Moments later, she was led up to the second floor and back to Holly Patterson’s room, where a man who introduced himself as Rex Rogers was waiting in the hallway. He led her inside.
Once more the heavy curtains were pulled almost shut, and once again the room was shrouded in drapery gloom. Dressed in a sweat suit and bedroom slippers, Holly sat rocking back and forth in her old-fashioned rocking chair. Her hands rested limp and open in her lap. Her face was lax and expressionless.
“Holly,” Rex Rogers said, gently shaking her shoulder. “There’s someone here to see you.”
As if she were waking from a drug-induced stupor, Holly Patterson’s eyes fluttered open.
“What?” she asked vaguely.
“Someone to see you,” Rogers repeated. “The sheriff. I believe she wants to ask you some questions.”
“How are you?” Joanna asked. “I heard you were under the weather.”
“I’m fine,” Holly answered unconvincingly.
“What happened to your hands?”
Holly looked down at the hands that lay in her lap. Joanna had noticed the heel of the palm on both hands was badly skinned, as though she had taken a bad fall and had used her hands to cushion herself. The damage was new enough that the abrasions were still leaking fluid, but Holly looked down at the injuries with surprised dismay.
“I don’t know,” she said tentatively. “They hurt but I don’t know what happened to them.”
“She fell down,” Rex supplied brusquely. “Holly’s always falling down like that. She’s easily distracted.”
“Where did she fall?”
“Outside,” Rex answered again. “Off one of the terraces.”
“Isn’t she capable of answering questions on her own?” Joanna asked. “Where did you fall, Holly? : How did it happen?”
Rex Rogers grimaced with annoyance while Holly Patterson looked at Joanna with strangely vacant eyes. “I don’t know,” she said, without ever stopping rocking. “I don’t remember.”
“But it happened just a little while ago,” Joanna insisted. “Look. Your hands are still bleeding.”
“I don’t know,” Holly repeated hopelessly. “I just don’t know.”
Joanna turned back to Rex Rogers. “What kinds of medication is this woman on?” she asked.
“How should I know?” Rex Rogers answered sharply. “I’m her lawyer, not her doctor.”
“What seems to be the problem?” Amy Baxter asked from the doorway of the room.
“Holly has hurt herself,” Joanna answered. “Recently enough that the palm of her hands are still seeping serum, but she can’t remember how it happened. Is she on medication of some kind, or has she maybe suffered an injury, a concussion perhaps?”
“I tried to tell you downstairs that she wasn’t in any condition to receive visitors. You were the one who insisted on seeing her.” The phone rang out in the hall, interrupting her statement.
“I believe she should be examined by a physician,” Joanna said.
“That’s ridiculous. I’m telling you she’s fine.”
Isabel Gonzales appeared behind Amy Baxter in the corridor. “The phone’s for you, Mr. Rogers,” she said. “Burton Kimball.”
Amy nodded to Rex. “You take care of that; I’ll handle this.”
Rex Rogers dodged out of the room, leaving the three women there together. For some time, the only sound was the creaking of Holly’s rocker on the polished hardwood floor.
“Is she being held here against her will?” Joanna asked suddenly.
“Against her will? Of course not! What kind of preposterous idea is that?”
Joanna bent her head close to Holly’s. “Look at your hands,” she said kindly. “You’ve hurt your self. Don’t you think you ought to see a doctor about them?”
She held Holly’s limp hands up in the air. In the dim light, Holly examined them as though they were strange appendages having nothing at all to do with her own body.
“How did I hurt my hands, Amy?” Holly asked in a strangely disembodied voice. “Do you know?”
“You fell, Holly,” Amy answered firmly. “You fell down outside, just a little while ago.”
“Why can’t I remember then?” Holly asked, still studying her hands. “It’s weird not to be able to remember.”
“Maybe you hit your head when you fell, and that’s why you can’t remember,” Joanna suggested. “The hospital is only a few blocks away. It wouldn’t be any trouble at all for me to take you there and have a doctor take a look at you.”
“Oh, go if you want to,” Amy said with sudden irritation. “I won’t stand in your way.”
“No,” Holly said, doubtfully at first but then with stronger conviction. “I think I’m okay. It’s okay. I’ll just stay here.”
Amy Baxter smiled at Joanna in triumph. “See there?” she said.
Joanna reached in the pocket of her blazer and located a business card, one of her old ones from the Davis Insurance Agency. On the back of it, she scrawled her home phone number as well as the word “sheriff.”
