Christian studied Anderson. “You did a good job. It looks like you’ve had some medical training.”
Anderson shook his head. “I’ve just picked up a few things over the years.”
“Anderson is a decorated Army Special Forces combat veteran,” Bo explained. “He’s seen and done everything.”
“I’ll need to make out a report,” Christian said. “Tell me what happened.”
The doctor listened as Bo described the man on Salem’s property and the gunshot through the window in Monday’s bedroom.
“This is part of a case the FBI is working on,” Anderson said. “Special Agent Roy Dodd is leading the investigation. I can give you his number.”
Christian took down the information and glanced at Bo. “By the way, Mr. Carson, how is your friend doing?”
“She’s still in the program at Passages and doing well, as far as I know. I’ve been giving her some space while she’s there. Thanks for asking.”
Dr. Christian excused himself, and Anderson followed him across the room.
“Are you going to admit him?”
“Yes,” Christian replied. “We’ll want to keep him for a day or two to monitor his temperature and let the meds do their work. Gunshot victims are vulnerable to infection.”
“You’re worried about septicemia because of his age,” Anderson said.
The doctor nodded in surprise. “Are you sure you haven’t had medical training?”
Anderson ignored the question. “What kind of security does the hospital have?” “A couple of guards are the extent of the physical security. Some of the wards can only be accessed if an employee buzzes open the door. The staff is trained to notify security and lock down the ward in the event of a threat.”
“That sounds pretty weak.”
“It is,” the doctor said.
Anderson thought for a moment. “There’s a small possibility the shooter followed us here. I don’t think he would take that risk, but I can’t rule it out. I’ll sit outside Bo’s room tonight.”
The doctor nodded. “That’s fine. I’ll call the charge nurse and explain the circumstances. Mr. Carson will be in the medical/surgical wing. That’s up on the third floor. You can go up now and wait for him, or you can go to the waiting room if you prefer. I can have someone notify you when we’re finished here.”
“How long will that be?” Anderson asked.
“An hour,” Christian said. “Maybe two. We need to hang his IV and a unit of blood. Then we need to take Mr. Carson down to X-ray to get some film on his back and shoulder. The cafeteria is just down from the waiting room if you and your friend need food or coffee.”
“Thanks, doc,” Anderson said. “We’ll be in the waiting room.”
Bo was dozing when Anderson returned to his bedside. He took Randi’s hand and led her out to the hall.
“They’re admitting him. I’m going to stay outside his room tonight. I want you to take the truck and drive home. Stay in your room at Salem’s house tonight. I don’t want you to be alone at the campground. Do you think you can drive in this snow?”
“Yes, but I want to stay with you.”
“I know,” Anderson said, “But it could be dangerous here. Besides, you need to get some sleep. Krista will need your help tomorrow.”
He walked Randi out to the truck and kissed her goodbye. The snow was coming down hard and fast. Anderson stood and watched until the truck disappeared from view. He took a fast look around the parking lot and ran toward the hospital entrance, wondering if there was a red dot trained on his back, hoping this wouldn’t be his last day on earth.
* * * *
Bo felt sunlight on his face and tried to open his sleep-crusted eyes. The white-hot pain that had taken up residence in his shoulder the previous night was gone for now. The dull throbbing ache that had replaced it was manageable.
“You’re awake. How do you feel, Daddy?”
Bo looked over at Krista sitting in a chair near the end of the bed. “Okay, I guess. When did you get here?”
“I’ve been here about thirty minutes. I sent Anderson home. He spent the night outside your door.”
Bo nodded. He couldn’t think of anything to say.
“Monday says Diva was up half the night, looking out the window for you. I think you’ve got a new best friend.”
A nurse came in to check Bo’s IV and get his temperature and blood pressure.
“When do we eat?” Bo asked. “I’m hungry.”
“I can’t give you anything to eat this morning, Mr. Carson.”
“Why can’t I have breakfast?”
The nurse looked away. “It’s in the chart. The doctor will be in soon. I’ll tell him you’re awake and have some questions.”
He watched the nurse leave. Something was going on, and it wasn’t anything good. “Get ready for some bad news, Krista.”
“There’s nothing to worry about, Daddy. Maybe food on top of the pain medication would make you sick. They’ll probably reduce the amount of medication so you can have a good lunch.”
Bo nodded. “I appreciate you coming, sweetie, but I’ll be fine. You need to get back to the children.”
“They’re with Randi. Salem’s coming to pick me up this afternoon, so you’re stuck with me for now.”
They both looked up as a small, slender man entered the room. “Good morning, Mr. Carson. I’m Dr. Wills. How are you feeling?”
“I’m hungry,” Bo said. “Other than that, I feel all right. I’d like to go home today if you can write me a pain prescription.”
Wills looked over at Krista.
“I’m Krista Matthews. This is my father.”
The doctor closed the door. “Mr. Carson, have you been experiencing any chest pain, dizziness, or shortness of breath in the past few weeks?”
Krista got up from her chair.
“Yes, every now and then,” Bo said. “I figured my blood pressure or cholesterol were up. I guess you can write me a prescription for that, too.”
Wills cleared his throat and paused.
“What’s going on?” Krista demanded.
“It’s not your blood pressure or cholesterol, Mr. Carson. We found something on your X-rays. There’s a mass in your chest.”
“Goddamnit, will you please speak English? You’re saying my father has a tumor?”
“Yes, he does,” Wills replied.
“Is it benign or malignant?” Krista asked.
“The film isn’t conclusive either way.”
“Give me your best guess, doctor,” Krista demanded.
Wills hesitated. “I think there’s a sixty to seventy percent chance that it’s malignant. We need to remove it either way.”
Bo sank back on his pillow and stared at the ceiling. “When do you want to do the surgery?”
“Today,” the doctor replied. “I’m sorry, Mr. Carson, but this can’t wait.”
Chapter 16
Bruce Patterson hung up the phone with a satisfied sigh. He had just placed an order for ten more copies of Down Home Cookin.’ Tommy Sale had promised to deliver the CDs to him after lunch. The news that Mama’s Biscuits was opening for Lynyrd Skynyrd in Roanoke was creating a lot of buzz around the lake. Both Carson’s stores were now carrying the band’s T-shirts and CDs. Bruce had sold the last of his five copies the previous evening. It wasn’t much of an income stream, but Patterson was glad for every extra nickel and dime he could make in the dead of winter. He only had four guests at the motel, one of which was a permanent resident like Melissa Wright.
Melissa’s absence was hurting his business in more ways than one. In addition to the monthly rent she paid for her room, Melissa bought a lot of drinks and snacks from the vending machines. Her clients would also frequently buy a Coke or a candy bar after a session. Patterson figured he was down at least ten dollars a day from the vending machines since Melissa had checked into Passages. That was over three hundred dollars for the month.
Better get used to it, Bruce. Ther
e’s a chance she won’t come back at all, especially after getting a taste of living in an upscale place like Passages. Bo Carson would love to get her out of here. I guess that would make it easier for him to pretend his girlfriend isn’t a worn-out, low-end prostitute.
Patterson yawned and gazed out the office window. The day was cold and gray with a bank of sullen clouds that promised more snow was on the way. Shenandoah County had already set a new record for total snow accumulation, and it was still January.
The parking lot was buried beneath the fresh snow that had fallen overnight. Bruce had no intention of trying to clear it. The lot was flat with a wide-open access to the road. Any of his guests who wanted to drive in these conditions would have little trouble getting out. On the other hand, he did need to clear the walkways and put down some salt in front of the entrance to the office. If more snow came, he would do the same thing tomorrow. It was all part of running a motel.
Bruce grabbed his shovel and headed out the door. People thought he just sat in the office, twiddling his thumbs all day while waiting for the phone to ring or a guest to show up. Poor, pathetic, chubby, middle-aged Bruce Patterson, watching the world go by through the front window of his sad, little motel.
None of it was true—well, except for the chubby and middle-aged part. The motel was profitable and free of debt, thanks to the legacy of his parents and a strong seasonal business. He had money in his pocket and worked hard for every dollar. The maid cleaned the rooms and changed the towels and linens. Bruce did everything else.
He woke up every morning at six, showered, ate breakfast, and was out the door by seven. Part of his daily routine involved checking each vacant room. The fact that a room was unoccupied didn’t mean it could be ignored. Bruce carried cans of air freshener with him and sprayed each room to fight mildew and carpet odors. He ran water and flushed the toilets to check for leaks or other plumbing problems, and performed minor repairs and maintenance as needed. Before he left, Bruce always ran the heat and air conditioning in each unit. There was no faster way to lose a guest than to put them in a room with faulty air conditioning or heat.
After inspecting the rooms, Bruce took a complete tour around the motel perimeter, checking for damage, vandalism, fallen limbs and branches, litter, and anything else that needed his attention. He was shoveling snow now. In a couple of months, he would be cutting grass, pulling weeds, and trimming bushes.
The office opened at nine. It might be January, but he still had bank deposits to make, guests to check in and out, vendors to pay, and supplies to order. If that wasn’t enough, there were always guests who needed more towels, blankets, soap, or toilet tissue. There was no such thing as a vacation or even a day off. The job never ended. Bruce closed the office around seven or eight each night and ate a late supper in front of the television. He was usually in bed by ten.
The fact that his living quarters were connected to the office was both a blessing and a curse. There was no commute to worry about. Even if he was running late or otherwise occupied, it didn’t pose a problem. On the other hand, there was little variation in his routine. He closed the office at seven or a little later, but there was a Ring for Service doorbell people could use after hours. He worked seventy hours a week and was on call the rest of the time.
Patterson looked forward to the weekly visits to his father, only because it got him away from the motel for a brief period and wasn’t work related. Trips to the bank, post office, and store didn’t count.
He finished clearing a walkway and stopped for a breather. His cell phone rang, and Bruce checked the display screen. He wasn’t listed in the phone book, and only a few people had his cell number. People usually just called the number for the motel if they needed to reach him.
“Hey, baby, how’s it going?”
Patterson smiled as he listened to the caller.
“Yeah, I’m clearing the walks now. You’ll be fine. There’s snow in the parking lot, but it’s not a problem. No charge today for the room if you can fit me in for a session.”
He ended the call and started back to the office. The other two walkways could wait. Missy would be here in twenty minutes. She had three clients lined up so far, which meant a hundred and thirty-five dollars in his pocket. Not a bad start to the day.
Bruce changed his shirt and applied deodorant under his arms. He brushed his teeth and splashed water on his face.
Look at you, getting ready for your girl.
Patterson closed the door to his living quarters and stepped behind the office counter. He licked his lips and stared out the window.
A rust-colored Toyota turned into the lot and pulled up in front of the office. Patterson watched as Missy Hunt stepped out of the car, wearing a short, threadbare dress and strappy sandals. Bruce hurried around the counter and opened the door for his guest. He was ready for his date.
* * * *
Olivia paced back and forth in the small room backstage at the Roanoke Coliseum. She glanced at the clock on the wall and took a deep breath. The band had arrived early to set up their equipment and become familiar with the stage. They were also hoping to meet the members of Lynyrd Skynyrd, but that hadn’t happened. Callie and Erin were handling the merchandise table that was set up in the lobby. Tommy had insisted on bringing a huge supply of T-shirts and CDs, along with promotional material about Mama’s Biscuits. Nobody in the band knew what to expect at a venue like this. They had never performed on such a huge stage.
“How’s the crowd?” Olivia asked.
Tommy laughed. “Big, white, and southern. It’s a Skynyrd concert. There’s a ton of Confederate flags out there.”
Olivia frowned. “This isn’t a Skynyrd concert, Tommy. It’s a Mama’s Biscuits concert. We’re going to blow Lynyrd Skynyrd off the stage tonight.”
The event promoter stuck his head in the door. “You’re on in five minutes. Follow me.”
They waited just offstage and peeked out at the crowd.
“Jesus,” Tommy whispered. “The place is really packed. I still can’t believe this is happening.”
“We’re on our way,” Olivia said. “Everybody’s going to want Mama’s Biscuits by the time we’re done.”
The lights went out, and the crowd began to clap and stomp their feet.
“Go,” the promoter said. “When the lights come back up, let her rip. Good luck.”
Olivia led the way. She took her place in front of the microphone and checked to see that everyone was ready.
The lights blazed, and Olivia gripped the microphone. Tommy clicked his drumsticks and kicked off Southern Fried with a thunderous backbeat. She closed her eyes and felt the music.
“Can’t keep me down
Lots of men have tried
I’m a daughter of Dixie
I’m southern fried.”
Rage, resentment, and a world of hurt seasoned the words that poured from her mouth. Twenty thousand people were going to know that Mama’s Biscuits was a lot more than some small-time bar band.
The audience was on their feet. Olivia finished the last verse and waited for the applause to die away.
They blazed through five more songs from their CD before Olivia stopped to plug the band and announce their final number, Whiskey and Rain.
The crowd grew silent as Olivia sang the powerful ballad. She nearly broke down after the first verse as lighters began to flicker out of respect for the song and the performance.
“I’m dead inside
There’s nothing but pain
Gonna drown my soul in whiskey and rain.”
Olivia held the final note as Tommy wrapped up the number with his cymbals. The band was met with silence. Olivia shifted nervously in front of the microphone.
The applause began slowly and grew into a roar as the audience came to their feet.
“Thank you so much,” Olivia hollered. “We’re Mama’s Biscuits. Skynyrd’s coming up next.”
Tommy squeezed Olivia in a bear hug as they left the stage. �
�Jesus, did you hear that crowd? You were amazing, Olivia. I’ve never heard you sing better.”
Olivia grinned. “I had a smoking hot drummer and band behind me. We kicked ass, didn’t we?”
“Damn right we did,” Tommy said. “And now we get to watch Skynyrd for free.”
Olivia stepped away and pulled out her phone. She was anxious to talk to Callie.
“Was that Skynyrd?” Callie asked. “Erin and I could feel the building shake.”
“We nailed it,” Olivia laughed. “God, I wish you and Erin could have seen us. I’m so excited!”
“It’s a good thing we were out here,” Callie said. “We’ve already sold five T-shirts and about fifteen CDs. I’ve got a feeling we’re going to sell out the table before the night is over. Are you coming out?”
“No, I’ll see you when the concert’s over. We’re going to watch from backstage. I’m hoping we’ll get to meet the band.”
The next ninety minutes passed in a blur. The crowd was on their feet the entire time. Skynyrd closed their set with the rollicking Call Me the Breeze.
The lights went down, and Skynyrd was barely off the stage before the shouts for Free Bird began.
Tommy and Olivia stared in awe at the southern rock legends who waited in the wings while the crowd worked itself into frenzy.
“Tommy, do I have food in my teeth or something?”
“What are you talking about, Olivia?”
“Two of the guys with Skynyrd are looking at me. Oh, God, they’re coming over. Did I do something wrong?”
The band’s lead singer had his hand out. She took it in a daze.
“Olivia Ward, you are a tough act to follow. By the way, I’m Johnny, and this is Gary.”
Olivia laughed. “Yeah, I know who you are, believe me. Thank you both so much for this opportunity.”
Gary waved off the comment. “Johnny wants you to sing with him. We’re doing a two-song encore, Whiskey Rock-A-Roller and Free Bird. Do you know them?”
“Oh, yeah, I know them. We cover those songs four nights a week.”
The promoter came over and spoke to Gary.
“Let’s go.”
Gary led the band back out through the darkness and positioned Olivia in front of one of the microphones. The lights came up, and the crowd roared as the drummer and lead guitarist kicked off the opening notes to Whiskey Rock-A-Roller.
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