“Thank you.” Bridget acknowledged the officer seated beside the door, then collapsed onto the recliner.
For the first time, she let her mind drift to thoughts that Eliza’s parents were gone. What did that mean for her? Did she have aunts and uncles who would take her in? And where had she been since they died? Bridget had so many questions, but she knew she wouldn’t get answers, not yet. She opened a note in her phone app and started capturing the questions. She’d need to find answers but couldn’t do anything in the middle of the night. Tomorrow would have to be soon enough.
A rap on the doorframe pulled her head up.
Dr. Lyons stood there, Jon immediately behind him, his hands on his hips. “This guy okay to come in?”
“He is, thanks.” She pushed the lever to lower her legs and then looked at Dr. Lyons. “How did she do?”
“She came through the surgery better than I hoped. We’ll leave a stent in for at least a day to make sure we don’t have to go back in if the bleeding recurs, but I think we were able to get all the pooled blood. I also didn’t see a leak, so I think her body was already healing.” He leaned against the door, and she could see his fatigue. “I expect her to wake up when the anesthesia wearsoff. She may be confused for a while, but I don’t anticipate that will last.”
“That sounds good.”
“It is. It all went better than I’d hoped. Thanks for giving your consent.”
“You didn’t give me much choice.” She tried to smile but felt the release of emotional strain. She blinked several times to try to stave it off, but a few tears escaped.
“You did well, and someday Miss Eliza will thank you. Maybe after her patch of hair grows back.”
His words startled a laugh from her, probably his goal. “How bad is it?”
“She might want a scarf. But at least it’s toward the back.” He rapped the doorframe again. “Good night.”
“Night.”
Jon stuck his head in. “That sounds like good news, Ms. Ellis.”
“The best.” And she popped the recliner back up and curled up. She’d do her best to sleep until the staff brought Eliza back. Then she’d have a lot of questions to answer, and she didn’t know how she could explain things she didn’t understand to the young teen.
Todd wishedhe had his phone or a radio. Then he could alert the officer in the squad car that he was on his way to the alley and that something was wrong. He put his hand on the butt of his service revolver and then edged to the back door. He pointed to the guy at the grill. “Call 911 and tell them to alert Officer Drane that Officer Westmont is coming out the back door of Rosie’s. He needs to be ready.”
“All right.” The man abandoned the grill and headed to a phone hanging by a cord on the wall.
Todd waited until the man had reached a dispatcher, then took a deep breath and cracked the door open. With a quick exhale, he slid a big bucket lid in place to hold the door ajar and then eased out. At first, he couldn’t see a thing, the space as dark as it had been the night before. But slowly his eyes adjusted from the bright kitchen to the darkness.
“Todd, get back inside.” Doris’ voice came from somewhere to the side and behind. Maybe over by the dumpster again. He was beginning to hate that space. He waited, trying to hear every sound. Her breathing sounded labored.
“Are you hurt?”
“Maybe.” She wheezed a breath. “I don’t want anything to happen to you.”
“Do you need an ambulance?” He raised his voice, hoping the two inside would hear and relay the message. If so, that would likely prompt more police to arrive. “I can go back inside and ask for an ambulance to be called. We can call 911 for you.”
She inhaled sharply. “Don’t do that.”
“Is Travis out here with you?”
“What would make you think that?”
“I got a text from you.”
She cackled. “I didn’t send you a text. I wondered what made you come.”
There was a sound like a kick, and then she groaned.
“Stop. Don’t hurt my grandma.”
“Travis, stay back,” Todd yelled, praying the boy would listen.
