"Nothing else?"

It was obvious Victor had read his interrogation handbook. The words were right. The tone, however, needed a lot of work. The last Timmie had heard, disdain was not the suggested tone of voice for inviting confidences.

"Nothing I didn't tell the officer who took my statement that day." She deliberately smiled. "But I'm sure you've read that already."

He gave her his best assessing look, the kind that said, "I know you're hiding something, and I'll find it out."

"Somebody'll probably get in touch with you about it." When you're old and gray and senile, Timmie interpreted. "If you remember anything else, or have any more problems like that note, please get in touch with me. I might be able to help."

"Tell you what I do need," she said, wondering why she was sticking her neck out. "A good lawyer. My ex-husband is coming back to jerk me around a little more, and I don't feel like playing his games. Got anybody in mind?"

Mattie froze in place. Work stopped all along the lane. As for the good Officer Adkins, he flashed her a look that made Timmie think there was something that bore watching behind all that "good ole boy" shit. "Wouldn't be my place to advise you on matters like that, ma'am." He jangled his belt one more time, which made Timmie think of a witch doctor shaking rattles to ward off evil, and headed for the door. "Let me know if you hear anything."

She gave him her best killer smile. "You bet."

The minute Victor cleared the door, applause broke out. Everybody, evidently, had heard. Timmie bowed, an eye instinctively cocked to catch Ellen's reaction where she was charting by the desk. Ellen just smiled without looking up from what she was doing.

"You got brass balls, girl," Mattie said on an awed whoosh of breath. "Big brass balls."

"I'm from California," Timmie said. "People expect me to be a little outrageous."

Mattie hooted like a truck in the passing lane. "That ain't outrageous, girlfriend. That's suicidal. That boy got you license number."

"Ah, he can't take a joke, the hell with him. Mattie—"

"You better not be gonna ask what I think you are," Mattie accused.

Timmie flipped the IV bag a couple more times, like a percussion instrument keeping rhythm. "If you were me, wouldn't you like to know how Officer Adkins found out about my little problem? Don't you want to know why he was really here, since I can't believe he's terribly concerned for my safety?"

"Not after you dissed him to his face, he isn't."

"I didn't dis him till he got here."

Mattie lifted a finger in exception. "I thought you was gonna steer clear of those waters."

Timmie took a final look at the back of Victor Adkins. Then she looked at Mattie.

"They know who it is," she said anyway, just to Mattie. "And they don't want anybody else to know. What is it they're afraid I found out, Mattie?"

Mattie drew herself up to her full height and put every inch of Baptist-raised, iron-hand-ruling grandma in her eyes. And said not a word.

Finally Timmie sighed, deflating like a party balloon. "Okay," she said, and realized she meant it. "You're right. No matter what's going on right now—and I'm still not convinced nothing's going on—it's not the time to fight city hall. I need to save all my energy to fight off my ex-husband again."

Mattie frowned. "You weren't kidding about that? I thought you left him at home."

"I did. He found me. And far be it from Jason Parker to ever miss a chance to screw up my life. But that's not something I feel like dealing with today, either. Let's go do us some trauma."

Mattie led the way. "I'm on break, girlfriend. That means I get to shoot 'em, you get to sew 'em."

"Stellar idea. Just as soon as I drug your patient." They made it halfway down the hall before Timmie gave in to temptation. "Mattie?"

"Yeah."

Timmie spoke very quietly, an eye still on Ellen, who was now laughing about something with Ron. "What if Billy Mayfield was poisoned?"

That brought Mattie to a dead stop. "See?" she demanded, stabbing a finger at Timmie. "There you go again. No wonder you always gettin' notes. And what does that have to do with anything anyway?"

Timmie didn't back down. "What if he was?"

Mattie never blinked. "Serve him right."

* * *

The shift ended up being busier than they'd anticipated.

Croup season had kicked in, which made the hall sound like feeding time at the seal pools, and one of the local fast-food restaurants had evidently gotten a bad shipment of guacamole, which made it sound like a frat house at 3 a.m. The only person dissatisfied was Timmie, who was now suffering serious trauma withdrawal. A gunshot. A car accident. Anything. Heck, Timmie would have settled for a river-barge injury. But she was stuck with abdominal pains and kids with runny noses. By the time she got the chance to take a couple of minutes, it was ten o'clock, and she had an abstinence headache.

"I'm gonna run up and see my dad," she announced as she dropped her last chart in the bin for recycling and dry-swallowed a couple of aspirin.

The minute she announced it, two people started to sing and one quoted "The Lake Isle of Innisfree" all over again. It was a good thing Timmie liked the damn poem, or she'd be the next one going postal in Puckett.

"Just in time," Ellen announced from where she was triaging. "Cindy's coming back from Restcrest."

"Shift's not over," somebody said.

"I'm afraid her patient is. I stopped up to see her about an hour ago, because, well, she just doesn't do well with grieving families and Mr. Abbot was already at end stage."

"Why didn't he get turfed down here?" Timmie asked. "I thought the policy was that anybody looking real sick at Restcrest traveled the ER road to heaven."

Ellen, who didn't have the skin to blush, did. Guiltily. "Because the family has been sitting by his bed side chanting 'law-yer, law-yer' if anybody so much as balances a hand on Mr. Peterson's chest."

"What a good family."

Mattie grinned. "Get our Gold Star of Excellence award this week."

"At least that means there's a bed available," Ellen told Timmie in all sincerity. "Honey, I bet Alex could get your dad in."

But does Alex want to pay for it? Timmie almost asked. Instead, she smiled at Ellen's perfect sincerity and said she'd see. Then she hit the switch to open the back doors before anything else could stop her.

She wasn't counting on the interruption waiting on the other side of the doors. Leaning against the back wall, hands in jean pockets, as if just waiting for her to show up.

That reporter.

"Ya know," Timmie greeted him, "there were people I worked with on the same damn shift at L.A. County I didn't see as much as I see you."

He pushed himself away from the wall. "L.A. County emergency department is bigger than Puckett."

"More fun, too," Timmie admitted without thinking.

The reporter's smile was much too knowing. Timmie wanted to tell him to shut up. Especially since that smile looked so damn sexy, even on that raggedy, beat-up face. She was too tired for sexy. Much too intelligent for raggedy and beat-up.

"What are you doing here?" she asked.

"Looking for you, actually. Can I talk to you for a minute?"