Chapter 22
A fog settled over her mind. The faint hum danced in her ears, punctuated by steady beeps. She blinked. “Oh.” She scrunched her eyes closed. “What day is it?”
“Monday.” Nick’s voice was almost as gravelly as hers.
With more strength than she realized she had, she forced her eyes open.
He looked haggard. “Have you slept?”
“A little.”
She’d been in here a day. Between the pain meds and the rotating door of medical staff, she’d lost track of time.
Water. She reached, but her hand wouldn’t move. Nick. He was holding her hand.
“What do you need?” He gave her fingers a light squeeze.
“A drink. Thirsty.”
His fingers slipped away and Michelle felt it deep in her soul. She stretched her arm, searching for him. The movement pulled across her torso and she winced.
“Stay still.” He held a cup to her mouth.
“I was shot, not paralyzed.” She sipped, then grateful for his help mumbled, “Thank you.”
“You could have been. A few inches higher…” His jaw flexed .
“Hey. I’ll be okay. The doctor said I should go home tomorrow.”
He scanned the room. His gaze bouncing from the monitors to the IVs. “I really hate this place.”
“I’m sorry.” She touched his arm with minimal shifting. She bit back the flinch. Maybe she’d call for a little more pain meds.
“I haven’t been this scared in… I thought I’d lost you.” He flipped his hand over and linked his fingers with hers.
“Hey, you aren’t getting rid of me that quickly. We just found each other again.” She knew he was reliving the day his mom died. She couldn’t let him cast her in that role. She was here and alive.
“Knock, knock.” Jim stuck his head through the door opening. “I see you’re still laying around.”
“Yeah, yeah. Yours was a flesh wound. I had surgery to remove the bullet.”
“You just keep telling yourself that.” He pulled the other chair up to the bed and patted her thigh. “Seriously though. How are you doing?”
“I’m okay. I’ll have to find one of these beds. I love the reclining feature.”
“I’m sure we can find you one.” Jim turned to Nick. “Man, you are either a terrible shot or a marksman. You hit the one place in Smith’s chest that missed every vital artery and organ.”
“How is Elaine?” Michelle bit back a wince as she tried to scooch up in the bed.
Nick jumped up to help her.
“She’ll live. Unlike Stigman.” Jim’s gaze cut to Nick then back to his sister. “I questioned her this morning. It seems she and Staniski had a fling going and it went south when she met Junior Silver.”
“Was she the contact for Towers?” Michelle bit her cheek, waiting to see if she was right .
“Yeah. I have to corroborate her story, but she claims it was self-defense. Staniski didn’t take the break up too well and came after her with a knife.”
“And she what? Overpowered him and slit his throat?” Disbelief showed clearly on Nick’s face.
“I know, I know. She’s a buck-twenty-five, and Jonny was at least one-eighty. But, it’s her story. We’ll see what the techs come back with.” Jim shook his head then continued, “Anyway, she freaked out and called big brother, who came to the rescue.”
Nick sat back. “And Junior? Was Stigman helping Margarita off Garmen?”
“Jonny, Cliff, and Junior?” Michelle’s head was spinning.
“Not according to Margarita. She claims to have sent her aunt Garmen’s address to bring some food over because she would be working late.” Jim leaned in. “But here’s the interesting part. The van from Garmen’s house, we got four sets of prints off it. Three were in our system.”
“Jonny, Cliff, and Junior?” Michelle asked.
“Yup. And the fourth we matched today. Elaine Smith.”
“Oh. She was more than the contact?” Michelle hadn’t seen that coming. Or her being a killer.
“And Garmen could connect her to Staniski and the sleigh.”
“So, did she have her big brother’s help?” Nick asked.
“The crime scene techs are scouring the roof for casing now.”
“Then she didn’t mean to kill Junior?”
“Nope. She was pretty torn up about him.”
Nick ran his palm over his chin. “Do we know who vandalized Mickey’s garage door?”
“I still think the only one who could have done it was Junior, but it didn’t seem like him,” she said .
“It wasn’t. Banks and Brannon brought in a seventeen-year-old for tatting up the high school with red paint. I did some checking. You arrested his mother on drug charges two weeks ago.”
“That would explain it,” Nick said.
“As for who was driving the van the day your father was hit, we can’t say. My best guess would be Junior. I don’t think he wanted to kill your dad, but just take him out of the festival.”
Nick stiffened.
Michelle could feel the shift in the air. She hated it. She wanted to grab his arm and keep him close, but he was up and out of his chair before she could move.
“I have to get going. Thanks for the updates, Jim.” He turned to Michelle and gave her a quick kiss. “I’ll see you later.”
“Hey, sorry, dinner didn’t work out last night.” Jim said.
Nick’s brow climbed halfway up his forehead.
“Oh, yeah. I forgot with everything. Mom invited you guys to dinner.”
His face blank, he nodded, then waved a farewell to her brother.
Crap. It was an innocent mistake.
“He seems to be handling this well.”
“Yeah.” He seemed to, but was he really? She stared at the door.
***
Nick broke an egg in the bowl. Steak, spaghetti, even meatloaf he could make edible, but cookies? Not his thing. “Are you sure I can’t just get store-bought cookies? Mabel’s Café downtown has some delicious snowflake ones.”
“No, Dad. We need homemade for Santa. And someone ate all the ones from the Swenson’s.” The way she stood with her hand on her hip said he wasn’t getting out of this.
“Fine, but I didn’t eat all those alone. I know you snuck more than a few.”
The festival was only two days away and he should be finding a Santa stand-in and building a sleigh from scratch. But even if he could do it, no way it would be the work of art his father’s sleigh was. Maybe he could break into the police impound and steal it back? Anything but Plan B.
“Dad.”
Ava’s tug on his sleeve pulled him back to the present. “Yes, Honey?”
“You got eggshells in the batter.”
“Oops.” He picked the pieces from the bowl.
“Do you have sugar? Remember last year?”
“Yes, smarty pants. I have all the ingredients on the recipe.” He tapped her nose, leaving flour behind.
“Officer Michelle didn’t put the flour in until after the eggs.”
That’s because she knows how to make cookies . He was winging it here. Not that he’d tell his daughter that.
She peered into the bowl and frowned. “Why don’t you call her? I bet she’d come help us.”
His ribs tightened, clutching his lungs. Air. Not enough air.
He set the spoon down and looked at his daughter’s hopeful face. “Officer Michelle can’t help us today.”
He hadn’t told Ava that Michelle was injured. He wasn’t sure how. After Molly died, the last thing he wanted was to worry her.
“She told me if I need help, to call her. Especially after I told her you forgot the sugar last year. ”
“Of course you told her.” His head tipped back, and he stared at the ceiling. He had to tell her. Since the night Mickey was here for dinner, every other word out of his daughter’s mouth was about Officer Michelle.
He picked her up and set her on the counter next to the bowl. Framing her in with his arms, he leaned down to look her square in the face. “Honey, Michelle had an… accident… at work. She is okay, but she’s in the hospital.”
A sheen glossed over her eyes. “Will she die?”
“No honey. Not today. She should be going home soon, but she’ll need her rest.”
She blinked. A fat tear rolled down her face.
“Honey, I know you like her. I do, too.” How to explain that these things could happen or worse because of her job?
Ava blew out a big chocolate-smelling breath. “Colin’s stepdad is a police officer. He said his mom worries all the time.”
“Your Grandma Jolley was one too.” Nick understood the strain that came with having a police officer for a family member.
“I don’t want Officer Michelle to die.”
Neither did he. But the question is. Could they live with the worry?