LCole 07 - Deadly Cove

Free LCole 07 - Deadly Cove by Brendan DuBois

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Authors: Brendan DuBois
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wind slapping its way around my century-old house. There was something special and satisfying about being in a warm and dry bed in the dark and listening to the wind and rain, knowing that I would be comfortable and safe for the next several hours. I thought of my guest downstairs, hoping that she felt a bit safer and happier in a dry foldout couch instead of a damp sleeping bag and wet tent. And my Annie? Not much sleep for her, I was sure, in whatever strange hotel or motel room she was residing in, down there in Virginia.
    Then there was Paula. A scared, traumatized Paula Quinn, alone in a hospital room, no doubt shuddering and dreaming through the night of nearly being killed, of being splattered with the bloody bits of what had been a living, breathing, and thinking man.
    It took a while for me to fall asleep.

 
    CHAPTER SIX
    In the morning, the couch was a couch again, the sheets and blankets neatly folded, as well as the nightgown. A note had been left on top of the nightgown:
    Lewis—
    Thanks for saving me, thanks for the hospitality. It was a wonderful night, and no more apologies for either of us, all right?
    Now, back to Falconer, and the battle … not yours, I know, but the one I have chosen and must see to the end.
    â€”Haleigh
    The rain had stopped, but heavy gray clouds were still threatening, their color the same as the relentless ocean out there, and after a quick breakfast of tea and toast, I drove out to Exonia and its hospital.
    *   *   *
    At the hospital, there were a lot more empty parking spaces than the previous night. Only one satellite news truck from Boston had set up shop and, along a concrete planter near the entrance to the emergency room, the remnants of lit candles stood stuck there in the gray cold, the colors of the melted wax muted and dull. I strolled in, and after a minute or two at the reception desk, I took an elevator up to the third floor, carrying Paula Quinn’s purse in one hand, and I think it’s a tribute to my confident sexuality that I didn’t mind holding on to it.
    On the third floor I went past a busy nurse’s station and then found myself at Room 301, and in this double room was Paula Quinn, on her side, staring blankly out a large window.
    Her hair was a mess, pulled over to one side. I dragged a chair over and sat down and put her purse on the floor. Her eyes blinked at me; her head was resting on folded hands. An IV tube was still running into one wrist.
    â€œHey,” she said, her voice faint.
    â€œHey,” I said, reaching out, taking her warm and dry hand.
    She blinked twice and said, “Oh, Lewis.”
    â€œShhh,” I said. “Take it easy.”
    Tears welled up, and she said, “They’re busy here, I understand, and they promised they’d get to me in a while … but Lewis, I think … I think some of Bronson Toles’s blood … it’s still in my hair, Lewis…” and she stopped talking and her chin trembled and she started crying in silent, gasping heaves. I went over, kissed the top of her head, and looked to the nightstand, where I found a plastic washbasin and some shampoo. I ducked into the room’s bathroom, ignoring the sign that read FOR PATIENT USE ONLY , and filled the basin halfway with warm water. There was a sharp moan, and I looked back and noticed Paula’s roommate, a woman probably in her late seventies, steel gray hair, asleep against a pillow, mouth open.
    I went back and spread out a towel underneath Paula’s head and raised the bed some—after a fumbling few moments of trying to figure out the controls—and she started talking, and I said, “Shhh, just be still for a while, okay?”
    Paula nodded, and for the next several minutes, I washed, rinsed, and then rewashed her long blond hair, and when I was done and had dumped the water, I dried off her hair as much as I could with a couple of towels, and when I sat

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