The Fame Equation (27 page)

Jon went through the next set of events, step by step. “A patrol officer and an ambulance arrived, as did a fire truck. Someone had one of those lock jimmies that you slide down inside the window and that unlocked the truck door.”

Jon said I arrived here about six-thirty in the evening, an hour after I left the riding center. Martin was having dinner with Mama Giles, but Mavis, the dispatcher, called him, as she knew he was working the Melody Cross case, and that I was involved.

Martin called Jon and asked him to meet me at the medical center, and Jon left the farm as soon as Darcy got back to stay with Bubba.

“You’ve been here all night?” I asked.

“I have.”

The last time I had stayed overnight here, Brent sat with me. That was the first time I had met him.

“Brent?” I asked.

Jon’s eyes clouded. “Busy with pet emergencies.”

I wondered about the look in Jon’s eyes, but did not have the brainpower to figure out what it meant.

Just then Martin stepped into the room.

“You’re awake,” he said, stating the obvious. “Can’t tell you the scare you gave us.”

“Sorry.”

“Not your fault,” he said. “Jon fill you in on what happened?”

I nodded.

“As you know,” he said with a nod toward Jon, “I had the truck towed. We looked it over pretty close. Your truck is in good shape, includin’ your muffler and exhaust––except for the holes someone drilled into them, and into the floor of the vehicle.”

The look I gave him must have been blank because his next words were, “Miz Cat, we’re treatin’ this as an attempted murder. Someone tried to kill you.”

After Martin told us his news, I must have looked a bit green about the gills so he called in a nurse. Soon, medical professionals surrounded me, and Jon and Martin were hustled out of the room.

After determining that my needs were not urgent, all of them left, with the exception of a short, thin doctor who looked to be about Darcy’s age.

“You’re doing well,” he said, looking at my chart. I’d give my eyeteeth to read my chart. Doctors and nurses were always so secretive about it. I bet they wrote things like “eyes too close together, possum dung must be smarter,” or “has dirty fingernails.”

“You might not remember,” he said, “but when you came in we pulled blood, found your carbon monoxide, your CO levels, were too high, and started you on oxygen. That’s what’s flowing into your nose through the tube there.”

I reached up to my face discover, for the first time, that yes indeedy, I had a tube up my nose.

“Then we took you in for a CT scan, and also ran some tests on your heart. Everything was normal by the way. Whatever confusion you still have should go away over the next few days.”

Good to know, I thought.

“We’ll keep you another night and if your vitals are still good in the morning, you can go home. Reduced activity for you for the next ten days or so, of course.”

Of course.

As soon as the doc left, a nurse rolled a cart in with some yummy yellow Jell-o, a paper cup of Sprite, and some vanilla pudding. If I hadn’t been ravenous I would have sent it all back to the chef.

Lunch dispensed with, I settled back in for another nap. I assumed Jon and Martin had been shunted off somewhere and been told to leave me alone so I could rest. But maybe not, because the next person through my door was Ruthie Cosgrove. She peered around the gray metal door frame first, before she entered, as if afraid of what she might find.

“You’re awake!” she said, startled.

“So I’ve been told.”

“The girl at the front desk said you might be sleeping.”

“That was the plan,” I said, “but people keep coming in to check on me.”

“You are so blessed to have such a strong support system. Many people don’t have that.”

I supposed that she was right. I
was
fortunate to have my close-knit little family of friends.

“I heard about your incident after our service this morning and thought I’d stop by,” she said. “One, your car trouble came after you left us yesterday, and I always feel responsible for making sure all of our people make it home safely. Maybe that’s the mother hen coming out in me. I don’t have children, but I try to take care of my little flock as if each of them were mine.”

Ruthie drifted in and out of focus. I hoped it was an after affect of the carbon monoxide poisoning, and not that Ruthie was turning into a shape shifter like in some of Bubba’s comic books.

Something I did must have given Ruthie encouragement, because she continued on. “You were also such a dear friend of Melody’s and she shared with me that you don’t have a church home of your own, so I thought I’d fill in, for now.”

“I sometimes go to . . .” darn, what was the name of that church? “St. Martha’s. I sometimes go to St. Martha’s, the Catholic church here in Ashland City. I travel a lot on Sundays,” I said. My words were true, but sounded lame, even to me. The truth was, I was a person who preferred to keep her spiritual beliefs private.

“Well. I’m glad you are doing better. You know how to reach me if you need anything, anything at all. The Holy Church of the Mighty Happy is always ready to help a friend.”

Before she left, Ruthie took my hands in hers and prayed. Usually that kind of thing made me feel uncomfortable, but today it was soothing. By the time she left, I was glad she had come.

My cozy hospital bed was getting harder by the minute, so I shifted around and punched my thin pillows into submission. Then I closed my eyes for all of two seconds before the phone on my bedside table rang. My hand reached out and brought the phone to my ear. Immediately I regretted the action.

“Oh, my dear Cat. You are hospitalized!” Agnes never needed to announce herself; the emotion that she sent through the phone was enough.

“I’m going to be fine, though, Agnes. I appreciate you calling.” I thought maybe she’d take the hint and hang up, but no such luck.

“My goodness, I just know you weren’t wearing your trench coat, were you, dear?”

“Ah, no.”

When I had been on the hunt for Glenda Dupree’s killer, Agnes was concerned that I wasn’t dressing the part, so she had a black trench coat delivered to me. Since then she had come to believe the coat had supernatural protective powers. But who am I to say that it didn’t? Maybe if I had worn the coat I would be home safe and sound right now, instead of lying here with a tube up my nose.

“I’m sorry, Agnes, I wasn’t wearing the coat––but I should have been.”

“I know, dear. Now, what can I send you that will be helpful? You have some sleep masks with Sally Blue’s name and logo on them, don’t you?” She continued without giving me a chance to answer. “I know, something to keep you safe. How about a set of golf clubs? I can send you Ira’s. You could easily whack––”

“No! No, Agnes. Thank you, but no golf clubs. A club might . . .” I had to think. “Swinging a club might scare the horses.”

“You are right, just as always, dearest Cat. Oh, I know! I’ve got it! Night vision goggles. Those will help keep you safe. If someone comes upon you in the darkness you will be ready for them.”

I wasn’t so sure about that, but I thought I could use them to spot coyotes in the pasture at night.

“Thanks, Agnes. I can use the night vision goggles.”

“Good, now I have to get off the phone so Lars can show me how to order them online. Bye now, dear. Rest well.”

When I hung up I realized that the only thing worse than having Agnes call, was not having Agnes call. I really did love her and deep down would be disappointed if she didn’t make such a fuss. Golf clubs and night vision goggles. It almost made living through a murder attempt worth it.

Before I could resume my untaken nap, a nurse showed up with a big spray of balloons from Annie, Tony, and Mickey Zinner. She tied them onto the end of my bed, next to the chart that I couldn’t read. Then Doc Williams, Bob’s owner, stepped into the room. Doc was an orthopedic surgeon who had patched me up a number of times in exchange for training fees. I’m not sure how his office handled that with all the insurance paperwork these days, but that was his worry, not mine.

After Doc left, Darcy called. I could tell that she was filled with worry––and not just for me.

“We haven’t heard at all from Hill Henley. And Bubba’s upset and I don’t have a clue what to tell him,” she said, her bubblegum snapping through the phone. I wondered what color she was chewing today.

“Tell Bubba that if his dad doesn’t show up tomorrow Jon and I will make some calls. Also, be sure to tell him that he is welcome to stay as long as he needs to.”

“Okay,” she said. “And Cat? I was so scared last night when I couldn’t, like, get you out of the truck. Jon says you’re going to be okay. Is that true? Are you, really?”

“I am, really,” I said. “I just need some rest. Why don’t you and Bubba order a pizza for tonight? There’s some cash in the upper desk drawer.”

“Jon’s cooking something,” Darcy said. “Something . . . green-ish,” I could hear the “ick” factor in her voice.

“Save some for me,” I said. “I’ll be home in the morning. When you see Jon, tell him I’ll call him to pick me up when I’ve been discharged.”

The farm was less than ten minutes away. Jon could be here in a flash.

By this time I could hear the rattling of dinner trays and knew my afternoon nap would never happen. The only person I had left to hear from was Brent, and he had been ominously silent. I debated calling him, but decided to wait.

Someone eventually brought in a tray with some passable chicken noodle soup, pink Jell-o, orange juice, and more vanilla pudding. I ate every bit of it then drifted off to a troubled sleep where I had a vivid dream that Sally Blue was diligently swimming upstream against a strong current.

B
Y MORNING
I
HAD BEEN
cleared to go home, along with strict instructions to take it easy. Odd neurological problems could develop at any moment I was told. I nodded my understanding, and then ignored the advice.

I still had not wrapped my brain around the fact that someone had tried to kill me––and nearly succeeded. If Darcy had not been following me I could have inhaled much more of the tainted air and either died or become permanently brain damaged. Or, I shuddered, another vehicle could have come up from behind and slammed into me. Then someone else would have gotten hurt, too. The buddy system had really worked.

“Do the police still have my truck?” I asked after Jon picked me up in his old sedan.

“They do,” he said.

“Would you call Martin and tell him to have the shop put a new muffler or exhaust system on it? Whatever it takes to make it safe again. Then I want to sell it. I never want to drive that truck again.”

The strength of my feeling surprised me, as I had loved my old green truck. We had spent many a happy mile together.

“I’ll start looking for a new truck today,” I said. It felt good to have a plan. “I can make payments until Melody’s estate money comes in. Besides, without a truck we can’t haul the trailer or pick up feed or lumber.”

Jon smiled.

“What?” I asked.

“You sound great, that’s all. That makes me smile.”

“It makes me smile, too,” I said, wondering again at Jon’s recent willingness to share his feelings.

We turned into the drive just as Jon’s phone chimed. He looked at the screen, frowned, then put the phone in his pocket.

“All right. Time to come clean,” I said, wondering how I felt about Jon having a girlfriend. He had lived such a monastic life since moving into my barn several years ago. Something was up and I wanted to find out who and what it was.

“Come clean about what?” he asked. His dark eyes looked puzzled.

“The phone calls. The secret smiles. The frown you gave just now when you didn’t answer,” I said. “What is all that about?”

By this time his car was stopped near my kitchen door. Jon bit his lip as he struggled with something inside his head. When he unbuckled his seatbelt he said, “I have to return a call. There’s hot chocolate and split pea-sweet potato soup on the stove. In separate pots,” he added after taking a look at the horror on my face. “Fill a mug and a soup bowl and find some place comfortable. I’ll be back in a few.”

When Jon and Hank came back fifteen minutes later, I had folded myself into a rocking chair on the porch, and was looking at Sally and Ringo in the front pasture. There was nothing more peaceful than watching horses graze. It was another sunny November day, and I was quite comfortable with Agnes’s black trench coat wrapped around me.

Hank lay down with a new stick next to me, and Jon pulled up another rocking chair and placed it in front of me. I was going to complain that he had blocked my view, but his earnest expression stopped my mouth from opening. Whatever this was, it was going to be interesting.

Jon sat, then blew out some air. “I have . . .” he started.

He had what? Cancer? A job offer? A wombat in his kitchen? A thousand possibilities ran through my mind, none of them good.

“I have,” he said, “a daughter.”

A daughter? Jon had a daughter? How could that be? I’d known Jon for almost four years and he’d never said a word about a little girl. I was speechless.