Terry Odell - Mapleton 03 - Deadly Puzzles (13 page)

Coughs wracking his body, Gordon stared at the man on the ground, wondering how he could have mistaken him for Raffi Yardumian. Of course, he
’d “seen” what he’d expected, and besides, the smoke made seeing anything next to impossible, and the single thought in his head had been to get the man out of danger. And now, the one that had replaced it was
Where’s Raffi?
Could he still be inside? Could Gordon handle another session of breathing smoke?

Before he could decide what to do next, a figure in firefighter turnout gear appeared from the curtain of snow and chugged over to Gordon.
“This the husband?”

Gordon shook his head, trying to speak between coughs. Each word tormented his throat.
“I don’t know. Who this is. The husband—Raffi Yardumian—might be inside.”

The firefighter turned and waved his arm, and a troop of clones joined him, four of them carrying a length of hose, two more carrying a gurney.
“Sir, we’ll take it from here,” the first firefighter said. “Let the medics check you two out. We’ll look for a second victim.”

Before Gordon could protest, someone shoved him into a sitting position and slapped an oxygen mask over his face. He inhaled, trying to control the coughing.

“You’re going to the hospital,” the medic said. They already had the stranger on a gurney and were trotting toward the main house—and their ambulance, Gordon supposed.

“
I’ll be okay,” he said through a sandpaper-lined throat. He needed to know whether Raffi was in the cabin—although if he was, Gordon didn’t hold out much hope for his survival. He’d only been inside a few minutes himself, and each breath was a sharp pain.

“
You’re not the one to decide,” the medic said. “It’s easier if you walk, but I’ll carry you if I have to.”

Gordon wiped more tears from his eyes and stared into the stern face of a young woman, maybe five-four.
You and who else?
he wanted to say. And might have, if his throat didn’t hurt so much, and if he could stop coughing. He would have laughed at her threat, but her tone said she meant business, and for all he knew, she had a big, burly partner who’d make good.

When he rose, his knees threatened to give out. The adrenaline that had helped him through the rescue was draining away, and he obeyed the medic
’s order, stumbling beside her, sucking gulps of oxygen from the tank she carried, as she guided him up the now-cleared trail.

He climbed into the ambulance under his own steam, finding the stranger, an oxygen mask over his face, an IV in his arm, strapped to the gurney. The mask obscured the man
’s face. His bulky parka seemed too large for his body, and dirty thermals peeked from beneath tattered jeans.

Gordon
’s medic helped him to a padded couch on the other side of the vehicle. She clipped something to his finger, pulled out a stethoscope and a blood pressure cuff. She spoke into a radio, then rushed to the other bunk. From their frantic motions, Gordon feared his rescue attempt had been too late. Drained, he closed his eyes.

As they drove, Gordon had no sense of how fast they were going. He was vaguely aware of sirens outside the ambulance. Was it them, racing to the hospital? Not for him, he hoped. The other victim? Or were more engines arriving at the scene? Or was it a cop car running Code Three? Another accident? A crime in progress? He let the thoughts dance through his brain, all the while telling himself he was on vacation. To relax.

When they arrived at the ER, the medics whisked the stranger out of the ambulance, trotting alongside the gurney. A pair of men in scrubs approached with another gurney, and insisted that Gordon get on. By now, he was resigned to his fate, so he climbed on board, and after adjusting the back to a sitting position and strapping him in, the medics wheeled him through the ER into a curtained cubicle. He’d stopped coughing—at least not as violently or as often—but he accepted that he’d been in a dangerous situation and ought to let the doctors make sure everything was all right.

He
’d expected a little poking and prodding. Open your mouth, stick out your tongue, say
Ahhh
kind of stuff. What he didn’t expect was being forced out of his clothes, stuck into a skimpy, ill-fitting hospital gown. Or being taken for X-rays, or someone snaking a tube down his nose to look at his throat, or sticking him to draw blood.

“
I wasn’t in the cabin more than a few minutes,” he protested. And coughed.

The ebony-skinned doctor examining him peered over half-frame glasses.
“Where the firefighters tell me there was a smoldering couch. Those babies can release hydrogen cyanide. Which, if you’re unaware, is the same stuff they used in the gas chamber. In addition, after-effects of smoke inhalation can be delayed. You’re going to be here overnight at least.”

“
What? No, I don’t need to stay here. I feel much better.” This was refuted by another round of hacking.

The doctor
’s eyebrows lifted. “We don’t like it when patients tell us we don’t know our jobs. We’re going to have to monitor you, make sure there’s nothing ugly going on inside your lungs. You don’t want a nasty infection, do you?”

Gordon thought he had more of a chance of picking up something from the bugs that had to be running rampant in the hospital, but he kept his mouth shut.

“You have a headache?” the doctor asked.

Gordon admitted to it.

“That’s a sign you’ve got an overload of carbon monoxide. The oxygen’ll help move it out of your system, but it’s still nasty.” The doctor pulled out a penlight. “Open your eyes, please. I want to make sure your corneas weren’t damaged.”

Gordon
’s brain kicked into gear. “Can you check to see if I have a detached retina?”

The doctor leaned away.
“What makes you think you do?”

Gordon explained his CSR, and the symptoms he
’d experienced before everything hit the fan.

The doctor shone the light into Gordon
’s eyes again. “I can’t see anything, but I don’t have the right equipment. How are your symptoms now?”

If the doctor couldn
’t see anything, maybe it wasn’t a crisis after all. Gordon tried clinging to that thought. Then again, Dr. Demming used all sorts of fancy machines. “Not too bad. But then, my eyes are still burning from the smoke.”

“
You’ve got an ophthalmologist?”

“
I’ve been seeing Dr. Demming in Denver.”

“
Denver’s out of our area,” the doctor said. “We don’t have an ophthalmology department here, but we can get a local doctor in to see you. Might not be until tomorrow, though.”

“
Is there any urgency if you find something? If at all possible, I’d prefer to see my own doctor.”

“
Understood. If you’d like, I can get a call out to him and see if there’s someone here he recommends.”

Gordon agreed.

The doctor peeled off his gloves and tossed them into a receptacle. “Make yourself comfortable. We’ll get you admitted soon.”

Which, Gordon figured, would give new meaning to the word
soon
. Gordon had come in via ambulance without anyone bothering to ask if he had his ID—which he didn’t, because everything he owned, other than the clothes he’d been wearing, was at the Yardumians’.

Except for his Beretta, which he
’d been told was locked up in a hospital safe after he’d explained why he was carrying it. Apparently, someone on staff had made some calls to verify he was who he said he was, but he knew there’d still be all sorts of paperwork to deal with.

The smell of smoke wafted up from the bag of his clothes beneath the gurney, mixing with the all-pervasive disinfectant. Not the most enticing aroma.

And what had happened to Raffi? Gordon hadn’t asked anyone to call, to check to see if he’d been found. Or, if they’d brought him here. Or to the morgue. And what about the stranger in the cabin?

He lay back and closed his eyes, listening to the sounds of the ER. Rubber soles on linoleum floors. Doctors being paged over the loudspeaker. Babies crying. Kids screaming about shots. Adults complaining. He lost all track of time, and the windowless cubicle didn
’t give him any clues.

The curtain
clattered along the metal rod as someone drew it open. “Gordon. Thank goodness you’re all right.”

Gordon scooted himself to a more upright position as the Yardumians appeared at the foot of his bed. Despite his still-watering eyes, Gordon could tell Raffi didn
’t look like he’d been caught in a burning cabin. Mrs. Yardumian clung to the bed’s foot rail, her head ducked.

“
I’m so sorry,” she whispered.

“
For what?” Gordon croaked out the words.

“
For almost getting you killed. I was so engrossed in what I was doing that I didn’t notice Raffi had come back. I should have checked our room before assuming he was in the cabin. And then asking you to go out there—you’re not equipped to do those kinds of rescues—I feel absolutely terrible. Will you be released soon? Your stay with us is on the house … and will be anytime you want to come back. If you’d ever want to come back.”

Raffi draped his arm over his wife
’s shoulders. “Enough, Tam. It was an unfortunate set of circumstances.” He gazed at Gordon, almost as apologetically as his wife had. “I was on the side porch when I heard the explosion. I called 911, then ran toward the cabin via the back route. Because of the storm, it was slow going, but I wanted to make sure the fire wasn’t going to spread to the other cabins. By the time I got back to the house, the firefighters were dealing with the burning cabin. Then Tamara told me that she’d thought I’d been trapped, that she’d sent you, and that you and some other man had been taken off in an ambulance. And I echo what Tamara said. You’ve got
carte blanche
at our place, any time.”

“
Nobody’s fault,” Gordon said. “Stuff happens.” Lately, it seemed to be happening to him a lot, but in the long run, things evened out.

Raffi held out a small tote with the B and B
’s logo. “I brought your wallet, your phone, a change of clothes. We’ll give you a ride to our place.”

“
Have to stay … overnight,” Gordon said. At the look of shock on Mrs. Yardumian’s face, he hastened to add, “A precaution. Standard procedure. I feel … all right. They won’t … take my … word for it.”

Pleased that he
’d managed to say all that without another coughing fit, Gordon sipped from the water bottle at his bedside.

“
Oh, and you had a call.” Raffi said. “A message on the office line. Between the fire and the news reporter, I forgot to write down who it was, but she said she’d try again. When we get home, I can replay it and call your cell.”

Dr. Demming
’s assistant. Of course, now that Gordon was in a hospital, worrying about getting to Denver for Dr. Demming to look at him seemed moot. He’d get examined here, and then decide what to do. He let the rest of what Raffi said sink in. “News reporter?”

Mrs. Yardumian flapped her hand.
“The local channel. Guess they wanted to report something besides the weather. They took some pictures of the firefighters working.” She frowned. “I hope it doesn’t hurt our business.”

“
They say there’s no such thing as bad publicity,” Gordon said. His throat still felt like sandpaper, although how much of that was from smoke, fire, or the tube they’d shoved down him when they were running tests was up for grabs.

“
It’s the slow season,” Raffi said, patting his wife’s hand. “By spring, they’ll have forgotten all about it.”

“
I hope so.” Mrs. Yardumian gave another hand flap. “And here I go rambling on about our little troubles, while you could have died. Is there anything we can do for you? I still feel so terrible.”

Gordon shook his head.
“I’m waiting to get into a real room.”

“
You let us know,” she said. “And when they release you, we’ll come get you.”

They moved away from the bed.
“Wait,” Gordon said, his shock over finding Raffi alive and well dissipating. “What about the other man? Did you know him? How is he?”

Mrs. Yardumian shook her head.
“I’m sorry. He didn’t make it.”

“
No ID,” Raffi said. “Best guess is he was either a vagrant or a hiker who got lost and took shelter from the storm. The cops are investigating. And an arson investigator will be out tomorrow.”

An orderly came in, pushing a wheelchair.
“Your limousine awaits, Mr. Hepler. Time to move you into our deluxe accommodations.”

“
And we should let him get some rest,” Mrs. Yardumian said. “Call if you need anything. Absolutely anything.”

The orderly waited for the Yardumians to leave before helping Gordon into the chair. A few minutes later, they arrived at the aforementioned deluxe accommodations. Deluxe was an overstatement. Standard issue hospital room, but definitely better—and quieter—than the ER cubicle. Gordon climbed into the bed and listened as the orderly explained how it operated, where to find the call button—he referred to it as room service—and the remote for the television. Instead of a mask, he settled an oxygen tube at Gordon
’s nostrils.

“
You’re lucky,” the orderly said, his grin revealing a mouthful of braces. “You’ve got the room to yourself for now, so you won’t have to fight over what to watch. Someone will bring you dinner in an hour or so. Relax and enjoy your stay.”

Gordon couldn
’t help but smile in return. He settled against the pillows and flipped the TV on, searching for the news.

“
Knock, knock.” A familiar male voice sounded from the hallway as the door opened.

“
I’d say come in, Solomon, but you already are,” Gordon said.

Solomon grinned and strode toward the bed.
“Didn’t want you to have to get up to let me in.”

“
What the hell are you doing here? Who’s minding the store?”

“
Relax. We’re covered. I’m not on nights, Chief. Saw the reports and high-tailed it over here. Might have known you’d pull rank and run into a burning building while all I did was catch a scammer.” His expression sobered, and he bent closer. “Seriously. You all right?”

Gordon was touched by the concern in Solomon
’s eyes. “Hope so. I’m feeling better, but it doesn’t seem to matter what I say. They insist on watching me.”

“
They know best,” Solomon said. “Meanwhile, I brought you a present. Hang tight.” He strode out of the room.

Hang tight.
As if Gordon could go anywhere. Although now that he had clothes, he
could
sign himself out. But Solomon was right. The doctors should know what they were doing. And maybe Dr. Demming would call.

The door opened.
“Good grief, Gordon. I let you go off on your own for a few days, and look what happens.”

Gordon
’s face split into a huge grin as Angie stepped to his bedside.