The Secrets of Rosa Lee

by Jodi Thomas

  “Strange thing is,” Billy added, “I’ve never known either of them to say a cross word to anyone else. Even when my uncle forgot to put the cap on and oil spilled out all over her engine, Miss Ada May just patted his hand and told him accidents happen. She wouldn’t even let him pay for the damage.”

  “Do you know of any reason someone would want to harm them?” Micah lowered his voice.

  Lora raised an eyebrow. “You buying into the sheriff’s idea that someone was after one of us?”

  “Not really. Just thinking.”

  Billy paced the room. “It’s just hell-raising. Nothing else. I’d be the one with enemies if anyone in that room had them, and I can’t think of one person who wouldn’t face me if he wanted me hurt.” He sat down as a family of ten came into the room in one big huddle.

  Micah’s heart ripped. Part of him didn’t want to see their sorrow, part knew offering comfort was his calling.

  Before he could stand, the hospital chaplain, Bible in hand, hurried into the waiting room and directed the family to one of the semiprivate areas in the back.

  A nurse stepped in to tell them that Sidney Dickerson was back in her room, and they would be limited to a fifteen-minute visit every two hours.

  “You two go ahead.” Micah reached for a magazine. “I’ll catch the next time.”

  “But don’t you…” Lora began.

  “I’ve nowhere else to be, and it’s quieter here than back in town answering questions.”

  “You’ve got a point.” Lora shrugged. “Mind if I stay? I’m not sure I can deal with my mother.”

  “No way. You’re not staying here,” Billy cut in. “We’re checking on the professor and heading out for food. I haven’t eaten all day.”

  Lora shrugged at Micah. “I promised the kid a meal if he let me drive his car over here.”

  They started down the hallway. Micah heard Billy add, “I’m twenty. I’m no longer a kid.”

  “Well, I’m twenty-four and divorced. That makes me a hundred years older than you.” When he said nothing, she added, “Aren’t you going to say anything?”

  “I promised not to, remember?” They turned a corner and disappeared from sight. “But, I’m thinking it,” echoed after them.

  Micah tried to get comfortable in chairs that offered little. Why were waiting-room chairs always the worst? You’d think somewhere, someone would invent a chair that offered some degree of comfort for all the people who had to wait.

  A tall man about forty wearing a Stetson stepped off the elevator. He seemed lost for a moment, then strolled in and took a seat on the other side of the TV. Micah couldn’t see his face, but his expensive ostrich boots were visible.

  Fifteen minutes later, Billy and Lora returned with lots of details about Sidney. The doctors thought her chest pains might have been something similar to a panic attack and not related to her heart. They would keep her the night anyway, but they seemed to think she’d be fine.

  Billy mentioned how the professor had almost cried with joy when he’d handed her the glasses. Once she’d put them on, she’d demanded to see his cuts. Apparently, she’d been so blind without them, she hadn’t noticed his bandages.

  Though Billy complained about the professor’s mothering, Micah sensed he hadn’t minded all that much.

  Micah thanked them and suggested they get home before the rain hit. Lora offered to bring back takeout, but he refused.

  After they left, Micah listened to CNN and acted as if he were reading the paper until the duty nurse returned and told everyone waiting that the fifteen-minute visitation was once again open.

  As Micah walked out, he noticed the man in the boots didn’t stand. Whoever he waited to see must not be in CCU or was too far gone to bother visiting.

  Micah found Sidney sleeping peacefully. Someone had combed out her hair and washed her face. She looked better than she had the few times he’d noticed her around town. The prim and proper line she always held had slipped. He couldn’t think of any way to say it but that she appeared more human.

  He sat her briefcase where she could see it, guessing she’d want to work if she woke. He couldn’t remember ever seeing her when the case hadn’t been in her hand.

  Leaving without waking her, Micah walked to his car as the day’s fading light glistened off the hood. Nothing waited for him at home, so he decided to visit a bookstore. Clifton Creek’s rack of top-sellers at the grocery was never enough. He liked the little bookstore on Southwest Parkway. All he had to do was tell the owner what he liked, and the man would start stacking up books he’d also love. Micah never drove over to Wichita Falls that he didn’t leave with at least half a dozen books.

  He’d read all his life. When he’d been a kid, with his parents moving around, he’d learned to escape in books and now they always seemed to welcome him like old friends.

  It was almost eight when he left the bookstore. The hint of rain now rode the north wind. Micah sat in his car and called to say good-night to Logan, keeping it short and cheery.

  As he drove out of the parking lot, he spotted a pet store and decided to go in. A few minutes later, he was lost in the cat aisle. Toys, cages, beds and food lined the shelves. After an hour, Micah settled on one toy and a children’s book for Logan about caring for a first pet. If Baptist planned to stay around for a few days, he and Logan better learn a little about the care and feeding of cats.

  When he walked back to the parking lot he wished he’d brought a coat. Even after three years, he still had trouble getting used to how fast the temperature changed in this part of the country.

  Micah drove home, in no hurry to reach an empty house. At least he had a few new books. Maybe he’d read until he fell asleep. Tomorrow was Tuesday, the day he spent most of his time counseling couples planning to marry. Reverend Milburn required anyone married in the church in Clifton Creek to go through at least six sessions. Unfortunately, Milburn never had time to do the counseling himself, so it had become part of Micah’s job description. He would also have to attend the Glory Days luncheon tomorrow and teach a biblical history class at the college.

  As he pulled into his drive, his cell phone buzzed. For a moment, Micah’s heart raced. Logan? Very few people knew or called his mobile number. Most waited until they caught him in his office or at home. What if something had happened at Jimmy’s house? What if Logan was homesick?

  Flipping open his phone, he made up his mind. No matter what the parenting books say about sleepovers, he’d go pick up Logan and bring him home. Sleepovers could wait a few months or even years, for all he cared.

  “Hello?”

  “Micah Parker?” A woman’s voice yelled into the phone.

  “Speaking.” He heard loud country-western music in the background. This wasn’t Betty Reed, or anyone else he knew. Logan must be fine, probably already asleep.

  “I got a problem here, and your number is the one they gave me to call,” the woman yelled over the music.

  Micah relaxed. Probably someone locked out of the church. Twice last year he’d had to go open the door. Once, Mrs. Beverly had left her purse in the Sunday-school room and once, the Ungers had driven off while the youngest one of their seven was still in the church restroom. They had parked in their driveway before they’d bothered counting, and by then the janitor had locked up and gone home. Micah’s cell-phone number appeared first on the emergency call list posted on the office door.

  “How can I help you?” Micah waited for tonight’s problem.

  “I’m Randi Howard. Randi with an i.”

  He liked the way her voice sounded, thought it belonged with the country music playing in the background.

  “I own the bar at the turnoff to Cemetery Road.”

  Micah straightened. The conversation became more interesting. If she was doing phone soliciting, she’d dialed the wrong number. “I know where it is.” He waited for her to continue.

  She hesitated. “I didn’t know who to call, but one of the old girls gave m
e your number and name scribbled on a flowery get-well card.”

  Micah tried to remember where he’d seen such a card. “How can I help you, Mrs. Howard?”

  “It’s Randi,” she said, and he’d be willing to bet that she was smiling. “Just, Randi, Mr. Parker.”

  He stepped out of the car not noticing the cold. “Randi it is. How may I be of service?”

  Randi took a long breath. “I need you to come down here and pick up the Rogers sisters before they start another bar fight.”

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  Sloan McCormick looked out on the hospital parking lot with the lights of Wichita Falls blinking in the distance. The town seemed fuzzy as if in a fog. Only a few cars remained out front. He could spot his big pickup even five floors up. Trying not to examine too closely the reason he was here, he walked back to the critical care unit doors. Standing in the shadows, he made sure no one dropped in on Sidney Dickerson during the last fifteen-minute visitation of the night.

  He leaned against the wall, trying not to look so tall, so obvious. Every time someone opened the double doors, he caught sight of the entrance to her room. Not even a nurse walked near it. No visitor would call now. Not with only ten minutes left.

  Still, he hesitated. He had no reason to visit the professor. She’d never met him, and this wasn’t the place to talk about a deal his company would be willing to make for the Altman place. But somehow, in the course of his research, Sloan felt as though he had grown to know her. In his line of work, he made it a point to know everyone he might need to persuade. In business, knowledge could swing the deal.

  He started to walk away, guessing himself a fool for getting personally involved. Maybe it was time to take the money he’d saved traveling all over the country and start that ranch he kept dreaming about.

  Sloan swore. Who was he kidding? Even with this deal, he would never have enough money to stock a ranch with anything but a few chickens. He’d be a land man for the company until he died. He was good at sizing up people, at knowing what made them react, but he’d spend the rest of his days without anyone being able to read him.

  A nurse bumped a wheelchair through the door and Sloan glanced up at Sidney Dickerson’s door once more. Five minutes left.

  The waiting room and hallway were deserted. On sudden impulse, he removed his Stetson and slipped into the professor’s room.

  Thank goodness she slept. He’d hate to have to introduce himself to her like this. But he needed to check on her condition. He had to know she was all right. Somewhere in his paperwork, she’d slipped from being just someone he needed to win over for the company to a real person. He’d liked the sound of her voice when she’d lectured and the proper way she walked. And, like it or not, he had worried about her all day.

  Silently lifting the chart at the foot of her bed, he read through the notes. From what he could tell, she hadn’t had a heart attack. Good.

  Her age surprised him. He would have guessed her at least five, maybe ten years older. Not that she looked it now without her glasses and boxy clothes, but every time he’d seen her from a distance, she had the stance and walk of someone in her fifties. Now, he learned that he and Sidney Dickerson would be the same age when she celebrated her fortieth next week.

  Sloan studied her more closely. She was tall and what his mother would have called healthy looking, though in today’s world she was out of style. In updated clothes, with her hair down, she might look her age. Not his type, he thought, but not all that bad. There was something about her that demanded respect. Not just the fact that she was a professor and seemed intelligent, but more that she was a lady. She was the kind of woman men of all ages opened doors for and tipped their hats to.

  She seemed like the kind who should have married and had a big family. He wondered if she’d been one of those who thought school all-important, concentrating on it for so long that by the time she got out, she’d missed her window to marry. Not many men would look at a woman past her youth who had more education than they had. With her height, she’d probably eliminated three-fourths of the men to start with.

  “Are you a doctor?” Her voice startled him.

  He stared into sleepy blue eyes. “No,” he answered from the shadows. “I’m here to take you to dinner.” He knew he made no sense, but hopefully she was drugged enough not to care.

  “Oh,” she mumbled. “That’s nice. I don’t like Chinese.”

  He smiled, knowing he was safe. “Me, either. How about Mexican food?”

  “With or without onions?”

  “Without, of course.” He moved closer and noticed her eyelids drifting down. She was fighting to stay awake.

  “Can we go now? I’m afraid of this place,” she whispered.

  Her honesty surprised him. He wasn’t sure what he expected a woman with a doctorate in history to say, but owning up to being afraid wouldn’t have been his first guess. “Want me to hold your hand?”

  Without opening her eyes, she raised her hand. His fingers closed around hers. For a while, he just stood there, watching her sleep and wondering how many times this woman had ever been afraid. He’d guess she’d been protected all through her life. Even out in the workforce she remained in a bubble, in the unique world of a college campus.

  A nurse stepped in to check the machines. He thought of leaving, but feared he might wake Sidney. He didn’t want to face any questions with someone else in the room. So he stood his ground beside the bed, his fingers holding tightly to hers, his gaze watching her face for any sign of waking.

  The nurse smiled at Sloan. “Visiting hours are over, but if you want to stay with her a little longer, no one will mind. The sleeping pills have kicked in. She’ll sleep like a baby until morning.”

  He knew the nurse guessed him to be the husband or lover. “Thanks,” he said. “I’d like to stay a while longer.”

  Sloan wasn’t a man who got close to people, partly by choice, partly because of his job. Staying with someone in the hospital was foreign to him. Strange. As if he were playing a role. Like somehow he’d crawled into another’s skin and gotten to feel something real people feel. So much of him had been an act for so long, he wasn’t sure there was any real left in him. Some days he thought that when he died no one would bother with a funeral. They’d just roll the credits.

  He turned Sidney’s hand over in his. She was real tonight. Her hand was soft, well formed with short nails and no polish. She would be a no-nonsense woman. The kind who would have nothing to do with him.

  “So, Sidney, how was your day?” he whispered, just because it sounded so normal. “I’ve been worried about you.”

  Her lashes moved. Blue eyes stared up at him. “You still here?”

  “Just waiting to take you to dinner.”

  “I’m ready to leave. Is it raining?”

  He hadn’t noticed, but rain did tap against the hospital window so softly it blended with the hum and click of the machines around her bed.

  “I’m afraid so.” He smiled. “But don’t worry, I’ll see you don’t get wet.”

  “I’m not fragile,” she whispered, closing her eyes once more.

  Sloan grinned and leaned closer. “I’d never have guessed you were.”

  Her breathing slowed as it brushed his cheek. There was something so intimate about the act, almost as if they were lovers who moved near in sleep and were unaware their breath mingled.

  Sloan straightened, surprised at his own thoughts. He didn’t need to get personally involved with any of the committee. He’d come to check on her, nothing more. Maybe it was because she looked so vulnerable in sleep. Maybe it was because they were really talking. Hell, maybe this job was getting to him.

  He should leave. But he hesitated. Not because he needed to know more or thought she might still be in danger.

  He simply didn’t want to turn loose of her hand.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  Lora Whitman pulled Billy Hatcher’s old car around to the back of the Altman house and shov
ed it into Park. “You sure you want to leave your Mustang here?”

  Billy stretched. He’d been asleep most of the way back from Wichita Falls. “Sure,” he mumbled as he pushed hair from his eyes. “It’s as good a place as any. Safer than in front of my old man’s house.”

  She didn’t comment on why he wanted to return to the old place. Maybe, like her, seeing the damage one more time made what had happened to them seem real.

  “What time is it anyway?”

  Lora rubbed the back of her neck. “About ten, I guess. Maybe a little later.”

  “I could drive you home, if you like,” he said almost as an afterthought. “From the sound of that thunder we might get more rain.” He closed and unclosed his bandaged hand.

  “I don’t mind if I get wet. After today, what could a little water hurt?” She unbuckled her safety belt. “How about walking me halfway? Maybe it will help me relax. I feel like lightning is dancing in me. I’ll never be able to sleep after all the excitement. Which doesn’t seem to be your problem.”

  He grinned. “I can sleep anywhere and usually do.”

  She wished they had talked on the drive back. Billy Hatcher wasn’t as frightening as she’d first thought. At dinner they’d shared an unusual conversation. Most folks felt a need to keep up small talk, follow one theme, let the discussion rock back and forth. No such rules bound Billy. He spoke his mind. In a way, it was the most honest dialogue she’d ever exchanged.

  “Fair enough. We’ll walk.” He opened his door. “Thanks for the barbecue, and for driving.”

  She was glad he didn’t add, “because my hand hurts.” She noticed him cradling it every chance he got. The cuts ran deep enough to be painful, but to her surprise, she noticed he refused painkillers.