Vacations Can Be Murder: The Second Charlie Parker Mystery (23 page)

It was pitch dark outside now, and the
drenching rain made visibility almost nil. Lights from the other
buildings and from the guard's post were blurred into uselessness.
There were so many reflections on the slick tarmac that I couldn't
distinguish anything. I couldn't see the guardhouse or the
gate.

I didn't have time to debate the question
either.

I took off in the direction that felt right.
I could hear Susan right behind me. I half expected the wrench to
come down across my shoulders at any second, ending it all.

The guard’s enclosure and gate gradually came
into blurry view as I ran as fast as I could. I couldn't tell
whether the guard was back at his post yet, but the gate looked
shut as I got closer to it. Let it not be locked, I begged
silently.

Water ran down my face, and a strand of wet
hair glued itself across my left eye. I wanted to brush it aside,
but didn't dare lose my concentration that long.

As I reached for the gate knob, I thought I
saw a flash of welcome blue police light, somewhere beyond the
parking lot. It came too late, though.

Susan caught up with me as I pulled the gate
open. She didn't take the time to aim well, or she would have
killed me.

As it was, I felt a bone-jarring blow to the
side of my head.

The light-reflecting raindrops got brighter
as my legs went rubbery. Something inside told me that she would
put me down permanently with one more blow. I gripped the chain
link gate for support, and kicked toward her with the little force
I had left.

I made contact, but it didn't feel solid. I
heard the wrench clatter against the tarmac, and then there were
sirens.

Nice, close sirens.

Chapter 17

I came to, to the sounds of foreign voices,
the throb of the world's worst headache, and the smell of wet hair.
I was lying on the tarmac, half in and half out of the guard's
enclosure. I guess they had dragged my top half under cover so I
wouldn't drown while lying there. I felt like I'd been thrown,
completely clothed, into a cold shower.

My clothes were wet clear through to, and
including, my underwear. My hair clung to the side of my face,
exacerbating the pain from my wound. I wanted to curl up and go to
sleep, warm and dry, for a few days.

Mostly, I would settle for dry.

No one seemed to be paying particular
attention to me as I dragged myself to a sitting position. Every
part of me was cold and stiff, and I wondered how long I had been
there.

I held my head steady with both hands as I
tried to assess the situation. Warm liquid ran down my neck, behind
my right ear. When my fingers came away sticky I realized it was
blood. I pressed the heel of my hand against the spot.

A wave of dizziness swept over me. I lowered
my head between my knees while trying to keep pressure on the
wound. I tried to remember everything I knew about head injuries,
but found I was having trouble remembering where I was. After a
minute, I gave it up.

Blue patrol car lights filled the air. They
hurt my eyes, but there was nowhere I could turn to avoid them.
Water-covered surfaces bounced the lights everywhere.

Two officers were leading Susan, handcuffed,
toward one of the cars. Fuzzy radio transmissions blurred with the
voices around me, until I could no longer tell how many were
speaking or what they were saying. Finally, an officer approached
me.

"I don't know if you should be sitting up,"
he said gently. "We've called an ambulance for you."

"It's okay." My words sounded slurred, even
to me. "Where's the helicopter?"

He looked like he didn't understand me at
first. "Oh, the helicopter that was reported missing?"

I nodded once. Pain, hot as an electric
shock, shot into my head. My stomach lurched.

"They found it," he said. "I hear it's going
to need some serious work, but the pilot and passengers are all
okay. They're bringing them in from Waimea now."

The ambulance attendants approached and
noticed the blood on my hand. The bleeding had pretty much stopped,
but they applied a pressure bandage just to be sure. I didn't want
them to put me on a stretcher, but I had to admit that being
wrapped in a blanket felt wonderful. I found myself getting the
shakes. It's times like this I want my mommy. I let myself doze off
once the ambulance started moving.

At the hospital, I let them do whatever they
wanted. I lay submissively while they shone lights into my eyes,
ears, nose, and throat, and X-rayed my head from several angles.
The doctor was a soft-spoken Japanese man with close cropped hair,
gold wire-rimmed glasses, and warm hands.

"You're a lucky girl," he said, after tying
off the last of the sutures. "Nothing's broken, amazingly. If she'd
gotten a better swing at you... well, it could have been
serious."

Yeah, like dead.

"I'd like to keep you overnight for
observation," he continued, "but I don't want you going to sleep
for a few hours yet. I know your greatest wish right now is
probably for a nice long nap, but with a head injury, we want to
see you up and around a bit first."

"I can't see much point in staying in the
hospital if I can't go to sleep. I'd rather go back to my room,
where at least I'll have a comfortable bed and a change of
clothes."

"Not unless you have someone to keep an eye
on you through the night. You'll need to be wakened every few hours
to make sure you are coherent."

"I'll do it," Drake's voice came from the
doorway. He came to my bedside and hugged me gently. Raising my
head from the pillow sent another jolt through my skull.

"Drake, you don't have to do that," I
protested. "I'm used to taking care of myself. I can set an alarm
clock."

"No way." He motioned the doctor out into the
hall, where they conferred.

I wanted to be irritated that they were
talking about me as though I were a child, but frankly, I was just
too tired. I felt my eyes slipping shut. Okay, maybe I could let
myself be pampered just this once.

“Charlie, wake up, hon.” Drake’s voice spoke
softly near my ear.

I mumbled something blurry, realizing I’d
drifted off to sleep in the hospital bed.

“The doctor says I can take you home,” he
continued. “Unless you’d rather be admitted for the night
here.”

“No, no.” I raised up on one elbow. The pain
was slightly less excruciating that it had been earlier.
“Definitely not here.”

My clothes were still laying in a soggy
puddle in the corner of the room, so the nurse suggested that I
wear the hospital gown and robe. Drake gathered my few possessions
and guided my hand toward the release form. My fingers didn’t
cooperate very well but I did manage a shaky signature.

“Your place or mine?’ he asked once we were
in his truck.

“I need some clean clothes.” My voice and my
thoughts were becoming a little clearer. “Drake?”

“Um hmm,” he answered, starting the truck and
backing out of the parking slot.

“Did you really figure out this morning that
Susan was the killer?”

“What?”

“She told me you saw her in the hotel parking
lot this morning and that you looked right at her and at her rental
car, and that you knew she killed Gil.”

“Well, he chuckled, “she gives me a lot more
credit than I deserve. I noticed her this morning, but the only
reason I stared at the car was because it was exactly like your
rental. It took me a minute to realize that she wasn’t getting into
your car.”

I reached out to squeeze his forearm.
“Thanks,” I mumbled. Then I drifted off to sleep again.

Chapter 18

I'm settling into my window seat for my
fourth crossing of this same two thousand miles of ocean in the
past ten days. The fourteen stitches at the base of my skull are
neatly hidden now by my hair, but my head is throbbing slightly.
I'm about ready to pop one of my pain killers and drowse the night
away.

The vacation was a good one—interesting, if
not restful; eventful, if not relaxing. Drake cushioned my last two
days by taking me home with him, and providing a hot shower, fresh
clothes, and homemade soup. He even brought me a box of chocolates,
and kissed me goodbye at the airport—all the stuff women find
romantic, and men rarely provide. Drake Langston is a unique
man.

I find myself thinking about him now. As the
plane is pushed back from the jetway, I can see his silhouette
against the backlit windows. One hand is raised, tentatively, it
seems. If I could see his facial features, I imagine there would be
a wistfulness around the eyes.

Last night we talked—personal stuff, plans. I
tried to keep the mood light, to avoid making this whole encounter
take on more significance than it should. Drake wanted so much to
fall in love with me, and I must admit, the idea was tempting. But
wasn’t this really just a shipboard romance, a wild, fun, fleeting
thing?

He had asked me when I could come back. I
told him I couldn’t foresee it anytime soon. I asked him when he
might come to the mainland. He wasn’t sure. I felt any definite
plans fizzling. And yet, there was something more. Even with my
head bandaged, my color lousy, and my speech dopey with pain
medication, Drake looked at me with such tenderness, with a caring
and yes, a love, no one had ever shown me before.

I glanced back at the terminal. The lighted
windows were tiny in the distance now, but I still imagined his
shape against them. I closed my eyes, not quite in time to prevent
a tear from slipping out. His last words had been a promise to
call. We’d see.

Home awaits me. The city, the traffic, my dog
Rusty, my brother Ron, and the agency, my work, the routine.

I'm promising myself that I'll start working
out, but I know it's probably just another easily broken
resolution.

Author’s Note

I really hope you are enjoying my Charlie
Parker mystery series. If so, please tell your friends! You can
also follow my
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,
visit my
website
, (where you can
subscribe to my free mystery newsletter) and follow me on Twitter
@mysteries4U

As of the publication of this e-book, in late
2009, there are eleven books in the Charlie Parker series, with
more to come soon. And I will have updates and I hope some
surprises in store in the coming months, which I will announce
through my newsletter.

Besides writing my own books, I also teach a
writing course, so if you’ve ever had a yearning to write your own
stories you can subscribe to my free fiction writing tips and find
out more about my methods at
Novel In A
Weekend
.

Happy writing and happy reading!!

With my best wishes,

Connie Shelton

What Happens Next?

In the third book in the series, Charlie
comes home from her Hawaiian vacation to find that her brother Ron
is in love. But sweet little Vickie is much younger and it turns
out that she’s hiding a few treacherous secrets. Meanwhile, Charlie
offers to help a friend whose business partner apparently committed
suicide. But did he?

Learn the answers in Partnerships Can Kill:
The Third Charlie Parker Mystery