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“Fine, Mom. Dislocated shoulder. It’s no big deal.”
“You’re sure?” Charlene was obviously unconvinced.
“Yes, of course.”
“And the baby?”
“All good. And I have an appointment with Dr. Kasey tomorrow morning. She squeezed me in, just to make sure.”
“She didn’t come see you?”
“Not yet. Another doctor examined me here at the hospital. Really, Mom, it’s okay. I’m going to be released soon, hopefully within the hour.” She checked the clock and saw that it was after ten.
Charlene said, “Okay, good. That’s good. But I’ve been watching the news. They’ve pulled two bodies from the old Beaumont home. I assume that’s why you were there?”
Nikki closed her eyes as her mother rambled on and on about what she’d seen on television, where the crack news team from WKAM had filed the first report of two bodies being located in the basement of the Beaumont manor. “The reporter said that not only you but a police officer was pulled from the river, Detective Morrisette.”
“That’s right.”
“Reed saved you? But she was trying to save you?”
Nikki wanted to argue that she hadn’t needed saving but knew there was no reason to pick nits over what had happened. “Yes, essentially.”
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“Well, what were you doing? Nosing around again? Nicole, when will you ever learn? You seem to have some kind of death wish.” She started rambling about Nikki’s past near-death experiences, and she really did have a point. For someone in her midthirties Nikki Gillette had defied the grim reaper more than once. This—falling into the river—didn’t compare with the other hair-raising times when she’d faced what she’d thought was certain death. Charlene, though, wasn’t convinced. “You have to be more careful! It’s not just you this time, you know.”
“Yeah, I do,” Nikki agreed, though she didn’t want to admit it.
“You’re carrying my grandchild.”
And our child, Reed’s and mine. But she bit her tongue rather than start any kind of argument and said instead, “Look, Mom. Sorry, but I’ve got to go, the nurse is back.” It was a bald-faced lie, but she had to end this conversation before Charlene really got going.
“Oh. Well. Fine.” Her mother sounded disbelieving but didn’t push it. “You’ll call after you see Dr. Kasey tomorrow?”
“Yeah, of course.” She was nodding as if her mother could see her.
A pause. Then, “Well. Okay, then, you . . . you take care and knock off all this investigating stuff, okay? You’re a wife now, soon to be a mother.”
Charlene was SO old school. It ticked Nikki off. Big-time. And she didn’t need any reminders of her mother’s disapproval or a lecture—make that another lecture—on how to live her life. “Got it,” she said, though that was another lie just to cut her mother off. They both knew Charlene was wasting her breath, and man, oh, man did Nikki want to keep arguing, to push her mother out of the Dark Ages. But they’d been ’round and ’round on the subject before with neither woman ever backing down nor giving an inch. A waste of breath. It was time to end this. Past time. “I really have to go.” And she didn’t wait for her mother to respond, just hung up the bulky receiver and told herself to cool off.
She thought about the news reports. Charlene and the rest of Georgia knew as much about the bodies located at the Beaumont estate as Nikki did. Despite being on the grounds at the crime scene and her husband being the lead investigator Nikki hadn’t gotten any more information than the general public through the Public Information Officer. It was irritating and frustrating and . . . and just plain wrong.
However, Bronco Cravens’s name hadn’t been released.
Yet.
So Nikki still had a bit more insight into the case and if she could get Reed to open up a little—not enough to compromise the investigation, but give her something—she would have a little more to go on. She was trying and failing to remember Millie’s cell phone number when the nurse who had helped admit her returned with the news that the doctor, having spoken to her obstetrician, had signed the discharge orders. Nikki, complete with sling, ice pack and instructions on care for her shoulder, was essentially released. Reed showed up ten minutes later with fresh clothes. While he again checked on Morrisette, Nikki, with an aide’s help, managed to dress in the sweats her husband had plucked out of her closet. She was still trying to figure out how to broach the subject of the investigation when he returned, his face once again grim.
“Bad news?” she asked, immediately concerned as she adjusted her sling.
“Not good. She’s still in surgery.” He met the worry in her eyes. “Complications.”
Her heart dropped. “What kind of complications?”
“I don’t know. It’s a brain injury, Nikki. I’m sure there can be lots of things.” As he gathered her bag of wet clothes, he added, “Her kids are here. In the waiting room. With their father.”
That surprised her. Morrisette had never had a kind word to say about Bart Yelkis and had often put him in the category of “deadbeat dad.” “I didn’t think they got along.”
