Blindsighted (14 page)

Lena went back into the hallway to get her coat. She was slipping it on when she felt someone helping her. She was surprised to see Richard Carter behind her.

"I wanted to tell you," he said, his tone hushed, "that I'm sorry about your sister."

"Thanks," she managed. "I appreciate that."

"Have you found anything about that other girl?"

"Matthews?" she asked before she could catch herself. Lena had grown up in a small town, but she was still amazed at how quickly word got around.

"That Gordon," Richard said, giving a dramatic shudder. "He's not a very nice boy."

"Yeah," Lena mumbled, trying to move him along. "Listen, thanks for coming tonight."

His smile was slight. He realized she was moving him along, but obviously he did not want to make it easy for her. He said, "I really enjoyed working with your sister. She was very good to me."

Lena shifted from one foot to another, not wanting to give him the impression that she was looking for a long conversation. She knew Frank well enough to know he wouldn't wait for very long.

"She enjoyed working with you, too, Richard," Lena offered.

"Did she say that?" he asked, obviously pleased. "I mean, I know she respected my work, but did she say that?"

"Yes," Lena said. "All the time." She picked out Hank in the crowd. He still had his arm around Nan. She pointed them out to Richard. "Ask my uncle. He was just talking about it the other day."

"Really?" Richard said, putting his hands up to his mouth.

"Yes," Lena answered, taking her car keys out of her coat pocket. "Listen, can you give these to my uncle?"

He stared at the keys without taking them. This was one of the reasons Sibyl had gotten along so well with Richard, she wasn't able to see the condescending looks he gave. In fact, Sibyl seemed to have the patience of Job where Richard Carter was concerned. Lena knew for a fact that Sibyl had helped him get out of academic probation on more than one occasion.

"Richard?" she asked, dangling the keys.

"Sure," he finally said, holding out his hand.

Lena dropped the keys onto his palm. She waited until he had taken a few steps away, then scooted out the side door. Frank was waiting in his car, the lights out.

"Sorry I'm late," Lena said, getting in. She wrinkled her nose when she smelled smoke. Technically, Frank was not allowed to smoke around her when they were on the job, but she kept her mouth shut since he was doing her a favor letting her ride along.

"Those college people," Frank said. He took a drag on the cigarette, then chucked it out the window. "Sorry," he offered.

"It's okay," Lena said. She felt odd being dressed up and in Frank's car. For some reason, she was reminded of her first date. Lena was strictly a jeans and T-shirt girl, so putting on a dress was a big deal. She felt awkward wearing heels and hose, and never knew how to sit or where to put her hands. She missed her holster.

"About your sister," Frank began.

Lena let him off the hook. "Yeah, thanks," she said.

Night had fallen while Lena was in the funeral home, and the farther away from town they got, the farther away from streetlights and people, the darker it got in the car.

"This thing at old Will's house," Frank began, breaking the silence. "I don't know about that, Lena."

"You think Pete had a hand in it?"

"I don't know," Frank repeated. "Will worked for his daddy, maybe twenty years before Pete came along. That's something you shouldn't forget." He reached for a cigarette, then stopped himself. "I just don't know."

Lena waited, but there was nothing more. She kept her hands in her lap, staring ahead as Frank drove out of town. They crossed the city line and were well into Madison before Frank slowed his car, taking a hard right onto a dead-end street.

Pete Wayne's brick ranch house was modest, much like the man. His car, a 1996 Dodge with red tape where the taillights used to be, was parked in the driveway at an angle.

Frank pulled the car up to the curb and cut the headlights. He gave a nervous laugh. "You all dressed up like that, I feel like I should get your door for you."

"Don't you dare," Lena countered, grabbing the handle in case he was serious.

"Hold on," Frank said, putting his hand on Lena's arm. She thought he was pushing the joke, but something about his tone made her look up. Pete was coming out of his house, a baseball bat in his hand.

Frank said, "Stay here."

"The hell I will," Lena said, opening her door before he could stop her. The dome light came on in the car, and Pete Wayne looked up.

Frank said, "Good going, kid."

Lena bit back her anger over the nickname. She walked up the driveway behind Frank, feeling stupid in the high heels and long dress.

Pete watched them coming, keeping the bat at his side. "Frank?" he asked. "What's up?"

"Mind if we come in for a second?" Frank asked, adding, "Brother."

Pete gave a nervous sideways look to Lena. She knew these lodge people had their own special code of language. What exactly Frank meant by calling Pete his brother, she had no idea. For all she knew, Frank was telling Pete to hit Lena with the bat.

Pete said, "I was just going out."

"I see that," Frank said, eyeing the bat. "Little late for practice, ain't it?"

Pete handled the bat nervously. "I was just putting it into the van. Got a little nervous about what happened at the diner," he said. "Thought I'd keep it behind the bar."

"Let's go inside," Frank said, not giving Pete a chance to respond. He walked up the front steps and stood at the front door, waiting for Pete to catch up, hovering over the other man as he fumbled with his keys in the lock.

Lena followed them. By the time they reached the kitchen, Pete was noticeably on guard. His hand was wrapped so tightly around the bat that his knuckles had turned white.

"What's the problem here?" Pete asked, directing his question toward Frank.

"Will Harris had a problem this afternoon," Frank said. "Somebody threw a rock into his front window."

"That's too bad," Pete answered, his voice flat.

"I gotta say, Pete," Frank said, "I think you did it."

Pete laughed uncomfortably. "You think I got time to run down and toss a brick through that boy's window? I've got a business to run. I don't have time to take a crap most days, let alone take a trip."

Lena said, "What makes you think it was a brick?"

Pete swallowed hard. "Just a guess."

Frank grabbed the bat out of his hand. "Will's worked for your family for nearly fifty years."

"I know that," Pete said, taking a step back.

"There were times when your daddy had to pay him with food instead of money because he couldn't afford help otherwise." Frank weighted the bat in his hand. "You remember that, Pete? You remember when the base closed and y'all almost went under?"

Pete's face flushed. " 'Course I remember that."

"Let me tell you something, boy," Frank said, putting the tip of the bat squarely against Pete's chest. "You listen to me good when I tell you this. Will Harris didn't touch that girl."

"You know that for a fact?" Pete countered.

Lena put her hand on the bat, bringing it down. She stepped in front of Pete, looking him in the eye. She said, "I do."

Pete broke eye contact first. His eyes went to the floor, and his posture took on a nervous stance. He shook his head, letting out a heavy breath. When he looked up, it was Frank he spoke to. "We've gotta talk."

Chapter Thirteen

EDDIE Linton had purchased acreage around the lake when he first started making money from his plumbing business. He also owned six houses near the college that he rented out to students, as well as an apartment complex over in Madison that he was always threatening to sell. When Sara moved back to Grant from Atlanta, she had refused to live in her parents' house. Something about moving back home, living in her old room, smacked of defeat to Sara, and at the time she was feeling beaten down enough without the constant reminder that she did not even have a space of her own.

She had rented one of her fathers houses her first year back, then started working weekends at the hospital in Augusta in order to save up a down payment for her own place. She had fallen in love with her house the first time the realtor showed her through. Built in a shotgun style, the house's front door lined up directly with the back door. Off to the sides of the long hallway were two bedrooms, a bathroom, and a small den on the right, with the living room, dining room, another bathroom and kitchen on the left. Of course, she would have bought the house if it had been a shack, because the view to the lake was phenomenal from the deck off the back. Her bedroom took full advantage of this, a large picture window flanked by three windows that opened out on either side.

On days like today, she could see clear across, nearly to the university. Some days, when the weather was right, Sara took her boat into the school dock and walked to work.

Sara opened the window in her bedroom so she could hear Jeb's boat when he got to the dock. Last night had seen another soft rain, and a cool breeze was coming off the lake. She studied her appearance in the mirror on the back of the door. She had chosen a wraparound skirt with a small floral print and a tight black Lycra shirt that fell just below her navel. Already, she had put her hair up, then let it back down. She was in the process of pinning it back up when she heard a boat at the dock. She slipped on her sandals and grabbed two glasses and a bottle of wine before walking out the back door.

"Ahoy," Jeb said, tossing her a rope. He tucked his hands into his orange life vest, affecting what Sara supposed he thought was a jaunty sailor look.

"Ahoy yourself," Sara answered, kneeling by the bollard. She put the wine and glasses down on the dock as she tied off the line. "Still haven't learned to swim, have you?"

"Both my parents were terrified of the water," he explained. "They never got around to it. And it's not like I grew up near water."

"Good point," she said. Having grown up on a lake, swimming came second nature to Sara. She could not imagine not knowing how. "You should learn," she said. "Especially since you're boating."

"Don't need to know how," Jeb said, patting the boat as he would a dog. "I can walk on water with this baby."

She stood up, admiring the boat. "Nice."

"Real babe magnet," he joked, unhooking the vest. She knew he was teasing, but the boat, painted a deep metallic black, was sleek and sexy, with a dangerous look about it. Unlike Jeb McGuire in his bulky orange life jacket.

Jeb said, "I'll tell you what, Sara, if you ever looked at me the way you're looking at my boat right now, I'd have to marry you."

She laughed at herself, saying, "It's a very pretty boat."

He pulled out a picnic basket and said, "I'd offer to take you for a ride, but it's a bit nippy on the water."

"We can sit here," she said, indicating the chairs and table on the edge of the dock. "Do I need to get silverware or anything?"

Jeb smiled. "I know you better than that, Sara Linton," He opened the picnic basket and took out silverware and napkins. He had also had the foresight to bring plates and glasses. Sara tried not to lick her lips when he pulled out fried chicken, mashed potatoes, peas, corn, and biscuits.

"Are you trying to seduce me?" she asked.

Jeb stopped, his hand on a tub of gravy. "Is it working?"

The dogs barked, and all Sara could think was Thank God for small favors. She turned back to the house, saying, "They never bark. I'll just go check."

"You want me to come, too?"

Sara was about to tell him no but changed her mind. She had not been making that part up about the dogs. Billy and Bob had barked exactly twice since she had rescued them from the racing track in Ebro; once when Sara had accidentally stepped on Bob's tail, and once when a bird had flown down the chimney into the living room.

She felt Jeb's hand at her back as they walked up the yard toward the house. The sun was just dipping down over the roofline, and she shielded her eyes with her hand, recognizing Brad Stephens standing at the edge of the driveway.

"Hey, Brad," Jeb said.

The patrolman gave a curt nod to Jeb, but his eyes were on Sara.

"Brad?" she asked.

"Ma'am." Brad took off his hat. "The chief's been shot."

Sara had never really pushed the Z3 Roadster. Even when she drove it back from Atlanta, the speedometer had stayed at a steady seventy-five the entire way. She was doing ninety as she drove the back route to the Grant Medical Center. The ten-minute drive seemed to take hours, and by the time Sara made the turn into the hospital, her palms were sweating on the wheel.

She pulled into a handicap space at the side of the building so she would not block the ambulance doors. Sara was running by the time she reached the emergency room.

"What happened?" she asked Lena Adams, who was standing in front of the admitting desk. Lena opened her mouth to answer, but Sara ran past her into the hallway. She checked each room as she went by, finally finding Jeffrey in the third exam room.

Ellen Bray did not seem surprised to see Sara in the room. The nurse was putting a blood pressure cuff around his arm when Sara walked in.

Sara put her hand on Jeffrey's forehead. His eyes opened slightly, but he did not seem to register her presence.

"What happened?" she asked.

Ellen handed Sara the chart, saying, "Buckshot to his leg. Nothing serious or they would've taken him to Augusta."

Sara glanced down at the chart. Her eyes wouldn't focus. She couldn't even make out the columns.

"Sara?" Ellen said, her voice filled with compassion. She had worked in the Augusta emergency room most of her career. She was in semiretirement now, supplementing her pension by working nights at the Grant Medical Center. Sara had worked with her years ago, and the two women had a solid professional relationship built on mutual respect.

Ellen said, "He's fine, really. The Demerol should knock him out soon. Most of his pain is coming from Hare digging around in his leg."

"Hare?" Sara asked, feeling a little relief for the first time in the last twenty minutes. Her cousin Hareton was a general practitioner who sometimes filled in at the hospital. "Is he here?"

Ellen nodded, pumping the cuff's bladder. She held up her finger for silence.

Jeffrey stirred, then slowly opened his eyes. When he recognized Sara, a slight smile crept across his lips.

Ellen released the blood pressure cuff, saying, "One-forty-five over ninety-two."

Sara frowned, looking back at Jeffrey's chart. The words finally started to make sense.

"I'll go fetch Dr. Earnshaw," Ellen said.

"Thanks," Sara said, flipping the chart open. "When did you start on Coreg?" she asked. "How long have you had high blood pressure?"

Jeffrey smiled slyly. "Since you walked into the room."

Sara skimmed the chart. "Fifty milligrams a day. You just switched from captopril? Why did you stop?" She got the answer in the chart. " 'Nonproductive cough prompted change,' " she read aloud.

Hare walked into the room, saying, "That's common with ACE inhibitors."

Sara ignored her cousin as he put his arm around her shoulders.

She asked Jeffrey, "Who are you seeing for this?"

"Lindley," Jeffrey answered.

"Did you tell him about your father?" Sara snapped the chart closed. "I can't believe he didn't give you an inhaler. What's your cholesterol like?"

"Sara." Hare snatched the chart from her hands. "Shut up."

Jeffrey laughed. "Thank you."

Sara crossed her arms, anger welling up. She had been so worried on the drive over, expecting the worst, and now that she was here, Jeffrey was fine. She was inordinately relieved that he was okay, but for some reason she was feeling tricked by her emotions.

"Lookit," Hare said, popping an X ray into the lightbox mounted on the wall. He gasped audibly, saying, "Oh my God, that's the worst I've ever seen."

Sara cut him with a look, turning the X ray right side up.

"Oh, thank God." Hare sighed dramatically. When he saw she wasn't enjoying his sideshow, he frowned. The thing that made Sara both love and hate her cousin was he seldom took things very seriously.

Hare said, "Missed his artery, missed his bone. Cut right through here on the inside." He gave her a reassuring smile. "Nothing bad at all."

Sara ignored the evaluation, leaning closer to double-check Hare's findings. Aside from the fact that her relationship with her cousin had always been riddled with fierce competition, she wanted to make sure for herself that nothing had been missed.

"Let's turn you over on your left side," Hare suggested to Jeffrey, waiting for Sara to help. Sara kept Jeffrey's injured right leg stable as they turned him, offering, "This should help bring your blood pressure down a little. Are you due for your medication tonight?"

Jeffrey supplied, "I'm late on a few doses."

"Late?" Sara felt her own blood pressure rise. "Are you an idiot?"

"I ran out," Jeffrey mumbled.

"Ran out? You're within walking distance of the pharmacy." She leveled a deep frown at Jeffrey. "What were you thinking?"

"Sara?" Jeffrey interrupted. "Did you come all the way over here to yell at me?"

She did not have an answer.

Hare suggested, "Maybe she can give you a second opinion on whether or not you should go home tonight?"

"Ah." Jeffrey's eyes crinkled with a smile. "Well, since you're giving a second opinion, Dr. Linton, I've been experiencing some tenderness in my groin. Do you mind taking a look?"

Sara offered a tight smile. "I could do a rectal exam."

"It's about time you got your turn."

"Je-e-sus," Hare groaned. "I'm gonna leave you two lovebirds alone."

"Thanks, Hare," Jeffrey called. Hare tossed a wave over his shoulder as he left the room.

"So," Sara began, crossing her arms.

Jeffrey raised an eyebrow. "So?"

"What happened? Did her husband come home?"

Jeffrey laughed, but there was a strained look in his eyes. "Close the door."

Sara did as she was told. "What happened?" she repeated.

Jeffrey put his hand to his eyes. "I don't know. It was so fast."

Sara took a step closer, taking his hand despite her better judgment.

"Will Harris's house was vandalized today."

"Will from the diner?" Sara asked. "For God's sake, why?"

He shrugged. "I guess some people got it into their heads that he was involved with what happened to Sibyl Adams."

"He wasn't even there when it happened," Sara answered, not understanding. "Why would anyone think that?"

"I don't know, Sara." He sighed, dropping his hand. "I knew something bad would happen. Too many people are jumping to conclusions. Too many people are pushing this thing out of hand."

"Like who?"

"I don't know," he managed. "I was staying at Will's house to make sure he was safe. We were watching a movie when I heard something outside." He shook his head, as if he still could not believe what had happened. "I got up off the couch to see what was going on, and one of the side windows just exploded like that." He snapped his fingers. "Next thing I know, I'm on the floor, my leg's on fire. Thank God Will was sitting in his chair or he would've been hit, too."

"Who did it?"

"I don't know," he answered, but she could tell from the set of his jaw that he had a good guess.

She was about to question him further when he reached his hand out, resting it on her hip. "You look beautiful."

Sara felt a small jolt of electricity as his thumb slipped under her shirt, stroking her side. His fingers slipped under the back of her shirt. They were warm against her skin.

"I had a date," she said, feeling a rush of guilt for leaving Jeb at her house. He had been very understanding, as usual, but she still felt bad about abandoning him.

Jeffrey watched her through half-closed eyes. He either did not believe her about the date or he would not accept that it could have been anything serious. "I love it when your hair is down," he said. "Did you know that?"

"Yeah," she said, putting her hand over his, stopping him, breaking the spell. "Why didn't you tell me you have high blood pressure?"

Jeffrey let his arm drop. "I didn't want to give you one more fault to add to your list." His smile was a little forced and incongruous with the glassy look in his eyes. Like Sara, he seldom took anything stronger than aspirin, and the Demerol seemed to be working fast.

"Give me your hand," Jeffrey said. She shook her head, but he persisted, holding his hand out to her. "Hold my hand."

"Why should I?"

"Because you could've seen me at the morgue tonight instead of the hospital."

Sara bit her lip, fighting back the tears that wanted to come. "You're okay now," she said, putting her hand to his cheek. "Go to sleep."

He closed his eyes. She could tell that he was fighting to stay awake for her benefit.

"I don't want to go to sleep," he said, then fell asleep.

Sara stared at him, watching his chest rise and fall with each breath. She reached out, smoothing his hair back off his forehead, leaving her hand there for a few seconds before putting her palm to his cheek. His beard was coming in, a speckled black against his face and neck. She brushed her fingers lightly along the stubble, smiling at the memories that came. Sleeping, he reminded her of the Jeffrey she had fallen in love with: the man who listened to her talk about her day, the man who opened doors for her and killed spiders and changed the batteries in the smoke detectors. Sara finally took his hand and kissed it before leaving the room.