Stealing the Countess Read online

  “I’m just telling you what the Ghost Lady told me.”

  “You’re right, McKenzie. I don’t like it.”

  He asked more questions. I answered truthfully. Through it all, though, I could tell there was a question nagging the chief that I couldn’t answer—where was his officer when the shooting took place?

  Finally, the chief stood and crossed the waiting room to the reception desk. The same woman was sitting there as before; for all I knew she was reading the same magazine. The chief said something, and the receptionist picked up a phone. Apparently, she was willing to give the chief more cooperation than she gave me. A few moments later, a plump woman wearing a white coat over blue scrubs appeared. She was smiling.

  When I stood, the deputy got to his feet as well. He didn’t interfere, though, when I crossed the room. The chief saw me coming.

  “This is McKenzie,” he said.

  The woman extended her hand.

  “I’m Dr. Sauer,” she said. “I have relieved Dr. Rockman. You’re the one who brought Caroline in, am I right?”

  “Yes. May I see her?”

  “No. As I was telling the chief here, Caroline is still asleep, and I have no intention of waking her. Once she wakes on her own, then you can see her.”

  “When will that be?” the chief asked.

  “I don’t know. Personally, I like to sleep in when I get a chance.”

  “Candy. It’s important.”

  Candy?

  “I never said it wasn’t,” the doctor said. “I’ll call you when she wakes.”

  The doctor left the room, leaving us standing there. We both glanced at our watches at the same time.

  * * *

  Four hours later, Dr. Candy Sauer returned. By then the receptionist had been switched out and the deputy had been sent on his way. He gave the chief my nine-millimeter before he left. The chief bounced it in his hand for a bit before giving me a spot-on Sean Connery impersonation. They pull a knife, you pull a gun. They send one of yours to the hospital, you send one of his to the morgue. That’s the Chicago way.

  “Nice,” I said.

  “Are you from Chicago, McKenzie?”

  I flashed on a few of the revenge scenarios I had run through my head earlier.

  “No,” I said.

  “I’m going to keep your gun anyway.”

  You can always get another, my inner voice told me.

  When the doctor arrived, Chief Neville slipped the nine into his pocket.

  “You can see her now,” she said.

  We stood together. The chief placed a hand on my chest.

  “Where are you going?” he asked.

  “To see Heavenly.”

  “When I’m done questioning her.”

  I might have argued, except I knew there was no way to win.

  * * *

  Chief Neville was twenty minutes with her. When he emerged from Heavenly’s room, he had an odd sort of grin on his face.

  “Interesting woman,” he said. “I can see why you like her so much.”

  “Who said I liked her?”

  “How long have you been sitting in the waiting room? We’ll talk again, McKenzie. Soon.”

  The chief left, and I walked down the wide corridor to Heavenly’s room—the hospital had only one floor. She was sitting up, dressed in an off-white hospital gown, her left arm in a sling, and eating breakfast. She wasn’t wearing makeup, yet her golden hair had been brushed. I was shocked by how healthy she appeared.

  “They serve Jell-O here.” Heavenly pointed at a slot on her tray with a plastic utensil that combined a spoon with a fork. “I haven’t had Jell-O in years.”

  “You seem awfully chipper for a woman who was shot less than twelve hours ago.”

  “What can I say? Another day in the life…”

  I set her wicker bag on the bed next to her, and she began rummaging through it with her right hand.

  “Heavenly, is there anyone I should call? Family?”

  She pulled a smartphone from the bag that was twice the size of mine.

  “No,” she said. “I’ve got it. My God, McKenzie. You look like hell. Were you here all night? You were, weren’t you? That is so sweet.”

  Dr. Sauer entered talking. “Let’s take another look beneath that bandage … Oh, I’m sorry, you have a visitor.”

  “This is my good and true friend McKenzie,” Heavenly said. “McKenzie, have you met Dr. Sauer?”

  “Yes,” I said.

  Dr. Sauer came toward me anyway to shake my hand. The smile on her face suggested that her opinion of me had improved exponentially based on Heavenly’s endorsement.

  “If you care to step out of the room for a few minutes,” she said.

  “No, it’s okay,” Heavenly said. “I want him to stay.”

  The smile never left the doctor’s face as she spun toward her patient. She pushed away the cart that held Heavenly’s breakfast tray above the bed. Heavenly leaned forward; her face tightened with pain. The doctor untied the thin cords behind her neck and back that kept Heavenly’s hospital gown closed. I turned and stared out the window. The sun was climbing in the sky, and I had a good view of the empty fields that surrounded the hospital.

  “This is going to hurt,” Dr. Sauer said.

  Heavenly hissed. “It did,” she said.

  “That doesn’t look too bad at all. Dr. Rockman does nice work.”

  “It’s going to leave an awful scar.”

  “Plastic surgery will help. I know a doctor; he helps patients that have undergone mastectomies. He’s very good.”

  “When can I leave?”

  “First, we need to make sure your hemoglobin is stable. During the night it dropped to nine. We want to make sure it was caused by the IV fluids that we gave you and not because you’re bleeding internally. We’ll give you another chest X-ray—make sure blood isn’t going somewhere we can’t see, into the chest cavity, for example. We need to transition you to oral pain medication, too; make sure you’re okay with that before we send you home.”

  “None of what you just said answers my question.”

  “Tomorrow. You can leave tomorrow. You can turn around now, Mr. McKenzie.”

  I did, just in time to see Dr. Sauer finish retying Heavenly’s gown.

  “Thank you for your concern, Doctor,” Heavenly said. “I’m leaving today.”

  To prove it, she attempted to swing her legs off the bed. She stopped abruptly; a sudden inhale followed by a slow exhale hinted at the distress the movement caused her. Heavenly’s eyes became wet and shiny.

  “Also, you need to be fitted with the correct sling,” Dr. Sauer said. “Something that’ll restrict your movements, prevent you from moving your arm in a way that’ll cause you pain—like right now. We can’t put a cast on a fractured collarbone. The best we can do is stabilize it. You’re going to experience a great deal of discomfort for several weeks, young lady.”

  “Give me some pills and I’ll be on my way,” Heavenly said.

  “What are you going to wear?” I asked. “Your sweater and jeans have been destroyed, haven’t they, Doctor?”

  “’Fraid so,” Dr. Sauer said.

  I gestured at the wicker bag.

  “Your bikini?”

  Heavenly’s eyes narrowed and her nostrils flared. If she’d had a gun, I would have been in fear for my life.

  Wait, she does have a gun.

  “Do what the doctor tells you,” I said. “I’ll bring your clothes tomorrow. I’ll take you wherever you want to go.”

  Dr. Sauer patted Heavenly’s knee.

  “See you before my shift ends,” she said. She nodded her head in my direction. “Mr. McKenzie.”

  The door closed silently behind her.

  “Daniel Rockman and Candy Sauer,” I said. “Sounds like a couple of porn stars. The doctors will see you now.”

  “Don’t try to make me smile. I’m angry.”

  “Okay.”

  I stared at her. She stared at me. She
smiled.

  “Dammit, McKenzie,” Heavenly said. “I’d thank you for saving my life, but I’m not sure you did. The chief seems to think that you were the target last night and that I just got in the way.”

  “We both know that’s not true.”

  “We do?”

  “I’m the one with the money. You never shoot the guy with the money. Besides, Caroline, you’re the one who’s on the lam.”

  “On the lam? Who talks like that? You watch way too many black-and-white movies.”

  “Heavenly, why won’t you tell me the truth? What’s the problem?”

  “I don’t have a problem except that I sometimes stand too close to you. You can be detrimental to a girl’s health.”

  “Swear to God, sometimes looking at you is like looking at a reflection in a fun-house mirror, so many levels of deception.”

  “That’s a terrible thing to say to someone on her sickbed.”

  Heavenly brought her fist to her mouth and fake-coughed into it. I pointed at the wicker bag.

  “Your Colt .380 auto is beneath your bikini,” I said. “If I’m not mistaken, you only have three rounds left.”

  “You should take it. You’re the one people are shooting at.”

  “You’re very good at keeping your secrets, but you have to know—eventually I’ll figure it out. I always do. And if you don’t have an exceptional reason for holding out on me, I’m going to kick your ass.”

  “Promises, promises.”

  ELEVEN

  The blood had dried to a thick paste by the time I returned to my Mustang, and it gave off a sour-sweet odor that made me nauseous even with the windows down. I decided to clean it up later, except later lasted only until I reached Washburn. I pulled into a gas station that also had a car wash and sold groceries. I bought cleaning supplies and went to work in the parking lot. It took a while before I was able to replace the smell of dried blood with industrial disinfectant—much better, I decided. I gassed up, ran the Mustang through the hands-off car wash, and was on my way.

  It was well past noon by the time I reached town, far too late for breakfast at the Queen Anne. Connor met me at the door with a couple of dozen questions about Caroline; news really did travel fast in Bayfield. I waded through most of them until he asked, “What should I do with Caroline’s belongings?”

  “Why should you do anything with them?”

  “Caroline had planned to check out, today.”

  Dammit, Heavenly, my inner voice said. You couldn’t tell me even that much?

  “Another couple has reserved the suite,” Connor said. “They should be here later this afternoon.”

  “What about my room? Is it still available?”

  “Yes. Until Saturday, and then—”

  “Okay, let’s move Caroline’s stuff to my room. I’ll settle her bill, and then we’ll decide what to do when she gets out of the hospital.”

  It seemed like a good idea to Connor; he ran my credit card through his machine, made me sign the receipt, and gave me a key to the suite. Except he was awfully busy all of a sudden. Could I pack up Caroline’s belongings? Sure, I told him. He was anxious about cleaning the room before his guests arrived. Could I take my shower and change clothes after I made the move? Fine.

  “McKenzie?” Connor said.

  “Yeah?”

  “I didn’t do it.”

  “Do what?”

  “I didn’t shoot Caroline.”

  “Who said you did?”

  “People in town think I stole the violin. They’ll think I did this, too.”

  “I wouldn’t worry about it.”

  “I do worry. I’m trying to build something here. A city this size, all of us more or less in the same business, we rely on each other’s goodwill.”

  “Did Chief Neville or someone from the sheriff’s department question you?”

  “No.”

  “They probably won’t, but if they do ask you where you were at about eleven thirty last night, what are you going to tell them?”

  “I was at home. In bed.”

  “Can you prove it?”

  “No.”

  “Neither can most of the people who live in Bayfield,” I said. “So relax.”

  I didn’t think he was going to take my advice, though.

  * * *

  I climbed the stairs to the Queen Anne Suite. The door was unlocked, which gave me pause. I swung it open cautiously and found—chaos.

  “Connor,” I said.

  I went to the top of the stairs and called down.

  “Connor.”

  He bounded up two steps at a time. The effort caused him to lose his breath.

  “What?” he asked.

  I gestured at the suite. Heavenly’s belongings had been thrown about carelessly. Suitcases were opened and discarded on the floor. Every drawer of every dresser and armoire was hanging open. The bedspread and sheets had been pulled down, and the mattress and box spring were out of place as if someone had searched beneath them. Whatever the intruder had been looking for, I bet he found it.

  “Oh no, oh no,” Connor chanted. “Someone must have broken in. It must have been after Caroline … oh no, oh no.” He slumped against the wall. “First the violin and now … What are the police going to say? Bayfield? No one will believe … I worked so hard.”

  “You act as if you’ve never had a messy guest before,” I said.

  Connor’s eyes snapped onto mine as if he couldn’t believe he had heard me correctly.

  “The room was ransacked,” he said. “After Caroline was shot.”

  “Not necessarily. My girlfriend’s daughter, a college kid, what a slob.”

  “What are you saying?”

  “Unless you want to charge Caroline with, I don’t know, vandalism, I’d keep this to yourself.”

  “McKenzie—”

  “I’ll gather up all of Caroline’s belongings as promised, and then you can get the room in order before your guests arrive.”

  Connor paused for what seemed like a long time before he replied.

  “Thank you,” he said.

  * * *

  I dumped the two suitcases on the bed and began filling them with Heavenly’s clothes, folding each article as best I could. It gave me a strange feeling touching her things—jackets, sweaters, skirts, slacks, and shoes that I placed neatly into one suitcase; bras, panties, camisoles, pajamas, shirts, and socks that I carefully packed in the other. I tried to make it impersonal, like when I packed my own clothes, yet it made me wonder about her. It occurred to me that I knew nothing about Heavenly for sure, not even her name. Maybe Caroline Kaminsky was her real name and Heavenly Petryk was the alias.

  Very little of what I found in the suite gave me clues. She had hairbrushes in the bathroom, and a handheld dryer, and all kinds of beauty aids I didn’t think she needed that went into a plastic bag that I dumped on the bed. ’Course, anybody could use those. In fact, the only personal item that I found was a framed photograph, Heavenly six or seven years ago dressed in a black graduation gown and cap with a gold tassel that matched the honors stole around her shoulders. She was surrounded by three older women all hugging her simultaneously. I thought that if they were her mother and aunts, she was wrong to worry. The women in Heavenly’s family looked pretty damn good after they rounded forty.

  I held the photograph with one hand and reached for a small nylon carry-on bag that had been tossed carelessly across the room. It seemed heavy to me, yet when I glanced inside I discovered that the bag was empty.

  Why is it so heavy? my inner voice asked.

  I examined the bag carefully, pulling on this and pushing on that until I found the latch that opened the hidden compartment.

  The bottom of the bag was lined with cash.

  Seeing it made my ears ring.

  I finished packing as quickly as I could and moved all of Heavenly’s belongings into the Peacock Chamber. Once I was behind the locked door, I sat on the bed and attacked the carry-on bag aga
in. I reopened the secret compartment and spread the contents over the bedspread.

  There were ten stacks. I counted them twice—one, two, three …

  Each stack contained a hundred bills.

  All fifties.

  I stared at the money for a long time.

  * * *

  I was hungry, so I returned the $50,000 to the carry-on’s hidden compartment, undressed, brushed my teeth, shaved, took a shower, combed my hair just so, dressed, and went out. It was sunny and warm, about seventy-five degrees, and I didn’t wear a jacket, but that was mostly because I didn’t have a handgun to hide beneath it—which made me nervous. The streets were crowded with tourists, and any of them could have been the person or persons unknown who shot Heavenly, who might have been trying to shoot me and missed. I watched them carefully. They all seemed to be going about their business with joyfulness and vivacity. Or maybe it was just me.

  The Egg-Ceptional Breakfast and Bakery was closed by 2:00 P.M., and I had had enough of both the Lakeside Tavern and Hill House, so I went to Evelyn’s near Memorial Park. It was filled with customers who seemed to delight in the eccentricity of the place, what with the flamingos, old signs, antique toys, off-center photographs, and electric trains running on tracks hanging from the ceiling. The waitress dressed like she worked for a circus. She wore a garish button that read WELCOME TO EVELYN’S, and my first thought was that Evelyn was a nut job. Yet she served a decent cheeseburger and fries that made me go “Hmmm.”

  I was finishing up and wondering if Chief Neville and I shouldn’t have another talk when Herb Voight walked in. He gave a halfhearted wave at the hostess and started toward a table for two next to the door that led to the kitchen, the worst table in the restaurant. I called his name. He pivoted toward me.

  “McKenzie,” he said. “Don’t you lead an interesting life.”

  He came to my table and sat down.

  “Do you enjoy being the most talked-about person in town?” Voight asked.

  “I really don’t.”

  “How’s the girl, what’s her name—Caroline?”

  “Caroline Kaminsky.”

  “She okay?”

  “As well as can be expected with a bullet in her shoulder.”

  “That’s just crazy, a shooting in Bayfield. I heard that, I was shocked. So’s just about everyone else that lives here. I overheard some of the chamber types talking about visiting Chief Neville or the county sheriff, see what they can do about getting you out of town. They say you’re hurting the tourist trade; they say you’re an undesirable.”