THE FERAL STRUT

Chapter 39

An earnest young doctor in a stained white coat issued from an unmarked door and drew Rozier aside, talking in low tones in a way he'd probably learned from TV shows. Rozier visibly relaxed and nodded. He returned to the group as the doctor slipped out through the same door.

"She's still unconscious, but her vital signs are good. They've got her on a ventilator. He says there's nothing we can do to help right now."

"You must come to our place," Louisa said, in a gracious/commanding way. "Temple, you should have something to eat and then rest. Krista, give our number to the nurse at the desk. Girls— we should have a serious talk about what's happened here."

Rozier looked dubious. Wire nodded. Krista scurried off. Mary stood there, shifting her weight, as if she might at any moment fall.

"I'd better wait for Spider," she said. "When he gets here, we'll come up."

At the Cogwill house, a well-oiled machine meshed its gears. Within ten minutes of arrival, Temple was installed in the study in a deep leather chair with that day's Wall Street Journal, a glass, a bowl of mixed nuts, a bottle of single-malt scotch, and a pitcher of water.

The cook was assembling a quick fish stew, and the kitchen sang with the aromas of garlic, onion, saffron, and fresh-chopped parsley. The housekeeper was checking the six guest bedrooms, flapping the linens and fluffing the towels.

Slim, Wire, and Krista sat in the lounge off the kitchen, heads together, talking in whispers.

With a knock, Mary and Spider entered a specialized sort of heaven: the paradise of the rich.

"Where's your dog?" Louisa said.

"In the car. He's okay."

"Bring him in, dear."

So, with a rattle of claws that quieted on the handloomed rugs, Gris joined them, nose a-twitch.

Slim appeared, and knelt to ruffle the dog's fur. "So— what'd the vet say?"

"He's fine, now," Spider said. "But he had something weird in his system: ketamine."

"Isn't that some rave drug? In England? We get stuff on the cop net."

"She said it's pretty common in tranquilizer darts. Like they use for relocating problem bears. We mentioned it to ER doctor and he said he'd check Ginger's tox report."

"The way we figure," Mary said, "Gris barked and whoever it was shot him with a tranquilizer dart. Gin came out and got it, likewise, in the neck. The doctor in the ER said she had a circular bruise under her ear, with a puncture wound in the center. There were needle marks on her arms, he said, but they were all fresh. Like someone had shot her up with the heroin, then poked her to make it look like she was a regular user. Ssh-ssh."

Templeton Rozier appeared, Scotch in hand, fixing his gaze on Mary. "Could we talk," he said, "in private?"

She could see Louisa watching them, then nodding her head with a discreet little jerk: yes.

He led her into the study and shut the door. He lifted the whisky bottle and she shook her head: no.

"I almost never drink. My parents were alcoholics. I don't use drugs. I was hoping to get Ginger— Melisse— to take a break. It's a problem for her. She promised. And she was sticking to it. Living up at the yurt made it easier."