Part 13 (2/2)
”Thank you, Miss Knight,” Mrs. Kelly said, a polite and indomitable Southern woman.
I watched them disappear down the corridor. I took a long ragged breath. I wasn't going to cry. Those kids didn't need it. I stood for several moments, staring out the window at a nondescript gray building. At some point, I noticed a white-coated figure off in my peripheral vision, watching me. d.a.m.n, this was a hospital. You would think a woman with a bruise on her face was a fairly common sight.
”I thought it was you,” the figure said. I turned to face whoever it was. Cordelia Holloway, just the person I wanted to see.
”Small world,” I replied.
”What happened to your jaw?” she asked.
”Doorway.”
”Male or female?”
I could see what she was thinking. That I was the kind of girl who got involved with people who hit other people.
”Neither,” was the only reply I could come up with. ”What are you doing here?”
”I work here. You?” she asked.
”Visiting a friend.”
”You didn't put her here, did you?”
”No!” I almost yelled. ”Don't you have any lives that need saving?”
”Ah, Micky, winning friends and influencing people, as usual.”
Sergeant Ranson had arrived on the scene and was standing in the doorway. Just the sort of cavalry I needed. She came in and handed me a plastic bag. I a.s.sumed that it contained the clothes and purse I had left in my favorite bas.e.m.e.nt. She and Cordelia nodded to each other in * 96 *
greeting. I tossed the bag over onto the couch. It landed with a heavier clunk than I thought a dress would make.
”Don't do that. It's loaded,” Ranson informed me. As in loaded gun. We all looked at each other. How do you make polite conversation about loaded guns?
”Excuse me, Joanne,” Cordelia finally said, ”But are you really giving a loaded gun to someone with suicidal tendencies?” she asked.
Ranson and I both looked at her and then at each other. Did somebody know something that I didn't?
”Care to explain those?” Cordelia clarified, pointing to my bandaged wrists.
”Rope burn,” Ranson replied for me.
I started laughing. It wasn't that funny, but it was too absurd for my present state of mind.
”Let me see,” Cordelia said. I offered one of my wrists, still laughing. She unwrapped the bandage, examined my wrist for a minute, then wrapped it back up. ”Sorry, my mistake.”
”Don't worry about it. Better people than you have thought Micky Knight to be crazy,” Ranson charitably explained.
”I've got to go,” Cordelia said. She left, shaking her head.
”How do you two know each other?” I asked Ranson.
”Danny introduced us a while back,” she answered. ”Anything new on Barbara Selby?” It was my turn to shake my head no.
”I'm posting a guard. There are people who would prefer she never come out of that coma,” Ranson said.
I shuddered. It wasn't a pleasant thought.
”Ballistics has cleared you. Turner with a .38. Barbara with a .22.”
”Did you come all the way down here just to tell me that?” I asked.
”No, I came here to check on Barbara Selby and to give you your gun and to tell you to carry it.”
”What a nice idea.”
”At all times. It wouldn't be a bad idea for you to take a vacation.
Someplace like Nepal would be perfect.”
”Paid?” I asked. She ignored the question.
”What I'm saying, Micky, is be careful.”
* 97 *
”Gosh, thanks, Joanne. It's nice to know you care,” I replied. ”You had me fooled with that efficient, no-nonsense, businesslike exterior, but underneath, a heart of, golly, purest gold.”
She looked at me for a long time, then finally spoke, ”Right. I do care. I don't like hospital vigils. I don't want to do one for you.” Ranson turned on her heel and walked out, leaving me no chance to reply.
Not that I could think of anything to say. I'm not real good at being serious. So in the unlikely event that someone should tell me that they care about me or that they really worry about me or that they love me, like Danny did a long summer ago, I'm not very good at replying.
The last person I said ”I love you” to was my dad and I was ten at the time. ”You're nice, I like you” is about as far as I go. It's not something I'm proud of. Someday maybe I'll be able to afford a shrink and find out why.
I decided that it was Ranson's job to be concerned about people she worked with. She was a good cop because she really cared, but I wasn't more important than anyone else.
It was time to get out of this hospital. If I stayed here much longer I would probably run into both Cordelia and Aunt Greta. Together, no doubt. Besides that, I had a cat that was, by this point, keeping the whole neighborhood awake with her famished cries.
* 98 *
CHAPTER 13.
Fortunately, my keys were in the canvas bag that Ranson had returned. I let myself in and slowly trudged up the three flights.
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