Dying to Tell (16 page)

Sadie leaned closer. “Go on.”

Brenda lowered her voice. “My source said that some patients were being mistreated,” she said. “That they have been for years. That they were given experimental drugs as children, that it was part of some research project the patients and their families knew nothing about.”

Sadie’s skin crawled. “Really?”

Brenda nodded. “There’s been long-term abuse and drug misuse,” Brenda whispered. “That’s all I know for now, but I thought your sister might be able to tell you what happened in here.”

Sadie sighed. As wary as she was of Brenda, she sounded sincere. And in her work she had read about abuse in nursing homes and health-care facilities. “I don’t know how she can help. Amelia is traumatized from my grandfather’s death.”

A long-drawn-out moment passed; then Mazie, the head nurse, looked up.

“I have to go,” Brenda said. “But remember, Sadie, I am trying to help.”

“Wait.” Sadie grabbed her arm. “Who told you this?”

Brenda shook her head. “I’m sorry but I can’t reveal my source.”

“Then how can you trust them?”

“Oh, this person is trustworthy,” Brenda said. “I never would have said anything if I doubted that.”

Brenda raced toward the elevator without another word.

Sadie nodded, shocked that the girl who had been her enemy was on her side now. But if what Brenda said was true, then some of Amelia’s ranting might also be true.

She reached into her pocket for her phone to call Jake.

Jake listened to Sadie relay her conversation with Brenda Banks, his head spinning. “These sound like rumors, Sadie. You know how small towns are.”

“I don’t believe they are,” Sadie said.

“But coming from Brenda?”

“She said her source is inside the hospital. She also said that she’s working on a bigger story, so I think she really believes there’s something wrong here.”

Jake didn’t know whether to trust Brenda or not. She had hated Sadie when he dropped Brenda for her.

But that had been ten years ago, and Brenda had moved on. She’d married, although that hadn’t worked out.

Brenda was smart and ambitious, and she was dedicated to her job.

Hell, in light of Grace’s mother’s concerns about her daughter’s treatment, Grace’s murder, and now Brenda’s comments, he had to investigate.

Sadie slipped inside Amelia’s room, grateful to see her sister open her eyes.

Amelia seemed disoriented, then angry as she realized she was handcuffed to the bed. “Sadie?”

“I’m here, Amelia,” Sadie whispered.

Amelia was clinging to her hand, squeezing the life out of her fingers. “Sadie,” she moaned. “Help me.”

Sadie rubbed Amelia’s hand with her free one. “Shh, it’s okay, I’m here, Sis.”

“Help me,” Amelia whispered. “They’re trying to kill me.”

“Who’s trying to kill you?” Sadie asked.

“
He
is...he’s going to kill the chimes.”

Frustration knotted Sadie’s stomach. “Amelia, I am here to help you,” she said as she freed her hand and pulled the chair up
next to the bed. “But if someone’s trying to hurt you, I need you to tell me who it is.”

“
They
are,” Amelia said, agitation edging her voice. “They’re trying to kill me and make me forget.”

“Forget what?”

“Forget what they did to us in here, in the dark.”

“What
did
they do to you?”

Amelia’s eyes went wild, then a moan erupted from deep inside her. “Tied me up, then took me into that dark tunnel...hurt me...it hurts. Help me, Sadie. Get me out of here!”

“Shh,” Sadie murmured. “I’m here, and I’m not going to let them hurt you. But you have to talk to me. Tell me who hurt you, so I can stop them.”

“He did, he did, he did,” Amelia wailed. “He’s back, I hear him in my head...”

Sadie stroked Amelia’s hair again, trying to soothe her. “Tell him to go away,” she said. “That I need to talk to Amelia.”

“No, he’s here...he’s smothering me...”

“I won’t let him,” Sadie whispered. “I’ll save you this time, Sis. I promise.”

The metal cuffs clanked against the bed rail as Amelia kicked and fought to get free.

Sadie couldn’t stand it any longer. And she couldn’t wait for Dr. Tynsdale or waste time arguing with the nurse.

She released the restraints herself.

Amelia rubbed at her wrists and sat up, frantically looking around the room, as if she was searching for an escape.

Sadie intentionally lowered the pitch of her voice to a soothing tone. “It’s okay, Amelia. We’re going to figure out what happened together.”

“Sadie?” Amelia said in a tinny voice.

“Yes, I’m here. Stay with me.” She removed one of the letters from her bag. “Amelia, do you remember writing letters to me?”

Her sister took the envelope and studied it, then opened it and looked at the handwriting. “I...I did write this.”

“I found them in your keepsake box,” Sadie said. “Did you put them there?”

Amelia nodded. “I wanted Papaw to mail them to you—I thought he did.” Her face turned ashen. “But he didn’t send them.”

Sadie tensed. “Did you and Papaw fight about it?”

Amelia ran her finger over the lines of her own writing. “Yes. I was mad ’cause I found them in his desk. I thought he sent them to you a long time ago.”

Sadie squeezed her sister’s hand. “No, I’m sorry, Sis. I wish he had.”

Her gaze met Amelia’s, but wariness flashed in her sister’s eyes.

“Where’s Papaw now?”

Sadie winced.

“Tell me what you remember about the night you and Papaw argued about the letters.”

Suddenly Amelia went stone still; then a shudder rippled through her. She closed her eyes, rocked herself back and forth, then murmured something Sadie couldn’t understand. A second later, she opened her eyes, and her mouth tightened.

Then she jumped off the bed, paced to the window, and squared her shoulders. When Amelia turned back to face her, a belligerent expression stretched across her features.

Sadie braced herself as she realized what had happened. Amelia was gone. This wasn’t the innocent, terrified little girl named Bessie either.

Skid had surfaced, and he looked mad as hell.

Jake wanted to know what exactly had happened at the sanitarium. Another local about the same age as Amelia and Grace
had been treated at the hospital. If there had been foul play, Joe Swoony’s mother, Edith Swoony, might know.

He parked at the Swoonys’ house, noting the neatly kept yard and the pickup truck parked beneath a pine tree, its hood covered in dead pine needles.

He tugged on his leather jacket, secured his weapon, then strode up to the front porch. The flowerbeds flanking the porch were empty now, but judging from the lawn work, Edith probably kept them full in the spring. A mutt lay panting in the corner, chewing on a tennis shoe that had probably belonged to Joe at one time.

He knocked on the door. “Edith, it’s Sheriff Blackwood. I need to talk to you.”

The sound of a TV game show blared in the background, and smoke curled from the chimney. He knocked again, then heard Edith holler that she was coming.

A minute later, she opened the door wearing a flour-dusted apron, drying her hands on a dish towel. On the floor in the den, he spotted Joe playing with some Hot Wheels, while on the television a man and woman in Raggedy Ann & Andy costumes jumped up and down to get attention on
Let’s Make a Deal
.

“What can I do for you, Sheriff?”

Jake tilted his hat. “Can I come in, ma’am?”

She frowned and gestured for him to follow her inside. The furniture was old and worn, but clean, and other than a few toys scattered across the floor, the room was tidy.

Joe didn’t even look at Jake. In fact, he continued to make truck sounds as if he didn’t realize they had a visitor.

“We’ll be right here in the kitchen,” Edith told her son. Sadly, Joe didn’t acknowledge her either.

“Have a seat.” She gestured toward an oak table. “Would you like some coffee?”

Jake slid into the wooden chair. “Yes, ma’am, that sounds good.”

She busied herself getting him a mug, then poured them both a cup, and they settled at the kitchen table.

“You heard about Grace Granger’s death?” Jake asked.

A sad look flashed in her eyes as she glanced at her son. Joe continued playing cars, pretending they were drag racing. “Yes, news travels in Slaughter Creek. I hate it for Grace’s mama. There’s nothing worse than watching your child suffer.”

She stirred sugar into her coffee. “But why would you want to talk to me about Grace?”

Jake hedged. He couldn’t divulge the results of the autopsy, or he might jeopardize the investigation. Not that the ME had ruled murder, but still, Grace’s death raised suspicions.

“She died the day Amelia Nettleton was admitted to the hospital.”

“I heard about that, too,” Edith said, fidgeting with the bobby pins holding her bun in place. “Amelia killed her granddaddy. Poor Walt. He loved those girls and tried to help Amelia, but nothing worked.” She paused, her eye twitching. “I heard her sister’s come back to town.”

“Yes, ma’am. She’s here to bury her grandfather.”

“That family’s sure had their share of bad times,” Edith said in a pensive tone. “But I still don’t see what this has to do with me.”

Jake took a deep breath. “It may not, Edith, and I don’t mean to pry, but I’d like to ask you about Joe. About his treatment at the sanitarium and what happened when he was young.”

Edith stiffened. “Now, I really don’t understand,” she said, growing defensive.

Jake covered her hand with his. “I’m sorry to bring up a painful subject, but I have reason to believe that Grace might have been hurt, maybe mistreated, in the hospital.”

Edith heaved an exasperated breath. Joe threw the little cars in a pile, making crashing sounds as if the cars were involved in a big pileup, and another wave of sadness passed over Edith’s face.

“Joe seemed okay when he was born,” Edith said. “Perfectly normal, I mean. Back then, we didn’t have much money, and there was this clinic this Dr. Coker had opened up years before to help out folks like us. He took care of the needy, said it was his callin’.”

“A free clinic?”

“Yes. Well, folks who could pay did. But lots of us couldn’t.”

Jake nodded, encouraging her to continue.

“Joe was just a baby when we started. Dr. Coker gave him all his immunizations,” Edith said. “And for a while, he was growing and walking, and starting to talk.”

“When did that change?”

“When he was about five.”

Jake narrowed his eyes. “What happened?”

“He suddenly regressed. He was potty-trained, then he started wetting his pants. He threw his food on the floor and woke up screaming at night. In fact, he threw these awful temper fits all the time.” A faraway look settled in her eyes. “He screamed for no reason, just sat and rocked himself back and forth. He wouldn’t make eye contact, and he couldn’t stand for me to touch him or pick him up.”

“What did Dr. Coker say?”

“He ran some tests and said Joe was showing signs of autism. I didn’t know what that meant, but Dr. Coker had read some research on it and said Joe’s behavior fit.”

“What kind of treatment did he prescribe?”