J.R. awakened feeling wonderfully relaxed and content. He was facing the wall on his right side, his right arm tucked under his pillow, and the sheet at his waist. Brushing the back of his hand across his eyes to drive away the lingering sleep, he carefully rolled over onto his back and turned his head on the pillow to glance at the clock on the bedside table. It was ten o�clock.
With a yawn, he tossed back the sheets and sat up on the edge of the bed, his hand automatically going to his side to sooth the twinge in his ribs. It was just a minor pull from the effort of sitting up, so he removed the hand from his side and rested his elbows on his knees as he stared at the floor between his bare feet.
Two days had passed since he and Betty had been rescued from the desert. They had been kept overnight that first day at the hospital. Both had been severely dehydrated, and had been placed on intravenous fluids. In spite of their weariness, however, neither had slept well that night, for the hospital was a continuously busy place, and the nurses had insisted on leaving their doors ajar. Hospital staff could be heard walking up and down the corridor, coming on or going off shift. Several times, they heard the nurses visiting at the nurse�s station, presumably during breaks. Once, a code blue was answered with a noisy entourage of doctors, nurses, and equipment clamoring down the hallway to assist the distressed individual. And most annoying of all, nurses had come into the room every few hours to check their i.v. and their vital signs. All in all, though, he knew they had been very lucky. He only had one fractured rib, and Betty�s injured shoulder had not been dislocated, but instead her discomfort was caused by stressed and bruised tendons.
Cleaned up, re-hydrated, and feeling considerably better, they had been released from the hospital yesterday. Last night, safe in his own bed, J.R. had finally acquired a full night of deep, restful sleep.
Yawning again, he dragged his hand through his thick unruly hair, trying to come fully awake. Deciding that only a shower would bring him out of his stupor, he forced himself to stand up, and slowly plodded into the bathroom. Leaning into the tub, he turned on the water, then allowed it a few minutes to heat up.
While he waited, he examined his reflection in the mirror, paying particular attention to the large bruise on his left side. It seemed to be diminishing somewhat, the pigment around the edges were starting to return to its normal color. He was beginning to heal.
In the living room, unheard over the running water, the telephone began to ring.
Betty Jones shifted restlessly from one foot to the other and turned over her wrist to glance at her watch: A little after ten o�clock. �J.R., where are you?� she asked. When it became apparent that he was not going to answer, she returned the handset to its cradle.
Barnaby�s plane was due in at eleven o�clock, and he had asked that J.R. pick him up at the airport. Her phone call was to remind him of that fact, but it seemed he was not at home. Maybe he stepped out to get a newspaper.
She waited another fifteen minutes, then tried again. Still no answer.
Finally, she snatched up her car keys and hurried out the door, intending to pick up her father in law herself.
Maneuvering her way through traffic, Betty arrived at the airport with only fifteen minutes to spare. Locating a parking space near the terminal, she locked the car and jogged into the airport building. Inside, she was forced to wait in line to go through the metal detectors, which she tolerated impatiently with frequent glances at her watch. Finally, she made it through the security checkpoint, and hurried down the long corridor toward the boarding gates, glancing at the numbers in search of the correct gate.
At last, she spotted the gate, and breathed a sigh of relief that she had arrived on time, albeit with only minutes to spare. Barnaby�s plane was due in at any moment. Easing her way through the crowd of people who were awaiting loved ones or awaiting departure on the incoming flight, she moved to the glass wall of the airport terminal and searched the vast expanse of blue sky. Finally, she saw the silver speck in the sky that should be Barnaby�s flight. Gradually, it increased in size as it approached the airport, its shape becoming more defined.
She watched as the big jetliner floated gracefully toward the ground, and finally its landing gear touched down on the hard surface. It proceeded down the long landing strip, and disappeared from sight beyond the building.
A woman�s voice came over the loudspeaker: �Flight 298 from Phoenix to Los Angeles has just landed. The plane will be taxiing to the jetway shortly.�
Betty left the window, and moved toward the jetway exit to await the plane�s arrival. Ten minutes later, the airplane pulled slowly up to the opening of the long extension jetway and stopped. After what seemed like an eternity, the doors opened and passengers began to depart.
Betty waited patiently, knowing that Barnaby, unlike many other travelers, would not push and shove his way to the front. He would patiently await his turn, then calmly make his exit. Finally, his tall frame filled the doorway, and she moved forward to welcome him back.
�Barnaby, did you have a pleasant flight?� she asked.
�Tolerable,� he replied. �As we passed over the Mojave, I couldn�t help thinking about what you and Jedediah went through out there.� His eyes searched the sea of faces, many still waiting for a friend or loved one to emerge from the plane, other�s embracing happily in greeting. �Speaking of Jedediah, he was supposed to pick me up. Where is he?�
�I don�t know, Barnaby. I called his apartment to remind him, and there was no answer, so I thought I�d better get over here myself, or you�d have to take a taxi.�
�I appreciate that. Any idea what he could be up to? It�s not like him to forget an obligation.�
�I have no idea, but I don�t mind telling you, I�m a bit worried. I can�t help thinking about the fact that drug dealers were involved in our incident with Tyler�s plane. What if they are of the opinion that J.R. or myself have the drugs?�
Barnaby�s expression indicated that similar thoughts had entered his mind, as well. �Why don�t we swing by there and see if he�s all right,� he suggested.
�I was hoping you�d say that.�
They proceeded together down the long corridor toward the baggage claim.
After stepping out of the wonderfully long and refreshing shower, J.R. dressed in a pair of comfortable jeans and a casual shirt, then dried his hair in front of the large mirror with the hairdryer. Deeming himself presentable again, he went into the kitchen and searched the refrigerator for something suitable with which to make a sandwich for lunch. The bologna was starting to look rather disagreeable, so he pitched it into the trash and reached for the peanut butter and the loaf of bread.
The completed sandwich was placed on a plate. He had purchased a new bag of potato chips last week that had never been opened, so he opened it and shook a small amount onto the plate beside the sandwich. Grabbing a soda from the refrigerator, he proceeded into the living room, flipping on the television as he passed it. A game show pitted contestants against one another, but he did not linger to watch.
�I love cable,� he muttered to himself as he sat down on the sofa and flipped from one station to another, seeking something that interested him. He finally settled on an old western that he had seen many times before.
Setting the plate on his lap, he took a bite of his sandwich and leaned back contentedly against the backrest of his sofa and watched as the cowboys on the television screen drove a herd of cattle across a perilously wide stream. As the cowboys struggled with their herd and their lives during the treacherous crossing, drowsiness began to overtake him, and he finally removed the plate with the now half-eaten sandwich to the coffee table, fluffed up the throw pillow, and stretched out on the sofa. Moments later, his eyelids drooped and he closed them just to rest them for a while.
He was unaware of how much time had passed. On the television, he heard the sounds of a gunfight, but paid little attention to it. Sleep was beginning to draw around him like a comforting cloak, and he was willing to let it.
A thumping somewhere nearby roused him only slightly from the fog of slumber, but he was not alarmed. It was probably just something on the television.
The thumping intensified to a loud banging, finally succeeding in pulling him fully awake. Jerking his head up from the throw pillow, his eyes immediately went to the door to his apartment. Someone was knocking rather urgently.
�Jedediah? Are you in there?� It was Barnaby.
J.R. groaned with fatigue as he tried to free himself from the soft cushions.
�Jedediah?� Barnaby called, more urgently than before.
�Yeah! I�m here!� J.R. shouted back, wondering why the urgency.
The banging on the door instantly ceased, and J.R. finally managed to haul himself off the sofa and opened the door.
Barnaby and Betty were standing in the doorway, and behind them, to his surprise, was Lieutenant Biddle.
J.R. appeared surprised to see all of them, but mostly he was surprised to see Biddle. �Lieutenant, what are you doing here?�
Before Biddle could answer, Barnaby said, �I called him while I was waiting for my luggage at baggage claim. When we couldn�t get hold of you, we thought maybe something was wrong.�
�Wrong? What could be wrong?� J.R. asked, genuinely puzzled.
�Well, Betty and Barnaby were concerned that the drug dealers on the receiving end of the exchange might be of the opinion that you knew where the drugs were hidden,� Biddle explained. "You were, after all, an acquaintance of the pilot."
J.R. nodded. �Oh, well, no, I haven�t seen anything suspicious at all.� Turning to Barnaby, he asked, �Did you catch an earlier flight?�
�No, it was the same flight you were supposed to pick me up from, the eleven o�clock flight.�
�Eleven? No, you said to pick you up at one o�clock. I�ve got it right here.� He stepped away from the door, and fetched the scrap of paper from the coffee table. �Right here, it says . . . .� He gave them a sheepish look. �Eleven o�clock. Sorry, boss. I guess I just glanced at it and somehow missed that first number.�
�That�s all right,� Barnaby assured him as they entered the living room and closed the door behind them. �No harm done. I�m just glad you�re all right.�
�Where were you?� Betty asked. �I called you a couple of times to remind you to pick Barnaby up, but you never answered.�
J.R. shrugged. �I�ve been here all morning, and never heard the phone ring.� His expression changed, indicating that he had solved the mystery. �Oh, you probably called while I was in the shower. I can�t seem to get all the dirt off my body and out of my hair.�
Betty rumpled his hair with her hand. �Well, you have enough hair to hide half the Mojave Desert in!�
�Hnnn, cute, Betty, cute. Have you guys had lunch? Can I offer you a gourmet peanut butter sandwich?�
Barnaby�s eyes fell upon the half eaten sandwich on the coffee table as he sat down on the sofa. �I think I�ll pass.�
Biddle sat down on the other end of the sofa as J.R. flipped off the television then grabbed a chair from the table and dragged it closer. �So, how did the trial go?� he asked as he sat down.
�The jury was still out when I left, but I think we�ll get a conviction.�
�That�s good news,� Betty said, sinking into a wing chair.
J.R. then turned to Biddle, his expression grim. �Has Tyler�s body been found yet?�
Biddle nodded. �Shot twice. We found the drugs, too, with the help of the dogs. They tracked him right back to the hiding place. He had found a small overhang, about three feet deep and a foot high. He slipped it inside and piled rocks in front of it. Then he arranged some of the rocks on the ground into a specific shape, obviously to mark the area so that it could be seen from the air, but not so obvious that anyone else wouldn�t think that it was not a naturally occurring formation. He was smart.�
�But not smart enough,� Betty said. �We heard the gunshots when they killed him. I don�t think I�ll ever forget that.�
�We arrested the girlfriend, Crystal, at the airport when her flight arrived from Seattle yesterday,� Biddle continued. �She�s shattered about Tyler�s death, but she�s been very cooperative. We offered her limited immunity for information on the drug cartels they had been dealing with, and with her help the police in Phoenix have already arrested three of DuHart�s accomplices, and they are closing in on him.�
�That�s great news,� J.R. said.
Barnaby stood up. �Well, Betty, if you�ll take me home, I�d like to get unpacked and relax a bit.� He started walking toward the door, and then turned to face his daughter in law and cousin. �Jedediah, how are your ribs?�
�Feeling a lot better, Barnaby,� he answered.
�Betty, how about your shoulder?�
She rubbed the shoulder. �A little stiff yet, but it feels pretty good now.�
�Good. I expect to see you both at the office tomorrow. I have some documents that need to be typed, and Jedediah, I need you to run some errands for me.�
A chorus of groans brought a smile to the aging detective�s face.
�Have a heart, Boss!� J.R. protested. �I think Betty and I both deserve a few days off to recover from our terrible ordeal.�
�You�ve had a couple of days off,� he reminded them.
�Yes, but two of them were spent lost in the desert and another was spent in the hospital,� Betty pointed out. �We do need a few days to . . . � she glanced at J.R. for support. He was nodding his head up and down in agreement. � . . . to sort of get over everything we went through.� She grimaced, thinking that her excuse sounded lame even as she was speaking the words.
�That�s right, Barnaby,� J.R. agreed. �We�ve been through an awful lot.�
�John do these two sound like a couple of shirkers to you?�
Biddle stood up, raising his hands as if in surrender. �I think I hear my phone ringing,� he told them as he slipped past Barnaby for the door. �I�ll catch you guys later.�
After he had gone, J.R. and Betty turned expectant eyes toward their employer, waiting. He chuckled softly. �All right. Take a few days, but I expect you back at work all the earlier Monday morning.�
�We�ll be there,� J.R. promised.
�Thanks, Barnaby,� Betty said, gratefully.
�Now, if you�ll get me home, we can all enjoy our time off,� Barnaby said. �After the past few days, I think I need the time off as much as you two do!�
Betty got out of the chair and followed him to the door.
�Take care of yourself, Jedediah,� Barnaby said as he made his exit.
�I will,� J.R. promised. He closed the door behind them, and a pleased smiled crossed his handsome face. A long weekend! Barnaby was not often so generous with his time off. After flipping the television back on, he sprawled out on the sofa once more and heaved a contented sigh.
Suddenly, his eyes popped open. Leaping from the sofa, he rushed to the door and jerked it open. Barnaby and Betty were just boarding the elevator.
�Barnaby! Are we getting paid for those days off?� he shouted down the corridor.
Barnaby smiled as the elevator door slid closed.
J.R. turned and kicked the door in frustration. It banged against the wall and bounced back, slamming shut with a bang. J.R. grasped the doorknob, but the knob did not turn. He pushed hard on the door, jiggling the knob as if he could somehow break it free, but to no avail. He was locked out.
�Aww, that�s just great,� he muttered.
Turning with a sigh, he trudged down the hall to the elevator to plead with the apartment manager to let him back in.
~ The End ~