doctor seemed unfazed by the rapid-fire questions. “Kevin has what I would consider a fairly severe head injury, but nothing that we feel requires surgery at the moment. We’re monitoring him closely, and we plan to keep him in a medically induced coma for a day or two to help minimize any damage. If the brain should swell, we might need to go in to alleviate the pressure, but if not, we could see a fairly rapid recovery.”
Deidre’s thoughts had hung up on one word. Damage. “Do you mean—Will Kevin have brain damage?”
Liz squeezed her hand. “We just don’t know yet. The next twenty-four hours will tell us a lot. Hang in there.”
“Thank you.” The words were automatic. “Can I see him?”
The two doctors exchanged looks. “For a few minutes, at least,” Liz said.
“I’m coming, as well.” The judge grasped Deidre’s arm, and she thought it was the first time in a year that he’d voluntarily touched her.
She glanced at him, and then looked away. The pain in his face made it indecent to stare.
They followed the doctors down the hallway, and it seemed to Deidre that she was moving as awkwardly as a robot. She had to concentrate on putting one foot in front of the other, and she longed for Frank’s presence beside her. But Frank was gone, and he had never seemed so far away.
Then a door opened, and she saw her son. Despite the machines and wires that formed a mechanical cocoon around his bed, Kevin looked as if he were sleeping, his head turned slightly to one side as it always was in slumber. She slipped forward, able to move now that she could see him.
She folded her fingers over his hand. He was alive. Whatever happened, she would deal with it, but Kevin was alive.
Liz moved a chair up to the bed and nudged her into it. “Just sit here with him for a few minutes. Don’t attempt to wake him. The nurse may have to ask you to leave at some point. I know I can count on you to cooperate.”
Don’t make a fuss, in other words. But she wasn’t the type to fuss, was she?
Liz turned away, and Deidre reached out to catch her hand. “My friend, the one who was with Kevin, do you know how she’s doing?”
Liz’s eyes clouded. “I’m sorry. I’ve been told that Dixie James died without regaining consciousness.”
* * *
JASE SLIPPED OUT of the waiting room and watched as Deidre and her father-in-law trailed the doctors down the hall. They disappeared from sight into the boy’s room. An unaccustomed emotion wrenched at his heart. Poor little guy. Still, things did sound hopeful regarding his recovery.
He’d really been pitchforked into trouble when he’d set out to meet Deidre Morris tonight. There was a bright side to his actions in sabotaging her car—at least she hadn’t been alone when she’d made that grisly discovery.
So why did the memory of his actions bring with it a wave of guilt?
Jase glanced back at the waiting room, but he was too restless to sit in there. He had to talk to the judge as soon as possible. Given what had happened, he’d surely want to delay any action against his daughter-in-law, and Jase would be relieved to be out from under the burden of that task. Whatever Deidre’s other failings, there’d been no mistaking her anguish over her son. He didn’t doubt that she’d have changed places with the boy in an instant.
Kevin’s injury had been bad enough, but at least it had looked like an accident. But the woman—that had been deliberate. He was no expert, but he’d be surprised if anyone could have survived that blow to the head. What on earth was going on in this supposedly peaceful small town?
The hall was as quiet as a hospital ever was, the lights slightly dimmed and most of the patient room doors closed. Two nurses were having a conversation about their weekend plans at the nurses’ station, their voices as cheerful as if it was the middle of the afternoon.
He moved toward Kevin’s room, making little sound on the tile floor. A talk with the judge was definitely in order. He’d done his best to answer the cop’s questions, automatically not volunteering anything extra. But the police would have to question Deidre sooner or later, and if he was meant to represent her, that had to be clarified.
Pausing, he watched the door, reluctant to make a move. It swung open, and he had a brief glimpse of the child on the high, narrow bed, with Deidre sitting next to him, her eyes intent on his face. Then the door closed as the judge, still gray-faced, approached him.
“Can we have a word?” Jase kept his voice low.
Judge Morris glanced around, nodded and led the way to the window at the end of the corridor, safely out of earshot of the nurses’ station.
“How is the boy?” He sounded awkward. Not surprising, since he felt awkward. Dealing with emotion had never come easy to him.
“You heard what the doctor said, so you know as much as I do. It’s a matter of waiting.” Judge Morris looked as if the concept was completely unfamiliar to him.
“I’m sorry.” Jase hesitated. “Under the circumstances, I take it you won’t want me to proceed with any further investigation.”
Morris’s face froze. “Then you take it wrong. It’s more important than ever now.”
“But with your grandson in the hospital...”
“That’s the point,” Morris snapped. “Why is he here? Was he injured because something Deidre did put him in danger? I have to know, or how can I protect him?”
Jase got where he was coming from, but at the moment there seemed nothing to tie Deidre to the attack on the woman. “It’s possible it was an attempted burglary that turned violent. Nothing to do with either Mrs. Morris or Ms. James.”
The judge shook his head impatiently. “A burglar would have seen the lights and known someone was home.”
“True, but even so, the violence was directed at Dixie James.” It seemed to him more likely that, if it wasn’t a burglary or a random attack, someone had either followed Dixie or had known she was babysitting that night.
“We have too little information to speculate, I suppose.” The judge glanced around, as if expecting that information to materialize because he wanted it.
“Deidre is unlikely to do anything to raise questions about her behavior while her son is in the hospital,” Jase pointed out, trying to be the voice of common sense.
“I suppose not, but I still want you to represent her with the police. And help her deal with any reporters.” The judge turned away, and then turned back as if struck by a second thought. “I’ll have a word with the chief of police to make sure he keeps you abreast of what’s happening in the investigation. It’s best to be prepared.”
Being prepared to the judge obviously meant pulling as many strings as necessary to ensure that he took care of his grandchild. Jason couldn’t fault his goal, whatever he thought of his methods. In any event, he didn’t have much choice.
“All right.” Movement down the hall caught his eye. “Looks as if the cops are here.” Two officers, one young enough to look as if he were growing into
