Grave Secret - Charlaine Harris [45]
I felt a lot more cheerful when I hung up. To make my day even brighter, an orderly wheeled Tolliver in right after I’d shut my phone. His color was better than it had been the day before, but I could tell he was very weak, just from the way he slumped in the wheelchair. Tolliver was ready to get back into the bed, though he hated to admit it.
After the orderly had made sure Tolliver was settled and comfortable, he left with that quick, quiet walk hospital staff members seem to acquire as part of their job description. Tolliver had had another X-ray to check on his clavicle, he told me, and a neurologist had come in to verify that there hadn’t been any nerve damage to the shoulder.
“Have you seen Dr. Spradling today?” I asked.
“Yeah, he came by earlier. He said everything looked okay. I kind of expected you an hour ago.” Tolliver had completely forgotten that I’d told him I was going to stop by the police station.
I told him about the film I’d seen, how the woman differed from Cameron.
“I’m sorry,” he said. “I was ready for it to be someone else, but I guess I’ve always got a little bit of hope.” That was exactly how I felt.
“It wasn’t, and I’m only wondering why someone thought it was her. I mean, who called the police? Who got Pete to look at the tapes? And this woman was close enough in appearance to Cameron to at least make Pete feel I should see the video. Was the anonymous caller someone who went to high school with Cameron and me, someone who was genuinely mistaken? Or was he some creep who just wanted to jerk us around?”
“And why now?” Tolliver said. He looked at me. I didn’t have an answer.
“I hardly see how this could have anything to do with Rich Joyce and his caregiver,” I said. “But the timing is really suspicious, huh?”
We couldn’t think of anything else to say about this strange grouping of events. After a while, I found Tolliver’s comb in a pocket of his jeans, which were hanging in the closet. They were a little stained. His shirt had been cut off of him. I reminded myself to bring another one to the hospital for the day he was released.
When I began to comb his hair, I found it was dirty, of course, and I tried to think of a way to wash it. With some improvisation, including a clean bedpan, an extra pad that they’d brought in case his shoulder leaked, and the little bottle of shampoo included in his admissions package, I managed. I also helped him shave and brush his teeth, and then I gave him a sponge bath, which turned unexpectedly bawdy.
He was very relaxed and sleepy—and happy—by the time that was over, and he said he felt much better. I combed his damp, dark hair and kissed his smooth cheek. He was going through a clean-shaven phase.
A nurse came in to give him his bath right after I finished, and she shrugged when I told her it was done.
Time in a hospital inevitably drags. Before I had a chance to tell Tolliver about Victoria’s phone call, he fell asleep. I hated to wake him when the long day stretched in front of us. I napped myself. I struggled awake when Tolliver’s lunch tray came at eleven thirty.
That was another exciting break. I cut up all his food—well, the little that required cutting—and put a straw in his drink for him so that he could eat one-handed. He was so happy to be getting real food instead of liquid that even hospital food was welcome, and he managed pretty well. When I was sure he’d had as much as he wanted, I rolled the table away and handed him the TV remote. I needed to go in search of food myself.
“You don’t have to sit here all afternoon, you know,” Tolliver said.
“After I eat, I’ll spend the afternoon with you,” I said in a tone that told him not to argue. “Then I’m meeting Victoria for supper. I probably won’t come back after that.”
“Good. You don’t need to be cooped up all day. You’ll probably want to have a run or try the hotel’s weight room or something.”
He was right about that. I’m used to sitting still for long periods,