Greedy Bones (17 page)

The hallway was illuminated with dim lights that emulated gas lamps. It was a nice touch, but not practical for good visibility.

When we got to Room two, Coleman inserted the key and pushed the door open. The room was a mess, complete with what looked like a bloodstain spattered across a beautiful hand-loomed carpet.

"Cece." I started toward the stain and stopped myself. The worst thing I could do would be to tromp in and destroy evidence. Taking in the disarray of the room, I thought Janks had left under duress--and while a few articles of clothing were scattered about, I didn't see a suitcase.

Janks had left in a hurry. Whether on his own or at the hands of someone else, I couldn't begin to guess.

"My carpet!" Gertrude had followed us and was about to charge into the room, but Coleman stopped her.

"You didn't hear anything?" he asked.

She glared at me as if this were all my fault. "I went to play bridge for a few hours. It could have happened then. There's no one in the rooms on either side. Mr. Janks asked for as much privacy as possible."

Coleman herded Gertrude into the hall and I followed. He called Dewayne to come and collect evidence. I was trying hard not to jump to conclusions.

"We aren't sure Cece was even in this room." Coleman tried to comfort me. "While the stain, if it is blood, indicates an injury, we can't judge the severity."

"But someone was hurt here," I pointed out.

"Don't jump the gun. It could've been an accident."

He didn't believe that. He wouldn't call Dewayne to process an accident scene. Coleman knelt beside the stain and surveyed the disarray of the room. "We'll have more information once we process the scene."

There was nothing else I could accomplish here. If there was a lead to Cece's whereabouts, Coleman would find it. I could perhaps accomplish something at the hospital. But how in the hell could I conceal this from Tinkie? She could read me like a book.

Coleman stood up. "Dewayne will be here in less than
five minutes. We'll get you to the hospital then. When I know something conclusive, I'll call you."

I ran down the freshly mopped hallway, the scent of pine forever reminding me of the long, heartbreaking days of Aunt Loulane's decline.

My world was under attack. Oscar, Cece, Gordon, the population of my homeland. And my own body was in revolt. Another wave of nausea swept over me, causing me to lean against the wall. The sickness passed, and I rushed on until I rounded the corner and saw Tinkie.

"Sarah Booth!" She rose to meet me, hope so evident that I slowed to a near standstill. "Oscar said your name." She grasped my arm, and I was shocked at how thin and cold her fingers were.

I covered her hand with mine, rubbing and squeezing as if I could press warmth into it. "What can I do?"

"I'll get Doc. Keep an eye on Oscar."

Oscar remained, almost unchanged, except the ventilator was gone. His color was still gray, his face and arms covered in sores. Tinkie said he'd had a seizure. Not even the kindest interpretation could paint that as a good thing.

Footsteps rushed toward me, and Tinkie returned with Doc. "Can he see me from here?" I asked Doc.

"He can see you, but he can't talk to you. You'll have to go in the room."

I was allowed what Tinkie was not. And I was scared. I didn't want to contract this sickness. No one thought it was contagious, at least not from person to person, but what if it was? I closed my eyes and prayed for courage.

In many instances of grave danger, Tinkie had come
to my rescue without thought or regard for her own safety. She had rushed into ambushes and attacked men and women with guns. She was fearless. I could be no less for her.

"Come with me. We'll get you suited up," Doc said. He led the way. "We don't believe this is contagious, Sarah Booth, but we aren't taking any risks. Until we figure out what this is and how to treat it, we're insisting on full isolation."

I had no problem with that. As Aunt Loulane would say, an ounce of prevention is worth a pound of cure.

"Tell him I love him," Tinkie said. She clung to my elbow. "Tell him he has to get well." Her voice broke. "Tell him that he's the most important thing in the world to me and Chablis. Tell him I can't live without him."

I wrapped my arms around her and held her tightly as she sobbed in deep gasps. Doc turned away, hiding the tears that brightened his own eyes. Doc had ministered to both me and Tinkie since we were born. Probably Oscar, too. He wasn't just a medical man, he was a friend, and it hurt him to see us suffer.

"Tinkie," I said as I rubbed her back. "Oscar is tough. He's made it this far. If he can make it a little longer, he'll pull through this."

"Why didn't he ask for me?" She wasn't jealous, just hurt.

"Because he knows you're guarding him. I'm the one who has to solve this. If he has information about the cause of the illness, he'll tell me. Oscar would do anything to keep you safe, which means keeping you out of that room."

She pushed her hair out of her face. "I don't want you to come down sick, Sarah Booth."

"I'm healthy as a horse and you know it. You haven't
slept in days. You're on the verge of a complete physical, emotional, and mental breakdown."

"I am not." She straightened her posture. "I just like hanging out at the hospital so I can flirt with the doctors."

That one act of bravery was almost my undoing. Worn to the bone, Tinkie had more courage than anyone I knew.

"Sarah Booth, we need to suit up." Doc gently took Tinkie by the shoulders. He kissed her cheek. "We'll figure this out, Tinkie. Don't give up yet."

The suit that Doc gave me was like something from a
Star Trek
episode. I wondered if Oscar, if he returned to consciousness from the coma, would recognize me.

"What, exactly, did Oscar say?" I asked Doc as I fastened the Velcro tabs.

"The seizure forced us to remove the ventilator. While he was struggling, he said your name."

"Anything else?"

"No."

"What should I do?" I felt helpless.

"Talk to him," Doc said. "Touch him lightly. Let him know you're drawing him back to this world."

I'd never talked theology with Doc, but his sentiments were clear. Oscar was hovering somewhere between life and the other side. I was to bring him back to the world of mortals. Too bad no one had given me a cape or magic
powers. "Inadequate" didn't begin to describe my feelings.

"I'll try." The suit made me sound like some kind of wheezy insect-man.

The door to the isolation ward swished open, and I stepped into what looked like an airlock. Another door opened automatically onto the room where four very sick people appeared to sleep.

As I passed Gordon I lightly touched his shoulder. "You have to get well," I told him. Gordon was the only victim who remained on a ventilator. Regina and Luann breathed on their own. Though I had no medical training, they appeared to have more color and their sores seemed to be healing. Or it could just be they were less under the glare of unforgiving fluorescent lights.

As I approached his bed, Oscar moaned and one leg twitched. That had to be a good sign. He could move. He wasn't paralyzed.

My gloved fingertips grazed his cheek. "Oscar, it's me, Sarah Booth."

I dared a look at Tinkie, who watched each second with breathless hope from behind the glass. My stomach knotted, and I stroked Oscar's hand, avoiding the needles and tubes attached to every possible artery.

"Oscar, Tinkie said you wanted to talk to me."

His chest moved up and down so shallowly, I wondered if the ventilator shouldn't be reinserted. "Oscar?"

I needed a response. One that would let Tinkie know he was sound of mind and that the fever hadn't destroyed his brain function.

Moving to the side of the bed, I lifted his hand and held it on top of mine. "Oscar, I'm here. I'm here because you asked for me. You have something to tell me?"

It seemed an hour passed with only the rasp of his
labored breathing, but it was only seconds. I watched his face for any change of expression--for some indication that he was aware of me.

"Oscar, Tinkie is not twenty feet away. She's watching you. The only time she leaves your side is when we force her to rest or eat. If you're here, and if you can respond, signal with your hand."

The bandages had been removed from his eyes, and though they didn't open, I thought I saw the eyeballs shift left, then right. His index finger scratched my palm.

"Oh, Oscar." I wept then. I couldn't stop it. He was there, trapped in that body ravaged by pain and disease. He hadn't gone away.

His finger moved again, a light tap against the base of my forefinger. He was trying to comfort
me
, and that prompted me to get a grip on my emotions.

"Oscar, if you don't get better, and soon, I'm going to have to kill you." It sounded peculiar, but he knew what I meant. "Tinkie is about to worry herself to death. Gordon is very sick, as are two realtors. Do you have any idea what happened to you?"

One tap of his finger on my palm.

"You went to the Carlisle plantation?"

Two taps. A yes. He was communicating! But I had to test it to be sure.

"Shall I tell Tinkie that you love her?"

The finger tapped twice, with emphasis. He tried to grasp my hand, but he was too weak.

"It's okay. I'll tell her," I promised. "But we have to talk about what happened. You went to the plantation. Everything in the house was in order." I went over the facts as I knew them, and he confirmed them.

"And when you went out to walk the fields, you discovered the cotton was infested with boll weevils."

Two solid taps.

"Did you talk to anyone there?"

One tap. His lips pursed, and he made a dry rasping sound in his throat. I frantically waved to Doc. "Can he have some water?"

"I'd love it if he'd drink," Doc said. He disappeared through the airlock doors and came back with a glass and a straw. He wore the same hazmat suit that I wore, which made both of us a little clumsy, but Doc was able to put the straw to Oscar's lips. Oscar drew in a small amount of water and swallowed.

"Who did you see?" I was pressing him, but this might be the break we needed to find the source of his illness.

"Bugs." The word rasped out of his throat. "Cotton."

Doc frowned at me. He indicated the monitors, which showed elevated blood pressure and a spike in heart rate. My time with Oscar was limited.

"Did you see anyone there?"

His finger tapped once. His hand went limp and slipped from mine. His eyes darted wildly behind the closed lids before they rolled upward.

"He's gone," Doc said.

I froze. "No." It couldn't be. Not like that. Not after he'd come back to us.

Doc took my arm and moved me away.

"Wait, Doc. He can't be--"

"He's asleep, Sarah Booth," Doc said in a gentle voice. "He's exhausted by communicating with you."

Sweet relief. Oscar wasn't dead, he was only resting. I punched Doc in the arm. "You need to learn better phrasing."

"Do you realize what you did, Sarah Booth?" he asked, his face beaming behind the clear mask of his suit.

"What?"

"You brought Oscar back. You drew him out of that coma back to reality."

"He'll get well now?"

Doc looked at Tinkie, her face and hands pressed to the glass, watching her husband. "I can't say. Sometimes, a patient makes a rally, to deliver a final . . ." My expression stopped him. "At least there's no apparent brain damage. Not yet. If we can find a way to fight this, I believe they all stand a chance of recovering. That's a lot better than I felt this morning."

Doc didn't feel better for long. As we were stripping off the hazmat suits, I told him about Cece's disappearance.

"Do you have any idea who's behind this?" His face was strained. "Oscar and three others have contracted some illness. Now Cece has possibly been abducted. This has to stop. Does Tinkie know about Cece?"

The thought of telling her was intolerable. "No. Maybe I'll wait. Until we know something positive."

"She can't bear a lot more," he said.

If I was reading Doc's signals correctly, he wanted me to withhold the news of Cece's disappearance. A lie of omission didn't sit well, but the thought of sending Tinkie deeper into anxiety was worse.

"Point taken," I said.

"If there's any flak, I'll bear the brunt of it."

Exhaustion mixed with relief made me lean against the wall. "Oscar is still there. That's the report I'll give Tinkie."

When Doc didn't respond, I felt the weight of his doubts. His faith in a medical cure had been shaken.
While he practiced the art of healing, he relied on science to direct his skills. So far, science was thwarting him.

Tinkie waited outside the door. "He knew you! What did he say?"

"He's trying to help us."