Two Guys Detective Agency (humorous mystery series--book 1) Page 2

  She wiped at her eyes again, then blew her nose. When Sullivan got home this evening, she would make him sit down and admit they were in trouble, and together they would come up with a plan to dig themselves out. It would be good for them, good for their marriage. She was certain their looming debt was partly to blame for how distant he’d become over the past several months. Hadn’t she come to their bed lately with her own unspoken resentments?

  She steepled her hands and sighed. God help her, but more than once, she’d even fantasized about what it might be like not to be married to Sullivan. About starting over…

  The cordless phone rang, jangling her raw nerves. She had the brief hope the vending machine company was calling her back, but that thought was dashed when she saw Lexington Division of Police on the caller ID. It wasn’t uncommon for Sullivan’s former colleagues to call.

  “Hello?” she said.

  “Linda? It’s Oakley.”

  She smiled. Detective Oakley Hall was her husband’s former partner on the force. He had been like family, and his absence was one of the reasons she missed Sullivan’s old job. “Oakley, what a nice surprise. What are you doing with yourself these days?”

  His silence sent dread arrowing to her stomach.

  “Oakley?”

  “Linda,” he said, his voice anguished. “It’s Sullivan. He collapsed at his office. I heard the call over my radio.”

  Her heart dropped to her knees, and her voice faltered. “Is…is he okay? Oakley, tell me he’s okay!”

  “He’s on the way to St. Joe Hospital. I’m coming to pick you up. I’ll be there in two minutes.”

  “I’ll be ready,” she murmured, and dropped the phone.

  Ready. An odd choice of words considering she wasn’t ready for this, wasn’t ready for more upheaval in their lives. Linda stumbled around blindly to look for her purse, choking back sobs. Her mind reeled—what would she need to take with her? Her cell phone, wallet, insurance card—

  A screaming siren announced Oakley’s arrival. On the way to the front door, Linda grabbed the open box of Kleenex.

  Chapter Two

  WHEN A PERSON is under extreme stress, Linda realized, the most mundane details are magnified. When Detective Oakley Hall, a bull of a man who wasn’t yet thirty-five, emerged from his car to run around and open the passenger side door, she noticed he was starting to get a little silver in his sideburns and temples. And he must’ve dressed in a hurry this morning because his green and yellow paisley tie clashed horrifically with his blue and white striped dress shirt.

  He and Maggie would make quite a colorful pair. She fought a hysterical laugh.

  Oakley leveled his dark-eyed gaze on her and took her arm to help her into the seat. “Sully’s going to be fine.”

  “Of course he is.” The alternative was simply incomprehensible.

  Oakley ran around the car and slid into the driver’s seat, snapping his seatbelt into place and slamming his door in one motion. “Has he been ill?”

  “Just a cold,” she said cheerfully, gripping the box of Kleenex. “He’s been working too hard, he’s worn down.” Her throat convulsed. “Was it his heart?”

  “The EMT’s were treating it as a heart attack, yes. But Sully is young and St. Joe’s is a good hospital.” He drove cautiously through the neighborhood. “I guess the kids are already at school?”

  She nodded. “I’ll have to go pick them up if…if Sullivan has to spend the night in the hospital and wants to see them.”

  “They’re getting big, I’m sure.”

  “Yes.”

  “You look good.”

  “No, I don’t…but thank you.” When she’d first met Sullivan and his friend Oakley, they had both vied for her attention. But she’d been afraid of Oakley’s bad boy reputation, had chosen Sullivan’s happy-go-lucky charm instead. She turned her head and hated the worry she saw in his eyes. “Just get me there, Oakley.”

  He nodded, then turned his attention back to the road. At the mouth of the neighborhood, he turned on the siren and pushed the speed limit.

  Linda forced complete emptiness into her head. She had a sense of landmarks passing as they left the Tates Creek area and traveled toward downtown, but little else registered until the hospital loomed in front of them. It was only then that her vital signs went haywire. Her own heart began to beat uncontrollably and she couldn’t seem to get enough air. Oakley pulled the car into a spot for emergency vehicles and was at her door before she could release her seatbelt. His haste both reassured and frightened her, but she took his arm gratefully as he hustled her into the crowded emergency room waiting area and to the check-in counter.

  “Sullivan Smith,” he said, flashing his badge at the two women at the counter. “He was just brought in, presented with a heart attack.”

  One of the women moved to a computer screen. Suddenly Linda felt a touch to her arm. She turned to see Klo Calvert, an attractive woman in her mid-fifties, who was Sullivan’s secretary at the agency. She’d been crying. Linda’s breath rushed out as the woman clasped her hands.

  “Oh, Linda—”

  “What happened, Klo? Were you with him?”

  Klo shook her head and teared up. “We didn’t have any appointments. Sullivan told me to take the day off. Stone called me—he was with Sullivan.”

  Linda hadn’t noticed the man standing nearby. He stepped up and nodded in greeting. She’d met Stone Calvert in passing. He was Klo’s nephew who worked at the gym in the strip mall where the agency was located. Stone was a beefy guy, fortyish, with a shaved head. He’d spent some time in jail or prison, something like that—which explained the wary glance he gave Oakley. She recalled that Stone sometimes worked for Sullivan. Observing the man’s bulk, it occurred to her he had probably provided muscle for Sullivan.

  Had Sullivan needed a muscle man?

  “What happened?” she asked Stone.

  “I wasn’t there when he collapsed,” he said, his voice as gravelly as a state road. “He asked me to meet him this morning, and when I got there, I found him lying on the floor in his office. He couldn’t speak, but he was conscious. I called 911.”

  “Thank you,” she murmured and inadvertently reached out to touch his massive arm.

  He seemed at a loss for words, so he simply nodded.

  “Mr. Smith was just admitted,” a woman behind the counter said, pulling Linda’s attention back to the moment. “He’s in ICU on the second floor.”

  Her breath rushed out in relief—he was alive. Still… “Intensive care? How is he?”

  “Someone up there will be able to give you more details,” the woman said gently, then pointed. “The elevator bays are down that hall. The waiting room on the second floor is more quiet than this one.”

  Once again, Oakley took the lead. Klo and Stone hesitated, but she motioned for them to come along. She made introductions and everyone shuffled awkwardly. No one wanted to be here. The elevators seemed to take forever to arrive, and the ride up was equally interminable. The hospital was surprisingly busy for so early in the day…so much sickness, so many tragedies, every day. It was the kind of thing people were oblivious to until it touched them.

  When they reached the second floor, it took a few minutes to find the waiting room and longer to find someone to answer questions. A desk nurse scurried away to find a doctor and Oakley stayed with Linda.

  She squeezed the Kleenex box, trying to stay calm. But her mind kept jumping around to other possible problems—had the payment for their health insurance made it by the cutoff date? Had the check cleared? Did Sullivan have disability insurance through the agency? And worse…why didn’t she know? She hated she was even thinking about such things when she didn’t yet know the extent of Sullivan’s condition, but the financial implications had to be faced at some point. Panic licked at her stomach.

  “Take a deep breath,” Oakley said quietly. “Everything is going to be okay.”

  She nodded, breathing in and out…in and out. At th
at moment she was so grateful to have him there.

  A tall woman wearing scrubs strode up. “Smith family?”

  “Yes,” Linda said. “How is my husband?”

  “Stable,” the physician, who introduced herself as Dr. Kozac, said. “But we still haven’t been able to figure out what’s wrong.”

  Linda frowned. “I thought it was his heart.”

  “It is, but some of his other organs have been compromised, too. Is he taking any prescription drugs?”

  “No.”

  The doctor flicked her gaze to Oakley, then back. “Mrs. Smith, can I have a word with you in private?”

  “You can speak freely. Oakley is my husband’s best friend.”

  “Okay,” the doctor said. “Does your husband take illegal drugs?”

  Linda blinked. “No! No, of course not. He’s a former police officer, he’d never do such a thing.”

  The doctor looked at Oakley for confirmation.

  “To my knowledge, he’s never taken illegal drugs,” Oakley said.

  Linda was irked with the doctor. “Why would you ask such a thing?”

  “Just trying to eliminate some possibilities. Your husband hasn’t been able to communicate with us. We’re still running tests to find out why he collapsed.”

  “He’s had a cold the past few days,” Linda supplied. “But it didn’t seem serious.”

  Dr. Kozac nodded to the box of Kleenex Linda held. “Is anyone else in the home sick?”

  “No.”

  “Does he have any allergies?”

  “None that I know of.”

  “Any history of family illness?”

  “His father died of emphysema.”

  “Okay,” the doctor said, although she obviously wasn’t satisfied. “We’ll keep you posted on his status.”

  “Can I see him?”

  Dr. Kozac hesitated, then glanced at her watch. “A nurse will come to get you, but only you can go in, and only for a few minutes, at least until we know what we’re dealing with.” The doctor strode away, on to another emergency.

  Linda looked at Oakley, fighting tears of frustration. “I still don’t know anything.”

  “Let’s go to the waiting room,” he soothed. “We’ll get a cup of coffee, and wait for word. He’s in good hands.”

  She nodded, gripping the Kleenex box like a lifeline. Klo and Stone were in the waiting room. They stood, eager for an update. Linda shared what little she knew (leaving out the bit where the doctor had asked if her husband was a druggie), then settled into a stiff, worn chair. Oakley disappeared, presumably on the hunt for coffee.

  She felt numb.

  “I tried to reach you at home this morning,” Klo offered, “but kept getting a fast busy signal.”

  Linda recalled dropping the phone after Oakley had called. She probably had compromised the system somehow. “Thank you anyway.” She gave the woman’s hand a squeeze, remembering her earlier comment that they hadn’t had appointments today. Business was lousy, and she wondered if Sullivan had paid his secretary recently.

  “I, um, couldn’t get through to your cell either,” Klo said carefully.

  “It’s probably turned off.” Linda rummaged in her purse, debating whether to call Sullivan’s widowed mother in Florida, or to wait until she had more news. She and Marbella Smith had never really gotten along—Linda sensed the woman still thought she’d gotten pregnant in college on purpose in order to ruin her son’s life. Marbella had never considered the fact that Sullivan had been equally complicit in the unplanned pregnancy and that Linda’s plans had been waylaid as well. That his mother had gotten two gorgeous grandchildren out of it hadn’t seemed to matter—the woman was an iceberg.

  Linda pulled out the cell phone and powered it up, only to see a message on the screen to please contact her carrier about her account. Translation: Her service had been cut off, which Klo probably suspected.

  “Battery is dead,” Linda mumbled, then stuffed the phone back into her purse. She felt sick…er.

  “Use mine,” Stone said, extending a phone with lots more bells and whistles than hers.

  She smiled and thanked him, then stepped away to call Sullivan’s mother. Thankfully, Marbella didn’t answer. Linda left a brief message that Sullivan had collapsed and was in the hospital, but he was stable and she would call again as soon as she knew more.

  She disconnected the call and wondered if she should call anyone else, but no names came to mind. Sullivan was an only child and was only casual friends with other men in their neighborhood. Besides Oakley, she couldn’t think of anyone her husband would want her to call. As for her family, her father was…indisposed, so there was only Octavia, an hour away in Louisville. But married to a rich attorney, living in a gated community, and looking down her nose at her sister’s life choices, Octavia might as well be a million miles away.

  Linda realized she hadn’t spoken to her sister since she’d called to thank her for the makeup kit a couple of months ago. The conversation had been fast and frosty and forced. She knew that for her sake, her sister would be sorry to hear that Sullivan was hospitalized, but suspected Octavia would somehow add it to the heap of shortcomings she attributed to the man Linda had married.

  She walked back and handed the phone to Stone. “Thank you. You said Sullivan wanted you to meet him this morning?”

  He was instantly on guard. “That’s right.”

  “Do you know why?”

  “I assume he needed help on a case.”

  She turned to Klo. “Would that be the big case he’s been working on?”

  Klo pursed her mouth. “I don’t know…Sullivan has kept me a little out of the loop lately.”

  Stone wasn’t the only employee of Sullivan’s with a checkered past. Klo was a former stripper, and according to Sullivan, her network was extensive. He trusted the older woman; Linda sensed that he even relied on her. The fact that he wouldn’t share details of a case with Klo was puzzling.

  Oakley returned with a cardboard holder of large coffees to pass around. Linda drank deeply, welcoming the bitter burn and the zing of caffeine. It crossed her mind that she probably should be praying for Sullivan’s recovery. Considering she hadn’t been to church in a while, it seemed disingenuous to ask for a favor now, but she sent a request heavenward anyway.

  “Mrs. Smith?”

  She looked up to see a female nurse offering a tentative smile.

  “I’ll take you to see your husband now.”

  Linda handed her coffee to Oakley, who gave her a bolstering wink. Then she shifted her purse to her shoulder, curled the box of Kleenex in her elbow like a football, and followed the woman, her heart hammering in her chest. She was led down hallways, through massive swinging doors, and finally into a room lined with equipment that dwarfed the bed in which the patient lay.

  She thought she had steeled herself for the worst, but the sight of her big, hardy husband lying listless and pale in a hospital gown was like a punch to her lungs. She gasped into her fingers, but held herself in check.

  “Five minutes,” the nurse murmured.

  “Can I talk to him?”

  “Of course. But he hasn’t responded to anyone since he arrived.”

  The nurse left and pulled the door partially closed.

  Linda approached Sullivan’s bed slowly, choking back a sob as fear and apprehension invaded every cell of her body. She’d never seen her husband in a weakened state…he’d once pulled a double shift while suffering from the flu, and hit the winning run in a softball game with a broken rib. The beep of his heart monitor jarred her raw nerves. When anxiety threatened to engulf her, she took a deep breath and shook herself. Right now the most important thing was getting him back on the road to wellness.

  Upon closer inspection, his freckled skin had a yellowish cast. His buzzed reddish hair was sweat-matted, his mouth slack. She used a Kleenex to dab the perspiration from his forehead. His eyes were closed and when she placed her hand on his cold fingers, he di
dn’t respond to her touch. Her heart crunched when she realized someone had removed his ring. Neither of them had ever taken off their wedding bands.

  She leaned over his bed to speak close to his ear. “Sullivan, it’s me, sweetie. You’re in the hospital, getting better, and I’m here with you.”

  No response.

  “Sullivan, it’s Linda. The doctors are trying to figure out what happened—”

  His fingers moved beneath hers, and her heart gave a little jump of joy.

  “I felt that…I know you can hear me.” She squeezed his fingers again and waited for another response.

  Instead, he made a mewling noise, as if he were trying to wake up. She pulled back to see his eyes fluttering open. He glanced around wildly.

  Linda’s shoulders sagged in relief. “Welcome back.” She stroked his arm to soothe him, but instead, he grew more agitated.

  “Relax, sweetie. I’m going to get the doctor.”

  But his fingers tightened around hers and his eyes pleaded. “Love…eee…” The sounds came out thick and distorted, as if he’d had a stroke.

  She smiled. “I love you, too, sweetie.”

  But he shook his head, obviously distressed. Then his body went rigid and his eyes flew wide, glazed with pain. The heart monitor beeped in rapid succession, and another machine emitted an alarm.

  Panicked, Linda raced to the door and yelled, “Help, somebody!”

  The nurses were already jogging toward the room, with Dr. Kozac leading the charge. Linda was swept into the hallway, then handed off and shepherded back through the industrial swinging doors with the promise that someone would come for her as soon as he was stable again.

  She raced back to the waiting room and when Oakley came to meet her, she sank against his chest. He calmed her with shushing noises and strokes to her back, as if she were a child, then led her to a chair. She told them what had happened in a halting voice. Another family had taken seats on the opposite side of the waiting room. A little girl stared at Linda and inched closer to her mother. It made her think of her own children, and how they would react to their father being so scarily ill.