Authors: Carlene Thompson
Diana left Clarice’s room and discovered Simon had abandoned the library. Maybe he’d gone to look for the walker. Or he may have decided to search for the walker tomorrow morning and simply retreated to his own bedroom, she thought. He had exhausted himself trying to keep Clarice from dwelling on Penny, but Diana knew that his own mind had not wandered far from the young woman. For the three of them, the chatter, the liquor, the comforting ambience of the library had merely formed a thin veneer under which
lay the shattering knowledge that Penny had suffered unspeakable injuries and probably would not live.
Diana had washed her hands and soot-smudged face when she arrived home, but she did so again and changed her blouse before going to the hospital. She pulled her long wavy hair—smelling of smoke—into a ponytail, brushed her teeth, swiped gloss on her dry lips, and put some drops in her eyes—bloodshot from smoke.
As Diana left the house and got behind the wheel of her car, she felt oppression descend on her. She wished she could cry, which might be a release—poor, at best, but at least a slight release. She couldn’t do it, though. Her tears had spilled at the site of the explosion and now her emotional landscape felt arid and bleak, like some of the vast deserts in Egypt she’d seen years ago.
Traffic was light at this time of night—or rather, morning—giving Diana a better chance to think. The gun. Ever since Simon had revealed he’d seen a loaded gun sitting by Penny’s chair, Diana hadn’t really been able to concentrate on anything else. She was certain Penny would not have left the gun out if Willow had been home, but Willow had been in the hospital. Diana imagined Penny sitting in the old recliner at night, tensed, all the lights on, the gun beside her, waiting for . . . For
what
?
Penny never seemed to be afraid of living without a man in the house. Diana hadn’t asked her if she owned a gun, but Penny had known Simon owned a collection of guns and kept a gun in his room, insisting that Diana keep one, also. He believed in defending one’s home—not depending on a security company or the police.
Diana deftly maneuvered the narrow, hilly roads of Huntington’s large recreational and residential Ritter Park. In record time, she pulled into the well-lit hospital parking lot. She ran toward the glass-front emergency room and dashed through the doors, her mind filling with dread at the condition she might find Willow in. She nearly hurled herself against the reception desk.
“Willow Conley,” Diana burst out. “I’m here about Willow Conley.”
A nurse with brown hair nodded absently and continued to read the scrawled handwriting on a chart. She put the chart in a rack and slowly looked up at Diana, her blue eyes set in a long face showing fatigue. “Sorry, but I didn’t want to break my concentration. How can I help you?”
“Willow Conley.” Diana leaned on the counter and casually held two fingers over her mouth. She didn’t want to take a chance of blowing the smell of liquor into the nurse’s face. “She’s a little girl, five years old, who witnessed a house explosion and saw her mother on fire. The mother is Penny Conley. They’re both here. Or were.” Diana watched the nurse’s eyebrows rise. Diana knew she was talking at a rapid-fire rate, as she always did when she was upset, and tried uselessly to slow down.
“I’m sure Penny has already been taken to the burn ward, but Willow was hiding in the woods so thank heavens she wasn’t burned. Someone found her and took her to the paramedics. He phoned us—the man who found her, not the paramedics—and said she seemed all right, but the paramedics were going to bring her here in the ambulance, so I think she could only have arrived about half an hour ago,” Diana ended breathlessly.
The nurse spent at least five seconds looking into Diana’s bloodshot eyes before asking in a cautious tone, “Are you family?”
“No. Penny and Willow have no family.” Diana forced herself to take a deep breath and try to sound more calm and competent. “I mean, Penny and Willow have no family anywhere nearby. Penny works for my great-uncle, Dr. Simon Van Etton. He’s a retired professor of archaeology. I live with him. My name is Diana Sheridan. Simon and I are the closest people Penny and Willow have to relatives in this part of the country.”
Diana had no idea if the last part of her statement was true, but she did her best to look trustworthy. She wouldn’t
allow herself to blink as the nurse’s intelligent gaze probed her face, obviously deciding whether to believe her. Diana knew she must look awful—messy hair, skin pale from shock and dry from recent washings with strong hand soap, her lower lip swollen from nervously pulling it between her teeth.
The woman finally seemed to make up her mind in Diana’s favor. “Willow Conley is still being examined, Ms. Sheridan.”
“I see.” Diana tried to sound calm. “Which examining room?”
The nurse looked regretful. “I’m afraid you can’t go in. As you said, you’re not family.”
Diana’s artificial poise vanished. “But I’m the closest thing to family Willow has!” She hated the shrillness of her voice but was helpless to quiet it. “I mean, I’m the closest thing Willow has to family except for her mother! She needs me. Please!”
“I’m very sorry.”
“Yes, but—”
“Rules are rules, Ms. Sheridan. You can’t see Willow Conley.” Diana drew back, wanting to be angry, but aware the nurse realized Diana would have argued for at least ten minutes unless cut off firmly. “Now try to calm down because the doctor needs to ask you a few things about Willow,” the woman went on crisply, not giving Diana a chance to interrupt. “We know nothing about her except what the paramedics told us.”
Diana forced down her ire, telling herself the nurse couldn’t be as emotionless as she looked. The woman had to maintain her composure even if Diana couldn’t maintain hers. Allowing herself to get visibly disturbed over every patient who came into the emergency ward wouldn’t be good for the patient or the family, not to mention the nurse’s own well-being. A nurse prone to hysterics wouldn’t last long in the profession.
Diana felt her frustration begin to ebb before she said in a softer tone, “I’m sorry if I sounded unreasonable. Of
course you couldn’t know anything about Willow because Tyler Raines doesn’t know Willow. Or Penny.”
The nurse’s eyebrows rose again. “Tyler Raines?”
“The man who brought in Willow. I’m sure he spoke to you as soon as he could after Willow arrived.” The nurse continued to look at her quizzically and Diana felt her frustration level rising once more. “He’s early thirties, at least six feet tall. He has blond hair and blue eyes. He had on jeans and a T-shirt. He would have been dirty because he helped the firefighters at the site of the explosion. . . .” Diana trailed off, watching a vertical line form between the nurse’s eyebrows. “Maybe he didn’t give his name—”
“Ms. Sheridan, no one came with Willow Conley. The paramedics who brought her in said a man handed her over to them, and then he drove away.”
“Drove away?” Diana asked faintly. “He just drove away from the site of the fire?”
“Apparently, if that’s where the child was found. The paramedics said he didn’t even give his name.” Diana stared, surprised, as the nurse continued. “Now if you’ll have a seat in the waiting room, I’ll let you know when the doctor who is examining the child can speak to you.” Diana continued to stare at the woman, unable to close her mouth completely as shock ran through her. “Ma’am, if you will
please
just have a seat—”
“Yes. Okay. A seat. I’ll have a seat,” Diana said vaguely. She turned away from the reception desk and ambled toward a crowded waiting room, her mind whirling. Tyler Raines had called, told Simon he’d found Willow, and that the paramedics had said Willow seemed physically fine. He had appeared to be so concerned about Willow earlier that Diana had been certain he would come to the hospital and find out what the doctors had to say about the child.
But he hadn’t. Tyler Raines had simply handed over the little girl to the paramedics at the explosion site and disappeared into the night.
Diana didn’t know Tyler Raines, but he hadn’t struck her as the kind of man who would give a traumatized five-year-old girl to strangers, even if they were paramedics, then just abandon her. Driving Simon’s car. Surely, he could have waited to see if the child he’d seemed to care about was all right. Instead, he’d vanished as quickly as he’d arrived. Why?
Because he couldn’t do anything for Willow? Because he hadn’t wanted to get involved? Diana wondered. That’s certainly not how he’d acted when he helped at the scene of the raging fire, when he’d insisted on driving her and Clarice home, when he’d rushed straight back to Penny’s house so he could search for the little girl. Why would he be so hellbent on finding Willow, then not wait to see what the doctors had to say about the child’s condition? Why . . .
“Ms. Sheridan?” Diana jerked slightly in surprise. A slender man wearing a white coat and wire-rimmed glasses stood in front of her. His face was young, but streaks of gray laced his brown hair, and fine wrinkles surrounded his kind, dark-gray eyes. “Nurse Trenton at the desk tells me you’re here about Willow Conley.”
“Yes. How is she?”
“First of all, I’m Doctor Evans.” He sat down beside Diana, his expression sober. “Ms. Sheridan, I don’t mean to be rude, but what is your relationship to Willow Conley?”
“None.” He blinked at her. “I mean, I’m not a blood relative, but I’m her mother’s closest friend. I know there are hospital rules—Nurse Trenton reminded me—but I’m the only person available to come tonight.”
The doctor smiled. “Usually we do abide by the rules, but there are always situations calling for exceptions. I think this is one of them.” The doctor’s manner immediately became cool and analytical. “Willow shows no signs of physical trauma—no burns, lacerations, or even bruises. However, I’ve ordered several tests to rule out internal injuries, especially because when I was examining her, I saw she’d had an appendectomy on Tuesday.”
“She just came home this morning.” Diana realized it was after midnight. “Or rather, yesterday morning.”
“Willow’s incision looks fine—no tearing, no signs of infection. Still, we want to be sure all is well with her, especially after such recent surgery.” Dr. Evans paused. “Before the appendectomy, Mrs. Conley listed Simon Van Etton as the person to call in case of emergency if she was not available.” He paused, adding reluctantly, “I know Mrs. Conley is in the burn unit. I caught a glimpse of her when they brought her in, but I didn’t treat her.”
“She’s not going to live,” Diana stated flatly.
“We don’t know that yet. Even massively burned patients survive these days with all of the new broad-spectrum antibiotics available.” He tried to look encouraging and failed, falling back to a detached, professional tone. “Ms. Sheridan, we know nothing about Mrs. Conley except that she’s widowed and Willow is her only child. Her doctor will need more information about her. Do you know Simon Van Etton?”
“He’s my great-uncle. I live with him. He’s a former professor at Marshall University, an archaeologist, and he now writes books. He employs Penny as his research assistant. He’s seventy-five, Doctor Evans, and what’s happened
tonight has devastated him. That’s why I came alone. I wasn’t certain he could stand the stress of being here.”
“I see. Will he be able to give us more information about Mrs. Conley and Willow?”
“Maybe, but I don’t think he can be of any more help than I can. Neither of us knows much about the background of Penny or Willow. I doubt if Uncle Simon even knew Penny had listed him as the person to call in case of emergency.”
The doctor looked at her in confusion. “You said you are Mrs. Conley’s closest friend.”
“To the best of my knowledge I am, but not in the usual way people are close. I mean, I understand why Penny listed Uncle Simon as the person to call in case of emergency. He’s as close to her as I am. She only began working for him a little over a year ago, though. Simon and I have grown fond of Penny and Willow, but Penny has never said much about her background except that she’s a widow. She did tell me she lived in Philadelphia before she came here after her husband’s death, but she never talked about her parents. I don’t know if they’re even alive. The same goes for her husband’s parents.” Diana frowned. “My goodness, I don’t even know her maiden name. . . .”
The warm, compassionate gaze Dr. Evans had been giving her morphed into one of reservation.
No wonder,
Diana thought.
I sound like I don’t even know Penny and Willow.
She wished Uncle Simon were with her. His very presence bespoke authority.
Diana felt as if she’d been awake for three days. She was worn, dirty, muddled, and almost too exhausted to speak. Penny needed her help, though. Diana took a deep breath and looked earnestly at the man beside her. “Doctor Evans, my great-uncle and I like Penny and Willow tremendously, and I consider Penny a good friend. But I’m a photographer and I often have assignments that take me all over this country and occasionally to a few others. I’m not home a lot—I don’t see Penny every day or even every week. In
fact, I left early Tuesday morning for a three-day trip. Willow was admitted to the hospital about two hours later and diagnosed with appendicitis. I’m certain that’s why Penny listed Uncle Simon as the person to call in case of an emergency instead of me—I wasn’t home.”
The doctor nodded, his gaze never leaving hers. When she finished, he said expressionlessly, “Ms. Sheridan, you said Mrs. Conley has worked for your great-uncle and you have been friends with her for over a year. Haven’t you learned
anything
else about her in all that time?”
“I know it’s unusual.” Diana realized she sounded as if she were exaggerating or possibly lying. The doctor had every reason to doubt her, but she was determined to keep trying. “You see, Penny has always been reticent to talk about her past. I’ve thought when Penny is ready to tell me more about her life, she will. She was—is—a wonderful mother, an excellent research assistant to my great-uncle, and she’s a good and caring friend to me. As for details about her past . . .” Diana shrugged. “I’m afraid I just can’t be of much help. You know, she wouldn’t have listed my great-uncle as the person to call in case of emergency for her daughter if she didn’t trust him, though, and I’m his niece. If you don’t believe me, we can call him.”