“All the better for us,” she said. “If the police think he’s the culprit, they’ll hold him. If they release him, he’ll have a plane crash to deal with. Either way, he’s not our problem. Dr. O’Neal is. Stay on her tail, Goliad. If it looks like she’s— Oh, Nate is calling in. Failure is not an option, Goliad.”
Giving him no time to respond, she clicked off, then took several deep breaths before switching over to the incoming call. “Nate! I’ve been trying to reach you for hours. Where the hell is Dr. O’Neal? She should have been back well before now. Richard is frantic.”
“Calm down, Delores. I just got off the phone with Brynn, who explained why she’s been delayed. She was met with some difficulties.”
“What kind of difficulties?”
She feigned ignorance about the happenings in Howardville. Nate Lambert was a brilliant physician. He was not a trusted confidant. Their inner circle consisted only of Richard and herself. They hadn’t told Nate that Goliad had been sent to ensure Dr. O’Neal’s timely return.
She listened as he na?vely described the hazards his colleague had encountered, beginning with the plane crash.
“You told us this company was reliable.”
“I told you the company was the most reliable I could find that would agree to fly last night.”
When Nate finished with his tale, Delores said, “I had a bad feeling that something untoward would happen if Dr. O’Neal went alone. Someone should have gone with her. Better yet, she shouldn’t have been going at all. You should have. I’m on record as having told you so.”
“Noted,” Nate said. “But I didn’t want to spoil my dinner plans and trek to the wilderness. You don’t know Brynn as well as I do. She’s capable and levelheaded. She’s handled a mercurial situation with aplomb. She was remarkably unflustered when I spoke to her. Of course she was reluctant to open the box, but—”
“What?” This time Delores’s astonishment was genuine. “She opened the box?”
“We really weren’t given a choice. Those backwoods detectives were stiff-necked about it. Compliance was the only way to get Brynn out of there sooner rather than later.”
“But—”
“It’s fine, Delores. I had given explicit packing instructions, and it was done to my specifications.”
“Richard’s name—?”
“Brynn safeguarded it.”
“Thank God.”
“She has to sign off on her statement about the airfield incident. Once that’s done, the unfortunate matter will be over.”
“You’re positive they’re releasing her?”
“Forthwith. Fiasco averted,” he said with annoying cheer. “We’re back on track.”
“What about the time this has cost us?”
“Only a few hours. Stop worrying.”
“Easier said.”
“How is Richard?”
“He’s sleeping, but as soon as he wakes up, he’ll want an explanation as to why she’s not back and when we can expect her.”
“Brynn is making arrangements to return as soon as possible. It’s up to you how much of this to tell Richard.”
“Don’t leave me dangling, Nate. Keep me updated.”
After disconnecting, Delores texted Goliad that Dr. O’Neal had been cleared by the sheriff’s department. When she leaves there, stay on her! He texted back a check mark.
Fiasco averted. Indeed. No matter how meticulously one planned, one still had to rely on others. The vagaries and failings of others drove Delores mad.
She took a deep drag on her cigarette and blew the plume of smoke toward the French door. Then, sensing movement in the room, she turned.
Richard stood on the threshold of the bedroom. Wearing only pajama bottoms, his appearance was incongruous with his combative stance. He didn’t look weak and infirm now. His voice had lost none of its vibrato. “Stop shielding me, Delores. I’m not a child, and I’m not helpless. Yet. I demand to know—now: What has gone wrong?”
Chapter 9
6:37 a.m.
Are you family?”
“No.”
“I’m sorry, sir. I can’t give out patient information to anyone except a family member.”
Rye looked away for a second or two before coming back to the woman at the ER’s admission desk. In order to talk to him, she had slid open a panel of glass, but rules were a more substantial barrier than the partition.
He decided to appeal to her humanity. “Do you know Brady White personally?”
“I’ve known him forever. We were in the same class all through school. Marlene was a year behind us.”
Rye assumed that Marlene was Mrs. White. “I’m not asking for details. I just want to know if he’s going to be all right.”
Her expression turned doleful, but she didn’t waver. “It’s hospital policy, sir. I can’t give—”
She flinched when Rye rested his hands on the counter and leaned toward her. “If it wasn’t for me, he wouldn’t have been out there last tonight. I need to know he’s going to pull through.”
She adjusted her eyeglasses and looked him over, taking particular notice of his bomber jacket and flight bag. “You’re the one who crashed his plane?”
“Yeah, I’m that one,” he said, trying not to sound too wry. “I walked away from my ordeal. Brady didn’t. Can you at least tell me if he’s come around?”
She hesitated, looked over her shoulder as though fearing someone in authority might catch her violating policy, then winked at him and whispered, “Don’t go anywhere. Let me check.” She slid shut the panel of glass and disappeared through a doorway at the back of the office.
Rye was alone in the waiting room. The bright fluorescent lighting made it seem cold and inhospitable. The irony of that didn’t escape him. He walked over to an eastern-facing window. Although Thanksgiving Day had dawned, there wasn’t a pink sunrise to admire. The density of the fog obscured it.
At this hour, it would still be full dark in Austin. Too early to call.
Which actually made it the ideal time. It was doubtful anyone would answer, he wouldn’t have to talk, but the call would be registered. He could honestly claim that he’d made an attempt.
He punched in the number. The call went through. He disconnected on the third ring. Done.
But then he realized that the number of his spare phone wouldn’t be recognized. That call hadn’t counted. He still had it to dread.
Dash would be up. Dash was always up. Rye called. Dash answered in his customary snarl, and when Rye identified himself, he said, “Well, it’s about time. I’ve been—”
“My phone was busted, and before you light into me, let me fill you in on a few details that the deputy who called you last night didn’t know.”
For once in his life, Dash held his tongue for as long as Rye talked. He concluded by telling Dash how sorry he was about the Cessna. “I did my best. Wasn’t good enough.”
“Shit, Rye. The plane’s insured. I’ll collect the money and sell the undamaged parts, and come out ahead. It’s worth more wrecked than it was intact. But if you’d’ve been killed—”
“You wouldn’t have collected a thing. I’m not insured. My life isn’t worth a dime.”
“Don’t joke.”
“Wasn’t.”
After a short, tense silence, Dash asked, “You’re sure about the laser?”
A tide of anger washed over Rye. “Don’t insult me, Dash.”
“Just asking a simple question. Don’t read nothing into it.”
Rye knew there was much more behind Dash’s simple question, but he left it alone. “The beam hit me square in the eyes.”
“All I needed to hear. I’d like to castrate the bastard.”
“Get in line.”
“Have the cops rounded up any suspects yet?”
This was going to be the dicey part. “I didn’t tell them about it. I let them think I screwed the pooch.” Rye figured Dash was too astonished to speak. He continued before he could. “Wouldn’t have done any good to tell them, Dash. They’d only have my word for it, and I can see the eye rolls now. If I’d cried laser, it would’ve looked like I made up a far-fetched excuse for missing the runway.”
“And that’s worse than having them think it was your error?”
“This time, yeah.”
“Want to tell me why?”
“It’s complicated.”
Dash snorted. “That much I know.”
“It has to do with the client.”
“Dr. Lambert, or the one who came to meet you?”
“Both, I think. This whole thing is off somehow. She protects that box like it’s the Holy Grail.”
“She?”
“Dr. O’Neal.”
“The Dr. O’Neal you’ve been talking about is a she?”