stated that when PFD found a dead body in a fire, they worked to contain the blaze, then stopped and called Homicide. Shelby knew this, but that hit to the head had obviously jarred some things loose. “There was a woman in an upstairs bedroom,” he said as gently as he could. “She was dead.”
She touched a hand to her temple, her brow furrowing. “But I was at M.B.’s. I do remember going inside her house—” She gasped. “M.B.? Clay, is it M.B.? Is she dead?”
He hesitated. “I’m sorry.”
“No!” she choked out. “How? What happened?”
He really didn’t want to lay this on her right now. “I don’t have all the details yet.”
Other questions pressed harder at him. What had happened to Shelby? How had M. B. Perry died? As a result of that fire? All things Clay would have to find out.
A tear slipped down Shelby’s lightly tanned cheek. “M.B. is dead? I can’t believe it.”
Clay could hardly breathe past the relief that Shelby hadn’t met the same fate. He could have lost his best friend tonight. After what he’d been through with Megan and then losing Shelby’s brother Jason, standing in a hospital room with an injured Shelby had Clay almost panic-stricken. That had to explain this urge he felt to touch her again, hold her for just a minute. He rubbed a hand across his sweat-dampened nape. “There are some guys waiting outside to see you.”
“The doctor asked them not to come in yet.”
“Should I have waited?”
“No. I need you in here.”
“I called your mom. She’s on her way.”
An attractive blonde with a stethoscope hanging out of the pocket of a white lab coat breezed into the room. “Sorry I took so long, Shelby. I wanted to set up a CAT scan and wait for the X rays. Got ’em.”
She lifted a large manila file jacket. The woman’s hair was a mass of wild blond curls pulled into a ponytail. Despite the dark circles under her eyes, she was pretty and she gave Clay a faint smile.
Shelby raised a visibly shaking hand to the side of her head. “Clay, this is Doctor…I’m sorry.” Frustration tightened her voice. “What was your name?”
“Meredith Boren.”
“Dr. Boren,” Shelby repeated. “You’ve told me that before, haven’t you?”
“It’s all right. The confusion will pass and so will the difficulty you’re having concentrating,” the woman soothed, glancing at Clay. “Are you family?”
“Yes,” Shelby said before he could answer. He knew her mother would agree.
“You’ll probably ask the same questions for a bit,” the doctor said. “That’s due to the concussion. I expect that fogginess to dissipate in the next twenty-four hours or so.”
“Concussion?” A new worry snaked through Clay. He’d gotten one years ago in a high school football game. But his had been mild; he’d suffered with only a headache, some nausea. His mind had never been this fuzzy, and he’d never forgotten anything. His voice was sharp with concern. “How long was she out?”
“We’re not sure.” The doctor’s sober gaze told him she was concerned, too. “The EMTs who brought her in said she was unconscious when they found her. She woke up a couple of times en route, but I’d estimate she was out at least five minutes.”
“That’s a long time.” Clay’s stomach knotted as he scanned Shelby’s heart-shaped face. She had an injured wrist, a cut and some bruises on her golden-ivory skin, but what was going on internally?
“I’ve looked at your X rays,” Dr. Boren said to Shelby. “Your wrist is sprained. We’ll need to wrap it and stitch up that gash at your hairline. That’s not what worries me, though.”
Clay stiffened. “What does?”
The woman’s warm gaze took in both of them. “Shelby, you have a grade three concussion. That’s pretty severe. The hit you took to the head had some momentum behind it.”
That put a hard knot in Clay’s chest. “Meaning she was pushed?”
“Or fell from some height.”
“I wish I could remember what happened,” Shelby said impatiently. “How long will this last?”
“I can’t say. With a grade three concussion, it’s possible the post-traumatic amnesia will last longer than twenty-four hours. I want to keep you overnight to monitor you and to see if your memory improves at all. At this juncture, I don’t think your skull is fractured, but I want to watch for a change in symptoms in case there’s a small hematoma I haven’t detected.”
Blood clot. Clay knew that much. His mind reeled with all the information, the sight of his strong, irrepressible buddy lying feebly in a hospital bed.
“Besides the confusion,” the doctor continued, “you’ll have headaches, dizziness, possibly some disturbance in your vision. I want to run a CAT scan and check for visible contusions on the brain.”
“What’s that, Doc?” Clay dragged a hand down his face.
“Bruising on the brain. Sorry.” The woman smiled.
“I can’t remember anything except walking into M.B.’s house.” Shelby frowned.
“Do you remember what time that was?” Clay asked. “Or why you went over in the first place? Did you see anyone else?”
“You have on your cop face,” she muttered.
The vise around his chest finally eased its grip, and he grinned.
“I know it’s hard, Shelby,” Dr. Boren said. “But do not make yourself try to remember. What you need to do is rest, and I can give you some medication to help with that. We’ll see how you do tomorrow. Try not to get ahead of yourself, all right?”
“Hello?”
Hearing the warm, familiar voice outside the door, Clay glanced up.
The doctor turned as Paula Fox moved into the room in a swirl of loose flowing skirts.
“Hi, Mom.”
“Paula,” Clay murmured.
The woman, who had been like a surrogate mother to him since his own had left, moved up the other side of her daughter’s bed, her gaze searching Shelby’s face.
“I came as soon as Clay called.” Paula’s brown kinky hair was pulled back with a headband, her pretty features wan with worry.
He knew all three of them were thinking about the last time they’d been in a hospital together. The night Jason had died. The older woman looked terrified and Clay certainly understood why.
“I’m okay, Mom.” Shelby squeezed her mom’s hand. “This is Dr. Boren.”
The
