Ready to Die (Alvarez & Pescoli)

“It’s pneumonia, idiot!” Mallory said, her lips twisting superciliously. Her sister had never gotten “pneumonia” right and Hattie, finding it charming, had never fully corrected her.

McKenzie glared at her sister. “That’s what I said—”

Hattie stepped in. “Stop it! Right now!” Then more calmly, “And, no, McKenzie, I don’t think it’s pneumonia.”

“But he’s going to be all right?” she asked, nodding rapidly as if to ensure the answer.

Hattie could only hedge so much. She’d always been as straight as she could with her girls, but today, she was more careful. She didn’t really know the extent of Dan’s injuries, or his prognosis, so she thought it best to stall. “I’ll know more when I get there,” she said, checking her watch. “Come on, let’s clean this up.” She knelt on one knee and started picking up the cards. Looking up, she added, “Both of you. Not just me. Hop to.”

“But it’s Christmas,” McKenzie complained.

“That’s why I’m helping and not making you two do it alone. Come on.”

Reluctantly, both girls pitched in and not ten minutes later, Zena, Hat

tie’s mother, her arms laden with gifts, stepped through the front door. “Merry Christmas,” she called in her high-pitched voice. “Come on, girls, give Nana a big hug!”

The twins forgot their squabbling at the sight of their grandmother and not only hugged Hattie’s mom, but helped put her gifts under the small tree, lugged in two pies, a Jell-O mold of shimmering red and green, and a platter of cookies and candy wrapped in plastic wrap and tied with a gold bow. “For Dan,” Zena said with a wink. “Bachelors! They never get enough home-baked goodies!”

“I guess.” The mention of Dan Grayson was always a little tense with Zena as he had been married to her older daughter, Hattie’s half sister, Cara, though the divorce was long in the past. Never mind that not only Hattie, but Zena, too, rarely heard from Cara, the old tension never seemed to quite abate.

“What about us?” Mallory asked, eyeing the platter.

“Would I forget you?” Zena bent over and tweaked her granddaughter’s nose.

“No way!” McKenzie enthused.

“Right you are, but probably your mom wants you to wait until after dinner.” She looked at Hattie through the soft blond bangs of her latest wig. Zena had been battling cancer for better than half the year and though she was recovering well, her hair was still coming back. In the meantime, she wore wigs of various cuts and colors. “Why not have a little fun with this damned thing?” she’d said to Hattie once. “Chemo’s hell, don’t let me kid you, but I may as well see what I’d look like as a redhead or platinum blonde. I was getting sick of mouse brown shot with gray anyway! Booooring!”

Now Hattie felt the unlikely urge to fall into a million pieces. She wasn’t usually so wimpy, but her mother’s effervescence in almost any situation was such a relief she nearly started to cry.

“Listen, Mom, I have a big favor,” she said, and pulling Zena into the kitchen, told her mother about the call from Alvarez. She kept her voice low, and the girls, eager to see the presents their grandmother had brought them, held a temporary truce as they placed the wrapped packages under the tree.

Zena’s face drained of all color and she quickly made the sign of the cross over her chest even though she hadn’t been a practicing Catholic for over thirty years. “Oh, my God, you have to go. Of course you do! Who in their right mind would shoot Dan?”

Hattie was already at the back door of her condo, finding her boots. “That’s the thing, Mom. Obviously whoever’s done this is not in his right mind.” After stepping into her boots, she snagged her favorite down jacket from the rack over her shoes and scooped her purse from the kitchen table. Keys in hand, she took the time to tell the girls she’d be back soon, then kissed them each before heading toward the garage. “Thanks, Mom,” she said, her throat catching a bit. “You’re a life saver.”

“Over and over again,” Zena agreed, then made a quick little shooing motion with her hand. “You go. And don’t worry about a thing. The girls and I will get dinner started and make that gingerbread house. Now, Hattie, you’ve got your cell phone, right? So you can call and give me an update.”

“In my purse.”

Zena’s practiced smile fell slightly. “Give Dan my best. He was the one, you know. The one you should have married.”

Chapter 6

“Jesus H. Christ! Just what the hell happened?” In the waiting area outside the operating rooms of Northern General Hospital, Cade Grayson glared at Pescoli as if she were the devil incarnate. Long and lean, a cowboy type, Cade sported a three-day growth of beard, a faded pair of Levi’s, and an attitude that wouldn’t quit. Sunglasses hung from the frayed collar of his work shirt and, Pescoli guessed, they had been left there out of convenience rather than as a fashion statement. His battered Stetson and worn jacket were tossed over one of the low-slung couches in the waiting room.

Another woman sat by the window, staring out absently, obviously waiting for news on a loved one as she knitted, her needles softly clicking, her expression a mask of despair. Next to her was a man who looked to be a generation older. He was leafing through a well-read magazine, his expression taut, probably not taking in a word of text from the article he was perusing through rimless reading glasses perched on the end of his nose.

The bell for the elevator dinged quietly and two hospital workers in scrubs, a man and woman, fell into step, their conversation never lagging as they punched in a code and the wide door to the surgical unit opened.

Pescoli had hoped for word on her boss, but so far, there had been nothing. Jabbing a finger in her direction, Cade said, “Let me get this straight. On Christmas morning, you go up to see Dan and just as you get there, he gets shot?”

Cade was hot. As in angry. As in furious. As in needing to punch someone’s lights out. Pescoli understood his rage, even if it was misdirected at her. “We’re trying to sort it all out.”

“Do you think it might have something to do with you? I mean, that’s one helluva coincidence, don’t you think?”

The thought had crossed her mind more than once, and she couldn’t help a stab of guilt. “We’re still looking at all possibilities.”