Well Read, Then Dead(103)

            “Shaved my head? Am I bald?” Even acknowledging that the recent past was still a bit foggy, the thought of having my head shaved caused more panic than I felt when I was locked in the shed with a gas leak.

            The doctor said, “Bald, yes. But only in one spot. The entire area, including bandage, is only two inches by two inches.”

            I blanched. “I have a giant hole in my hair?”

            “A small hole. The hair from your crown will hide most of it.” He gave me a tight smile. “You know, the grass and dirt we cleaned out of your wound indicated you were hit by a gardening tool, probably a shovel. Instead of worrying about your hair, you should be grateful you don’t have a fractured skull.”

            A voice from the doorway confirmed, “Definitely a shovel. We found it in the yard. The lab is examining it now, but it had traces of hair and blood, so we’re presuming it is the assault weapon.” Frank Anthony walked into the room, with Ryan Mantoni at his heels. Ryan gave me a quick wink and a thumbs-up, but the lieutenant was all business.

            “Doctor, we don’t want to interrupt, but we’d like to interview the victim as soon as possible.”

            Victim. He called me a victim. I was tired of all his labels. For a while he seemed to think I was a suspect, then I was a witness, now I’m a victim. What is it with this man? Can’t I just be Sassy?

            The doctor skimmed the folder in his hand pensively. I presumed it was my medical record.

            “Sure. I have to order some tests for Ms. Cabot. I’ll be at the nurses’ station for about five minutes, but when I come back, you’ll have to wrap up.”

            He tucked his pen in the breast pocket of his lab coat and was halfway to the door when I demanded, “Tests? What tests?”

            Without turning around the doctor said, “We’ll talk about that later.”

            Ryan came close and gave me a soft kiss on the cheek. “Boy, Sassy, you scared the world. Cady is pacing back and forth in the lobby and stops every twenty seconds to ask when he can see you. Bridgy is crying and, well, you can only imagine Ophie. Drama queen doesn’t begin to describe it. They only let us come up because we’re, well, us.” And he pointed to his badge.

            Frank Anthony shook his head and cast his eyes upward, the picture of impatience. “We only have a few minutes. Start at the top. What were you doing at Miss Batson’s house? Who hit you and how did you get locked in the shed?”

            He took out a pen and his official black book, ready to capture my story. I was certain he’d become deranged if I told him that I went to Delia’s in response to an anonymous note taped to the ship’s bell, so I decided to start in a different place.

            “I walked into the shed and, out of nowhere, something hit me from behind.”

            I knew he’d eventually come back to why I was at Delia’s, but he let that go for the moment and moved on to who else might have been there. “And you didn’t see or hear anyone?”

            “Not a soul. I was a little surprised that none of the neighbors heard me when I started yelling and banging on the shed door.”

            Ryan said, “Our canvass indicated that no one was home in most of the houses on the block. Turns out there was a spaghetti dinner down by the bay a couple of blocks to the north. Half the neighborhood was there. Pasta and clam sauce.”

            I had nothing more I wanted to say, but the lieutenant wasn’t letting me off that easy.

            “So, tell me exactly why you were nosing around Miss Batson’s property.”

            I gritted my teeth, but even that tiny motion increased my headache, so I decided it was easier to come clean. I didn’t have enough brain power left to tangle with him.