Dead Wood - By Dani Amore Page 0,27

unceremoniously deposited me with the St. Clair Shores police. Apparently emergency calls regarding an abundance of dark smoke on Captain Happy’s lake didn’t inspire a warm, fuzzy feeling in the Coast Guard official. No cocoa, and he never even let me steer the ship. Good thing I hadn’t brought the girls along.

The cops escorted me to an ambulance that took me to a hospital where after a blatantly cursory inspection, doctors determined I was fine. They didn’t even give me the ‘24-hour observation’ demand.

The cops then escorted me back to the station where all kinds of phone calls were made, some in my presence, most occurring, I’m guessing, while I waited in a conference room. A couple of St. Clair Shores cops took my statement. Then they re-took it. And then, to qualify for the hat trick, they took it again. I kept it not pretty much the same, but exactly the same.

After they left, I took stock of my situation. The hospital had given me some doctor’s scrubs and my wet clothes were in a paper bag that was now soggy. I had a blanket around my shoulders and was trying to stay warm. I was also trying not to think about Nevada Hornsby, the sight of him lashed to the bottom of the log, his dead eyes staring up at me—

The door banged open and my sister walked in.

She took a moment to look at me. Not a glance. A slow, thorough assessment. When she was done, she turned back toward the door.

“Let’s go,” she said.

• • •

I’ve found it’s a pretty good idea when dealing with my sister that if you’re not sure what to say, keep it zipped. So I sat in the front passenger seat of her cruiser, looking out the window as we left the hospital parking lot, heading back, I assumed, to my house.

“Listen, I can explain,” I said, ignoring my cardinal rule. Why do I even bother to make them up when I so rarely follow them?

“No, you can’t,” Ellen said.

See what I mean? I cursed myself for ignoring myself.

“I told you what I was doing,” I said. Another mistake. Don’t defend yourself. Just curl up and let the grizzly bat you around a little bit, eventually she’ll get bored and move on.

“You told me you were going to be involved in a double homicide while investigating the homicide I’m working on?” she said. Boy her voice could sound nasty. It was hard to believe we were related. I guess I got all the sugar, she got all the vinegar. I’d have to get confirmation on that from Mom.

“Do I look like Dionne Warwick?” I said.

She shot me a confused glance.

“Psychic Network?” I said.

This got me an eye roll. Eye rolls aren’t bad. In fact, they’re quite good. It usually means the anger-bordering-on-violence is past, replaced with a mere case of irritation. A mild nuisance.

Ellen turned onto Kercheval, headed back toward the Park. It was early evening by now, and traffic was light.

“Where was the call to let me know you were going to question Hornsby?”

“Again,” I said. “How was I supposed to know anything would come of it—”

“You’re going to back off of this case,” she said. I knew where that expression “iron in her voice,” came from. She practically had a crowbar between her teeth.

I didn’t answer, suddenly terribly interested in the architecture of the houses we passed by. After a couple more blocks, Ellen turned onto my street.

“Aren’t you, John?” she said.

“Aren’t I what?”

“Going to back off this case this minute.”

I didn’t want to answer. I’d made enough mistakes. I wasn’t about to make the granddaddy mistake of all by lying to her. Because I had no intention of backing off this case. In fact, my intention was just the opposite.

“Right?” Ellen asked, not letting me off the hook as we pulled into my driveway.

I imagined a newborn baby, the very picture of innocence. “Right,” I said. What the hell, three mistakes in a row. Pulled a hat trick myself.

• • •

Before I got out of the cruiser, I glanced in the little mirror attached to the back of the sun visor. I looked okay, considering what I’d been through. Pale, water-logged and truth be told, a tad frightened.

“Does she know?” I said, nodding toward the house. My cell phone was on the bottom of Lake St. Clair, and I hadn’t called from the hospital, preferring to tell my wife about my unique day in person.

“I didn’t tell her,”