“In the afternoon?” I asked, shocked.
“Yes.”
“Is it Friday?”
“Saturday.” She held a cup out for me and I took it.
The inviting fragrance of tea with sugar and cream wafted up to me, and I wondered why I never drank tea. I took a sip, then another, as warmth spread out from my chest and my fingers soaked in the cup’s heat.
Pearl walked away, leaving me there to lean on the sink with my tea. When she came back, she was carrying a kitchen chair.
“Sit there. I’m going to get a blanket, then take a look at your wound.”
Pearl was kind and efficient and impossible to say no to. She checked my ribs, gave me my pills, then sent me into the shower, promising to re-bandage my wound when I was done.
The combination of hot water, pain pills, and tea cleared my head.
It was Saturday. I’d missed the sunrise blessing of the regatta that signaled the beginning of the Rhubarb Rally. I’d missed the first day, and now half of Saturday. The rally would be in full swing, with rides, food, entertainment, and local businesses representing their wares.
Myra and Jean would be busy policing the crowd, probably with Ryder and Roy. No one would be at the station, except for Dan Perkin, who should still be in the holding cell.
I got out of the shower and into the clothes I’d worn from the hospital. I wandered into the kitchen, where Pearl had a bowl of oatmeal waiting for me. She’d arranged the raisins in the bowl to make a smiley face.
“I hope you like it that way.” She handed me a spoon as a not-so-subtle hint that I should eat.
The buttery-smooth porridge was just the right amount of sweet and nutty. My appetite that had been missing in action suddenly roared back to life. “I need to fill out some paperwork on the shooting,” I lied as I finished the last bit, standing at the kitchen counter.
Pearl walked toward me, her hands folded neatly in front of her. “Is that what you want me to tell Myra when she calls?”
“Would you just tell her I’m on the couch sleeping?”
“Delaney. I don’t think you are…steady enough to be on your own today. Are you doing something you don’t want your sister to know about?”
“Maybe a little. I want to go talk to Dan. I think… I don’t think he’s really the kind of guy who would shoot someone.”
Pearl looked down at her hands, and a frown tugged her mouth.
“Do you know something about this, Pearl?”
She shook her head, her eyes finally drawing back up to mine.
“He’s… I know he’s a trouble maker. Too angry at…everything. But I’ve never seen him resort to violence before.”
“Okay. That’s good to hear. Is there anything else?”
“I don’t think Chris Lagon was responsible for blowing up Dan’s rhubarb patch.”
It seemed like an odd jump in the conversation, but I followed along. “Do you know who might be?”
She nodded, an almost imperceptible movement.
I waited.
“Dan,” she said.
“Dan what?”
“I believe he blew up his own rhubarb.”
