He raised his lashes a little and looked at her with unfocused eyes. “Home?”
“Yes.” She unfastened his seat belt. “Do you think you can make it into the house?”
He inhaled deeply. “You smell good.”
“Pay attention, Jake. You’re going to have to help me here. I can’t carry you inside.”
“Too bad. Sounds like fun. Never been carried over a threshold before.”
She got out and went around to his side of the car. When she opened the door he almost toppled out onto the driveway. She barely caught him in time.
“Hang on, let’s try this.” She inserted her arm between his back and the seat and maneuvered him out of the vehicle.
When she got him on his feet he gripped the edge of the car door to steady himself. He peered at the entrance.
“No sweat,” he said. “Piece of cake.”
“Good.” She draped his good arm around her shoulder. “Here we go.”
She was breathing hard by the time she got him into the front hall. When they finally reached his bedroom he was leaning on her so heavily she was afraid she might go down beneath his weight. If that happened she would have to leave him on the floor for the night, she thought.
But he managed to make it as far as the bed. His eyes closed as soon as his head hit the pillow.
She took off his shoes and placed them neatly on the floor beside the bed. After briefly considering his blood-spattered pants, she elected not to remove them. He was asleep now and she did not want to disturb him anymore. Even an agent of the legendary firm of Jones & Jones probably needed a little rest after taking a bullet.
She checked the bandage one last time. There was no sign of increased bleeding.
Satisfied, she turned out the lamp beside the bed and went to the door.
“Clare?”
She paused and looked back at him. “Yes?”
“You’ll be here in the morning?”
“I’ll be here,” she said.
“Good.”
She stood there for a long time, watching him sleep. Her insides were still tied up in the ice-cold knot that had formed when she got the call from the emergency room.
She went into the kitchen and made a large pot of tea. When it was ready she filled a mug to the brim and went back down the hall to Jake’s bedroom.
He was sound asleep. She put her palm on his forehead and then on the bare skin around the bandages. Satisfied that he was not in the grip of a raging fever, she sat down in the reading chair near the window, put her feet up on the hassock and took a sip of tea.
She did a meditation on the moonlit night and prepared to wait for the coyotes of dawn.
Chapter Thirty-eight
She was in the kitchen whipping up eggs when she heard the sound of a car in the drive. Given that it was not yet eight o’clock in the morning, the arrival of a visitor did not bode well, she thought.
The news of the shooting incident was in the morning edition of the Stone Canyon Herald lying on the table. By now most of the local residents had probably read it.
She set the bowl of beaten eggs in the refrigerator and went down the hall to open the door.
Elizabeth was on the front step. Unfortunately, she was not alone. Archer and Myra were with her.
“What the hell is going on here?” Archer demanded. “Paper says Jake was shot last night.”
“Is he all right?” Elizabeth asked anxiously. “I called the hospital but they said he hadn’t been admitted.”
“He’s here.” Clare stood back, holding the door. “Still asleep. Please keep your voices down.”
Myra was the first one into the hall. Her eyes were shadowed with accusation. “The paper says the police believe Jake may have been the victim of someone who was hunting out of season. Is that true?”
“Probably not,” Clare said.
Myra frowned. “What is that supposed to mean?”
“Long story,” Clare said.
“What about you?” Elizabeth said. “Are you all right? You look terrible.”
“Thanks.” Clare managed a wan smile. “One of the great things about having a sister. Total honesty.”
Myra gave her a second cursory glance. “You do look a little pale. What’s wrong?”
“Nothing major.” Clare closed the door. “I didn’t get much sleep last night, that’s all. Why don’t you come into the kitchen? I’ll make some coffee.”
She got Elizabeth, Myra and Archer seated at the kitchen table and went to the counter to make a pot of coffee.
“Let’s have it,” Archer said.
“I think someone tried to murder Jake yesterday.” Clare concentrated on spooning coffee into the filter. “Probably the same person who killed Valerie Shipley and Brad McAllister.”
Archer blew out a long sigh. “I was afraid you were going to say something like that.”
“That’s not possible,” Myra insisted, sounding desperate. “Brad was killed by a burglar. Valerie drowned accidentally. There isn’t any connection.”
Elizabeth said nothing. Clare turned on the coffeemaker.
“I think there is a link, Myra,” Jake said from the doorway.
Clare gave him a quick, head-to-toe survey. He had run a comb through his hair and put on a fresh pair of trousers and a clean shirt. The shirt was unbuttoned, the left sleeve hanging empty. Jake had managed to drape the garment in such a way that it concealed the bandage on his arm.
The clean clothes did nothing to soften the impression he made. The hard lines of his face were rendered more starkly ominous than usual by the dark shadows of his morning beard.
Archer whistled softly. “Well, hell, Salter. You look like you just got back from the gunfight at the O.K. Corral.”
“Feels that way, too,” Jake said.
Elizabeth’s eyes widened. “How badly does it hurt?”
He rubbed the stubble on his chin. “Let’s just say that I’m aware that whatever the doc gave me last night has worn off.”
“I’ll get the pain pills,” Clare said quickly.
“No, thanks.” He shook his head. “I need to do some thinking. That stuff fuzzes up my senses.”
Clare hesitated, saw the stubborn look in his eyes and decided to abandon the argument.
“Are you sure you should be out of bed, Jake?” Myra asked uneasily.
“I’m okay, Myra,” he said. “I just need some tea and some food.”
“You also need rest,” Clare reminded him. She ran water into a kettle. “The doctor said you’re supposed to take it easy for a couple of days.”