Grave Secret

Matthew nodded to me and walked away without saying one other word, which was a very good thing. I looked at Tolliver's suitcase and began to cry, but I made myself go into the bathroom and shed my blood-speckled clothes. I took a very careful bath, mindful of my scores of cuts and nicks. I put on my pajamas.



I called the hospital again, and found Tolliver was still the same. I reminded them again to call me instantly if there was any change. I put the phone on the charger, and lay in bed, and listened for it to ring.



But it didn't. All night.



THE next morning as I went through a McDonald's drive-through, I realized I had to call Iona to tell her what had happened. Otherwise, she might read it in the papers. I didn't expect anything from her, and it was a strange feeling to realize that there was someone I should report to; Tolliver and I are used to being on our own. If we hadn't been in the same urban area, I would never have considered calling Iona about Tolliver's injury. I got to the hospital early, looked into his room to find Tolliver sleeping, and returned to the lobby to use my cell phone. The reception in the lobby wasn't good, so I stepped outside with the smokers. It was a cold, clear day, with a brilliant blue sky.



I checked my watch, felt there was a chance Iona hadn't left for work yet, and called the house. Iona wasn't best pleased to hear from me early in the morning, and she let me know it.



"Tolliver got shot last night," I said, and she was silent.



"Is he all right?" she asked, even now sounding grudging.



"Yes, he's going to make it," I said. "He's in a regular room at God's Mercy Hospital. He had some surgery on his shoulder. He'll be in the hospital for a couple more days, the doctor thinks."



"Well, I don't believe I need to tell the girls right now," Iona said. "Besides, Hank's already taken 'em to school. We'll talk about it when they come home today."



"Suit yourself," I said. "I've got to call Mark." I clicked the phone shut, angry and disappointed. It wasn't that I wanted my little sisters upset and worried, especially after the skating rink incident yesterday-it was that I knew my interaction with them would always be ruled and regulated by the troll squatting across the draw-bridge that led to them. I was being pretty ungrateful to Iona with that comparison. I should be glad every day that she and Hank had had the nerve and grace to undertake the raising of two girls from such a damaging background.



But going through her was such an uphill battle.



For the first time, I thought Tolliver might be right. Maybe we should just butt out of our sisters' lives and send them Christmas presents and cards on their birthdays.



Then Mark answered his phone in a drowsy voice, and I had to chuck aside these bad thoughts and deal with the here and now. Mark had worked late the night before so he wasn't too coherent, but I made sure he got the gist of the story and knew the name of the hospital. He promised he'd come by when he could, probably later in the morning.



Then I had nothing else to do but return to the dreary room and watch Tolliver sleep. Of course I had a book in my purse, and I tried to read for a while, but I kept losing track of the narrative. Finally, I put the book away and simply looked at Tolliver.



Tolliver is seldom sick, and he'd never been hurt this seriously. The bandages and the IV and the gray tone of his skin made him seem almost a stranger, as if someone had crept in and usurped his body. I sat staring at him, willing him to sit up, willing the vigor to return to his body.



That worked as well as you'd expect.



I knew I had to be the strong one now. With my brother down, I had to take care of him, of us. It was good that we'd planned on spending a few days in Texas, because I knew we didn't have any other jobs booked that I should be rescheduling. However, I'd have to check the laptop for new messages. I'd have to take care of everything. I immediately began to worry that I wouldn't do a good job of it, that I'd forget something critical. But what could I forget that would matter so very much? As long as we didn't miss an engagement, as long as I kept gas in the car so we didn't run out, I would be doing a good job.



Finally, Dr. Spradling came in. Tolliver had been moving around a little, so I knew he was about to wake up. Dr. Spradling looked even more tired and old today. He gave me a glance and a nod before approaching Tolliver's bed. He said, "Mr. Lang?" in a penetrating voice. Tolliver's eyes flew open. He looked past the doctor, right at me, and relief relaxed the lines of his mouth.



"You okay, baby?" he said, trying to hold out a hand to me.



I stepped past the doctor, circled the bed to the other side. I took his left hand in both my own.



"How are you?" I asked.



Dr. Spradling was looking into Tolliver's eyes, reading his chart, and listening to our conversation.



"My shoulder hurts. What happened to you?" he asked. "The window exploded. Someone throw a brick in? You have cuts on your face."



"Tolliver, you got shot," I said. I couldn't think of a tactful way to ease into the subject. "I only got hit by some of the glass from the window. It's nothing. You're going to be okay."



Tolliver looked confused. "I don't remember," he said. "I got shot?"



"His memory will clear up," Dr. Spradling said. I looked at him, blinking so I wouldn't cry.



"This is not uncommon," he told me, and I appreciated his trying to reassure us. "Mr. Lang, I'm going to look at your wound." A nurse came in, and the next few minutes were really unpleasant. Tolliver looked exhausted by the time he was rebandaged.



"Everything looks fine," Dr. Spradling said briskly. "Mr. Lang, you're coming along just like I'd hoped."



"I feel so bad," Tolliver said, not quite complaining, but as though he were worried.



"Being shot is a serious thing," Dr. Spradling said, glancing at me with a slight smile. "It's not like on television, Mr. Lang, when people hop right out of their hospital beds and go chase thieves."



I don't think Tolliver followed all that, because he was looking at the doctor with an uncertain expression. Spradling turned to me. "I expect he'll be here tomorrow, and we'll see the next day. He may have to have some physical therapy on that shoulder."



"But he'll have full use of his arm?" I said, suddenly realizing I hadn't even begun to worry as much as I had reason to.



"If everything continues to go well, that's probable."



"Oh," I said, flattened by the lack of certainty. "What can I do?"



Dr. Spradling looked as though he were as much at a loss as Tolliver. The doctor clearly didn't think there would be much I could do for Tolliver except pay his bill. "It's up to him," Dr. Spradling said. "Your partner."



I don't think I would have liked any doctor that day, since a doctor couldn't give me a clear-cut answer. My mind knew Dr. Spradling was being logical and realistic, and my mind also told me I should appreciate that. But my mind was taking a backseat to my emotions.



I managed to keep myself under control, and Dr. Spradling departed with a cheery wave. Tolliver still looked a little confused, but he drifted back into a doze. His eyelids flickered when there was a sound in the hall, but they never quite opened. I couldn't figure out what to do next. I was standing by the bed, looking down at Tolliver and trying to make a plan, any plan, when Victoria Flores came in after a quick knock on the door.



Victoria was in her late thirties. A former police officer on the Texarkana force, she was both full figured and beautiful. I'd never seen Victoria wearing anything but a suit and heels. She had her own personal dress code. Victoria 's dark, coarse hair was smoothed into a shoulder-length pageboy, and heavy gold earrings gave her some bling. Today the suit was a dull red, worn over a cream-colored blouse.



"How is he?" she said, nodding toward the silent figure on the bed. No hug, no handshake, no preliminaries. Victoria went straight to business.



"He's hurt pretty bad," I said. "He has a broken bone." I tapped my own collarbone by way of illustration. "But the doctor who was just in here, he said Tolliver would be okay if he did physical therapy. If nothing changes."



Victoria snorted. "So, what happened?"



I told her.



"What was your last case?" she asked me.



"The Joyces were."



"I'm meeting with them later this morning."



I didn't describe the reading I'd gotten at the cemetery, because the Joyces hadn't given me permission, but I did give Victoria an outline of the time we'd spent with them. And she knew they'd visited us at the motel.



"That has to be the most likely cause of the shooting," Victoria said. "What about the case before this one?"



"You remember the serial killer, the boys killed in North Carolina? All buried in the same place?"



"That was you-you found them?"



"Yeah. That was awful. Also, we did get a lot of publicity, most of it the wrong kind." I'd found that quiet word of mouth was better for getting actual paying jobs. Publicity might prompt a flare of interest, but that interest was mostly from people who wanted to explore the unexplained and lurid, not people who wanted to pay a lot of money to have it displayed in their neighborhood.



"So this shooting incident might be a fallout of the North Carolina case?"



"Now that I've said it out loud, that doesn't sound very likely." Tolliver needed a shave. I should do that, and then I had to comb his hair. I couldn't think of anything else I could do to help him.



He looked so helpless. He was so helpless. I was the only defense he had. I had to man up.



"The North Carolina murders really, really upset a lot of people," Victoria said, her voice thoughtful. She clearly believed Tolliver's shooting must be related to the only case of mass murder we'd ever discovered.



"But the bad guys got caught. Why would anyone want to shoot us because we helped to catch who did it?"



"You sure there weren't any more in on it? The two men were the only killers?"



"I'm sure, and what's more, the police are sure. Believe me, that was one thorough investigation. They haven't gone to trial yet, but the prosecutor's pretty damn sure they're going to get a conviction."



"Okay." Victoria looked down at Tolliver for a few seconds. "Then either you've got a stalker or it's something to do with the Joyces." She paused for a moment. "There hasn't been anything new about your sister for a long time. I am assuming the trail's too cold for Cameron's abduction to have any relation to what's happening to you now."



I nodded. "I agree. I think the Joyce case is the most likely. If they okay me talking to you, I'll be glad to tell you all about it. There's really not much to tell."



Victoria whipped out her cell phone and made a call, which I was pretty sure you weren't supposed to do in a hospital. She started talking. A few seconds later, she handed the phone to me.



"Hello," I said.



"This is Lizzie Joyce."



"Hi. Did you want me to talk to Victoria?"



"That's real ethical of you. You have my permission." Did she sound amused? I didn't think my morality was funny at all. "I'm sorry about your manager," Lizzie continued. "I understand it happened at that same motel where we visited you. My God! What do you think happened? Was it just a random shooting?"



A memory surfaced. "One of the cops did tell me there was another shooting a couple of blocks away. So it's possible. But that's pretty hard to believe."



"Well, I'm real sorry. If there's anything I can do, you just let me know."



I wondered how sincere the offer was. For one wild minute, I considered saying, "This hospital stay is going to be really expensive, because our insurance is shitty. Can you take care of the bill? Oh, and pick up the tab for his rehab, too, while you're at it?" But I simply thanked her and handed the phone back to Victoria.



I'd been too preoccupied to think about the financial crunch we were going to face until that moment. I thought unhappy thoughts, while Victoria Flores wound up her conversation with Lizzie Joyce. For the first time, I saw the full scope of the problem in front of me. I realized Tolliver's injury meant the end of our dream of buying a house, at least in the foreseeable future.



It was possible for me to be more depressed, which I would not have believed ten minutes earlier.



I told Victoria about the visit to Pioneer Rest Cemetery. She asked me a lot of questions I couldn't answer, but finally she seemed satisfied that she'd wrung every last bit of knowledge and conjecture out of me.



"I hope I can perform like they want me to," she said, having her own down moment. "I can't believe they came to me instead of some big agency, but now that I know the details, I can see why they called someone like me."



"It's been hard, the move to this area?" I asked.



"Yeah, there's a lot more business, but a lot more competition," Victoria said. "It's good to be close to my mother; she helps with my daughter. And the school MariCarmen's in here is better than the one in Texarkana. Plus, the driving distance isn't bad, and I still have business and a lot of contacts back there. It just takes me two and a half, three hours, depending on traffic and weather."



"We're never going to find Cameron, are we?" I said.



Victoria 's mouth opened, as if she was going to tell me something. Then she closed it. "I wouldn't say that. You never know when a lead will pop up. I wouldn't string you along. You know that's true."