Bare Bones

If this was an attempt at humor, Looper’s delivery was beyond dry.

“I wasn’t supposed to get back until Friday, but my appointments wrapped up earlier than I’d expected.”

“Landed the big one?” Slidell.

“Actually, no.”

“Do you have any guess as to why Wally might have cut short his workweek in Beaufort?” I asked.

Though one shoulder rose in a nonchalant shrug, Looper’s face tensed visibly.

“We’re here in regard to a murder investigation, Mr. Looper,” I prompted.

Deep sigh.

“Wally may have been planning a rendezvous.”

Deeper sigh.

“A tryst.” Shoulder. “Behind my back.”

There was a long silence. Even Slidell was shrewd enough not to break it.

“Wally met with someone. They didn’t know I saw them together, but I did. In a coffee shop near campus two Fridays ago.”

“And?” Slidell.

“There are certain things you just know.” Looper inspected his bare toes.

“Know?” Slidell’s voice was like razor wire.

Looper’s gaze came up and locked on Slidell’s.

“It didn’t look like a business meeting.”

“Were the two of them holdin—”

“Can you describe the man?” I cut Slidell off.

Looper sniffed, and his brows arced upward.

“Pretty.”

“Could you be more specific?”

“Hunky build, salon tan.”

“Tall?”

“No.”

“Glasses? Facial hair? Tattoos?”

Continuous head shake.

“Hair?”

“Hugh Grant with a black dye job.” Sniff. “Looked like he was done up for a GQ shoot.”

Looper gave an eye roll that made Katy look like a tenderfoot, recrossed his legs, and went back to picking at his thumb.

“You didn’t know this person?”

Head shake.

“Have you and Dr. Cagle been having difficulties?” I asked gently.

Slidell sheeshed air through his lips. I ignored him.

Looper shrugged and popped the flip-flop. “Some. Nothing ghastly.”

“Is there any chance at all that Dr. Cagle might be able to speak to us? To communicate?”

Looper rose, walked to a credenza, picked up and dialed a phone. After a pause he asked about Cagle’s condition, listened, thanked the other party, said he’d be by shortly, and disconnected.

Keeping his back to Slidell, Looper ran his right palm across each cheek, and breathed deeply. Then he squared his shoulders, wiped his hand on his cutoffs, and turned.

“He’s still comatose.”

Slidell’s face registered nothing.

“What hospital?”

Looper bristled slightly.

“Palmetto Health Richland. He’s in cardiac intensive care. His doctor’s name is Kenneth MacMillan.”

Slidell moved toward the door. I rose and approached Looper.

“Are you going to be all right?”

Looper nodded.