Somebody Owes Me Money

Since I didn’t have any answer to that one, I stopped thinking about it, and instead my mind went back to something that had struck me a long time ago. I’d been meaning to ask Abbie about it, but then things started to happen, and I forgot. So I asked now. “What about the doctor?” I said.

She stared at me. “The doctor? Tommy’s doctor? Why would he kill him?”

“No, no. The doctor that took care of my head. The one you called, that helped you carry me up here.”

“He didn’t even know Tommy,” she said. “He never even knew me before last night. What makes you think he’s the killer?”

Confusion was setting in again. “I don’t,” I said. “I’m not talking about the killing at all. I’m talking about something else now.”

“I was talking about the killing,” she said, “and who could have done it, and there’s nobody left but Louise.”

“All right,” I said, not wanting to go around that barn again. “You’re probably right.”

“So what’s all this about the doctor?”

“I was shot in the head,” I said. “Aren’t doctors supposed to report gunshot wounds to the police?”

“They’re supposed to,” she agreed.

“Then shouldn’t we be getting cops here sooner or later, asking questions?”

She shook her head. “He won’t report it. I told him you were my boyfriend, and my husband shot you, and we couldn’t stand the scandal and notoriety, and I promised him his name would never come up if there was a police investigation.”

“And he agreed?”

“I also bribed him a hundred dollars.” She winked. “You have to know what neighborhood to get your doctor in.”

“You bribed him?”

“It was the only thing to do,” she said, and shrugged.

That girl just kept amazing me. I had known capable, competent take-charge women before, but none of them came within a mile of Abbie McKay. I shook my head and said, “You’re a wonder. How about taking care of Tarbok and Droble for me?”

“Sure thing,” she said. “First thing in the morning.” Then she looked at her watch and said, “Which will be coming along any minute. I’ve got to go to the funeral tomorrow, too. At ten o’clock.” She looked around and said, “It looks like we spend the night co-ed.”

“I’d offer you the bed,” I said, “but I’m not sure I can get out of it.”

“That’s okay,” she said. “We can share.”

“Share?”

“In your condition,” she said, “what virtue I have left is probably safe. Just move over to the side a little bit. No, the inside, I don’t want to have to crawl over you all the time.”

“Yeah, we wouldn’t want that,” I said, and hunched myself over against the wall. What’s that old image about a sick person, when they’re about to die, they turn their face to the wall? That’s what ran through my head when I got over by the wall, of course. My mind isn’t always so full of morbid notions, but even Mary Poppins would have had a grim thought or two if she’d had my last four days.

Meanwhile Abbie was stripping to her underwear again, the second night in a row I’d seen her like that. I said, “Hey.”

She glanced at me. “What?”

“I may be wounded,” I said, “but I’m not a eunuch. I was shot up at this end, up at the head.”

She grinned and said, “Oh, don’t be silly, Chet. You’ve seen girls before.”

“That’s perfectly true,” I said. “But.”

She looked at me. “But what?”

“Nothing,” I said. “That was the whole sentence.”

“Oh, you’ll be all right,” she said, and went over and switched off the light.

I heard her moving around in the dark, and then the bed sagged, and then a knee touched my near leg. It moved around a little, the covers shifted this way and that, the knee left, a hip touched my hip, the hip left, the covers settled down, she sighed in contentment, and there was silence.

I said, “This is ridiculous.”

“What’s the matter?”

“I’m in bed with you.”

“Haven’t you ever been in bed with a girl before?”

“Not like this, Abbie.”

“It’s kind of a nice change of pace,” she said.

“Change of pace,” I said.

“Sure,” she said.

“Sure,” I said.

She went to sleep before I did.

18

My arms were around somebody. Somebody warm. Somebody soft. Somebody who smelled musky and nice. Somebody female.

Female? My eyes popped open, and I was looking at a lot of tangled blond hair. I blinked at the hair, felt the warm female body snuggled against mine, and for just a second I was afraid I was in terrible trouble. Then I remembered. I was in terrible trouble, but not that kind.

I must have moved or something, because all at once the mass of hair lifted, like a drawbridge going up, and two wide-open blue eyes were three inches from my face, staring at me. I blinked. They blinked.

I said, “Good morning.”

She jumped a mile, or at least out of my arms, and sat beside me, holding the covers up against herself and staring down at me.

I said, “Abbie, this was your idea. You were very cool about the whole thing last night, so don’t fly off the handle now.”

Comprehension flowed into her eyes as though poured in from above, and she said, “Chet?” As though to be sure what she was seeing was right.

“It’s me,” I said.