She didn’t answer. “I’m tired of being treated like a liar.”
“You are a liar, Jana. Were you screwing Waylon Pike? He says you were in his statement. Is that true or false?”
A deputy opened the door, and Jana held out her hands to be cuffed again.
“Jana?”
She glared at him. “Time’s up.”
Then, seconds later, she was gone.
48
Jason waited for Colleen Maples in the parking lot of Marshall Medical Center North. He’d picked up a bacon burger, fries, and a chocolate shake from one of his favorite high school greasy spoons, Char Burger off Highway 69, and was chowing down in the front seat of the Porsche while watching the door to the surgery center. It was 11:30 a.m., and he was hoping to catch the CRNA on her lunch break.
With his first few bites of the combo, his headache had begun to dissipate, and now, as he wolfed down the last of the bun and nibbled on the final few fries, he finally felt alive again.
And guilty as hell. What in the world happened last night?
It was like he shut down after Cade’s demand for money, and Harry’s confirmation that Cowan wasn’t a viable alternative sent him over the line. He’d relapsed, which if he thought about it, wasn’t all that surprising given the stress he was under.
And the failure to do what I’m supposed to be doing.
Ashley Sullivan was right. Michal was right. Izzy. Everyone. His rehabilitation hadn’t ended when he’d walked out of the Perdido Addiction Center. It had only begun. If he was serious about staying sober and having some semblance of a healthy life, he was going to have to take his recovery seriously. He’d been lucky last night. He’d driven home drunk over a hundred miles. What if he’d been stopped by a cop? Gotten a DUI?
What if Nola had found him passed out on the dock? He’d been able to shower and shave before she’d gotten up, but what if he hadn’t been so fortunate? His niece was beginning to trust him. Talk to him. All of that would’ve been pissed away with one awful mistake.
I can’t make another one.
As he drank the last of his shake, he saw a woman exit the doors wearing green scrubs. She had brown hair, and her appearance matched the photographs that Harry had taken. Jason watched her approach the parking lot. She clicked a keyless entry device, and Jason heard the familiar beep of a car opening.
He hopped out of the Porsche and walked straight toward her. “Ms. Maples?”
She glanced at him but then picked up her pace. She stopped at a silver BMW 3 Series sedan. As she started to grab the handle, Jason stepped in front of her and blocked her path.
“Two minutes, Ms. Maples.”
“If you don’t get out of my way, I’m going to scream.”
“Ms. Maples, I need to ask you a few questions about your relationship with—”
Colleen Maples let out a long screeching wail that sent a shiver down Jason’s spine. Instinctively, he stepped to his left and held up his hands.
She opened the door and turned the ignition, pulling out of her parking place and burning rubber down the aisle.
“Damnit,” Jason said under his breath. As he walked back to his car, he saw the BMW turning and heading right for him.
He stopped, wondering for a split second if she was going to hit him. Instead, she pulled beside him and rolled down her window. “I have nothing to say to you, Mr. Rich. I’ve said my piece to Sergeant Daniels, and I’m sure you have that statement. I’ve also spoken with your investigator, Mr. Davenport.”
“Ms. Maples, my sister is innocent.” He knew it sounded weak and lame, but it was all he could think to say.
“You aren’t very convincing.” Then she rolled up her window and sped away.
Jason looked around the parking lot, feeling ridiculous as he began to trudge back to his car. As he was about to get in, he heard a high-pitched voice behind him.
“She’s a bitch.”
He turned and saw a woman wearing scrubs and glasses.
“Who?” Jason asked.
“Maples,” the lady said. “No one here likes her.”
Jason smiled at the woman, who was pushing it to hit five feet tall and might weigh a hundred pounds soaking wet. She had whitish-gray hair cut short, and her walk was more of a waddle. If he had to guess, he figured she was in her late seventies.
“My name’s Jason Rich,” he said.
“Beverly Thacker,” the woman said.
Miracles never cease, Jason thought, feeling a rush of excitement. It was Braxton’s nurse. The one Harry said was always in surgery. “Ms. Thacker, I’ve been trying to reach you.”