Grace Interrupted (33 page)

“Point and shoot,” I said, keeping the gun trained on him. “Just like a camera.”

“That’s a semiautomatic,” he said conversationally, still moving—edging closer as he did so.

“Stand still,” I said.

“Why? Are you planning to shoot me? I sincerely doubt you will, Ms. Wheaton. You don’t have the stomach for it.”

“Don’t bet on it,” I said with far more nerve than I felt.

Still circling, he pointed to the gun. “You need to chamber a round before it will fire.”

I moved with him. “So?”

“Did you?”

I had no idea if Davey had chambered a round before he’d handed the gun to me. I assumed he had. I blustered, “Only one way to find out, isn’t there?”

Pierpont chanced a look back. I didn’t waver an inch.

I knew Frances would notice my absence the minute she returned to the group with the cops. With Pierpont missing, too, she’d be on our trail like a hound dog.

“It’s not going to be much longer,” I said.

“I agree with you, Ms. Wheaton. Not much longer. For me at least. But for you, it will be forever.”

Pierpont became a blur as he leapt at me, switchblade slashing. I ducked to my right, out of harm’s way, and pulled the trigger.

Nothing.

I didn’t know how I’d been knocked to the ground but I got up fast. My left forearm was suddenly scalding and wet, like I’d fallen against a searing hot stove. I still had the gun in my right hand, and although I willed my left arm to come up, it was reluctant to behave as ordered.

Pierpont, just as surprised as I was by the gun’s dry-fire, had backed away when I’d tried to shoot. He came at me again, screaming and hacking the air like a madman.

I took off running with him right behind me. “Help!” I screamed into the darkness, hoping someone would hear. Picking my feet up as I ran, I prayed to avoid any roots or stones that might cause me to stumble like women always did in slasher movies. “Help!” As I ran, blood—my blood—dripped down my arm, and landed on the front of my dress with heavy splatters I could feel. I managed to grasp the gun’s slide and, with enormous effort—my left arm screaming with delayed pain—pull it back until I felt the satisfying
chink
of a round being chambered.

I angled away, turning to face him. “It’s chambered now,” I said breathlessly. “Don’t move.”

He hesitated, looked back toward the camp, then back at me. We were close enough for me to see his wild expression. “This is my battlefield,” he said, inching closer, “but your blood.”

I backed away.

In the distance I thought I heard someone call my name. But all my attention was on the little man with the knife in his hand and hatred in his eyes.

“Don’t do it, Pierpont. Please.”

“You’ve taken my life. Now I will have yours.”

When he came at me again, I pulled the trigger, aiming center mass. A burst of fire shot from the barrel of the gun. The recoil sent my arm flying back. The noise made me scream.

I couldn’t see him, couldn’t hear anything, so I backed away, calling for help. I closed my eyes for a precious second to try to reestablish my night vision. “Help!” I shouted. Why was my voice so muffled?

When I opened my eyes, I saw Pierpont on the ground. He grasped his leg, writhing in pain. I backed away. “Here! Over here!”

Maybe I was shouting to no one. But I had to try.

Pierpont was up on all fours now, crawling toward the parking area, moving like a broken toy. I pulled my finger away from the trigger into the safe position, but kept the gun aimed at him as he wheezed and crept away. I stayed far enough behind to feel secure, hoping someone would come to my rescue. Pierpont turned and spoke to me. I couldn’t make out what he was saying. I couldn’t even read his lips.

I chanced a look back toward the camp. Someone was coming. Finally. From the looks of it, a lot of someones.

Pierpont saw them, too. Finally giving up, he turned onto his back, raised his hands to his face, and began to weep.

 

 

IT DIDN’T TAKE LONG FOR THE POLICE TO ASSUME control and call for another ambulance. With the cops arriving en masse with flashlights, it looked like we were about to be attacked by a giant swarm of lightning bugs. I couldn’t have been happier.

The medic—who was probably having the busiest night of his re-enactment life—tossed me a roll of bandages and began ministering to Pierpont.

I sat in the damp grass, attempting to roll the gauze around my arm. Not having much luck.

“How is Gordon?” I asked Rodriguez when he showed up.

“Mr. Embers is stable,” he said. “Where’s the gun?”

It was lying next to me on the grass. I pushed it toward him. He picked it up, removed the magazine, racked back the slide, and dumped the remaining round into his hand. “All better now,” he said.

Giving my bandaging efforts a scornful look, he pushed my right hand away and took control, proceeding to wrap my arm snugly and quickly with confident expertise.

“There you go,” he said. “But you better have that looked at as soon as possible. You’re going to need stitches.”

He was about to say more, when Tank strode over. “Weren’t you supposed to stay out of this one?” she asked.

“I tried to,” I said. “What are you doing here? I thought you’d be at the hospital with Gordon Embers.”

“He’s too weak to give an official statement yet, but he’s going to be okay. Guards are watching him round-the-clock.”

“You think that’s necessary?” I asked.

“Procedure.” She pointed at my arm. “Nice field dressing.”

“Thanks to Detective Rodriguez.”

He waved my comment away as an ambulance bounced over the grass, headlights glaring. I started to shield my eyes with both hands, thought better of it, and used only my right. One of the uniformed officers trotted over as the paramedics spilled out of the vehicle.

“It appears the victim sustained a gunshot wound to the thigh. The doctor here was able to staunch the blood loss, but his pressure’s dropping and he may go into shock.”

Tank nodded. “Thanks.”

Rodriguez patted my shoulder.

A shrill voice blared from the darkness. “Where is she?”

I turned toward the sound. “I’m over here, Frances.”

She made her way toward us, tolling bell dress gripped in both hands, held high as she gingerly chose her footing. Hennessey trailed behind her. “For heaven’s sake,” she said, “you could have at least told me you were planning to run off like that.”

“It was a surprise to me, too.”

She came close, inspected my bandaged arm and said, “You just can’t help getting into the middle of these things, can you?”

“I guess not.”

Frances sniffed, then turned to Hennessey. “Told you she’s nothing but trouble. She’s just lucky she has me to back her up.”

I laughed. “That I am, Frances. That I am.”

 

 

RODRIGUEZ ACCOMPANIED ME TO THE EMERGENCY room and stayed in the tiny examining area while I waited to be seen. “You want to talk about it?” he asked.

I found that I did. We sat behind a striped ceiling-mounted curtain that was pulled closed to provide privacy and I told him everything that had happened since I ran off to find the medic.

He nodded and took notes. “I know I don’t need to tell you not to talk to the media,” he said. “There’s already a bunch of reporters outside asking what new excitement Marshfield Manor is up to.”

I groaned. “We only have one local paper. How come the news media seems to expand whenever we have a crisis?”

“Human nature,” he said. “Know how we pull from other departments to arrange a task force? They must do the same thing. Cover the big stories that way. And not much happens around here.” He gave me a dire look. “Well not until recently, that is.”

“I guess.”

“Anybody I should call?” he asked.

“No, I’ll be going home soon enough. Can I hitch a ride with you?” I asked. “No need to get my roommates riled up.”

“You got it.”

“Why don’t you go get a cup of coffee or something, I think it’s going to be a while.”

He stood up, clearly relieved. “You want anything?”

“No thanks.”

“You sure? I’ve been here enough times. I can get the cafeteria ladies to whip you up something special.”

“I’m fine. You go ahead.”

Five minutes after he left, I was trying to make pictures out of the dots scattered across the ceiling tiles. I had just come up with two smileys and a cat’s face complete with whiskers when I heard, “Knock, knock.”

Jack?

“Come in,” I said.

He pushed the curtain aside, looking sheepish. “I didn’t know how else to get your attention. They said you were in here and I thought I should stop by. How’s your arm?”

“I’ll live,” I said, “and I’m hearing Pierpont will, too.”

Jack nodded, then stared at the ceiling. I wondered what pictures he saw up there. After a moment he said, “Wow. This is awkward.”

“Why don’t you sit for a minute?”

He took the rolling stool Rodriguez had vacated. “I don’t know where to begin.”

“How’s your dad?”

He bobbed his head. “Good. Stable. Should make a full recovery.” Jack’s eyes got suddenly shiny. “He’s got a lot ahead of him . . .”

“How’s Davey?”

“Okay, considering the rough night he’s had.” Then, as though hearing his own words, Jack amended, “What am I saying? He’s had it rough for a lot longer than that.” He blinked several times. “Calla’s here with her husband. She knows Dad had a heart attack. She doesn’t know the rest. Not yet. She thinks the guards outside his room are because he’s a retired cop.”

“Your family is strong. You’ll get through this.”

“I lived with them my whole life and I never suspected,” he said. “How did you know?”

I had no answer.

He was silent for a long time. “Thank you for all you did for Davey. I just wish . . .”

More silence. I couldn’t stand it anymore.

“I understand,” I said. “Now, why don’t you get back to your dad? I’m sure he needs his family close by.”

“Yeah.” At the curtain, he turned back. “I know we just went out on one date, but I think it may be a while before I’m ready to go out again.”

“I get it, Jack. Take your time.”

“Thanks, Grace.”

The doctor arrived a few minutes later. She examined my wound, asked me about my last tetanus shot, made small talk, and with crisp efficiency, left me with a neat line of fourteen stitches. “Should heal up nicely,” she said, and handed me a sheet of instructions for at-home care. “You got lucky. It wasn’t deep.”

When she left, I pondered her words. I
had
gotten lucky. Again. I hoped this was the last time I’d have to depend on good luck to survive.

Rodriguez returned with Tank in tow. “They say you’re ready to go,” Tank said.

“Can’t wait to get out of here.”

Rodriguez gave me a sorrowful look. “One problem,” he said as I lowered my feet to the floor, “about that ride.”

My heart sank. “You can’t drive me?”

“Somebody else muscled me out.”

I knew he wasn’t talking about Jack. Please don’t let it be Tooney. “Who?” I asked.

Bennett walked into the curtained area, concern narrowing his eyes. “Are you all right?”

“I’m fine,” I said, enormously cheered to see him. “Good as new.”

“Terrence briefed me,” he said. “Gracie, you have to be more careful.”

“I thought I was.”

Tank cleared her throat. “Not Grace’s fault, Mr. Marshfield. She kept us updated at every step. This shouldn’t have happened. But it did. She’s a tough cookie, this one.”

I blushed. “Nice to know you don’t think I messed you guys up.”

Rodriguez held open the curtain for me. “Not this time, kiddo.”

 

 

“ARE YOU ABLE TO WALK?” BENNETT ASKED. “Do you want to hold onto my arm?”

I was perfectly capable of making my way to the hospital’s front door, but Bennett seemed so earnest, his eyes bright with worry, that I couldn’t refuse. “Thanks,” I said, tucking my hand into his elbow.

He straightened and smiled. “Good. Nice to see you safe and sound, Gracie. When Terrence came to tell me, I was out of my mind with worry.”

“I didn’t mean to get into trouble this time. In fact, I believed I was steering clear.”

“You need to try harder.”

Outside, the night was crisp and breezy. “Beautiful,” I said as I drew in a deep breath of damp, cool air.

“Only because you’re still with us.” Bennett placed a hand over mine and said, “I was very concerned about you.”

I didn’t know what to say, but Bennett didn’t seem to need an answer. “Grant will be here any moment,” he said.

He wasn’t kidding. Less than a minute later, Grant drove up. That in itself wasn’t surprising, as Bennett rarely drove himself anymore. What was surprising was
what
he was driving.

“The Packard?” I asked.

Bennett was grinning, clearly pleased to have surprised me. “Nothing but the best to take you home in style.”

Grant stopped the car in front of us, got out, and handed us into the huge vehicle’s rear seat. “Would you like the top up, miss?” Grant asked.

I looked up at the moon. “No, this is perfect, thank you.”

Bennett sat next to me. I was on the driver’s side with Bennett to my right. I wanted to put my left arm out to catch the wind as we drove, but after getting fourteen stitches, that wasn’t a viable plan. Even though I knew Grant wouldn’t be able to hear a word we said if we talked, Bennett and I were silent for the first mile or so. His mention of taking me “home” made me wonder if he planned to take me to my house, or if he hoped I’d spend some time at Marshfield under his watchful eye and that of his staff. I’d spent one night there once before and although it was glorious being waited on hand and foot, I really wanted to be in my own house tonight.