“Aww, Mom! I thought I could stay for the whole trial. I wanted you to write me a note, so I'd be excused from classes.”
“You have a ticket to fly out of San Antonio on Saturday, so enjoy Fredericksburg while you can.”
Mel threw her hands up. “A real assistant would be here through the whole trial.”
“I like spending time with Mel, so Main Street es bueno. Rex wouldn't want me at the hospital anyway.” Rufina held a hand in front of her mouth, as though she was afraid to speak her piece aloud, and said, “And I'm a little tired of Rex's comportamiento estúpido.”
Sandra said, “That means—”
“I take Spanish.” Mel held her chin in the air. “Come on, Rufina.” She spun around, her little skirt flapping around her legs, and hooked her arm in Rufina's.
“We can call the ranch and ask someone to come pick us up when we're ready to go home.” Rufina held on to Mel's arm. They could be two girlfriends up to no good.
“You have money?” Sandra called after them.
Mel glanced back, her eyes catlike. “Dad gave me a credit card.”
Sandra pushed through the back door into the unseasonably warm day. She clicked her key fob to start her Volvo as soon as she got within range so the air conditioning would cool it down some. Even though Fredericksburg was situated in the Hill Country, the weather was as unpredictable as Galveston's. The temperature was probably at least twenty degrees warmer than it had been the day before.
Erma caught up with her. “Where're the girls?”
“They didn't want to go,” Sandra said as they reached the car. “Went to eat and do some shopping.” She fanned her face with her hand.
When she opened the car door, thankfully the air whooshing out was only warm, not brutally hot. Sandra removed her jacket, throwing it into the backseat. She rolled up her long sleeves.
“What the hell is up with this town?” Erma threw her purse in, followed by her own suit jacket. “I thought spring was supposed to be mild up here.”
“Climate change?” Sandra eye-balled the parking lot for Holt's maroon Silverado, which wasn't there. “We need to get going.”
Perspiration plastered hair to Erma's temples. “Shit, it's hot.” She buckled her seat belt.
“They said it was a heat wave. At least the humidity is way lower up here, and the rain cooled things down a little.” Sandra pointed the car toward the hospital. She jerked a couple of tissues from the package on the console and tossed them at Erma. “Blot.” She pulled out two more and blotted her own forehead, temples, and neck. “You bring any summery clothes or just those black suits you've been wearing since Phillip died?”
“Hell no. You? Or just—”
“Hell no.” Sandra eased onto Highway 16. “We'll possibly have a few minutes to buy some lightweight clothes this afternoon, depending on how Rex is. Something cotton would be good.”
“The little shit,” Erma said. “I bet he was driving ninety-to-nothing like he was a high-schooler and just as stupid.”
“For BJ's sake, I hope he'll be okay.” Sandra cast her eyes at Erma. “I mean, he's a jerk and the world would be better off without him, but he is her son.”
“Yeah. And I hope it was an accident.”
“You think it could be otherwise?” Sandra had wondered that herself but was going to wait until she heard the facts surrounding the incident before she allowed herself to voice any suspicions. “Let's see if we can get a copy of the police report.”
“And the medical report.” Erma shifted around on the leather seat. “I wonder if he was drinking or doing drugs.”
“I wonder if he was alone. Have you noticed he's always alone when he comes to BJ's?”
“He's such a little asshole, no one wants to be with him,” Erma said. “He was engaged once, and the girl broke it off.”
“I think you're right,” Sandra said. In only a few minutes, they arrived at the hospital. “I'm not putting my jacket back on.” She turned the ignition off and grabbed her wallet and cell phone and tucked her purse under the car seat.
“Me, neither, and I wish I hadn't worn pantyhose. They're glued to my skin.” Erma hefted herself out of the car.
“You're going to have a heat stroke someday. It's okay these days not to wear hosiery.” Sandra locked the car and came around to Erma's side. “Are you wearing a girdle, too?”
“It chafes me if I don't have pantyhose underneath.” She straightened her shoulders and untucked her blouse. “I'm making a concession here.”
“Oh my God,” Sandra said. “I'm serious. Even if you weighed fifty pounds less, you shouldn't be wearing a girdle and pantyhose at your age—hell, at any age in Texas, most anytime of the year.”
“All right now.” Erma strutted to the front door. “Don't start on me.”
Sandra followed, shaking her head. When they returned to Galveston, she'd call Erma's doctor and discuss it. She didn't want her mother having a heatstroke on top of the heart attack.
When the elevator door opened, Holt stepped off.
“You leaving? Didn't you just get here?” Sandra asked.
“He's in a coma.”
Sandra and Erma backed away from the elevator.
“How bad is he? I mean, how badly was he hurt?” Sandra stretched an arm around Erma's shoulders. Rex had been a little jerk, yes, but Erma had known him since he was a toddler. She must have some feelings for him.
Holt glanced toward the hospital entrance a couple of times as though he was eager to get away. “They're going to finish working up the doctor's notes and give me a copy. I'll give you one, too.”
Erma said, “Yes, but how bad? Has anyone notified his mother? Or his sister?”
Holt swallowed. “I didn't ask about notification of next of kin. As far as his injuries, his head injury is the most serious, though, as I understand it, he has internal injuries and some broken bones.” He towered over them, especially Erma. His sleeves were rolled up to his elbows, his tie loosened, the top shirt button undone. His cheeks were flushed, and a sweaty lock of hair hung over his forehead. If he'd left the courthouse right away and driven straight to the hospital, he should have cooled down at least a little.
“You need to drink some water,” Sandra said to Holt. “My guess is you haven't had much water today. I think you're overheated.”
Erma looked at her like she was out of her mind.
“I'm okay.” He ran his fingers through his hair.
“No, really, go into the charity shop and buy a bottle of water and guzzle it before you go back outside. I bet you're overheated as well as overwhelmed.”
He wore surprise in the form of drawn up eyebrows and a crooked smile. “I think that's the nicest thing you've ever said to me. You sound like my mother.”
“Ha!” Sandra took a step back. “I think that was supposed to be a compliment, but I know what someone overheated looks like when I see them. Go in there and get some water.”
“Yes, ma'am.” Holt saluted her and crab-walked toward the shop. His gait was slow, not normal for him.
Erma pulled away from Sandra. “What's with you?”
“I wouldn't wish a stroke on anyone. He's not exactly my worst enemy, just my opponent.” She stood there until he exited with the water, opening the bottle and swallowing half of it. He nodded at them before turning toward the door.
Sandra pulled on Erma's sleeve. “Let's go find out what we can for ourselves.”
Erma walked right to the nurses' station in the ICU. “I'm the lawyer for the Schindler family. Rex Schindler's mother is out of town. I need to see him.”
For once, Erma felt tall. The woman sitting at the computer looked like if she stood, she'd be about the same size as a first grader. She glanced at Erma and back at the computer and back at Erma, as if deciding which was more important.
Erma held her fists on her hips, legs spread apart. If she'd had a gun, she'd be in the perfect position to fire it. Instead, she fired her finger in the woman's face. “I
said, I need to talk to Mr. Schindler.” She hated to call the little punk “Mister,” but maybe that would get the woman's attention.
Finally, the woman rolled her chair until she was right across from Erma but below Erma's eye level. “I've been updating his chart. What did you say your name is?”
“Erma Townley, Esquiress.”
Sandra, who Erma could feel standing almost smack dab behind her, cleared her throat. Or maybe Sandra was muffling laughter. Erma tried the same trick Sandra had pulled on her, stepping back on her foot, but Sandra was too fast for her.
“Well, ma'am, Miz Townley, you may go back there but only you.”
Erma pointed down the hall toward the closed double doors. “He's back there?”
“I'll buzz you in.”
Sandra said, “Where's the waiting room? I'll park myself in there.”
“Round the corner to the left.” A buzzer sounded.
Erma hustled through the doors before the nurse, or whatever her role was, pulled her finger off the button. Both doors opened wide and began closing again behind her. More than a whiff of antiseptic air swirled around—and something else not pleasing to the nose. She hastened to another counter where more hospital personnel gathered. “Rex Schindler?”
“All the way to the end.” A woman indicated the direction but never looked up.
“Well, all right then.” Maybe flipping your truck and almost dying was pretty routine in the Hill Country. Erma dodged gurneys, tall white laundry bins, and a mop and broom that leaned against the wall, until beside one doorway she found Rex's name.
Next to the door to the room was a huge square window with the curtains standing open. Rex lay on an elevated bed. Tubes and wires and monitors and beeping noises surrounded him. She probably shouldn't go inside. Since she didn't want to, it was not a problem. She'd always been able to deal better with murder and mayhem than with injuries, which was why she'd practiced criminal law and referred out her personal injury cases, one of the many things she and Sandra had in common.
Anyone could have been in that bed. White bandages held by one of those stretchy tape things encased his head, which looked as huge as a pumpkin. The only features she could make out were one swollen eye, nostrils, and a hole where his mouth was supposed to be. None of it boded well. A sheet covered him, but one leg in a cast extended out. The opposite arm, also in a cast, lay by his side.
Erma crossed her arms and stared at the inert body. Images of him as a toddler flashed through her mind. He'd been a cute little thing even though he'd been a terror, one of those brats who bit and kicked and screamed bloody murder.
Bloody murder. Could this have been an attempt at murder, another murder in the Schindler family? Or had Rex been driving crazy on the two-lane road between Fredericksburg and Kerrville? If she recalled correctly, at least one kid died on that road every year or so.
She knew better than to ask about his condition, what with confidentiality laws, but it didn't take much to see what his situation was. Rex lay in the bed like he was dead. The beeping sounds were constant. One machine showed a consistent squiggle, until it didn't.
Loud beeps burst out. People ran in her direction, hollering to each other. Erma stood to the side of the window as hospital personnel crowded into the room, two of them pushing a crash cart. They didn't take the time to draw the curtains. She could see everything as it happened, but not Rex, with so many people surrounding him.
BJ burst through the doors at the end of the hall. “Erma!” She grabbed Erma's elbow. She screamed something unintelligible and slapped her palms and forehead on the window, peering inside. Her breathing came fast. She choked and coughed. Erma pulled her from the window and took her in her arms and let her sob into her shoulder. The loud and long beeps kept coming from the room at almost the same rhythm as BJ's heart.
Rex might be a real ass, but he was her good friend's son. Erma had trouble holding back her own tears, though she didn't believe in making a spectacle of herself. She tried to think of something else, anything else, while BJ wrapped her arms tighter.
“I'm so—so scared,” BJ said in a muffled voice.
Erma hugged her back. “Of course you are, darlin'.” She couldn't do anything except be there for BJ.
They stood for what seemed an interminable period of time, Erma looking around BJ into the room, trying to figure out what was going on, and BJ continuing to soak Erma's blouse with tears.
Sandra showed up carrying their purses, her lips pressed together in a grim line. The door to the room stood open. Sandra put her head inside for a few moments before mouthing to Erma, “It doesn't sound good.” She held a tissue cube she must have gotten from the waiting room and offered it to Erma.
The voices that had been so loud not very long ago toned down, down, until finally they were no more. One voice rang out, a death knell. “Let's call it.”
BJ crushed Erma to her and wailed, “No-o-o-o.”
Other voices started up again, not loud but businesslike. Still others were muted. The machine noises ceased. The staff wandered out of the room, glancing at Erma and BJ, shaking their heads, until only one person lingered next to the sheet-covered body.
After a few minutes, a stocky man in scrubs came out. “One of you his mother?” His name tag indicated he was a physician.
Erma nodded and pointed at the still crying BJ. She whispered in BJ's ear. “Come on, now, honey. The doc wants to speak with you.”
Taking the tissues, BJ let go of Erma. She wiped her face and blew her nose several times. Setting her eyes on the man BJ said, “My son...is dead?”
“I'm so sorry. We did everything we could.” He put a hand on BJ's shoulder. “His injuries were too extensive.”
BJ nodded and sniffed and stared at the man. She ran a tissue across her face.
“Would you like to go inside?” he asked.
When anguish crossed BJ's face, Erma's chest grew tight. “You know you do, honey. See him and hug him while he's still warm, while a little life is left in him, and say goodbye.”
BJ nodded at Erma. “Will y'all wait for me?”
“Of course,” Sandra said. “We'll be in the waiting room.”
The doctor escorted BJ toward the bed. He peeled the sheet back for her. He prodded her closer and said a few words before returning outside. “I told her she can stay as long as she likes,” he said to Sandra and Erma.
In the waiting room, Erma sighed as she dropped into one of the cushioned chairs. She took a tissue from the cube and blew her nose. They sat watching each other for a few minutes, before Sandra broke the silence.
“I saw BJ in the hall. She told Efrain to take the car back to the ranch. They drove all night.”
Erma crossed her arms and propped her head against the wall behind her. They could drive BJ home when she was ready.
Sandra gave a slight shrug. “I understand you're sad, but I didn't care for him so don't expect me to act like I'm sorry about what happened.”
“Ahem. I didn't like him either. I'm just sorry for BJ and Kathy Lynn.”
“BJ, yes. I'm not so sure Kathy Lynn will mourn him much.” Sandra copied Erma's posture, her eyes never wavering.
Erma watched Sandra. She could tell Sandra had something to say, but either wasn't ready to say it or thought it was not the right time. Erma wasn't going to press her. What she wanted most right then was a stiff drink—a couple of shots of bourbon, and she'd be better able to tackle the world.
“I guess we should call Mel and Rufina.”
Erma needed a moment or two alone to grapple with her thoughts and the events of the day. “You go out in the hall and call.”
Sandra left. No one else was in the waiting room. Erma closed her eyes and dropped her shoulders and took a couple of deep breaths. She had an idea of what was going on that she wanted to share with Sandra. It might not be the right time, but in the current situation, when would be? She must have drifted off because when she opened her eyes, Sandra was back in the sam
e chair.
“Mel was shocked but not upset. She didn't like him either. I told her we were waiting for BJ, that we'd go to Jared's office afterward, so I can knock out a Motion to Reopen. Then we would go home.”
“I'm in agreement. So, I want to run something past you.”
Sandra perked up. “I was fixing to say the same thing. About the case, if you think this is a good time.”
“What better time will there be? Here's what I'm thinking.” Her chest tightened with anticipation. “If Rex wasn't acting like a stupid ass and driving too fast and or recklessly, I think someone helped the accident along.” Sandra didn't look a bit surprised, which didn't come as a shock. Sandra was, after all, her daughter.
“I think someone helped the accident along whether or not Rex was acting like his usual self.” Sandra wore a smirk.
“So we're in agreement.”
“I think we are. Now the question is, who?” Sandra rubbed her hands together.
“A lot of people work at the ranch. Any number of them could have had a grudge against him.” Erma got up and began walking around the room.
“I'm sure many of them do.”
“Assuming—God I hate that word—Rex's accident was related to this trial. That would narrow it down quite a bit. I don't think it was anyone kin to Rufina, for instance. Like her brother.” Erma stopped in front of Sandra. “For all his interest initially, he's been AWOL since the trial started.”
Sandra rotated her shoulders and tilted her head to each side. “I can go with that. Carlos is a little intense, but I don't think he has a real motive. At least for taking out Rex. He's still on my short list for Katy Jo.”
“And I don't think it was—”
BJ appeared in the doorway. She held onto the wall like she was close to falling. Erma hurried to her, took her by the elbow, and helped her to a chair. They'd have to continue their discussion later.
Chapter Thirty-Six
The next morning, through a tumultuous downpour, the defense team paraded back to the courthouse. Sandra, Erma, and Mel rode in the first car, BJ and Rufina rode in BJ's car, and Efrain followed in one of the trucks from the ranch.
Death of a Rancher's Daughter Page 34