Under Suspicion. Hannah Alexander

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      Geoff raced into the parking lot of the ER at Bradley-Cline Hospital and pulled into a nearby slot, scanning the area for Shona’s Escalade or Kemper’s Seville, which she often drove. He recognized none of the vehicles.

      He frowned at the ambulance bay. There was no way he could have beat the ambulance here, but he couldn’t have been so far behind them that the ambulance was already gone, could he?

      It was possible, if they had another hot call.

      Still…something didn’t feel right. Shona’s car should be here. She had been following the ambulance when he spoke to her; he’d heard the siren over the line.

      She might have parked elsewhere in an effort to avoid notice, as much as possible. Her car and Kemper’s had government plates.

      While waiting for the camera crew, Geoff parked and went inside to check with the receptionist.

      “I’m sorry,” she said when he asked about Kemper’s arrival. “We’re unaware of anyone here by that name.”

      He didn’t argue, but returned to his car, backed out of the slot and cruised slowly around the parking lot. He saw nothing familiar. He dialed Shona’s number again, but she didn’t answer. He did recognize a film crew from Channel 32, and a newspaper reporter for the Jefferson City Herald. He was sure more reporters would be arriving soon.

      His own camera crew had not yet made it here, and he had a sneaking suspicion they wouldn’t have anything to film once they arrived. He knew Shona too well. She didn’t want a media circus tonight.

      Typically, she was gracious and outgoing to all members of the media, as was her father. This was different. He couldn’t blame her for wanting her privacy during this crisis.

      Instead of calling Wendy, which he knew would be expected of him with this switch, he pulled from the parking lot and turned left, in the direction of St. Mary’s. Traditionally, Shona’s family had always used that hospital. He would follow his hunch without alerting others.

      FOUR

      After the nurse carried away the basin, Shona collapsed gratefully in a chair someone pushed over from the central desk.

      Another member of medical staff in bloodstained blue scrubs knelt beside her, his eyes compassionate, but his tone brisk. “Ma’am, does your father have any history of hemophilia?”

      “No.” Didn’t he think she would have told them immediately if that were the case?

      “Does he take any kind of blood thinner like Coumadin? Or a lot of aspirin?”

      “Nothing like that. He seldom even takes a painkiller.” Shona accepted some wet paper towels from an aide and dabbed at her face and mouth.

      “Has he been ill recently, running a high fever?”

      “No. He had a cold, but nothing serious. Please, do you know what’s happening?”

      The man shook his head. “That’s what we’re still trying to find out.” He returned to the trauma room.

      “Got something here, Dr. Morris,” someone said. “He could be coming back around. We’ve got a better rhythm.”

      “Stop CPR. Is there a pulse?”

      There was a waiting silence for a few seconds.

      “No, Doctor.”

      “Okay, continue CPR.”

      Shona couldn’t take it. She had always thought she would be strong in a situation like this. She wasn’t. She had never felt so alone in her life.