“Yes. Of course.”
“Marguerite has asked Chief Carson for permission to go back to New York with Julian after the funeral. Or perhaps you didn’t know that Julian was released on bail?”
“I knew.” Ellery slowly digested this news. On the whole, he thought he was relieved. The fact that Julian hadn’t contacted him, was seemingly headed back to New York, surely meant that he considered Ellery off the hook as far as proving his innocence?
Nora mused, “I do hope they’re not going to try to make a run for it.”
“Marguerite and Julian?”
“Yes.”
“Marguerite and Julian might make a run for it? You mean flee the country? Why would they do something so stupid?”
“Presumably because they each believe the other is guilty.”
Ellery put a hand to his head. “I’m not following this at all.”
“It seems obvious to me.”
“Do you know for a fact that Marguerite suspects Julian? And vice versa?”
“No, no. I’m just speculating out loud. We have a new theory.”
“We do? I mean, we who?”
“The Silver Sleuths, dearie.” Nora’s voice grew warm with concern. “You poor child. You really are quite befuddled. And no wonder. Look at the time. You should be asleep.”
“Wait. Nora—”
“Now you get some rest, and we’ll talk tomorrow after they spring you.”
“Wait!” Ellery said. “What’s the new theory regarding Brett’s murder?”
Nora chirped, “I’m sure you’ve already considered it. We can discuss tom—”
“WHO?” Ellery demanded.
“What’s going on over there?” a querulous voice called from behind the beige curtain. “Some of us are trying to sleep!”
“Who?” Ellery hissed.
Nora hissed back, “Locke Lombard, of course,” and hung up.
Perhaps the Silver Sleuths had it right.
Ellery’s Wednesday morning breakfast tray arrived with the news that Locke Lombard had confessed to the murder of Brett Ainsley and surrendered himself to the police.
Ellery’s petition for a copy of the Scuttlebutt Weekly was denied. His appeal brought Dr. Mane, looking both amused and regretful.
“Here I was thinking Chief Carson was joking when he said you were some kind of amateur sleuth.”
“He was joking,” Ellery said. “But I know these people. I have some…involvement.”
“Well, sure,” Dr. Mane said. “It’s an island. We all know each other—or of each other. But the thing is, you’ve suffered a concussion. That’s a brain injury. In your case, the injury appears to be mild, but symptoms can manifest even several days after the traumatic event.”
“I know. I run a mystery bookstore. Ninety percent of injuries suffered by characters in mysteries are concussions.”
Dr. Mane laughed, although Ellery was being serious.
“Sure, but it’s not like in the books or in movies. Your brain needs time to heal, which can take seven to fourteen days. Ten is the average.”
“Ten days?” Ellery gaped at him.
“On average. It takes however long it takes. Right now, you’re still experiencing a number of symptoms, so you are in no way ready to return to work. I’m not one hundred percent sure you’re ready to be discharged.”
“Don’t even joke,” Ellery said.
Dr. Mane spread his hands in an I-don’t-make-the-rules. But then he said, “Honestly, we don’t have the bed space to keep you. If you’ll promise to obey the following rules—and these are rules, not guidelines—I’ll sign your release papers.”
“Deal. Er, I promise.”
“You haven’t heard what I’m about to tell you.”
Ellery opened his mouth, but Dr. Mane said, “One. You’re not cleared to return to work until the twenty-ninth.”
“That’s two weeks!”
“If you come in for your check-up on the twenty-fourth, I might give you the all-clear then.”
“You know,” Ellery said, “I don’t actually need your permission.”
Dr. Mane gave him that very charming smile. “True. But you’re a smart guy—though maybe a little peculiar. I’m betting you’re too smart to ignore your doctor’s orders.”
Ellery scowled. “What’s the next rule?”
“Daisy will give you the full list of Dos and Don’ts, but basically, take it easy for the next couple of weeks. Avoid activities that require a lot of concentration or focus. Avoid bright lights and loud sounds. Don’t drive—in particular, do not drive to work. Limit your screen time. Do not play any sports or climb any ladders—”
“Climb any ladders?” echoed Ellery.
Dr. Mane’s mouth twitched. “Rest whenever you feel like it. Stay hydrated. Eat plenty of protein, especially foods rich in Omega-3s, antioxidants—”
“Did you say I was peculiar?” Ellery asked.
Dr. Mane grinned, but said only, “Do you have someone who can stay with you?”
Ellery stared in alarm. He said quickly, “Um, yes. My roommate Watson.”
“I thought Watson was your dog?”
Ellery blinked.
Dr. Mane tapped his temple. “Yep. I’m paying attention.” He considered for a moment or two. “See who you can round up to stay with you. I’d hate to have to call you every three hours tonight. What would we talk about?”
Ellery studied him uncertainly. In other circumstances, he’d be wondering if… He glanced at Mane’s left hand. No wedding band.
Maybe yes. Maybe no. Hard to tell.
Mane raised his brows in inquiry.
Ellery said, “I’ll phone a friend.”
Mane nodded in approval. “I’ll see about signing those discharge papers.” He reached for the divider curtain, glanced back at Ellery—and winked.
Ten o’clock rolled around, and there was still no sign of Dr. Mane or the promised discharge papers.
Ten-thirty came and went, and Ellery began to feel trapped.
He wanted his own home and his own bed. The Buck Island Med Center was a busy, noisy place during the summer months. How anyone could sleep for more than an hour at a time—even without being woken to make sure they hadn’t died of concussion—was a puzzle.
Just past eleven, Jack phoned.
“Are you getting discharged today?”
“That’s the rumor.”
“Did you need a ride? I can’t get away, but I could send Martin to drive you home.”
That was a kind and unexpected gesture. Ellery was touched.
“Thanks, but that’s okay. Felix is supposed to pick me up as soon as I’m cleared for takeoff.”
“Okay. You want me to drop off Watson this evening, or did you need a little time to get your bearings?”
“No, no. Bring him home. I miss the little monster.”
He could hear Jack’s smile. “It’s likewise, I promise you.”
“Jack, is it true Locke Lombard confessed to killing Brett?”
Jack’s tone changed. “Yes.”