Holmes & Moriarty 02 - All She Wrote (MM) (11 page)

What could I say to that? She
was
a lousy driver and we’d all paid the price—unless by some chance that accident had not been an accident.

She watched me, her brows drawing together. “Are you sure you’re okay?”

“Why do you ask?”

“Erm…you seem kind of…”

How could she hope to be a writer when she had problems formulating the simplest thoughts? I tried to get the conversation back on track. “Do you remember what happened? I don’t.”

This seemed to be familiar ground. “I explained it to the police. I hit a patch of ice. Black ice. The car spun out—and kept spinning. I couldn’t get it back under control and we went over the edge of the embankment.” She closed her eyes. “My airbag went off. That’s the last thing I remember.”

That was more than I remembered. That wasn’t unusual with concussion, but it was weird to have that gap.

“Did the car seem…I don’t know. Did the car seem all right?”

She opened her eyes, the only color in her waxen face. “What do you mean?”

“Just that. Did the car seem okay? The brakes and everything?”

“It happened so fast.” Poppy thought it over. “I don’t think there was anything wrong with the car.”

Would she necessarily know?

Into the silence that fell between us I could hear the grandmotherly lady complaining in what sounded like Japanese and the muted sounds of a busy hospital afternoon: the rattle of carts, the beep of monitors, suspiciously calm voices over the intercom. My shoulder was hurting. My ribs were hurting. My head was hurting. I wanted to go back to bed. As soon as I got the energy to stand up again.

Poppy said, “Nella’s mother is suing me. Anna’s helping her. She told me herself when she was here earlier.”

And I’d thought J.X.’s bedside manner needed some work. What was there to say to that?

Anna’s anger at Poppy had taken me aback that morning, but I could understand that her feelings would be different from my own. She’d lost someone she loved. I didn’t think Anna had many people to love.

Since some response seemed to be required, I said, “Maybe they’ll see things differently later on.” That was about as much comfort as I could offer.

Her smile was bitter. “If you think Anna will change her mind, you don’t know Anna.”

“
Mr. Holmes
, what on earth are you doing down here?” demanded a scandalized voice.

Both Poppy and I jumped. The IV stand rolled and once again I had to fumble for it while not managing to overbalance.

A formidable-looking nurse stood in the doorway, the grandmotherly lady’s family parting before her like the Red Sea before Moses. Grandma Moses in her case.

“Oh. I—” I began guiltily.

She didn’t give me a chance. “You need to return to bed
at once
.” She advanced on me.

By the time I shuffled back to my own room, Nurse Hellhound nipping at my heels, I found a youthful and very handsome state police trooper waiting for me.

His eyes popped when I clattered through the doorway like Jacob Marley lugging his chains—I may even have been moaning—and he jumped to his feet.

“What on
earth
could you have been thinking?” Nurse Hellbound demanded, still in hot pursuit.

After two floors of it, I knew the question was rhetorical, and I wouldn’t have bothered to answer even if I’d had breath. Which I hadn’t.

I nodded to the trooper, dropped my robe on the floor and crawled awkwardly into bed.

There were loud gasps behind me, but I was preoccupied with not detaching any vital equipment, my own or the hospital’s. I lowered myself slowly, carefully, to the spinning bed of nails they supply to all the patients they hate and closed my eyes.

“…Trooper Scott’s questions?” Hellsound was asking when I tuned back in after the commercial break.

I pried open my lashes and took in Trooper Scott’s ruddy countenance.

“Do you feel able to answer a few questions, Mr. Holmes?” His eyes were doing a jittery sort of back and forth away from my face to my…
Was he checking me out?

Weird.

“What do you want to know?” I asked.

“Anything you can remember about yesterday’s accident.”

Was it only yesterday? It seemed a lot longer ago than that.

Trooper Scott had a small pad and a sharp pencil. He licked the tip of the pencil, which was something I’d only seen people in cartoons do, and gazed at me inquiringly.

He was cute and I wanted to be helpful. I told him everything I remembered, which wasn’t a whole hell of a lot. I suspect that even what there was, wasn’t the most coherent recital I’ve given. There may have been a brief, acerbic side commentary on the lunchtime fare at the Tudor Teahouse, but I’m not sure.

Scott asked me a few questions, which seemed to literally go in one of my ears and out the other. I was having a lot of trouble focusing by then. I felt truly awful. Tired, sick, shaky, but I did my best to respond sensibly.

The interview was short, civil and clearly routine. The police believed Nella’s death was simply another tragic traffic fatality. And maybe it was. Certainly Scott seemed startled when I asked if he’d considered that it might be anything but an accident.

“Why would you think that, sir?”

“I think it’s too much of a coincidence.”

He reminded me uncomfortably of J.X. as he said, “What does it coincide with?”

“Everything else that’s happened.”

“What else has happened?”

“The attempts on Anna’s life.”

“Who’s Anna?”

“Anna.”

“I think that’s going to have to be all for now.” Frau Blücher intervened, busily checking and reattaching the jumper cables.

Trooper Scott looked relieved. I could see him eying the clear fluid trickling into my veins from the sack o’ fun hanging next to my bed.

“You get some rest, sir,” he said kindly. On the way out, he added, “You sure were lucky.”

“I hear you mooned a state trooper,” J.X. cheerfully informed me when he returned.

I dropped my fork on my dinner tray.

“It’s not nice to tease invalids,” I said.

“It’s not nice to tease state troopers either.” He kissed me hello, lingering a little. “Mm.

There’s something about a man who tastes like Salisbury steak.”

I leaned back against the sponge pancake they laughingly called a pillow and studied him.

“You seem to be in a good mood.”

J.X.’s face was creased in that oblique white smile that always made him look like a wicked Spanish grandee skulking behind an arras, but at my words, his smile faded. “I am. I saw the Clark woman’s car.”

“Oh.”

His lean brown throat moved. “I don’t know how you’re not dead, Kit. Your part of the car smashed into a boulder and the side was crushed in like tin can.”

My ribs twinged, and I shifted uncomfortably. “I’m happy to say I don’t remember.”

I couldn’t seem to look away from those dark solemn eyes. I could see from J.X.’s expression how close it had been. Oddly enough, my uppermost thought was not that I would have been dead. It was that I’d never have seen J.X. again.

Not good. Not good to care this much.

To break the moment which was becoming awkward in its gravity, I gestured to the dinner tray. “Would you like some of this?”

He lifted an eyebrow at the remains of the day. “No thanks. I’ll grab something later.”

“I don’t offer to share my lime Jell-O with just anyone, you know.”

“I realize that. Beneath my stoic exterior I’m very moved.”

He didn’t look particularly stoic. His eyes were crinkling at the corners and his teeth were very white as he grinned at me. He looked…happy. My throat tightened in response. I didn’t want that responsibility. I wasn’t good at making people happy.

I cleared my throat. “So what did the cops say?”

“They said three of you were very lucky.”

“Was the car tampered with?”

“No.”

“Are you sure?”

“They are.”

I insisted, “Are you sure they checked everything?”

“They checked. They double-checked after I spoke to them. It was an accident, Kit. The car hit a patch of black ice. Clark was going too fast, she jammed on the brakes and lost control of the wheel. It’s that simple.”

I absorbed this silently. It seemed like too much of a coincidence given Anna’s close calls and the figure I’d seen prowling the estate the night before, but accidents
did
happen.

“Nobody tampered with the brakes? Nobody messed with the steering column?”

“Honey. No. It was just a terrible accident.”

There it was again.
Honey.
What was up with that? I manfully swallowed my objection, mostly because I realized it had slipped out without J.X. noticing. Anyway, “honey” was what I’d heard him call his four-year-old nephew Gage when the kid had phoned crying on one of the weekends I’d stayed over. But it made me nervous. David and I had not gone in for lovey-doveys. I’d never thought of myself as anyone’s honey. What was the expectation for someone’s honey?

Instead, I said argumentatively, “It’s too much of a coincidence.”

J.X., however, declined to argue. He didn’t say anything at all. I stared at him. “Don’t you think?”

Finally, he said, “Are you determined to stay on here?”

I nodded, qualifying, “If Anna wants me to. I don’t know that she will. She’s grieving.”

He seemed to be consulting some inner voice. I waited.

“Okay. Well, if you’re staying, I’m staying too.”

This was not a possibility I’d even considered. I wasn’t sure what to say. All I came up with was a lame, “You don’t have to.”

“There’s no way I’m leaving you on your own.”

That sounded more parental than loverly, but I was still sort of touched. I felt that, at the least, I owed him honesty. I said, “The thing is, J.X.” I drew a deep breath. “I’m…not very good at relationships.”

“That’s the understatement of the year.”

All my good intentions evaporated. “I don’t know that you’re such an expert either.”

Now why he should find that funny, I’ve no idea, but J.X. said way too gravely, “That’s fair.”

“What I’m trying to tell you is…” I stopped. The fact was I had no idea what I was trying to tell him.

J.X. said calmly, “You know what, Kit? I’m a big boy. I can look after myself. I know that right now the idea of a relationship paralyzes you. But I think you do care for me, or you wouldn’t have had the hospital contact me when you were hurt, and I’m willing to hang in here for a while longer. You’re worth it.”

My heart was hammering as though I was having a panic attack. “What if I hadn’t called you?”

“I don’t know. I can’t do this on my own, obviously. I wanted you to try and meet me halfway. Or as close to halfway as you could handle. That’s what this feels like.” He shrugged.

“So we’ll see how it goes. Either way, I’m not leaving you to play Lord Peter Wimsey on your own.”

“My accent’s all wrong.”

“Among other things.” But his smile seemed to be telling me all that was right. “So tell me about this lewd and lascivious behavior charge.”

I eyed him suspiciously. “You better be kidding.”

He laughed.

Anna called around eight o’clock that evening.

J.X. and I had been watching TV and holding hands. In the interests of accuracy, I’d been mostly dozing, but the point wasn’t the attentive viewing of
COPS
(which J.X. criticized in an under-his-breath commentary), it was the hand holding. Just as I couldn’t recall exchanging pet names with anyone before, I couldn’t remember sitting around holding hands with anyone before.

I’m not sure David and I ever held hands, other than to slip rings on each other’s left fingers. For sure not in a serious, prolonged, clasped-hands, linked-fingers, old-fashioned-courtship kind of way.

It was…nice.

And alarming.

But mostly nice.

The phone shrilled next to the bed and I started out of a confused but pleasant dream where J.X. and I stood in an open snowy field making snow angels. I happened to land on top of him. His breath whooshed out on a warm laugh—

“It’s okay,” J.X. reassured from somewhere overhead.

My eyes jerked open. I watched him reaching with his free hand for the phone.

Anna
, he mouthed to me. I blinked dopily at him. Wiped at the snowflakes, er, sand in my eyes.

After a few polite words to Anna, J.X. handed the phone over. Pressed the button to raise the bed slightly. “Got it?”

I nodded and felt another flash of discomfort. Emotional, not physical. I wasn’t used to anyone taking care of me, of caring
so much
. It had almost been easier when we’d been at loggerheads. At least I knew how to do that—and do it well.

“Christopher, darling.” Anna’s voice was her old, firm, crisp one. “How are you feeling?”

“Better. Good. Almost like new.”

I glanced at J.X. He arched one skeptical eyebrow.

“Excellent. I know, after everything that’s happened, I don’t have any right to ask, but would you consider staying at the house for a few days while you recuperate?”

I’d told myself this was exactly what I planned to do, but now that the moment was here I felt an intense longing for home. For my own bed. For my own company. Though J.X. beside me whispering sweet nothings wouldn’t come entirely amiss.

But how could I walk away? I’d told Anna I’d help. Was I going to back out because it turned out she really
did
need my help? I have my faults, but so far running out on my friends isn’t one of them. Granted, keeping the number of my friends to a minimum helps.

I lowered the handset. “She’s asking me to stay on for a few days.”

“If you’re staying, I’m staying.” Uncompromising. It should have been annoying, but oddly enough I didn’t mind. I picked up the handset again. “If you don’t mind an extra houseguest. J.X. and I are flying home together.”

There was a pause. Anna said smoothly, “Of course, darling. It was obvious today that he’s very much in your life. I hadn’t realized before.”

“Probably because I said there wasn’t anyone.”

“That might have had something to do with it.”

“We had some problems.” My eyes went automatically to J.X.’s. “We’re trying to work them out.”