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She stopped the first nurse who passed by.
“Is Amanda Gleason here? I believe she’s with her son, Justin.”
“And you are?” the nurse inquired.
“A friend. My name is Casey Woods. You’re welcome to clear me with Amanda.”
“She’s not here, Ms. Woods. She’s with Justin in the Pediatric ICU. That’s all I can tell you.”
Oh, God, Casey thought silently. “Where is that located?”
The nurse gave her directions. “But you won’t be allowed in.”
“I know that. I’ll just get a message to Amanda that I’m here.”
Casey took off again, arriving at the Pediatric ICU tense and out of breath. She spoke to the first hospital attendant she saw, who obviously got a message to Amanda, because she came out and met Casey in the waiting area a few minutes later. She moved robotically, her posture stiff, her face sheet-white and lined with worry.
“What happened?” Casey asked without preamble.
“The bronchoscopy results came back,” Amanda replied in a wooden tone. “They showed that Justin has bacterial pneumonia. That’s in addition to the parainfluenza pneumonia. Dr. Braeburn put him on a ventilator. His breathing is so labored, Casey.” Amanda’s voice broke, tears sliding down her cheeks. “We’re at a crossroads I can’t face. Because if the antibiotics don’t work… If the ventilator isn’t enough…”
“Don’t talk that way,” Casey interrupted. “Don’t even think that way.”
“How can I not?” Amanda turned her palms up in a helpless gesture. “The doctor all but told me we’d better find a donor. Urgently.”
“We’re going to find Paul.” Casey didn’t miss a beat. “I told you we would and we will. Marc is questioning people at Simon’s Beach Bakery, and Patrick’s on his way back from D.C. with information that sounded significant. In the interim, Justin’s a fighter—you said so yourself. He’ll hang on.” He has to, she thought silently.
Amanda’s nod was dubious. “I have to get back inside. The nurse said you needed to see me.”
“I do.” Casey began her diplomatic mission. “We’ve been talking to everyone who dealt with Paul, even casually. We need to talk to your uncle.”
“My uncle?” Amanda blinked. “Why? He barely knew Paul. And if he had any information on him, he would have told me the instant Justin was diagnosed.”
“I’m sure he would have. But it’s our experience that people sometimes have information they do
n’t realize they have. It’s possible your uncle picked up something from Paul in a conversation or a business meeting that seemed so insignificant he forgot all about it.”
“And you think you might be able to jostle his memory.” Amanda sounded more thoughtful than she did suspicious. Then again, she’d have no reason to believe Casey was being anything other than straightforward. “I doubt it will work. Uncle Lyle has a steel-trap memory. On the other hand, he believed Paul was dead—which would eliminate him from my uncle’s thought process altogether. So I guess it’s worth a try.”
Casey jumped right on that. “Given Justin’s health, we shouldn’t waste a minute. I want to drive out to the Hamptons, pick Marc up and head over to your uncle’s East Hampton estate so we can talk to him tonight. Do you think he’d agree to that?”
“Of course—if he’s home.” Amanda frowned. “I don’t know his schedule. He might be anywhere, even Manhattan.” She took out her cell phone and turned it on. “Let me find out before you waste a long drive.”
Casey waited while Amanda made the call. It took a few minutes with several pauses before she got an answer and turned off her phone.
“I spoke to Frances, his housekeeper,” she explained to Casey. “Apparently, my uncle was in Washington, D.C., today. But he’ll be back tonight. Frances contacted him and he said you and Marc should come by around eight o’clock. Does that work for you?”
“We’ll make it work.” Casey squeezed Amanda’s hand. “Go back in to Justin. But don’t lose faith.”
“I’m trying. It gets harder with every hour and every setback.” Amanda pressed her lips together. “Go. If my uncle can help you, he will.”
Oh, he will all right, Casey thought. More than he realizes.
* * *
Amanda watched Casey walk away, battling the white panic that was building up inside her, eclipsing all else. Forensic Instincts was talking to her uncle. To them, that was a step in the right direction. To her, it was grasping at straws. Even if Uncle Lyle remembered something crucial about Paul—which she doubted he would—how long would it take to get concrete results and find Paul? Weeks? Longer?
Justin might only have days.
