Shades of Twilight (37 page)

"Folks, let's get out of the medics' way now, and let them take care of Miss Roanna." His steely gaze lit on Webb.

"Now, what happened here?"

Until then, Webb hadn't realized the similarities between what had happened to Roanna tonight and Jessie's death ten years earlier. He had been concentrating on Roanna, terrified for her, taking care of her. The old, cold fury began to build in him as he realized Beshears suspected him of attacking Roanna, perhaps trying to kill her.

He ruthlessly suppressed his anger, though, because now wasn't the time for it.

"I heard Roanna scream," he said in as even a tone as he could manage.

"The sound came from the front of the house, and I was afraid she'd gotten up without turning on any lights and fallen down the stairs. But when I got here, I saw her lying just where she is now."

"How did you know it was Roanna screaming?"

"I just did," he said flatly.

"You didn't think it could be anyone else in the house who'd gotten up?"

Lucinda gathered herself, galvanized by the obvious suspicion in Beshears's voice.

"Not usually," she said in a firm tone.

"Roanna suffers from insomnia. If anyone is wandering around the house at night, it's likely to be her."

"But you were awake," Beshears said to Webb.

"No. I woke up when I heard her scream."

"We all did," Gloria put in.

" Roanna used to have nightmares, you know, and that's what I thought was happening. Webb ran past my door just as I opened it."

"You're sure it was Webb."

"I know it was," Brock put in, squarely facing the sheriff.

"I was right behind him."

Beshears looked frustrated, then shrugged, evidently deciding he didn't have a tie between the two events after all.

"So, did she fall or what? The dispatcher said it was a call for the paramedics and the sheriff's department."

"Just as I got to her," Webb said, "I heard something downstairs."

"Like what?" Beshears's eyes sharpened again.

"I don't know. A crash." Webb looked at Brock and Greg.

"Brock and I went downstairs to take a look," Greg said.

"A lamp had been knocked over in the den. I went outside while Brock checked the rest of the house." He hesitated.

"I think I saw someone running, but I couldn't swear to it. My eyes hadn't adjusted to the dark."

"What direction?" Beshears asked briefly, already beckoning to one of his deputies.

"To the right, toward the highway."

The deputy approached, and Beshears turned to him.

"Y'all get some lights and check the yard on the other side 263

T'JNDA HOWARD

of the driveway. There's a heavy dew tonight, so if anybody's been through there, it'll show on the grass. There may have been an intruder in the house." The deputy nodded and departed, taking several of his fellows with him.

One of the paramedics came over. He had obviously leaped out of bed to answer the call; a ball cap covered his uncombed hair, and his eyes were puffy from sleep. But he was alert, his gaze sharp.

"I'm pretty sure she's going to be all right, but I want to transport her to the hospital to be checked out and to have that cut in her head stitched up. Looks like she's got a mild concussion, too. They'll probably want to keep her for twenty-four hours, just to make certain she's okay."

"I'll go with her," Lucinda said, but suddenly staggered. Webb grabbed her.

"Lay her down on the floor," the paramedic said, reaching for her, too.

But Lucinda batted their hands away and pulled herself erect once more. Her color still wasn't good, but she glared fiercely at them.

"Young man, I will not lie down on the floor. I'm old and upset, that's all. You tend to
 
Roanna and don't pay any attention to me."

He couldn't treat her without her permission, and she knew it. Webb looked down at her and thought about picking her up and carrying her to the hospital himself, bullying her into letting a doctor check her. She must have known what he was thinking, because she looked up and managed a smile.

"It's nothing to fret about," she said.

"Roanna's the one who needs seeing to."

"I'll go with her to the hospital, Aunt Lucinda," Lanette said, surprising everyone.

"You need to rest. You and Mama stay here. I'll go put on some clothes if y'all will gather up the things she'll need."

"I'll drive," Webb said. Lucinda started to protest again, but Webb put his arm around her.

"Lanette's right, you need to rest. You heard what the paramedic said,
 
Roanna will be all right. It would be different if she were in danger, but she isn't. Lanette and I will be there with her." Lucinda clutched his hand.

"You'll call me from the hospital, let me talk to her?"

"Just as soon as she's settled," he promised.

"They'll have to do X-rays first, I imagine, so it could take a while. And she might not feel like talking," he warned.

"She'll have a hell of a headache."

"Just let me know she's all right."

With that, Lucinda and Gloria went down the long hall to the back bedrooms, to gather the personal items
 
Roanna would need for even a short stay in the hospital. Webb and Lanette went to their own rooms to dress. It took him less than two minutes, and he reached
 
Roanna's side just as they were transferring her to a stretcher to carry her downstairs.

She was fully conscious now, and her eyes were wide with alarm as she looked up at him. He took her hand again, folding her cold, slender fingers against his rough, warm palm.

"I don't like this," she said fretfully.

"If I need stitches, why can't I just drive to the emergency room? I don't want to be carried. "

"You have a concussion," he replied.

"It's not safe for you to drive."

She sighed and gave in. He squeezed her hand.

"Lanette and I are going to be with you. We'll be right behind the ambulance."

She didn't protest again, and he almost wished she had. Every time he looked at her, he was hit by another wave of panic. She was paper white, what part of her face that wasn't covered by blood. The dark, rusty stain was spread over her face and neck, where it had run down from the laceration on her scalp.

Lanette came hurrying down, carrying a small overnight case, just as they were sliding the stretcher into the ambulance.

"I'm ready," she said to Webb, already moving past him toward the garage.

Sheriff Beshears fell into step beside Weob.

"The boys 265

LINDA HOWAAD

found marks in the dew," he said.

"Looks like someone took out running across the yard. Somebody's been messing with the lock on the kitchen door, too, there's some scratches on the metal. Miss Roanna's lucky, if she came face-to-face with a burglar and a bump on the head's all she got."

Remembering how she had looked like a crumpled little doll lying in the hall, with blood spreading around her, Webb thought Beshears's definition of lucky was different from his own.

"I'll be at the hospital later on to ask her some questions," the sheriff continued.

"We'll do some more checking around here."

The ambulance was pulling out. Webb turned away and strode to the garage, where Lanette was waiting for him. It took several hours and a shift change at Helen Keller Hospital before Roanna had been scanned, stitched, and settled into a private room. Webb impatiently waited in the hallway while Lanette helped her to clean up and get dressed in a fresh nightgown.

The bright morning sun was shining through the windows when he was finally allowed to reenter the room. She was lying in bed, looking almost normal now that most of the blood had been washed away. Her hair was still matted with it, but that would have to be taken care of later. A white pad covered the stitches in the back of her head, and stretchy gauze had been wrapped around her head to hold the bandage in place. She was very pale, but all in all she looked much better.

He eased down on the side of the bed, careful not to jar her.

"The doctor told us to wake you up every hour. That's a helluva thing to do to an insomniac, isn't it?" he teased.

She didn't smile as he'd hoped.

"I think I'll save you the trouble and just stay awake."

"Do you feel like talking on the phone? Lucinda was frantic."

Carefully she pushed herself higher in the bed.

"I'm okay, it's just a headache, Will you dial the number for me?"

Just a headache from a bruised brain, he thought grimly as he picked up the receiver and punched the number for an outside line, then the number at Davencourt. She still thought she'd fallen, and no one had told her any differently. Sheriff Beshears wasn't going to get a lot of information from her.

Roanna talked briefly to Lucinda, just long enough to reassure her that she felt all right, a blatant lie, then gave the phone back to Webb. He was going to give Lucinda his own reassurances, but to his surprise it was Gloria who came on the line.

"Lucinda had another spell after y'all left," she said.

"She's too stubborn to go to the hospital, but I've called her doctor and he's going to stop by this morning."

He glanced at
 
Roanna; the last thing she needed to hear right now was that Lucinda was ill.

"Keep her in line," he said briefly, and lowered his voice as he turned away so
 
Roanna wouldn't be able to hear him.

"I'm not going to say anything to the others now, so don't mention it to them just yet. I'll call in a couple of hours and check on her."

He got off the phone just as Sheriff Beshears came in and tiredly settled himself into one of the two chairs in the room. Lanette was in the other, but Webb wasn't inclined to sit anyway. He wanted to be closer to Roanna's side.

"Well, you're looking better than the last time I saw you," Beshears said to
 
Roanna.

"How do you feel?"

"I don't believe I'll go dancing tonight," she said in that solemn way of hers, and he laughed.

"Don't guess you will. I want to ask you a few questions if you feel up to it."

A puzzled look crossed her face.

"Of course."

"What do you remember about last night?"

"When I fell? Nothing. I don't know how it happened." Beshears shot a quick look at Webb, who gave a tiny shake of his head. The sheriff cleared his throat.

"The thing is, you didn't fall. It looks like someone broke into Davencourt last night, and we figure you walked right up on him."

If Roanna had been pale before, now she was absolutely

white. Her face took on a pinched, frightened expression.

"Someone hit me," she murmured. She didn't say anything else, didn't move. Webb, watching her closely, had the distinct impression she was drawing in on herself, holding everything inside, and he didn't like it. Deliberately he reached out and took her hand, squeezing it to let her know she wasn't alone, and he didn't give a damn what conclusions Beshears drew about his action.

"You don't remember anything?" the sheriff persisted, though his gaze flickered briefly to their clasped hands.

"I know everything's confused now, but maybe you caught a glimpse of him and you just haven't realized it yet. Let's take it step by step. Do you remember leaving your room?"

"No," she said tonelessly. Her hand was motionless in Webb's grip. Once she would have been clinging to him, but now she didn't hold on to him at all. It wasn't just that she didn't seem to need him anymore, but that she didn't want to even be around him. For a while, when she had been so confused, all the barriers had been down and she had seemed to be comforted by his presence, to need him. But now she was pulling away from him again, putting emotional distance between them even though she made no effort to physically pull away. Because of what had happened between them yesterday, or was it something else, a detail about her injury? Did she remember something after all? Why didn't she want to tell the sheriff?

"What's the last thing you remember?" Beshears asked.

"Going to bed."

"Your folks say you have insomnia. Maybe you were awake, and you heard something and went to see what it was."

"I don't remember," she said. The pinched look was more pronounced.

He sighed and got to his feet.

"Well, don't fret about it. A lot of folks don't remember at first what happened right before they took a bump on the noggin, but sometimes it comes back to them after a while. I'll be checking back with you, Miss Roanna. Webb, come on out in the hall with me, and I'll tell you what we've done so far."

Webb went with him, and Beshears strolled down the hall toward the elevators.

"We followed the trail through the weeds all the way to that pasture road that cuts off from the highway, just past the turnoff going up to Davencourt," he said.