Have Yourself a Merry Little Witness - Dakota Cassidy Page 0,38

11

Little Saint Nick

Written by, Mike Love and Brian Wilson, 1963

I gave my Uncle Darling a long hug outside Monty’s room. Leaning back in his arms, I cupped his cheek with my palm. “How was Uncle Monty feeling?”

He looked exhausted, even after only spending forty-five minutes with my uncle. “He’s better.”

With such a short, two-word answer, I was almost afraid to ask. “And?”

Uncle Darling grinned his saucy grin as he leaned back against the wall. “And he remembered me.”

The look of relief on his face made me sigh in relief, too.

“Yay!” I whisper-yelled so as not to get into trouble with the nurses who watched everyone with an eagle eye. “That’s so great, Uncle Darling.”

“But there’s bad news.”

“What?” I asked, a cold shiver slipping along my spine.

“He doesn’t remember what happened. And I do mean nothing. Nada, zero, zippo, zilch. Not a single second of it after he walked into that bathroom, Hal. The doctor said it might come back to him, that he’s had severe trauma, blah, blah, blah, but he also might never remember.”

Wrapping an arm around his plump waist, I hugged him to me. “Well, that sucks.”

Although, it might be healthier for Uncle Monty to never remember the horror of how he’d ended up on that floor in the men’s bathroom of Feeney’s.

I prayed my vision was accurate he didn’t actually see Gable Norton murdered before his very eyes.

But I didn’t want to let on how that really sucked, because it also meant Uncle Monty wouldn’t be able to help us with any information on what had happened before the killer took Gable out. I’d been hoping he’d at least have something to help us find who did this to him.

“It sure does. Because the police have been here, Hal. Stiles came with them, and they want to question him. If not for Doctor Jordon, they’d have stormed in there and disturbed his recuperation.”

I gave him a sympathetic look, smoothing the wrinkles around his eyes with my thumb. “You do know that’s standard stuff, don’t you? He was knocked out cold in the middle of a crime—a murder. The police are going to want to ask him questions so they can catch the guy who did this. They’re not doing it to be meanies, Uncle Darling.”

Sighing, he nodded. “Of course I know that, Lamb. Forgive me if I’m easily vapored. I just want him to rest and get better and not have to worry about killers on the loose and those handsome officers grilling him.”

“That’s why the officer is here. To protect him from killers on the loose.” I pointed in the direction of a nice-looking young man with a cup of coffee and newspaper in his lap.

Uncle Darling patted my arm. “Devon is a nice boy. His mother sent cookies for us. He’s been very kind. Will you make sure he has a warm lunch?”

I grinned in Devon’s direction. “Of course. I’ll make sure he’s well taken care of. Now, shall we take you home, or is Doctor Jordon going to let you have more time with Uncle Monty?”

His face fell. “Not until tonight, unfortunately. I’d stay all day if they’d let me, in spite of the smell of sanitizer and death.”

Sighing at his unfiltered response, I began to steer him toward the elevators when I heard Uncle Monty cry out.

I ran to the room and pushed open the door without thinking, worrying he was hurt. “Uncle Monty, are you all right?”

He reached out to me from the bed, his pale, slender hand clasping mine. “Hal, oh, Hal…” he murmured with a raspy whisper, and began to cry, pressing my hand to his cheek. “I’m so glad to see you.”

I drew his fingers to my lips and pressed a kiss against them, choking back tears at how fragile he looked in the middle of all the machines and needles poked under his pallid skin.

Brushing his weathering cheek with my knuckles, I whispered, “Me, too, Uncle Monty, but I’m not supposed to be in here, especially because I have a case of the sniffles. So hurry and tell me before the nurse comes and boots my butt to the curb, are you okay? What’s wrong?”

He pulled me to him, surprisingly strong for someone who’d had such a major surgery. “I remembered something. I have to tell you before I forget.”

Uncle Darling came to the other side of the bed, his face a mask of worry. “What is it, my love? Tell me. Do you remember who killed Gable?”

He