She explained in brief what Boone had found.
“No one was around but the family. Is that his stuff? We should be talking to him.” Chipper looked disturbed, as if he had failed to secure the scene. “We definitely should be talking to him.”
Holly checked her watch. With all his gear here, he wasn’t going anywhere. Or had he been involved in the death in some way she wasn’t discerning? Was this all that they might see of Bill Gorse? If they couldn’t find him again, his estranged family might have some answers.
F OUR
T he next morning, moans filled the house as dawn blushed over the hills and set the water shimmering in tiny wavelets. Shogun began howling, an eerie sound. Holly rubbed her eyes and glanced at the clock. Five a.m? “Coming,” she called, grabbing a robe. How did mothers deal with children?
“Are you all right? Do you need anything?” she asked, pushing open the door to her father’s room. Stupid question. Getting him to the bathroom at midnight had been a nightmare which challenged his dignity and her lumbar region.
“It’s been nearly a whole day, and I can hardly move. I refuse to submit to being an invalid. Think about it. In...valid. That sums it up.” He tried to sit up and yelled, his fist pounding the mattress. “Get me more of that ibuprofen...please. Make it a handful. My liver will have to fend for itself.”
After giving him the medication and refreshing his water, Holly poured some orange juice to wake up. Then she brought his coffee. “Your usual oatmeal with extra bran?” Since they were in the Seventies, no need for that steel-cut stuff that took half an hour. If he could eat, she’d feel better. Why was she so worried? It was only a strain. The Mayo Clinic website said that ninety per cent of back pain disappeared within a month. It might seem like a year.
“The pain is making me nauseous, but I have to keep up my strength. Maybe a banana. A small one...diced...with cream... but in a few minutes.”
As he sipped the brew and the pills kicked in, his face eased for a moment. He hadn’t even been able to clean up yet, and she realized that people took their abilities to care for themselves for granted. Suddenly those TV ads for walk-in bathtubs were beginning to make sense. “Would you feel better with a shave? I can bring your electric razor. How about a hot towel?”
“That’s the least of my worries. Your mother always told me I looked better with a beard. I had one for my first job interview. It added gravitas.” He scratched his chin and tried for an ironic laugh but merely coughed.
She stood with her hands on her hips, aware that she needed to take a stand as a parent to a parent. Someone had to act in his interests. The world’s most rational man, even in pain likely bearable to women, he was incapable of coherent thought. “I’m making a call. There’s a good masseuse in town. We met the other day.”
“Massage. Used to be a code word for something else. Now it’s sissy spa stuff. Oils and stones and seaweed. No, no and no.” He stuck out his jaw defiantly.
“Yes, yes and yes. Mother always said that you were stubborn.” Bonnie would have trumped his self-pity ace with a withering word. She’d once let her appendix suppurate for hours down the Transcanada from Campbell River to the General so that she could drive a woman in need to a safe house. Norman roared at a hangnail.
He winced as he shifted. “Maddie did suggest a treatment. Can’t hurt. Just once, mind you. It’s not going to become a regular thing. Imagine the cost. Rich I am not.”
“You told me that your university plan covered eighty-five per cent. Why are you quibbling about a few bucks? Sheesh, Father. In the words of your favourite show, Get Smart.” Oops. Maxwell and crew had aired in the Sixties for the most part but ended in mid-1970. That Norman didn’t catch her on that showed his distress.
Holly went back downstairs to find Marilyn’s number in the phone book.
“No one was around but the family. Is that his stuff? We should be talking to him.” Chipper looked disturbed, as if he had failed to secure the scene. “We definitely should be talking to him.”
Holly checked her watch. With all his gear here, he wasn’t going anywhere. Or had he been involved in the death in some way she wasn’t discerning? Was this all that they might see of Bill Gorse? If they couldn’t find him again, his estranged family might have some answers.
F OUR
T he next morning, moans filled the house as dawn blushed over the hills and set the water shimmering in tiny wavelets. Shogun began howling, an eerie sound. Holly rubbed her eyes and glanced at the clock. Five a.m? “Coming,” she called, grabbing a robe. How did mothers deal with children?
“Are you all right? Do you need anything?” she asked, pushing open the door to her father’s room. Stupid question. Getting him to the bathroom at midnight had been a nightmare which challenged his dignity and her lumbar region.
“It’s been nearly a whole day, and I can hardly move. I refuse to submit to being an invalid. Think about it. In...valid. That sums it up.” He tried to sit up and yelled, his fist pounding the mattress. “Get me more of that ibuprofen...please. Make it a handful. My liver will have to fend for itself.”
After giving him the medication and refreshing his water, Holly poured some orange juice to wake up. Then she brought his coffee. “Your usual oatmeal with extra bran?” Since they were in the Seventies, no need for that steel-cut stuff that took half an hour. If he could eat, she’d feel better. Why was she so worried? It was only a strain. The Mayo Clinic website said that ninety per cent of back pain disappeared within a month. It might seem like a year.
“The pain is making me nauseous, but I have to keep up my strength. Maybe a banana. A small one...diced...with cream... but in a few minutes.”
As he sipped the brew and the pills kicked in, his face eased for a moment. He hadn’t even been able to clean up yet, and she realized that people took their abilities to care for themselves for granted. Suddenly those TV ads for walk-in bathtubs were beginning to make sense. “Would you feel better with a shave? I can bring your electric razor. How about a hot towel?”
“That’s the least of my worries. Your mother always told me I looked better with a beard. I had one for my first job interview. It added gravitas.” He scratched his chin and tried for an ironic laugh but merely coughed.
She stood with her hands on her hips, aware that she needed to take a stand as a parent to a parent. Someone had to act in his interests. The world’s most rational man, even in pain likely bearable to women, he was incapable of coherent thought. “I’m making a call. There’s a good masseuse in town. We met the other day.”
“Massage. Used to be a code word for something else. Now it’s sissy spa stuff. Oils and stones and seaweed. No, no and no.” He stuck out his jaw defiantly.
“Yes, yes and yes. Mother always said that you were stubborn.” Bonnie would have trumped his self-pity ace with a withering word. She’d once let her appendix suppurate for hours down the Transcanada from Campbell River to the General so that she could drive a woman in need to a safe house. Norman roared at a hangnail.
He winced as he shifted. “Maddie did suggest a treatment. Can’t hurt. Just once, mind you. It’s not going to become a regular thing. Imagine the cost. Rich I am not.”
“You told me that your university plan covered eighty-five per cent. Why are you quibbling about a few bucks? Sheesh, Father. In the words of your favourite show, Get Smart.” Oops. Maxwell and crew had aired in the Sixties for the most part but ended in mid-1970. That Norman didn’t catch her on that showed his distress.
Holly went back downstairs to find Marilyn’s number in the phone book.
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