“Doesn’t your uncle have the answer to that?” he asked, his eyes intense.
He was looking for another story. I felt it. So I clammed up. “I’m not at liberty to discuss my uncle’s condition.”
Westcott looked at Hobbs for a long moment before he shrugged and said, “Well, everything I put in the article is all I have. I have no idea how Kerry Carver’s lipstick is connected to the murder last night, or your uncle’s injury. I wish I could help you.”
I can’t say exactly what it was about him that made my skin itch, but I felt as though someone had unleashed a thousand ants in my pants and I was ready to go.
Westcott Morgan had been a complete waste of time.
Putting my gloves on, I briefly smiled at him as I rose. “Well, thanks for your help. I hope your ploy to climb the ladder of journalistic success doesn’t backfire. Take care.”
And with that, I didn’t even wait for Hobbs. I sauntered through the coffeehouse, the tinkle of Christmas music in my ears as I headed for the door to keep from turning Westcott into a cockroach.
Hobbs caught up with me outside the door, latching onto my arm with a light grip. “Hey, you okay?”
I’m sure my face was red with anger, but I didn’t care. “He’s no different than that jerk Abraham Weller. He’s not interested in the safety of these girls, he’s as much an ambulance chaser as Weller is or he would have known about the lipstick leak on the news. He enjoyed the trouble he stirred up. He didn’t do it because it was the right thing to do. Whatever happened to journalistic integrity, anyway?”
“I’ll give you, he’s definitely in it for the salacious side of things.”
“Well, it made me want to punch him. I figured I’d better leave before I did and you got the wrong impression about me.”
“The impression you’re a feisty woman with a big heart?”
I rolled my eyes at him. “No. That mentally I’m a fifth grader with a grudge.”
Hobbs tipped his head back and laughed. “How about we go see how Uncle Darling is doing? You know, so we can keep your hands busy?”
I laughed. “You know what they say about idle hands and the devil.”
“Then we’d better get your hands elsewhere. STAT,” he teased.
As we were turning to leave, I saw Westcott Morgan leave the coffee shop, swallowed up by the crowds of people wandering the sidewalk, looking at the beauty of the decorations, and I had to remind myself it was Christmas.
And in the spirit of the holiday season, I shouldn’t turn him into a cockroach.
Chapter 11
Little Saint Nick
Written by, Mike Love and Brian Wilson, 1963
I gave my Uncle Darling a long hug outside Monty’s room. Leaning back in his arms, I cupped his cheek with my palm. “How was Uncle Monty feeling?”
He looked exhausted, even after only spending forty-five minutes with my uncle. “He’s better.”
With such a short, two-word answer, I was almost afraid to ask. “And?”
Uncle Darling grinned his saucy grin as he leaned back against the wall. “And he remembered me.”
The look of relief on his face made me sigh in relief, too.
“Yay!” I whisper-yelled so as not to get into trouble with the nurses who watched everyone with an eagle eye. “That’s so great, Uncle Darling.”
“But there’s bad news.”
“What?” I asked, a cold shiver slipping along my spine.
“He doesn’t remember what happened. And I do mean nothing. Nada, zero, zippo, zilch. Not a single second of it after he walked into that bathroom, Hal. The doctor said it might come back to him, that he’s had severe trauma, blah, blah, blah, but he also might never remember.”
Wrapping an arm around his plump waist, I hugged him to me. “Well, that sucks.”
Although, it might be healthier for Uncle Monty to never remember the horror of how he’d ended up on that floor in the men’s bathroom of Feeney’s.
I prayed my vision was accurate he didn’t actually see Gable Norton murdered before his very eyes.
But I didn’t want to let on how that really sucked, because it also meant Uncle Monty wouldn’t be able to help us with any information on what had happened before the killer took Gable out. I’d been hoping he’d at least have something to help us find who did this to him.
“It sure does. Because the police have been here, Hal. Stiles came with them, and they want to question him. If not for Doctor Jordon, they’d have stormed in there and disturbed his recuperation.”
I gave him a sympathetic look, smoothing the wrinkles around his eyes with my thumb. “You do know that’s standard stuff, don’t you? He was knocked out cold in the middle of a crime—a murder. The police are going to want to ask him questions so they can catch the guy who did this. They’re not doing it to be meanies, Uncle Darling.”
Sighing, he nodded. “Of course I know that, Lamb. Forgive me if I’m easily vapored. I just want him to rest and get better and not have to worry about killers on the loose and those handsome officers grilling him.”
“That’s why the officer is here. To protect him from killers on the loose.” I pointed in the direction of a nice-looking young man with a cup of coffee and newspaper in his lap.
Uncle Darling patted my arm. “Devon is a nice boy. His mother sent cookies for us. He’s been very kind. Will you make sure he has a warm lunch?”
I grinned in Devon’s direction. “Of course. I’ll make sure he’s well taken care of. Now, shall we take you home, or is Doctor Jordon going to let you have more time with Uncle Monty?”
His face fell. “Not until tonight, unfortunately. I’d stay all day if they’d let me, in spite of the smell of sanitizer and death.”
Sighing at his unfiltered response, I began to steer him toward the elevators when I heard Uncle Monty cry out.
I ran to the room and pushed open the door without thinking, worrying he was hurt. “Uncle Monty, are you all right?”
He reached out to me from the bed, his pale, slender hand clasping mine. “Hal, oh, Hal…” he murmured with a raspy whisper, and began to cry, pressing my hand to his cheek. “I’m so glad to see you.”
I drew his fingers to my lips and pressed a kiss against them, choking back tears at how fragile he looked in the middle of all the machines and needles poked under his pallid skin.
Brushing his weathering cheek with my knuckles, I whispered, “Me, too, Uncle Monty, but I’m not supposed to be in here, especially because I have a case of the sniffles. So hurry and tell me before the nurse comes and boots my butt to the curb, are you okay? What’s wrong?”
He pulled me to him, surprisingly strong for someone who’d had such a major surgery. “I remembered something. I have to tell you before I forget.”
Uncle Darling came to the other side of the bed, his face a mask of worry. “What is it, my love? Tell me. Do you remember who killed Gable?”
He wrinkled his nose before he coughed. “No. A smell. I remember a smell…”
I think we both stiffened, or at least I did. “What—” I gulped. “What did you smell, Uncle Monty.”