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“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.
