“What did she get wrong?”I said.
“No comment,” Steven mumbled, still shaking his head.He dropped his shoulder to force his way between us.“Leave me alone.”
I slid off the stool, but Bobby held out a hand.“He’s too wound up.Let him go; we’ll hit him again after he’s had a chance to stew.”
“Bobby, that’s diabolical.”
He shrugged, but his eyes tracked Steven as he left the bar, and he turned to follow him through the windows: Steven a bent, huddled figure, as though he were fighting against a headwind.And then he passed out of sight.
“Don’t look now,” Bobby muttered, “but I think we’re onCandid Camera.”
It took a lot of willpower not to start rubbernecking.
“South corner behind us,” Bobby said.“You can see him in the mirror.”
Since I had no idea which direction was south, I checkedbothcorners.
And there was Julian, recording us on his phone.
“What in the world?”I said.
“Great question.”
“Should I talk to him—” I began to ask, but my phone buzzed.
I checked it and saw a number I didn’t recognize.I showed it to Bobby, who said, “Answer it.”
(This is why I keep him around.)
“Dash,” Thatcher said, and his voice was strange.Wrong.The words tumbled out too fast.“Someone attacked Charlie.”
Chapter 11
Charlie had a semi-private room at Klikamuks General Hospital.It had walls in a soothing neutral that wasn’t quite brown and wasn’t quite gray.It had big windows to let in the light.It had a whiteboard with a note that said MANDY and then some scribbled reminders—I was guessing Mandy was the nurse for this shift.Gift-shop flowers—roses, lilies, lots of green filler—leaned precipitously in a vase.Charlie’s bed was near the windows.The privacy curtain was drawn around the other bed, but I could tell you one thing: whoever was in there was wearing some knockout perfume.
Charlie was propped up in the hospital bed, frailer than usual in the thin gown, and they had a bandage around their head.Dark circles ringed their eyes, and the way they held themselves suggested stiffness, maybe pain.They were clutching a stuffed animal—an otter—to their chest.It looked like it had come from the gift shop too.But Charlie’s eyes were open, and they smiled at us.
“Mr.Dane!”
“Just Dash,” I said.“Charlie, thank God you’re all right.You are all right, aren’t you?”
Thatcher was leaning against the windows, beanie pulled low, brooding like the troubled young artist that he was.“They could have been killed.”
AJ—busily typing on a tablet—glanced up and said, “The doctor said Charlie has to stay overnight for observation, but she thinks Charlie will be fine.”
“The murderer did this,” Thatcher said.“The killer.They knew we were investigating, and they tried to stop us.This is it: when we look into the jaws of death and, in the final instant, know the real meaning of life.”
Bobby squeezed my shoulder.“I’m going to call the sheriff.”
I nodded as I sank into a seat next to Charlie’s bed.
“Staring at my friend in the hospital bed,” AJ read from the tablet, “I realized it could have been me.In a way, itwasme.I was as much a victim as Charlie.”She tapped her lips.“I think I’m going to talk about how my grandpa died.”
“AJ, you’re not as much a victim as Charlie,” I snapped.“Nothing happened to you.You’re fine.”I turned to Thatcher.“You didn’t stare into the jaws of death.Charlie did.And button up your shirt before all your chest hair falls out.”
(I don’t think that’s actually a thing, but I was on a roll.And Thatcherdidbutton up his shirt—most of the way.)
“I’m fine, Mr.Dane,” Charlie said.When I held up a finger, they smiled and said, “Mr.Dash.”
