Page 86 of Reading Between the Lines
“Whose side are you on? And if that man is ninety-seven, I will—”
“Give me the fucking bottle, Tallus.”
Begrudgingly, I handed him the bottle, the meds, and the ice.
Diem took four pain pills with a long, long pull of whiskey. I capped it as he collapsed back on the pillow, huffing and puffing like he’d run a marathon. The creases of pain that had riddled his face since the tree branch had fallen eased, and he closed his eyes.
I gently laid the ice pack over the bruise. He didn’t resist and sighed in what felt like relief.
“We should call Delaney and tell her what happened,” I said.
“No.”
“We should report it at least. Diem, someone did that to us on purpose.”
“I know. Someone doesn’t want us investigating this fucking case.”
“Do you think that’s what it is?”
“Yes.”
His breathing calmed, and he cracked an eyelid, motioning with his good arm for the bottle. I wanted to protest but handed it over, choosing my battles. With a stitch of pain marring his brow, he levered himself upright enough to drink, ingesting at least as much as the first time before collapsing again.
He lay still for a long time, and I thought he was asleep when he mumbled, words partly slurred, “Someone killed Weston. Someone doesn’t want us to find out the truth.”
I pondered everything that had happened as Diem fell asleep under a spell of painkillers and alcohol.
He hadn’t told me not to call the police, so when he was out cold, I found my phone and escaped into the hallway. I reported the incident and was told that someone would contact me or swing by the B&B shortly to take a proper statement. Thereceptionist recommended a local garage that might be able to repair the Jeep in a timely manner, but I was advised not to have it towed until the police had been to the site to evaluate the scene, especially after I’d explained about the rope and our suspicion that someone had done it on purpose.
Diem had said not to call Delaney, but I waffled. The cost of repairs would be beyond Diem’s budget, and since we were investigating her suspicions when it happened, it should be her expense.
I didn’t call, figuring it would be safer to translate that to Diem and let him make the decision when he felt better.
He slept all afternoon and well into the evening. I checked his injury numerous times, changing the ice pack when Zombie Herbert brought me a fresh one. The swelling hadn’t worsened, but the bruising had deepened and spread. I didn’t see protruding bones or odd lumps to indicate a break, so maybe Diem was right. Using a frilly pink washcloth, I wiped the blood from the scratches on his face, but no amount of scrubbing would erase the strain that lived beside his eyes, even in sleep.
I sat with him, my stomach a worried knot, wishing he would wake up, growl, and snarl because then I would know he was okay.
A burly police officer showed up at five. I spoke with him in the hallway, giving him the gist of our investigation and everything that had happened. He wanted to talk to Diem, but I put my foot down. The man scribbled on a notepad, asked several questions, and when he finished, informed me of his findings when he’d gone to the scene.
“I didn’t find a rope.”
“What? There was a rope. We both saw it.”
The man shrugged. “I looked. The branch was cut. I agree with that much, but there was no rope. The town had a company out there in the fall, trimming trees and whatnot. Could’ve been cutthen and missed. Maybe the wind blew, or the ice weighed it down, and it fell.”
“Are you serious? That is some bullshit reasoning.”
“Don’t know what to tell ya. There was no rope. We’ll check things out, but I can’t see someone doing that on purpose.”
I blinked, dumbfounded by his stupidity and cursing myself for being so frantic at the time that I’d forgotten to take pictures.
More things to relay to Diem. More things he wouldn’t want to hear.
I made a phone call, arranged for the Jeep to be towed to the suggested lot, and returned to the room.
Around six thirty, Diem stirred, asking for more pills. He sucked back loads more whiskey and was out again in under ten minutes.
Night fell. Unsure what else I could do to make him better, I undressed and lay on his good side, stroking his forearm over the Chinese letters tattooed down its length. His dark arm hair made them hard to see, but I’d studied them for months in wonder.
