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“Didn’ you see it?”
My body began to tremble. I leaned forward, despite the excruciating pain in my shoulder, and rested my right hand against my thigh. My disorientation had been replaced by a feeling of nausea. Herzog stepped back as if he were afraid of getting splattered by vomit. I didn’t throw up, though. Instead, I slowly straightened up and leaned against the SUV. It was mine, by the way, the Jeep Cherokee.
“McKenzie, you look white as a ghost,” Herzog said.
“They’d love me over at Rickie’s, then,” I said. “Goddammit, my shoulder hurts.”
“We should git you home, git you to a hospital or somethin’.”
“Just give me a second.”
I straightened my back as best I could while still leaning against the Cherokee and took long, deep breaths, exhaling slowly.
“McKenzie,” a voice called.
It wasn’t Herzog’s.
My eyes snapped open. Kelly Bressandes was fast approaching. I closed my eyes again.
“Crap,” I said. “See if there are cameras, see if she has sound equipment.”
“McKenzie, it is you,” Bressandes said as soon as she was near. “My God, you look terrible.”
I opened my eyes and smiled. The smile took a lot of effort.
“You, on the other hand, look gorgeous,” I said. She was wearing a black trench coat that was cinched tightly at the waist so the world would know she had curves even if the world couldn’t see them under the coat. Her legs were bare—“the best legs on television,” a cop once told me. “What brings you here on such a cold day?”
“The cops are part of my beat,” she said. “McKenzie, we spoke in the hospital, remember? What happened to you? I know you were in the explosion at the motel. I was told that you went there to retrieve a stolen art object called the Jade Lily.”
“Who told you that?” I asked.
Herzog leaned and whispered in my ear. “We good,” he said.
The reporter’s eyes went from me to Herzog and back again. “I can’t reveal my sources,” she said. “You know that.”
“You the one that’s on TV,” Herzog said. “You look better in person.”
Bressandes smiled brightly. “Well, thank you, sir,” she said.
“I saw that thing you did on them dogs ’at were abused,” Herzog said. “’At was terrible. Not you, not you. I mean about the dogs. Wha’ happened about that?”
“The owner is going to jail. Sentencing should be tomorrow.”
“Jail is where he belong.”
Throughout the exchange, I continued to breathe slowly and deeply. I don’t know if my color returned. I was starting to feel better, though.
“McKenzie,” Bressandes said, “tell me about the Jade Lily.”
“Tell me who your source is.”
“I can’t.”
“That’s okay, I’m pretty sure I already know.”
“McKenzie, I want to interview you on camera.”
“No.”
“Off the record, then.”
“No.”
“I’m going to do the story anyway.”
“And say what?”
“That the Jade Lily was stolen from the City of Lakes Art Museum a week ago Sunday night by Patrick Tarpley, who was murdered by his partners. That the thieves demanded a ransom of one-third of the object’s value. That you were hired to retrieve it. That you went to the motel Saturday to make the exchange. That a bomb was set in the room where the Lily was kept.” Bressandes moved close enough that I could smell her perfume, and she lowered her voice a couple of octaves—she just loved a conspiracy. “I’m going to report that the Lily was removed from the motel room before the bomb went off.”
“You seem well informed.”
“Is that a confirmation?”
“No.”
Her smile suggested that she didn’t believe me.
“Tell you what,” I said. “Give me a couple of days and I will not only confirm your story, I’ll not only give you all the details that you seem to be lacking, I’ll identify all the villains—and, Kelly, there are lots of villains, some of them in very high places.”
She thought about it, the smile never leaving her face.
“You promise to go on camera?” she asked.
“Broken bones and all.”
“Deal.”
To seal it, Bressandes shook my hand and then kissed my cheek.
“I love doing business with you,” she said.
She skipped down the street, crossed at the light, and entered City Hall. Herzog and I watched her go.
“Are you really goin’ on TV?” he asked.
“Hell no.”
I brought my hand to my forehead and then my cheek—I probably looked like I was checking my own temperature. The dizziness was gone, and so was the nausea, but now I had a headache.
“We gonna take you back home, what?” Herzog said.
“We’re going to ah…” I let the words form in my head before I spoke them. “There’s a marina on Lake Minnetonka. A yacht club. We’re going to meet someone.”
“On a boat? You know it’s winter, right? That the lakes are frozen?”
“Herzy, let’s assume from this moment forward that I am sound of mind.”
“’At’s askin’ a lot.”
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