Was it real? Had Ms. Bishop really located his sister so quickly? He looked up from the paper, and he swallowed. “Did you call?” Why was his voice so thick and husky?
She smiled. “I thought you’d like to do that yourself.” She gestured toward the phone. “Be my guest.”
Rich wondered if he ought to do this here. Would he be better off calling from the privacy of his own phone? But Ms. Bishop had been a part of it this far, she might as well be there for the grand finale. He reached for the phone, his hands remarkably unsteady, and dialed.
His breath caught as the number connected. Ms. Bishop smiled and gave him a thumbs-up sign. One ring. What if she wasn’t home? Two rings. He held his breath. Then the unmistakable sound of a phone company recording dashed his hopes of speaking to Sherry today. Out of service.
He closed his eyes and drew a long breath. “The phone’s disconnected. Now what?” he said as he returned the receiver to its cradle.
Jennifer’s smile faltered. Why hadn’t she thought to try the number first? “Are you sure it’s disconnected?” She reached for the phone Sergeant Larsen had just put down, pushed the Redial button and waited. She pasted a smile back on her face as she listened. “It said, ‘out of service,’ not disconnected. It could be out of order or they were late paying their bill for this month. They’re probably still there.” She met his eyes. “You could go. Knock on the door.” As soon as she said it, Jennifer knew it was a big mistake.
He grabbed her arm, and the touch of his large, strong hand set her heart fluttering like a butterfly in a glass jar. “Go with me. I’ve changed a lot since I last saw my sister. She might not recognize me.”
He paused and dragged in a ragged breath. “I’m a big guy. It might frighten her to have somebody like me show up on her doorstep. If Sherry sees someone like you with me, she might be more willing to let me in. Besides, I’m not familiar with Pensacola, I might never find the place.”
As Jennifer considered the foolhardiness of going off on this expedition, he threw in the final piece of bait. “I’ll spring for burgers on the way and you can navigate.”
Burgers from a fast-food place sounded a lot better than the tuna casserole she had planned. Jennifer glanced at the clock. Almost quitting time. “I—I guess so,” she heard herself saying. “Just let me lock up.”
“Hoo-ah. It’s a date,” he said, his face regaining the animation he’d lost when he’d heard that tone.
“No,” she corrected. “Not a date. This is business.” Then she glanced at the way the fabric of his drab olive T-shirt stretched across that broad chest. She knew all about the kind of man who wore those scarlet berets and shouted hoo-ah. She’d been married to one. Duke had been the best at everything except commitment. She figured they were all the same. At least, until they’d gotten old enough to settle down as Al had. It must have something to do with the training.
No, she had a feeling that this story was going to wind up with a happy ending, and maybe it was foolish of her, but she wanted to see it through. Typing bits of information into a computer and waiting for it to regurgitate the answers was a living, but she longed to see the human side of her job. She wanted to see the results of her efforts.
This is business, she reminded herself. So why was she thinking about anything else?
“I FIGURE once I’ve eaten with a person, they have the right to use my first name. That okay with you, Ms. Bishop?” Rich glanced sidewards and chuckled at the flustered look on her face. “You can call me Rich. Tech Sergeant Larsen’s a little long, wouldn’t you say?”
“I—ah—er—yes. Sure.” She paused. “And you may call me Jennifer.” Then she added, “Rich.”
“Jennifer. It’s a pretty name. It suits you.”
She smiled and blushed. “I hope not. I always felt it was such an ordinary name. After all, every other girl in my class all through school was a Jennifer. I’d rather be a Rosemund or a Victoria. At least there aren’t fifty of them lurking around every corner.” Her smile quirked to the right.
“At least everybody knows how to spell it,” Rich said. “What if you really did have one of those unusual names that nobody knew. That could be a problem,” Rich said as she looked everywhere but at him.
“Yeah,” Jennifer murmured.
The litter from the take-out meal scattered in her lap seemed to be more important to Jennifer than continuing the conversation. Rich shrugged. After tonight, it wasn’t likely they’d see each other again. He shouldn’t be getting his feelings hurt because a woman—an ordinary-looking one, at that—didn’t want to make conversation with him.
Once they found Sherry’s house, Rich reasoned, and he’d assured himself that his sister was alive and well and living in Pensacola, he’d take Jennifer home, and he’d never see her again.
They rode on in awkward silence until they reached the bridge that crossed Pensacola Bay and led into the city. “I guess we should pick up a map.” Rich pulled into a service station. “I need to gas up anyway.”
“Good idea,” Jennifer said. “I’ll see if they have one while you pump.”
Jennifer reappeared before he had filled the tank. She unfolded the map and pored over it while he settled the bill.
“Ah, here it is. Smith Street,” she said as Rich started the engine. “It’s on the other side of town.” She directed him to the main artery and settled back against the seat.
Rich drew in a breath and steered the truck toward the northwest side of town.
Jennifer knew she should be breaking his tension by talking, but darn it, sitting this close to him, she could barely think. She’d thought he’d made her office feel small, but in the confines of his small pickup truck, separated only by the space between bucket seats, it was all she could do to breathe.
She would be so glad when they were done with this.
Jennifer glanced at his strong profile and his lean jaw starting to bristle with golden five o’clock shadow and wondered if she might just explore…No, she told herself, it was too soon. Besides, she knew about his kind of man. Those special tactics combat control operators were love ’em and leave ’em all the way. She’d already been left once. And once was more than enough.
She busied herself reading the map and watching the landmarks fly by. Finally, they pulled off the main road and into a neighborhood.
Only a few more blocks and Rich would reach his sister’s address. Only a few more blocks and he’d be reunited with the only relative he had. She smiled at that.
Most of Checkmate’s work was doing background checks for Okaloosa County businesses. She seldom saw the people she researched. She seldom reached out and touched the people whose lives she explored. It would be wonderful to experience something good and positive.
“Shouldn’t we be turning now?”
Jennifer snapped out of her thoughts and ran a finger along the course she’d marked. “About two blocks. Then turn left.”
The neighborhood was a relatively new one comprised of small houses, with small mortgages, for couples just starting out. Most of the yards were well tended, and most had one car in the carport and one in the drive. She and Duke had once lived in a neighborhood like this together. She sighed. Now, she lived there alone.
Finally, they came to the street. “Right turn,” Jennifer said with less than full confidence.
Rich turned, and Jennifer began scanning for house numbers. “I think we’re headed in the right direction,” she said. “It should be right around this curve.”
It was.
Rich pulled up to the curb and parked. He exhaled slowly as he assessed the appearance of the small, yellow bungalow. Sherry had always loved the color yellow, but she never would have let the lawn go so long without mowing.
He knew that from the way she’d loved to do the yard work when they were in foster care together. She’d always said she wanted to have a little yellow house with a white picket fence and lots of yard to putter in. There was no fence, but two out of three was
pretty good.
The lawn looked as if it hadn’t been mowed in several weeks, and children’s toys were scattered throughout the tall grass. There was a very old minivan in the carport, but the second car, if there was one, was gone. A pile of newspapers filled the seat of a lawn chair on the tiny front porch. Though it was too early in the evening for lights to be on, the house looked dark and forlorn.
“Do you suppose they’ve gone on vacation?” Jennifer echoed exactly what Rich had been thinking.
He nodded. “You’d think they’d’ve canceled the paper, though.”
“Let me check the mailbox,” Jennifer said, pushing open the door. She came back in a minute. “Nothing there. Maybe, one of the neighbors is picking up their mail. But, if they were going on a trip, wouldn’t they put away their kids’ toys first?” she mused.
“Beats me,” Rich said. “Now what?”
“We talk to the neighbors. We’ve come this far, we might as well see what they know.”
The house to the right was as dark as Sherry’s with no cars filling the carport or the drive. But the one on the other side seemed cheery and open, and cooking smells wafted from that direction. “Guess we start with that one.”
Rich drew a deep breath. “Okay,” he said. “Here goes nothing.” He rang the doorbell.
A plump, middle-aged lady appeared, drying her hands on a dishtowel. “May I help you?” Her expression was pleasant, but cautious, as she pushed open the storm door a crack.
Rich cleared his throat, struggling to dislodge the industrial-size lump, as Jennifer stepped forward and smiled reassuringly.
“My name is Rich Larsen. I’m looking for my sister, Sherry. I haven’t seen her in several years, but I think she lives next door.”
“Oh, Mr. Larsen. It’s so good that you’ve come,” the lady dithered. “I’m just so sorry you couldn’t have come sooner.” She pushed her screen door open and beckoned them in. “It’s too bad you couldn’t have come before…” Her voice trailed off, then she sighed. “It’s so sad.”
Chapter Two
She might as well have walloped him with a rifle butt. Rich staggered backward. Before what? No, he couldn’t have finally found her only to have…
Jennifer took charge. “I’m sorry, Ma’am. What’s happened?”
“You mean you don’t know?” The woman paled. “I am so sorry. I could have softened the blow some.”
“What blow? Please. Tell me what’s happened to my sister.”
“It was terrible, just terrible,” the lady said, wringing her hands. “They had gone out to celebrate their anniversary. Five years, I think it was. They didn’t go out much. They were just starting out and their budget was stretched to the limit. I used to sit with the little ones so they could take in a bargain matinee from time to time.”
“Please, Ma’am. My sister?” Rich didn’t like the way she kept referring to the past.
“It was a terrible accident. It was raining really hard and they skidded right into oncoming traffic. Mike was killed. Sherry’s in the hospital. Broke her neck. They tell me it’s going to be a long road before she’s back on her feet.”
Jennifer squeezed his hand, then released it. “Thank you, Mrs…. Can you tell us which hospital?”
“Oh, I’m sorry. I’m June Benton. She’s in Baptist Hospital. I think she’s supposed to be transferred to a rehab facility soon.” She wiped her hands on the dishtowel she was still holding. “Sherry often spoke of her big brother. I’m sure she’ll be glad to have you visit. It’ll help having family around at a time like this.”
Rich had heard everything, but he wasn’t sure he’d absorbed the content of what Mrs. Benton had said. He had still been thinking of the fifteen-year-old he’d last seen, and in one afternoon he’d learned she’d married, borne children and been widowed. Not to mention the injury from the accident. This was not the happy reunion he’d hoped for.
“Thank you, Mrs. Benton. We’re sorry to have bothered you.” Jennifer turned to Rich. “Come on, we’ll go to the hospital. At least, you can see her.”
“Yeah, sure.”
They started for the door, then Jennifer turned back. “Do you know what’s happened to the children?”
Kids. He hadn’t even thought about that. Sherry had kids. Who was taking care of them?
“Sherry’s friend, Rebecca, took them home with her.” Mrs. Benton looked inside. “I have a phone number for her somewhere.”
“That’s all right, Mrs. Benton. We have to hurry to reach the hospital before visiting hours are over. I can get that number later.” Jennifer was certain Rich would want to know once the shock wore off, but right now, it was better to let him see Sherry than find the location of the children he didn’t know. She took a business card from her purse and handed it to Mrs. Benton. “When you find it, call me. You can leave a message on my voice mail if I’m not there.”
Mrs. Benton took the card and studied it, then nodded.
“Thank you, again, for being so helpful.”
Rich had begun to show the classic signs of shock, so Jennifer took him by the arm and urged him through the door.
She steered him toward the passenger side of the truck and waited for him to protest, but Rich barely murmured a word as she climbed into the driver’s seat and adjusted it to accommodate her smaller frame. “I need the key.”
Rich dug it out of his pocket and handed it to her.
“There’s some cola left in the cup holder. I think if you drink some, you’ll feel better.” She wasn’t sure it would help, but Rich needed to do something, or when they did reach the hospital, they’d be visiting the emergency room and not his sister.
He did as she suggested. Jennifer checked the map for the location of the hospital, then turned the key.
Rich just stared out the window.
He’d probably been assuming that Sherry was living a fairy-tale life, and that presumption had just been tossed into the garbage. He might be in shock tonight, but when he had time to assimilate everything, he’d have questions, doubts. But for now, she knew he just needed to see his sister.
THE LARGE, suburban hospital came into view. Rich’s heart began to race, and his breath rushed to catch up with it. It might not have been the same hospital, but it was the same feeling all over again.
Rich tried to push away the memory of his mother’s last days, tried to forget those tumultuous, confusing weeks when he and Sherry had had nowhere to go, no one to turn to before the state put them into foster care. His father had died in the veterans’ hospital several years before from the aftereffects of his tour in Vietnam and alcoholism. The ten years Rich had spent in the air force might as well not have happened the way one look at that large hospital brought it all back.
Hospitals scared the bejesus out of him.
His parents had gone into hospitals and not come out. That Rick Larsen had not come home was a good thing in the long run, but Rich still missed his mother every day of his life. Please, he prayed silently, let this not be history repeating itself. He clutched the edges of the passenger seat and held on for dear life. Please, he prayed again, let Sherry leave this place. Let her go home to her kids.
Jennifer turned into the parking lot and followed the signs that directed them to the main entrance. “Do you want me to drop you at the door, or can you wait till we park?”
That was the $64,000 question. Yes, he wanted to see Sherry so bad he could taste it, but to do it, he’d have to go inside the hospital. He drew in a long, shuddering breath. He could wait a long time for that. He gripped the seat tighter. “I’ll wait,” he said finally. If he had to do this, he’d rather do it with Jennifer.
He didn’t need her to hold his hand, but he had no objection to it.
She found a parking space close to the front doors, and pulled in. “It’s close to the end of visiting hours, I’d expect,” she said as she turned off the engine. “We probably don’t have much time.”
The possibility that he might not get
to see Sherry at all gave him the strength to release his death grip on the seat. “Okay,” he said, his throat tight, his voice husky. He pushed open his door.
And couldn’t move an inch.
Damn, had his apprehension affected him so much that he was paralyzed with fear? Then he looked down.
He hadn’t unfastened his seat belt.
Hoping that Jennifer hadn’t noticed, but certain she had, he released the mechanism and stepped to the ground.
The air was still and thick enough to slice. Clouds piled up in the distance, obscuring the sinking sun, and flickers of lightning occasionally brightened the dark gray sky. The storm must be far out over the Gulf because there was no sound of thunder, but its proximity added a feeling of foreboding to the sultry atmosphere.
Rich felt a hand on his arm, and looked away from the gathering clouds to Jennifer. “I guess we’d best go see what we can see.”
Jennifer slid her fingers down his arm to squeeze his hand. “It’ll be all right. Didn’t Mrs. Benton say your sister was going to rehab soon? They don’t send them there unless they’re ready for physical therapy. And they don’t give them therapy if…” She didn’t finish, but Rich knew what she meant.
If they were at death’s door, she hadn’t said.
“Yeah.” He scanned the aisle for cars. “Let’s do it,” he said as if he were readying himself to jump out of the rear of a C-130 over a hostile drop zone. He set off with Jennifer in tow.
The front doors swooshed open at the touch of their feet to the door pad, and chilled air blasted them as they stepped inside.
Rich steeled himself for the medicinal odor that he associated with hospitals and death and still smelled in his nightmares, but it wasn’t there. Relieved, he hurried to the information desk, then peered through the glass partition. “I’m looking for my sister, Sherry Connolly. I just found out she’s a patient here.”
Uncle Sarge Page 2
