it’s suicide, all the real evidence will simply disappear.”
“But when Andy comes around, surely he’ll be able to tell someone what really happened.”
“But what if he doesn’t?” Joanna objected. “I’ve been going in there every hour for four hours now, Mari, and Andy hasn’t moved, not once. He hasn’t spoken and he hasn’t responded to my touch. I think the machines are all that are keeping him alive. What if he never wakes up?”
“Then you’re right. Whoever did this will literally get away with murder, won’t they,” Marianne Maculyea agreed.
The waiting room suddenly seemed to fill up and grow smaller as two other families arrived to keep their own separate ICU vigils. The newcomers talked in hushed, worried voices, waiting for the time when one or two of them would be ushered into a room for a five-minute visit.
Just as the new arrivals were settling in, the door to the waiting room slammed open again and Jennifer Brady rushed inside. A careworn Walter McFadden followed hot on her heels. Lack of sleep had left dark circles under the old man’s eyes. In one hand he carried Joanna’s shabby luggage. In the other was a long white florist’s box tied with a red satin ribbon.
Breathlessly Jenny darted up to her mother, talking full speed as she came. “Will I be able to see him now? Sheriff McFadden doesn’t think so, but I do. They’ll let me, won’t they? Grandma’s mad because I rode up with Sheriff McFadden. She thinks I should have ridden up with her. Are you okay, Mommy? You don’t look very good.”
Joanna took Jennifer firmly by the shoulders. “Jenny,” she said. “I want you to go sit with Reverend Maculyea for a few minutes. I’ve got to talk to Sheriff McFadden.”
“But . . .” Jenny objected.
Marianne Maculyea headed off the objection and led the protesting child away. Meanwhile, Walter McFadden set the suitcase on the floor. After placing the box on a nearby table, he gave it a gentle tap.
“I brought this from the hotel,” he explained. “As soon as he heard what had happened, Melvin Williams from up at the Copper Queen called and left word for me to call him. Evidently Andy dropped this off at the hotel late yesterday afternoon and asked Melvin to keep it in the refrigerator until you two came in for dinner. Under the circumstances, Melvin wanted you to have it right away while the flowers are still fresh.”
“What flowers?” Joanna asked.
She had been staring at him, but she must not have been listening to a word he said. McFadden shook his head impatiently as though wanting her to pay closer attention.
“These flowers, Joanna. The ones here in this box. Don’t you want to open them?”
“I don’t give a damn about flowers,” Joanna said vehemently. “I only want to know one thing. Who besides Dick Voland says Andy tried to kill himself?” Her icy tone of voice matched the pallor of her cheeks.
Walter McFadden’s shoulders sagged. “You heard then?”
Joanna nodded. “I heard.”
McFadden left the box on the table and moved closer to her. “I’m sorry, Joanna, sorry as hell.”
“You think you’re sorry? I want to know who came up with that crackpot idea,” she insisted. “Tell me.”
“Dick Voland, Ken Galloway, the detectives who worked the scene. Don’t take it personally, Joanna. It was a consensus opinion.”
“Consensus my ass!” she said, her eyes narrowing. “Whoever says that is dead wrong.”
“You can’t argue with the evidence, Joanna. It’s plain as day. They found the gun, you know. Under the truck. Andy must have dropped it when he fell. It’s his own gun, Andy’s .38 Special. We’ve already checked. His are the only prints on it.”
“If it’s Andy’s gun, of course his prints are on it. Whoever else used it probably wore gloves.”
Their raised voices caused the other families in the room to turn away from their own concerns in order to watch the drama unfolding in the middle of the room—an
“But when Andy comes around, surely he’ll be able to tell someone what really happened.”
“But what if he doesn’t?” Joanna objected. “I’ve been going in there every hour for four hours now, Mari, and Andy hasn’t moved, not once. He hasn’t spoken and he hasn’t responded to my touch. I think the machines are all that are keeping him alive. What if he never wakes up?”
“Then you’re right. Whoever did this will literally get away with murder, won’t they,” Marianne Maculyea agreed.
The waiting room suddenly seemed to fill up and grow smaller as two other families arrived to keep their own separate ICU vigils. The newcomers talked in hushed, worried voices, waiting for the time when one or two of them would be ushered into a room for a five-minute visit.
Just as the new arrivals were settling in, the door to the waiting room slammed open again and Jennifer Brady rushed inside. A careworn Walter McFadden followed hot on her heels. Lack of sleep had left dark circles under the old man’s eyes. In one hand he carried Joanna’s shabby luggage. In the other was a long white florist’s box tied with a red satin ribbon.
Breathlessly Jenny darted up to her mother, talking full speed as she came. “Will I be able to see him now? Sheriff McFadden doesn’t think so, but I do. They’ll let me, won’t they? Grandma’s mad because I rode up with Sheriff McFadden. She thinks I should have ridden up with her. Are you okay, Mommy? You don’t look very good.”
Joanna took Jennifer firmly by the shoulders. “Jenny,” she said. “I want you to go sit with Reverend Maculyea for a few minutes. I’ve got to talk to Sheriff McFadden.”
“But . . .” Jenny objected.
Marianne Maculyea headed off the objection and led the protesting child away. Meanwhile, Walter McFadden set the suitcase on the floor. After placing the box on a nearby table, he gave it a gentle tap.
“I brought this from the hotel,” he explained. “As soon as he heard what had happened, Melvin Williams from up at the Copper Queen called and left word for me to call him. Evidently Andy dropped this off at the hotel late yesterday afternoon and asked Melvin to keep it in the refrigerator until you two came in for dinner. Under the circumstances, Melvin wanted you to have it right away while the flowers are still fresh.”
“What flowers?” Joanna asked.
She had been staring at him, but she must not have been listening to a word he said. McFadden shook his head impatiently as though wanting her to pay closer attention.
“These flowers, Joanna. The ones here in this box. Don’t you want to open them?”
“I don’t give a damn about flowers,” Joanna said vehemently. “I only want to know one thing. Who besides Dick Voland says Andy tried to kill himself?” Her icy tone of voice matched the pallor of her cheeks.
Walter McFadden’s shoulders sagged. “You heard then?”
Joanna nodded. “I heard.”
McFadden left the box on the table and moved closer to her. “I’m sorry, Joanna, sorry as hell.”
“You think you’re sorry? I want to know who came up with that crackpot idea,” she insisted. “Tell me.”
“Dick Voland, Ken Galloway, the detectives who worked the scene. Don’t take it personally, Joanna. It was a consensus opinion.”
“Consensus my ass!” she said, her eyes narrowing. “Whoever says that is dead wrong.”
“You can’t argue with the evidence, Joanna. It’s plain as day. They found the gun, you know. Under the truck. Andy must have dropped it when he fell. It’s his own gun, Andy’s .38 Special. We’ve already checked. His are the only prints on it.”
“If it’s Andy’s gun, of course his prints are on it. Whoever else used it probably wore gloves.”
Their raised voices caused the other families in the room to turn away from their own concerns in order to watch the drama unfolding in the middle of the room—an
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