0.5 The St. Valentine's Day Cookie Massacre by Elisabeth Crabtree

Author:Elisabeth Crabtree [Crabtree, Elisabeth]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2014-02-10T05:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER eleven

I blew out my breath as I sat on the hard ER bed, twirling my feet off the edge. I was fine and saw no reason to stick around. The only damage I sustained when I was pushed over the railing was to my arm. It hurt a little, but the doctor assured me that it wasn’t fractured.

After I fell, Hayden and I swam back to shore, while Tiffany, the only one of us that had ever been a lifeguard, dragged Evan back to shore. A crowd of onlookers, and a few of my colleagues from the Herald and the local TV crew had already started to gather, tipped off by the police and emergency crew that had arrived at the pier, soon after I took my little swan dive into the ocean. As soon as Tiffany and Hayden deposited Evan on the beach, the paramedics began to work on him. A few seconds later, he was breathing and looking around wildly.

I glanced toward the opposite side of the ER where Evan sat. Deciding that anything was better than just sitting there waiting to be released, I hopped off the bed, wrapped the warm blanket the hospital provided around my shoulders, and made my way across the ER toward Evan’s bed.

Evan obviously wasn’t the most pleasant of patients. Nurses and doctors cut him a wide berth as they walked about the ER. I couldn’t blame them. Evan sat in his dressing gown, with his arms crossed, and a scowl across his face. He glared at everyone around him. Snarling and snapping at anyone within earshot. Only the most fearless dared to approach. Luckily, I had nerves of steel and a charming bedside manner, if I did say so myself. “I told you meeting with the killer was a dumb idea,” I said when I finally reached his side.

Evan barely looked up. He just sat on the bed glowering into nothing. I glanced up at the ratted mass of hair which had fallen in front of his face. Little black beads of water from the cheap hair dye he used snaked down his cheeks. I was about to snap my fingers in front of his nose to get his attention, when he finally spoke. “They had the nerve to take my picture while I was passed out with seaweed covering me. I’ll tell you this, if that picture ends up on the front-page of my own newspaper, I am quitting. I won’t stand for it.”

“I wouldn’t either.” I leaned forward. “So, who tried to kill you?”

“It was the same person who killed Benny Yates. I made plans to meet them on the old pier by the bait shop.” His scowl deepened. “I can’t believe I was betrayed like that.”

“Well, you were meeting with a murderer. They tend not to be the most honorable of people.”

“I’m not talking about the killer. I’m talking about my own co-workers. I wake up on the beach with paramedics bending over me, and they are hovering around snapping pictures.

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