Chapter Thirty-Three

Thirty-Three

Sky agreed to talk to the police, but she wanted to tell Bill and Lydia first. Alone.

And so, after the nurses took her vitals, I left the room and let the Welches know that Sky wanted to see them. "She has something important that she wants to share with you," I said, adding, "It isn't good news."

They both nodded solemnly, neither one of them asking what the news was exactly. Heading back to her hospital room, they walked slowly, hand in hand, their heads bowed. Neither one of them said a word. It felt as though they were both about to receive the same grim prognosis, but it was an expected one. And so they were in no hurry to hear it.

I didn't envy them. What Sky had told me had been difficult to hear. It had been surprisingly hard for me to grapple with the idea that Dylan was capable of shooting his best friend—and I didn't even like him. I tried imagining what this news would be like for someone who did like Dylan—who loved him, even.

These were Dylan's parents. He was their only child. At some point in their lives, they'd pinned hopes on him. How could this not be a horrible shock?

Lydia and Bill had left me in the waiting room on this not-very-busy floor, and now, save for me, the room was empty. I took advantage of this newfound privacy and called my office.

The number rang several times. Nobody picked up, and my call went to after-hours voicemail.

I tried again, but this time my call was answered right away. "Sunny Randall Investigations," said a male voice. But it wasn't Blake's voice. It was Spike's.

"What the hell?" I said.

"Sunny?" Spike said. "I was just going to call you."

"What's going on? Why are you in my office, doing Blake's job?"

"Okay, first of all, Blake's fine," Spike said.

"That's good to know," I said. "Is he taking a break?"

"In a way."

"Pardon?"

"When we showed up, he was asleep at his desk," Spike said. "Not just nodding off. Like…deeply asleep."

"I…I find that hard to believe. Honestly. Blake's the most awake person I know."

Spike sighed. "Not that I have any skin in this game, but I'm looking at him right now," he said. "He's sleeping like a newborn on the floor of your new breakroom. He's even snoring."

"Weird," I said, but then the situation started to dawn on me. Gonzo. Blake followed a keto diet. No carbs. No drinking. Very little caffeine and sugar. One energy drink would probably send his brain over Niagara Falls in a barrel. And Blake had certainly consumed more than one. When I'd spoken to him, he'd sounded high as a kite.

I'd forced him to make me that promise. No more Gonzo. For the rest of the day. That was a couple hours ago.

Welcome to the crash.

"I suggested he try sleeping in one of your leather chairs, but he says he likes to stretch out," Spike was saying. "You should buy an office couch. You know that? You've got room for one. And if this kid likes to take naps, at least he won't mess up his back."

"Spike, can you do me a favor?" I asked.

"Sure."

"Can you look in the breakroom fridge? Tell me how many cans of Gonzo are in there?"

"You bet. Hold on."

Spike returned less than a minute later. "None," he said.

"Shit. I'm pretty sure we had a case yesterday."

"Wow," he said. "Did you drink any of them?"

I cringed. "I'd just as soon drink bleach."

"Well," Spike said, "I suppose he's sleeping it all off now."

"So, anyway," I said. "What are you doing at my office? And didn't you say ‘we' came in? Who is ‘we'?"

"I was wondering when you'd get around to asking. ‘We' is me and Elspeth. Or should that be ‘We are me and Elspeth'?" he said. "I suck at grammar."

"Elspeth's with you?"

"Yep. She came to my restaurant right after she got out of the hospital. Had her mother drop her off. Elspeth thinks I'm the only one who can protect her."

"Protect her?" I said. "From what?"

"That's what she wants to talk to you about." Spike put his hand over the receiver for a few seconds. I heard muffled conversation, then he returned to the line. "She wants to tell you privately in person," he said. "And knowing what she has to tell you, I've gotta say…she's right."

—

After I hung up with Spike, I waited for Bill and Lydia to get out of Sky's room. I told them I had a slight work emergency and that I'd call them later. They both seemed shaken up—Lydia especially. I understood. It was one thing to expect bad news about someone you loved. It was quite another to have it confirmed.

"You guys going to be okay here?" I asked. "You need me for anything else?"

Lydia shook her head. "That's fine, dear. You take care of your work issue," she said. "Sky has called the police, and I imagine that when they're done interviewing the poor girl, they'll want to speak with us as well."

"All right," I said. "If you're sure."

"You enjoy the rest of your day, Sunny," Bill said. An odd thing to come out of his mouth, especially now. It made me feel sorry for him, and feeling sorry for Bill Welch wasn't something that had been on my 2024 bingo card.

As I was leaving the waiting room, Lydia called out my name. When I turned to her, she gave me a pained smile that tore at my heart. "At least we know Dylan's close by."

On my way out, I poked my head into Sky's room. I told her I was leaving and asked if she still wanted me to pick up her sweats and sneakers.

"Oh, yes, please!" She smiled, her whole face lighting up. "I live in the Back Bay. I'll text you everything you need to know, and I'll call the doorman and tell him to let you in. Cool?"

It was strange how different Sky was acting, in less than twenty minutes' time—as though the memory of being shot had been a weight lifted from her and then placed squarely on the shoulders of the shooter's parents. Sky seemed less frail, more energetic, Lydia and Bill having taken on all of her suffering.

"I may be a little while because of work stuff," I said. "Is that okay?"

"No worries. They haven't even given me an ETA as far as discharging me goes," she said. "Plus, I've got the police coming." She opened her compact, examined her face in the mirror, checked her teeth, and smoothed her eyebrows, as though she was getting ready for a date. We said goodbye. Sky glanced up from her mirror and beamed at me again. "Thank you for helping me remember," she said. "It's weird. I feel so much better now."

It is weird, I thought. We're in agreement on that.

I had a hinky feeling as I walked toward the elevator. I didn't like being suspicious of Sky, but I couldn't help it. There was something about her mood shift that bothered me. It seemed extreme to the point of callousness—especially considering how distraught the Welches clearly were. On the other hand, Sky was also recovering from major blood loss, she was on a hell of a lot of pain meds, and she'd just remembered that her best friend had tried to kill her. Where was the reaction guidebook for that?

I decided to lay off Sky. She was an orphan who grew up with nothing but liked everybody nonetheless. Meanwhile, I grew up in a solid and fairly privileged family, and most people annoyed me. Clearly, we reacted to the world in very different ways.

I was just at the elevator when I remembered one more question. I jogged back to Sky's room and knocked softly on the door, and when I heard her say, "Come in," I poked my head in again.

Sky was smoothing her hair with her good arm as a nurse checked her monitor. She turned toward me, smiling. "Did you forget something?"

"Yes," I said. "Sorry. I'm usually a better questioner."

Some of her smile slipped away. "What's up?"

"I was just wondering," I said. "Who was the reporter?"

"Huh?"

"You said a reporter called you back in the office before Dylan shot you. They interviewed you about Trevor."

Her face relaxed. "Oh, right."

"Do you remember their name?"

She winced. "Crap. I don't."

"How about the newspaper? Or was it a website?"

Sky exhaled. "It's a blur, Sunny, I swear," she said. "But I'll call you if the name comes to me. I promise."

"No worries." I slapped on a smile. "You remembered what's important. That's what counts."

She smiled back. "True," she said. "Listen, Sunny…Does my hair look okay?"