“I thought one of them did it,” Sammy said.
“Until we’re sure one of them did it, and know which one,” the chief said. “Sammy, you can do that after you’re patched up.”
The deputy guarding Louise ushered her into the elevator. He held the door for Francine. She took a step forward. Then she looked at Louise, paled, and stopped.
“I think I’ll take the stairs,” she said. “It’s just as fast.”
She trotted briskly down the hall in the direction of Grandfather’s room. The deputies released the elevator door and it left.
“Yankee busybody,” Vivian muttered. “As if she gave two pins if anything happened to me. I bet she didn’t call the next nurse on the duty roster—just came down to see what was going on. She’ll make the call from the stairwell and complain that the duty nurse took too long getting here.”
I glanced down the hall to see if Francine had heard, but she was disappearing into the stairwell. Behind us, I heard a buzzing noise.
“Oh, dear,” Dad said. “Your grandfather is ringing his call bell.”
“I should go and see to him,” Vivian said.
“Oh, what a great idea,” I said. “Letting one of the people who might have assaulted him look in on him. And just when he’s starting to regain consciousness and might be able to identify his assailant.”
“I’ll go,” Dad said.
“I can just go down to the ER,” Sammy said.
“Dad, stay here and patch up Sammy,” I said, as I set off down the corridor. “Grandpa probably just wants to know what all the ruckus was. I’ll call you if he needs anything.”
“Right,” Dad said. “Come here, Sammy. First we need to clean up that bite wound. You’d be amazed at how filthy the human mouth is.”
Chapter 24
When I reached his room, I found Grandfather lying back on his pillows with a thunderous scowl on his face. He was fiercely clutching the little gizmo containing the call button. Since it also housed the TV remote, his death grip was not only sounding the bell at the nurses’ station nonstop, it had also turned on the set and was making it flip wildly through all the channels. The Tonight Show, The Simpsons, Nightline, David Letterman, a Japanese monster movie, professional wrestling, a music video, I Love Lucy, SpongeBob, and the Weather Channel flicked past in the time it took me to reach the bed. He’d also managed to jack the volume up to rock-concert level. Thank goodness for the buffer zone.
“Easy on that thing.” I held out a hand for the gizmo. “Do you need a nurse? Or Dad?”
“I’m fine, dammit.” He was shouting to be heard over Desi Arnaz and Madonna. “I need to know what the hell all that commotion was out there.”
“The chief just arrested some suspects.” I eased the call button unit out of his hand, turned off the TV, and hung the thing back on the side of the bed within easy reach. Blessed silence returned, or at least what passes for silence in a hospital—merely the quiet beeping of the three or four machines hooked up to Grandfather.
“Suspects? In my case or the murder?”
“Take your pick.” I straightened his pillow. “We’re pretty sure it’s the same thing.”
He nodded and closed his eyes. He seemed fine, but I decided to keep an eye on him for a little while. Dad would know where to find me when he finished with Sammy. And odds were Dad wouldn’t dawdle now. He’d be eager to get back to the farm, so he could hang around the barn while the chief interrogated his two suspects.
I felt a small thrill of excitement and relief. It was nearly over.
The chief still had to figure out which of the two women had ripped the earring from Parker’s ear. But I had every confidence that between his interrogation skills and Horace’s forensic ones, they’d solve that problem before long.
Of course, all the town’s thorny financial problems would remain. That would bother me a lot more tomorrow. Tonight, I just breathed a sigh of relief that the murder case was about to be solved. And maybe it was a good thing that neither our mayor nor our county manager had turned out to be killers.
I glanced at my watch. No matter how much of a hurry he was in, Dad would do his best patching up Sammy. That could take fifteen or twenty minutes. Maybe half an hour. I could still get home in time for Michael to get a decent night’s sleep. But in the meantime, I’d make myself comfortable.
At least one of the hospital’s decorating touches had a practical use. Beside the bed was a chair that looked reasonably comfortable. It even reclined—just the thing for worried family members keeping vigil. My room on the third floor had had one just like it, and in spite of his height, Michael had found it reasonably comfortable for napping, before and after the twins’ arrival.