Courting Death - Carol Stephenson [16]
I closed my eyes. “But it’s a tomb.”
“Hon, it’s a machine with all sorts of fancy medical bells and whistles. I’ll stay with you the entire time. If anything goes wrong, I’ll get you out.”
I sighed, opening my eyes. “Promise?”
“Promise.”
“Okay, let’s do this.” The technician assisted me onto the ledge, not a mean feat as I kept a death grip on the back of the gown.
When the man disappeared, I gazed up at Sam without speaking. As the drawer began to slide, panic’s tentacles gripped me. “I can’t do this.”
“Sure you can, honey.” Sam gave me a reassuring pat. As I moved away, he winked. “Once you come out, will you let me touch that dragon tattoo on your ass?”
“What?”
The tube swallowed me. But I swear as the gun bursts began, I could hear Sam’s laughter.
Simmering, I pulled into the drive of the single-story stucco house I shared with my mother in Boynton Beach. A bright cherry-red Mustang was already parked there. I hadn’t called Carling so it was obvious someone continued to stick his nose in my business where it didn’t belong.
I got out and slammed the door of my silver BMW, a rare present from my father. The winter sun beat down on me, its warmth soothing. After hours of circulated hospital atmosphere, I inhaled the crisp air like it was fine wine.
A nondescript black sedan rolled to a stop on the street and Sam emerged. I slung my purse, which had been recovered in Dr. Hassenfeld’s office along with my shoes, over my shoulder.
“That’s far enough. You saw me home, now go.”
Of course he continued to amble with that rolling stride of his toward me. “My mama taught me to see a lady to the door.”
Mom had been having a good day when I left and she knew Carling—at least on most days she did. However, she’d never met Sam. I didn’t know if a stranger would upset her.
“I’m fine. Really.”
“Then you should have no problem with me walking the last few steps with you.” He cupped my elbow and guided me toward the door.
The beds of impatiens I planted on either side of the door at the end of October were already huge puffs of pink, purple and white due to a heavy dose of fertilizer. The bursts of color complemented the deep rose I’d painted the house a few years ago. At the time I’d considered moving to West Palm Beach to be closer to work, but this house was paid for courtesy of dear old Dad, and my mother was familiar with the neighborhood. More importantly, the neighbors knew Mom. A big plus. Since I couldn’t move, I’d given in to painting the house a color I wanted.
Sam nodded. “Place looks great, Red.”
“Thanks.” I took a deep breath and opened the door. Only an abbreviated entry separated it from the living room filled with the Queen Anne furniture my mother favored. When the time came to face the inevitable, the set was getting consigned to charity. I didn’t care if I sat on nothing but cushions until I could afford something more contemporary and comfortable.
Along the wall dividing the living room from the Florida room sat a large hutch filled with framed photos and awards from a better time in my mother’s life. A lot of famous faces were on those shelves.
Carling sat on the sofa across from my mother, who was in the wing back chair that had functioned as her version of a throne until recently. My friend looked up and paled. Great. For anything to ruffle the unflappable Carling Dent, I must really look like shit.
She leaped up and rushed over to me. “My God, are you all right?”
When she reached out to hug me, I straight-armed her. “Trust me, you don’t want to touch me. Not until I’ve had a shower and changed.”
She promptly used her momentum to turn on Sam. “What the hell happened? Where were you when Nicole was being stuffed alive in a metal tomb?”
“Shh.” I cast a worried glance at Mom. So far, so good. She seemed content to stare out the front window. “Lower your voice.”
Sam raised an eyebrow. “I was interviewing the hospital administrator, which I might say, your partner would’ve also been doing if she hadn’t pulled a disappearing act.” The look he gave me was not amused. “When