Chapter Twenty-Seven

Twenty-Seven

Sky had been found on the floor of her office, unable to speak and bleeding profusely. And poor Elspeth had been the one to find her.

According to Maurice, who had been contacted by Elspeth after she called 911 and promptly began to hyperventilate, the entire corporate staff had been out of the office for the holiday brunch. The metal detector was unmanned, the key-code lock enabled on the front door to the offices. Elspeth had returned to fetch the Secret Santa present she'd accidentally left in her desk. She'd punched in the code. But instead of just taking the gift and leaving, she'd made the fateful choice of checking on the company's COO—who'd begged off the party because of Lydia and Bill's luncheon. And that's when she'd made her shocking discovery.

Elspeth, Maurice told us, had suffered a panic attack and was currently in the ER. "Her mom came to be with her," Maurice said. "She'll be fine."

Knowing everything Elspeth had been through over the past few weeks, I wasn't so sure.

"The sad part is, Sky was the one who came up with the brunch idea," Maurice said. "She thought it would be less time-consuming and more cost-effective than a nighttime holiday party with alcohol and plus-ones. Dylan hated everything about the idea, of course, but he wasn't around, so she went full speed ahead with it." He looked at Bill and Lydia and winced. "I, uh, didn't mean to cause offense."

"None taken," Bill said tightly. "We know that our son doesn't think much of cost-effective ideas."

"At any rate, the doctors are working on her."

"This is all our fault," Lydia said.

"What do you mean?" I said.

"If we hadn't invited her to the luncheon, Sky would have been at the Christmas party when that shooter broke in," she said. "She would be safe."

"Oh, for heaven's sake. Who gets shot in their own office at eleven a.m. on a workday?" Bill huffed.

"You're making this sound like this is Sky's fault," Lydia said.

"I'm doing nothing of the sort," Bill said.

"With all due respect," I said, "you sort of are."

We were standing in the waiting area at Mass General's ICU. We'd just arrived. Maurice had waited long enough to tell us what happened in person, but I could tell he was eager to get back to the Winthrop Center. The Gonzo offices were besieged by police, who would no doubt want surveillance footage and any other assistance the head of security could provide.

He started to say goodbye when Lydia put a hand on his arm. "Is Sky going to be all right?"

"I think so." He said it like he meant it. "I haven't talked to the doctors or anything. But Sky Farley is tougher than she looks."

"That's true," Lydia said.

"Besides," Maurice continued, "there's a whole lot of people who'd be upset if she didn't get better quick. Dylan included, right?"

Lydia nodded emphatically. Bill just stood there.

"Well, if there's one thing I know about Sky," Maurice said, "it's that she doesn't like to disappoint anybody."

Maurice was carrying his coat. As he stretched to put it on, I saw a bulge in his shirt pocket—a hexagonal shape. He noticed me staring and slipped it out. Sky's compact. Her one family heirloom. "She dropped this—or maybe one of the EMTs did when they grabbed her purse," he said. "I found it on the floor. I'm keeping it for her."

"You're keeping it safe," Lydia said.

"Yes," Maurice said.

"That's…That's very kind of you." Lydia's mouth twitched into a smile. Most of her makeup had rubbed off, and it made her look younger. Less intimidating. Bill put his arm around her. Maurice looked a little embarrassed. He said goodbye and headed out.

"He's so caring for a security guard," Lydia said. "Or maybe it's just Sky. She seems to have that effect on people."

I waited till Maurice was gone to excuse myself, and told Bill and Lydia I was going to look for a bathroom, but I was really headed to the ICU. I didn't want to insult Maurice, but he himself had admitted that he hadn't spoken to the doctors working on Sky. And I was willing to bet that he hadn't spoken to the two uniformed police officers whom I'd noticed stationed just outside the ICU door.

When it came to Sky's prognosis—and who might have shot her—I felt like I needed a second opinion.