After that she remembered nothing but silence and darkness. A couple days later she’d woken up in this same hospital. Her life had changed in those few fast and chaotic moments. Phillip had died instantly in the crash.
Everybody had told her she’d only imagined the gunshot. That a tire blowout could sound the same. Could cause the same car reaction.
The doctors. Police. Papa Carrington. Even Mama. They all pooh-poohed her statement, noting she not only had broken bones, she had a concussion. To this day, she still held the belief that she’d heard a gunshot. No, she’d heard two gunshots.
Sometimes she still woke up in the middle of the night hearing what Phillip had said. How he had stood up for her. Defended her against—what? That she didn’t know. And she’d never know.
She was content to remember the words and conviction in the way he had said them. That was one of the few times she could remember feeling her husband truly loved her. Phillip hadn’t been perfect, but he’d got himself together. Was trying for himself and for her. In that moment, Phillip had been perfect.
That was just one of many reasons she hated hospitals and avoided them when possible. Some days she still blamed Papa C for the wreck, but accidents happened in life. Today she was here to see how he was doing. To let him know he still had someone to care for him, since his son and wife had passed on before. Phillip would have wanted her to see after his dad even though they had seldom agreed on anything.
After stepping off the elevator she followed the door numbers to his room. She softly knocked in case he was sleeping, then slowly opened the door to his room.
Someone from behind the door jerked it open and out of her hand. She stumbled forward as the door scraped out of reach, and a man reached out and roughly grabbed her arm to stop her from falling.
“Betsy, what are you doing here?” Papa Carrington asked from his bed.
Momentarily surprised at the spacious room, she quickly realized it was a private room. Of course, he’d always insisted on having the very best. Especially when it came to cars and boats, houses and vacations.
“Yeah. What do you want?” the bearded man from behind the door angrily asked, seeming to hide in the shadow of the open door.
For a split second she felt threatened, but then she saw Earl Millerton sitting on the chair beside the bed. A third man, almost a carbon copy of Papa C, yet greyer, lounged back on the two-person sofa in front of the window. He slightly raised his fingers as if calming the man behind the door.
“I came to see how you were doing, Papa C.” She moved to stand on the other side of the bed, then rested her hand on the bedrail. He looked pretty good for all the injuries the floor nurse had talked about when she’d called yesterday afternoon to check on him. “Sorry I couldn’t stop by sooner. Besides the destruction at the dealership, the thugs trashed my house, too.”
He glanced at the grey-haired man on the sofa, but the man simply picked up the magazine on the side table and thumbed through it, then paused as if reading.
In turn, Papa C stared at the man behind the door, then patted her hand. “Oh my, that must have been traumatizing. No one had told me about that. Are you okay?”
“Yes, I’m fine. Thankfully I wasn’t there when it happened. But how are you? The police said it appears you were hit from behind as you walked into the service center.” Glancing at the bandage on the back of his skull, she shivered, knowing how painful that must be. “Are you going to be okay?”
“You know me, I’m always a survivor.” He glanced around the room again. Swept his hand in the direction of the two men. “These are friends of mine who made a special trip from out of state just to see how I’m doing.” Then as an afterthought he nodded in her direction. “This is Betsy Peyton. My daughter-in-law.”
The man behind the door stared at her as if he were photographing her in his mind. She hadn’t got a clear look at him, but something felt oddly familiar. Yet there was something just different enough that she couldn’t make the connection.
Laying the magazine aside, the man on the sofa stood and offered his hand. “It’s nice to meet you, Ms. Peyton. I’ve heard great things about you. Carrington’s always raving about your business capabilities. I should stop by one day and see about a ordering a fleet of cars for my business.”
She shook his hand and looked into his eyes. The hand and the look were both cold as ice. “Call and make an appointment. I’ll be happy to work on getting you the best deals on what you need. What line of business are you in?”
He stepped toward the door. “A little of this. A little of that. You might say I’m extensively diversified.” Heading toward the door, he glanced at Papa C. “Well, we better be heading out. Was good to see you doing so well. You can never be too careful when you get knocked around. Let me know when you’re released, and we’ll continue our chat.”
Papa C nodded.
The man behind the door opened it and waited until the sofa guy walked out. Then he glanced at Earl. “We’ll talk soon.”
“Whatever you say,” he meekly replied, looking uncomfortable as he rocked back and forth in his seat.
A moment later, the two men were gone. She noticed that neither of their names were ever mentioned. She had never seen them around town before.
“That was nice of your friends to stop by,” she said.
Papa C didn’t answer but motioned her to pull a chair over by the bed. “So what’s new at the dealership? Do the police have any clues? Anybody giving you a hard time?”
“Nothing major until this break-in. Well, nothing except the murder of the lookie-loo customer in the parking lot the night before all this happened.” Feeling lightheaded, she exhaled slowly, with a slight tremble, as a vision of the body in the trash receptacle flashed through her mind once again. “I’m sure you heard about that. Right?”
He nodded. “I heard.”
The room became quiet as if waiting for more information. From who, she wasn’t sure. “How are you feeling, Earl?” she asked.
