Read Online Something About Sophie by Mary Kay McComas - Free Book Online Page B

be coincidence.”
    â€œThen we’ll only be a few more minutes late for dinner. We’ll say hi and be on our way.”
    â€œI feel ridiculous.” But only marginally. “I’m probably overreacting.”
    â€œDo you do that a lot? Overreact?”
    â€œWell no, not usually but—”
    â€œOne of the most amazing things I’ve learned in my profession is that people often don’t give their instincts enough credit. So many of the people I see have known or suspected, but refused to believe, that they’re desperately ill until it’s too late. And when relatively stable patients tell me they are dying—imminently, at that very moment—despite all evidence to the contrary, I always call their minister and loved ones in. And sure enough, they die a few hours later. My advice: always listen to your instincts.” He hesitated. “What’s he doing? Sleeping?”
    With his arm from the elbow down dangling out the open window of the truck, Cliff Palmeroy’s head was tipped at a backward angle to the left, his cap bill low over his eyes. “See? Stupid. Let’s not disturb him.”
    â€œHe might not be asleep. Could be a coronary or a stroke or a diabetic—” Abruptly he stepped in front of her, putting his back to the truck and turning her around, her back to him, calm but urgently saying, “Call 911.”
    â€œWhat? Why?” Her hands shook as she went for her phone. “What is it?”
    â€œDon’t turn around, Sophie.”
    But even as she dialed the ominous number, she turned and asked, “Why? What’s happened? Is he ill?” And putting the cell to her ear, she finally looked up and took a step closer to see if she could help. “Oh, Jesus!”
    She saw the man’s gaping mouth, the dark bib of blood, thick and wide, down the front of his T-shirt; the explosion of splatter that spotted the driver’s window casing and dripped down the door panel—she caught the scent of feces and rusty nails, and the wide-open look of horror in his eyes before she could turn away again.
    â€œWhat’s happened to him? Yes, hello. Hello? Yes. There’s blood . . .” She took a deep breath—swallowed several times to keep the salt and bile in the back of her throat. “A man’s been injured. We’re on Poplar Street, a few blocks down from the hospital. I can’t see an address, but we’re across from Jesse Halleron’s bed-and-breakfast. He’s in a truck. There’s a doctor here but he’s going to need help. There’s a lot of blood. What? His name? Dr. McCarren? Oh, the man’s name. Cliff . . . something.”
    â€œPalmeroy.”
    â€œCliff Palmeroy. Well, I don’t—” She half turned but didn’t look at Drew. Her hands were shaking—she trembled as if she was standing inside her own personal earthquake. “Is he . . . ?”
    â€œYes. He’s dead,” he said directly behind her, reaching to take the phone—which she gave up willingly. He put an arm around her shoulders, no doubt an automatic thing for someone like him but she didn’t care; she leaned into him before the shivering took her to her knees. “Drew McCarren. We’re going to need the police, too, and someone from the coroner’s office will want to see this. Thanks. No, I’ll stay. I can hear them already.”
    Her stomach pitched like waves in a storm—up and down and up again. Salty saliva pooled in her throat again and her mind raced in no specific direction.
    Sirens had started to whine in the distance. Closer, far off down the street, they could see red lights flashing as an ambulance sped to their aide.
    â€œWhy don’t you go back to Jesse’s? You don’t need to be here. The cops’ll want to talk to you, too, but it’ll be a while and I’ll tell them where you are.”
    â€œAre you