While he rocked, he unclipped his cell phone and called Siana. Because of the investigation none of my family had yet been told what happened that morning, and Wyatt kept the explanation brief: I’d been in a car accident that morning, the air bag had deployed and I wasn’t hurt, hadn’t even gone to the hospital, but my bag hadn’t yet been retrieved from my car and I couldn’t get in my house. Could she come unlock the door for me? If she couldn’t, Wyatt said he would have a patrolman stop by to get the keys.
I could hear Siana’s voice, the tone of alarm, but I couldn’t make out exactly what she was saying. Wyatt’s calm responses reassured her, though, and when he disconnected the call, he said, “She’ll be here in about twenty minutes. Do you want to get back in the car in the air-conditioning?”
I did. I wiped my face-very gingerly-and asked him if he had a tissue. He didn’t. Men are so unprepared.
“I have a roll of toilet paper in the trunk, though, if that will do.”
Okay, I didn’t want to know why he had the toilet paper, but I changed my mind about him being unprepared. Diverted from my tears, I went to stand beside him as he popped the trunk, to see what else he had back there.
The main thing was a large cardboard box, which contained the toilet paper, a pretty extensive first aid kit, a box of plastic gloves, several rolls of duct tape, folded sheets of plastic, a magnifying glass, measuring tape, paper bags, plastic bags, tweezers, scissors, and a bunch of other stuff. There was also a shovel, a pickax, and a saw. “What’s with the tweezers?” I asked. “You just keep them handy in case someone’s eyebrows need plucking?”
“Evidence collection,” he replied as he unrolled some toilet paper and gave it to me. “I had to have it when I was a detective.”
“But you aren’t a detective now,” I pointed out. I folded the toilet paper, then wiped my eyes and blew my nose.
“Habits die hard. I keep thinking I might need some of this.”
“And the shovel?”
“You never know when you’ll need to dig a hole.”
“Uh-huh.” I understood that, at least. “I always carry a brick in my trunk,” I confided, then felt a twinge as I remembered what shape my car was in.
He closed the trunk, a frown between his eyes. “A brick? Why do you need a brick?”
“In case I need to break out a window.”
He paused, then said to himself, “I don’t want to know.”
We sat in the car until Siana arrived, driving a new model Camry. She got out, looking smart and sexy in a taupe suit with a red lace tank under the jacket. Her shoes were taupe sling-backs with three-inch Lucite heels. Her golden blond hair was cut in a sleek shoulder-length bob, the simple lines doing great things for her heart-shaped face. Despite her great dimples, Siana had a look about her that said, “Be afraid. Be very afraid.” Between us, my sisters and I pretty much had all the bases covered. I was pretty enough, but mostly I was athletic and business-oriented. Siana was maybe less even-featured, but her intelligence shone in her face like a beacon, plus she had great boobs. Jenni was taller than either of us, with darker hair, and drop-dead gorgeous. She couldn’t settle on a career, but she was making good money doing local modeling jobs. She could have gone to New York and tried her luck there, but she wasn’t interested enough.
Wyatt and I both got out of the car. Siana took one look at me, gave a low cry, and burst into tears as she rushed toward me.
She looked as if she wanted to throw her arms around me, but she stopped short, started to pat me, then drew her hand back. Tears dripped down her face.
I looked at Wyatt. “Do I look that bad?” I asked uncertainly.
“Yeah,” was his answer, which perversely reassured me, because if I’d been in truly bad shape, he would have been coddling me.
“I do not.” I began reassuring Siana, patting her.
“What happened?” she asked, blotting her eyes.
“My brakes failed.” The full explanation could come later.
“What did you hit? A power pole?”
“Another car hit me. On the passenger side.”
“Where’s your car? Can it be fixed?”
“No,” said Wyatt. “It’s totaled.”
Siana looked horrified all over again.
I sidetracked her by saying, “Mom invited us to supper tonight, and I need to get cleaned up before I go over there.”
She nodded. “That’s for sure. She’d freak out if she saw you like this, with blood all over your clothes. I hope you have some real good concealer, too. You’ve got a raccoon thing going on.”
“Air bag,” I explained.
My condo key was on her key ring, mixed in with all her other keys. She separated it, unlocked the door, then stepped back while I went in first and disarmed the security system. She followed Wyatt and me inside. “Mom invited me tonight, too. I figured by the time I got here and back to the office, it would be time to leave anyway, so I left for the day. Do you need me for anything? I’m available.”
“No, I think everything’s under control.”
“Does your insurance company provide a rental until the claim can be settled?”
“Yes, thank goodness. My agent said she’ll make arrangements for me to get the rental tomorrow.”
Siana was a lawyer; her mind was already moving ahead. “Do you have a mechanic lined up to go over your car, do a postmortem? You’ll need a notarized statement-”
“No,” Wyatt said. “It wasn’t mechanical failure.”
“Blair said her brakes failed.”
“They did, but they had help. The brake line was severed.”
She blinked; then she went pale. She stared at me. “Someone tried to kill you,” she blurted. “Again.”
I sighed. “I know. Wyatt says it’s because I’m a cheerleader.” I slanted him a “gotcha” look and took myself upstairs to shower, smiling as I listened to Siana swing to my defense. The smile faded as I climbed the stairs, though. Two attempts on my life were enough. This whole situation was getting on my nerves. MacInnes and Forester had better find that Dwayne Bailey had unaccounted-for chunks of time, and a nice set of fingerprints on my poor car would come in handy, too.
I eased out of my stiff, bloody clothing and let every garment fall to the floor. They were all ruined, anyway. I was amazed that a simple bloody nose could make such a mess. Finally I went into the bathroom and took a good look at myself in the full-length mirror. Bruises were definitely forming across my cheekbones, and across my nose. And on both knees, my shoulders, the inside of my right arm, and my right hip. I ached in every muscle; even my feet ached. Looking down, I saw a big bruise on top of my right foot.
Wyatt came into the bathroom while I was standing there surveying the damage. Without saying anything, he looked me over from head to toe, then gently folded me in his arms and rocked me back and forth for a while. For once, there was nothing sexual in his embrace, but he’d have had to be one sick puppy to be turned on by such an array of bruises. “You need ice packs,” he said. “A lot of them.”