thought of calling Charly, but I didn’t want to whine about Nick, and I was even less keen on discussing Riley’s murder and how it might have had something to do with Clay Carson.
If Riley did blackmail him, that was a motive for murder, for sure, and Carson would’ve been on the top of my suspect list. However, after today’s performance, I put Kat Fontaine right behind him. A scandal would’ve been a death blow to her career too; she’d been a virtual unknown before the marriage, and Carson was her meal ticket. And then there was the manager—Warren also had plenty to lose, and he seemed peculiar enough to be a James Bond villain.
I wondered if I should let Nick know about the strange incident in the parking lot. What would annoy him more, if I did or if I didn’t? The desire to hear his voice won out.
I got to hear it only on the voice mail. I left a message. “Yo, Nick, it’s Jem. You told me to call you if something happened that was important but not an emergency, and something happened today and maybe it’s not important at all, but I thought you should decide, because maybe it’s nothing, but who am I to know, and if I don’t tell you, you’ll just get upset again.” I stopped my rambling and took a deep breath. “I got ambushed by Kat Fontaine after work. She seemed to think that Olly and I had designs on her husband, and she wasn’t happy about it. I swear I didn’t do anything, but you probably don’t believe me. Why would you? I’m just a screw-up to you. You know, sometimes I get real fucking tired of…oh, whatever.” I quickly hung up before I could get more bitter and maudlin.
I laid the phone on my chest and turned my attention to the TV, but my eyelids were getting heavy. I should drag my carcass to the bed, I thought, but didn’t get around to it.
The next time I properly gained consciousness, I found myself surrounded by asparagus-colored curtains and the stench of medicines and disinfectants. Hate wasn’t a strong enough word to express how I felt about hospitals. There was no proper word for that sticky blend of loathing and dread they evoked in me. So finding myself in a hospital bed nearly sent me into a panic attack. I had a blurry recollection of getting there. Something about Nick, flashing lights and me vomiting. Where was he, and why the hell was I here?
Memories of my last hospital stay flooded my mind. Oh gawd, was there an earthquake? Did a house fall on me again? No, even I couldn’t be so cursed. Or could I? I lifted my arms—no plaster cast, only an IV needle in the left one. So far, so good. I tried to wiggle my toes. Success! Phew. I felt like shit, though.
Noises of people and machines filtered through the screens, but I couldn’t see their sources. I pushed myself into a sitting position and cautiously shuffled my weight around till my feet dangled in the air.
“Jem! What the hell are you doing?” Nick swept through the wall of curtains behind me. He swiftly came around pushed me back on the bed.
I was so happy to see him, I didn’t resist. “Nick! What happened? Why am I here?”
He towered above me with a sharp look on his face. “You don’t remember taking the sleeping pills?”
I had to find my way through the fuzz in my brain to recall details of the night. “I didn’t take any.”
“Jem, I know it’s not easy, but it’s time for honesty. I found this in your bathroom. Empty.” He pulled an orange pill container from his pocket and held it out.
I took a closer look. “Yup, that’s mine, but it’s been empty for a week.”
He didn’t seem to believe me. “You had an empty bottle sitting on your bathroom counter for a week?”
“Sure, why not? I meant to throw it into the recycling bin but kept forgetting. Sometimes I don’t put the laundry away for days.” As I watched his still-doubtful expression, the meaning of his questions clicked into place. “You thought I tried to kill myself?”
“The evidence—”
The
If Riley did blackmail him, that was a motive for murder, for sure, and Carson would’ve been on the top of my suspect list. However, after today’s performance, I put Kat Fontaine right behind him. A scandal would’ve been a death blow to her career too; she’d been a virtual unknown before the marriage, and Carson was her meal ticket. And then there was the manager—Warren also had plenty to lose, and he seemed peculiar enough to be a James Bond villain.
I wondered if I should let Nick know about the strange incident in the parking lot. What would annoy him more, if I did or if I didn’t? The desire to hear his voice won out.
I got to hear it only on the voice mail. I left a message. “Yo, Nick, it’s Jem. You told me to call you if something happened that was important but not an emergency, and something happened today and maybe it’s not important at all, but I thought you should decide, because maybe it’s nothing, but who am I to know, and if I don’t tell you, you’ll just get upset again.” I stopped my rambling and took a deep breath. “I got ambushed by Kat Fontaine after work. She seemed to think that Olly and I had designs on her husband, and she wasn’t happy about it. I swear I didn’t do anything, but you probably don’t believe me. Why would you? I’m just a screw-up to you. You know, sometimes I get real fucking tired of…oh, whatever.” I quickly hung up before I could get more bitter and maudlin.
I laid the phone on my chest and turned my attention to the TV, but my eyelids were getting heavy. I should drag my carcass to the bed, I thought, but didn’t get around to it.
The next time I properly gained consciousness, I found myself surrounded by asparagus-colored curtains and the stench of medicines and disinfectants. Hate wasn’t a strong enough word to express how I felt about hospitals. There was no proper word for that sticky blend of loathing and dread they evoked in me. So finding myself in a hospital bed nearly sent me into a panic attack. I had a blurry recollection of getting there. Something about Nick, flashing lights and me vomiting. Where was he, and why the hell was I here?
Memories of my last hospital stay flooded my mind. Oh gawd, was there an earthquake? Did a house fall on me again? No, even I couldn’t be so cursed. Or could I? I lifted my arms—no plaster cast, only an IV needle in the left one. So far, so good. I tried to wiggle my toes. Success! Phew. I felt like shit, though.
Noises of people and machines filtered through the screens, but I couldn’t see their sources. I pushed myself into a sitting position and cautiously shuffled my weight around till my feet dangled in the air.
“Jem! What the hell are you doing?” Nick swept through the wall of curtains behind me. He swiftly came around pushed me back on the bed.
I was so happy to see him, I didn’t resist. “Nick! What happened? Why am I here?”
He towered above me with a sharp look on his face. “You don’t remember taking the sleeping pills?”
I had to find my way through the fuzz in my brain to recall details of the night. “I didn’t take any.”
“Jem, I know it’s not easy, but it’s time for honesty. I found this in your bathroom. Empty.” He pulled an orange pill container from his pocket and held it out.
I took a closer look. “Yup, that’s mine, but it’s been empty for a week.”
He didn’t seem to believe me. “You had an empty bottle sitting on your bathroom counter for a week?”
“Sure, why not? I meant to throw it into the recycling bin but kept forgetting. Sometimes I don’t put the laundry away for days.” As I watched his still-doubtful expression, the meaning of his questions clicked into place. “You thought I tried to kill myself?”
“The evidence—”
The
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