Linda felt a clutch of concern. “What did you do?”
“I told Ivy about Uncle Harold’s decision,” Burton said. “I got all tanked up, called Ivy, and breached my lawyer-client privilege. I can’t believe I did it. That’s why I’m looking for Uncle Harold. I’ve got to find him, try to make things right.”
“You know Uncle Harold would never disbar you,” Linda said confidently. “Not in a million years.”
“He should,” Burton Kimball replied grimly. “I certainly deserve it.”
“No, you don’t.”
Linda reached out to hug him then, wrapping her comforting arms around his chest, ignoring the stench of booze that lingered around him like a foul-smelling cloud.
Gratitude flooded through Burton Kimball.
Linda was steady and dependable. Like Uncle Harold, she, too, was salt of the earth. He was lucky to have a woman like her in his life. Leaning against her, he closed his eyes and inhaled the shampoo-clean fragrance of her hair.
He never saw the car coming, not until it was far too late. If it hadn’t been for Joanna Brady, Burton and Linda Kimball both would have been smashed flat, just like that, embracing each other and resting against the building.
Without Joanna’s timely intervention, not only would the speeding car have flattened Burton and Linda Kimball, it would have done exactly the same thing to Reverend Marianne Macula.
WHEN MARIANNE and Joanna stepped out of the building, the clear night air was a relief after the crowded, overheated, and smoky convention-center floor. Still stung by what she regarded as Milo’s underhanded actions, Joanna was eager to talk but she wanted some privacy.
Just outside the entrance near the curb, they encountered an embracing man and woman who seemed in need of some privacy of their own. Joanna led Marianne across the street.
“Don’t you think you’re overreacting to all this?” Marianne asked after listening to what was on Joanna’s mind. “It looks to me as though Milo thought you already had enough on your plate without adding in the complications of helping Lisa study for and pass her insurance exams.”
But Joanna wasn’t entirely mollified. “So you think he was being considerate instead of sneaky?”
“That’s my opinion,” Marianne replied. “Opinions are just exactly that-not worth the powder it would take to blow them up. But why not give him the benefit of the doubt?” They had walked through the park as far as the base of the steps leading up to the Copper Queen Hotel, then they had stood at the bottom of the steps to talk. Now, though, aware of the autumn chill, they started back toward the convention center.
The events of the last few months had instilled a new wariness in Joanna Brady. She observed things about her more; things that before would have passed unnoticed.
While they stood at the base of the steps, Marianne had been standing with her back to Main Street while Joanna faced it. Twice in five minutes’ time, she had seen the same red car pass by on the street.
Something about it had piqued her interest and attention. Maybe it was the speed, or rather the lack thereof. The car was going exceptionally slowly. Maybe it was the make and model.
The Cadillac would have been a standout car any where. Or maybe it was the color. Under the mercury-vapor halogen lights, the bright-red paint job glowed deep purple.
Chilled and ready to go back inside, Marianne and Joanna headed back toward the building. Marianne was talking, saying something neither of them could remember later. With her face turned toward Joanna, Marianne had just stepped out of the crosswalk and up onto the sidewalk when, with a squeal of tortured rubber, the accelerating car lurched half onto the sidewalk less than half a block away.
Joanna saw the whole thing at once; the on coming car; the couple, still locked in their embrace and totally unaware of the danger; Marianne, chatting away in lighthearted unconcern.
With only milliseconds in which to react, Joanna screamed, “Watch out!” Grabbing Marianne by the shoulder, she propelled her forward into the the recessed entryway.
Startled by the warning, the man and woman straightened up and separated. The man stepped backward toward the safety of the building. The woman stayed where she was, directly in the path of the car. Joanna could see that the man was safe.
But unless the car swerved back off the curb and into the street, the woman, transfixed by fear, was a goner.
Without even thinking about it, Joanna seized the woman’s wrist as she leaped past. There was a whiplash jerk as the woman’s arm was wrenched forward. Joanna heard the sickening pop of a dislocating shoulder, heard the shriek of pain, and then the two of them plowed forward into the entryway where a shaken Marianne was just scrambling to her feet. Joanna and the other woman landed on top of Marianne in a muddled heap of flailing arms and legs. Joanna’s jawbone smashed into something hard in a skull-cracking explosion of stars.
It took seconds for Joanna’s head and vision to clear. When they did, she was sandwiched between the other two women. Beneath her, Marianne’s body was unnaturally still, while above someone moaned, “My arm, my arm! I think it’s broken.”
“Linda,” Burton Kimball said, reaching for his wife. “My God! Are you all right? They tried to kill us! Somebody call the cops.”
By then people were trying to come out through the door, but Marianne and Joanna both blocked the way. With her head still spinning, Joanna managed to roll off. The door opened far enough for some of the people inside to squeeze out onto the sidewalk. Not surprisingly, one of the first people out the door was Jeff Daniels. Right behind him was the television cameraman.
Jeff was kneeling beside his stricken wife when Marianne’s eyes fluttered open. “What happened?” she whispered.
Someone, the cameraman most likely, hurried to help Joanna to her feet. Her dress was torn, and three of the four gold buttons were missing.
