Rock Bottom (Imogene Museum Mystery #1) Page 16

  “Greg?”

  “Fine. He’s going to be fine.”

  I knew that voice. Maybe. It was all fuzzy and bright. And antiseptic. Angels don’t wear antiseptic. But that robber guy — he was menthol.

  o0o

  Voices murmured, a buzz. A hive. A hive of owls. No, not a hive. A covey? Someone ratcheted tape off a roll. Scritchy sounds — around and around. They were packing me into a case for shipment with the chamber pots back to Germany. Well, that’d be nice. Maybe then I could sleep. I wanted the darkness of the cavern. I wanted Greg to be safe.

  o0o

  Someone was standing over me, breathing on me. I opened my eyes. Sheriff Marge.

  “Ahh, you’re back,” Sheriff Marge said.

  “Where have I been?” My voice came out raspy.

  “Hard to say, exactly. I’m still trying to figure it out myself. But it seems you visited Betty, then drove to the heritage marker, forged a trail to an unknown cavern and cracked yourself up pretty badly on the rocks when you fell in. Sound familiar?”

  I tried to swallow.

  “Here, you’re supposed to be sucking on these.” Sheriff Marge placed a plastic cup in my left hand.

  I tipped it to my lips and slid an ice cube into my mouth. “Where’s Greg?” I asked around the frozen lump.

  “In surgery. He won’t be walking for a while, but the doctor says he can set the bone. He’ll be okay. Don’t worry.” Sheriff Marge patted my good shoulder. “The guys had to pull his shirt off because you were hanging on to it for all you were worth. They let you keep the shirt and hauled Greg out first.”

  “Oh.” I wrinkled my nose, embarrassed. “I hope I didn’t hinder —”

  “Nope. You were protecting him, if incoherently. Pretty voracious, considering the nature of your injuries.”

  I looked down. I was propped in a white bed, covered in white sheets, in the middle of a white room. I seemed padded.

  “Broken collarbone, cracked ribs, concussion, mild hypothermia, severe dehydration — but that might be related to the sinus infection. You’re amped up on antibiotics and morphine.” Sheriff Marge gestured toward the tubes running into my arm.

  “Oh.” Boy, I was slow. My brain crept along. “How did you find us?”

  “You didn’t hear that crazy dog of yours howling her head off?” Sheriff Marge studied me over the top of her reading glasses. “Well, first, Betty called. She thought you were acting unusual and was worried about whether you should drive. So we started looking for you. Wasn’t hard to guess where you went. We found your truck at the heritage marker with its back bumper sticking out into the highway. Lousy parking job. Confirmed Betty’s suspicions about your ability to drive.” Sheriff Marge paused and scrutinized me again. “We may talk about that later.”

  “Codeine,” I mumbled.

  Sheriff Marge raised one eyebrow.

  “Cough syrup. I had some.”

  “Some?”

  “I didn’t measure.”

  Sheriff Marge sighed. “Found your footprints and skid marks on the slope. We almost bypassed that rock pile thinking no one in their right mind would try to scale it. But Pete climbed part way up to have a look and took a tumble when Tuppence hit him in the chest. She just came flying over the heap and crashed into him.”

  “Pete?”

  This earned another disapproving look from Sheriff Marge. “Wild horses couldn’t have dragged him away. I think you and he need to settle some things.”

  I slid another ice cube in my mouth. “Did you get my message?”

  “Yeah. After we found your phone. You must have called while I was divvying up leads with the State Police, and I didn’t notice until we saw your phone sitting there and figured out why you’d done that. Tuppence was carrying on with horrible, yippy howls, setting everyone’s teeth on edge. She led us into the cave where we could see your jacket and broken sunglasses.”

  “Did you see the flashlight beam, through the next crevice?”

  “Nope. There wasn’t any light. We got firemen in there with big battery-powered light packs and jackhammers. Made the openings big enough to get them through with their gear. They rigged up some kind of sling. It took a community effort. There’s a whole bunch of people waiting to see you, but the doc won’t let them in yet. I claimed official privileges.”

  I managed a faint smile. “Did you see the petroglyphs? Greg found them.”

  “I didn’t go in that far, but Pete was impressed.”

  “Pete?”

  “Like I said, wild horses.”

  “They need to be protected from vandalism. And the Confederated Tribes should be notified. Can you —?” I shifted and gritted my teeth. The edges of things were getting fuzzy.

  “Done.” Sheriff Marge pressed a slender knob with a button on the end into my hand. “Here, click this if you need more pain killer.”

  I sighed and closed my eyes.

  o0o

  The bed jerked hard, sending painful light streaking behind my eyeballs. I groaned.

  Someone had bumped the bed. I opened my eyes and saw a flash of red and black buffalo plaid.

  Pete and his big feet. Pete in buffalo plaid and heavy boots.

  “Sorry. Didn’t mean to wake you,” he said.

  I gasped and remembered. I clutched the corner of his jacket, pulled it to my face and inhaled. Licorice.

  “Mmmmm,” I said into the rough cloth. I might have said some other stuff, too.

  Pete unwrapped my fingers from his coat and held my hand in both of his. He rubbed his thumb across my knuckles.

  What had I just said? Something loopy, no doubt, and hopefully slurred. Good grief. My face was stuck in a goofy smile as I slipped back into dreamy morphine land. I was probably drooling too.

  CHAPTER 22

  A nurse with little Donald Ducks all over her tunic opened the blinds. “It’s nice out. Thought we’d let in a little sunshine.”

  “Nice scrubs,” I said.

  The nurse laughed. “I usually work the pediatric ward, but my last patient went home an hour ago. I’m finishing my shift on this wing since it’s pretty busy over here.”

  The room was more colorful now — vases of flowers covered the bedside table and shelf under the television. Carnations, lilies, sunflowers. Hard to believe it was almost winter.

  “Do you know Greg Boykin? He’s here with a broken leg.”

  “I was just in his room a few minutes ago. He’s awake. Do you want to visit him?”

  “Can I get out of bed?”

  “Yep. Best thing for you. You need to start using those muscles. Let me get a robe and slippers.”

  The nurse propped me up, and I grimaced as I swung my legs over the side of the bed.

  “Just take it easy. Go as slow as you want,” the nurse said. She fitted slippers onto my feet and draped the robe over my shoulders like a cape. “Gotcha covered. No embarrassing gapes.”

  Lindsay appeared in the doorway with a bundle of freesia. “Hey, look who’s up. Going somewhere?”

  “To visit Greg.”

  “I’ll go with you. I haven’t seen him yet today.”

  I stood and wobbled.

  “You have to take this with you,” the nurse said, rolling the IV stand closer.

  “I feel like an ninety-year-old with a walker,” I grumbled. “You haven’t seen him yet today? What day is it?”

  “Wednesday. You pretty much slept through yesterday, but you look better today.”

  I hadn’t thought about my appearance. But now that I was moving, I wasn’t turning back to check myself in a mirror. Lindsay kept the turtle pace with me down the hallway.

  Greg was propped up in bed, left leg resting on a foam wedge with a cast covering everything from the knee down. He was sipping apple juice.

  “You look good. Better than last time I saw you,” I said.

  “My rescuer.” Greg grinned.

  “I didn’t get you out. I just fell in with you.” I eased into a chair, and Lindsay p
erched on the edge of Greg’s bed. “How’re you feeling?”

  He chuckled. “To quote Ford, I got nothin’ to complain about. And thanks for the carrot cake.”

  “I’ll make you another if you'll tell me why you went off alone — without telling anyone.”

  Greg shook his head. “Lesson learned. Sheriff Marge already grilled me. I think she’s miffed — and rightly so. I’m really sorry about the trouble and worry I put everyone through. I didn’t plan to fall into a cavern. I thought I’d hike around for a while, then go back to school.” He steepled his fingertips together. “But that’s no excuse — I was stupid.”

  “But you were looking for something.”

  “Sure — petroglyphs. I certainly didn’t expect to find any. I just hoped there’d be more locations — a pipe dream, you know?” Greg shook his head and exhaled. “I knew it was probable that all major sites were submerged when the dams were built. But I also wondered if every possible spot had been checked. You know how it is when an idea starts bugging you, just won’t leave you alone.” He tipped his head toward me with his eyebrows arched. “Don’t you?”

  “The bane of anthropologists.” I shared his grin. “What made you pick that particular spot?”

  “Last summer, when Mac took me fishing, we anchored near there. I saw the rock slide and wondered what had caused it. Maybe part of a lava shelf had given way, removing support from the shelf above. I wondered if that kind of thing happened farther in — if the basalt from one flow was weaker than that formed by the next flow. I read about it in one of your books — about the potential for caves within layers. Thought it’d be fun to have a look.”

  “Fun.” I chuckled, but stopped quickly and held my side. “Oooo.” I bit my lip.

  Lindsay leaned in and pecked Greg on the cheek. “You two have a lot to catch up on. I need to go open the museum. I’ll see you later.”

  I raised my eyebrows at Greg after Lindsay left the room.

  He shrugged, grinning even wider than before.

  “We are going to talk about that — later. Petroglyphs first.” I scooted to the edge of my chair.

  Greg leaned forward. “Did you see them?”

  “Yeah — amazing.”

  “I have to find out where he saw the originals.”

  “What do you mean — originals?”

  “They’re not real. I mean they’re real, but they’re not authentic. Didn’t you notice?”

  “I was worried about you. You had a lot more time to check them out than I did.” I wrinkled my nose. “How do you know?”

  “They’re all recent — really recent. I think one of the marijuana workers was bored, so he chipped those designs in the rock. With modern tools — a hammer and chisel even — it wouldn’t take as long as it used to. Clearly, he practiced his technique and improved. The owl was his masterpiece.”

  “Back up.” I flapped my hand. “I feel like Rip Van Winkle. Marijuana worker?”

  “I don’t know — he probably has a more technical job description. Didn’t Sheriff Marge tell you? About the cavern being used as a marijuana depot?”

  My eyes bulged.

  “Oh. Well, the cavern has a river entrance, hidden well by scrub brush rooted in the mud bank. It’s accessible with a shallow-bottomed boat. You and I entered the hard way. The cartel was using the cavern as a collection and distribution point — ferrying their goods on the river. Sheriff Marge thinks they cleared it out right after the grow on Julian’s property was raided. They had a lot of dope to move in a hurry.”

  “So someone with the cartel made the petroglyphs?”

  “Yeah, that’s my guess. A watchman or something — he was probably bored and looking for a way to kill time. These guys aren’t tourists. They don’t go to interpretive centers or on the guided tours at state parks, so he wouldn’t have seen the local petroglyph exhibits — either the replicas or the protected sites. He must have spotted actual petroglyphs while he was working on a grow, back in the hills somewhere around here.” Greg’s eyes were alight with excitement.

  “But the carvings were higher on the walls than I can reach.”

  “Sheriff Marge said they had racking in the cavern, all around the periphery and in the center. There are marks from metal posts — heavy — the racks were holding a lot of weight. But if he climbed on top of the racks, he had, essentially, a clean slate to work on.”

  “Wow. How sure are you?”

  “Pretty sure. It took me a couple days to work it out. Light filters in through the cavern entrance for a few hours in the afternoons. Lying there, I could see his progression. He was quite methodical.”

  “Now you’re going to want to tag along with Sheriff Marge every time the deputies raid a grow.”

  “If she’ll let me.”

  I laughed, then winced, again. “You have to write this up. It could turn into a whale of a thesis.” I frowned. “Except I didn’t do you any favors with Dr. Elroy.”

  “Lindsay told me about that. It explains quite a bit, actually.”

  “I mishandled the situation, I think. And I’m sorry about Angie — did Lindsay mention —?”

  “She was very diplomatic.” Greg nodded. “I’m not really that surprised. I knew Angie wasn’t ready to settle down.”

  “Hence Lorenzo.” I shook my head. “But Lindsay’s a sweetheart.”

  “I’ve figured that out.” Greg’s cheeks flushed.

  “Right. Then I’ll stop being nosy — for now. Have you talked to your mom?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Is she coming?”

  “No. She has a cruise to Mexico next week. Non-refundable. I told her she should go.”

  “Greg, I’m sorry.”

  “Nah. Mom’s not cut out to be a nurse.” Greg smoothed the blanket across his good leg.

  I was suddenly exhausted. “I better get back to my bed before I fall asleep again. When will you be mobile?”

  “After they take these out.” Greg raised his arm which had familiar tubes stuck in it. “Can’t operate crutches and drag an IV stand at the same time.”

  o0o

  The doctor woke me up. He poked and prodded for a few minutes, looked in my nose and ears and down my throat, checked my temperature.

  “Mmhmm.” He typed something into my chart. “You can go home tomorrow. You’ll be sore for a while, and you have to wear the sling for at least six weeks.”

  “No surgery?”

  “Right now, the broken ends of your collarbone are slightly overlapped. If they heal that way, there might be a bump that bothers you later. It would be where a seat belt crosses over your shoulder, so it could be a nuisance. If we need to, we can do minor surgery later and shave the bump off. We’ll look at it when you have X-rays in six weeks. We’ll also talk about rehab after the X-rays.” He took his glasses off and stuck them in his breast pocket. “I can give you a pain killer prescription if you want, but I’d prefer you use over-the-counter meds. Finish the ten-day antibiotic regimen for the sinus infection. And stay out of caves.”

  “Okay. I think I’ve had enough of prescription medications for a while.”

  “Good girl.” His lab coat swished as he left.

  An asymmetrical head in a knit cap popped into the doorway. “All clear?”

  “Mac. Come in.”

  “Well, it’s not just me.” He made come-on gestures in the hall and ducked into my room.

  Ford, panting, sprinted into my room following a galloping Tuppence on a short leash.

  “Hey,” I squealed.

  “Ssshhhh,” Mac stage whispered. “Animals aren’t allowed. We’re sneaking them in.”

  Tuppence climbed onto the bed and stuck her nose in my face.

  I blocked the dog with my good arm. “Watch the ribs, okay old girl? You smell like — like lemon.” I wrinkled my nose. Lemon dish soap.

  “We gave them baths,” Ford said. “You have to be clean in a hospital.”

  I wondered if Ford had taken a bath, too. It didn’t
look like it.

  Tuppence laid across my legs and settled her muzzle in the blankets. I rubbed her silky ears. What a sweet dog.

  “This is the best, you guys. Thanks so much.”

  “There’s more,” Ford said. He unzipped his coveralls to mid chest revealing red thermal long underwear and an orange fluff ball tucked inside.

  “You found Tommy!”

  “Sure is a friendly fellow. Eats a lot.”

  A muffled, squeaky purr started.

  “Ford, he’s a stray. He needs a good home. Why don’t you adopt him?”

  Ford’s stumpy grin spread wide, and his eyes lit up. “Really?”

  “Yes. It’s obvious he likes you.”

  “Well, I can do that,” Ford said, zipping up the coveralls and holding the sandwiched lump against his heart.

  “I heard you’re going home tom—” yesterday’s nurse in a fresh set of Tasmanian Devil cartoon scrubs stopped short in the doorway. “Oh. You have visitors.”

  Mac snatched his cap off, and Ford stared. The effect of a pretty woman.

  She stammered a little at the attention. “O-oh, a-and a dog.”

  Tuppence thumped her tail.

  “I hope it’s all right,” I said.

  “Just don’t let the shift supervisor see. I won’t tell.”

  Mac stuck out his hand. “Mac MacDougal, friend of Meredith’s.”

  “Nancy Riley.”

  Mac held her hand too long, and Ford chortled, “Nurse Nancy.”

  “The patient’s had a long day,” Nancy said. “You can see her again tomorrow before she goes home. Is one of you giving her a ride?”

  “Sheriff Marge’ll want to do that,” Mac said.

  Nancy tugged on Tuppence’s leash, and the dog hopped to the floor. “Quick. The hall’s empty.”

  Ford waved, still grinning. Tommy purred incognito.

  Nancy washed her hands and checked my IV bag. “The one in the coveralls, does he have a medical condition?” She pointed to her own chest. “The bulge — here?”

  “Cat,” I replied.

  “Ahh,” Nancy said, but her look indicated she didn’t fully comprehend. “Well, let’s take out the IV, shall we?”