A_Wanted Man - Alana Matthews (7 page)

“Deputy Glass.”

“Callie?”

The voice was familiar. “Yes, who is this?”

“It’s Judith, dear. Judith Patterson. I don’t want you to worry, but we’re on our way to County Memorial and I think you need to meet us there.”

“What’s wrong?” Callie asked. “What happened?”

“It’s your Nana Jean,” Judith told her. “She’s had an accident.”

C
ALLIE GOT TO THE HOSPITAL
shortly after Judith and Nana Jean arrived. Judith was guiding Nana through the Emergency Room doorway, Nana keeping a towel clamped to her forehead.

“I’m all right,” she said, “it’s just a cut. No big deal.”

Callie took over for Judith. “What happened?”

“I tripped on that stupid throw rug. Hit my head on the edge of the coffee table. I don’t know why Judith insisted I come here.”

But when Callie caught Judith’s gaze, she could see from her look that there was more to it than that.

A few minutes later a nurse brought a wheelchair and rolled Nana into the exam room and Judith turned to Callie.

“I saw the whole thing,” she said. “She didn’t trip. She had one of her dizzy spells and fell.”

Callie nodded. “That’s what I was afraid of.”

“There was a lot of blood, too. Thank God Henry and I were there to drive her to the hospital.”

Callie glanced out the large bay windows toward the parking lot and saw the plumber lock his van before heading toward the Emergency Room.

Had Nana invited Judith and him back to the house for dinner?

Did she not listen to Callie at
all
?

“It’s getting to the point where I don’t feel comfortable leaving her alone,” she said to Judith. “I’m gonna have to find some kind of solution. Hire a caregiver or something.”

“Well, don’t say that too loud. You’re grandmother’s as stubborn as they come and she won’t take kindly to some stranger in the house.”

Henry the plumber was getting closer by the moment. Callie had no idea if he was in on this matchmaking scheme, but she wasn’t interested in yet another awkward moment. She’d had enough of those for one day.

“Well, she’ll just have to get used to it,” she told Judith, then started in the direction the nurse had wheeled Nana. “I’d better go check on her.”

A moment later Callie was standing in a curtained cubicle as the doctor examined the gash on Nana’s forehead.

“We’ll put a butterfly bandage on it, but you won’t need any stitches.”

“I
told
Judith it was a just a scratch.”

The doctor opened a drawer in a nearby cart. “Well, it’s a bit more than that Ms. Glass. She was smart to bring you here. Head wounds tend to bleed a lot and you could have lost a significant amount of blood.”

Nana frowned. “Oh, for goodness sake, you’d think it was the first time I ever cut myself.”

“Judith had a right to be concerned,” Callie said. “Did you tell the doctor about the dizzy spell?”

The doctor’s eyebrows went up. “Dizzy spell?”

Nana looked at Callie as if she’d just betrayed a sacred trust. “I see Judith has been flapping her mouth again. So what if I get dizzy once in a while—what’s the big deal?”

The doctor took a cotton swab from the drawer. “Dizzy spells are not the kind of thing you want to ignore, Ms. Glass. Especially a woman your age.”

“What are you talking about? I’m only seventy-six. It’s not like I’m on my deathbed.”

“And some of us would like to keep it that way,” Callie said.

The doctor nodded. “I think we should check you in for the night and run some tests. Try to find out why you’re losing your balance.”

“I’m perfectly fine,” Nana said.

“This cut on your forehead says different. And I’d just as soon rule out anything serious before I release you.”

Nana shot Callie another glance. “See what you’ve done?”

“Knock it off, Nana. It’s for your own good.”

The old woman sighed. “I don’t see why you feel the need to try to run my life.”

Callie couldn’t help but smile. “Now you know how it feels.”

I
T TOOK THEM NEARLY
an hour to get Nana Jean registered and into a room. By the time the nurse was done fussing with her, Nana had calmed down a bit, reluctantly coming to terms with the idea that she’d be spending the night.

“I hope you don’t expect me to eat their food in the morning.”

Callie was sitting in a chair next to the bed. “I’ll bring you a treat,” she said. “One of those cinnamon-raisin muffins from Bartly’s Bakery.”

Nana’s eyes lit up. “Oooh, I do like those. That Edith Bartly knows her way around an oven.”

“See? Being here’s not so bad.”

Nana scowled. “I still say it’s a waste of—”

“
No,
Nana.” Callie leaned forward and touched her wrist. “Anything that keeps you well is not a waste of time. If something were to happen to you, I don’t know what I’d do with myself. You’re the only real family I’ve got.”

Callie suddenly felt tears in her eyes, but did her best to hold them back. To see the woman who raised her lying in a hospital bed with an oxygen tube in her nose got her thinking about just how tenuous life could be. She knew full well that, in a matter of seconds, someone you cared about—someone you loved—could go from a filling a hole in your heart to creating one.

She’d had enough of that in her life.

She knew she couldn’t hang on to Nana forever, but she wasn’t about to let the old woman slip away because of some stubborn, misplaced sense of pride. She could only hope that these dizzy spells were nothing serious.

Nana smiled. “Look at you, getting all misty-eyed. I don’t think I’ve seen you cry since…” She paused. “Well, it’s been a long time.”

Callie wiped at her eyes. “Not crying,” she said.

“It’s all these nasty germs in the air, right?”

Now Callie smiled. “Right.”

Nana was quiet for a moment, lost in a thought. Then she said, “I don’t tell you this very often, Cal, but since the day you were born, you’re the reason I breathe air every morning.”

“Oh, Nana…”

“It was hard losing your mom—my sweet little Mary. Seeing the life go out of her eyes right there in front of me. But then I saw that light in you and I knew…I
knew
why I was put on this earth.”

Callie gently squeezed her wrist. “Now you’re
trying
to make me cry.”

“Looks like it’s working, too.”

There was a sharp knock and Callie swiveled her head, surprised to find Rusty standing in the doorway.

“Sorry to interrupt,” he said. “You feeling okay, Ms. Glass?”

“Just fine. Not that anyone’s interested in listening to me.”

“I’m sure the doctor knows what he’s doing,” Rusty told her, then shifted his gaze to Callie. “Tried calling you, but I guess they make you turn your phones off in here.”

Callie quickly wiped at her eyes and nodded. “Did the judge sign the warrant?”

“Doesn’t much matter at this point. We need to get moving.”

“What’s going on?” Callie asked, sensing his urgency.

“Just got a call from Deputy Cole. He’s with Emergency Services. They’re headed out to the Pritchard ranch.”

“Why? What happened?”

“It’s on fire,” Rusty said.

Chapter Eight

The house was still ablaze when they got there.

The security gate was hanging open, two fire trucks out front, hoses blasting, water arcing toward the flames.

The sky was pitch-black now, the surrounding area illuminated only by the fire, and as Callie pulled her cruiser to a stop, a piercing scream rose from inside the house like something from another world.

Before she could even set the brake, she saw Harlan emerge from his own cruiser and start running. He pushed past the line of firefighters like a man possessed, and headed for the front door.

Callie’s heart kicked up.

What on earth was he doing?

She watched in horror as a firefighter tried to grab hold of Harlan, but he spun and slipped away, then hurdled himself through the open doorway, ignoring the shouts of the men behind him, the house now looking as if it might collapse around him at any moment.

Oh, my God,
she thought.

He’s gone completely insane.

The screams rose again, a woman’s voice begging—“Help me! Help me!”—and then Harlan disappeared entirely, swallowed by the fire.

Callie’s heart thudded uncontrollably as she and Rusty jumped out of their cruiser and moved quickly to the line of firefighters.

“Why are you just standing here?” she shouted. “You have to go in after him!”

“Are you nuts?” one of the men said.

Then the biggest of them came over to her—an old friend from high school, Phil Dunworth. “That’s a fool’s errand, Callie. Wind blows the wrong direction, this place is coming down and I won’t put my men at risk.”

Stunned, Callie looked at the house as the flames continued to grow, her thudding heart threatening to burst through her chest. She couldn’t quite believe that Harlan had gone inside there, but he’d once again proven that he was a cowboy and a reckless fool.

Before she realized it, her own feet were moving, heading in the direction of that door as Rusty shouted behind her—

“Callie! What are you doing? Stop!”

But she ignored him and pressed on, feeling a hot blast of air envelop her as she drew closer to the opening. She wasn’t quite sure
why
she was doing this, but some buried instinct was tugging at her, forcing her to move.

Then suddenly Harlan emerged from the doorway, his arm around Gloria Pritchard’s waist as she clung to him, desperately gasping for air. Her face was blank with shock and her right thigh was stained with blood, soaking through her jeans.

Callie rushed onto the porch and grabbed hold of Gloria, helping Harlan to keep her upright. Then several firefighters joined in, taking Gloria in their arms.

“I think she’s been shot,” Harlan said.

One of the men nodded as they whisked her toward a nearby ambulance. And as Callie and Harlan moved away from the house, Callie’s heartbeat started to return to normal.

Harlan was out of breath, covered with soot and sweat, holding his left forearm in pain.

“You’re an idiot,” she said sourly.

“And you’re in love with that word, aren’t you?”

“It was stupid to go in there. You could’ve gotten yourself killed.”

“Why do
you
care?”

She shot him a look. “Oh, come on, Harlan, that’s not fair.”

“I just did what had to be done,” he said. “Now, if you don’t mind, I’ve got some burns to attend to.”

Then he picked up speed and continued across the yard to the ambulance.

L
ESS THAN AN HOUR LATER
, all that was left of the Pritchard ranch house was a pile of charred rubble. A few hot spots still blazed, the fire boys doing their best to keep them down.

Callie stood with Rusty and Harlan, staring at the place in stunned disbelief.

“My God,” she said.

The Pritchard ranch was an institution around here, a symbol of wealth and power. And despite what she might think of the Pritchards themselves, to see their home reduced to little more than black ash was both shocking and depressing. She’d never been one to find glee in other people’s pain, even if she didn’t much care for them.

Sheriff Mercer broke away from a group of firefighters and approached Callie and the others.

“Don’t suppose it’s much of a surprise,” he told them, “but the arson boys are saying this wasn’t an accident.”

Harlan and Callie hadn’t uttered more than a few syllables to each other since he’d emerged from the house with Gloria, and that was just fine with her. But now he said to Mercer, “Megan Pritchard, no doubt.”

“Based on her history and the condition we found that pickup truck, I’d say that’s a pretty good assumption.”

“So we were right,” Callie said. “Jonah was hiding her and her friends. Question is, where are they now? And where’s Jonah?”

Mercer pointed to a spot near the center of the house, where a black lump could be seen, just barely, near a patch of flames that were struggling to stay alive.

Callie hadn’t noticed it before. Another so-called crispy critter.

Oh, Lord.

She swallowed dryly.

“We’re thinking he was probably shot, too,” Mercer said. “Won’t know for sure until the medical examiner gets hold of him. Or what’s left of him.”