When she clicked off with dispatch, Claire called Richie, cursing silently when the call went to voice mail. “Rich, I’m at Joan Murphy’s house. Cindy is here. She’s taken a fall and is a little shaken up, but she’s going to be okay.
“Also, Rich, the pool boy who goes by the name of Peter was about to fire on Joan but she shot him first. Twice.
“An ambulance is on the way. Listen, Rich, I think Robert Murphy might be involved with Peter. And it seems that Peter may have knowledge of the Warwick Hotel shooting. He might tell you what he knows. But on the other hand, there’s a good chance he might die. And soon.”
Chapter 28
Claire listened for the sound of sirens.
Only four minutes had passed since she’d called dispatch, but each minute was critical. She needed to get Peter into emergency care alive.
Robert was still cradling Peter’s head in his lap. He was also holding his hand, stroking his hair, and telling him that he would be fine. But as the soothing words left his mouth, Robert shot a questioning look at Claire, looking for verification that Peter would survive.
She nodded but couldn’t fully commit to her answer. The man’s shorts were soaked with blood. Despite the tourniquet, Peter was hemorrhaging. He could very easily bleed out if help didn’t arrive soon.
“The ambulance will be here in a minute. I’ll be right over there with the other victim.”
She walked back to the staircase where Cindy was reclining against the stone wall, breathing normally. Her bleeding had stopped. Thank goodness.
Claire wrapped her in a big, comforting hug, saying, “Richie is on his way.”
Cindy smiled and said, “Oh, good.” But then her face crumpled and she started to cry. Claire hugged her friend more tightly and then pulled back to look into her face. Cindy’s sobs had turned into laughter that was now verging on hysteria.
“What’s going on, Cindy?”
“I’m just overwhelmed,” Cindy admitted. “What if you hadn’t found me here? Who knows what would have happened to me.”
“I know, Cindy, I know,” Claire murmured, patting Cindy’s back some more.
But then Cindy shook her head and put on her tough face. She wiped her tears and said, “How is it that I missed all the action? Can you tell me that?”
“You’re alive, dummy,” Claire said. “Could you just be happy that you’re alive?”
Their playful exchange was interrupted by a woman’s voice that said, “Claire?”
It was Joan. She was walking down the steps, looking cute and unconcerned. It was almost as if she had a new role in a movie and had just walked out onto the set, thinking she could wing her lines.
“Wait, is that Cindy next to you?” she asked.
Cindy said, “Claire, help me up.”
“Stay where you are, sweetie. It’s better if you sit still until the paramedics arrive. Unlike me, they have medical equipment and will be able to check you out properly.”
Joan said, “Cindy, what happened to you?”
“A man up there tried to shoot me. I ducked, but then I also tripped and fell down these steps. It was silly, really. Claire says I’m going to live.”
Joan groaned and said, “Oh, that freaking Peter. He’s a maniac.” She sat down next to Cindy and took her hand.
She turned her head up to look at Claire and said, “I wanted to tell you that those gunshots jogged a memory. Sam Alton. I remember him now.”
With those words, she instantly had Claire and Cindy’s avid attention.
“I guess you could say he was my boyfriend. We didn’t use our real names with each other. I called him Butch
ie. He called me Princess. We kept each other company from time to time, but it wasn’t love between us. Our relationship came out of pure and simple need, on both of our parts.” She cleared her throat and sighed, saying, “Still. He was very kind and he didn’t deserve to die. I’m so very sorry that he’s dead. I never saw who shot him, but I know that Peter has to have been involved. I wish I had seen Butchie’s killer. I wish I knew how it happened.”
Sirens wailed, amped up, and stopped as an ambulance drove up to the service gate at the bottom of the steps.