“Got a cig on you?”
Angie was glad his eyes weren’t open, because she didn’t want him to see the look of shock she was sure was on her face. “You’re in the Neuro Patient Care Unit,” she managed.
“Okay. Got it.” He breathed deeply then looked her over. His smile turned lecherous. “I’ve always liked red hair.”
A wayward thought struck a jealous blow to Angie’s gut. Did Dawn have red hair?
He smiled sleepily. “Think I’m gonna doze off for a little bit.”
Angie took his hand. “Good idea.” He looked exhausted. It was probably best he take a break. She sure as hell knew she needed one. “Sleep well.”
“How about a kiss for your almost-fiancé?” he teased.
She bent down and touched her lips to his. Somehow this kiss was different. Were his lips firmer? Colder? No, she realized. She straightened as a chill ran down her back. It was like kissing a stranger.
***
Wednesday night’s happy hour at the Ice House was busy, despite the reduced kitchen offerings.
Which seemed to be okay with the regulars. Word had spread about Dorothy Jo’s spell, and, despite the diminished menu, folks streamed in to hear the latest on how the cook was doing.
Aaron Rodriguez sat at the bar. Though he’d cleaned up from a day of working on cars, he still smelled of gasoline and oil. “Hasn’t got out of the neurology care unit yet, I hear,” Aaron was saying.
Bo nodded as he pulled four IPA’s for one of Chelsea’s tables. “But Angie said he was stable.”
The phone in the pass-through rang, and Bo pushed off the counter to get it. “Angie’s Fire and Ice House.”
“Hey, Bo. It’s Pearl.”
Immediately Bo knew something wasn’t right. Pearl’s voice was shaky and barely above a whisper. “What’s wrong, honey?”
“My sister. Judith. She’s gone.”
Bo’s heart sank for the woman he loved. “I’m so sorry, honey. When?”
“About ten minutes ago. I was with her, thank God.” Her voice broke.
“Have you called the—” He stopped. Who did one call when a person passed away in their home after fighting cancer? The ambulance? The sheriff? This was too much for Pearl to handle alone. He should be there.
“I called hospice. They’re on their way over. They’ve already started making the calls.”
Bo breathed a sigh of relief. “I’ll call Warren and see if he can cover for me—”
“He’s over at Sherylene’s taking care of the cows. He can’t come. At least for a few hours.”
He thought of Pearl alone in the house with her sister’s body in the back bedroom. “You shouldn’t be alone.”
“I know. I was thinking of giving Elsbeth a call.”
Bo grimaced. If Elsbeth came, she’d take control, and possibly stay over. There was a chance he might not even get to see Pearl tonight.
“I don’t know what else to do.”
Bo stood straighter. “You call her. Absolutely. She’s your best friend. And she’ll be able to help you with all the church arrangements and stuff.”
“I’ll make sure she’s gone before you get off work.”
He hated the fact that Pearl sounded apologetic. “Well, we both know Elsbeth can be pretty stubborn. Give me a call when she leaves. If I don’t hear from you, I’ll assume she stayed.”
“I don’t want her here overnight. I want you.”
“This is all going to work out, honey. I’m sorry you have to go through all of this.”
“At least Judith’s not hurting anymore.”
There was no doubt in Bo’s mind that tears were pouring down Pearl’s cheeks. “I know,” he said softly. “She’s at peace now.”
“Yes. That’s right.”
“Hey, Bo!” Chelsea called through the pass-through. “You gonna make these drinks or am I?”
Apparently Pearl had heard the snip in Chelsea’s voice. “You’ve got to go. And I’ve got to call Elsbeth.”
“I love you, sweetheart.”
“I love you, too.”
***
Angie waited for Matt’s breathing to even out in sleep before she allowed herself to react to the sucker punch she’d taken to the gut. She backed away from the bed, unable to close her mouth, then slammed it shut when vomit slid up her throat. She brought a fist to her lips, but the gagging was insistent. She ran from the Neuro PCU and barely made it to the nearest washroom before the acidic puke broke the dam of her clenched teeth.
Jesus, God. What had just happened? The man in that bed is not Matt!
As she vomited, tears streaked down her face. She put her hands on the wall behind the toilet to steady herself. When she thought she was finished, she backed up to the still open stall door, slammed it shut and slid down its metal surface to the floor.
A tap sounded on the door.
Angie was too weak to answer. Too weak to move.
“Miss O’Day?” It was the voice of the Matt’s nurse, Joanne Frugoni. “Is everything okay?”
Maybe if I close my eyes this will all go away.
“Miss O’Day?”
Angie heard the outer door open, then footsteps that stopped outside the stall. “Angie? Are you all right?”
It took all her strength to answer, “No.”
“What’s wrong?” Joanne rattled at the stall door, but Angie’s body blocked it. “Have you fallen?”
Angie’s tears turned to sobs. She curled into a ball, holding her arms so tight that her fingers dug white blotches into her skin.
“Angie, please. Let me help you.”
Angie couldn’t summon the strength to even think about standing. Instead, she rolled to her side and lay down on the cold tile floor.
Joanne opened the door above her. “What’s happened?” She got down on her knee, immediately reaching for Angie’s pulse.
“He’s . . . he’s not Matt.” Already Angie’s voice was hoarse.
“What do you mean?”
“He doesn’t remember me. He doesn’t remember he’s a pastor. He didn’t even know he lived in Texas.”
“Angie, he’s had a traumatic brain injury. This isn’t unexpected.” Joanne got up, then Angie heard water running in the sink. The nurse returned, and Angie felt a cool, wet paper towel on her forehead. “Let’s get you cleaned up. We’ll go talk outside. The air will do you good.”
“You’re on duty.”
“It’s time for my break. Come on, honey. There’s a few things you need to know.”
***
The car wreck was bad. James W. surveyed the carnage of the flatbed truck loaded with lumber and its collision with a Dodge Caravan loaded with kids coming back from a Little League game. Two people dead, and the ambulances were pulling away with the last of the injured. His deputies signaled for the waiting tow trucks to approach. He was about to make his way over to them when his cell phone rang. He pulled it from his pocket and saw that it was Elsbeth. After their truce last night about him not answering her calls, he knew he had to take it.
“Hey, honey,” he said.
“I’ve got some bad news, darlin’. Pearl’s sister passed away an hour ago.”
James W. sighed. He’d had enough of death and sorrow tonight. “I’m sorry, sweetheart. How’s Pearl doing?”
“She’s devastated. Pearl’s had such a hard life, I don’t know how she keeps going.”
He had to agree with that. Pearl’s first marriage had been to his half-brother, Roth. Though she’d since remarried, he’d never stopped thinking of her as family. “Where are you?”
“On my way over to Judith’s. Well, I guess it’s Pearl’s place now. Whoops!”
James W.’s eyes widened as he heard a squeal of brakes.
“Don’t even think of lecturin’ me about talkin’ on my phone when I’m driving,” Elsbeth said, anticipating his reproof. “It was only a squirrel.”
He decided to let it go. “What’s the situation?”
“Pearl�
�s called hospice. They’re over there already. But you’ve got to come right away.”
“I’m kinda busy right now, honey.”
“We’re her only family left!” Elsbeth sounded horrified. “Besides, she wants to stay in that house alone tonight. You need to come and talk some sense into her.”
Another squeal of breaks, and Elsbeth’s sharp intake of breath came across the line.
“What was that?” James W. demanded.
“Warren Yeck never looks where he’s going,” she said. “You come straight to the farm, you hear?”
James W. sighed. The only way to get Elsbeth off the phone was to agree to her terms. “Fine. I’ll get there as soon as I can.” They were almost at a point where he could leave. His men could finish up the investigation. “Now, honey, get off the phone, and don’t you call anyone else.”
“So bossy,” Elsbeth huffed. “I’m a good driver, you know that.”
“I’m on my way. Promise me no more phone calls.” He took her silence to be a passive agreement. “Give Pearl a hug for me. I’ll be there in about an hour.”
Chapter Eleven
Where’s My Matt?
“He doesn’t know who I am,” Angie sobbed. She and Joanne Frugoni were seated outside the hospital on a settee obscured from view by a tall hedge. “Doesn’t know he’s a pastor. He sounded like some street thug, the way he talked.”
Joanne laid a comforting hand on Angie’s shoulder. “His brain has suffered a severe trauma,” she said. “It’s too early to tell if this is permanent.”
“But it can be permanent, can’t it?” Angie insisted. “He may never remember any of us. Me. James W. Any of the folks that go to his church.” She felt the nausea climbing up her throat again. “There’s so many people that depend on him.”
“It’s too early to know. His brain is still swollen. There’s no telling what will happen as it heals.”
Angie knew the nurse was right. But there was one thought that haunted her above all others. “He doesn’t love me anymore.”
“He doesn’t remember he loves you right now.” Joanne’s sigh was heavy. “This is something you need to talk with Dr. Ryan about. She’s an expert on head trauma. One of the best in the business.”
“The thing is,” Angie drew in a deep breath, “his life is in danger. Seriously. There’s someone out there who wants to kill him.”
“Does he realize that?”
“Oh, yeah. He even knows who’s behind the kill orders. That he remembers.”
“Then he’ll be cautious,” Joanne said. “He’ll do what James W. tells him to do.”
Angie shook her head. James W. didn’t know who to protect Matt from either. If only they could go back to Wilks. “When do you think the doctor’s going to let him go to a general floor?”
“The brain swelling has gone down. That’s one reason he’s more awake now. But he’s not out of danger yet. We’re watching his ICP very closely.”
“ICP?” Angie drew a deep breath.
“Intracranial pressure. It’s an indicator of bleeding inside the brain. His hasn’t been holding steady.”
Angie stubbed her toe into the gravel beneath the seat. “Matt’s easier to protect here, anyway. There’s limited accessibility to the general public. One door in. One door out. Staff desk right in front of the exit. We have no idea who tried to kill him last week.”
Joanne hesitated. “And if he regains more of his memory?”
“Maybe he’ll remember who shot him.”
A thought was forming in Angie’s mind. Perhaps for that reason alone it would be a good idea for her to get her act together before Matt left Neuro PCU. Whether he loved her or not, he’d need her protection once he got out. “Dr. Ryan will be in around eight o’clock like usual tomorrow?”
Joanne nodded. “She will, but I won’t. I’ve worked four days on. I get the next three off.” She stood. “Speaking of which, I have to get back to my shift. Are you gonna be okay?”
Angie sighed heavily. She needed to see the folks whom she knew loved her. A simple hug from Dorothy Jo, or a slanted smile from Bo would go a long way right now. “I need a day or two to think through all this. Before he gets onto a general floor, this might be the time to head home.”
“Stay the night,” Joanne said. “Talk to Dr. Ryan in the morning. Her job isn’t just head injuries. She knows how traumatic the dynamics are on the family as well.”
“Yes,” Angie said. She rose from the settee. “I’m too tired to drive back tonight, anyway. Besides, maybe he’ll wake up and remember me and who he is. Then that part of my nightmare would be over.”
***
James W. pulled up to the shotgun farmhouse that had belonged to Pearl’s sister, Judith. He figured the place would go to Pearl now. Elsbeth was right. He and his wife were the only thing close to kin that Pearl had left. For the short time that Pearl had dated, then married, his older brother, Roth, they’d shared their Christmases and Easters and Thanksgivings and weddings and funerals. Even after Roth died in Iran, and again after Pearl had married that no-good skunk Ernie Masterson, James W.’d still considered Pearl his sister-in-law. That’s the way family worked.
He walked up the porch’s wooden steps, went to the screen door and knocked.
Elsbeth opened the door. “She’s in the kitchen making tea.”
James W. tossed his hat on the entryway bench, then gave Elsbeth a peck on the cheek. “How’s she holding up?”
Elsbeth shot him a look that was half annoyance and half worry. “Stubbornly.”
Pearl came around the corner from the kitchen and headed straight for James W. “I’m so glad you’re here.”
He wrapped her in a bear hug. “Sweetheart,” he cooed. “I’m so sorry.”
The two of them stood together like that for a long moment. Her shoulders shook as she silently cried into his chest. “Oh, James W.,” she said. “I miss her so much.”
James W. was pleased that, for once, Elsbeth let the scene play out without adding her two cents. When the whistle on the teapot blew, his wife headed for the kitchen to attend to the tea.
Pearl pulled herself away from James W. “They’ve taken her to Paradise Funeral Home. Hospice—” she sucked in breath to control herself. “Hospice was wonderful. They took care of everything.”
“They’re good people,” James W. said. He walked her over to the paisley upholstered couch and helped her sit.
“Yes. I talked with Pastor Fred already. He said he’ll be happy—well, he didn’t say that exactly—but he said he’d be here to officiate. At the service.”
James W. nodded. “I think he’s pretty much going to take over pastoring duties here until the preacher comes back.”
Pearl looked up at that. “How is Pastor Hayden?”
“Angie says he’s waking up more and more. Talking. Moving fingers and toes.”
“Thank goodness,” Pearl breathed out in a sigh. “He’s such a good man.”
Elsbeth entered with a tray loaded with tea and brownies. “I’m glad to hear the pastor’s doing better.” She put the tray down on the coffee table and sat down beside Pearl.
James W. picked up a brownie and chomped on it appreciatively. “Did you make these, Pearl?”
“No. Sherylene Seegler brought them over.” Pearl poured herself a cup of tea. “Imagine. Her comforting me with her husband barely in the ground.”
“We all take care of each other,” Elsbeth said as she put her arm around Pearl. “Which is why you’re going to come home with us and let us take care of you.”
“I really want to stay here,” Pearl said. She sent a pleading look towards James W. “I need to take care of some things.”
“Like what?” Elsbeth asked.
“Like cleaning house, for one thing,” Pearl said. “Folks’re gonna start coming over here first thing in the morning. I want them to see Judith’s place at its best.” She looked around the room. “The hospice folks and funeral home people were wonderful. An
d your man, Richard Dube,” she nodded to James W. “But between their tramping through here and all the stuff in the bathroom and Judith’s room—”
“Clean house? At this time of night?” Elsbeth shook her head. “I should say not!”
“It’s what I have to do,” Pearl said. “For Judith.”
“Then I’ll stay and help.”
“I want to do this by myself, Elsbeth. For her.” Again Pearl sent a pleading look in James W.’s direction. “You understand, don’t you?”
James W. sighed. He hated being put between Elsbeth and just about anything. But Pearl was the one who was in mourning. She alone knew what she needed. “Elsbeth. Maybe we—”
“I can’t believe you think her staying here alone all night is a good idea.” His wife’s fists lodged on her hips.
He shook his head. “Honey, I don’t know what’s a good idea when someone dies. I’d like to think that it’s up to us to respect Pearl’s wishes, instead of causing her even more fuss on what’s been a hard night.”
Elsbeth looked like she’d been slapped. “Fuss?”
“Thank you, Elsbeth,” Pearl put a hand to the woman’s large cheek. “That’s exactly right, James W. Elsbeth. Let’s not fuss anymore tonight. Let me be. It’s what I need.”
***
It’s after midnight, and I’m enjoying an adult beverage in my Bastrop apartment, the satellite phone within easy reach. The Chief’s supposed to call any minute. He was pretty receptive to my idea about bombing downtown Austin, but he wanted to check a few things out first. I’m pretty pumped about this idea. I love watching a good explosion.
I finish off my Jameson’s and head for the kitchenette’s small sink. The place is far from elegant, but it’s a half hour away from the prying eyes of the Wilks gossipers. Lord knows I can’t have them seeing who comes and goes through my apartment door—or what hour of the night I finally get home. Besides, the one bedroom flat has a good air conditioner and new appliances which is way better than anything I could’ve rented closer to Wilks.
I finish drying my hands when the sat phone rings. Hot damn, this is it!
Murder on the Third Try Page 8
