The Last Word (A Books by the Bay Mystery)

Uniformed men and women milled about police cruisers, white noise emitting from their radios. They parted and fell silent when the gurney passed.
    Olivia looked down and saw that she was holding Laurel’s hand.
    Haviland barked again, plaintively, and the yearning in his call brought Olivia back to life. She pulled Laurel to Millay’s car as the ambulance rumbled down the driveway, the wail of its siren cutting through the humid night air, its red and white lights illuminating the pines lining the road.
    Olivia hurried to turn the key in the ignition, hoping to close the distance between their car and the ambulance, needing to catch up to the pulses of light before the shadows returned to claim their territory.

Chapter 15
    He wishes that he, too, had a wound, a red badge of courage.
    —STEPHEN CRANE

    A s if to make up for its sluggish pace at Harris’s house, time rocketed forward, giving Olivia only a dizzying impression of hospital hallways and the scent of ammonia and an animalistic blend of sickness and fear. She ended up in a waiting room with blue chairs and beige walls. The area was so bland that the enormous vase of Matisse-bold daylilies on the counter of the nurses’ station seemed jarringly bright.
    At some point, Harris’s parents arrived—a nice-looking, tidy couple in cotton shirts and khaki pants. They gripped each other as Rawlings explained what had happened.
    Estelle showed up soon after, crying theatrically and cornering everyone in scrubs to demand an update on her boyfriend’s condition. Millay paced outside the swinging doors of the OR like a caged leopard. Laurel pushed cups of vending machine coffee into people’s hands. They all waited, glass-eyed, as the television relayed the day’s news and hospital personnel passed by with carts of food, medicine, or clean linen.
    No one said a word to Olivia about Haviland’s presence. Perhaps because she sat so upright and so still, her gaze fixed on the too-bold arrangement of lilies, they believed she was visually impaired.
    To escape the madness of waiting, of not knowing, Olivia had been thinking deeply about art. Influenced by the flowers, she visualized all the Matisse paintings she could call to mind. She repeated the exercise with Georgia O’Keefe. Then, trying to imagine what kinds of paintings would fit best on the waiting room’s walls, she sifted through a mental gallery of Rembrandt and Dürer and Caravaggio, thinking that their use of chiaroscuro was more suitable for the oppressive atmosphere than the lackluster botanicals lined up above Estelle’s head.
    A doctor in Carolina blue scrubs pushed open the doors to the OR, and the images of art vanished from Olivia’s mind like a snuffed candle flame. The physician scanned the room with quick, intelligent eyes and picked out Mr. and Mrs. Williams. He pushed his paper mask below his chin, and the smile of assurance he bestowed on the frightened parents caught everyone’s attention.
    Estelle sprang to her feet, peppering the man with questions until he put a hand on her shoulder and waited for her to calm down. Keeping his focus on Harris’s parents, he spoke in a deep, confident tone, and though Olivia couldn’t hear the specifics, she caught enough phrases such as “avoided major organs,” and “bullet intact,” and “in stable condition,” to know that Harris was out of danger.
    When Estelle demanded to see him, the doctor told her that the patient had had significant blood loss and he’d need to rest for now. The result of his gentle refusal was that Estelle burst into a fresh bout of tears. Looking pained, the doctor removed the paper cap from his head and scrunched it into a ball between his hands. “The moment he woke up, Harris asked to see Millay. Are you Millay?”
    Estelle’s pretty mouth curled into an angry sneer. “No. I’m his girlfriend. You must have misunderstood. Harris mumbles all the time. I’m always telling him to speak clearly, like I do on the phone. That’s an important part of my job, you know.” She sniffed and then dabbed at her eyes. “People notice you if you enunciate.”
    The surgeon sent Harris’s parents a glance of befuddlement, but they were staring at Estelle with distaste. Olivia wondered if Estelle was even aware that it was unwise to insult their only child, especially when Harris had come so close to losing his life.
    Millay, who had stopped pacing during this exchange, touched the surgeon lightly on the arm.