“I can walk,” I say to the troopers, raising my head again. “But I need a little help.”
A discussion ensues between the two troopers, too low for me to hear more than a few words: risk . . . wait . . . statements. Belker approaches and squats near me.
“You sure?” she asks.
“Yes, please.”
By now the other three have started up the rise to the house. With Belker’s assistance I manage to struggle to my feet and adjust my pants and then half stagger through the darkness, with her gripping my forearm. My head throbs like hell, but my thoughts finally start to fit together.
Wendy tried to kill me.
And . . . she tried to kill me with the same type of weapon used to kill Jillian. And dishevel my clothes.
But why? And why Jillian? Because she must be the one who murdered her. Only the killer would have known about the jeans around Jillian’s ankles.
When we finally approach the house, I look ahead to the patio, where the male trooper stands under the pergola with a handcuffed Gabe and Wendy. Blake, Keira, and Hannah are clustered near the door. Bella’s there, too, I notice, dripping wet and looking shamefaced.
“What in god’s name is going on?” I hear Blake shout.
The trooper must order them to get inside because I watch the group quickly disperse into the house. He then calls out to Belker, advising her to take my statement in the kitchen. By the time she and I are inside, we have the room to ourselves.
“Are you okay to sit?” she asks. “That’s a pretty ugly gash you’ve got.”
“Yeah, but I don’t want to lie down.”
As I settle at the table, she wets paper towels and tells me to gently press them on the wound, which is on the crown of my head, a bit toward the front. It’s only as I lift my arm to my head that I remember the blow to my shoulder, which is throbbing, too.
“I need to take your statement before the ambulance arrives,” she says, withdrawing a pad and pen from her pocket. “Please tell me what happened tonight.”
I explain about how I went after Bella and was frantically trying to coax her to me when Wendy came up from behind and bashed my head.
“Had there been an altercation between the two of you earlier?” she asks, locking eyes with me.
I picture my last few minutes with Wendy in the kitchen, talking about Hannah and the foxgloves. She seemed so sympathetic, so eager to help.
“Nothing. Not now or ever. And she killed someone else, I think.” I touch a hand to my temple, trying to think. “Can you tell me . . . What’s happening to my husband?” From far off, maybe in the living room, I can hear the sound of a raised voice, and I’m pretty sure it’s Wendy’s.
“Officer Palmer is waiting for a backup unit and then someone will take your husband’s statement. Please try to stay calm for now.”
As soon as the words are out of her mouth, the low wail of an ambulance pierces the air, and I drop my face into my hands, relieved not to have to talk anymore. Soon I’m being lain on a gurney, and a paramedic stabilizes my neck with a surgical collar. There’s no sign of Gabe, but as I’m loaded into the back of the ambulance, I can see Keira standing on the front stoop, watching.
The doors close with a double click, and a paramedic presses gauze against my head wound, assuring me that I’m going to be okay. I can feel how fast my heart is racing, so she probably thinks I’m fearing for my life, but it’s not that. I’m worried about Gabe, worried that Wendy will somehow convince the police that it was a stranger who attacked me and not her.
As the ambulance zooms through the night, I can’t help but imagine Claire, headed for the same hospital four days ago. And I think of my own mom, too, feeling the corners of my eyes well with tears. I need to call her tomorrow. Need to pull her into my life more.
Once we reach the ER, I’m evaluated quickly by a triage nurse and then examined by a warm, thirtysomething PA whose name tag says Amir Mohabbat and who orders a CAT scan of my head and cervical spine. I’m lucky to get both done quickly, and neither scan shows any serious damage. I’m praying Gabe will be waiting in the exam area when I return, but there’s no sign of him. Though up until this moment, I’ve kept my emotions at bay, they surge now, a churning mix of fear, disgust, anger, and grief.
Once my tests are completed, Amir injects me with Novocain so he can irrigate the wound and suture it. He makes small talk with me about my career, asking with a wink if I think he could ever get work as an extra. I manage to grunt out a few five-word answers. Finally, just as he’s finishing, the curtain parts, and I cry out with relief to see Gabe standing there, his clothes still a little soggy.
“Honey, please tell me you’re okay,” he says, his voice breaking.
I nod and glance at Amir.
“She’s going to be fine,” he says. “There’s a nasty gash that I’ve just sewn up. Minor concussion. Nothing to stop her from doing Oscar-caliber work this year. She needs to keep the wound clean, take Tylenol for pain, and return if there’s vomiting, blurred vision, or if the pain really intensifies.”
I thank him for all his efforts.
“Can I take her home?” Gabe asks him.
“Let’s give it another twenty minutes so we can observe her a little longer. Then she’s free to go,” he says and ducks out of the exam room.
“Does it hurt a lot?” Gabe asks.
“Only when I think.”
“Ha. Good one . . . . God, I’ve been sick with worry about you.”
“Gabe, if you hadn’t come when you did, she would have bashed my head in.”
“But it looked like you were managing to fight her off.”
“Only briefly—with the dog leash. Ha, I’ve never been so grateful for that course I took on stage fighting and how to work with found objects . . . . What about you? They don’t suspect you of anything, do they?”
“No, since my story matched yours. And Wendy seemed totally unhinged, screaming at the police and saying she was going to have their jobs. Poor Blake. The police arrested her and took her away.”
I tap a hand against my forehead, as if it will help me pull my thoughts together. “Why did the troopers show up in the yard, do you know?”
“Keira called one of the detectives who’d given her his card. She noticed the back door open, realized you and Wendy were both gone, and worried that something might be wrong.”
Finally, Keira’s natural anxiety has been put to good use.
“And the troopers came just like that?”
“Apparently, they were part of the search today and knew someone had already been murdered on the property.”
“And how did you get home, anyway? I thought you were with your dad. Wait, how is your dad?”
“My father’s fine. He had a panic attack. I guess this has all been too much for him. They wanted to keep him a while longer for observation, but Blake was worried about Wendy and felt he should get back earlier, so I left with him. To be honest, I hadn’t been able to stop thinking about what you said—about Hannah possibly being a danger. The storm was so bad at one point, Blake ended up pulling off the road for a little while, and it was in an area with no cell service.”
“I’m just so lucky you came when you did. Like I said, she would have killed me.”