He reached into the back seat and retrieved his laptop case. “I’ll just be working right here in the car,” he promised with a big, fake smile. “Waiting to drive you wherever you want to go next, Ms. Daisy—I mean Vera.”
She rolled her eyes. Having a concussion was the worst. She closed the door and headed for the hospital entrance. Actually she felt better this morning. The back of her head was sore as hell. But no more nausea, serious pain, or weakness. The lingering symptom that worried herwas the slight lack of good balance. Her equilibrium remained a little off. As much as she would have preferred to make this trip alone, she wasn’t stupid. Ending up dead in a car crash was not something she wanted to hasten. Causing someone else to be injured or worse wasn’t on her agenda either. Not to mention that would leave Luna in the lurch with an insane Geneva Fanning.
Vera had too much to take care of to get herself killed right now, and driving in Nashville was a pinball game on steroids for those who rarely visited. A lovely city with much to do and see but crazy busy with constant road construction and about a million commuters. Not optimal for a driver well below the top of her game.
While she waited at the bank of elevators that would take her to the tenth floor of the Vanderbilt critical care tower, she considered all that Luna had said at the cemetery late yesterday afternoon. Something about Jackie’s fall deeply distressed Luna. Obviously the fact that the woman was her husband’s mother was distressing, but this was something more. Vera hoped it wasn’t the worst-case scenario.Just stop.She was not even entertaining the idea in a serious light.
The elevator doors opened, and she cleared her head. Time to focus on the Wilton investigation. She would get back to Luna’s situation later.
On the tenth floor Vera went to the main desk of the Traumatic Intensive Care Unit and waited until a nurse noticed her. “Hi, I’m Vera Boyett. Ms. Franklin is expecting me.”
Nurse Bedwell, according to her name tag, smiled. “I’ll let her know you’re here.”
Vera walked a few feet away from the desk and waited. She wanted the most up-to-date progress on Alicia Wilton. She’d learned long ago that the most detailed and latest reports came from the nurses, not the doctors.
“Ms. Boyett?”
Vera turned to meet the woman she’d spoken with by phone. Regina Franklin was mid-forties. Wore her hair in a haphazard ponytail,and a pair of reading glasses was suspended on the collar of her scrub top. She looked about as frazzled as Vera felt. Exactly her kind of people.
“Ms. Franklin, thank you for making time for me.”
“Let’s step into the break room.”
Vera followed her down the corridor to the final door on the right just before exiting the unit. The room was small. Looked like a regular TICU hospital room without the beds. There were a couple of small tables and a half dozen chairs. A coffee maker stood next to the sink on the built-in cabinet that lined one wall, along with a small fridge. All the necessities for a comfortable break room.
“How’s our patient?” Vera took a seat in the first chair she came to.
“Coffee? Water?” Franklin gestured to the counter. “There might be a soda in there too. But those usually disappear faster than anything else.”
“I’m good, thank you.”
Franklin gave her a nod and settled at the table. “Mrs. Wilton is doing better than expected. In case you haven’t received the latest update, her MRI showed trauma to the back of the head as well as the visible injury to the front.”
Vera had not heard. This changed things considerably. “Meaning she may have been struck with something that perhaps launched her forward?” That could explain her fall down those steps. Perhaps confirmed she was indeed fleeing for her life.
“Absolutely,” Franklin agreed. “The resulting injury is consistent with a blow to the back of the head.”
There had been no blood in her hair, Vera recalled. So, like her own head injury, Alicia’s had likely been caused by some rounded object rather than something with an edge that would have penetrated the scalp.
Vera offered, “Any signs she’s trying to wake up?”
“Her EEGs continue to show considerable brain activity. The most recent reading convinced her doctor that she’s going to wake upand may well recover, as I said, better than expected. Everything looks really good.”
“If there’s considerable brain activity,” Vera ventured, “what’s to prevent her from just waking up?”
“That’s the mystery of comas.” Franklin shrugged. “Patients wake up when they wake up. We ensure their vitals stay as close to normal as possible. Treat any underlying causes. There are sensory stimulation procedures that sometimes work—we’re doing those as well—but again every patient is different.”
Vera understood. “Bottom line, we’re looking good for a possible full recovery.”
“All the signs are there, but we’ll know more when she does wake up.”
Vera hesitated when she would have let this final question go, but she needed to know. The patient was a suspect in a murder case. Stranger things had been attempted by suspects in the past. “Is there any chance she’s faking it? I mean, pretending to still be unable to wake up?”
Franklin wrinkled her nose and turned her hands up. “It wouldn’t be easy, but I suppose it could happen. That said, we watch her closely. Monitor her vitals and brain activity equally closely. Maintaining the act would be difficult at best. Even with our eyes closed or when we’re sleeping, our brain reacts to sounds and changes in the environment around us.”
“Thank you.” Vera extended her hand across the table. “I’ll pay her a visit and be on my way.”
As they stood, Franklin said, “I have your cell number as well as Sheriff Benton’s. I’ll ensure one of you gets a call the moment she wakes up. Oh.” Franklin popped her forehead with the heel of her hand. “I almost forgot. Alicia Wilton is pregnant. A test confirmed as much, and we did an ultrasound to ensure the baby was unharmed. She’s approximately twelve weeks, and all appears to be well.”
