Tourist Trap (Rebecca Schwartz #3) (A Rebecca Schwartz Mystery) (The Rebecca Schwartz Series)

every now and then she’d manage a step or two, but we had to carry her, more or less, to the Volvo. Once in it, we assessed my wound, which had stopped bleeding and was already starting to close. So I declined medical assistance in favor of a thrilling morning at home. Spent, Chris declined any more thrills, so we dropped her at her place. Then the rest of us headed for Green Street, Rob occasionally reaching over to touch my knee, Miranda snoring in the back seat.
    We settled her on one of the white sofas while I made coffee and pasta and Rob took a shower. It was 3:00 A.M. when he joined me in the kitchen and tucked into some fettucine carbonara—his first decent meal in days.
    Then I went to wash the Thunderbird off. Standing under the shower, I had a momentary feeling everything was going to be all right. But moments later, when I looked in the mirror, I knew it wouldn’t. The makers of the platinum spray were charlatans and liars—my client had worse than a fool for a lawyer. He had a green-haired one.

20
     
    I now had less than six hours to figure out what Miranda knew and get to court. But where to start?
    “What choice have we got?” said Rob. “Let’s let her sleep for a while.”
    So we set the alarm for 6:00 and went to bed. At 5:30, Miranda staggered into the bedroom: “What the hell is this? Who’re you?”
    Rob said: “I found you at your hotel last night. Don’t you remember?”
    She shook her head.
    “I couldn’t wake you up, but your friend came in drunk and jumped to conclusions. God knows what he was planning to do with us.”
    “Oh, yeah. Then the next thing I remember, this lady was there.” She was quiet a moment, remembering. “What the hell’s this all about?”
    “Why don’t you take a shower?” I said. “We’ll get dressed and tell you about it.”
    She nodded and staggered out. In a moment, we heard the shower running. Rob put on some clothes he’d left at my house, and after getting into a robe, I went out to the kitchen to put on more coffee. While Rob made toast, I found some clothes for Miranda and knocked on the bathroom door. No answer. I knocked louder and yelled. Still no answer. I tried the door, but found it locked.
    Rob said, “Let’s try a credit card.” I don’t know where he learned to do it, but somehow he made it work. Miranda was naked on the bathroom floor, out cold once again. The bathroom was so steamy we could hardly see. Rob bowed out while I turned off the shower and bent over Miranda. I shook her and her eyelids fluttered, then opened: “Who the hell are you?”
    “I found you last night. Remember?”
    “Oh, yeah.” She shut her eyes again.
    “Miranda. Miranda, wake up.”
    “How do you know my name?”
    “You told me. Your friends call you Miranda Warning.” This time the eyes flipped wide open, and she sat up, flinging an arm that hit mine, right where Mean-Mouth had cut it. “Ouch.”
    “What the hell is this?”
    “If you’ll come into the kitchen, I’ll tell you.”
    “I feel awful. Me and Mean-Mouth tied one on last night.”
    “Let me get you a robe.”
    I was afraid to leave her, thinking she might pass out again, but she was washing her face when I returned. She said: “Is your hair supposed to be that color?”
    Rob called, “Your phone’s ringing.”
    Six A.M. and the phone was ringing. What was going on? I raced to the kitchen and picked it up. “Rebecca,” said Mom. “Are you all right, darling?”
    My mind raced. This time, surely, I hadn’t done anything my mother could have read about in the paper. Maybe she was just getting in the habit of greeting me that way. I gave her my usual answer: “Sure, Mom. Why wouldn’t I be?”
    “No reason, dear. I just wanted to make sure before I told you what I have to tell you. I just want you to know your dad’s going to be okay; it’s nothing to worry about, he’s going to be fine.”
    My heart nearly pounded out of my chest. “Something’s wrong with Dad?”
    “Darling, he’s fine, really. But I had to take him to the hospital last night.”
    “Mom, what is it? What’s going on?”
    Miranda walked into the living room and sacked out on one of the couches. Mom said: “Remember how I begged you not to let him get involved in this?”
    “For heaven’s sake, Mom, what’s happened?”
    “He had a little spell in Israel. I never knew what it was, exactly—he just said he didn’t feel well and wanted to come home. We didn’t want to worry you,