“He ought to be in the hospital,” Melba said. “Or at the very least home in bed.”
“I’m fine,” Tom insisted, taking a seat on one of the heavy leather bar stools. “It’s a through-and-through, and Melba and Drew gave me better treatment than I’d have gotten at the hospital.”
“Did this happen anywhere in the vicinity of that dead state trooper?”
Tom met her gaze but did not answer.
Caitlin wanted to get Melba out of the room before asking certain questions, but she didn’t want to be rude. She decided to edge toward the difficult questions. “Will you answer one question?” she asked. “Off the record?”
“That depends.”
“Why in God’s name did you jump bail? It seems completely counterproductive for your case.”
Tom sighed and braced his elbows on the dark granite counter. “It was my best option at the time.”
“Were you afraid you would have died in Sheriff Byrd’s jail?”
“That’s certainly possible.”
“But that wasn’t your reason?”
“Let’s just say that . . . at that time I had options I no longer have.”
“Because of the dead state trooper?”
“Mostly. Once he was killed, there was no clean way out for Walt and me.”
Caitlin laid her hand on his back. “Forrest Knox’s police obviously hope to kill you before you can get into custody. Why are you making it easier for them?”
“I don’t have a choice. Walt wouldn’t be in this fix if he hadn’t tried to help me. There’s no way I’m letting him go to trial for that.”
“But there’s no other way out of this. Griffith Mackiever can’t wave a magic wand and make that murder charge go away.”
Tom looked back at Melba and said, “Mel, is there any chance you could make some tea?”
The nurse looked glad to have something to do.
“I don’t have a lot of time,” Caitlin said, as Melba held a kettle under the tap. “There are FBI agents at the Examiner, and the longer I’m gone, the more suspicious they’ll get. Plus, Penn could decide to come looking for me.”
“Then get back to work. There’s nothing to be learned here.”
Caitlin felt a stab of anger. “Tom . . . it was Viola’s death that started all this. If you didn’t kill her, nobody can prove you did.”
“Centuries of history would beg to differ.”
“Oh, Christ. Yes, people get wrongly convicted. But not with the kind of lawyers you’d have in your corner. Penn? And Quentin Avery?”
With obvious effort Tom turned the stool toward her. “Even if I were to fight the murder charge on Viola—or plead guilty to a reduced charge—that dead trooper would still be dead, and Walt’s life would be at risk.”
The idea that Tom might plead guilty to a lesser charge made her curious. “Will you tell me what really happened at Viola’s that night?”
“No offense, Cait, but if I wouldn’t discuss it with Penn, I’m not going to tell you.”
Caitlin glanced at Melba, who was gazing at Tom like a worried wife. She wondered then if there was more between the doctor and nurse than friendship. It seemed odd that in this time of crisis Tom would repeatedly call upon his black nurse; yet somehow Caitlin had known to have Melba watched. Was Melba Price the new Viola Turner?
“I need to ask you some personal questions,” Caitlin said. “Very personal. I have to. And you might prefer to be alone. Sorry, Melba. It’s up to Tom.”
Tom shifted on the stool as though his shoulder had sent a bolt of pain through his body. Then he looked over at his nurse, who was watching the kettle on the gas stove.
“Mel, do you mind watching TV in the bedroom for a few minutes?”
“I’ve got a glass of wine over on the coffee table,” the nurse replied. “I’ll finish it on the back patio.”
“It’s pretty chilly,” Caitlin said.
“I could use some air,” Melba said, a little curtly. “Can you finish making the tea?”
“Sure.”
“I’d rather you stay inside, Mel,” Tom said. “This house is huge, and we don’t know who might be outside. Caitlin found us, after all.”
“Doc, if anybody’s out there, we’re done for already. I guess I’ll be the back-door lookout.”
Melba collected her wineglass and walked toward some double doors behind a broad curtain. Then she slipped through the crack and went outside.
Fighting the temptation to look away from Tom, Caitlin said, “Exactly how close are you and Melba?”
He looked so genuinely shocked by the implication of her question that Caitlin instantly realized her error. “You asked Melba to leave the room for that?”
“No. Tom, last night Penn and I were nearly murdered. Brody Royal almost killed us. Henry Sexton saved us.”
“I know.” He motioned toward the sofa. “Melba brought me a copy of this morning’s paper.”
“Before he died, Brody told us two things about you. He said that you saved Viola’s life back in 1968. And he said you killed her four days ago.”
Tom’s lips parted slightly.
“Brody had no reason to lie, Tom. He thought we were going to die. And he thought the irony was hilarious.”
Tom turned away and shook his head. “Brody Royal . . . that psychotic bastard.”
“I agree. But why would he say that to us, Tom?”
Tom looked down at his hands for some time, then raised his head and looked into Caitlin’s eyes. “He told you the truth, Cait. But don’t ask me any more about it.”
Caitlin suddenly felt cold. “You . . . you killed her, Tom?”
“As I said before, I’m not going to speak about what happened in her sister’s house that night. If I couldn’t tell Penn, I certainly can’t tell you. No offense.”
“Then what the hell are you going to do? Just sit here until they come for you?”
“That’s my concern, not yours.”
Caitlin felt a hot rush of anger. She walked away from the counter, then turned and spoke with more hostility than she’d intended. “Penn met Lincoln Turner yesterday. And then again today. Did you know that?”