Micanopy in Shadow (31 page)

“Strangulation?” Brandy quavered

“An attempt. She’s still breathing—only just.”

At that moment John charged through the gate. His arms closed around Brandy. “I got Mrs. Gibbons downstairs to stay with Brad.”

Brandy clung to him. “Thank God you’re here!” Now that her grandmother was in safe hands, she felt lightheaded, wobbly. Her knees began to buckle. She whispered, “Call the Sheriff’s Office.”

John’s grasp tightened and he caught her under the arms. The medics had started out the gate when he called, “Might need to make room for one more.”

“It’s just shock,” one said. “Stress. Happens all the time. Carry her inside and lay her down. Dry her off and keep her warm. She’ll be okay. A sip of brandy wouldn’t hurt. We’re going to Shands Hospital on Archer.”

They hurried out of the yard with Hope, an oxygen mask still clamped over her nose. Before John could help Brandy into the enclosed porch, the rescue van’s engine blasted on, and it spurted out of the driveway. John laid her on the chaise lounge and went in search of a bath towel and light blanket. Patches stood on her hind legs and sniffed her, then spun around and raced to the front window to watch the van careen around the corner and out of sight.

After John rubbed her as dry as he could and covered her, he glanced about the kitchen. It looked as if Hope had walked in, dropped her groceries and mail on the table, and gone into the yard.

He checked the Alachua County Sheriff’s Office number, then dialed the kitchen phone. He was handed off to Detective Sergeant Hamilton Noble of the Crimes Against Persons Squad. The name sounded familiar. John gave Hope’s address.

“Don’t touch a
thing
,” the detective said, emphasizing the last word. “Wait there.”

John had Mrs. Gibbons on the line when Brandy began to stir. “We’ll be gone most of the night, probably,” he said. “See if Kyra could come and stay. She could make a bed on the couch.” He nodded, hung up, turned to Brandy, and knelt beside her. Her eyelids fluttered. “Feeling better?”

She murmured, “I think so.”

“Lie still,” he said. “We’ve got to wait for the detective, anyway.”

“Call the emergency room at Shands. Ask if.…” Her voice trailed away.

John located Hope’s small stash of liquors and rummaged through the few bottles to find a small one of brandy. “Looks like your grandmother enjoyed a snort or two on long evenings.” He pressed a brandy snifter to her lips.

“Call!” Brandy repeated, tearing up.

John found the phone book and punched in the hospital number. “I’m family,” he said tersely when an emergency room nurse answered, “We need to ask about Mrs. O’Bannon. My wife’s her only relative.”

Brandy thought, there’s no reason John would mention Snug. Snug would be delighted if something happened to Hope. She’d threatened to report him to the Sheriff’s Office.

Brandy clutched her blanket and waited. “Well, that’s something,” he said finally and patted his wife on the shoulder. “She’s still breathing. They don’t know yet how severely she was hurt, but it’s bad.”

Within the half hour the doorbell rang. A plainclothes detective was standing on the porch when John opened the front door, his unmarked car at the curb.

“Sergeant Ham Noble,” he said. He pulled a wallet-sized brown leather case from his pocket, flipped it open, and showed John his gold star emblazoned with
Alachua County Sheriff’s Office
.He

wore a black rain slicker over an open-necked shirt and tan slacks and he spoke quietly, but with such authority that Patches jumped down from the windowsill and slunk under an overstuffed chair in the living room.

“I met your wife recently.” The detective strode through both front rooms, casting a practiced eye on the floor and furniture. “In connection with the murder of Captain Hunter. Coincidence?”

“My wife won’t think so.”

The Sergeant didn’t respond. In the kitchen he reached the same conclusion John had. “Looks like the woman came home and just dropped her groceries and mail on the table.”

He studied the floor, spotted a few grains of birdseed, and glanced out into the yard, now almost dark. “Looks like she went right out to that feeder.” He took a spiral notepad from his upper breast pocket and made a few notes, then pulled a small camera from a zippered raincoat pocket, snapped photographs of the rooms, and stepped out onto the porch.

He turned to John. “That’s where you found her, by the bird-feeder?”

Brandy, who had not chosen to interrupt, sat bolt upright. She recognized the oval face and strong features, the shock of gray hair angling across his forehead, the shrewd blue eyes. “
I
found her, Sergeant,” she said, stressing the
I
. “And yes, she was lying beside it, on her stomach.” She raised her voice. “If you remember, I thought Shot Hunter’s death was tied to my great-grandmother’s. You wouldn’t listen.”

Noble wiped a large hand across his mouth. “We’ll look into that. Could be a coincidence.”

Brandy swung her legs down from the lounge. “I don’t like coincidences.”

Noble went on out into the wet back yard. “No tracks we can identify here. Too much traffic when the medics went in and out. Couldn’t be helped.” He raised his eyebrows and again looked at John. “The yard’s pretty muddy. I don’t find signs that anyone tracked through the front rooms, but you can see traces of grass and dirt in the kitchen and on the porch.”

John frowned. “I had to carry my wife inside. After they removed her grandmother, she felt faint.”

The sergeant shrugged. “Can’t be helped.” He took a handkerchief from a pocket, held it over the doorknob, opened the door, and stepped out again into the rain to snap more shots. In a few minutes he came back in, shaking moisture off his raincoat. “Looks like a damned army marched through the yard and out the gate.” He glanced around again. “I’ll send the techs to dust for prints. We’ll need both of your prints and your grandmother’s, of course.”

“Grandmother had marks on the front of her neck,” Brandy said. “Do you think she was choked from the back?”

“She wasn’t
choked
, young lady. You
choke
on food. She was
strangled
. Yes, likely from the rear. We’ll know more after the doctor examines her.” He fixed Brandy with a penetrating gaze. “She got enemies?”

“I’m afraid the answer is yes.” Brandy weighed her words. “She threatened her business partner with exposure. We both suspect him of illegal activities. I reported it to the Sheriff’s Office today. Others, too, might want her silenced.”

He paused before her. “And what made you come here yourself this afternoon?”

“Her cat. When I stopped in front of the house, the cat alerted me.”

“You don’t say.” The corners of the sergeant’s mouth twitched up as he made a final note. It’s what I get, she thought, for telling the unvarnished truth. He moved toward the dining room door. “I’m through here now,” he said. “I’ll be at the hospital, see when I can interview the patient.”

Brandy’s voice wavered. “I only hope you
can
interview her.” She stood and laid a hand on John’s arm. “I’ve got my car here. Will you wait for the techs while I go to the hospital?”

“You’ll be all right driving?”

“I can’t just sit here. I’ve got to find out what’s happening for myself.”

“Bran, how often do I need to tell you to stop your everlasting meddling?” His voice rose. “Now it’s almost gotten your grandmother killed.”

“I know,” Brandy said miserably. “All the more reason to go to the hospital.” Hope had felt guilty when Brandy was attacked. Now it was Brandy’s turn.

While she rummaged through a hall closet for her grandmother’s raincoat, John saw Noble out.

“I’ll call back,” she said. “Will you feed the cat? Her food is in the lower right hand cupboard. If it hadn’t been for Patches, I would never have checked.”

In her car at last, Brandy switched on the windshield wipers, laid her bag and notebook on the passenger seat, and turned onto

441. She tried to fit the attack on Hope into the scenario she had been working on.

It fit, except for two key elements: why
now
? And what was the motive?

TWENTY
 

Once more Brandy drove onto the sprawling University of Florida campus, where Shands functioned as the area’s chief teaching hospital. When she pulled up before the towering medical center, lighted windows on each wing glowed like welcoming beacons. Brandy handed her car over to valet parking, asked for directions, and after navigating a few corridors, arrived at the emergency waiting room. After a few minutes, she finally persuaded the attendant at the admittance window that she was indeed a granddaughter and eligible to see the patient or the attending physician. After another delay, she pushed through controlled double doors and stood before the nurses’ station.

A supervising nurse with short gray hair and firm mouth sat behind the desk. When she stood, she rose an imposing six feet in her white rubber-soled shoes. “Your grandmother’s been taken upstairs for tests,” she said. Her voice showed concern. “She’ll be here until we can free a room for her.”

Brandy’s fingers gripped the edge of the counter. “I’d like to speak to the doctor.”

The nurse nodded. “I’ll ask the emergency room physician to see you. Mrs. O’Bannon’s with a throat specialist now.”

Brandy waited on a metal folding chair next to Hope’s empty hospital bed, listening to soft voices in the adjoining cubicle and aware of the slightly antiseptic smell of all hospitals. She shivered and wrapped her arms around herself. Why were emergency rooms always frigid?

The busy physician turned out to be another bolt upright woman but stockier and with a more severe expression that contrasted with her initially gentle tone. “Mrs. O’Bannon’s condition is serious,” she said. “A case of ligature strangling. A cord or material damaged her throat.” She looked down at Brandy, her lips tightened, and her voice grew harsher. “The authorities need to be notified.” Brandy wondered if she saw the granddaughter as a suspect. Most elderly abuse cases were, after all, domestic.

“My husband and I already spoke to a detective,” Brandy said. “He needs to interview Grandmother when she’s able to talk. I’m the one who found her.”

The doctor’s face relaxed. “Her larynx is damaged. She’ll have difficulty speaking. She’s still in pain. Enough pressure was put on her carotid arteries to cause unconsciousness. Fortunately, she wasn’t deprived of oxygen long enough to be fatal. If she gets past this stage, she’ll have to stay several days for observation. I’ll send word after she’s thoroughly examined.”

Brandy sunk back down on the chair. “You think she’ll be able to talk?”

“She’ll be hoarse,” the doctor said. “We don’t know yet precisely how the oxygen deprivation affected her mentally.”

“Poor Grandmother,” Brandy said. “I feel responsible.” She didn’t want to leave the wrong impression. “Of course, I didn’t do this to her. It’s just too complicated to explain.”

“She tried to speak,” the doctor said more kindly. “But I worry about her mental condition. She kept trying to say something that sounds like ‘box.’”

Half an hour later Brandy finally saw the throat specialist, a rotund figure in his sixties who wore trifocals low on a prominent nose. He only repeated the information she already knew, but he did say Hope was being moved to a private room. If they were brief, her grandmother might see Brandy and the detective. Then he paused and gazed down his long nose with faint disapproval. “Don’t I remember you were here yourself recently? Same complaint?”

Brandy didn’t want to take time to explain to him either. “Runs in the family,” she said.

He frowned. “Whoever strangled your grandmother intended to kill her. He used enough force to do the job. He was probably interrupted.”

Bless you again, Patches, Brandy thought. When she arrived, she remembered a car driving away in the next street.

As the doctor continued on down the hall, Brandy wound through the corridors to the elevator. Upstairs an aide directed her to a waiting room where John hunched in a chair.

He stood and put an arm around Brandy’s waist. “You look bushed,” he said. “You should go home and go to bed.”

Brandy shook her head. “Not until I’ve seen Grandmother myself, but they seem to think she’ll be okay.”

He released her and glanced out the door and nodded toward the hallway. “You might like to know,” he said, “that old Savage Wilson’s in the hospital, too. Heart acting up again. Isn’t that his daughter?”

The last thing Brandy wanted was another confrontation with Aunt Liz, but Grant’s robust aunt was indeed striding down the corridor. She had started to pass the waiting room, until she looked their way. Then she halted and swung her thick body around to face them. She had spotted Brandy.

“Well, so you’re here, too, gloating, I reckon.” The woman moved quickly toward Brandy, biting off each word, pale blue eyes bright. “The stress of all your digging for gossip—dragging up the marshall’s old files and old cases, old ugly talk—brought on another of Papa’s attacks. He can’t stand many more.” Her voice bristled with sarcasm. “You pleased with yourself? He’s been here a week already. He may not get out for the naming ceremony, thanks to you!”