Beloved Katarina. Taken to sit beside the Lord, taken from the secretive world, taken from the pain of life, and when taken, to our hearts a knife.
I swallowed, reread the words. Graveyard poetry isn't all that good—and damn depressing. I turned and walked away, glancing at the other tombstones before stepping back over the fence. They were older markers with nothing more than names and dates. While I hurried to my car, several grackles squawked at me as if to admonish me for trespassing. And I did feel like an intruder.
I'd almost made it to my car when I heard the buzz of a Weed Eater. I walked around a border of hedges and saw a groundskeeper working away at overgrown grass along a fence. He had earplugs in and wore a widebrimmed hat, khaki pants and a matching shirt.
I didn't want to startle him, since he couldn't hear me, so I took a wide path around him until I was in his line of vision. I smiled and offered a small wave.
He turned off the Weed Eater and pulled out the earplugs. He had to be in his sixties, his skin darkened by years in the sun. White stubble sprouted along his chin and on his cheeks. He said, "There's a directory in the cottage near the front if you're looking for someone in particular." He gestured that way and started to put the earplugs back in.
"That's not what I need," I said quickly before he could start up the noisy equipment again. "Can I ask you a few questions?"
"I'm no tour guide and I ain't got time to teach you about this place, if that's what you want."
Grumpy old guy, I thought. But the temperature was already approaching ninety and he probably wanted to get this job done before the heat sizzled him like a sausage on the grill. "Just a few questions, I promise." I removed a business card, walked over and handed it to him. "I'm a private detective and I'm working on a case."
"Cemetery's a funny place to be huntin' up privateeye stuff. Ain't many folks to talk to here—unless you fancy yourself some kind of ghost whisperer."
I laughed and this seemed to crack his stoic facade because he smiled.
"No, sir," I said. "I don't believe in ghosts."
"I'm glad for that. All kinds of weird people trample through here who do. What you want to know?"
"Does anyone visit the Richter plot? I saw flowers on one of the graves."
"Richter plot, huh? Those flowers are from the girl. Pretty thing. Started coming here a year ago. She visits every week on Friday—Katarina Richter's grave—but she was a no-show yesterday. None of them other Richters come regular except the mister. He's here 'bout once a month and a'course always on Katarina's birthday."
"The mister?" I asked.
"Mr. Elliott. Always slips me a hundred, tells me to take care of his Katarina. And I do spend extra time keeping her grave tended to."
Elliott Richter, huh? "This girl who visits. Do you know her name?"
The man shook his head no. "Never talked to me. Seemed afraid, if I read her right."
"Small? Blond hair?" I asked, considering whether Katarina could indeed be JoLynn's mother.
"Yeah. She send you here?"
"In a way," I answered. "Thank you so much, Mr. . . . ?"
"Sam. Everyone calls me Sam."
I pulled a twenty from my purse and handed it to him. He smiled and nodded, then plugged his ears and went back to work.
I drove a little too fast on the way to Methodist, the poem on the tombstone replaying in my brain. By the time I arrived outside Aunt Caroline's hospital room, I'd managed to quit silently repeating those words and was now wondering about these weekly visits to the grave. Had to have been JoLynn unless there were more petite blond Richters in the family.
Kate met me at Aunt Caroline's door and kept me out with a raised palm. I looked past Kate into the room and saw a striking young woman with silky black hair deep in conversation with our aunt.
Kate looked me up and down. "It's supposed to reach a hundred degrees today. Why are you wearing—"
"I'll tell you later. What's up?"
She took my arm and led me out into the hall. "That's Nancy Song, the dietitian. The doctor's releasing Aunt Caroline today. She'll be on oral medicine and a diet that doesn't sound all that strict. But she will have to test her blood sugar every day and I think that might be a problem."
"Why?" I asked. "She knows she's diabetic and that's what diabetics have to do."
"Not so simple when you're in denial," Kate said. "Sticking herself with a sharp object and keeping a record of her sugar levels means she has to accept reality."
I nodded. "And accepting a reality she hasn't created herself will be challenge."
"You get the picture."
"Can we hire someone to stick her finger? At least for now?" I asked.
Kate grinned. "Do you really want to put someone through that kind of torture?"
Nancy Song came though the door then and said to Kate, "There you are."
"Sorry. I wanted to fill in my sister. How did that go?"
"She's an interesting woman," Nancy Song said. "Intelligent but perhaps a little strong-willed."
"You mean as stubborn as a rusty pump," I answered.
Song smiled. "Texas has such an interesting language. She will learn and accept eventually. But be prepared for a few bumps in the road."
"Oh, we're used to those," I answered.
Song handed Kate a stack of diet plans. "These will help. I gave your aunt the same ones. After the nurse trains her for blood sugar testing, the doctor will probably release her. I urged her to attend the hospital's diabetic support group as well and she told me she would think about it."
"Great." How I wished they'd keep her one more day. But I should be glad Aunt Caroline had rebounded quickly. Once Nancy Song left us, I turned to Kate. "Guess we'll have to wait on the doctor. Want to slip over to Ben Taub and pay JoLynn Richter that visit? You should see her. It's awful what someone tried to do to her."
"I do want to go, but let's clear it with General Caroline."
Aunt Caroline was more than happy for us to leave. She wanted to shower and put on her makeup before the doctor arrived. On our fifteen-minute walk to Ben Taub, Kate told me Aunt Caroline seemed quite taken with her new endocrinologist.
"What is he? About thirty?" I asked as we stopped at a corner.
"More like forty, but age has never mattered to Aunt Caroline when it comes to flirting."
During our walk—a far easier option than changing parking spots—I filled Kate in on what I had learned about the Richter family and how I had nothing on JoLynn. When we entered the lobby, I was grateful the place was as cold as a knothole in the North Pole because I was sweating bullets.
"Why don't you know anything about JoLynn?" she asked. "You're the queen of finding out anything on anybody."
"Not this time. And that's very strange. If I can find baptismal records on someone born in the seventies— which I've done before—why can't I find anything on her?"
As we entered the elevator, Kate said, "Sorry, but I kind of like that. Apparently Big Internet Brother hasn't been watching everyone."
We rode in silence and then visited the restroom so I could run a comb through my sweat-dampened hair. Turned out I didn't have a comb, but Kate is always prepared.
"I like this cinnamon color. You should stick with it." She was watching me try to make her comb work a miracle—a miracle that wasn't about to happen.
When she saw my frustration, she tousled my crown. "Go with the natural look." Then she handed me a lipstick—Mocha Pink. "This will help, too."
The lipstick did make me look more normal, especially since my flushed cheeks were less pronounced thanks to the AC. I no longer felt like I'd just emerged from a rain forest tour. We then walked down the corridor to the neuro ICU. Two men sat in the waiting area. One was a Montgomery County sheriff's deputy and the other a young man in his twenties.
The deputy must be here for JoLynn, too. I smiled at him, but he didn't react. I stopped a nurse assistant about to enter the ICU and said, "We'd like to visit JoLynn Richter f
or a few minutes. I'm working with Chief Boyd on her case." Not completely true, but how would she know?
The woman thumbed at the deputy. "Ask him." She then entered the unit without another word.
Kate and I turned and walked over to the deputy, who had picked up a People magazine and was paging through it.
"Hi," I said as I approached with Kate on my heels. "I was the one who identified Miss Richter and I'm working with Chief Boyd on this case. I'm a private investigator." I handed him a card.
His name badge read DEPUTY WELLS and though I was the one talking, his gaze was on Kate as he stood.
The man was built, not to mention hot. And tall enough I'd need a stepladder to look him in the eye. He said, "Funny, Coop didn't mention you when he asked for county help to protect JoLynn Richter. I'm Greg Wells, by the way. Who's your friend?" He smiled down at Kate.
I could almost feel the heat of Kate's blush. "Dr. Kate Rose. I've had a little experience with head-trauma victims and am here to evaluate her."
Nice little twisting of the truth, I thought. Kate might be getting back to her old self after all.
"I think Miss Richter has a bunch of doctors already." The deputy looked back and forth between us. "I take it you two are related?"
"Sisters. And I'm not a medical doctor," she answered. "I'm a clinical psychologist."
"Last time I looked in her room, the girl was in a damn coma. How do you work with sleeping people?"
"That's not why we've come, Deputy Wells," I said. "My sister—"
"Excuse me," said the other guy who'd been sitting in the waiting room. He was now standing behind Kate. "I couldn't help but overhear. JoLynn is my cousin."
Wells looked at him, obviously surprised. "Why didn't you say something?"
"I had no idea you were here for JoLynn," he answered. "The police think she's still in danger, then?"
"We're taking precautions," he replied.
Compared to Wells, the new guy was so skinny he could lie under a clothesline and not get a sunburn. Not bad looking, though. Baby face, hazel eyes dotted with gold, and plenty of highlighted hair—unlike Wells, whose receding hairline reminded me of low tide. The cousin's designer polo shirt was coral, his khakis were unwrinkled and he smelled very metrosexually nice.
"What's your name?" Wells asked him.
"Scott Morton. My mother is Uncle Elliott's sister. I promised my uncle I'd stay here until he could get free." He looked at me. "Uncle Elliott never mentioned any investigator to me, either."
"Chief Boyd probably didn't have a chance to tell anyone," I said quickly.
Wells smiled. "Why don't we clear this up? I'll call up Coop and ask him about all three of you."
6
My stomach fluttered as Wells made the call. Oh, what a tangled web and all that crap. But after Wells told him who was waiting in line to see JoLynn, he listened for a second before handing the phone to me. "He wants to talk to you."
"Why are you at the hospital, Abby?" Cooper asked. Seriously, the guy ought to get his obviously stressed vocal cords checked.
"Can't help myself," I answered. "I'm a sucker for anyone who's written to me for help."
"Pro bono?" he said.
"If that's what I need to do, yes," I answered.
"I called a friend at HPD and he says you're smart and know your way around a whodunit. I have to admit I could use someone like you."
"Why, Cooper Boyd. I'll bet you're not afraid to ask for directions, either."
He laughed and said, "I'm not sure how visiting a comatose woman can help solve an attempted murder, though."
I told him how Kate and I work together, that she'd had training in the psychological aspects of brain injury and wanted to evaluate JoLynn for herself.
"I'm up for anything, so go for it," he said. "I'll tell Wells you're good to visit. He tells me Scotty is there, too."
"Um . . . yes. But you sound amused." I fought the urge to look over at Scott Morton.
"Nerdy kid but nice. He came with the bail money for Matthew, Richter's son, one time last year. I've been told Matt used to be a regular visitor to our local facility—local facility meaning jail. Drinking and public lewdness—which translates to pissing on the main street in Pineview. Anyway, his father sent him to rehab. He sobered up and got married."
"I see. Interesting," I said.
"Scott standing right there, huh?"
"You got it."
"Take him in there with you. If by chance her condition has an effect on him, I'd like a report on his reaction. Hell, I'd like a report on anyone's reaction. Richter was cold as stone when I told him about JoLynn. 'Course, I've met him a few times at town events and that's the way he always seems."
"Should I hand you back to the deputy?"
"Yes. And thanks, Abby."
"No problem." I gave Wells the phone and looked at Scott and Kate. "We can go in, but I'm guessing only if and when the staff gives the okay."
That okay didn't come for a half hour and then we were told we had five minutes max.
Kate went straight to JoLynn's bedside, but Scott hung back, as pallid as if he'd had a visit from Dracula on the way in here.
"My God," he whispered.
JoLynn's bruises were changing to the icky stage—all blotchy with yellow and brown beginning to taint the purple and black.
"Pretty nasty, huh?" I said quietly.
"Who would do that to her? She's the sweetest person on earth," he said.
I gauged his reaction as Boyd had asked me to do and the words authentic shock came to mind. But that didn't mean he hadn't engineered the murder attempt—it meant only that he hadn't realized the human toll taken after a person experiences a powerful impact with a large immovable object.
"How are you two related again?" I asked.
"She's my cousin."
"You two grow up together?" I probed.
"No. She's only been back with us for about a year."
"I don't understand," I said.
"I'll leave the explanations to Uncle Elliott. What matters is that she recovers." He walked over to Kate's side and picked up JoLynn's hand.
I followed, looked at my sister. "What do you think?" I asked.
"She responded to painful stimuli when I pinched her arm. Moaned a little when I whispered in her ear. She's not in a deep coma."
"That's good news, right?" Scott said.
"As I said in the waiting room," Kate replied, "I'm not a medical doctor. You should talk to her physician."
"I did," Scott said. "He said I'm not next of kin and he's waiting for Uncle Elliott to arrive to report on her condition."
"And when do you expect Uncle Elliott?" I asked.
"I thought he'd already be here. We're the only two who—" He pursed his lips, looked down at his shiny loafers. "He'll be here soon."
Family issues? I wondered. According to what I'd already learned, there was plenty of family. "You certainly got here quickly," I said with a smile, hoping he'd open up a little more.
"I didn't want her to be alone. I wish they'd let me sit with her so I can be here when she wakes up, but the answer to that request was an emphatic no. But she will wake up." His lips tightened but not before I saw them quiver.
Scott seemed like a supersensitive guy. But maybe his concern was an act.
A nurse opened the door, interrupting my thoughts. "Your time is up," she said softly.
He squeezed JoLynn's hand before letting go and I noticed her forehead crease ever so slightly. Seconds later the three of us rejoined Deputy Wells in the waiting room.
Wells looked at Scott. "You need some Dramamine, kid? 'Cause you look like you're about to toss your lunch."
"I'm fine." Scott seemed distracted, lost in his thoughts.
Wells addressed Kate then. "You work a miracle in there, Doc? She tell you what happened?"
"Sorry to disappoint you," Kate answered.
No matter how hot this guy might be, he'd never get out of the batter's box, much
less to first base, with my sister. You do not make fun of Kate's job—unless you're me. I'm the only one she takes a ribbing from on that front.
"Come on, Abby. We need to get back to Aunt Caroline," Kate said. "Nice to meet you two."
She started toward the corridor and I followed. "Listen, I think Scott could be a help. Can you call me when Aunt Caroline's ready to be released and I'll head back to Methodist then?"
"Sure. But I need to get out of here. I don't like that deputy one bit."
"Gee. Who would have known?" I said.
Her fair skin colored again. "That obvious, huh?"
"He liked what he saw and was trying to be funny. You're gorgeous, after all. Men notice and that's normal."
She blinked several times and I could tell she was fighting tears. Kate needed to get over her last romantic debacle—and soon.
"I'll call." She turned, walked quickly toward the elevator and nearly slammed right into a man with steel gray hair who was coming at her at about the same swift pace.
He then rushed by me and said, "Have you got that doctor's pager number, Scott?"
Uncle Elliott, I presumed.
"I saw her. She's hurt bad." Scott's eyes filled.
Jeez. First Kate, now him.
Wells stood and offered his hand to the new arrival. "Greg Wells. Montgomery County Sheriff's Department."
"Elliott Richter. I can't thank you enough for being here to protect my granddaughter. I'm arranging for security and private nurses to start as soon as possible."
Granddaughter, huh? So she was probably Katarina's child. I noticed Scott had his cell phone out, probably to page the doctor, but before you could say Verizon, a scrubs-clad medical person came out of the ICU and noticed the phone. "No cell phones," she said sternly, then hurried down the corridor.
Scott snapped the phone shut. "I'll go to the lobby, make the page and wait for Dr. Vickers to answer." He still looked taken aback by seeing JoLynn and probably needed a break from this place.
"Thank you," Richter said.
Meanwhile, I'd been quietly inching closer to Richter and now said, "Abby Rose. I was the one who—"
"Yes," he said, looking a little surprised. "Chief Boyd told me you discovered it was our JoLynn. Thank you so much, Ms. Rose. But why are you here?" He was a handsome, distinguished man and I was betting his woven blue shirt cost as much as my entire wardrobe.
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