The Door Into Summer
Chapter 33Stu left the car with Kookie and walked into the office, whistling. "Bonjour, Suzanne," he called casually, as if neither of them had been through hell and back in the last week.
"Bonjour, Stuart," was the equally as casual reply from Suzanne.
It almost seemed surreal, the greeting passed between the two. Yet it wasn't surreal at all – it was a perfectly normal greeting on a perfectly normal morning passed between two friends and co-workers. A greeting that hadn't been said or heard for a long time.
Stuart smiled and stopped to retrieve the stack of messages Suzanne handed him. He looked at the pile of paper in is hand and whistled. "Do you suppose everyone we've ever done business with called?"
"I took the liberty of going through them. Most of them are wishes for a speedy recovery for Jeff and require no answer. I wouldn't want to see you run screaming from the building before you'd even gotten to settle down in your office."
Stu threw Suzanne a kiss. "And that, my dear, is why I love you. I'm sure Jeff has his own reasons for the same but slightly different emotions."
"How was he when you left the hospital yesterday?"
"Already making noises about coming home," Stu answered. "A sentiment which the doctor has laughingly discounted. He does not know Jeff Spencer, however, and I suspect if our friend allows me to engage a full-time nurse for his immediate future, he should be home in the next few days."
"That would be wonderful," Suzanne almost purred.
Stu chuckled to himself. Try as she might to discount her emotions, there was no doubt that Suzanne still harbored romantic feelings for his partner. And Jeff's persistent inquiries about Suzanne left little doubt that the feelings were reciprocated. However, Stu had bigger fish to fry this day than the office romance that refused to take flight. "Get Roscoe for me, would you, Suzanne?" Stu requested as he opened his office door. He sighed once he'd taken his place in his chair; it was both good and unsettling to be back in the office. The unsettling part is what he wanted to discuss with Roscoe.
By the time the intercom buzzed, Stu had at least been able to glance at his messages. There were actually only three that needed his attention, and he would return the necessary phone calls once he'd spoken to Roscoe. "Stu, Roscoe on one."
"Thanks, Suzanne." He picked up the phone. "Awake yet, Roscoe?"
"Why did I know you would be calling?" A slightly garbled voice replied.
"I've got a job for you, and it's going to require your complete attention."
"Let me guess – its name is Tony Daggett."
"Bingo. I'm going to rent a car for you. You can pick it up at Gene's Car Rentals; it's about a block from your place. Take it down to San Diego and see if you can track him down. I don't care how long it takes. And yes, you can go to Del Mar while you're there. Just find him, Roscoe, before he has a chance to plot another attempted hit. Even Daggett has to get it right sometime." Stu paused for just a moment. "It's a paying job, Roscoe. You know how important this is. Don't fail me."
"You got it, boss. Gene's Car Rentals. Give me a day or two to find some of my long lost pals."
"Thanks. And . . . "
"Yeah. I'll call you when I know something." He heard the phone click and knew that Roscoe was up and moving. He buzzed Suzanne on the intercom. "Call Gene's and arrange for a car for Roscoe, to be picked up this morning. Nothing too flashy, just a good, sturdy vehicle. For at least a week. Thanks, Suzanne."
Stu spent the rest of his morning putting out the fires that needed his attention. When he finished he buzzed Suzanne again. "Get me Gilmore at Beverly Hills General, please."
Barely a minute later he heard the familiar voice. "Line one, Stu."
"Gilmore, you dog. How are you?"
"Better than your partner, it seems. You two can't seem to stay out of trouble, can you?" the Lieutenant questioned. "Seriously, how is he? Ellen didn't tell me anything until he was off the critical list."
"God bless Ellen. I need one just like her. He's doing better, Gil. He already wants to come home."
"What is it with you two? What have you got against hospitals?"
"Too difficult to keep somebody safe. How are you doing?" Stu had been out of touch for several days and really wanted to know how Gil was feeling.
"I won't lie to you . . . the rehab on the leg has been challenging. And the shoulder hurts all the time, but the doctor says that will fade. But here's the news I've been waiting for – they're letting me go home on Friday. Out-patient rehab on the leg, so I can get down to Beach Presbyterian for a visit."
"He'll be glad to see you, Gil. And even happier that you've been released. I'll be by on my way home from work tonight. Got some house-keeping to do here first."
"I hope that includes mopping up what's left of Daggett."
"That makes two of us. I've got Roscoe on his way to San Diego to find the bastard – before he can inflict any more damage."
"San Diego?" Gil asked curiously.
"Rachel said he went to San Diego one day, so I'm gambling on that. Sounded pretty good to me, someplace to lay low for a while. Rachel's folks are here, by the way, and they were beyond thrilled to find their daughter with a much better attitude."
"So, Bailey and Spencer succeeds again," Gil laughed.
"If you can call it that," Stu replied. "Pretty high price to pay to recover one teenager, if you ask me."
"Yeah," Gil answered somberly. "Let me know if you need anything, would you?"
"Trust me, Gil, if I get the chance to put four bullets in Daggett, I won't miss. But thanks for the offer."
"I'll see you tonight, Bailey."
"You bet you will. Take care, Gil." Stu hung up the phone and buzzed Suzanne. "How do you feel about getting us some lunch? I'm buying."
Suzanne giggled over the intercom. "Let's see, turkey with lettuce and mayo, beef barley soup, and an iced tea. Sound about right?"
"Add a vanilla milkshake to that, would you?"
Another giggle. "Splurging, are we?"
"Nope," Stu answered, "celebrating. And anything your heart desires."
"I'll be right back."
Fifteen minutes later, Suzanne was sitting in Stu's office while they ate. "Okay, I have to ask. Why celebrating?"
Stu smiled, that cat-ate-the-canary smile. "Daggett. He went zero for three. Now it's my turn. And I don't intend to miss."
Any other time, Suzanne might have been taken aback by the matter-of-fact tone in Stu's voice. But she'd stood by while he had seven ribs broken, Lieutenant Gilmore got blown to smithereens, and the man she loved was shot four times and had his heart stop at least that many. Right now she'd shoot Daggett herself. "Any plan?"
Stu finished the last of his sandwich. "Not yet. I'll know more once Roscoe finds him. Until then . . . "
"Until then?" she asked.
"We carry on as usual."
Suzanne nodded; right now that was the only plan that made sense. "When are you going out to see Jeff again?"
"Tomorrow morning. Do you want to meet me here? That way you can go with me."
She shouldn't – she knew she shouldn't. Yet the feelings she harbored for the man named Spencer were too strong to ignore. "What time?" she asked finally.
Stu smiled. He was glad she was going with him. "Be here at eight. We'll see if he's awake when we get there." Stu paused for a moment. "I'm going to see Gil on my way home. You want to follow me there?"
Suzanne decided it was a good idea. She hadn't gone to see the Lieutenant yet. "Can we stop at the florist first?"
"We can do that." He looked down at what was left of the lunch she'd brought him. The milkshake was untouched. He picked up the cup, lid still on it. "Do you want it?"
"I thought . . . "
Stu shook his head. "It's too early to celebrate."
Suzanne took the offering and headed for the side door. As soon as she got into the parking lot and saw Kookie, she handed him the milkshake.
"What's this?" he asked.
"A celebration delayed," Suzanne answered, and went back inside.
XXXXXXXX
Jerry Ames found a nice motel room about a block from Beach Presbyterian Hospital, and that was where he and Gloria retreated to every evening. They spent each afternoon with Rachel in her hospital room, and were both surprised and pleased at the change in their daughter. She was no longer difficult to get along with or petulant; it seemed she really had changed for the better. She certainly wasn't perfect – far from it. But she seemed more like the contented girl she'd been earlier in life, happy just to spend time with her folks and eager to resume school. They'd been visiting with her for about three days when the subject of Don Waverly first surfaced.
"Have you decided what to do about Don?" she asked innocently enough one afternoon.
"Put him in jail for the next twenty-five years," her father answered with a large dose of malice in his voice.
"It wasn't his fault, you know. Or his idea. It was mine."
Her parents sat in stunned silence until her mother spoke up, at last. "Your idea?"
Rachel nodded gently. "All mine. It took quite a bit of persuading to convince him to go."
"I don't care whose idea it was. He's twenty-two and a convicted felon. You were a sixteen-year-old . . . well, you know what I mean," Jerry Ames stumbled over the word he wanted to use.
Rachel shook her head this time. "Virgin, Dad? Your little girl was a sixteen-year-old virgin?"
"Yes!" Ames blurted out in frustration. "A sixteen-year-old virgin!"
"No, I wasn't. Remember Mike Daily? The 'sweet boy' you liked so much? I slept with him when I was fifteen. I wasn't a sixteen-year-old virgin when I met Don. So you can stop blaming him for deflowering me."
Gloria looked like she was going to faint. "You were what? And you did what? With whom?"
Jerry picked up a magazine and started fanning his wife. "Now, Gloria . . . "
"There's no sense lying to you and letting you blame Don for something he didn't do," Rachel explained. "Now that you know the truth, Dad, what have you got to hold against him?"
"I . . . don't like him."
"You don't like him? You're going to send him to prison for twenty-five years because you don't like him? What if Grandpa had done that to you when you met Mom?" Jerry Ames sat perfectly still. Rachel was right, and she knew it. But instead of being a smart-aleck to her father, she asked him gently, "Can't you give him another chance, Dad?"
He stared at his daughter, an appreciation for her newly-acquired wisdom mounting rapidly. "I'll . . . think about it," he said after a while.