Read Online The Trouble With Murder by Catherine Nelson - Free Book Online
Authors: Catherine Nelson
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never return. But I hadn’t done what I’d come
to do yet. So instead of 1 , I hit 4 when I got back on the
elevator.
Stacy was, in fact, in ICU. Now
that I was on the right unit, I counted off room numbers until I found Stacy’s.
This time I peered inside cautiously before going in; lesson learned. Inside I saw
a middle-aged man and woman sitting together beside Stacy’s bed, their hands
grasping hers. I guessed these were her parents. The woman in particular bore a
striking resemblance.
Taking a deep breath, I knocked
softly on the open door and stepped inside. They both turned to look at me, and
I saw their eyes were wet and bloodshot. I couldn’t imagine what they were
going through.
“Can we help you?” the man asked.
“I’m sorry to intrude, but I was
there when . . . it
happened. I’ve been worried about her. How is she doing?”
They rose and walked toward me. He
grabbed my hand and shook it, squeezing it tightly. She wrapped me in a tight
hug. They were both crying again.
“We can’t thank you enough,” he
sobbed. “Who knows what would have happened if you hadn’t been there.”
Who knows what would have happened
had I been there on time.
The woman was crying now, too. They
clutched one another’s hands. This wasn’t what I’d envisioned. And I was
uncomfortable.
“I’m sorry I wasn’t there sooner.
How is she?”
“The doctors say it could be much
worse,” the man began, turning to look at Stacy. “She was in surgery for six
hours, but they say they got everything cleaned out and closed up. They had to
remove a small portion of her intestine, and her liver was bleeding pretty
badly, but nothing truly vital was damaged. So, we just have to wait.”
“Is she going to be okay?”
“You bet,” he said firmly. The
woman was bobbing her head in affirmation. “Our Stacy, she’s strong. She’s a
fighter.”
“I’m glad to hear that.” I was
truly relieved. And now it was time to go. “I don’t want to take too much of
your time. I better go.”
The woman sniffed and wiped at her
nose with a tissue.
“You’re welcome anytime. If there
is anything, anything at all, that you ever need, don’t hesitate to ask.”
The man nodded vigorously in
agreement.
After another long minute of
thank-yous and hugs, I finally pulled myself away from the parents and headed
for the door.
I retreated to the elevators. My
mind was a whirlwind of thought. I wondered where the police were in their
investigation and if any progress had been made. I wondered who their suspects
were, and what they were doing to follow up. Not for the first time, I wondered
why Stacy had been in that lobby to begin with. Why had she wanted to see the
apartment? Why did she want to move? I remembered her voice on the phone.
“Panic” was too strong a word, but she was stressed. She wouldn’t take no for
an answer; she’d been determined to submit her application and see the
apartment that day.
What was bothering her? Why was she
in such a rush? Was she running? Did that have something to do with her attack?
Was her attacker someone she knew? I tended to think so, but that was mostly
because I couldn’t fathom a masked attacker randomly stopping by the lobby of
Elizabeth Tower to stab someone. Who did she know that could do something like
that?
What am I doing? I asked
myself. Am I trying to figure out who assaulted Stacy Karnes?
If I was doing this, why was
I doing it? Did I think finding the person responsible would make me feel
better, would absolve me of some degree of guilt? I couldn’t deny somehow that math added up in my head. But I had other things to figure out, things in my
own life, like my job. My musings were interrupted when I saw Detective Ellmann
turn the corner and walk toward me.
He was dressed in jeans and a
t-shirt, his gun and badge casually clipped to his belt. And he was hot. I had
no other choice than to admit it to myself. I was also very much aware of the
fact that I was dressed
to do yet. So instead of 1 , I hit 4 when I got back on the
elevator.
Stacy was, in fact, in ICU. Now
that I was on the right unit, I counted off room numbers until I found Stacy’s.
This time I peered inside cautiously before going in; lesson learned. Inside I saw
a middle-aged man and woman sitting together beside Stacy’s bed, their hands
grasping hers. I guessed these were her parents. The woman in particular bore a
striking resemblance.
Taking a deep breath, I knocked
softly on the open door and stepped inside. They both turned to look at me, and
I saw their eyes were wet and bloodshot. I couldn’t imagine what they were
going through.
“Can we help you?” the man asked.
“I’m sorry to intrude, but I was
there when . . . it
happened. I’ve been worried about her. How is she doing?”
They rose and walked toward me. He
grabbed my hand and shook it, squeezing it tightly. She wrapped me in a tight
hug. They were both crying again.
“We can’t thank you enough,” he
sobbed. “Who knows what would have happened if you hadn’t been there.”
Who knows what would have happened
had I been there on time.
The woman was crying now, too. They
clutched one another’s hands. This wasn’t what I’d envisioned. And I was
uncomfortable.
“I’m sorry I wasn’t there sooner.
How is she?”
“The doctors say it could be much
worse,” the man began, turning to look at Stacy. “She was in surgery for six
hours, but they say they got everything cleaned out and closed up. They had to
remove a small portion of her intestine, and her liver was bleeding pretty
badly, but nothing truly vital was damaged. So, we just have to wait.”
“Is she going to be okay?”
“You bet,” he said firmly. The
woman was bobbing her head in affirmation. “Our Stacy, she’s strong. She’s a
fighter.”
“I’m glad to hear that.” I was
truly relieved. And now it was time to go. “I don’t want to take too much of
your time. I better go.”
The woman sniffed and wiped at her
nose with a tissue.
“You’re welcome anytime. If there
is anything, anything at all, that you ever need, don’t hesitate to ask.”
The man nodded vigorously in
agreement.
After another long minute of
thank-yous and hugs, I finally pulled myself away from the parents and headed
for the door.
I retreated to the elevators. My
mind was a whirlwind of thought. I wondered where the police were in their
investigation and if any progress had been made. I wondered who their suspects
were, and what they were doing to follow up. Not for the first time, I wondered
why Stacy had been in that lobby to begin with. Why had she wanted to see the
apartment? Why did she want to move? I remembered her voice on the phone.
“Panic” was too strong a word, but she was stressed. She wouldn’t take no for
an answer; she’d been determined to submit her application and see the
apartment that day.
What was bothering her? Why was she
in such a rush? Was she running? Did that have something to do with her attack?
Was her attacker someone she knew? I tended to think so, but that was mostly
because I couldn’t fathom a masked attacker randomly stopping by the lobby of
Elizabeth Tower to stab someone. Who did she know that could do something like
that?
What am I doing? I asked
myself. Am I trying to figure out who assaulted Stacy Karnes?
If I was doing this, why was
I doing it? Did I think finding the person responsible would make me feel
better, would absolve me of some degree of guilt? I couldn’t deny somehow that math added up in my head. But I had other things to figure out, things in my
own life, like my job. My musings were interrupted when I saw Detective Ellmann
turn the corner and walk toward me.
He was dressed in jeans and a
t-shirt, his gun and badge casually clipped to his belt. And he was hot. I had
no other choice than to admit it to myself. I was also very much aware of the
fact that I was dressed
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