I asked.

Ramona said, “Jolie…”

Dana gave a half grimace, half smile.  “Now I see what Sgt. Morehouse means about you being more than a bit pushy.”

“I’m sorry,” I said.  “Really.”  And I was.

“Tough day,” she said, evenly.  “No one saw anything or will say so if they did.  He’s just really lucky someone found him and called it in.” 

“Who…?”  Ramona began.

“Don’t know,” Dana said.  “Just a calm male voice, nothing distinctive.  Didn’t sound particularly old or young.”  She paused.  “One of the guys even thinks it might even be a woman with a raspy voice.”

“As long as they didn’t do it I guess it doesn’t matter who they were,” Ramona said.

“Sometimes people saw more than what they think they did, so we’d like to talk to him.  It was an out-of -state cell number, so it could take just a bit longer to figure out who called, or at least who owns the phone.”

Dana said she had mostly come to check on Scoobie and left after a couple minutes.  Ramona stayed another hour and I insisted she leave.  Sunday is her only guaranteed day off and I figured she should at least get a good night’s sleep Saturday night if she planned to be here a lot on Sunday, which she would. 

I didn’t think I would sleep, but when I saw Scoobie about ten o’clock I was falling asleep on my feet.  A very nice nursing assistant pulled a patient recliner into a corner in a hallway near Scoobie’s small room.  There were more people in the intensive care waiting area and they were acting more like it was a party room than a place to keep a vigil for their friend who was hurt in a car accident.

“Always are busy up here on a Saturday night,” he said.

I thanked him, and he told me since I wasn’t being “too big a pain” the staff had decided I could be closer to Scoobie during the night. 

As I fell into a restless sleep I thought Sgt. Morehouse would be surprised to hear I wasn’t such a big pain.

CHAPTER FIVE

I WENT HOME TO SHOWER when Aunt Madge got to the hospital about eight-thirty Sunday morning.  She said she explained to her B&B guests that they would be on their own for seconds on muffins and coffee so she could get to the hospital, and they were very understanding. 

It felt odd to be driving through town.  At first it felt as if life was real at the hospital and a mirage out here.  When I pulled into the driveway I saw all the guests’ cars were still there, so I stuck my tousled head into the dining area.  There was one man still reading the paper, but he said he didn’t need anything.

My room is in the part of the B&B that Aunt Madge rents out least, and it’s usually only Jazz and me who inhabit that area.  Today the room next to mine was in use and its occupants shared the jack-and-jill bathroom with me.  I knocked softly, and when no one answered raised my voice to ask if it was okay if I took a shower.  A woman’s voice said they were done using the bathroom.

Jazz was very irritated at having been left alone so much, and I couldn’t blame her.  She walked along the edge of the tub when I showered and tried to get in the medicine cabinet every time I opened it, both things she knows annoy the daylights out of me.  You’d think she had a degree in the psychology of irritation. 

I carried my hair dryer downstairs to use in the small bathroom off the great room.  This is not my usual practice, but I thought I should be where I could hear guests if they called.  The dogs were glad to be let in from Aunt Madge’s small yard, and Mr. Rogers barked once at Jazz when he could tell she was planning to jump on his back. 

“Hey,” I said to him, and he managed to look chagrined, for a dog.  Even the dogs know something’s wrong.

My cup of coffee cooled as I called Harry.  “Thought I’d check in real fast,” I said, not bothering to identify myself.  I hoped he’d volunteer to finish writing up the appraisal I’d done yesterday morning, but I also wanted to let him know I was okay.  Harry’s really good to me.

“Jolie, good,” Harry said.  “Madge just called to let me know Scoobie was still doing well.  I’m glad to hear your voice.”

Doing well?
  Of course, even though he’s ten years younger than Aunt Madge he’s still in the age group where friends kick the bucket every few weeks, so if that’s your perspective I guess Scoobie was doing well. 

“The nurses said he had a good night, whatever that means to them.”  I thought for a second.  “One of them said they might reduce his sedation today or tomorrow.”

“Good, good.  I don’t want you to think about work until Scoobie’s doing a bit better.”

As if.
  “Thanks.  Listen, I have a favor to ask.”  The idea hadn’t really formulated until I heard Harry’s voice.  “Are you going over to the carnival later today?”

There was a two second pause before Harry said, “Jolie…”

Harry’s worse than Aunt Madge about thinking I’m a busybody.  They can’t seem to figure the difference between curiosity and caring.  “Honest, it’s an easy thing.  I know you have a digital camera for the appraisals.” 

“And…” he said, letting the word hang there.

“There’s this guy Scoobie gave the evil eye to.  I want you to take his picture.”

“Surely you told the police about him.  You need to leave this one totally to them, Jolie.”

I kept the irritation from my tone.  I wanted to stay with Scoobie, not go to the carnival, and Harry was my friend, not just a boss.  “I did, but I want a picture for me, and I know Morehouse won’t share.  I can describe the guy, and tell you maybe where he’ll be working.” 

“No!”  Harry stopped for a couple seconds, and then continued.  “Do you know how distraught Madge would be if you got hurt?  Hurt again,” he said.

“Okay, I hear you.”  In the minute before we got off the phone I mentally rearranged my day.  I would go back to the hospital and hope I could talk Ramona into going to the carnival to take pictures.  She could use my car.  I rummaged in Aunt Madge’s junk drawer to see if there were any extra batteries I could use if the ones in my camera died.

AUNT MADGE WOULD WANT to go to First Prez at ten-thirty, so I didn’t take more time at home than I absolutely needed to get presentable.  I knew she would stay with Scoobie instead of going to church, but I figured she could use the comfort of Reverend Jamison and her friends.  And maybe she could do some rumor control.

I put my camera and extra batteries at the bottom of a small canvas shoulder bag in which I also stowed a couple books and a clean pair of underwear.  For good measure I threw in an apple and a couple muffins left over from breakfast, rationalizing that Aunt Madge wouldn’t want them to go to waste.  She makes them fresh every day.

The dogs went out again with no complaint, but Jazz was a different matter.  She’s really fast.  After ten minutes of running up and down the back stairway and around Aunt Madge’s sofa, I gave up and made sure the door to my room and its closet — where Jazz’s litter box was stowed since I was sharing the bathroom for the weekend — were open. 

She sat on the bottom step looking at me, poised to run again.  “If Aunt Madge comes home and finds you on the sofa, you’re toast.”  She yawned and settled herself against the step above the one she was sitting on.

Traffic around town was heavier than on a normal Sunday, likely because a lot of people were back for the carnival.  I still made it back to the hospital by ten fifteen.  Aunt Madge looked up, surprised.  “I thought you’d take a longer break.”

I shrugged.  “Say hello to Lance for me.”  I sank into one of the uncomfortable waiting room chairs, glad that the group from last night had finally left.

She stood and picked up her purse.  “I was in there for fifteen minutes last time.  I think they’re going to be more relaxed about us being in there today.”  She shook her head slightly.  “I can’t see any difference, but the nurse said he mostly had a good night.”

I’d heard the same thing, so I merely kissed her cheek.  “You’re the best.”

She studied me for a second.  “You’re up to something.”

I laughed, and realized it was the first time I’d done that since we’d heard about Scoobie.  “Maybe you can pray for a less suspicious attitude.”

“I’ll come back for a bit after church and then go to Cozy Corner.”  She gave me one more of her appraising looks before she left.

It wasn’t a lie, really.  Aunt Madge and I have very different definitions of ‘up to something.’

THE NEXT TIME I SAW SCOOBIE I thought he looked calmer, somehow.  Not that a sedated person looked too stressed, but something seemed different.  I asked the nurse about it.

“We’ve changed his pain meds a couple times, trying to get the best dosage to keep him comfortable but not too doped up.  I think we found the right mix.”  She tucked a folded towel under Scoobie’s shoulder.

“What’s that for?”

“We don’t want to roll him around a lot, but we want to change his pressure points.”  She glanced at my puzzled stare.  “If he lies in one spot to long he could get pressure sores, but we don’t want to move his spine too much.”

“Can you tell me more about his back injuries?”  I asked.

“The doctor could tell you more.”

“I don’t know when I’ll see him.  Or is it a her?”

“The orthopedist is a woman, Dr. Cahill,” she said.

“Are you allowed to tell me anything?” I asked.

She ignored my snippy tone.  “Sure.  It could be a lot worse, actually.  He compressed T-3, which is about here.”  She pointed to a spot maybe five inches below her neck, “and C-3, which is in the neck.  You know what that means, right?”

“I’ve heard the term, but I guess I don’t know the significance of it.”  Plus I’d heard lots of terms the last 24 hours.  I thought I remembered crushed and compressed most often.

She nodded.  “A vertebra on someone Adam’s size is maybe an inch tall.  You want it to stay the same size, not get crunched, obviously.  But,” she adjusted his pillow, “If you do put enough pressure on it to compress it some, your spine can adjust.  It’s important to stabilize it, usually by wearing a brace for awhile.” 

I thought about this for a moment.  “And if it doesn’t stabilize?”

“There are so many things that can be done now besides the major surgery, you know, the kind with pins and all that.”

I must have looked relieved, because she smiled slightly.  “They can even insert kind of a gel, which hardens, to keep it from compressing more.”

While it didn’t sound like fun, gel sounded a lot better than having pins in your spine.  “Thanks for the generic explanation.”

“Dr. Cahill can tell you more specifics.”  She hesitated.  “You are family, right?”

“As far as I know he has none.  I’m his best friend.”  Best friend.  Yep, that’s me. 

She nodded and left the room.  There was a plastic chair a few feet from the bed and I pulled it close enough that I could sit next to the bed and put a hand on Scoobie’s arm.  I realized his arm felt really cold and wondered if I could put it under the sheet.  I studied the IV line and decided to just pull the cotton blanket higher, so it covered each arm better.

“I’m here, Scoobie,” I whispered.  “Nobody can hurt you here.” 

Was that a tiny smile?  It couldn’t be!

I studied him a couple seconds.  “Okay, maybe they’ll stick you with needles, but they won’t push you down any steps.” 

Nothing, no tiny smile or any other sign he’d heard me.  I sat looking at him until the nurse came to the doorway.  “Probably time to give him a rest.”

USUALLY RAMONA IS MORE REASONABLE.  I had tried to get her to take the camera and look for the guy at the carnival, but she wouldn’t.

“Are you insane?”  She actually whispered in a hiss.

I lowered my voice even more.  The parents of the kid who had been in a car accident last night were sitting on the other side of the room.  “You know Morehouse.  He may show us a picture but he won’t give us one.  I’m not going to keep the guy’s face in my mind forever.”

“And you want to hold that thought?”

“Well,” I needed a good reason here.  “What if he comes back?  We need to be sure what he looks like so we can call Morehouse.”

She thought about that for a moment.  “That’s not why you really want the picture.”  She gave a half sigh.  “I don’t want to go, but you go and I’ll stay here.”

THE HOSPITAL is at the far north side of Ocean Alley, less than a quarter-mile from the carnival.  I tried to hold back tears, thinking about this time yesterday. 
What could we have done differently?  What if Ramona and I had looked for him as we were leaving?
  These were the kinds of questions I’d been pushing to a dark corner of my mind since yesterday.  With the initial panic subsiding they were demanding to be heard.