Second Wind (Cypress Coast Book 1) Page 21

  The next morning a horrible metallic clanging, like a tiny jackhammer, jolted Laurel from slumber. She slapped blindly in the general direction of the clamor until it stopped. When she pushed up onto her elbows, her eyes throbbed and her stomach roiled. She groaned. Rufus gave her a cold, disapproving stare from the foot of the bed.

  She squinted at him. “Knock it off, bud. You don’t get to judge.”

  He hopped down and marched toward the kitchen.

  When she swung her feet over the side of the bed and tried to stand, her head swam, causing her to sit back down. She rubbed her forehead and pushed her hair out of her face. How much did I drink last night?

  As she stumbled past the coffee table, she noted the pair of empty wine bottles. Angelica had given Sage a ride, so she’d switched to water after two glasses. Sage had been a little looser, drinking three glasses on her own. That meant Laurel must have finished both bottles. No wonder she felt like she was on a ship in the middle of a hurricane. She never drank that much. Richard had always teased her about being a lightweight. But she’d been so happy, and they’d been having such a good time planning their new gallery, she hadn’t paid close attention.

  She almost tipped over when she bent to feed Rufus. She had to shake this—she was due at the gallery in a couple of hours.

  A shower would help. And dry toast. And coffee. Lots of coffee.

  They did help, and she managed to make it to work on time, only slightly the worse for wear. As usual Victor wasn’t in yet. Since she’d started, he’d been increasingly casual about his hours at the gallery. She hoped it was a vote of confidence in her ability to manage the place on her own.

  Victor called around eleven-thirty to say he and Martin were at the hospital.

  A sudden vision of Snowflake and Twitchy sent a chill up Laurel’s spine. “Are you both all right?”

  She heard muffled voices as Victor turned away from the phone. Then he returned. “I’m sorry. That was the doctor. The x-rays have come back, and Martin has a broken wrist.”

  “Oh, no! What happened?”

  “He…ah…slipped in the shower and fell.”

  She’d never broken a bone, but Sage had screamed like an enraged bobcat when she fell off her bike and broke her arm when she was eleven. “I’m so sorry. That must be very painful.”

  “They’ve given him morphine, and according to the doctor, he’ll feel much better once they set the bone and apply the cast.”

  “Will he need surgery?”

  “We hope not. I’ll call you later and let you know, but I hope to be able to take him home in a couple of hours. How are things going at the gallery?”

  “Everything’s under control. You concentrate on taking care of Martin.”

  “Very well. I’ll talk to you soon.” His voice wavered on the verge of tears. “And Laurel, thank you. You really are a godsend.”

  As she hung up, she had to blink away a few tears herself.

  The rest of the day was relatively uneventful. She only sold one piece—a fun little bronze sculpture of Albert Einstein lounging on a park bench—to an artsy-looking young couple from New York. Happily, the price of that piece alone would pay the gallery’s bills for the rest of the month.

  When Jake hadn’t called by the time she locked up, she tried not to be too concerned. She reminded herself that a handful of dates didn’t make them an official couple, and he was in the middle of an important federal investigation. However, she regretted hanging up on him the last time they spoke and would feel better once they cleared the air. Since she didn’t want to call and risk interrupting said important federal investigation, she sent him a short, apologetic text on the way to her car.

  She was anxious to get home, and as a result, her patience with other drivers was shorter than usual. Any vehicle traveling less than five miles over the speed limit earned the stink-eye and a muttered curse. Last night’s conversation with her sisters had stirred her creative juices, and she couldn’t wait to get started on her first wind spinner.

  After a quick dinner, she grabbed her phone, dutifully locked the door, and headed down to her studio. The trio of overhead fixtures flooded the nearly-empty with light when she flipped the switch. She headed over to her workbench and surveyed the selection of tools she’d purchased.

  Her first task was to carve a mold for the copper leaves that would catch the wind and cause the sculpture to spin. The foot-long section of two-by-four she’d selected should work perfectly. She clamped it to the surface of the workbench, picked up a gouge and a hammer, and began removing small slices of wood until she had a leaf-shaped depression about three inches wide and nine inches long with a ridge down the center line.

  It was after nine o’clock when she finished shaping the mold to her satisfaction. A soft creak signaled the side door opening, and her pulse shot up. She’d forgotten to lock the door. Hammer in hand, she jumped up from her workbench.

  Her mother peeked around the side of the door. “Hang on, sweetie, it’s just me.”

  Laurel set the hammer down. “I’m sorry. You startled me.”

  Rosemary held out a plate like a peace offering. “I saw the light and thought you could use a couple slices of pumpkin bread.”

  “Oh, yum. I’ll have one if you’ll have the other.”

  “Don’t mind if I do.”

  After taking a slice, Rosemary ran her fingers across the mold Laurel had just finished carving. “This is lovely. What is it?”

  “It’s a mold for the leaves of my wind spinner. I’ll give it a good sanding tomorrow, then I’ll be ready to start the fun part.”

  “And that is…?”

  “The actual metal work. I cut the leaves from copper sheet with the bandsaw. Then I use this—” She picked up a ball peen hammer. “—to shape the individual leaves in the mold until they’re perfectly shaped to catch the wind.”

  “That will be beautiful, but how do you make them move?”

  “I solder the leaves onto heavy copper wire stems, then attach the stems to ball bearing hubs that slip down over a pipe. That allows the sculpture to turn in the wind.”

  Her mother beamed. “I can’t wait to see it. We can put it in the front garden at Earthly Delights.”

  “I’m afraid Melody’s already spoken for this one, but I’d be happy to make another for the restaurant. Maybe larger and with more detail.”

  “That would be perfect! And I can’t wait to tell all our customers who made it. They’ll each want one, too.”

  Laurel’s heart swelled as she hugged her mother. “Have I ever told you you’re the best?”

  Rosemary grinned. “A time or two, but I don’t mind hearing it.” She picked up the empty plate. “Don’t stay up too late. Remember, it’s a school night.”

  Laurel laughed, but as soon as her mother left, a wave of fatigue washed over her. She finished cleaning up her workbench, then trudged up the stairs to her apartment.

  As she approached the top, her phone buzzed. Pulling it out of her back pocket, she wedged it against her ear and opened the door. “Hello?”

  “Hey, it’s me.”

  The sound of Jake’s voice made her smile as she locked the door behind her. “I didn’t expect to hear from you. It’s late. You sound exhausted.”

  “I’m getting ready to leave the office. It’s been a long day—actually, a series of long days—but we’re making progress. How are you?”

  “Good. I started my first wind sculpture tonight.” She peeled off her jeans and unbuttoned the flannel shirt she’d put on after work.

  “That’s great. I can’t wait to see it.” He sounded normal. Tired, but normal.

  Apparently, they were both going to ignore the uncomfortable ending to their last call. Good. Sometimes there was a lot to be said for avoidance. Being involved in a relationship that allowed for an occasional bad mood or minor misunderstanding without a subsequent unpleasant scene was a new and welcome experience.

  “Are you free Saturday night?” he
continued. “I know you’re working—I have to work, too—but I thought we could grab some dinner in town, then you could show me your sculpture.”

  “That sounds like fun. With luck I’ll have produced something worth seeing by then.”

  “Great. I’ll meet you at the gallery at six o’clock.”

  “Perfect.”

  Laurel disconnected with a grin and set her phone on the nightstand. She almost felt like she was back in high school and Chaz Brinkley had asked her to the Homecoming dance. Jake Carlson might not have Richard’s urbane sophistication, but he was real, and that counted for a whole lot more.

  Rufus lounged on the bed and watched while she donned her pajamas. When she padded into the kitchen, he hopped down and followed.

  She took a bowl from the cupboard then opened the freezer. “I think this calls for ice cream, don’t you?”

  Mrowr.

  “For me. Ice cream isn’t good for you. How about a liver treat?”

  Mrowr.

  “Sold.”

  She carried her bowl and a couple of kitty treats to the sofa, where Rufus was on her lap before her backside touched the cushions.

  Victor finally called Friday afternoon with an update on Martin’s condition. The doctors had decided his wrist wouldn’t require surgery, but they had insisted on keeping him overnight for observation. He was in the process of being discharged, and then they would head home. Victor’s voice had the gravelly tone of exhaustion, as if he’d sat up all night, which he undoubtedly had. She thanked him for the news and sent Martin her best wishes.

  Saturday morning, Laurel was stunned to see both men in the gallery when she arrived. She started to greet them, but the moment she registered the full extent of Martin’s injuries, her cheerful smile dissolved. In addition to the cast extending from mid-hand nearly to his elbow, his face sported bruises of every shape and color in addition to a neat row of stitches near the hairline. His fall in the shower had clearly been much more serious than Victor had suggested.

  She reached for his uninjured hand. “You poor thing! What are you doing here? You shouldn’t be out of bed.”

  His nascent smile quickly became a wince. “Nonsense, my dear. A few hours in the shop will help me get back on my feet. Besides, I’m expecting a delivery of several new pieces from a consignor this afternoon. Have to be ready for the holidays, you know!”

  She shook her head. “Well, don’t overdo it.”

  Martin leaned over and planted a peck on her cheek. “Now, now. No fussing.” Then he allowed Victor to take his elbow and assist him next door to his shop.

  When Victor returned a couple of hours later, Laurel was in the middle of a conversation with a pair of Spanish collectors about one of the large, Early California paintings. He gave her a wink and headed to his office. A few minutes later, the potential buyers left after telling her they were in town for several days and would likely be back. She was disappointed—the asking price on the painting was well over one hundred thousand dollars—but shrugged it off. A sale like that might only come once a year, and she’d only been working at Gallery St. James for a little over a month.

  She decided to check in with Victor and found him sitting at his desk, staring at his computer screen with a worried frown. When she entered, he closed the program with a click and glanced up.

  “How is Martin doing? I hope he won’t work too long today. I hate to say it, but he looks awful.”

  Victor’s frown deepened. “He keeps trying to tell me he looks worse than he feels, but—”

  A sudden loud thud shook the building, and Laurel grabbed the edge of the desk to steady herself. Her first thought was earthquake, but the muffled boom was quickly followed by a cacophony of shouts and breaking glass. Sirens wailed in the distance.

  “We’d better go—”

  Victor was already on his feet and running toward the door. She followed close behind, but they both stopped, frozen in horror, when they reached the courtyard. Shards of glass from the shattered front window of Finebourne Antiques littered the brick pavement. A chaotic crowd of alarmed shoppers and restaurant diners filled the courtyard. On the other side of the broken glass, a wall of yellow flames had fully engulfed the contents of the shop.

  “Martin!” Victor pushed through the crowd, shoving people aside in an attempt to reach the door until a uniformed police officer grabbed his arm and pulled him back.

  “You can’t go in there, sir. The fire department will be here any minute.”

  Victor jerked against the man’s hold. “You don’t understand. Martin’s inside. I have to get him out!”

  A pair of fire engines pulled up, along with another squad car, and the officer hopped out to join forces with his colleague pushing the onlookers back from the fire. Laurel held Victor’s arm as they stood helplessly in the crowd while the firefighters attacked the blaze with axes and hoses. When she glanced over at his tear-streaked face, his lips were moving, but she couldn’t hear the words over the din. The firefighters beat the flames back in short order and were able to keep them from spreading to the adjacent buildings, but that did little to allay her fears.

  As one of the police officers passed, Victor waved his arms and shouted. “Did they find him? Did you tell them there’s a man inside?”

  “Yes, sir. They’ve searched the building but haven’t located him. Are you sure he was in there?”

  “Yes. Yes. I left him inside less than five minutes before the fire started.” He made a move toward the door. “I’ll find him myself.”

  The officer grabbed Victor’s arm, then his shoulder communicator squawked. Laurel couldn’t understand the words, but the cop nodded and replied before releasing Victor. “I have good news for you, sir. The owner of the shop has been found in the alley. He’s suffering from smoke inhalation, but it appears he was able to get out through the back door before being burned. They’re loading him into the ambulance now.”

  Victor glanced around wildly, twitching with energy. “I have to go with him.”

  He bolted toward the street that connected to the alley around the corner, and Laurel followed. There was nothing she could do for Martin, but she needed to see him to reassure herself he was going to be all right.

  When they reached the alley, the paramedics had already loaded their patient into the ambulance and closed the doors.

  “I need…to go with him.” Victor was pale, sweating, and struggling to catch his breath.

  The paramedic opened the driver’s door. “I’m sorry, sir, but there’s no room. You can meet us at the hospital.”

  There was no way Laurel was going to allow her boss behind the wheel of a car in his condition. She tugged on the sleeve of his tweed jacket. “I’ll drive you. Come on.”

  She ran back into the gallery to grab her coat and purse, pausing only to flip the Closed sign and lock the door on her way out. Then she led Victor to her car, and they took off for Community Hospital. She pulled into the Emergency entrance ten minutes later, and Victor jumped out of the car and ran inside before she could come to a complete stop.

  The doctors were already working on Martin, so Laurel and Victor were consigned to the ER waiting room. She tried to read the stale, dog-eared magazines piled on the white Formica-topped table while Victor paced the length of the compact room, stopping to peer through the window in the door leading back to the examination rooms. Patients came and went. A landscaper with a nasty insect sting. Parents with their young son who had broken his arm in a skateboard accident. A middle-aged woman whose car had been rear-ended at a stop sign. Minutes ticked into hours on the big clock over the admission desk.

  Finally, a nurse called Victor’s name and told him Martin had been admitted to a room, and an orderly appeared to direct them. As they followed the young man down the wide halls, Laurel’s overwhelming impression of the building was bright and cheerful. The white walls were decorated with beautiful original artwork, and large windows admitted abundant natural light. On the way to the el
evators, they passed an enormous koi pond and a two-story glassed atrium, elaborately landscaped with trees, boulders, and a running stream. If she hadn’t known it was a hospital, she would have thought she was in a fancy resort.

  The orderly knocked on the door of Martin’s room before opening it for them. Inside, Martin lay in bed, hooked up to oxygen and an IV. Several monitors hummed and beeped beside him. Soot still streaked his face and hair.

  Victor rushed to his side and grasped his hand. “How are you?”

  Martin managed a faint smile. “A little worse for wear, but not too bad. They gave me a couple of breathing treatments and want to keep me overnight for observation. The medical consensus is, I’m a lucky man.”

  Laurel admired his attitude, but given the events of the past few days, she had to disagree about the luck. The poor man seemed to have a cloud hanging over his head. “Do you have any idea what happened?”

  “I may have some answers to that.”

  Their heads turned in unison as a uniformed Melody Hardison walked through the door, followed by Jake Carlson.

  Laurel’s eyes rounded. Our date. I completely forgot!

  Jake seemed to read her mind and sent her a quick nod of understanding.

  Victor cleared his throat. “Do the police know something?”

  Melody unzipped her jacket and took out a pen and pad. “If Mr. Finebourne feels up to it, I’m here to take statements from the three of you. All I can tell you at this point is that it appears someone threw a Molotov cocktail through the window of the antique shop.”

  Victor stepped closer to Martin and cast a suspicious glance at Jake. “Who is he, and what is he doing here?”

  “This is FBI Special Agent Jake Carlson, and I asked him to join me because this incident may relate to an investigation we’re both involved with.”

  A tiny moan escaped Martin’s lips the moment she said FBI.

  Melody gave him a sharp glance. “Are you able to talk to us now, Mr. Finebourne?”

  He drew in a shuddery breath. “Y-yes. Although there isn’t much I can tell you.”

  “I’m sure you’re tired after your ordeal, so we’ll try to make this as brief as possible. We can talk to Mr. St. James and Ms. McDowell outside after we finish, if you need to rest.”