Part 7 (1/2)
”He would be right.” I aimed at pleasant. Surely by now someone had told her Coleman and I had a history, but she could only goad me if I let her.
”I'm glad I ran into you, Sarah Booth. I wanted to ask you something.”
I stopped eating and waited.
”Word is that you broke things off with Coleman before you went out to L.A. Is that right?”
”That's really not your concern.” A curl of nausea started in my upper stomach.
”I'm interested in him, and I wanted to be upfront about it. He told me he'd filed for divorce. He should be a free man in a matter of months.”
I considered my response as carefully as I could under the circ.u.mstances. ”Coleman feels an obligation for Connie. Married or not, he's always going to care for her.”
”Not a problem for me.” She waved at Millie as if she were in a fancy eatery ordering a minion around. ”Coffee, and make it fresh.” She dismissed Millie and zeroed in on me. ”I gather that was a problem for you.”
”What is the point of this conversation?”
”I like what I see when I look at the sheriff. I want him. But I don't like stepping on someone to get what I want. I'm asking because I want to be sure the field is clear.”
I had no intention of explaining my complicated relations.h.i.+p. ”Good luck,” I said.
She nodded. ”That's what I wanted to be sure of. I didn't want to move in on your territory.”
So she wasn't a poacher; she was still a barracuda. But Coleman was a grown man. ”I have no claim on the sheriff.”
”I heard you were all hooked up with some handsome Hollywood guy and would be going back out there as soon as this illness is cleared up.”
”I haven't made any plans and don't intend to until Oscar is well.”
”Not my business.” She held up a hand like some teenager.
That really annoyed me. Bonnie Louise got under my skin. I sipped my coffee. The nausea I'd been battling surged forward, and I thought for a moment I might throw up. I looked down at her boots to see how much damage I might be able to inflict. The sensation pa.s.sed, and I took a breath. ”Are you planning a hiking expedition? I guess you've forgotten the Delta is flat.”
She laughed. ”I remember the land and the soil you call 'gumbo.' Down in the bogs it used to pull my shoes right off my feet. I used to ride with Daddy on the combine and the cotton pickers. I loved that.”
For a split second the edge left her voice and I thought I heard true sadness. ”Does your family still farm?” I asked.
”No.” She picked up the cup that Millie put in front of her. ”Good and fresh,” she said to no one in particular.
My appet.i.te had evaporated, and my stomach, while fine now, wasn't totally trustworthy. If the spastic gut didn't stop, I'd talk with Doc.
”What made you go into research?” I asked.
”I like science, and I like puzzles. Research has both. What made you decide to be a private investigator?”
”I sort of stumbled into it.” No point fibbing about that.
”Well, stay out of this investigation, okay? Let me rephrase. Stay out of this investigation.”
”Let me rephrase for you, Ms. McRae. Oscar is a friend. I'll do what ever it takes to help him.”
”Get in my way, Sarah Booth, and I'll roll over you. I'm not some localite you can intimidate.” Her face brightened and she began signaling.
When I looked over my shoulder, I saw Coleman walk through the door and head toward our table.
”Coleman, I hope this table is okay?” She looked around. ”Sarah Booth was just leaving.”
”Sarah Booth,” Coleman said. ”How are you?”
”Perfect. Any change in Gordon?” I asked.
He took off his hat, revealing a fresh haircut. ”They're all still holding their own. Doc figures that's not as dismal as it might sound. They could be going downhill.”
”Has he found the cause?”
He put his hat on the table. ”They're still not sure if it's bacterial or viral or what. The tests so far are inconclusive.”
”I'll catch up with you later,” I said. ”I've got to get some food to Tinkie.”
”Give her my best,” Coleman said.
”Yes, give her our best,” Bonnie added.
I left the table without another word. Suddenly her nickname was perfect. Beaucoup b.i.t.c.h.
Tinkie accepted the food and ate without comment. I don't think she tasted a single bite, but she knew she had to keep up her strength.
Standing at the window, I watched Oscar and Gordon. The nurses came in and hung new bags of fluids and left. Doc entered with two strangers in tow. They read the charts at the foot of each bed, examined the patients carefully, and then walked out in a huddle.
”Go find out what they think?” It was the first thing Tinkie had said in ten minutes.
”They won't talk to me.”
”Since when did that stop you?”
”Got it.” I ambled down the hallway, setting up position outside the swinging door that led to ICU. This was the only exit from the isolation ward.
Sure enough, less than a minute later, the door opened and the three men emerged. Doc saw me and paused. ”Sarah Booth, this is Dr. Franklin and Dr. Formicello. They're here from the World Health Organization. I was hoping they might have seen something like this.”
Both men were nearing fifty, and their faces showed lives lived out of doors. I glanced between them, picking up on the tension.
”We don't have any answers,” Dr. Franklin said. ”To be honest, I've never seen an illness like this.”
”Nor I,” Formicello agreed. ”I hope this is truly contained.”
”Can you guess as to whether it's bacterial or viral?” I asked. From the little I knew about medicine, it would make a tremendous difference. Bacterial would respond to antibiotics. Viral--probably not. So far, though Doc had tried at least four major types of antibiotics on the patients, none had shown improvement. Lab cultures had come back inconclusive.