An Ice Cold Grave

"Is he dating someone special?" I asked. I was pretty sure I knew the answer.



"If he is, he hasn't said anything." After a pause, Tolliver said, "Speaking of dating, I ran into Manfred at the motel."



I almost asked why that reminded him of dating, but I thought the better of it. "Yeah, he came by," I said. "He told me Xylda had had a vision or something and decided she better come here, too. He told me that Xylda is dying, and I guess he's indulging her as much as he can. He's sure a good grandson."



Tolliver looked at me skeptically. His eyebrows had risen so far that they looked like part of his hairline. "Right. And Xylda just happens to have a vision telling her that a woman he wants - he thinks you're hot, don't pretend you don't know that - needs her help. You don't think he had something to do with that?"



Actually, I felt a little shocked. "No," I said. "I think he came because Xylda said to."



Tolliver practically sneered. I felt a strong dislike for him, just for that moment. He shot to his feet and walked around the little hospital room.



"Probably he can't wait until his grandmother dies. Then he can stop carting her around, and be your agent instead."



"Tolliver!"



He stopped speaking. Finally.



"That's an awful thing to say," I said. We'd seen the flawed side of human nature over and over, no doubt about it. But I liked to think we weren't wholly cynical.



"You can't see it," he said, his voice quiet.



"You're seeing something that isn't there," I said. "I'm not an idiot. I know Manfred likes me. I also know he loves his grandmother, and he wouldn't have hauled her out into this cold weather with her failing, unless she told him he had to."



Tolliver kept his head down, his eyes to himself. I felt I was trembling on the edge of saying something that would push our little barrel over the waterfall, something I'd never be able to take back. And Tolliver was suffering under some burden of his own. I could read the secrets of the dead, but I couldn't tell what my brother was thinking at that moment. I wasn't completely sure I wanted to.



"This past Christmas, just us alone, that was a pretty good Christmas," he said.



And then the nurse came in to take my temperature and my blood pressure, and the second was gone forever. Tolliver straightened out my blanket, and I lay back on my pillows.



"Raining again," the nurse remarked, casting a glance out at the gray sky. "I don't think it'll ever stop."



Neither of us had anything to say about that.



The sheriff came by that afternoon. She was wearing heavy outdoor clothes and her boots were coated with mud. Not for the first time I reflected that there were worse places to be than this hospital. One of those places was digging through nearly freezing dirt for clues, breathing in the reek of bodies that were in different stages of decay, telling the bad news to families who'd been waiting to hear about their missing boys for weeks, months, years. Yes, indeed. A concussion and a broken arm in the Doraville hospital were far preferable to that.



The sheriff may have been thinking the same thing. She started off angry. "I'll thank you to keep your media-seeking friends away from here," she said, biting the words out as if they were sour lemons.



"I'm sorry?"



"Your psychic friend, whatever her name is."



"Xylda Bernardo," Tolliver said.



"Yes, she's been down at the station making a scene."



"What kind of scene?" I asked.



"Telling anyone who'd listen how she'd predicted you'd find these bodies, how she'd sent you up here, how she knew you were going to be hurt."



"None of that is true," Tolliver said.



"I didn't think it was. But she's clouding the issue. You know - you show up, of course we're all skeptical, we all think the worst. But then you came through for us somehow. You did find the boys, and we know you couldn't have had prior knowledge of their burial place. Or at least if you did we haven't figured out how."



I sighed, tried to make it unobtrusive.



"But then she showed up with that weird grandson of hers. She acts out, he just smiles."



There was nothing else he could do, of course.



"Plus, she looks like she's gonna drop dead any minute. At least you-all are adding to our hospital revenue," the sheriff added more cheerfully.



There was a cursory knock at the door and it drifted open to show a big man, his fist still raised.



"Hey, Sheriff," he said, sounding surprised.



"Barney, hey," she said.



"Am I interrupting?"



"No, come on in, I was just leaving," Sheriff Rockwell said. "Back out into the cold and wet." She stood and began pulling her gloves on. I wondered why she had come by. Complaining about Xylda just didn't seem like a meaningful reason. After all, what could we do about her? "Have you come by to throw Ms. Connelly out?"



"Ha-ha. Nope, this is my courtesy visit. I go around to every patient's room after they've been here a day, make sure things are going okay, listen to complaints - and every now and then maybe even a compliment." He gave us a big smile. "Barney Simpson, hospital administrator, so I'm at your service. You're Ms. Connelly, I take it." He shook my hand very gently, since I was the sick person. "And you're...?" He held out his hand to Tolliver.



"I'm her manager, Tolliver Lang."



I tried not to look as surprised as I felt. I'd never heard my brother introduce himself that way.



"I really shouldn't ask if you two are enjoying your stay in our lovely little town," Simpson said. He looked as sad as it was in his nature to look. He was a tall man, and thick-bodied, with thick brushy black hair and a big smile that seemed to be his natural expression. "Our whole community is grieving now, but what a relief and a blessing that these young men have been found."



There was another knock on the door, and yet another man entered. "Oh, I'm sorry!" he said. "I'll come back another time."



"No, Pastor, come on in, I just dropped by to see if these folks had any questions they wanted to ask about the hospital and the service it's given them, the usual thing," Barney Simpson said briskly.



I noticed we hadn't had a chance to do any of those usual things.



"I've got to get back out to the site," Sheriff Rockwell said. There was no need for her to specify which site. In Doraville, there was only one.



"Well, then..." The new visitor was as tentative as Simpson was self-assured. He was a small man, about five foot eight, pale and thin, with clear skin and the smile of a happy baby. He shook hands with our two outgoing visitors before he gave his attention to us.



"I'm Pastor Doak Garland," he said, and we went through the handshaking ritual again. I was getting tired just from greeting people. "I serve Mount Ida Baptist Church, over on Route 114. I'm on chaplain duty here at the hospital this week. The local ministers take it in turn, and you folks were unlucky enough to get me." He smiled angelically.



"I'm Tolliver Lang, and I accompany this lady, Harper Connelly. She finds bodies."



Doak Garland cast a quick glance down at his feet, as if to conceal his reaction to this unusual introduction. What the hell was going on with Tolliver?



"Yes, sir, I heard of you-all," the preacher said. "I'm Twyla Cotton's pastor, and she especially asked me to come by. We're going to have a special prayer service tomorrow night, and if you should happen to be out of the hospital by then, we hope you'll attend. This is a special invitation, from our hearts. We are so glad to know what's happened to young Jeff. There comes a point when knowing, whether good or bad, is more important than not knowing."



I agreed with this completely. I nodded.



"Since you-all were instrumental in finding poor Jeff, we were hoping you would come, if you're well enough. I won't lie and say we don't wonder about this special talent you have, and it seems to pass our understanding, but you've used it for the greater glory of God and to comfort our sister Twyla, and Parker, Bethalynn, and little Carson. We want to say thank you."



On behalf of God? I tried not to smile openly because he was so sincere and seemed so vulnerable. "I appreciate your taking the time to come by the hospital to invite me," I said, filling in time while I thought of a way to refuse the invitation.



Tolliver said, "If the doctor says Harper can leave the hospital tomorrow, you can count on us coming."



Well, an alien had possessed him. That was the only conclusion I could draw.



Doak Garland seemed a bit surprised, but he said gamely, "That's just what I wanted to hear. We'll see you at seven o'clock tomorrow night. If you need directions, just give me a call." He whipped a card out of his pocket in a surprisingly professional way and handed it to Tolliver.



"Thank you," said Tolliver, and I could only say "Thanks" myself.



By the time my room cleared out, I was tired again. But I needed to walk, so I got Tolliver to help me out of bed, and hold on to me while I and my IV walked down the hall. No one who passed us paid us any attention, which was a relief. Visitors and patients had their own preoccupations and worries, and one more young woman in a terrible hospital gown wasn't going to rouse them out of their tunnel vision.



"I don't know what to say to you," I told Tolliver when we reached the end of the hall and paused before we started the journey back to the room. "Is something wrong? Because you're acting really strange."



I glanced at him, the quickest sideways look so he wouldn't catch me checking, and I decided Tolliver himself looked like he didn't know what to say.



"I know we need to leave," he said.



"Then why'd you accept the minister's invitation?"



"Because I don't think the police will let us drive away at this point, and I want us to be around other people anytime we can be. Someone's already tried to kill you once, the police are so wrapped up in the murder investigation that they don't seem to be sparing anyone to try to find out who attacked you, and the best guess I have is that the attacker was the one who killed the boys. Otherwise, why the rage, why take the chance? You ended his fun and games, and he got mad and came by to take a swipe at you if he could. He got his chance. He almost killed you. I don't know if you've considered how lucky you are that you got away with a concussion and a cracked arm."



This was a long speech for Tolliver, and he delivered it in a low voice in bits and pieces to avoid the attention of the other people. We'd reached my room by the end of it, but I waved my hand down the corridor opposite and we trudged on. I didn't say anything. I was angry, but I didn't know who to aim it at. I believed Tolliver was absolutely right.



We looked out the window at the end of this wing. The rain had turned into a nasty mix of sleet and snow. It rattled when it hit the glass. Oh, joy. The poor searchers. Maybe they would give it up and retreat into the warmth of their vehicles.



I was going very slowly by the time we crossed in front of the nurses' station and neared my room. I still hadn't thought of anything smart to say.



"I think you're right," I said. "But..." I wanted to say: that dodges the issue of your hostility to Manfred and his grandmother. Why does his interest in me make you so angry? Why Manfred more than anyone else who's given me a second look? I didn't say any of these things. And he didn't ask me to finish my thought.



I was glad to see the bed, and I leaned against it heavily as Tolliver arranged the IV stand and line. He helped me sit on the side, pulled off my slippers, and eased me back onto the pillows. We got the covers pulled up and straight.



He'd brought a book for himself and one for me, too, in case my head was feeling better. For an hour or so we read in peace, the snick of the ice against the window the only noise in the room. The whole hospital seemed to be in a lull. I looked up at the wall clock. Soon people would be getting off work, coming by to visit relatives and friends, and for a while the traffic in the hall would pick up. Then the big cart with the supper trays would come around, and the nurse with the medication, and after that a spurt of early evening visitors. Then there would be another lull as everyone who didn't have to stay at the hospital left for the night, and the only ones remaining would be the staff, the patients, and a few dedicated souls who slept in the reclining chairs by their patients' beds.



Tolliver asked me if I wanted him to stay. I was obviously better, and I thought it was touching that he would think of staying in that chair a second night in a row. I was oddly tempted. Maybe I was just better enough to have the energy to spare for fear. I was afraid.



In the end, I couldn't be selfish enough to condemn him to a night in the chair because I was a scaredy-cat. "You go on back to the motel," I said. "There's no reason why you shouldn't be comfortable tonight. I can always ring for the nurse." Who might come in thirty minutes. This little hospital, like so many others, seemed to be understaffed. Even the cleaners moved briskly because they had so much to do.



"Are you sure?" he asked. "The motel's so full of reporters that it's quieter here."



He hadn't mentioned that before. "Yes, I guess it is," I said. "I'm probably lucky I'm here."



"No doubt about it. As it is, I have to pretend I'm not in the room. One woman knocked for twenty minutes this morning."



He'd been going through his own problems and I hadn't even asked. I felt guilty. "I'm sorry," I said. "I didn't think about the press."