Into Thin Air. Mary Ellen Porter
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Rose, don’t—” Laney began.
Too late. Rose somehow darted through the blockade of masculinity, slipping past the officer.
Agent DeMarco stepped to the side, letting her by. Obviously he wasn’t worried about a five-foot-nothing octogenarian. The officer, on the other hand, looked quite disgruntled.
“Do you want me to cuff you, ma’am?” he shouted.
“Don’t be silly, boy. I’m too old. You’d break my brittle wrists.” Rose smoothed loose strands of silver hair back into her neat bun, then brushed invisible lint from her beige slacks. Her gaze settled on Agent DeMarco for a moment before her focus shifted to Laney.
“You’re awake! Thank the good Lord for His mercy!” she cried, hefting an oversize bag onto the bed.
“Yeah,” the officer sputtered. “She’s awake, and I’m going to lose my job.”
“Now, why would you go and do something like that?” Aunt Rose asked, completely unfazed by the commotion she’d caused. Typical Rose. Always in the midst of trouble and never quite sure why.
“My aunt is notorious for getting what she wants,” Laney cut in. “I’m sure Chief Andrews will understand the position you were in.”
“He might, but I don’t,” the officer responded irritably. “But I guess as long as she’s your aunt, I’ll go back to my post.”
He returned to the corridor, closing the door with a little more force than necessary.
“You’ve annoyed him, Aunt Rose,” Laney said.
“And you’ve annoyed me. Getting yourself shot up and tossed into the hospital and interrupting a perfectly wonderful book club meeting,” Rose responded. She touched Laney’s cheek and shook her head. “What in the world happened? I mean, Tommy said you’d been shot...but I figured he’s so old, he probably got it wrong.”
“Tom is barely sixty, Aunt Rose, and you know it.” Laney sighed. Her aunt and the deputy chief of police Tom Wallace had never hit it off. She’d have to remember to thank him for calling Rose. The poor guy tried to avoid Rose as often as possible.
“But he acts like he’s a hundred, ’bout as fun as a stick in the mud. Remember that picnic at the kennel last year? He—”
“Aunt Rose, please. I’m not in the mood for trips down memory lane,” Laney said, her head pounding with renewed vigor.
“Are you in the mood to sit down?” Agent DeMarco asked, taking Laney’s arm and urging her to the chair she’d abandoned. “You look like you probably should.”
She settled into the chair, watching with horror as Rose peered up at Agent DeMarco. If Laney’s brain had been functioning at full capacity, she’d have found a way to refocus her aunt’s attention. As it was, all she could do was hope that Rose didn’t say anything she’d regret. Or, more to the point, that Laney would regret.
“You must be that FBI agent Tommy told me about,” Rose said with a smile.
“Yes, ma’am. Special Agent Grayson DeMarco.”
“Well, I’m too old to be remembering all those names and titles—what’s your mama call you?”
Agent DeMarco smiled at that. “She calls me Gray.”
“Well, then, Gray it is, and you can call me Rose. None of those niceties like ‘ma’am’...that just makes me feel old.” Rose plopped down in the chair Agent DeMarco had vacated only moments ago.
“How’d you get here Aunt Rose? I hope you didn’t drive,” Laney said. The thought of Rose speeding down Route 50 was not especially comforting.
“Of course not. You know my license was temporarily revoked after that unfortunate incident at Davis’s Plant Emporium. Really, I don’t understand why everyone was so upset—it was only a couple of bushes and some potted plants, after all...but that’s neither here nor there.” Rose shook her head and patting Laney’s knee. “Tommy drove me. Kent sent him to pick me up. I imagine Tommy will be along soon.” She lowered her voice to a decidedly loud whisper. “I made him drop me off at the door so no one would see us walk in together—that’s how rumors get started. Before you know it, the whole congregation will be saying I was arrested or some such nonsense.”
“Rose,” Agent DeMarco said, “did Deputy Chief Wallace explain that we need to keep the details of this situation quiet?”
“Yes, yes. He explained. No need to worry about me. My mind is a steel trap, and my lips are sealed.” Rose put a hand up as if waving away the agent’s concerns, then turned to Laney. “So, how on earth did you get yourself shot?”
Was Laney allowed to mention the kidnapping? She didn’t know, so she kept it brief. “I witnessed a crime and tried to intervene.”
“I bet you weren’t carrying that mace I gave you last Christmas, were you?” Rose frowned. “That stuff’s supposed to be powerful enough to stop a bear in its tracks. A criminal would probably have a hard time aiming at you with that in his eyes. I’ve got my can of it right in that bag. Anyone tries to come at us, I’ll take him down.”
* * *
Grayson would almost have liked to see that.
Laney’s aunt looked about as old as Methuselah, but she moved like a woman much younger. He could picture her reaching into the bag, yanking out the spray and taking down a kidnapper.
A quick rap at the door and a young female doctor walked in, followed closely by Deputy Chief Tom Wallace. Grayson had met him at the crime scene, and he’d liked the guy immediately. Though old-school and by-the-book, he didn’t have any compunction about sharing information with the FBI.
“Agent DeMarco,” Wallace said, “the chief said to let you know they’ve finished with the crime scene. He’s going to the precinct to make sure the blood and finger prints on the gun are expedited for processing.”
“Thanks, Deputy.” So far he liked the way Chief Andrews handled things, and he wasn’t surprised that Andrews was taking a very personal interest in the case. “I may head that way myself after Laney is discharged.”
“If she’s discharged,” Wallace replied. “The doctor will decide that and then we can come up with a plan for getting her out of here.”
They weren’t going to do anything. Grayson had a plan, and he was sticking to it. He didn’t bother telling Wallace that. The doctor was already leaning over Laney, flashing a light in her eyes, asking about pain level, nausea, dizziness. Laney answered quietly.
“We did an MRI when you were brought in. I’m happy to report that there’s no fracture and no hemorrhage in the brain,” the doctor said, tucking a loose strand of black curly hair behind her ear and pushing her glasses up on her nose. “You do have a concussion, and the effects of that can last for a while. Expect the headache to linger for the next few days. I can give you some prescription-strength Tylenol to take the edge off the headache, or something stronger if you think you’ll need it.”
“Prescription-strength Tylenol’s fine.”
The doctor marked something in her chart. “You were really fortunate, you know. If that bullet had traveled a different trajectory—just a half an inch in any direction—the outcome would have been very different.” She tucked her pen in her lab-coat pocket and her clipboard under her arm. “There’s really no need to keep you here overnight, assuming there’s someone at home to monitor you.”
“I’ll be with her,” Rose piped up.
The doctor looked over at Rose, then back at Laney, an almost indiscernible look of concern crossing her face. “Do you two live alone?”
“Oh, we don’t live together,” Rose responded. “I like my space. But I’m