The Secrets of Rosa Lee. Jodi Thomas

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      In fact, he’d been calm since the beginning, like some kind of robot. He’d caught the professor when she’d passed out, dialed the sheriff on his cell, talked everyone into remaining still until help came. She couldn’t help but think it strange that a brush with death didn’t affect him.

      After he’d called the sheriff, in what seemed like seconds the room flooded with people. Firemen from the station two blocks away, the sheriff, campus cops from the college and the hospital’s only ambulance. Clifton Creek might be small, but they could move when needed. She had heard talk that the sheriff ran everyone through drills twice a year in case a tornado hit. Their practice paid off today.

      Half the town turned out to watch. Traffic was down to one lane in front of Rosa Lee’s old place. If Lora knew them, and she did, most had already made up their minds about what had happened. A few were planning punishment for the villains when they were found.

      Through the open door, she could hear Philip Price chanting like a cantor questioning why anyone would want to hurt this group of people. “Who’d want to hurt the Rogers sisters?” he asked, but didn’t bother waiting for an answer. “Or a professor? Or the preacher? Or the poor brokenhearted Whitman girl whose husband…”

      Lora ducked her head. She didn’t want to go outside. Somehow, it seemed safer to stay in here. The coolness of the house felt comforting. The dusty smells settling around her seemed strangely familiar. She looked up at Sheriff Farrington. “Why?”

      The sheriff shook his head. “Maybe just kids seeing the opportunity to break something. A twelve-foot window in an abandoned house would be hard to resist. Maybe someone who just wanted the house torn down and didn’t really give much thought that their note might hurt someone.”

      “But you don’t think so?”

      “But I don’t think so,” he echoed. “There’s no way anyone passing could have missed seeing the committee sitting in that bay window.”

      “Then why?”

      “Someone doesn’t want one of you, or all of you, in this house.” He stared directly into her eyes. “Whoever threw this meant harm, Lora. To you or to someone at that table.”

      Lora covered her eyes with her palms, pretending to be invisible as she had as a child. She couldn’t think of anyone who would plan to harm her. Phil, the town crier, had been right. Who would want to hurt any of them? The only person she could think of who hated her was Dan, and he didn’t want her dead. He only wanted her to suffer. Their marriage, in and out of bed, hadn’t worked from the first and he’d blamed her.

      “Hey, pretty lady, you going to crumble or fight?”

      Lora looked up at Billy Hatcher. He didn’t seem nearly as threatening with a bandage across his forehead. “Leave me alone. I’m busy having a nervous breakdown.”

      “Thought you had more grit, Whitman. Where’s that ‘Fight! Fight! Fight!’ cheerleader spirit?” He leaned closer and whispered, “You mad at me for slamming you to the floor?”

      “What do you want? If it’s a thanks, you got it.” Much as she hated admitting it, she might very well owe this thug her life.

      He shook his head and winked. “Wish I’d had time to enjoy climbing on top of you, but in truth, I’ll settle for one thing.”

      “What’s that?”

      He offered his hand. “Friendship. Looks as if all the committee members may need someone to cover our backs. When my probation officer told me to do some community service, I had no idea it would be so exciting.”

      Hesitantly, Lora took his hand, convinced that the kid bordered on insane. “Thanks,” she answered honestly. “For what you did.”

      He pulled her away from the wall. “Friends?”

      “One condition.” She smiled. “Drop the cracks about having the hots for me.”

      “Mind if I still think them?”

      “Not as long as you keep them to yourself.”

      “Fair enough, Whitman.” He lifted his bandaged hand. “How about giving me a ride to Wichita Falls? I’d like to check on the professor.” He picked up Sidney Dickerson’s glasses. “And take her these.”

      “The hospital’s an hour away. It’ll be afternoon before we can get back.”

      “I know. I figured I’d offer to buy you lunch on the way back. Just lunch, no date or anything like that.”

      “I don’t have a car.” Lora watched the preacher fold up the contents of the professor’s case, carefully shaking glass from each piece.

      Billy dug into his right pocket. “Then you can drive my car, but that means you buy lunch.”

      Lora thought about what it would mean to go home and listen to her mother, or go back to work and have to recount what happened to every customer who walked in the door. Going to Wichita Falls with Billy Hatcher suddenly seemed like a good idea. “Want to come along, Reverend Parker?” she asked over Billy’s shoulder.

      “No, thanks. I’ll see that the sisters get home. Tell Dr. Dickerson I’ll be there this evening.”

      Lora lifted her purse and glanced outside. Her mother poked a manicured finger into the chest of a campus cop blocking anyone from entering the house. Lora couldn’t hear what Isadore said but guessed the cop wouldn’t hold the line for long under such an assault.

      Turning back to Billy, Lora raised her eyebrow in question.

      “My car’s out back,” he said, taking the cue. “Give me a minute to talk to the sheriff and I’ll be right there.”

      Lora nodded and slipped out of the room. The house grew cooler as she walked into the shadows but, as she’d guessed, a hallway to the back porch lay just behind the stairs.

      When she stepped outside, the wind greeted her. Leaning over the railing, Lora let her hair shake free. Tiny bits of glass hit the broken brick walk below. She straightened, quickly wiggled out of her torn panty hose and tossed them atop a pile of windblown trash at the edge of the porch.

      As she slipped back into her shoes, Lora noticed Billy standing in the shadows behind her.

      When she turned on him, he raised both hands. “I didn’t see a thing.”

      “And?”

      “And I’m not saying a word, Whitman.”

      “Don’t call me that.”

      “You got it, only slow down on the rules, I can only remember so many.”

      Six

      Micah Parker quickly found that seeing the Rogers sisters home was not an easy assignment. The pair decided they had to stop several times and СКАЧАТЬ