father telling him everyone expected the man to be strong, ho breaking down, and in his opinion that just sucked. The memory almost made him smile. He said to Joanna and Ethan, “I’ve called her more times than I can count. She’s—not there.”
Joanna’s voice was a thread. “Or maybe she’s just not feeling strong enough. That could be it—sure it could. One of the ICU nurses told me she’s got a long way to go to get well again…” Her voice fell away.
Joanna and Ethan went back into the cubicle, taking their place beside the narrow bed, Savich and Sherlock behind them, standing at the end of the bed. The same nurse, Elaine Amos, came in. They watched her take Autumn’s blood pressure. She paused, straightened, and said to them, “Look, I’ve seen people die, and I’ve seen some miracles too along the way, and with Autumn, I feel it here”—she touched her fingertips to her heart—”I know she’ll make it. All of us here want to bring her through this. What happened to your leg?”
Sherlock said matter-of-factly, “He got shot.” She saw Elaine’s eyes go wide, briefly, but she didn’t care. If this hospital was true to form, gossip was already rife now that two FBI agents had come running in, one of them on crutches.
Elaine said, “Look, guys, give me a minute with her, all right?” A final kiss, a final touch, and the four of them left Autumn’s cubicle, Joanna looking over her shoulder at her daughter, her face so pale it looked bloodless.
Ethan said, “You should know, Savich, Theodore Backman died soon after he reached the hospital, a massive heart attack.” He slammed his fist against his palm. “It was too easy for that perverted old man. Blessed, last I heard, is unresponsive—catatonic, they called it. They’ve moved him to a secured psych ward, where we’ve got him isolated and under guard anyway. As for Mrs. Backman, she’s six rooms down the hall, raving and chanting, mad as a hatter. And Cal-dicot, that psycho is still in Chief Parkes’s jail at Peas Ridge.” He paused a moment, turned back, looking through the open curtains at the nurse bending over Autumn, fiddling with one of her IV lines. He said, his eyes never leaving Autumn’s face, “Chief Parkes found the fresh grave, fifty feet behind the barn. I’m glad they did. At least the two people they found can go home now.”
Savich’s cell phone played Eric Hummer’s “Milwaukee Blues.” What now, Sherlock wondered, and wished she could rip the phone out of Dillon’s hand and throw it out the window. But of course she couldn’t.
Savich flipped his cell closed after a couple of minutes. He motioned the three of them out of the ICU. “Ethan, Joanna, you know Sherlock and I flew here directly from North Carolina. We have to go back to Washington, D.C. Mr. Maitland says the media’s going nuts, he admits he’s got a truckload of questions for us himself, and Director Mueller, even though he understands the situation with Autumn, has asked us to come back until everything can be sorted out. I don’t want to leave—”
Ethan pulled Joanna to his side and squeezed. “We’ll be here Thank you for everything you’ve done.”
Sherlock touched her fingers to his shoulder, then to Joanna’s.
Epilogue
Five days later
Savich stood in the doorway of Autumn’s private room on the second floor. He and Sherlock had just arrived at Palmerton after five long days of worry. The sun poured through the bank of windows, setting the pale yellow walls of her room aglow. She was still hooked up to IVs, but there were no longer oxygen clips in her nose, and he saw a bit of color on her cheeks. She was so small in that narrow hospital bed, so very thin. But she’d lived; she would make it. Soon she would be whole again.
She was asleep, her breathing even and soft. He watched Joanna lean down and kiss her cheek, then Ethan kiss her forehead. They walked hand in hand out of the room, both looking pale and drawn, their eyes still shadowed from days of worry and lack of sleep, but both of them were smiling.
Ethan shook Savich’s hand, hugged Sherlock. “Autumn should sleep for a while now. Both Joanna and I are running on low. How about some coffee—and tea for you, Savich—in the hospital cafeteria? It’s not bad at all, kept us alive these past days. I like the cane. Is that an eagle’s head on it?”
The walls of the Palmerton hospital cafeteria were sunshine yellow, the chairs and tables alternately bright green and blue. You couldn’t help but feel your spirits lift a little when you walked in.
Joanna said, “We’re very glad you guys are back. Even though we’ve spoken every day, it’s wonderful to see you, to have you here.” She drew in a deep breath. “It’s been—difficult.” Then she smiled up at Ethan, squeezed his hand.
Ethan said, “She’s been improving steadily. Every single day, she’s better and better. Only a couple of minor setbacks, a fever that scared the spit out of us, but it passed quickly. Dr. Maddox came out of her room this morning and he was beaming and did a little skip.” Without thought, Ethan leaned over and touched his forehead to Joanna’s. “We are very, very lucky,” he said, and kissed her cheek.
Joanna gave them a brilliant smile. “Five very long days, but they’re in the past now. You should hear Nurse Elaine talk about her miracle.”
Ethan said, “We’ve seen some of the hoopla on TV about Victor Nesser. What’s happening?”
Sherlock said, “The media frenzy over Victor and Lissy is still playing itself out, mostly in the tabloids now, and a couple of the talking head cable networks. More speculation than fact now, shrinks and legal analysts using it to get airtime. There’s been nothing new in the past day and a half to rev them up again, thank God.”
Joanna said, “We saw an interview with that bank security guard, Buzz Riley, on one of the major stations. He was something, a very funny man.”
Savich nodded. “Buzz called us after the show aired. He was pumped up, said he’d always wanted to be on TV, wondered if he’d get some calls from Hollywood.”
Joanna laughed. It sounded a bit rusty, but it was still a laugh, no shadows beneath it. “Do you know I wouldn’t be at all surprised if he made it into the next
Ethan said, “He sure sang your praises, Savich, about what you did at the Georgetown bank.”
Savich said, “Buzz is very glad to be back home. He says water and sun are okay with him, but since no one could ever tell if he had a tan or not, why bother?” Savich shook his head, smiling.
Ethan rose, held up his hand. “All right, guys, don’t talk about the good stuff until I get back. I’m going to get us some drinks.”
Sherlock saw Joanna watch Ethan make his way to the buffet line along the back wall of the cafeteria. He turned and smiled brightly at them, gave Joanna a little wave.
It was hard for Joanna, Savich saw, to turn away from Ethan, but she finally managed it. She said, “Dillon, tell me first how your leg’s doing.”
He did exactly what he always did when he was hurt—he simply shrugged, said he was fine.
Joanna said, “All right, then, I can see you’re not the one to ask. So you tell me, Sherlock, how’s his leg?”
Sherlock said matter-of-factly, “The stitches come out in a couple of days. There wasn’t too much muscle damage, so Dillon limps less every day, needs fewer pain pills. The doctor said he could begin some gentle workouts the end of next week.”
“How’s Sean doing?”
“He saw his father moving around on crutches. Since Dillon made light of it, Sean wasn’t worried or scared about it. He decided it was cool. When Dillon graduated to a cane, Sean got himself a long stick and tried to walk like his father. He got his first taste of reporters a couple of days ago. They ambushed the three of us at Danby Park where we play Frisbee. Picture this, Dillon’s sitting under a tree watching me throw a Frisbee to Sean, then Sean throws the Frisbee to Astro, grinning at the reporters over his shoulder, and all those people with their microphones and cameras surround him, looking for a big dose of cute.” She smiled. “I fear Sean’s a ham. Like Buzz, he loved it.
