“Now, I realize you've been through an ordeal, but the sooner we can get your statement, the sooner we can start tracking down the perps.” Locksley jerked his right ear. Something he learned in anger management class?
The last thing I wanted to do was make this irritable man mad. “OK.”
He pulled pen and paper out of his breast pocket and straddled one of the chairs. “Start from the beginning and don't skip any details, no matter how insignificant they seem.”
A local TV station van swerved into the parking lot.
Detective Locksley groaned and rubbed the space between his eyes.
Chris's face brightened, and he waved at the crew. “Hey, Magpie, why don't we go say hello to Jennifer?” He beamed at me. “Be right back.” Chris strode outside and handed Maggie off to an older woman with the lights and camera crew. The little girl wrapped her arms around the woman's neck.
“Ms. Keaton-Jones, could you describe the perpetrators?” Locksley pushed his chair closer.
I shook my head to clear it and then cupped my aching jaw. “One of the men, the older one, had a gun. He was a couple inches taller than me, but not by much. He was Caucasian, and he had blue eyes.”
“Did you see any identifying marks? Tattoos, scars, et cetera?”
“He had a mask on, so I couldn't see much else.”
“Clothing? Approximate age?”
“Blue jeans, black shirt, black pea coat. Sneakers? Yeah, I'm pretty sure he had on sneakers. And I have no idea how old he was, but he wasn't a kid. Maybe in his thirties?”
“Gloves?”
Had the men been wearing gloves? “Iâ¦I think so. I'm not sure.”
“You think?”
Of course. Mean-Eyes had placed that hand over my mouth when he'd first crept up on me. “Yes, he had gloves on.”
“Good. Tell me about the second man.”
It was hard to concentrate with the officer staring at me. I peeled off my coat and massaged my sore neck. My unfocused thoughts drifted. “Uh, what?”
“Describe the second man, please.” He'd ratcheted down his gruff tone a notch, and for that I was grateful.
My gaze fell to the floor. Glass everywhere. An overlooked diamond ring twinkled on the carpet. Uncle Marty would be so upset. He'd worked hard to make this store a real showplace. And where was he?
Chris cruised back in and plunked down next to me. “Sorry. I didn't get a chance to mention I work for WWAG.” He glanced over at Locksley. “And yes, I called them. This is big news.” Chris turned to me. “Do you mind if we film the store? Only some wide-angle shots from outside, for now. Hopefully, you'll be up for an interview at some point.”
I'd had the inane idea he might be interested in me, but apparently, he just wanted a story. My cheek throbbed below my left eye, already tender to the touch. “OK, but they have to stay outside.” I was a certified mess, and that didn't play well on TV. I wiped clammy palms on my pants and shuddered.
“Ms. Keaton-Jones, I need your cooperation.”
Chris whipped out his cellphone and held it out. “Perhaps a few pictures of the two men would help.”
“Why didn't you say you had pictures to begin with?” Detective Locksley crossed his arms and glared at him.
“How did youâ¦?” I started to ask.
“I sneaked my phone around the side of the building when they weren't looking. Not my best work, but I was doing my best not to be seen.”
My head pounded as bright camera lights filtered through the door and into my eyes.
Chris's attention drifted out front and then back to me. He couldn't seem to decide if he wanted to stay or step outside with the crew. Work won out, and with an apologetic smile, he took off to join his co-workers.
“Lane's pictures won't matter, anyway since we'll have your security camera tapes.” He looked up at the small, black devices affixed to the wainscoting.
I sighed as a full-blown headache pulsed behind my eyes. “Nope. No cameras. Uncle Marty grew up in this cow town before the world turned crazy. He expects the best from people and can't get it through his dear head there's evil in the world.” I rested my elbow on the table, chin in my palm. “The best I could do was put up a few fake cameras as a crime deterrent.”
“You can't possibly be serious?”
Outside, Chris was hugging Maggie tight. Perhaps I'd misjudged him.
The back door slammed and heavy footsteps moved our way. An officer motioned Locksley over, and male voices conferred.
“Ms. Keaton-Jones? Do you know a Martin Keaton?”
“Uncle Marty owns the store.”
The men exchanged a glance. “Would you come with us, please? Officer Benson found your uncle unconscious in the back parking lot. He's still alive, but he's been beaten.”
3
The ride to the hospital took forever. After a quick, but thorough evaluation, the EMTs had declared me concussion free and given me an icepack for my cheek. With no medical needs of my own, I perched on a seat in the ambulance as the medical technicians worked on Uncle Marty.
His banged-up scalp worried them the most. Blood clotted in his hair, a half-dried trail trickling into his ear. A lump the size of one of his golf balls rose over his right eye, and Uncle Marty groaned in his sleep.
I whipped my cellphone out of my pocket and called my sister, Amee, on the way across town. I didn't tell her muchâjust that Uncle Marty had been in an accident. She met us at the entrance to the ER.
A whole team of people whisked Uncle Marty through operating room doors. There was talk of bleeding on the brain, concussion, and even a cracked skull.
I hauled in air to maintain my composure, but the occasional whimper escaped.
Amee piloted my shaking body to a chair in the corner. She unwound the handmade turquoise wool scarf I'd often admired, wrapped it around my neck, and slipped her arm around me.
We sniffled together.
I was used to being the big sister, always in control, always the one who knew what to do. But I let her comfort me and covered my face with the scarf.
Mom had died here in this hospital on the third floor. Thank God for Uncle Marty. I'd been only ten and Amee five when he'd taken us in and given us a home.
I shifted in my chair as Chris Lane strode through the revolving doors of the ER. No TV crew this time. Just him.
I pulled out a tissue, and dabbed my eyes with a clean corner.
He hurried over and sat on the plastic chair next to me. “How's your uncle? I heard they found him unconscious.”
“We don't know anything yet. This is my sister, Amee.”
I avoided Amee's probing gaze while the two said hello. She was relentless in her endeavors to marry me off again.
I'd had my one shot at true love, and now Mark was singing with the angels on high. After four years, my grief was gradually lessening. I didn't need another husband. I glanced around for my purse, but I must have left it at the store.
Chris placed a warm, calming hand on my shoulder. “The police are finished searching for evidence, for now. I made sure they locked up and sent the TV crew on their way. We certainly don't want a fine jewelry store sitting open to the general public.”
Amee's eyes narrowed. “What do you mean âpolice' and âevidence'? Did something happen at Keaton's? You said Uncle Marty was in an accident. And what happened to your face?” She unwound the scarf, studied me intently, reached out a fingertip to trace my emerging bruise.
I filled her in, softening the part where the police had found Uncle Marty lying on the asphalt next to his car. Amee, being on the fragile side, probably couldn't handle everything right now.
Then, what Chris had said hit me. “What time is it?”
Amee pointed to the clock on the wall over the triage nurse. “Five past eleven.”
Had it been only an hour since I'd had a handgun jammed against my head?
“Todd and Miralee were coming in at twelve so Uncle Marty could take the afternoon off. He was going Christmas shopping before the snow hit.” I resisted the urge to chew my nails. Two hours ago, I'd been coiled up on my couch finishing my second cup of coffee, one warm cat in my lap, the other sleeping in her bed next to the heat duct.
Uncle Marty had called, excited about his half-day off. Too cold and windy for him to hit a few balls out at the golf course, he'd made other plans. He'd sounded so animated, too.
We'd had a hard frost that morning, and there was a possibility of “precipitation.” That could mean anything from a foggy drizzle to a blizzard. In Maryland, December could behave like autumn or winter.
With Christmas only a couple of weeks away, we'd been swamped with business, and we were gearing up for a super-busy weekend. Although the robbers hadn't made off with everything, there were precious few high-dollar pieces left to sell. Who would take care of cleaning up, buying new display cases, ordering replacement jewelry, calling the insurance company? With Uncle Marty in the hospital, that would be me. There was no one else to run the show. My head spun.
Amee pushed a hand through her hair.
I searched my pocket for the scrunchie that always resided there just in case Amee needed it, and handed it to her.
She pulled her wavy hair back into a ponytail and then rubbed her hand over my knee.
I bumped her shoulder. “Don't worry. I'll call Miralee and Todd and explain the situation.”
She shouldered her purse and stood. “I'll do it. I'm going to get some coffee anyway. Either of you want anything?”
If Amee was scheming to leave me alone with the handsome man, she had to know the last thing on my mind right now was romance. Thankfully, she wasn't smirkingâalways a sure sign she was plotting my future. She had no idea how to sustain a poker face.
“Coffee would be nice.” I shivered. I'd left my coat at the shop. Probably with my purse. I fingered the scarf Amee had looped around my neck, burying my hands in the soft fabric.
“Extra cream?” Amee was born with the gift of compassion.
“Yes, please.”
“A candy bar with an abundance of chocolate, if I can find it?”
“Yep. Thanks.”
Chris pulled a twenty out of his wallet. “Thanks for offering. If you see anything resembling a Danish, that'd be great. And coffee. Black, no sugar, please. Do you need help carrying it all?”
“I can handle it.”
Chris pulled off his parka, wrapped it around my shoulders, and settled into his chair. Was he waiting to get an interview? Maybe a story on Uncle Marty?
“Chris, I'm really too tired to relive my dismal morning. Maybe later, OK? How did you find me?” His jacket radiated warmth. I pulled it tighter.
“You think I'm a reporter?” He puckered his brow. “I'm just one of the cameramen. Anyway, it's my day off. I overheard Locksley talking about your Uncle Marty. I wanted to make sure you were all right.”
Ouch. When had I become so cynical? “I'm sorry.”
“It's OK. I'm sorry to tell you, though, Locksley wants us both at the station when we're finished here.”
“Great.” The prospect of spending time at the police station curled my flat-ironed hair. “By the way, your little girl's a cutie.”
His smile lit up the room. “She is, isn't she? And she's sweet if she's not hungry. After our shopping trip to your fine establishment, Maggie and I were supposed to go out for brunch. She turned five yesterday. She wanted to be a big girl and order her own meal.”
“What's her favorite thing to eat?”
“She'll probably end up with chocolate chip pancakes, French fries, and a scoop of vanilla ice cream.” He smiled, but his eyes seemed sad. “I have to figure out a way to make it up to her.”
“You don't have to stay. I'll be OK.” I wiggled in the hard chair to get comfortable.
“I'll stay for a while, if you don't mind.” He loosened the knot on that homely, plum-striped tie.
“Thank you for the support. I'm not quite myself right now. By the way, what's with you and Detective Locksley? You obviously have some history.”
Chris propped an elbow on the back of his seat and sighed. “Victor's my brother-in-law, or was. Maggie's mother and I divorced three years ago. He blames me. He's really not a bad guy. And he's a good cop.”
My eyes fixed on that awful tie, then slid down to his left hand. No ring, but then, what did I care? Mark was gone. The day he'd fallen in his tracks from a congenital heart defect would forever be etched on my spirit. I was alone now. “It's great you get to spend time with Maggie. It must have been hard to give her up.”
“Magpie lives with me. It's Tiffany who left.”
“I'm sorry. I just assumedâI mean, so often it's the husbandâ¦.oh, I'm making a mess of this.”
“Common mistake. I'm used to it.” His hand covered mine. “But I'm blessed to have the best daughter in the world, and I wouldn't give her up for all the coffee in Colombia.” He flapped the violet-colored fabric. “In case you're wondering, Maggie gave me the tie when I turned the big four-oh last month.”
Darn. He'd caught me staring.
A doctor strode through the emergency room doors. “Anyone here for Martin Keaton?”
I sprang to my feet. “I'm his niece. How is he?”
“I'm Dr. Lawrence. You can come on back. We're prepping him for surgery, but he's conscious, and I'm sure he'd like to know you're here.”
I glanced back at Chris, and he gave me a thumbs-up. The tension in my shoulders eased. There were still some good men left in the world. Guys who took their daughters out for brunch. Guys who weren't afraid to wear something silly to please their kid.
“Hey. Could you tell Amee where I am?”
“Sure. Anything else I can do?”
“I don't know if you're a praying man, but if you are, my uncle would appreciate all the prayers he can get.”
4