Grave Secret - Charlaine Harris [32]
Detective Powers was a medium shade of brown and had light blue eyes. His hair was dusty brown and curly and clipped close. He wore a wide wedding ring.
“Who do you think shot at you?” he asked me, which was more direct than I’d expected.
“I can’t imagine,” I said. “I would have said it was Matthew, here, if he hadn’t gotten back in the room so quickly.”
“Why his dad?”
“Because who else cares?” I said, realizing that wasn’t the most coherent way to make my point. “Granted, some people don’t like what we do, but we’re honest and we don’t make enemies. At least, not any that I knew of. Obviously, we made at least one.” I don’t know how the police made any sense of this, but presumably at some point I had explained what Tolliver and I did. I don’t remember.
Detective Powers went through the whole question-and-answer routine about how we made our living, how long we’d been doing it, how much money we made, what our last case had been. I actually had to think for a minute about that, but then I remembered the Joyces’ visit and I told him about it. He didn’t seem too happy to discover that we were on speaking terms with a wealthy and powerful family.
A doctor came in, an older man with a fringe of hair and a worn-out face. I was on my feet in an instant.
“Mr. Lang’s family?” He looked from me to Matthew. I could not speak; I was waiting. Matthew nodded.
“I’m Dr. Spradling, and I’m an orthopedic surgeon. I’ve just operated on Mr. Lang. Well, good news, on the whole. Mr. Lang was shot by a small-caliber bullet, probably from a .22 rifle or a handgun. It went through his clavicle, his collarbone.”
I gasped. I couldn’t help it. I was acting like a fool.
“So I’ve pinned the clavicle. There was no major damage to nerves or blood vessels from the bullet, so he was a lucky man—if you can call anyone who gets shot lucky. He made it through the surgery just fine,” the doctor said. “And I think he’s going to recover without many hitches. As far as what’s going to happen next, he’ll have to stay in the hospital for two or three days. If everything continues to go well, if no complications come up, he can be released. But he’ll probably have to have IV antibiotics for a week after that. We can arrange for a visiting nurse to help with that, but you’ll have to remain in the area, and I understand you don’t have a residence here.” He aimed his gaze more or less between us, as he waited to see what would develop.
I nodded frantically to assure him I understood. “Anything you say,” I told Dr. Spradling.
“Where do you live, Miss Connelly? I understand he lives with you?”
I caught a glimpse of Matthew’s face, and I thought maybe Matthew was about to try to take control of Tolliver’s care. A huge fear bobbed to the top of all my other fears. Would they even let me in to see him if Matthew protested? I had to trump Matthew’s fatherhood card. I opened my mouth and surprised myself by telling the doctor, totally out of the blue, “We’re common-law married. What you call an informal marriage.” Texas recognized an unmarried union, and I was pretty sure that was what they called it. Common-law wife might beat out stepsister. “We have an apartment in St. Louis. We’ve been together for six years.”
The doctor couldn’t have cared less. He just wanted to let me know what was going to be involved in taking care of Tolliver. He did, however, turn slightly so he was addressing me specifically. “It would be easier if you could find a place near to the hospital until he’s stronger, when we release him. He’s not out of the woods yet, but I really think he’ll be all right.”
“Okay.” I ran all he’d said back through my mind, hoping I could remember it all. Broken clavicle, small-caliber bullet, no other major damage. Three days in the hospital. IV antibiotics a nurse would administer in the hotel. A closer hotel.
“They can stay with me and their brother if they need to,” Matthew said, and the doctor nodded,