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“Well, I’ve been through hell, so that’s not surprising to hear.” He climbed into the cab with his colleague.
“Did you get into some kind of fight or something? Your head is bleeding.”
“I swear I’ll tell you the whole story, but first, I need some food and water and a good hot shower.”
Thankfully, Lacey let him be as they headed to the airfield. They stopped for a sandwich and a soda on the way there, and Jack polished them both off before they pulled into the parking lot. “What are the odds of getting a flight back to Bellefonte today, do you think?”
Lacey looked at his watch. “Too late for that. You’ll have to spend the night here and fly out first thing tomorrow.”
Delayed again. Damn it all. “That’s what I thought. Thanks. Maybe it’ll give me time to see a doctor.” And it wouldn’t hurt to get a good night sleep.
As soon as he entered the building, he made a beeline for Beth. “Did you reach the Pritchards?”
“Sorry. I tried twice, but they aren’t picking up. It’s good to see you alive and well, by the way.”
“I’m glad I’m not dead too. It was a close call. Let me try the Pritchards. Do you mind if I use the phone?”
“Help yourself,” she said, handing him the receiver.
The operator picked up and asked him for the number, which he gave. Then he waited. And waited. And waited.
“I’m sorry, sir. They don’t seem to be picking up right now.”
Cursing inwardly, he said, “Thank you,” and hung up.
He had to get word to her one way or another. The thought of her going through another night of grief and sorrow was unthinkable. Was there another way to get through?
“You should really have someone look at that head wound. It looks pretty nasty,” said Beth.
He touched his head, and there was fresh blood, not just the sticky dried-up blood from earlier. “Fine. I’ll go to the hospital, but I’m taking a shower first.” If he had to go to the hospital, he wanted to look like a respectable crime victim and not some unfortunate indigent. He’d received enough pamphlets for one day.
Before anyone could stop him, he charged into the locker room and turned on the taps for a shower. Thank goodness he always kept a clean change of clothes in his locker.
As he exited the shower after a thorough soaping, he pressed one of the towels to his head. It came away red. Why did scalp wounds always bleed so much?
He put on his clean clothes and used the bloody towel to make a little turban on his head. In a perfect world, he would have loved a shave. A scruffy beard had taken up residence on his chin. But there was no time. He threw out the old clothes, along with the pamphlet. There was no salvaging those.
“Did you try the Pritchards again?” he asked Beth.
She nodded. “Still no answer. Sorry, Mr. Thompson.”
“What about Ernie and Millie? Any luck reaching them?”
“They’re both flying right now and can’t be reached.”
Dammit. He pounded his fist on the desk, which made his head throb painfully. He winced.
Lacey hopped up from a chair next to Beth. “Let me take you to the hospital. You need to get that wound looked at.”
Jack sighed. All he wanted was to talk to Constance and then go to bed. The last thing he wanted was to be poked and prodded by doctors. But it wouldn’t be good to show up in Brooklyn the next day with a gory, untended head wound. “Fine. I’ll go.”
While Lacy hailed a cab, Jack tried the Pritchard residence again. Why weren’t they picking up? A cab stopped for them, and he had to go out and get in.
The hospital was as crowded and slow-moving as he feared, and he waited a whole hour until they were able to speak to him. “Just stitch me up and send me on my way, doc.”
“Can’t do that, I’m afraid. With a head wound like that, you probably have a concussion. We have to keep you here at least twenty-four hours for observation.”
There was no way in hell he was staying twenty-four hours. “Please. I swear I’ll see a doctor when I get home, but I have to get back to Brooklyn.”
