Grave Secret Page 0,34

my own.

"How are you?" I asked.

Dr. Spradling was looking into Tolliver's eyes, reading his chart, and listening to our conversation.

"My shoulder hurts. What happened to you?" he asked. "The window exploded. Someone throw a brick in? You have cuts on your face."

"Tolliver, you got shot," I said. I couldn't think of a tactful way to ease into the subject. "I only got hit by some of the glass from the window. It's nothing. You're going to be okay."

Tolliver looked confused. "I don't remember," he said. "I got shot?"

"His memory will clear up," Dr. Spradling said. I looked at him, blinking so I wouldn't cry.

"This is not uncommon," he told me, and I appreciated his trying to reassure us. "Mr. Lang, I'm going to look at your wound." A nurse came in, and the next few minutes were really unpleasant. Tolliver looked exhausted by the time he was rebandaged.

"Everything looks fine," Dr. Spradling said briskly. "Mr. Lang, you're coming along just like I'd hoped."

"I feel so bad," Tolliver said, not quite complaining, but as though he were worried.

"Being shot is a serious thing," Dr. Spradling said, glancing at me with a slight smile. "It's not like on television, Mr. Lang, when people hop right out of their hospital beds and go chase thieves."

I don't think Tolliver followed all that, because he was looking at the doctor with an uncertain expression. Spradling turned to me. "I expect he'll be here tomorrow, and we'll see the next day. He may have to have some physical therapy on that shoulder."

"But he'll have full use of his arm?" I said, suddenly realizing I hadn't even begun to worry as much as I had reason to.

"If everything continues to go well, that's probable."

"Oh," I said, flattened by the lack of certainty. "What can I do?"

Dr. Spradling looked as though he were as much at a loss as Tolliver. The doctor clearly didn't think there would be much I could do for Tolliver except pay his bill. "It's up to him," Dr. Spradling said. "Your partner."

I don't think I would have liked any doctor that day, since a doctor couldn't give me a clear-cut answer. My mind knew Dr. Spradling was being logical and realistic, and my mind also told me I should appreciate that. But my mind was taking a backseat to my emotions.

I managed to keep myself under control, and Dr. Spradling departed with a cheery wave. Tolliver still looked a little confused, but he drifted back into a doze. His eyelids flickered when there was a sound in the hall, but they never quite opened. I couldn't figure out what to do next. I was standing by the bed, looking down at Tolliver and trying to make a plan, any plan, when Victoria Flores came in after a quick knock on the door.

Victoria was in her late thirties. A former police officer on the Texarkana force, she was both full figured and beautiful. I'd never seen Victoria wearing anything but a suit and heels. She had her own personal dress code. Victoria 's dark, coarse hair was smoothed into a shoulder-length pageboy, and heavy gold earrings gave her some bling. Today the suit was a dull red, worn over a cream-colored blouse.

"How is he?" she said, nodding toward the silent figure on the bed. No hug, no handshake, no preliminaries. Victoria went straight to business.

"He's hurt pretty bad," I said. "He has a broken bone." I tapped my own collarbone by way of illustration. "But the doctor who was just in here, he said Tolliver would be okay if he did physical therapy. If nothing changes."

Victoria snorted. "So, what happened?"

I told her.

"What was your last case?" she asked me.

"The Joyces were."

"I'm meeting with them later this morning."

I didn't describe the reading I'd gotten at the cemetery, because the Joyces hadn't given me permission, but I did give Victoria an outline of the time we'd spent with them. And she knew they'd visited us at the motel.

"That has to be the most likely cause of the shooting," Victoria said. "What about the case before this one?"

"You remember the serial killer, the boys killed in North Carolina? All buried in the same place?"

"That was you-you found them?"

"Yeah. That was awful. Also, we did get a lot of publicity, most of it the wrong kind." I'd found that quiet word of mouth was better for getting actual paying jobs. Publicity might prompt a flare of interest, but that interest was mostly from people who wanted to explore