The Good Daughter (The Good Daughter #1) - Karin Slaughter Page 0,96

prone to inflicting tiny, painful cuts in inconvenient places. Even with the distortion, Sam could make out the thin line of her own disapproving lips. This was the angry, bitter woman who had never left Pikeville.

The doors opened.

There was a black line on the floor, much like the line on the bottom of the pool, that led to the closed doors of the Intensive Care Unit.

To Rusty.

To her sister.

To her brother-in-law.

To the unknown.

The stinging of a thousand hornets ran up and down her leg as Sam made her way down the long, forlorn hallway. The sound of her shoes slapping hospital tiles bongoed along with the slow thumps of her heart. Sweat had glued her hair to the nape of her neck. The twigs of delicate bones inside her wrist and ankle felt ready to snap.

Sam kept walking, choking down the antiseptic air, leaning into the pain.

The automatic doors opened before she reached them.

A woman blocked the way. Tall, athletic, long dark hair, light blue eyes. Her nose appeared to have been recently broken. Two dark bruises rimmed beneath each eye.

Sam pushed herself to move faster. The tendons cording through her leg sent out a high-pitched wail. The hornets moved into her chest. The handle of the cane was slippery in her hand.

She felt so nervous. Why was she nervous?

Charlie said, “You look like Mama.”

“Do I?” Sam’s voice shook in her chest.

“Except her hair was black.”

“Because she went to the beauty parlor.” Sam ran her hand through her hair. Her fingertips tripped over the furrow where the bullet had gone in. She said, “There was a Latin American study conducted by the University College of London that isolated the gene that causes gray hair. IRF4.”

“Fascinating,” Charlie said. Her arms were crossed. Should they hug? Should they shake hands? Should they stand here staring at one another until Sam’s leg fell out from under her?

Sam asked, “What happened to your face?”

“What indeed?”

Sam waited for Charlie to acknowledge the bruises around her eyes, the nasty bump in her nose, but as usual, her sister did not seem inclined to explain herself.

“Sam?” Ben broke the awkward moment. He threw his arms around Sam, his hands firm on her back in a way that no one had held her since Anton had died.

She felt tears in her eyes. She saw Charlie watching and looked away.

“Rusty’s condition is stable,” Charlie said. “He’s been in and out of it all morning, but they think he’ll wake up soon.”

Ben kept his hand at Sam’s back. He told her, “You look exactly the same.”

“Thank you,” Sam mumbled, self-conscious.

“The sheriff’s supposed to come by,” Charlie said. “Keith Coin. You remember that dipshit?”

Sam did.

“They made some bullshit statement about using all their resources to find whoever stabbed Rusty, but don’t hold your breath.” She kept her arms tightly crossed over her chest. Same prickly, cocksure Charlie. “I wouldn’t be surprised if it was one of his deputies.”

“He’s representing this girl,” Sam said. “The school shooter.”

“Kelly Wilson,” Charlie said. “I’ll spare you the long, tedious story.”

Sam wondered at her choice of adjectives. Two people had been shot dead. Rusty had been stabbed. There did not seem to be an aspect to the story that was either too long or in any way tedious, but Sam reminded herself that she was not here to find out details.

She was here because of the email.

Sam asked Ben, “Could you give us a moment?”

“Of course.” Ben’s hand lingered at her back, and she realized that the gesture was because of her handicap, not out of a particular affection.

Sam stiffened. “I’m fine, thank you.”

“I know.” Ben rubbed her back. “I’ve gotta go to work. I’m around if you need me.”

Charlie reached for his hand, but Ben had already turned to leave.

The automatic doors swung closed behind him. Sam watched his easy, loping gait through the windows. She waited for him to turn the corner. She hooked the cane on her arm. She motioned for Charlie to continue up the hallway to a row of plastic chairs.

Charlie went first, her feet pushing off from the floor with her usual physical confidence. Sam’s stride was more tenuous. Without the cane, she felt as if she was walking the slanted floor of a fun house. Still, she made it to the chair. She put her hand flat to the seat and eased herself down.

She said, “What Rusty this cause.”

Sam’s eyes closed as the jumbled words reached her ears.

She said, “I mean—”

“They think it’s because he’s representing Kelly Wilson,” Charlie