“I have everything under control,” she said.
I propped my elbows on the counter and wrapped my hands around the mug. “How do you feel?”
“I feel fine.” Rose gestured in the direction of the sofa with a spatula. “That bed is very comfortable.” She absently rubbed the back of her neck with her free hand. I’d noticed her doing that a couple of times the night before.
I set my cup on the counter, slid off the stool and went over to her. “Does that hurt?” I asked.
She frowned. “What? Oh, you mean my neck. No. It’s just a little irritated. I think I was probably dinner for some black fly last night.”
“Let me take a look,” I said. I put my hands on Rose’s shoulders and turned her body a little so her neck was in the best light. A patch of skin on the left side of her neck, just at her hairline, was a little red because she’d been rubbing it. I leaned in closer.
“I’ll just put a little calamine lotion on and it will be fine.”
I straightened and she turned to look at me. “Did they give you any shots when you were in the hospital?” I asked.
“No.” She shook her head. “They took blood from this arm.” She raised her left elbow. “But that’s all.” She frowned. “What is it?”
“It looks as though there’s a needle mark on your neck.”
Rose’s hand immediately went to the place. “A needle mark? I don’t think so, Sarah. How on earth could I get a needle mark on my neck?”
“That’s what I’d like to know. I think we should go back to the hospital.”
“Well, I don’t.” She flipped the bacon with an expert toss. “What’s that going to achieve other than waste a lot of time? I already told you they didn’t give me any shot at the hospital.”
I raked a hand back through my messy hair. “I wasn’t thinking it happened at the hospital.”
Rose moved the frying pan off the heat and turned off the burner. She wiped her hands on the tea towel and gave me all her attention. “Are you saying you think I was injected with something when I was at the Cameron house?”
I shrugged. “I don’t know. Maybe that is just a bug bite.” I looked at her neck again. “I’m far from an expert, but it doesn’t look like one to me.”
Rose moved to rub her neck again and then stopped herself. “That would explain how I could have been hit hard enough to be unconscious for several minutes but not have a concussion.”
“We need to go back to the ER and have someone look at this who knows what they’re doing,” I said. “And maybe do some kind of blood tests.”
“I’m not going back to the hospital,” she said, a matter-of-fact tone to her voice. “If you tell me you see a needle prick, then that’s what it is. Besides, we’ll have to sit there all morning and we need to go see Jeff Cameron’s sister.”
“I’m not a doctor, Rose,” I said. “I might be wrong.”
She reached up and patted my cheek. “Nonsense. You’re as smart as any doctor. You could have gone to medical school.” She broke into a smile then and clapped her hands together. “Nicolas,” she said.
“What about Nick?” I asked. I reached over and swiped a piece of the Canadian bacon from the pan.
“He’ll know what that is—not that I doubt you for a moment.”
She was right. Not only was Nick an investigator for the medical examiner’s office, he also had a degree in biology and he’d been accepted into medical school. He’d worked as an EMT to put himself through college and had been offered a job teaching an EMT course before he took the investigator’s job. I knew that short of tying Rose up with the cord of her bathrobe and stuffing her in the back of my SUV, there was no way I was going to get her back to the hospital. Nick was my best bet.
I nodded. “I’ll call him after breakfast.”
“Splendid,” Rose exclaimed. She picked up the spatula and motioned me back to my stool with it. “Now, go sit down while I finish breakfast.”
I hesitated, thinking I should have been the one doing the cooking. As if she had once more read my mind, Rose waved the spatula at me again. “I’m fine,” she said, with just a tinge of annoyance in her voice. “Sit.”
I leaned over and kissed the top of her head. “I’m sitting,” I said.
After a bacon-and-egg sandwich on a toasted English muffin and a second cup of coffee, I called Nick.
“How’s Rose?” he asked. “I’m guessing you spent the night in her apartment.”
“Close,” I said, pulling up the cotton blanket on the bed. I was multitasking, making the bed as I talked. “She spent the night here with Elvis and me.”
“How did you manage that?”
“A bit of guilt, a bit of whining.”
Nick laughed.
“I’m guessing Charlotte brought you up to speed,” I said.
“Michelle, too,” he said. “Is there anything I can do to help?”
I sat down on the edge of the half-made bed. “Yeah, there is. That’s why I called.” I explained about the mark on Rose’s neck. “I might be wrong, but short of duct tape or chloroform, there’s no way I’m going to get her to go back to the hospital. If I’m wrong, it doesn’t matter. And if I’m right, maybe you’ll have better luck convincing her.”
“Well, of course, because my persuasive skills have worked so well on Rose in the past.” He made no effort to keep the sarcasm out of his voice.
“Please,” I said, stopping just short of begging—not that I wouldn’t beg if I had to. But I didn’t have to.
“I could stop by the shop sometime late morning,” he offered.
“Thank you,” I said, relief easing the knot in my shoulders.
“Hey, no problem.” I could feel the warmth of his smile through the phone.
I told Nick I’d see him later and we said good-bye. I brushed my hair into a low ponytail, put on some lip gloss and grabbed my bag.
Elvis and I waited in Rose’s kitchen while she got dressed. I’d called Mac the night before and brought him up to date on everything that had happened. He was opening the shop for me. Since he lived in the small apartment on the top floor, it wasn’t a big inconvenience for him. I thought—for what had to be the hundredth time—how hiring Mac had been the smartest decision I’d made when I decided to open Second Chance.
My cell phone rang while I was sitting at the kitchen table. I checked the screen. It was my grandmother.
“Hi, Gram,” I said. Hearing her voice wasn’t as good as seeing her in person, but it was close.
“Hello, sweetie pie,” she replied. “How’s Rose?”
“Let me guess,” I said. “Charlotte called you.”
“Liz.”
I leaned back in the chair. “Rose is fine, Gram. She spent the night with me. She snores, by the way.”
Gram laughed. “I know. I shared a room with her when the four of us went to Florida.”
“I’ll call Liz when I get to the shop,” I said. “I’m actually in Rose’s apartment right now waiting for her to get dressed.”
“They’ll work it out,” she said. “Do you know how many arguments they’ve had over the years?”
I shook my head even though she couldn’t see the motion. “I don’t have a clue.”
She laughed again. “Neither do I, but I can promise you that it’s a very big number.”
“I miss you,” I said.
“I miss you, too,” she said. “But I’ll see you in a bit more than a month.”
Gram and her new husband, John, had gotten married almost a year ago. Jess and I agreed that John looked like actor Gary Oldman’s slightly older brother. He had the same dark hair, streaked with gray, waving back from his face, and the same intense gaze behind dark-framed glasses. There were thirteen years between Gram and John—she being the elder—which had raised some eyebrows, but Gram didn’t seem anywhere near her seventy-four years. And more important, she didn’t care what other people thought.
They’d set out on their honeymoon in an RV that wasn’t much bigger than a minivan, intending to travel along the East Coast and work on a project for the charity Home for Good. One house-building project had turned into several, and now after nearly a year away Gram and John were finally coming home.