If I Should Die_ A Novel of Suspense - Allison Brennan [148]
She was angry beyond measure—Patrick had been in a coma for nearly two years. Any drugs that depressed his central nervous system could potentially put him back into that coma. The doctors didn’t know why he’d reacted in the first place—he’d been conscious prior to his brain surgery after an explosion had injured him, causing swelling in his brain. The surgery saved his life. One doctor believed that the coma was a direct result of the brain surgery—that after the damage had been fixed, he’d simply gone to sleep for two years. Another doctor believed that Patrick had an adverse reaction to the anesthesia, based on his medical history. When he was nine, his appendix had burst and he’d undergone emergency surgery. He’d been in a coma for two weeks then.
Whatever it was, any sedatives were incredibly dangerous for Patrick.
Lucy watched him sleep deeply as the digital clock turned from 5:59 to 6:00. She’d woken him up every hour just to make sure he could be awakened. He’d mumble something unintelligible, then quickly fall back to sleep.
Lucy wished she could ask someone to watch her brother, but she was going to have to leave him alone. It was time to talk to the sheriff herself.
She crept from her room back to Patrick’s. Though she had cleaned up after him, his room smelled foul. She went through his notes and found the sheriff’s name and number that Steve had given him. Would Steve have passed along the information if he were the killer?
The house was still silent. She walked downstairs and peered into the library. Trevor was still on the couch, no longer snoring, but bundled under a blanket. Angie must have put it back on last night.
Lucy closed the library door and padded silently to the lodge’s office. She picked up the phone and was relieved to hear a dial tone. Outside, the wind still blew like an angry god, dawn barely visible in the white that rained down around them.
“Alpine County Sheriff’s Department.”
“Sheriff Mackey please.”
“He’s not in right now. This is the dispatcher. How may I assist you?”
“This is Lucy Kincaid at the Delarosa Mountain Retreat. Sheriff Mackey spoke with Steve Delarosa yesterday about an unattended death. We have a serious problem up here, and I need to talk to the sheriff immediately.”
“One moment.”
She was put on hold. Lucy didn’t know what the dispatcher was doing. She waited impatiently.
A small stack of papers was tucked under the desk calendar, making it lopsided. She vaguely remembered that Steve had been reading something when she’d walked in last night.
She pulled out the papers and unfolded them. The top pages were a handwritten letter in bold, confident block letters dated over two years ago from Leo Delarosa to his son, Steve. The bottom pages were a formal last will and testament.
She read the letter first.
Son,
Today is your eighteenth birthday. I hope to be here to watch you drink your first beer (legally!) and get married (you’ll find the right girl, just be patient) and have a child of your own.
But my heart attack last year was a wake-up call for both of us. I don’t know how long I’ll be here, whether I’ll live to see my grandchild or not. Because God sometimes has ideas about things that we don’t understand, and because I’m not too good in talking about my feelings and all that crap, I decided to write this letter.
My words don’t always come out right. They sound like criticism, like when I told you that you were too smart to get a C in Algebra. What I should have said was, “Son, you’re a smart boy. I’m proud of you and proud of your grades. I’m disappointed in the C because I know you can do better. But I’m not disappointed in you.”
I’ve never been disappointed in you, Steve.
You were the best thing that happened to your mom and me. We didn’t think we could have kids—hell, we tried often enough! And then you came. She loved you the minute she found out you were growing inside her belly.
Your mom would be proud of you today. God took her home way too soon, and I cursed Him for it. You needed your mom. I wanted you to have her in