Dig Two Graves, James Harper [e reader pdf best .TXT] 📗

concussion and a broken arm and a couple busted ribs. They said she’d be okay but they want to keep her in for observation.’

He made the word observation sound as if it involved cutting off random limbs for the fun of it.

‘Don’t give yourself a hard time. It’s better than being dead.’

‘I suppose.’

‘What about the car?’

Leon shook his head.

‘Big black SUV. A Merc, I think. I was too shell-shocked and concerned about Bella to try to get a look at the license plate. And like I said, all the other sickos were more interested in getting a photo of a nearly-dead body to put on Fuckface or whatever they call it. There might be CCTV, I don’t know . . .’

‘The plates won’t be real.’

They lapsed into silence. Leon flicked on the windshield wipers as the rain started to come down. Evan stared out of the window, his thoughts as bleak and cheerless as the gray afternoon outside. There wasn’t much on the horizon to brighten them either.

Blair was at the hospital when he got there, talking to a bored-looking police officer sitting on a chair outside Bella’s room. She came to meet him, hugged him. It surprised him. Rich people don’t hug the help. But it was an emotional time all around.

‘I didn’t get a chance to say thank you the other day.’

He wasn’t sure what for, didn’t think she’d feel the same way after the questions he was going to ask her. Before that, there was another painful task he had to get out of the way.

‘How is she?’

‘They’re concerned about the concussion. Apart from that she’s doing okay. They’ve got her pumped full of painkillers.’

He felt like looking for a nurse, telling her to give Bella an extra strong dose, anesthetize her so that she didn’t remember to ask what he knew she would. And the same for him while they had the meds cabinet open.

‘Is she awake?’

‘Yes, but she’s a bit drowsy.’

Her eyes were closed when he went in, chest rising and falling gently. He stood at the end of the bed and looked down at her. She was a mess. Her face was pale and sickly where it wasn’t bruised purple, a wide strip of her hair shaved off where they’d sewn up her scalp, her left arm in a cast. He was thinking of sneaking out again when she opened her eyes, smiled weakly at him. He worked a look onto his face like an annoyed parent.

‘I let you out of my sight for five minutes . . .’

‘Don’t make me laugh. It hurts too much.’

He was tempted to say don’t worry about it, I come bearing mental anguish that will make you forget all about your physical pain.

Then she asked him. He’d only been in the damn room for two minutes.

‘Have you heard anything about Liz?’

He didn’t need to answer. His face took care of it for him. Faces are good like that. Her breath caught in her throat. She tried to sit up, then winced in pain, relaxed back into the pillows. Not that relax was in any way the right word. The pair of them were as good as humming with the tension. He swallowed hard, croaked out the only words that would come.

‘I’m sorry.’

‘Was it bad?’

He gave his face a break, let the silence answer that one for him. She closed her eyes again and he wished he could drop through a hole in the floor. Then she made him feel worse.

‘It’s not your fault.’

Liar, liar, pants on fire.

He didn’t know what to say. She let him off the hook before it got awkward.

‘I’m tired. We’ll speak again later.’

Except she sounded like she hoped later never came.

Blair was waiting for him outside.

‘You look like your dog just died.’

He waved it off, said something about it feeling like a long day already. Then he suggested they go for a cup of coffee, hospitals not being known for serving strong liquor. They passed the chapel on the way to the cafeteria. She caught him looking at the door.

‘We can go in there instead if you like.’

‘If I thought there might be some divine inspiration lying around, I’d be on my knees in a flash.’

The rest of the walk to the cafeteria passed in a less-than-comfortable silence. He figured she knew what was coming, was getting her thoughts together—where thoughts may or may not be another word for more lies and half-truths. As for him, he was glad they were in a hospital because his own head felt as if it was going to burst any second, his brains spraying all over the walls and ceiling, there was so much turmoil inside it.

It was now clear that money wasn’t the motive. That left revenge. If there was any truth in what the fake Detective O’Brien had said, one potential candidate was walking beside him.

Except he’d witnessed the way the two sisters had hugged. Blair had been facing him. He’d seen her face, swallowed a big lump in his throat himself. She’d have to be very good to pull that off if it was a calculated sham. Against that, she’d lied to him, or at least held back information.

And if it wasn’t Blair, it had to be somebody else.

Not just anybody, either. Somebody who harbored a grudge so bitter, so all-consuming, they’d been prepared to murder Bella’s friend Liz to get to her.

One of the Bloodwells? Merritt or grandfather Gerald?

Or somebody else altogether he’d never even heard of. Maybe somebody from Bella’s missing thirty years.

Hence the feeling that if he saw a janitor, he’d tell him to get ready with the mop.

But if he thought he’d be the one taking the initiative when they got settled at a table in the busy cafeteria, he was wrong.

‘Bella told me you were approached by a man pretending to be a detective from the Boston police. She said you beat him up.’

It wasn’t the way he was expecting the conversation to go.

‘I didn’t