The Secrets of Rosa Lee Page 4

  CHAPTER FIVE

  Lora Whitman huddled in a corner of the old dining room, her forehead resting on her knees as she tried to calm her breathing. It had all happened so fast. The sound of a car on the street. A rusty oil-field drill bit flying through the window. Glass following the missile like the tail of a comet. Billy’s body slamming into hers, knocking her to the floor. Crushing her. Protecting her.

  She glanced over at the drill bit still resting on her crumpled folding chair. She’d seen ones like it all her life. The oil rigs changed bits when drilling and the used ones were often thrown in the dirt around the site, or pitched in the back of pickup trucks. This one, all rusty and dirty, seemed harmless now.

  “Lora? Miss Whitman?” Sheriff Farrington knelt before her. “You calm enough to give me a statement?”

  Lora shoved her mass of blond hair away from her face. “There’s not much I can add to what the others have said.” Scraped knees poked through the holes in her stockings. “Except I thought it was a rock or a football or something. I didn’t know it was a drill bit until later.” She stretched out her leg. “I guess it couldn’t have been an accident. No one tosses around something so ugly for fun.”

  The sheriff glanced over at the rusty metal with teeth on one end used to dig into the rock-hard earth in these parts. “It wasn’t an accident,” he echoed. “There was a note pushed inside the bit.”

  Lora stretched the other leg. “What did it say?” she asked. She wouldn’t have been surprised if it read, Kill Lora because the drill point had been aimed right at her.

  The sheriff offered his hand to help her stand. “It said, Let the house fall.”

  Lora managed a laugh. “I guess someone not on the committee wanted to vote. Funny thing is, I’d have given them my place if they’d only asked.”

  She stumbled. The sheriff’s grip was firm. “The medic said there’s nothing broken, but if you want, I could drive you over to the hospital and have them check you out. You’ll want to be careful. There’s probably glass in your hair.” He touched her arm with a light pat as if he’d read somewhere in a manual what to do.

  Lora tried to smile but couldn’t manage it. “I had my head turned toward the door where Reverend Parker and the professor were standing. Billy hit me and knocked me to the floor before I even realized what happened.”

  She stared out onto the porch. Billy Hatcher sat on the steps. He’d removed his jacket. Blood spotted his shirt. The medic’s college helpers were cleaning cuts along his left hand and face. “When it happened, all I could think about was how angry I was that he knocked me down. I even fought him for a few seconds.”

  “Don’t worry about it.” The sheriff smiled. “I’m sure he’s not sorry he knocked you out of harm’s way.”

  “How bad is he hurt?” she asked.

  “I offered to take him over to the doc’s, but he said butterfly bandages are all he needs. He’ll have a scar on his forehead worth talking about. The leather jacket protected his arm and back. His hand is bleeding from several scratches but he says they are no worse than what he gets at work. He’s lucky.”

  “No, I’m lucky. That drill bit would have hit my head if he hadn’t flown into me.” For a moment, her imagination pictured the jagged iron teeth flying into the back of her head. She could almost see her mother leaning over her casket saying something like, “Thank God it hit her from behind and didn’t mess up her face.”

  “Did you see or hear anything that might help me out?” The sheriff broke into her daydream. “Did anyone say anything to you before the meeting? Did you see the truck pull away?”

  “Nothing. I didn’t even know it was a truck. I’d been watching the clouds a few minutes before. I didn’t even notice the traffic.” Lora closed her eyes, wishing she could cry. Billy Hatcher had been hurt. Dr. Dickerson was on her way to Wichita Falls with chest pains. The Rogers sisters were wound up tighter than speed babies. They’d told their story to everyone and were now recounting it to each other. Only the reverend appeared calm. He paced slowly around the room as if looking for a clue everyone had missed.

  In fact, he’d been calm since the beginning, like some kind of robot. He’d caught the professor when she’d passed out, dialed the sheriff on his cell, talked everyone into remaining still until help came. She couldn’t help but think it strange that a brush with death didn’t affect him.

  After he’d called the sheriff, in what seemed like seconds the room flooded with people. Firemen from the station two blocks away, the sheriff, campus cops from the college and the hospital’s only ambulance. Clifton Creek might be small, but they could move when needed. She had heard talk that the sheriff ran everyone through drills twice a year in case a tornado hit. Their practice paid off today.

  Half the town turned out to watch. Traffic was down to one lane in front of Rosa Lee’s old place. If Lora knew them, and she did, most had already made up their minds about what had happened. A few were planning punishment for the villains when they were found.

  Through the open door, she could hear Philip Price chanting like a cantor questioning why anyone would want to hurt this group of people. “Who’d want to hurt the Rogers sisters?” he asked, but didn’t bother waiting for an answer. “Or a professor? Or the preacher? Or the poor brokenhearted Whitman girl whose husband…”

  Lora ducked her head. She didn’t want to go outside. Somehow, it seemed safer to stay in here. The coolness of the house felt comforting. The dusty smells settling around her seemed strangely familiar. She looked up at Sheriff Farrington. “Why?”

  The sheriff shook his head. “Maybe just kids seeing the opportunity to break something. A twelve-foot window in an abandoned house would be hard to resist. Maybe someone who just wanted the house torn down and didn’t really give much thought that their note might hurt someone.”

  “But you don’t think so?”

  “But I don’t think so,” he echoed. “There’s no way anyone passing could have missed seeing the committee sitting in that bay window.”

  “Then why?”

  “Someone doesn’t want one of you, or all of you, in this house.” He stared directly into her eyes. “Whoever threw this meant harm, Lora. To you or to someone at that table.”

  Lora covered her eyes with her palms, pretending to be invisible as she had as a child. She couldn’t think of anyone who would plan to harm her. Phil, the town crier, had been right. Who would want to hurt any of them? The only person she could think of who hated her was Dan, and he didn’t want her dead. He only wanted her to suffer. Their marriage, in and out of bed, hadn’t worked from the first and he’d blamed her.

  “Hey, pretty lady, you going to crumble or fight?”

  Lora looked up at Billy Hatcher. He didn’t seem nearly as threatening with a bandage across his forehead. “Leave me alone. I’m busy having a nervous breakdown.”

  “Thought you had more grit, Whitman. Where’s that ‘Fight! Fight! Fight!’ cheerleader spirit?” He leaned closer and whispered, “You mad at me for slamming you to the floor?”

  “What do you want? If it’s a thanks, you got it.” Much as she hated admitting it, she might very well owe this thug her life.

  He shook his head and winked. “Wish I’d had time to enjoy climbing on top of you, but in truth, I’ll settle for one thing.”

  “What’s that?”

  He offered his hand. “Friendship. Looks as if all the committee members may need someone to cover our backs. When my probation officer told me to do some community service, I had no idea it would be so exciting.”

  Hesitantly, Lora took his hand, convinced that the kid bordered on insane. “Thanks,” she answered honestly. “For what you did.”

  He pulled her away from the wall. “Friends?”

  “One condition.” She smiled. “Drop the cracks about having the hots for me.”

  “Mind if I still think them?”

  “Not as long as you keep them to yourself.”

  “Fair enough, Whitman.�
� He lifted his bandaged hand. “How about giving me a ride to Wichita Falls? I’d like to check on the professor.” He picked up Sidney Dickerson’s glasses. “And take her these.”

  “The hospital’s an hour away. It’ll be afternoon before we can get back.”

  “I know. I figured I’d offer to buy you lunch on the way back. Just lunch, no date or anything like that.”

  “I don’t have a car.” Lora watched the preacher fold up the contents of the professor’s case, carefully shaking glass from each piece.

  Billy dug into his right pocket. “Then you can drive my car, but that means you buy lunch.”

  Lora thought about what it would mean to go home and listen to her mother, or go back to work and have to recount what happened to every customer who walked in the door. Going to Wichita Falls with Billy Hatcher suddenly seemed like a good idea. “Want to come along, Reverend Parker?” she asked over Billy’s shoulder.

  “No, thanks. I’ll see that the sisters get home. Tell Dr. Dickerson I’ll be there this evening.”

  Lora lifted her purse and glanced outside. Her mother poked a manicured finger into the chest of a campus cop blocking anyone from entering the house. Lora couldn’t hear what Isadore said but guessed the cop wouldn’t hold the line for long under such an assault.

  Turning back to Billy, Lora raised her eyebrow in question.

  “My car’s out back,” he said, taking the cue. “Give me a minute to talk to the sheriff and I’ll be right there.”

  Lora nodded and slipped out of the room. The house grew cooler as she walked into the shadows but, as she’d guessed, a hallway to the back porch lay just behind the stairs.

  When she stepped outside, the wind greeted her. Leaning over the railing, Lora let her hair shake free. Tiny bits of glass hit the broken brick walk below. She straightened, quickly wiggled out of her torn panty hose and tossed them atop a pile of windblown trash at the edge of the porch.

  As she slipped back into her shoes, Lora noticed Billy standing in the shadows behind her.

  When she turned on him, he raised both hands. “I didn’t see a thing.”

  “And?”

  “And I’m not saying a word, Whitman.”

  “Don’t call me that.”

  “You got it, only slow down on the rules, I can only remember so many.”

  CHAPTER SIX

  Micah Parker quickly found that seeing the Rogers sisters home was not an easy assignment. The pair decided they had to stop several times and let friends know they were all right. With each stop, the story, with all its frightening details, had to be told. And somehow, each time the telling took longer. Micah finally got them home long after noon. He wrote his cell-phone number on the back of an old card he found on the cluttered kitchen table and left them arguing over what to have for lunch.

  He dropped by his office, but felt restless. The shock of the morning lingered with him. A renewed reminder of how one moment could shatter all calm. The possibility that someone had meant them harm haunted the back of his mind. He didn’t buy the theory that the perpetrators were youths looking for something to break.

  The note in the drill bit made it obvious that someone wanted the house destroyed, but who? The oil company that turned in an offer, of course, but they didn’t need to frighten the committee into seeing things their way. Near as Micah could tell, everyone but Sidney thought getting money for the land was a great idea. All the company would have to do was wait a day or two to get what they wanted. Only, maybe they didn’t think they had the time to wait. But, why?

  Micah had a feeling that whoever wanted the house to fall had another reason.

  He sifted through his mail trying to think. Nothing came to mind. Signing out for the afternoon, he wrote simply hospital visit on the log. He stopped at the grocery store, an independently owned place with the shadows of HEB behind an already-fading new sign that read Clifton Creek Grocery. The produce looked limp and the meat gray, but the people were friendly. He bought milk, sandwich makings and cat food.

  “Well, Reverend?” The checker grinned knowingly as she wiggled the bag of kitten food. “You got a cat living with you now?”

  “No, just visiting,” Micah answered, hoping he wouldn’t have to explain more.

  The lady behind him in line, a once-a-month Methodist, chimed in, “My cat won’t eat that dry food unless I pour bacon grease on it.”

  Micah couldn’t conceive of a lie to thank her for sharing her knowledge, so he just smiled. The two women didn’t need him in the conversation; they continued on about their pets. Anyone passing would have thought they were talking about children and not animals. Micah couldn’t imagine getting so attached. His parents had moved around when he was growing up. Extra mouths to feed were not allowed.

  He paid out and headed for home. After putting up the groceries, he checked on Baptist. The kitten had finished off the last of his saucer of milk.

  “You’re looking better, little fellow.” Micah poured cat food in a corner of the laundry basket. “That should keep hunger away for a few hours.” The kitten jumped into the middle of the food. “Don’t waste time blessing it.” Micah laughed and wondered if he’d soon be telling stories about Baptist.

  He stood, in a hurry to leave. The house always seemed too empty, too quiet when Logan wasn’t there. He checked on Mrs. Mac. A game show blared as he opened the dividing door. She waved him away when he asked if she needed anything. He knew better than to hang around talking. She liked knowing that he would be near if she needed him, but she wasn’t one to waste time talking when her shows were on.

  Halfway to his car, his cell rang.

  “Hello.” Micah paused, then smiled. “Yes, Logan, I know it’s you. What’s up, partner?”

  Listening, he climbed into his car and started the engine. “Well, if she says it’s all right, I guess it’s okay with me. Be sure and brush your teeth and go to bed when Mrs. Reed says.”

  He waited while Logan handed the phone to Betty Reed. A minute later, Micah said, “Thanks, Betty, for offering. It was nice of you.” He drove as he listened, then answered, “Yes, I’m a little shaken up. I’m worried about Professor Dickerson. The ambulance took her to Wichita Falls. They’re running tests. In fact, I’m on my way to the hospital now.”

  Micah paused, trying not to put too much emotion in his voice. “Is it all right if I check in at eight to say good-night to Logan?” He frowned, thinking of how few times he’d been alone since Amy had died. He knew this would happen, first nights at friends’, then summer camps and overnight school trips, then college, until finally he’d be fully and truly alone.

  “Thanks again, Betty,” he managed to say as if she were doing him some kind of favor.

  Turning onto the interstate heading toward Wichita Falls, he shoved his phone back into his pocket. The hour passed, as time often did, with Micah lost in memories. Sometimes, when he could stand the pain, he pictured what his life would be like if Amy hadn’t died. They would have that second child they’d planned. She would probably be staying home like she always said she would, taking care of babies and working on her master’s degree. The house would be cluttered with her projects. She loved to grow things and always had some kind of craft going. She could knit, quilt and upholster furniture better than most of those experts on TV. Once, when they were first married, she’d painted stripes on one wall while trying to pick a color of paint and liked the job so much she painted the other three walls the same way.

  Micah blinked away tears. Gentle, loving, soft-spoken Amy. How could God let her die when he and Logan needed her so much? He knew the answer. He’d said the words often enough to grieving families. But, his heart wouldn’t listen.

  Maybe that explained why the note written in Rosa Lee’s book touched him. They were the same he’d said to Amy. I’ll love no other in this lifetime but you. If Fuller felt them as Micah had, how could the man have stood her up that midnight? Or, had Rosa Lee been the one to turn away? Had she left him waitin
g?

  He forced his mind to think of other things. The sheriff had said someone might have been trying to harm a member of the committee. Who? Not him. He went over the members one at a time, but he drew a blank. Not one seemed the kind of person who made enemies angry enough to endanger someone’s life.

  Pulling into the hospital parking lot, he reached into the back seat for the professor’s briefcase. Maybe, if she were awake, he could talk to her about the possibilities. If she found the book from Fuller to Rosa Lee, maybe she’d found other things. She might not even be aware of the importance of her research. Maybe a deep, dark secret lay hidden in the house, and whoever threw the drill bit was warning them to stay away.

  When he climbed from his car, the wind whirled around him, trying to lift the briefcase from his hand. The air smelled of promised rain as he darted toward the visitor doors.

  A desk nurse told him Sidney Dickerson wasn’t back from X-ray but he could wait in a small room to the left of the elevator on the CCU floor. Micah wasn’t surprised to find Lora and Billy there. Lora glanced up from her magazine when Micah walked in. Two chairs down, Billy stretched, looking as though he’d been asleep.

  “Any news?” Micah asked.

  Billy shook his head. “She’s been in there for almost five hours and nothing.”

  “One doctor came out and asked if we were family,” Lora added. “I said no. When I suggested I could call them, he said no, not until the tests are all in. I phoned the college to get a relative’s number just in case. The clerk said Dr. Dickerson had no listing under next of kin.”

  Billy stood. “We figure that makes us her next of kin, so we’re hanging around. If it’s bad news, she doesn’t need to hear it alone.”

  Lora nodded her agreement and offered Micah a cup of free coffee that looked strong enough to be motor oil. “Are the Rogers sisters all right?”

  Micah relaxed in the plastic chair between Lora and Billy. “I guess, I left them arguing.”

  Lora laughed. “They’ve done that for as long as I can remember. My father mentioned their parents were like that. Never said a word to one another except to yell. He said when they celebrated their fiftieth wedding anniversary no one in town went because fifty years of fighting didn’t seem like something to celebrate.”