“Yeah. Me neither. Whelan tracked down his stepfather, Hudson’s dad, whom he hadn’t seen since the day of Hudson’s funeral. The guy had hired a private pathologist, who did a thorough autopsy, which is when they discovered that Hudson drowned because he’d gone into anaphylactic shock. From the peanuts.”
“What?” Shannon’s voice echoed in the mostly empty cafeteria.
“It wasn’t our fault, Shan. There was nothing we could have done to save him.”
Shannon’s pale face contorted with anger. “All these years. I blamed myself. I blamed you. But it was Ric. Whenever something bad happens, it’s always Ric.”
“Or the old man,” Traci said. “Whelan’s stepfather as much as admitted that Fred paid him off to avoid an ugly lawsuit, and the scandal.”
Shannon started to say something, but her phone buzzed to signal an incoming text. She stood abruptly, still clutching the foam cup of coffee. “Livvy’s awake. I gotta go.”
CHAPTER 67
“Ma’am? Ma’am?”
Somehow, Traci had nodded off to sleep again in the waiting room. The admitting clerk was leaning across the counter, trying to get her attention.
“Yes?” Traci rubbed at her eyes.
“They just sent word that Dr. Ochoa finished your quote daughter’s discharge papers.”
She smirked when she said the word “daughter.”
Traci nodded, then turned when the doors from the ambulance bay opened as Whelan rushed inside.
“Traci?” He was dressed in his work uniform, Carhartts, a Saint work shirt, and boots.
“Hey,” she said, struggling to her feet. He wrapped his arms tightly around her, and pressed his lips to her ear. “You’re okay, right? You weren’t in the fire?”
“I’m fine. Really.”
“Your hair smells like smoke. And ash.”
“My new perfume.”
“Not funny. You gave me a fright,” he said, releasing his hold on her, but not before kissing her cheek.
“How did you hear about the fire?”
“I ran into one of the security guards when I stopped for coffee on the way to work. He’d just gotten off duty. I tried calling, butwhen you didn’t answer your phone I panicked and checked your office.”
Traci reached into the pocket of the windbreaker she’d thrown on hours ago. She brought out her cell phone and held it up. Dead.
“I heard the fire trucks and ambulance come racing past my house around three, so I got in the golf cart and followed the sirens. And ended up at the staff dorm,” Traci said.
“Did everyone get out okay?”
“Felice and Livvy were the only ones there. They managed to climb out a window and escape before the fire spread too far.”
“I saw the dorm. Or, what’s left of it. There were sheriff’s deputies and a fire marshal crawling all over it. I take it this was no accident?”
“No,” Traci said, her expression somber. “KJ was there when I got there. He’d apparently been hiding in the woods, watching. He confessed. He and Garrett drugged some wine and kombucha in the fridge so the girls wouldn’t wake up when the fire started.”
She filled him in on what little she’d learned from Shapley, the sheriff’s investigator. “KJ’s in custody, but Garrett and Charlie are gone.”
“Son of a bitch,” Whelan said under his breath. He studied her face. “You’re really okay, though, right?”
“Tired and worried beyond words, but physically I’m good.”
