Blue Smoke and Murder

51

SEPTEMBER 16

1:18 A.M.

One police unit stood off from the front gate and down the block. The siren was silent, but the blue-and-red light bar flashed a message of urgency. An officer with a bullhorn sent curious neighbors back inside their houses the instant they appeared.

A fire truck’s big diesel engine revved as the driver switched power to the internal pumps. Behind a starburst of water from the hose, two firemen in turnout jackets and helmets advanced on the burning car. Water hissed on hot steel and vaporized, adding white steam to the roiling black smoke. Another fireman dashed forward with an axe and swung, shattering the safety glass in the side windows.

The flames began to die back, quenched by water. Very quickly the rental car became a sullen, hissing wreck. The air stank of chemicals and steam. Part of the fire still smoldered stubbornly.

Jill heard Zach leading med-techs through the house at a run. Since she had been working by the dying firelight, she flipped on the hall lights. Without the flames to give his skin color, Frost looked almost transparent. She stood and got out of the way of the med-techs.

The first tech, a woman, kneeled beside Frost to examine him. The second tech established a radio link with the hospital and began relaying vital signs as the first tech called them out.

For an instant Jill felt light-headed. Smoke, adrenaline, fear, or all three. Zach’s arm came around her waist, steadying her.

“You okay?” he asked.

“Just taking a deep breath.”

“You’ve got blood on you.”

She looked at her hands and rubbed them absently against her jeans. “Frost has a lot more on him.”

Zach led her down the hall and into the parlor. “The cops who are chasing the shooter will give up real quick and come back here to question us. If they’re any good, they’ll separate us to get our stories.”

“So?”

“Tell them everything except what we believe about your paintings,” he said softly. “We were just getting an appraisal from Frost. Got it? Just an appraisal. No St. Kilda, no death threat, no suspicions about your great-aunt’s death, nothing but paintings and an expert appraiser.”

A woman’s voice called from the hall, “Are either of you this man’s family?”

Zach went back into the hall. “He has a daughter in Santa Fe, last I heard. I’m an old friend. What do you need?”

“The patient is weak, but he wants to talk to you,” the woman said. “Better do it before we move him.”

Zach understood what the woman wasn’t saying. This could be his last chance to talk to Garland Frost.

As Jill came out to the hall, she saw Zach kneel at Frost’s side. The older man reached out with a feeble motion. An oxygen cannula rested beneath his nose and partially covered his mouth. His lips were moving.

Zach took the shockingly cool fingers between his warm palms. He leaned over and placed his ear close to Frost’s mouth.

“…stn…um…nt…on…tm.”

Frost repeated the sounds again and again. His hand twitched inside Zach’s palms.

Zach felt Frost’s thumb poke at him weakly. He released Frost’s hand. The older man’s hand shook as he thrust his thumb up beneath Zach’s nose.

“Are you saying you’re okay?” Zach asked.

Frost’s head rolled in a negative. He mouthed a word.

“More oxygen?” Jill guessed.

Again the painful negative movement of his head. Groaning, he jabbed upward with his thumb, staring into Zach’s eyes like he wanted Zach to read his mind.

Suddenly Frost went slack.

“No,” breathed Zach. “Damn it, no!”

He put his fingers over Frost’s jugular and felt a pulse. Weak, but it was there.

“Get him to the hospital,” Zach said to the med-tech. “Now.”

No sooner had he spoken than the second med-tech called out to the firemen. Two men leaped for the truck and ran toward the house, litter basket at the ready. They loaded Frost aboard and took him past the ruined car to the ambulance.

“We’ll go to Holy Cross Hospital,” the female med-tech said. “If you can find the daughter, tell her to get over there quick.”

Zach’s lips flattened with what hadn’t been said. “I’ll do that.”

“We’d like to ask a few questions about this shooting,” said a cop as he walked in the open front door.

“Talk to her first,” Zach said, jerking his thumb at Jill. “I’ve got to call the next of kin.”