Hannah Alexander - A Killing Frost

“Symptoms suggest you could have a blood clot in a lung,” Ruth stated flatly. “Left untreated, that could be fatal.”

Jama bit her tongue. Those symptoms could mean anything at this point. These were scare tactics, pure and simple.

Ruth continued. “Word would get out about it. People don’t want to go to a clinic where the patients die because the doctors misdiagnose.”

Ted frowned and looked down at his hands for a moment, then looked at Jama. “Your director’s been around the block a few times, hasn’t she? Handled a few crotchety old men.”

Jama grinned at him. She had worked with other arrogant doctors during her residencies. From what the mayor had said earlier in the day, and from Ruth’s response to her husband’s call today, it sounded as if she might be going through a divorce. Jama might be hard to get along with, herself, under the same circumstances.

Of course, she was dealing with comparable circumstances-actually, even worse circumstances. So maybe she was overly sensitive today, as well.

Give it a better try, Jama.

“I’ve got a lot of pride in this town,” Ted said. “And we can’t have something going wrong for this clinic before it even gets up and running. So I guess I’d better do what the doctor orders,” Ted said.

Jama felt a rush of relief, though she wasn’t ready to thank Ruth for bursting in and commandeering the patient. “Your family doctor is Stewart in Fulton, isn’t he?”

Ted nodded.

“I’ll call him and let him know you’re on your way to the E.R.”

Jama walked beside Ted’s wheelchair out the door, hugged him goodbye and returned to her own office. She would call Ted’s physician, and give her erratic emotions time to settle before facing Ruth.

How she missed her old relationship with Tyrell at times like these. In the past few months, she’d become accustomed to calling him to talk about whatever was on her mind. He’d always listened.

Why had he gone and blown it all by asking her to marry him?

Tyrell’s crew had the hay bales set and ready to light as soon as the temperature dropped far enough on the large thermometer mounted on the side of the nearest shed. He also had a cord of firewood scheduled for delivery any minute. The crew had stacked limbs for bonfires down by the peach and apple trees.

There was something about dependence on God’s mercy for a livelihood that made a man realize just how puny he was in the scheme of the universe. And yet, God still showed that mercy.

Tyrell’s cell phone beeped yet again.

As he flipped open the phone, a truck entered the property through the front gate a quarter mile from the house. The wood was arriving.

“Me again,” Renee’s voice informed him over the airwave. “You made a bunch of phone calls this afternoon, didn’t you?”

“Everybody in my book.”

“Calls have been coming in fast and furious. There are reports of a brown pickup speeding southeast of Columbia on H Highway near the Mark Twain National Forest, and one report of a truck with the same description headed east on Highway 94.”

He felt a flare of hope. “That sounds as if the truck’s headed toward River Dance.”

“That’s what I think, too,” Renee said, “but why?”

“If they’re on their way to St. Louis, 94 is a good route to take to be less visible than on the interstate. Old farm trucks are commonplace in this area.” And Tyrell knew a lot of old farmers along the highway who could be on the lookout for that pickup.

“Do you think Doriann could have somehow convinced her abductors to drive to River Dance?” Renee asked.

“An eleven-year-old girl is not likely to convince these people of anything.” Tyrell waved to the driver of the wood truck to pull around to the back of the house. “Just because several people spotted a brown truck on 94 doesn’t mean it’s the truck driven by Doriann’s abductors.” Although that was exactly what Tyrell hoped. “That kind of thinking could mess up an FBI operation.”

“Obviously, it isn’t going to mess up this one. No one is listening to me.”

He heard the frustration in her voice. “Don’t feel bad. Police get faulty tips all the time.”

“Three of them? All in the same area? And don’t forget the truck was spotted leaving I-70 suddenly.”

“Wasn’t that because of information the abductors might have heard over the scanner?”

“Merely supposition. Believe me, I know how capable Doriann is of making up very believable stories, and nobody knows if that truck was headed to St. Louis.”

“I understand from the news reports that’s where these people came from in the first place.”

“Well, maybe not both of them.”

“What do you mean?” Tyrell asked.

“Description of the woman with him has changed.”

“You mean there may be three killers?”

“It’s possible, Tyrell.”

“That wasn’t reported on the news.”

“It isn’t something the FBI wants to reveal yet. I’ve learned these agents do what they want when they want, and nobody changes their minds.”

“If the reported sighting was of the right truck, and if Doriann has actually been abducted-which is something we still can’t be positive about at this point-then the FBI will need to be prepared.”

There was a pause, and he thought he heard a quick intake of breath. “You do at least think it’s possible they’re coming in your direction, then.”

“It’s possible.” It was also possible, though not probable, that they could actually be coming to River Dance for some reason, as Renee suggested. But to think an eleven-year-old could convince them to come here? Not a reasonable idea.

“What if the captors know about Doriann’s ties to River Dance?” Renee asked. “This could be an intentional plan then, not just an escape from the interstate.”

“You’re jumping to conclusions again.” Tyrell circled the house to meet the delivery vehicle, where he found Daniel and the hired crew already unloading the wood.

“Okay, you agree with me, then,” Renee said. “They’re probably headed toward River Dance.”

“I didn’t say that. Don’t put words in-”

“I need to have another talk with the agent at Mark and Heather’s place. Maybe he’ll listen this time.”

“Does he have an alpha-male complex?”

“That could be a problem.”

“Then have Mark mention it to him.”

“Okay,” Renee said, “here’s another concern. After the initial calls about the truck, there have been no reports of a sighting for a few hours.”

“Have any other cars been reported stolen in this area?”

“You’re suggesting the kidnappers might have ditched the truck?”

Tyrell closed his eyes as the scent of freshly plowed earth settled over him. “I can’t say what I think right now. I can’t predict what killers will do. I do know you need to keep Heather from panicking. And don’t panic, yourself. Keep your wild ideas to yourself or talk to me, not Heather.”

“You think my ideas are wild, you try coming up with some, yourself. And how am I supposed to keep Heather from freaking? She’s teetering on the edge already.”

“How’s that?”

“She expects to hear at any time that her daughter is dead.”

Tyrell sank down on the top step of the back porch. “She can’t lose hope.”

“Convince her of that. I’ve told her Daniel says everything is okay.”

“Daniel didn’t say that,” Tyrell reminded his sister. “All he said was that he knew Doriann was still alive at the time we spoke.”

“See what I mean? How am I supposed to encourage Heather when even Daniel can’t give us complete reassurance?”