WHEN I AWOKE, DAWN WAS JUST A PALE HINT ALONG THE HORIZON.
Instantly my thoughts circled to where they’d been just prior to Katy’s scream.
Had I stumbled upon Plato’s unstated motive for stonewalling use of his DNA? Did he fear another man had fathered his sons?
Throwing back the covers, I crossed the floor and opened my balcony door. Breathed deeply.
Overnight, the rain had stopped. The air smelled of salt, damp foliage, and wet sand.
It was 6:37.
Late morning East Coast time.
Anxious for answers, I didn’t bother with coffee, just grabbed a Diet Coke from the kitchen and returned to my room.
Checked a number.
Dialed.
Sheriff Beasley was in his office and took my call.
I minced no words.
“Plato still refuses to give DNA. I find that baffling.”
“What’s his reason?”
“He won’t give one.”
“Plato’s an odd duck.”
“From time to time, I encounter people who won’t submit bodily fluids for testing. Sometimes for religious reasons. Sometimes out of ignorance. Sometimes because they’re guilty as hell. With Plato, I sense that it’s none of those.”
No reply.
“Sheriff Beasley, is there something you’re holding back?”
“What are you talking about?” Guarded.
“You tell me.”
“You’ll need to be more specific, miss.”
Beasley was wasting my time. Those who do so fail to enjoy the sunny side of my disposition.
“How about this? If I made an inquiry into Harriet Lowery’s kidney transplant, would I dig up some curious facts?”
Beasley was silent a long moment before speaking.
“If you’re wanting medical information, you’ll have to speak to Harriet’s doctor.”
“Might you know who that is?” Icy.
More hesitation, then, “Patricia Macken.”
“Might you have contact information for Dr. Macken?”
Beasley exhaled loudly.
“Hang on.”
The sheriff put me on hold for almost five minutes.
“OK.” He read off a number.
“Thank you.” Dickhead. I didn’t say it, but the good sheriff heard it in my tone.
I was about to disconnect when Beasley spoke again.
“Plato may be stubborn and uneducated, but he’s honest, works hard when given the chance.”
“I believe he is.”
“This is Lumberton.” In case I’d forgotten. “Let’s keep this as low-profile as possible.”
Excitement fizzed in my chest. Beasley’s comment was a tell that I was on the right track.
“Of course.”
I disconnected and dialed Macken.
A woman answered, said the doctor was in an examination room and could not be disturbed.
I explained that I was calling about a former patient. Stated that my business was urgent.
The woman promised to deliver my message.
I sat back, satisfied I’d soon have an answer.
Twenty minutes later I was pacing the room. Didn’t physicians have to hustle these days? Eight minutes per
