بخش 03 - فصل 22

22 Hodges grabs lunch at a nearby deli (a salad instead of the loaded burger his stomach is rooting for) and goes home. His pleasant exertions of the

previous night have caught up with him, and although he owes Janey a call–they have business at the late Mrs. Trelawney’s Sugar Heights home, it seems–he decides that his next move in the investigation will be a short nap. He checks the answering machine in the living room, but the MESSAGE WAITING window shows zero. He peeks

beneath Debbie’s Blue Umbrella and finds nothing new from Mr. Mercedes. He lies down and sets his internal alarm for an hour. His last thought before closing his eyes is that he left his cell phone in the glove compartment of his Toyota again. Ought to go get that, he thinks. I gave her both numbers, but she’s new school

instead of old school, and that’s the one she’d call first if she needed me. Then he’s asleep. It’s the old school phone that wakes him, and when he rolls over to grab it, he sees that his internal alarm, which never let him down during his years as a cop, has apparently decided it is also retired. He’s slept for almost three hours.

“Hello?” “Do you never check your messages, Bill?” Janey. It crosses his mind to tell her the battery in his cell phone died, but lying is no way to start a relationship, even one of the day-at-a-time variety. And that’s not the important thing. Her voice is blurry and hoarse, as if she’s been shouting. Or crying.

He sits up. “What’s wrong?” “My mother had a stroke this morning. I’m at Warsaw County Memorial Hospital. That’s the one closest to Sunny Acres.” He swings his feet out onto the floor. “Christ, Janey. How bad is it?” “Bad. I’ve called my aunt Charlotte in Cincinnati and

uncle Henry in Tampa. They’re both coming. Aunt Charlotte will undoubtedly drag my cousin Holly along.” She laughs, but the sound has no humor in it. “Of course they’re coming–it’s that old saying about following the money.” “Do you want me to come?” “Of course, but I don’t know how I’d explain you to them. I can’t very well

introduce you as the man I hopped into bed with almost as soon as I met him, and if I tell them I hired you to investigate Ollie’s death, it’s apt to show up on one of Uncle Henry’s kids’ Facebook pages before midnight. When it comes to gossip, Uncle Henry’s worse than Aunt Charlotte, but neither one of them is exactly a model of discretion. At least

Holly’s just weird.” She takes a deep, watery breath. “God, I could sure use a friendly face right now. I haven’t seen Charlotte and Henry in years, neither of them showed up at Ollie’s funeral, and they sure haven’t made any effort to keep up with my life.” Hodges thinks it over and says, “I’m a friend, that’s all. I used to work for the Vigilant

security company in Sugar Heights. You met me when you came back to inventory your sister’s things and take care of the will with the lawyer. Chum.” “Schron.” She takes a deep, watery breath. “That could work.” It will. When it comes to spinning stories, no one can do

it with a straighter face than a cop. “I’m on my way.” “But . . . don’t you have things to take care of in the city? To investigate?” “Nothing that won’t wait. It’ll take me an hour to get there. With Saturday traffic, maybe even less.” “Thank you, Bill. With all my heart. If I’m not in the lobby–”

“I’ll find you, I’m a trained detective.” He’s slipping into his shoes. “I think if you’re coming, you better bring a change of clothes. I’ve rented three rooms in the Holiday Inn down the street. I’ll rent one for you as well. The advantages of having money. Not to mention an Amex Platinum Card.”

“Janey, it’s an easy drive back to the city.” “Sure, but she might die. If it happens today or tonight, I’m really going to need a friend. For the . . . you know, the . . .” Tears catch her and she can’t finish. Hodges doesn’t need her to, because he knows what she means. For the arrangements.

Ten minutes later he’s on the road, headed east toward Sunny Acres and Warsaw County Memorial. He expects to find Janey in the ICU waiting room, but she’s outside, sitting on the bumper of a parked ambulance. She gets into his Toyota when he pulls up beside her, and one look at her drawn face and socketed eyes tells him

everything he needs to know. She holds together until he parks in the visitors’ lot, then breaks down. Hodges takes her in his arms. She tells him that Elizabeth Wharton passed from the world at quarter past three, central daylight time. About the same time I was putting on my shoes, Hodges thinks, and hugs her tighter.