“Or her,” I suggested. “I believe you’re the one who told me women can do anything they want.”
Twink actually grinned at me then. “Roger that,” she said. “But here’s the deal. I’m still on your payroll. Do you want me to drive you back to the hotel before I head out, or should I leave you here?”
“You go on back to Anchorage,” I told her. “Someone here will give me a lift to the hotel, and one way or another I’ll make it back to Anchorage, too.”
“Okay, then,” Twink replied. “I still have your credit card on file. Is it okay if I charge it?”
“Charge away,” I said, “but only after you’re safely home in Anchorage.”
“Will do.” Twink held out her hand. “Driving you around has been interesting,” she added as we shook. “More fun than I’ve had in a long time.” Halfway to the door, she paused and turned back. “There’s a Hertz outlet back at the airport, but you should probably have someone else take you there.” With that she was gone.
“That was Twink?” Nitz asked as the sliding glass doors closed behind her. “Shouldn’t I go thank her for rescuing Jimmy?”
“No need,” I said. “I’m pretty sure she enjoyed every minute of it.”
“But what’s this about an airport security breach?”
“It’s a long story, and one of the things I need to talk to you about, but probably not here,” I said, glancing around the lobby, where at that very moment everyone in the room seemed to be watching all of us with undisguised interest.
“I just came out to get Jimmy,” Nitz said. “There’s a separate ICU waiting room. It’ll probably be a bit more private there.”
“Good,” I said. “Privacy is exactly what’s needed.”
Chapter 35
The ICU waiting room was smaller than the ER lobby, and because there were no sliding glass doors leading to the outside, it was warmer, too. After his long day, Jimmy was done for. When Nitz disappeared into one of the patient rooms, Jimmy curled up on a love seat. Using his arms for a pillow, he was soon fast asleep.
I took advantage of those few moments of privacy to call Mel. “Are you home?” I asked.
“Just kicked off my shoes, lit the fire, and poured myself a glass of wine,” she answered. “The snow is finally starting to melt around here, and you’ll be happy to know Sarah was a good girl and let herself out through the doggy door as needed.”
I decided to accept that as positive news and not ask if Mel had checked for deposits on the front porch. If they were there, they’d still be waiting for me when I got home.
“How was it?” Asking that unnecessary question was a lot like asking someone who’s just lost a spouse, How’re you doing? I already knew it had been bad. I just didn’t know how bad.
“Heartbreaking,” Mel said, and I heard the depth of weariness in her voice. “I spent the day with two separate but equally devastated families. Paul’s parents knew their son was troubled but had no idea about his drug use. They believed Amy was the best thing that ever happened to him and that she and baby Cara were the answer to their prayers. Amy was an only child. Her parents are beyond devastated, but they’re determined to take the baby back home to Hawaii. They may be in for a fight on that score. I’m not sure if taking the child out of state will fly with either Child Protective Services or with the shooter’s parents.”
“Wait,” I said, suddenly irate. “You mean CPS would rather keep the baby in foster care than send her home with her grandparents?”
“Come on,” Mel said. “You and I both know that bureaucracies aren’t smart on that score.”
She was right about that, because we had seen it firsthand. Alan Dale, my granddaughter Athena’s other grandfather, had battled for months before being granted permission to take the child back home to Texas.
“I hope they have a good lawyer.”
Mel actually laughed. “Believe me, they do,” she said. “I already gave them some suggestions about that. But the good news for me is that an autopsy has confirmed that the shooter took his own life, so at least I don’t have the added complication of an officer-involved shooting. What’s happening on your end, and where are you?”
“In the waiting room for the ICU at the hospital in Homer.” After that I gave her a brief overview of everything that had happened, and I’d gotten as far as Shelley Adams’s being taken into custody at the airport when Nitz emerged from her father’s room.
“Sorry, Mel,” I said. “I have to go. I’ll talk to you again in the morning.”
Nitz glanced at her sleeping son then went back to the nurses’ station and returned with a blanket. After covering Jimmy, she came over to the chair next to me and sank into it.
“How’s your dad?” I asked.
She bit her lip and shook her head. “He’s nothing but skin and bones,” Nitz murmured. “It looks like Shelley’s been starving him to death.”
“That’s how it looked to me, too,” I agreed.
The word “alleged” was notably missing from the conversation. In my mind Shelley had already been tried and convicted.
“When Helen Sinclair tried to warn me that something was wrong,” Nitz continued, “I should have listened, but I didn’t. I was still harboring a grudge, and now . . .” The remainder of that sentence went unfinished.
I started to tell her she shouldn’t blame herself, but knowing she would anyway, I didn’t waste my breath.
“Do the doctors have any idea about what she used?”
“They’re analyzing his stomach contents and checking his blood work, too. My best guess would be that she gave him an overdose of something, we’re not sure what, although how she could lay hands on illegal drugs, I don’t know.”
All she’d have to do is place a call to her friendly neighborhood drug dealer, I thought. The same guy who works as her supposed handyman.
“At least he’s off the ventilator,” Nitz continued. “And I can’t thank you enough. If you and that Twink woman hadn’t gone to the house looking for Jimmy, my father would be dead by now and maybe Jimmy would be, too. I don’t even want to think about what might have happened if you hadn’t been there.”
I had to agree. We’d all been lucky on that score.
“So tell me about Chris,” she said. “How did you find out he was dead, and who killed him?”
That was a very long story, and as I launched off into telling it, I realized that the next person I’d need to call was Father Jared Danielson. When I finished relating all of it, Nitz was aghast.
“So you don’t think my father had anything to do with killing Chris?” she asked.