Bone Harvest - Mary Logue [60]
“Do you have a room?”
“Sure.”
“Do you give a discount for seniors?”
“Absolutely.” She gave him the once-over. “Would you qualify?”
“Don’t get smart on me.” He laughed. Here he was in the middle of Kansas on an adventure and a young woman was teasing him. Things could be worse. Then he remembered where Andy was and remembered why he was traveling and realized they were worse.
He gave her his credit card. After sliding it through a machine, she handed it back to him and gave him a map, drawing a big circle around his room. His room was on the far side of the motel.
He parked right in front of it and took out his bag and walked in. Nothing fancy, but it was clean. The king-sized bed looked great to him. He sat down on the edge of it and called the hospital. The number that Marie had given him rang and rang.
Finally he hung up and decided to call Andy’s house. Maybe Marie would be home from the hospital and she might have some good news.
Their boy, Ted, answered.
“This is your grandfather,” Earl explained.
“Who?”
“Your dad’s dad.”
“Oh, yeah.”
“I haven’t seen you since you were two.”
“I’m twelve now.”
“That sounds about right. How’s he doing, your dad?”
“Not great. He’s in the hospital.”
Not very forthcoming, this kid. “I know. Is your mother home?”
“No, she’s still down there. She called and said to go to bed. I think she’s sleeping there tonight.”
“Has he come out of the coma yet?”
“Nope.”
“I’m sorry.”
The boy didn’t say anything. Earl wondered if he was crying. He didn’t know what to do about that, so he kept talking. “Listen, I want you to let your mom know that I’m on my way there. To Wisconsin. I should get in sometime tomorrow night.”
“Are you coming here?”
“I’ll probably go right to the hospital. Can you tell her that?”
“You’re Dad’s dad and you’re coming to Wisconsin?”
“That’s right.”
“I’ll tell her.”
“Thanks, I’ll see you.”
“I’ll see you, Grandpa.”
Grandpa—that did him in. Earl sat on the edge of the bed and hung on to the bedspread. He hoped he would get there in time.
The phone rang and he jerked up and answered it. “Durand Daily.”
“Harold, do you know what time it is?”
He propped himself up and tried to focus on his wristwatch. “Agnes, it appears to be nearly eleven o’clock.”
“Wouldn’t you say that’s time to come home?”
“I was on my way when I stopped to look up one more article. I must have dozed off.” Harold looked at the bottle of brandy that was sitting next to a glass by his hand. Maybe once a month, he’d have a snort or two. Tonight had felt like one of those nights.
“Are you sober enough to drive?”
“I will be by the time I lock up.”
“Come right home.”
“Yes, dear.” After she hung up, he stood up and wandered around the empty office. He was getting too old to be running a newspaper. Maybe he’d go right from running a full-time business to addleheaded in a nursing home. If he didn’t get home soon, Agnes would divorce him and he would be forced to go to the nursing home.
Nothing had happened today. He had heard no reports of anything amiss. Maybe this whole thing would blow over. The Schulers could go back to being dead and buried. Poor family! What had they done to deserve any of their misfortune? But then, what have any of us done, he thought.
He checked the back door. It was locked. He couldn’t always count on Sarah to remember to lock up. She was a bit flighty.
He gathered up his lunch box and his briefcase. Silly of him to be dragging a briefcase back and forth, but it had been with him more years than Agnes and had held up nearly as well as she. It was part of him. He put his calendar in there and a copy of today’s paper. Agnes, poor woman, was always a day behind on the news.
He turned off the lights in the back office and walked out to the front.
He almost missed it.
He walked