Heaven Preserve Us (24 page)

THADDEUS BLACK LEANED ON his cane outside the room where
the nice lady at the information desk downstairs had told me I
could find Ruth. Relief replaced the worry and weariness on his
lined face. He met me halfway down the hall and grabbed my
arm.

"I'm glad you're here. She's so upset."

"How is she physically? Did he hurt her badly?"

Sadness crossed his face. "Bad enough, poor girl. Black and
blue, and the bastard knocked her down, cracked a rib."

I winced. As we neared the room, moving slowly to accommodate Thaddeus' shambling arthritic gait, he hesitated. "The lady
detective is still in there with her. Asking her questions about that
creep fellow."

Hmm. "I think I'll join them."

"I don't know," he said. "She seems kind of... tightly wound, if
you know what I mean."

"Yeah. I know what you mean. But from everything I've heard
she's very good at her job."

He scowled. "She'd better be."

I gently pulled away from his grip and went into Ruth's room.
He didn't follow me in, electing to stay in the hallway. I wondered
what Detective Lane had said to intimidate him so.

Ruth appeared frightened half out of her wits. Lane loomed
over the older woman with a massive notebook in her hand and a
severe expression on her face. She greeted my entrance with a
moue of exasperation.

"What are you doing here?"

Ruth turned her head on the pillow, exposing the bruises on
her face and one side of her neck. A lump rose to my throat. How
could this strong and kind woman have elicited such violence? Her
eyes met mine with a surprising intensity, as if she were trying to
communicate something directly to me through pure willpower.

"How are you feeling?" I asked her, ignoring the question.

"Awful," she croaked. "Detective, could you leave us alone for a
few minutes? I need to talk to Sophie Mae."

Lane's expression was flatly unemotional. "There will be plenty
of time for you to visit with your friends, Ms. Black. Right now I
need you to answer my questions so I can find out who did this to
you. You do want me to find the bad man who hurt you, don't
you?"

Ruth and I both stared at her. Good at her job Lane might be,
but good with people she definitely was not. She seemed to think
anyone who lived in a small town must possess less than an average IQ.

"Of course I want that, Detective," Ruth said. "I'm just not sure
I can tell you anything more. I was in my carport, unloading a few
supplies from the grocery store from the car when he came at me
from behind. He was wearing a mask, so I didn't see his face. He
didn't say anything. He punched me, knocked me down, and left.
That's all. I told you again and again. I didn't see anything else."

Detective Lane scowled. "He didn't say anything?"

Ruth darted a glance my direction. I raised my eyebrows. "No,"
she said. "Not a thing."

"Can you tell me what he was wearing? How tall he was? Build?
Any smells you noticed? His breath, maybe?"

"No. Nothing. I don't remember any of that."

I moved a visitor's chair closer to the bed and sat down as Lane
continued to hammer away with her questions. Something was
off, but I couldn't figure out what. Ruth was vehement as she denied knowing anything more about the attack or the attacker.
Could she be blocking out part of the event and feel embarrassed
that she couldn't remember? Or was she holding something back?

"Okay, one last question." Detective Lane's tone held frustration. "Have you been getting any funny phone calls lately?"

Ruth looked puzzled. "What do you mean, funny?"

"Peculiar. Obscene. A strange man wanting to talk to you, but
he won't tell you who he is. Even hang ups."

I ignored the shiver that skittered down my spine.

"No. Nothing like that."

Detective Lane flipped the notebook closed and gathered her
coat from the chair by the window. "Thank you Ms. Black. I hope
you feel better soon. If you think of anything that might be help ful, please give me a call. Ms. Reynolds, may I speak with you a
moment outside?"

I stood. "Sure"

Ruth tried to sit up, gasped, and fell back.

"I'll be right back," I said. "I promise."

She nodded, but didn't say anything.

Outside, Detective Lane led me toward the elevators, away from
a curious Thaddeus Black.

"I don't know why she'd fight me on this. She must know more."

I bristled.

"Now, settle down," she said. "I'm only trying to help. She may
just be scared. And sometimes I'm not very good at putting people
at ease."

I gave her a look, which she at least had the good grace to take
with a sheepish grin.

"So when you're talking with her, see if you can't find out more
about what happened. You're her friend. She'll talk to you. I especially want to know more about any phone calls."

"Like I've been getting."

"Well, sort of. More menacing, frankly. Why, are you still getting calls?"

"Why, yes, thank you for asking, Detective. I got one last night
while I was at Heaven House."

Displeasure settled on her face, and she tossed that gorgeous
mane of hair. "You need to be careful. You're on someone's radar.
Whether it's the Creep's or not, I don't know."

"At the police station you made it sound like my little stalker
was a joke," I said, my voice rising.

She pressed her lips together. "It didn't sound like the same
guy. But neither does this, and the attack was quite violent. You
shouldn't go anywhere alone. So far he hasn't attacked anyone
who wasn't alone."

"I can't alter my whole life."

"You can. Or it might just be altered for you."

Her authoritarian tone raised my hackles, but that last statement resonated in my gut.

"What if Ruth really didn't get any phone calls?" I asked.

"Then your Cadyville Creep is stepping things up. And that
makes him even more dangerous than before."

With a certain amount of trepidation, I returned to my friend's
room.

Thaddeus had returned to his niece's bedside, but as soon as I
walked in she shooed him away. He left with the attitude of someone who was content to do what he was told.

"Shut the door," Ruth said.

I reached behind me and swung the door closed.

"All the way."

The latch snicked into place. I waited, half afraid to hear she
wanted to tell me. Had her attacker done more to hurt her than
was evident? No. She would have told Detective Lane and the hospital staff. Ruth was no shrinking violet, no way, no how.

She took a deep breath, which made her wince again, which
made me wince in sympathy. "That man? The one the Eye is calling the Cadyville Creep?"

"Did you remember something else about him?" I asked.

She shook her head. "No. I didn't have to. He's not the one
who did this to me."

I sank into the visitor's chair. "Ruth? Who hurt you? Do you
know?"

"Yes. No. I know who didn't attack me. That Creep man."

I spoke carefully. "And how do you know that?"

Silence. I waited it out. She'd wanted to talk to me. If she had to
summon her resources first, I'd let her.

When the pause had grown to fill the room, she finally said in a
low voice, "You can't tell anyone. Promise me."

I shook my head. "I can't promise that without knowing what
you're going to tell me."

"You have to."

"Just tell me whatever it is."

"No. Promise or leave."

"Oh, come on"

"I mean it."

Her eyes told me she did mean it. Knowing I'd regret it, and
feeling completely bamboozled, I said. "Fine. I promise not to tell
anyone. Now, spill."

Her eyes held mine for a few moments, gauging whether I'd
merely told a convenient lie. "Whoever it was knew about my
beets. And about the other beets, the ones that killed Philip."

"What!"

"Shhhh. Not so loud. I don't want Thad to hear."

"Good Lord, Ruth, why not? What really happened in your carport this evening? Did it even happen in your carport?"

"Of course it did. I didn't lie about anything." Fear infused her
features. "I'm sorry, Sophie Mae. I shouldn't have insisted you
come out here, especially in the snow and all. I was just frightened
by the whole experience, and my daughter lives in Arizona, and-"

"Ruth, please, I'm glad you had Thaddeus call. You must have
been terrified. Please tell me what I can do."

She took a shaky breath and closed her eyes. "Maybe you could
check on Uncle Thad over the next couple of days? They want to
keep me in here for observation after what happened." She opened
her eyes, staring up at the ceiling. "I'm kind of an old fart to get
beaten up, and since I take a blood thinner, they're afraid of complications."

Dread settled in my solar plexus, but I tried not to show it on
my face. "I'm sure you'll be fine, and Meghan and I will be happy
to check in on Thaddeus."

"Thank you."

"Now. Are you going to tell me more about what happened?"
The bit about her attacker mentioning beets was chafing at my
brain like sandpaper.

"I'm not saying anything more."

"But, Ruth..."

"He said he'd hurt Uncle Thad if I told anyone, Sophie Mae.
I've already placed too much temptation in your way. I know you
promised not to tell, but if, after all, you decide you know best, I
swear on everything I hold dear I'll deny everything except what I
already told Detective Lane."

Try though I might, I couldn't get her to change her mind.

THE CLATTER OF DISHES woke me Sunday morning, and I rolled
over to look at the clock. Seven thirty. Not bad. I'd managed to get a
few good hours of sleep and felt almost refreshed. Sucking in a deep
breath, I threw back the covers and slipped into my poofy robe.

I needed coffee, and I needed it now. Then a shower, and down
to my workroom to put together six dozen air fresheners. Kyla and
Cyan, who were coming in for a couple of hours in the afternoon,
could label and wrap them for packing, and I'd have UPS Joe pick
them up the next morning.

Plus, I wanted to tell Meghan and Barr what had happened to
Ruth, and the more I thought about what Kelly had told us about
James Dreggle's letter, the more I wanted to talk to Maryjake and
get a feeling for what she knew.

Erin's bed was empty, the covers pulled up to the pillows. Down
the hall, the door to the spare bedroom was open. Barr stood by
the window, dressed in a clean pair of sweatpants and a navy, waffle-weave V-neck. I missed the bolo ties he always wore to work. His usual cowboy boots had been replaced by a pair of sheepskin
slippers.

"I'll get dressed later," he said in an apologetic tone as I ran my
gaze up and down his lanky figure.

I smiled. "Don't bother. You're allowed to take it easy."

"Maybe" His eyes crinkled at the corners, and he glanced around
the room. "You store some interesting things in here." He had a
framed photograph in his hand, and now he held it out to me.

Oh, no. Not that.

Bundles of lavender hung from the ceiling, gathered from our
garden last summer and suspended to dry. The scent inundated
the room, and I took a deep lungful, curiously uncomfortable to
see that particular picture in the hands of the man I seemed to be
falling in love with.

He grinned. "You're beautiful."

My hand flew to my frizzed braid despite the fact that he was
talking about the picture, not my current state of morning dishevelment.

"Here, I'll take that," I said.

He narrowed his eyes. I shouldn't have shown my eagerness to
take the photo away from him.

The wedding photo.

Mike and Sophie Mae Reynolds. Getting hitched. Until death
did we part. It seemed like we'd been married for a long time, until
he got sick. Now, in my middle thirties, I knew the mere six years
we'd had together had been only a drop in the bucket of time.

If Barr wanted to snoop around and look at my old pictures,
fine. But I didn't want to look at that one. I hadn't, not since Mike
had died over five years ago.

"Sophie Mae," Barr breathed.

"What?" I sounded cranky.

"You were so ... you were a lovely bride."

"Urn. Thanks." Did that mean I wasn't so lovely now, eleven
years later? Well, what do you expect, Sophie Mae? Eleven years is
eleven years. You're a widow, for heaven's sake.

"Come here."

I walked slowly toward him, then strode the last few steps, faking a confidence I didn't feel. Might as well get it over with. He
held the picture out, and I took it.

Mike looked so young. That fresh face. That expression of
amused intelligence. I missed his wicked sense of humor.

Then I looked at myself. Well, I don't know about lovely, I
thought, but not bad. Not bad at all.