Drained (Edgars Family #6) - Suzanne Ferrell Page 0,16
Stanley in the back next to Kirk F and took the driver’s seat.
As she buckled into her seat, Brianna realized she’d automatically given the control of not only her car, but the situation to Aaron. “You know I’m capable of driving own my car.”
Aaron nodded as he pulled out of the parking lot onto Prospect. “I’m sure you are, but this time you’re just gonna have to let me do the driving.”
“Why?” she asked, suddenly feeling very irritated. Since the kidnapping and torture three years ago, she’d given up depending on and manipulating men to get things done. “Because, I’m a woman and you assume I can’t drive? I’m an excellent driver,” she said, hoping she didn’t sound like Dustin Hoffman in Rain Man.
Kirk F snorted in the back seat but had the good sense to keep his mouth shut.
“No, I don’t assume things about people, men or women. But in this situation, it makes sense for me to drive.” Aaron said with a raised eyebrow glance her way and the hint of a smile.
Brianna crossed her arms over her chest. “Why is that?”
“Because I know the short cut to the morgue. To both of them.”
Turns out the restaurant they’d gone to was only a few blocks from the downtown county morgue. It didn’t take them long to chat with the clerk manning the evening shift and learn that no body matching Art’s image was currently on the premises. She saved them a trip to the Medical Examiner’s office on the far east side of town by faxing the sketch over. Again, they got the reply that no one matching Art’s description was there, either.
“I’m glad they didn’t have Art,” Brianna said as they walked across the street to where they’d parked.
“For your friend and Stanley’s sake, I am, too. But honestly, it would’ve been the simplest solution.” Aaron, who’d been holding Stanley while they were inside, deposited the scraggly-haired pup on the ground, keeping a tight hold on his leash, then handed the car keys back to Brianna. “You two go ahead and start the car. I’ll take Stanley over to that tree. Poor guy’s been holding it for a while.”
“What did he mean it would’ve been the simplest solution?” Kirk F asked from the backseat.
Brianna shifted in the driver’s seat to face her young friend. “As sad as it would be, finding Art in the morgue would mean we didn’t have to search for him. We’d have some sort of explanation as to what happened to him and then Paula wouldn’t have to worry about her friend.”
“And because he isn’t in the morgues—” Kirk F stopped as Aaron opened the door, climbed into the front passenger seat and handed him Stanley once more.
“Now our work really begins,” Aaron finished. “We’ll go back to the hospital first. Get some copies made of the sketch Brianna made, check on your Nana and Paula.”
“Knowing Nana, she’s got everyone busting their butts to care for your friend,” Kirk F said with a chuckle. “Course she brought her secret weapon.”
“What’s that?” Brianna asked as she moved into the thinning late-night traffic back to St. Vincent’s hospital.
“You know those two bags she had with her?”
“Her knitting bags?”
“One was full of yarn and knitting stuff. The other was the cookies she always takes to bingo night. Nana says, Feed the nursing staff and you’ll get extra good care.”
At the hospital Aaron took Stanley once more and handed Kirk F the sketch of Art as they walked inside. “Start in the ER here. Use that natural charm of yours and see if anyone has seen Art or treated him in the past week.”
“I do have charm,” he said and sauntered towards the triage nurse’s desk.
“And see if you can get someone to make you copies of that sketch,” Aaron called out after him.
“Yes, sir.” Kirk F gave him a salute and a wicked grin.
“Why do I feel like you just sent the fox into the hen house?” Brianna said as they went through the double doors separating the waiting area from the patient care bays, where they’d left Paula and Nana. The door to the private care room they’d been in was open with no sign of either woman.
“Where did they go?” Brianna asked, looking around and suddenly afraid Paula had bolted.
“They’ve moved your friend to a room,” the middle-aged nurse who seemed to be in charge said from the desk behind them. She held up a chocolate chip cookie and smiled. “Ms. Patrick was awful