TOUCHING SHADOWS: Book One of The Scroll of Shadows Trilogy.

TOUCHING SHADOWS: Part 5

Shit. Shit shit shit. “Only on weekends.” I pulled away. Winced. Shook my head. “And there’ll be no ER. I’m allergic to hospitals.”

His gaze lifted to the mirror and my reflected face. Held my stare. Sharpened into awareness. “You’re not serious.”

“When it comes to hospitals, I’m always serious.” Understatement. “Now, if you want to be helpful, Mr. Stone, you can tape a dressing on it for me. Otherwise, I’ll do it myself. Then again, it sounds as though the cavalry is about to—”

The bathroom door crashed open.

“—arrive.” 

Stone moved with lightning speed to intercept the intruder. “Get the hell out!”

“For heaven’s sake,” I said at the same time. “This isn’t a convention.” But when I saw not only Amos, whole and in one piece, but also who was behind him, I could have cried with relief. “Oh, Shoshanna. Thank goodness.”

“Fourteen days,” Dr. Shoshanna Brewer grumbled, elbowing her way, medical bag in hand, past her stupefied husband. “Two little weeks. Surely in the great scheme of things it’s not too much to ask you to stay out of trouble for that long, Megan. Is it?”

“Apparently it is.” I swallowed back the emotion threatening to flood my throat. “I thought you weren’t back until next week.”

“Plans change.” Shoshanna frowned at Stone. “Kindly let me pass.”

Stone didn’t move. “She needs a damned doctor,” he said.

“Then it’s her lucky day,” Shoshanna responded, dry as a Saharan summer. “I am a damned doctor.”

“She’s a doctor,” I confirmed.  Stone stood aside enough to let her pass, but didn’t offer to step outside.

“You should be looking at Montford,” I said as Shoshanna made quick work of her examination.

“She already has,” Amos said, as though he’d just made a connection. Which he probably had. Damn it. “He’s sedated and on his way to a psychiatric facility.” He hesitated, then plunged on. “We need to talk, Megan. About what happened.”

I was about to say no, not with Stone’s ears flapping like a line-load of laundry in a hurricane, but I didn’t. The cops would be coming—if they weren’t already in the building—and there’d be questions neither of us could answer. So I’d take the time to spread some bullshit and sow a few seeds. After that I’d have to trust to luck and my ability to lie like hell.

“I’m not sure exactly what happened,” I said. “He said he suspected someone had switched a family heirloom. I told him his painting was the original, the one Charles and I had seen and appraised at his home a few months ago. And then he just went crazy and tried to shoot me.”

Amos’s brows snapped together. “You told him it was the original?”

“Yes.” I caught my breath on a hiss. “Hell’s teeth, Shoshanna. Hippocratic Oath? What happened to I will keep them from harm? You’re worse than Mr. Stone.”

“Stop being a baby,” she said. “I only give lollipops to good girls. Did he think it was a fake?”

I nodded. “Damned if I know why. He didn’t seem to believe me. Said it had to be a fake, but when I asked him why, he went nuts.”

Amos stared at me, utter confusion on his face. “Why?”

I blew out an exasperated breath. “How do I know? He was raving about Rheda—do you know her? Rheda Flynn?” Still frowning, he nodded, and I went on. “He said, at least I think he said, he killed her over it.”

“What?” The word strangled in Amos’s throat.

Shoshanna’s hand stilled in mid-air.

Stone’s gray eyes went sharp and darkened. “He killed her? He said that?”

“Yeah. And it sounded like he was so angry and crazy, he buried her too.” I frowned, as if trying to remember. “A basement? A wall. Something about a wall.”

“Dear God in heaven,” Shoshanna muttered, her hand continuing its downward movement. “You’re sure.”

“So he said.” I closed my eyes and hoped St. Rita of Cascia hadn’t forgotten me. I hadn’t had as many desperate, lost, or impossible causes lately. I tried to stay out of trouble. Honestly. “Before he pulled out the gun. Before everyone piled in like the Three Stooges and it all fell apart.” And I’m on my own here.

Another potential disaster poked me in the intuition, and I opened my eyes. “Look, someone needs to contact Marie Montford, because if her husband was crazy enough to kill Rheda and take a shot at me, then who knows what he’s done to her. If she’s alive—and let’s hope she is—then she may well know where to start looking.”

Amos paled. “Do you think he’s murdered her too?”

I didn’t have a definite answer there, so I was grateful when Shoshanna stepped in.

“Leave it to the police,” she said. “And Megan’s had enough excitement for the moment. Everyone out, please. No”—she held up an imperious hand when both men started to protest—“don’t argue, either of you. Out. Now.”

And, wonder of wonders, they left. Without argument.

“How did you do that?” I leaned slightly to the side so she could get better access. “They wouldn’t have gone if I’d told them.”

“Motherhood.” She pulled some kind of torture implement out of her bag. “Surviving a twenty-two hour labor lends a certain authority to the voice. Surviving it twice? Well, what can I say?”