“I can’t. Not until I know…something.”

“All right. How ‘bout I go try and round us up some coffee then? I hear hospital coffee is guaranteed to keep you awake.”

“That would be nice. Thanks.”

He’d just stepped around the corner when Marty re-appeared.

“Oh God, Marty, what’s going on? How is he? Is he all right? What are they doing? What’s taking so long?”

“Good Heavens, Elgin,” he told her putting up his hand. “Get a hold of yourself. I can only answer one question at a time. Now come over here and sit back down.”

“Marty, tell me!”

“He’s in surgery right now. He’s lost a lot of blood and it took longer to stabilize him than they thought before they could operate. While they were getting him ready, I put in a call to an old friend, Leland Carswell. Excellent thoracic surgeon. Up here spending the Fourth making a large donation to the local economy via the casinos. He agreed to consult and the hospital graciously consented to allow him to perform the surgery.”

“How long will it take to do the operation? When will we know something?” she pressed.

“They couldn’t tell me. X-rays and tests can only tell them so much. They won’t know what they’re up against until they actually get into his chest. And there are a myriad of things that could happen once they start. You’ll just have to be patient.”

“Oh Marty, this is all my fault,” she cried. “Everything. Cissy and that homeless man and Pete Fowler and Jim and now Camp. All my fault.” Overwhelmed, Elgin dissolved into hysterical sobs, her body shaking with the force of her grief.

Marty wrapped her in his arms and let the emotions flow.

Chad arrived carrying two white Styrofoam cups. Seeing Elgin, he set the cups down and almost ran over to where they were sitting.

“What’s wrong?” he yelped. “Is it Harm? Has something happened?”

“No. He’s in surgery right now. We won’t know anything until they’re done. I’m afraid this is everything just catching up with Elgin at once. It’s been a most eventful Fourth of July.”

Comstock sighed. “You can say that again.”

“Look, Chad, it’s late. Since we won’t be returning to Spirit Cove tonight…or rather, this morning, I’ve taken the liberty of making overnight arrangements at the Crystal Pines. They’re sending a car, which will pick you up in front of the main lobby in a few minutes. They can provide you with anything you may want or need. Simply tell them to put it on my bill. Tomorrow I’ll call our friend on the coast, explain why you were detained and set up another meeting.”

“Thanks, Marty.”

“Don’t mention it. Just go along and get some sleep. See if you can find Mr. Simons. I think he went downstairs to get some privacy and contact Mr. Harm’s office.”

For several minutes after he left, Marty held Elgin as she cried. Finally, the tears subsided and the shaking stopped. Pulling out his handkerchief, he handed it to her.

“Are you quite finished?” he asked her.

Elgin nodded, wiping her eyes.

“Good. Now you can also stop all this bullshit about everything being your fault.” The unexpectedly sharp tone of his voice brought her head up in surprise.

“But…?”

“No ‘buts’ about it,” he continued firmly. “This is most assuredly not you’re fault. If we’re going to affix blame here, let’s lay it squarely where it belongs, on Jim Fisher. All of this ugliness and violence is the result, solely, of his sick, twisted delusions.”

He shook his head. “Make no mistake about it; you are as much a victim of his insanity as anyone else his viciousness has touched. This…this obsession of his has been brewing and fermenting since you were a child. It sickened and rotted and killed him as certainly as any cancer. Even now, from the grave, he’s reaching out and trying to hurt you by making you feel guilty…excusing or minimizing his evil by somehow making it ‘your fault.’

“Well Fisher’s done enough damage. I refuse either to let him do any more or to allow him to escape even the tiniest shred of responsibility for the horrors he’s perpetrated. You have far and away more important things to think about than a heinous old man and his demented fantasies.”

“Such as?”

“Well…well for one thing, your wedding.”

“My what?” she cried in disbelief.

“Your wedding,” Van Scoyk repeated calmly. “I doubt seriously that a man who would put himself between the woman he loved and an armed, homicidal maniac will flinch at marriage.” His face softened and he smiled at her.

“Of course, being both a sentimental old fool and an incurable buttinsky, I’ll no doubt end up taking over the whole wedding in the worst, most annoying, meddlesome fashion you can imagine but you’ll forgive me when you see what a masterpiece I turn out.

“Now, preparation-wise, you and Harm can’t even think about anything sooner than spring although knowing you two, you’ll no doubt move in together as soon as he’s out of the hospital. Speaking for myself, I don’t think there’s anything more beautiful than a church wedding and that little chapel in Spirit Cove…the one that overlooks the lake…would be perfect. And of course, the reception at my house.

“I mean, unless you’re going to have one of those huge, showy things where you invite three hundred of your closest friends. In that case, we can have it in one of those wedding places in West Shore and we can rent out a banquet room and which I think would be extremely tacky for someone of my extraordinary good taste.

“And I have the most absolutely perfect gown,” he gushed, now completely caught up in the scenario. “A sort of soft bone color, satin with antique lace and a high collar and puffy long sleeves and absolutely scads of seed pearls and the most gorgeous six-foot train and matching veil. Of course, it will probably have to be altered across the bust…”

“Excuse me, Marty,” Elgin interrupted, “but…you have a wedding gown?”

“It was my mother’s” he explained stiffly, “and if you don’t get your dirty little writer’s mind out of the gutter, you’ll end up being married in the desert by a man in cowboy boots and hat while a man dressed in a white rhinestone and sequin jumpsuit sings ‘Jail House Rock’ in the background.

“And besides, I look absolutely ghastly in pastels.”

Elgin giggled and Marty embraced her.

“I’m glad to see you haven’t forgotten how to smile completely. Now, rather than drink that crankcase oil they laughingly refer to as coffee in this place, I’m going to order us some nice Irish Crème and a tray of snacks from this marvelous little place I know in town.”

“Marty, it’s almost two a.m. What kind of a place would have Irish Crème coffee and snacks at this hour? And that would deliver on top of that?”

“A very expensive, very private gentlemen’s club,” he answered. “Members only but open ‘round the clock. Just another perk of being obscenely rich.”

Pulling out his cell phone, Marty had just begun to dial when the doors opened and a tall man about sixty, wearing surgical garb entered. Immediately, they both stood up.

“Lee,” Marty greeted him warmly, “this is the lady I was telling you about. Elgin Collier, Leland Carswell.”

“Miss Collier.” He put out a soft, surprisingly strong hand to her.

“How’s Camp?” she asked anxiously.

“A little rocky, but I think he’ll be just fine.”

Euphoria rolled over Elgin and she grabbed Marty, kissing him full on the mouth. “Oh thank you, Dr. Carswell,” she breathed, feeling a new round of tears…happy ones…well up.

“Don’t thank me. I’ve rarely had a patient with such a tenacious will to live. With the severity of his injuries and the blood loss…well, I’m not that good a doctor.”

“When can I see him?”

“Oh, not until tomorrow at least. Or more precisely, later today. He’ll be in recovery until we’re sure he’s stable enough to move and then to ICU. This is a good hospital, but I’d feel better if he could be transferred to some place with a more specialized chest unit.”