A High-End Finish(73)

Damn, I was glad he hadn’t taken my sledgehammer or my heavy-duty framing hammer. Those would’ve caused me a lot more damage and I probably wouldn’t be here to whine about it.

I watched Chief Jensen’s teeth clench, felt his grip tighten around my hand. His reaction made me uneasy. “You look angry.”

“Of course I’m angry. I’m furious.” He pulled his hand away, paced a few feet back and forth. “I’m determined to catch this son of bitch, Shannon.”

“I appreciate it,” I whispered.

“I’m also determined to keep you alive.”

“That would be nice.” I was starting to fade a little and wondered if anyone would notice if I just drifted off to sleep.

He stopped pacing and stared down at me. “Why didn’t you tell me what happened at the gym the other night?”

I was puzzled and had to think for a minute, which made my head start pounding. “You mean with the bench press? How did you find out about it?”

“From Jane. She called me a while ago to make sure I knew.”

“That was just an accident.”

He sat down again and grabbed my hand in such a natural move that I wondered if he was trying to comfort me or himself. “Shannon, I can buy that the bench-press mishap and even your bicycle brake line might have been accidents. But tonight someone smashed your head with a hammer and knocked you out. My guess is that he was trying to kill you. That was no accident.”

I was shivering now. “Nope.”

“Right. So now I’ve got to go back over all these little coincidences and determine if they’re all connected or not.”

“Okay.” It should’ve been obvious to me that he would have to go back over everything that had happened to find a pattern or a time line that fit a particular suspect, but I hadn’t been thinking too clearly. I had to pause and breathe for a moment to help myself think. “While I was working out on the bench press, Penny was spotting me and Jennifer Bailey came over. She was holding on to the rack and sort of swinging back and forth. It bugged me. It was rude, you know? Penny was trying to help me and Jennifer was a distraction.”

“Penelope Wells, from the bank,” he said.

“Right. We saw you later at the pub.”

“Yes.” He smiled.

My eyelids drooped until they closed completely. I was losing steam, but I had one more thing to tell him. “I was going to ask you to sit with us that night, but Penny didn’t want to. She’s afraid of cops ever since one of them shot a bank teller where she used to work.”

“I can’t hold that against her,” he said easily. “A lot of people are afraid of cops.”

“I’m going to sleep now.”

“You do that,” he whispered.

? ? ?

The doctors moved me to a hospital room and forced me to spend the night. Nurses kept coming in and waking me up every two hours to make sure I wasn’t dead, I guess. When I got cranky and whined about it, the nurse in charge said, “You have a concussion.”

“I know.”

“In other words,” she continued, “you were hit hard enough that it injured your brain. We know this because you complained of dizziness and blurred vision. You’re having a hard time thinking and making decisions. So, now it’s our job to make sure you don’t stroke out while you’re on our watch.”

“Okay, thanks.” I sighed. “That’s a really good explanation.”

“That’s how we roll.”

“I appreciate it. No more whining.”

I made it through to the next morning and then called my dad to have him come and get me.

That night, Jane insisted on sleeping over, even though my father planned to spend the night in the guest bedroom right down the hall from mine.

“I’m glad he’s home,” Jane said, “but I’m staying right here in your room with you. I’m not letting you out of my sight until I’m sure you’re fully recovered.”

She showed me pages of information she’d printed out, every little fact about concussions that she could find on the Internet. And she followed to the minutest detail the care they suggested.

She fed me a light dinner, refused to pour me any wine, woke me up every few hours to ask me my name and to check if I was slurring my words.

She checked for fever and interrogated me on my every ache and pain, and wrote it all down on the calendar in my kitchen office.

The next day was Friday and I moved myself downstairs to the living room couch, where at least I had a view of the outside world through the big picture window. Jane stacked a few books and magazines on the coffee table to keep me occupied for a while. I wasn’t about to mention that I couldn’t read anything. My vision was still too blurry.

“I appreciate your diligence,” I said, when Jane handed me a glass of diluted apple juice instead of soda or chocolate milk. “You’ll make a really mean mom someday.”

She laughed. “My pleasure. You’ve still got a headache, don’t you?”

It wasn’t a question. She could tell by the way I groaned at the least little noise and squinted at the light coming from the lamp on the side table. The woman was watching me like a mama hawk. She clicked off the lamp and lowered the other lights in the room, too.