“Stay in Colorado,” Lauren insisted. “Aunt Gwen still needs you. We’re fine, and—Daddy, is that you? Are we on speakerphone?”
“Yes, baby. Listen, I don’t want you to worry about those roof leaks.” Her father’s voice was as confident and reassuring as his TV commercials. Lauren could almost see her mother hoisting her camera-ready pink umbrella. “No need to worry when Barclay Insurance has you covered.”
“It’s only a small problem with the flashing,” he explained. “I’d have had it repaired already if your aunt’s gallbladder hadn’t hijacked us. But our old homestead is built like a fortress. Wind isn’t going to be a problem.”
“Thanks,” Lauren murmured. No good could come from reporting that the pig had already crash-landed in the driveway. Mankind would have perished if Carl Barclay had been chosen to build the ark. “I won’t worry, Daddy. Promise.”
“That’s my baby. And your mother has stocked the pantry with everything you could possibly need.”
“Right.” Lauren frowned at her mother’s all-caps addendum to the disaster list. A saying she’d borrowed from a Florida coast Facebook friend:
RUN FROM WATER. HIDE FROM THE WIND
She’d drawn a neon-pink arrow from the word wind to the last numerical item on the tornado list:
If necessary, take refuge in tub—guest bathroom.
“We’re so proud of you, Lauren.” Her mother’s voice again, accompanied by a sniffle. “We know you’ll watch over your sister. And our little Hannah Leigh. If it should come to it, the doggy crate is on the top shelf of the pantry, right above your head. Wear Daddy’s long, quilted barbecue mitts if you have to load her up. She won’t be a happy puppy. Sweet-talk her. Be sure you have plenty of Woofers for bribes. Maybe some of those bacon strips I have in the freezer. And—”
“I’ve got it covered, Mom.” For some horrible reason, Lauren imagined herself herding Jess into that purple dog crate. Wearing barbecue mitts and risking mortal wounds. While Eli, Fletcher, and Chaplain Angela urged the process along, saying Lauren was finally doing the right thing. Her heart began to sink. “We’re fine here. Really.”
“We’ll check in tomorrow,” her parents assured. “Should I call your cell phone? When I tried this phone last night, it just rang and rang.”
“Jess was sleeping before her night shift. And I . . . had a sort of date.” Lauren’s heart obliterated the sound of the rain on the roof. “I’ve started seeing someone.”
“You have? That’s wonderful. Did you hear that, Carl?”
“I did,” her father confirmed. “Good. We’ll look forward to meeting this young man when we get home.”
“Yes.” Her mother sighed. “It’s such a relief not to have to worry about your choices, Lauren.”
“Um . . . right.”
“We’ll let you go now. Love you.”
“Love you back.”
There was a click, call ended.
Lauren cut the pantry light and followed the phone cord back to the kitchen wall, the tether to her parents mercifully loosened. She reached for her coffee cup, took a sip as she stared through the rainy window, and thought of what she’d witnessed as she stood in the doorway of Emma’s bedroom: Eli’s bowed head, his voice blending with his daughter’s in that most perfect of prayers. It had been a precious, natural moment. So touching that Lauren had found herself closing her eyes, breathing the familiar words along with them. It still made her hope that despite the doubts he’d voiced later, it was possible she and Eli weren’t really all that different. They both placed a high priority on responsibility, at work and in their personal lives. They were both loyal to their siblings and determined to help them. Even if Lauren tended to do that through trust and hope, and Eli was more prone to jumping in with both feet.
“I’ve started seeing someone.”
She’d said that. Done it. Taken a first step in telling her parents about Eli. Lauren glanced toward the hallway in time to catch Hannah exiting Jess’s bedroom. Tonight she’d figure out a way to tell her sister about Eli too. It wasn’t exactly jumping in with both feet—maybe it was only a baby step—but it was a start. She was going to be stubbornly hopeful that things would work out. For Eli and her, for Jess, Drew . . . Darcee Grafton, Gayle . . . There was always reason for hope, just like in Emma’s Annie song. The sun would eventually come out. Even with Glorietta whirling like an angry red buzz saw, the roof springing leaks, and—
“Hannah Leigh,” Lauren scolded, rising from her chair. “What have you got there? One of Jess’s CDs?” She took a step toward the black-and-white burglar, then heard the growl and thought better of it. “Here, let’s trade. . . .” Snatching the buttery remains of her toast, Lauren knelt down and waggled it in her fingers. Dog bribe. Pathetic, but it could be worse. At least this time she wasn’t bargaining for a houseguest’s stolen undershorts.
“Here we go. Good girl,” Lauren purred. The dog’s nose managed to perk with interest, despite the fact that her jaws were stretched around the small, unopened plastic package. Not a CD. “That’s right, Hannah Leigh,” Lauren praised as the package dropped to the floor in favor of the table scrap. “Good trade. You got that yummy toast, and I got this boring—”
What?
“Hair ball medicine?” Lauren stared at the package. Turned it over, confused. Then read the handwritten label.
Adele Humphries/for Fluffy.
“UH . . . DOG MEDICINE?” Jess’s teeth sank into her lower lip. Lauren swore she could hear her sister’s brain ticking. “You dragged me out of bed for—?”
“It’s cat medicine.” Lauren wanted to grab Jess by the shoulders, force her to make eye contact. I want to believe you. . . .
“So?” Jess shrugged. “Hannah’s always rooting around and swiping things. You know she’s a thief. So she found some old medicine under the bed or in a closet somewhere. I’m not surprised.”
“Dad’s allergic to cats. We never had a cat. Not one.”
“Then it belonged to a neighbor . . . or a cleaning lady. What’s the big deal?”
“The big deal is that this medicine is for Adele Humphries’s cat. See that? Her name, right there on the label.”
Jess’s face paled.
“Our ER patient,” Lauren continued. “It came from that bag of medicines she had with her. The bag with the missing narcotics.”
Jess finally met her gaze. “Exactly what are you accusing me of?”
Lauren felt sick. “I’m not accusing, Jess. I’m asking how a medicine belonging to Adele Humphries got into this house.”
“And next you’ll turn me in for stealing narcotics.”
“Please sit down with me. I want to understand what happened.”
“Do you? Really?”
“Yes.” It wasn’t true. What Lauren really wanted was to run away as fast as she could. “Of course. Please . . . sit with me.”
Jess refused a cup of coffee but finally sat. Lauren scooted her chair close. She was shaking inside. “I’m listening.”
“It was an accident,” Jess began. “I wouldn’t steal that stupid cat medicine. I may be screwed up in some ways, but I’m not coughing up hair balls. At least not yet.” She gave a grim smile.
Lauren reached out, touched her sister’s hand. Please, God, help me to simply listen.
“It was Gayle,” Jess continued, biting at a ragged cuticle. “I was looking for that purple coin purse—I told you about that—and then all of a sudden I hear Gayle outside the exam room. Snarly like she’s been lately. She doesn’t like me, Lauren. I know you don’t believe that.”
“Actually, I do. After everything that’s happened, I do believe she’s been unfair to you.”
There was gratitude in Jess’s eyes.
“And then what happened?”
“I knew Gayle would jump all over me about handling patient belongings. I tried to slip them back into the bag, but she barged in too fast. I still had that stupid cat medicine in my hand.” Jess grimaced. “So I shoved it
in my pocket. I was wearing that long linen vest with the deep slash pockets from Neiman’s; you know the one.”
Lauren nodded, beginning to hope.
“I hung it up in my closet, forgot about what was in the pocket. Until all that talk started about the missing meds. I figured I should throw those cat tablets away, not take them back. Obviously I could have picked a better place than Hannah-town.” Jess’s eyes shone with sudden tears. “I didn’t take those drugs, Lauren. I told you that before. I explained things to security—almost all of it, anyway. I took a urine test.”
The tests. Eli had said that all the Houston Grace drug tests came back negative.
“What else do you want me to do to prove it?” Jess brushed away a tear. She pointed at Lauren’s Bible. “Put my hand on that book and swear I’m telling the truth? I’ll do that. Right now. I’ll swear—”
“No,” Lauren said quickly. “You’ve explained enough. It’s okay.”
“Good.” Jess shook toast crumbs off a napkin and dabbed at her eyes. “I heard that whole story about Gayle. It’s awful. I feel bad for her. People are saying that thyroid storm thing probably caused all her crazy behavior—criminal behavior. So it’s not a stretch to think maybe she did set me up so she could take those drugs. But I guess we’ll never know.”
“Maybe not.”
“Well . . .” Jess stifled a yawn, stood. “This has been a real giggle fest, but one of us worked all night and needs to sleep—with her door closed. I’ve got class this afternoon.” Her gaze met Lauren’s. “Are we good?”
“We’re good.” Lauren rose, intending to give her sister a hug, but Jess raised her palm.
“Stay put. I’m going. Don’t wake me up unless—”
“Glorietta hits and the roof caves in,” Lauren finished, remembering the last time she’d said that. “Thank you for trusting me with all that, Jess. I love you.”
“Love you too, Lolo.” She started toward the hallway, then looked back. “By the way, where were you last night? The phone woke me about nine o’clock and you weren’t here.”
“I . . . had dinner out. So you could sleep.”
“That’s cool. Thanks.”
“You’re welcome—sweet dreams.”
Lauren watched her sister disappear into her room. She told herself she wasn’t a coward for not mentioning Eli. She was sparing Jess from too much at once. It had been a difficult discussion for both of them, directness they hadn’t achieved in a long time. It was a good thing.
She watched the rain on the window for a few moments, sipping her coffee—hoping its warmth would soothe her remaining uneasiness. There was no reason to feel this way. She glanced at her Bible, remembering what she’d told Eli. That she needed to believe it would all turn out okay if she put things in God’s hands. Lauren did believe that; letting these unsettling feelings crowd in was at odds with faith. And as potentially destructive as that angry storm out in the Gulf. She closed her eyes, took a slow breath.
I trust you, Lord. Please take these whispering doubts away. . . .
- + -
“Not on duty?” Fletcher asked, noting that Eli Landry was in khakis and a shirt instead of his usual scrubs and white coat.
“Meeting.” Landry stepped aside as a gurney rattled along the ER corridor, IV bags swaying. “What brings you in?”
“Darcee Grafton. I’m trying to get some additional information regarding that fall. Not sure we’re going to.” Fletcher grimaced slightly, remembering the young woman’s badly bruised and swollen face, her head still swathed in bandages. “She doesn’t even remember being on that roof.”
“Not surprising. It was a serious head injury. Frankly I didn’t think she’d survive it. Odds weren’t on her side.”
Fletcher saw Landry’s brow furrow. Probably with thoughts of his brother. He could imagine how rough that must be. “Mrs. Grafton said they’re planning to take her to surgery tomorrow. To fix the leg fracture. She’s hurting, groggy from the pain medications. And maybe those pills for her mood disorder.”
“I don’t know if they’ve put her back on them yet.” Landry frowned. “Though not taking them is the reason she’s here.”
“She told Jessica that those drugs make her feel sedated, like she’s seeing things through a fog.”
“And they dull her creativity . . . snuff her spark . . .” Landry nodded. “Her mother told me that.”
Both their gazes darted toward the ceiling as the lights flicked off, then instantly on again.
“There are drug side effects, of course,” Landry explained. “Doses can be adjusted, medications switched. There are several treatment options. But without treatment, the moods swing between manic highs and depressive lows. Both risky.” He shook his head. “You found her dancing in a pool. And I’ll bet you share my doubts that the wind blew her off that roof.” His gaze met Fletcher’s. “I think we’ve both seen enough to know this can be a dangerous disorder.”
“Right.”
They were talking about Jessica. Fletcher felt it as certainly as the bulk of the service weapon on his hip. Landry had broached the subject with her; Jessica had implied that only recently, when Fletcher tried to talk with her about counseling. It was probably the reason she’d backed away from her friendship with Eli. It made sense now. An unlikely ally, but maybe together Fletcher and Eli could—
The ambulance bay doors opened for a gurney, and the wind howled in behind it, carrying a flurry of wet leaves. A janitor moved to mop puddles of rain from the floor.
“Bad out there.” Landry checked his watch. “I’d better get moving. I want to pick up Emma before this storm gets worse. There are too many low spots on the road to take chances.”
“Smart. Latest reports say Glorietta’s building up speed. My parents rented their place out—they’re hoping to get back in a few years—so I’ll be doing some drive-bys to check on the house.”
“And the Barclay house.”
Fletcher shrugged. “Been doing that for as long as I can remember.” He was saved from saying more by Landry’s buzzing phone.
“I should take this,” he said, brows drawing together. “My brother’s care home.”
“No problem. Stay safe out there.”
“You too.”
Fletcher slid into his patrol car, his hair plastered to his forehead from sideways-slanting rain. He estimated at least two inches of water accumulation on the parking lot asphalt during the short time he’d been in the hospital. Several branches lay across the top of the gazebo, and a front loader had chugged by, packed to the gills with sandbags. Hard to tell right now if it would be wind or water that proved to be the biggest problem with this storm. But they’d planned and prepared for both. He’d report to dispatch and then give Jessica a quick call. She was probably awake by now. He smiled. Likely trying to deal with one of Hannah’s infamous foul-weather fits.
“Holt!”
Fletcher rolled down the window and saw Landry lean low, rain pelting his face.
“A temporary . . . restraining order,” he huffed over the sound of the wind. “Doesn’t that have to be . . . physically served? The papers handed over in person?”
“Temporary order?”
“Yes.” Despite the water sluicing down Landry’s face, there was no mistaking the anger in his expression. “They can’t do anything without serving you?”
“A TRO can be put into effect without notice,” Fletcher explained. “Pending a court hearing. It’s put in place immediately because . . .” He hesitated, certain by Landry’s look that this was personal. “It’s put in force when there appears to be an immediate safety risk.”
Eli’s barely suppressed curse proved it was personal.
“Hey, hold on . . .” Fletcher didn’t like the look in the man’s eyes. He’d seen too many bad outcomes with this kind of conflict. He reached for one of his business cards, jotted his personal phone number on the back. “Take this. Give me a call later if you have more questions.”
“
Thanks—gotta go.” Eli grabbed the card, whipped around, and took off at a jog, his boots splashing like a hunting dog after a downed duck.
Fletcher had a feeling it wasn’t the last he’d hear of this.
“THE CHOCOLATE CHIPS were a stroke of genius.” Lauren shot an appreciative look at her sister, busy manning the Barclays’ ancient electric griddle. “And how on earth did you come up with the idea of crumbling bacon into the batter?”
“Easy. It’s the cooked bacon Mom keeps in the freezer for Hannah. I tried to reheat the slices, but they broke. So voilà!”
“Well—” Lauren pointed her fork—“Martha Stewart has nothing on you. Best. Lunch. Ever.”
“My pleasure.” Jess’s spatula flourish was made more comical by the fact that she was wearing their mother’s hand-painted Wizard of Oz apron: Dorothy’s house swirling through the air. With Toto strapped to the back of the Wicked Witch’s bicycle. Lauren made a mental note to get the dog crate down from the pantry. Just in case.
“That’s my entire foodie repertoire.” Jess shrugged. “Pancakes.”
“Drew sure wouldn’t have any problem with that.”
Aagh . . . Lauren wanted to grab the words, drench them with syrup, and swallow them back down.
“Drew? Eli’s brother?”
“Mm-hmm.” Lauren scooted a chocolate chip with her fork, head down. A betraying flush crept toward her ears. “Pancakes are his favorite . . . I heard.”
She felt Jess’s curious stare.
“Oh yeah, at Vee’s place,” she said finally. “You see him there. I almost forgot.”
Relief made Lauren dizzy—she’d forgotten it herself. Thoughts of Eli swept all else aside. Somehow she’d figure out a way to discuss this with Jess. At the right time. But this afternoon was too precious to risk spoiling. A rainy day, her sister in pajamas—and a rare good mood—fixing them lunch. Even if it was food Lauren would never eat ordinarily, and even though Jess was still managing to eat practically nothing herself, the point was that they were spending real time together. The Barclay sisters. Giggling, hanging out, like when they were kids. All that was missing was a nest of blankets on the weather room couch, cartoons on the TV, and a plastic crown. Lauren was surprised by an unexpected prickle of tears. “These are great, Jess. Really.”
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