Chapter Sixteen

Every minute of the drive to the Carr County Hospital, I could feel that cross burning in my pocket like a hot coal straight from hell. Based on the information I had now, it belonged either to Tom or his father, both of whom were members of the Knights of Columbus.

Tom or his father. One or the other had attempted to murder Sadie Marsh, but I didn't know which. And I couldn't imagine why either one would have done it-until I remembered the short bit of conversation at the Lone Star the night before. The old man had been deeply upset at the idea that Sadie had invited me to the board meeting. What's that woman up to, anyway? he had demanded. Tom had answered, sharply, I'll take care of Sadie, Dad.

And then, when I pulled up in front of the hospital just before three o'clock, I remembered something else: the envelope I had retrieved from Sadie's kitchen table this morning. The fat, sealed envelope Sadie had shown me the day before. She had implied that the contents had to do with the foundation's trust accounts, which were under the control of the bank-under the control of Tom Rowan, Senior

and Junior. The trust accounts that by now should amount to fourteen or fifteen million dollars.

But maybe not. You know as well as I do, Sadie had said, what goes in don't necessarily come out.

I took the envelope out of the back pocket of my cords and unfolded it. It wasn't sealed. And it wasn't fat. It contained just one sheet of paper.

I'll never know what else Sadie had stashed in the envelope-records of the actual transactions, probably, with account numbers and balances, obtained from Mother Hi-laria. What was left was only one sheet of paper, filled with single-spaced typing, dated yesterday and signed "Sadie Marsh." It was the text of a statement she must have planned to read at the board meeting-and, from the look of it, to release to the county attorney. Whoever had taken the other pages probably meant to take this one as well.

What goes in don't necessarily come out. The first paragraph told me why Sadie had made that bitter remark. The accounts that had been opened with something close to seven million dollars now amounted to two hundred ninety-some thousand and change.

I stared at the page, incredulous. St. Theresa's legacy had been stolen! Who had done it? How had it been done?

When I finished Sadie's report, I knew how, more or less, although the financial transactions were complicated and the details confusing. But I still didn't know who, or rather, which. I sat for a long time studying the paper, trying to see in it the face of the man who feared so deeply for his reputation-his, and his family's, and the bank's-that he was willing to murder to protect it.

Was it Tom? The Tom Rowan I'd known in Houston, the wheeler-dealer, the boy banking wonder, would certainly have been slick enough to pull off a complicated fraud like this one. According to Sadie's statement, the first transaction hadn't taken place until after he'd returned to Carr and gone to work at the bank. Yes, Tom certainly had the ability-the means-to pull something like this off, and

the opportunity. And the potential millions were a strong -otive.

Or was it his father? The old man had both opportunity Hid motive, yes. But did he have the means? He'd been a snail-town banker all his life. Was he capable of the complex financial maneuvering required for an embezzlement?f this size? And the attack on Sadie had certainly required some strength-was he capable of using the weapon, whatever it was, that had injured her?

Or maybe it was both of them. Maybe they had worked together to carry off the fraud, one calling the shots, the other providing the expertise. Perhaps both of them had gone to see Sadie early this morning, to plead with her not to expose them, maybe even offer her some sort of enticement. When she'd refused, they had bludgeoned her. Tom had seemed shocked enough when we discovered her lying in the stall, and even more shocked when he found that she was still alive. But he was certainly capable of faking it. He'd tried pretty hard to convince me that the horse had done it, too. And Sunday afternoon, when I'd told him about Mother Hilaria's diary and mentioned the leverage Sadie might have, he'd been very curious and even apprehensive. His reaction had seemed suspicious then. Now, in the light of the attack on Sadie, it seemed even more suspicious.

The report had nothing more to tell me. I folded it into the envelope and put the envelope in my purse, feeling infinitely sad. It was time to talk with the Rowans, father and son.

The yellow happy face was still bouncing across the computer monitor on the reception desk in the Carr County Hospital, and the desk was once again deserted. I pushed through the doors and walked rapidly to the nurses' station. A different nurse was there, wearing different glasses- plastic-rimmed, with sharp cat's-eye points at the outer corners-but the same stiff white uniform and the same starchy annoyance with the world. Her badge identified her as Vera Williams, RN.

"I'm looking for Sadie Marsh's room," I said.

She glanced up to see if she recognized me, discovered that she didn't, and went back to the form she was filling out. "Patient information is available from the receptionist in the lobby. Back through those double doors, please."

I leaned on the counter and assumed a cheerful drawl. "I checked there first, Vera, but Cherie Lee's on her break, wouldn't you just know? She's my cousin-my daddy's sister's second girl. O' course, you'd never know it from lookin' at us. She got all the purty in the fam'ly," I chuckled. "I c'n see you're real busy, but I wonder-could we take just one eentsy peek in your computer?"

Thus propitiated, Vera became almost human. ' 'Who are you looking for?"

"Sadie Marsh."

"Oh, yes. Intensive Care. Down the hall, to the left."

There was another nurses' station in Intensive Care, this one staffed by a redhead with freckles and a cheery expression.

"I've come about Sadie Marsh," I said. "She was admitted earlier today."

The cheeriness vanished as if it had been wiped off her face. "Are you a member of the family?"

"No," I said. This time, I opted for something closer to the truth. "I'm her attorney. I found her."

She shook her head. "I'm very sorry."

"Excuse me?"

"We did everything we could."

"Oh," I said. In my pocket, the cross blazed brighter and hotter.

She leaned over and began to shuffle pieces of paper. "Maybe you can help us fill in the deceased's personal info. Do you know the name of her next of kin? Husband? Children?"

"No," I said bleakly. "She lived alone. I don't know

that she was ever married." I leaned forward. "What was the cause of death?"

She kept on rummaging among the papers. "Let's see, what am I looking for? Lord, sometimes I'd forget my head if it wasn't-Oh, yes, here it is." She found a piece of paper. "We need a social security number. And insurance information." She fixed her gaze on me, inquiring. "Did she have coverage?"

"I don't know. How did she die?"

She frowned. "I thought you said you found her."

"I did. But-"

"She was kicked in the head by a horse, wasn't she? That's what the EMS guys said."

"That's what it looked like. But there was reason to believe that someone-" I stopped. "Was the cause of death confirmed by the doctor who examined the wounds?"