Claws For Concern

SEVENTEEN

My heart rate increased dramatically as my mind conjured up terrible images of family members in distress.

Before I could speak, she gave me her name, which I promptly forgot. She continued, “We have a Mr. William Delaney here who’s been badly injured in an apparent hit-and-run. He is asking for you. He says you’re his cousin.”

“Yes, I am.” There was no point in arguing over the technicalities of the relationship. “I’ll be on the way in a minute. How badly is he hurt?”

“It would be better to talk about it here,” the woman said. “Please come as soon as you can.” She ended the call.

I hung up the phone and turned to Helen Louise. Noting her expression of concern, I quickly relayed the gist of the call.

“You go,” she said. “I’ll stay here and keep an eye on things. Call me and let me know how he is when you know more.”

I made sure I had my cell phone in my pocket. I gave her a quick kiss, grabbed my keys, and headed into the garage. The last thing I wanted to do today was spend time in a hospital. I had spent more time than I ever cared to remember in hospitals, thanks to my parents’ health issues in their later years, though they both died relatively young, in their sixties. I clocked many an hour in Houston hospitals because of my late wife Jackie’s diagnosis of pancreatic cancer.

By the time I found out, a few months after Jackie died, that Aunt Dottie had been diagnosed with the same cancer, Aunt Dottie had only a week to live. She hadn’t wanted to worry me, she said, because she knew I was grieving the loss of my wife. Because Azalea thought I should know my aunt was dying, I managed to see her the last day of her life, in this same hospital, long enough to say good-bye to her.

No, I wasn’t fond of hospitals, but I felt I had no choice. I couldn’t ignore Bill Delaney’s request.

The hospital wasn’t all that far from my house, but with traffic and stoplights it took me almost twenty minutes to get there. Once I parked and locked the car, it took me several more minutes to get to the emergency room. By the time I reached the desk, I reckoned half an hour had passed since the call. I feared the worst when I inquired about the status of Bill Delaney.

“I’m his cousin, Charlie Harris,” I said. “Someone called and told me he has been asking for me.”

The woman at the desk nodded. “I called you. He’s in room six. You can go on back. The doc wants to talk to you. I think she’s with him now.” She pointed the way.

I hurried to Delaney’s room, surrounded by the sounds of people talking in quiet tones along with the hums and beeps of machines. A baby cried nearby, and my heart constricted. I hoped the child wasn’t the patient.

I found room six and knocked on the door. A woman’s voice called for me to come in, and I did. The first thing I saw was Bill Delaney, his head bandaged, lying on the bed. On either side of him stood a woman and a man in scrubs. The woman wore a white jacket. Once I closed the door behind me, I also noticed another person in the room, a police officer who was standing in the corner. The chill air of the room made me all too conscious of my thin-cotton short-sleeved shirt.

“I’m Charlie Harris, Mr. Delaney’s cousin. How is he?”

“Stable.” The doctor, whom I recognized from a previous visit here a few years ago, introduced herself as Leann Finch. “I remember you, Mr. Harris. You’ve been here before.”

I nodded. “Yes, I remember you, too, Dr. Finch. Will he be all right? The woman who called said he’d been injured in a hit-and-run.”

“We’ve checked for internal injuries, and I’m thankful to tell you that there don’t seem to be any. Just external wounds. Badly scraped head and arms. The real problem is his legs. He has broken both of them. The officer here can tell you more.”

The policeman stepped forward. “I spoke to a couple of witnesses who said they saw him a few seconds before the car hit him. He was walking down the sidewalk about twenty feet away. Husband said Mr. Delaney seemed unsteady on his feet and stepped into the street. Into the path of the car.”

“I see,” I replied. “Thank you.”

The policeman nodded and moved back to the corner. I turned to the doctor again.

“Does your cousin have a history of alcohol abuse?” Dr. Finch asked.

“From what I know of him,” I said, “yes, he does.” I explained quickly that I had only recently met my so-called cousin and only knew a little about his history.

“His blood alcohol level indicates that he’s inebriated, well over the limit,” Dr. Finch said. “That accounts for him being unsteady on his feet.”

“No doubt.” I shook my head as I regarded the unconscious man. “I went by to see him this morning and found him passed out. He roused for a moment but then went back to sleep.” I turned to the policeman. “Did anyone catch a glimpse of the driver who hit him?”

“The two witnesses who saw it happen said they thought the driver was a woman, but it might have been a man with long hair, too.” He shrugged. “They’re actually in the waiting room if you want to talk to them. Young couple just finished eating at that place on the square, you know, the French café.”

“I know it well,” I said. “I would like to talk to them. Thank you, Officer.”

“We need to set the patient’s broken legs, Mr. Harris,” Dr. Finch said. “There’s nothing else you can do at the moment.” She glanced at Bill Delaney, sound asleep on the bed. “The pain medication knocked him out. He’ll be able to talk to you later this afternoon when we have moved him to a regular bed.”

“Thank you, Doctor,” I said. “I’ll be in the waiting room if you need me.”

Dr. Finch nodded, already turning back to tend to Delaney. I left the room and made my way back to the waiting room. I was anxious to speak to the young couple who had witnessed the accident. I felt compelled to know everything I could about what had happened.

I passed the desk and walked into the large waiting area. I hadn’t gone more than three steps when I heard my daughter’s voice. Shocked, I turned to see her and Frank in the far corner of the room to my left. I walked over to them, and they rose from their seats to greet me.

“Dad, what on earth are you doing here?” Laura laid a hand on my arm and regarded me closely, her expression anxious. “Is it Charlie?”

“Is everything okay with Charlie? You didn’t bring him here, did you?” Frank asked at the same time.

“Everything is fine. Helen Louise is at home with little Charlie.” I watched them both relax, the worry draining from them. They sank back into their seats and looked up at me. I took an empty seat next to Laura. “Let me ask you two a question. Are you here because you were witnesses to a hit-and-run outside Helen Louise’s place?”

“How on earth did you know that?” Frank stared at me and shook his head. “You’re not psychic, are you?”

“I know because the man who was hit is Bill Delaney,” I said. When they continued to look blank, I realized they had no idea who I was talking about. “Sorry, I need to tell you a few things.”

I gave them the short version about Bill and his parentage. The rest of the story that included the Barber murders could wait till later.

“So he told the staff he’s your cousin, sort of?” Laura’s nose wrinkled, an habitual sign of confusion with her.

“By marriage only,” I said. “I’m the only person he knows here, I guess, and I’m certainly the closest thing to family he has left. At least that I know about.”

“The poor man,” Laura said. “He was stumbling along, and I told Frank I was afraid he was going to end up in the street. Sure enough, he did, and that car hit him.”

“Rotten break for him, though I can’t say I’m surprised. He reeked of beer,” Frank said. “Is he going to be okay?”

I relayed what the doctor had told me, and they both looked relieved. “The broken legs will be problematic, once they release him from the hospital. He has a second-floor apartment, and I don’t think he’ll be able to get up and down the stairs in his condition.”

“No, he won’t,” Laura said. “What about one of those skilled nursing facilities? Frank’s grandmother went to one after she fell at home and broke both arms. They took good care of her until she was able to go home again.”

“That’s an excellent idea.” I had been envisioning bringing Delaney to my house and looking after him with Azalea’s assistance. A skilled nursing facility was obviously the better option.

“If he has Medicare,” Frank said, “I believe they’ll cover it, depending on how long he needs to stay.”

“He’s sixty-six,” I said. “I assume he has it. That takes a load off my mind, I can tell you.”

“Why? Were you thinking you’d have to look after him?” Frank asked.

I nodded. “I couldn’t in all conscience let them send him back to that apartment on his own.”

Laura patted my arm. “No, you wouldn’t, Dad, but most people wouldn’t go that far out of their way for a stranger.”

I smiled my thanks for her sweet words. “There’s something else I have to tell you about him, I’m afraid.”

“This doesn’t sound good, judging by your tone,” Frank said.

“It’s not.” I told them about the Barber murders, and while I talked, I caught an odd expression on my son-in-law’s face. I supposed he must recall the case since he grew up in the delta not far from Tullahoma.

“How horrible,” Laura said. “People really thought he did it?”

I nodded. “His mother was his alibi. According to her he came home drunk that afternoon, and he stayed in his room all night and never left the house. The police tried to shake her, but she never wavered. That’s what I was told, anyway.” I glanced at Frank. “You obviously know something about this case.”

“Yes, I do,” Frank said. “I was twelve years old when the murders occurred. I’ve never brought this up before, not even to Laura, because it’s not exactly the kind of thing you casually introduce into a conversation.”

“What are you talking about, honey?” Laura asked, obviously puzzled.

“Elizabeth Barber is a cousin of mine,” Frank said. “My second cousin, actually. We share a great-grandmother through my father and her mother. We never had much to do with the family, though, because my dad couldn’t stand Hiram Barber. I wouldn’t have recognized him if I’d met him on the street.”

“Talk about a weird coincidence,” Laura said. “Your cousin is the only survivor of a multiple homicide.” She shook her head. “Creepy and weird.”

This turn of events fascinated me, and I wanted to talk to Frank more about the Barber family and his family’s take on the case. Before we got into that, however, I wanted to bring the subject back to Bill Delaney and his accident.

“I want to talk to you more about it, if you don’t mind,” I said. Frank nodded. “At the moment, though, I want you to tell me about the hit-and-run. How much did you see?”

Frank and Laura looked at each other. Then Frank nodded again, and Laura turned to me and began, “We had barely walked out of the bistro’s door and onto the sidewalk when I glanced to my right and noticed this elderly man kind of tottering along. I told Frank to look at him because I was afraid the man was going to fall any second.”

Frank took up the account. “Laura’s right. He was stumbling badly, and I moved around her so I could get to him quickly if he started to fall.”

“How far away from him were you?” I asked.

“Maybe twenty feet,” Frank said.

“About,” Laura said. “Maybe a little farther away.”

“What happened next?” I asked.

“He suddenly stumbled sideways,” Frank replied. “Two seconds, and he was in the street. Well, in the parking spots, actually. I started after him, and he kept moving, still mostly sideways. He cleared the parking spots and was almost two feet, I’d say, into the street. I lunged after him, but before I could get to him a car sideswiped him and knocked him to the ground. The car kept going. I tried to see the license but the sun was in my eyes. I recognized the make and model though.”

“You saw all this, too,” I said to Laura.

“Yes, and more than Frank because I was looking at the street.” She paused, frowning. “I know this might sound crazy, but I think that car swerved deliberately to hit the man.”