Coldwater Revenge by James Ross (best e reader for android .txt) 📕

“Might be different this time.”

The candy striper returned with a brace of doctors and nurses. Tom stepped into the hall to give them room. On his way out, and while Joe was heaving in the opposite direction, Tom lifted a file from the pile beside the bed. Outside, he leaned against the wall and read what his brother had earlier not wanted him to see.

According to the autopsy report, Billy was a mess. The deceased had hepatitis B and C, two different kinds of sexually transmitted disease, 375 LDL cholesterol and a blood alcohol level of .18. But none of that killed him. The cause of death was listed as drowning. When the doctors came out of Joe’s room, Tom asked if they were any closer to knowing what was wrong with Joe or how long he was going to be laid up.

Sayed walked him down the hall. “It’s not food poisoning,” he said, “or other bacterial contamination. With those, the symptoms peak a few hours after ingestion and then start to decline. Your brother’s still vomiting and it’s been almost forty hours.”

“So what is it?”

“We don’t know yet. But it’s acting like a toxin, where the symptoms don’t diminish as long as the toxin is present. The aspiration suggests ingestion. But cutaneous is possible, given his multiple head and forearm lesions.”

“You mean he swallowed something or got it in a cut?”

“Perhaps both. We’ll know better when the lab work comes back.”

“When will that be?”

“Tomorrow at the earliest. If you leave a phone number at the nurses’ station, someone will call you.”

* * *

Tom felt his fingertips skim across the steering wheel like an oracle on an Ouija Board. The truck began to move with no apparent need for direction or explanation, down Lake Boulevard past Our Lady of The Lake church, and up the tree lined drive to the cobbled semi-circle in front of the Pearce mansion.

He had not consciously intended to come here. But he was not surprised that he had. If he was going to keep helping Joe, then testing the conjectures of Billy’s Canadian friend was the logical next step. At the top of the circular drive, he sat for a moment listening to the sounds of approaching night: chirping crickets, the flutter of an occasional bat, clicks and groans from the cooling engine and the rustle of trees and bushes in the breeze off the lake. But that’s not why you’re here, is it? It was a simple question, but there was no simple answer.

Minutes passed while he sat and brooded. Then a light flickered above the front door and Susan stepped into its glare, shading her eyes with a hand. “Joe?”

Tom stepped out of his brother’s truck and into the light. “No. It’s the handsome, lawfully prosperous Morgan brother.” Profile subject to change.

She folded her arms over her chest, frowning at her long-ago lover. Serial emotion flickered uncensored across her face: surprise, suspicion, attraction, indecision. When she spoke, it was almost a whisper.

“Why are you here?”

I don’t know. Though his mouth conjured other words, “I have something to show you.”

Susan led him through the house to a wicker-themed sun porch overlooking the lake. The last time Tom had been in that room, Susan’s mother had walked in on her daughter and boyfriend entwined on top of a bamboo love seat. Tom grimaced at the memory of leaping guiltily to his feet, smashing heads with Susan and promptly suffering a massive, unstoppable nosebleed. He had not been in this room since.

An ancient stereo scratched a stringy Pier Gynt Suite. A jacket-less book lay face down on the glass topped table beside the couch. Susan chose the wheat-backed chair nearest the French doors and sat with her arms crossed.

Nothing had been said. No eye contact made. But the connection and discomfort was .intense He slid one of the Quebec University brochures across the tabletop. “There’s a picture on the inside back cover.” His voice trembled.

She glanced at the photo and then put it down.

“Do you recognize anyone in the picture?”

“No.”

“Not the gentleman on the left?”

She picked up the brochure and looked at it again. “Dr. Hassad?”

“Do you know him?”

“No. That’s just what it says beneath the picture.”

“There was a man sitting behind you at your brother’s funeral.”

Susan lifted her chin and sighted the tip of her nose on the center of Tom’s forehead. “Suliman Twafik,” she said slowly.

“Not the man in the photo?”

Susan studied it again. “I know I shouldn’t say this… but sometimes they do all look alike. I mean the beard and everything. But Suliman is tall and this guy looks short… though he’s sitting down.”

“And who is Suliman Twafik?”

“A face from the past. Our fathers worked together when Dad was with ARAMCO. Suliman lived with us for a while as a foreign exchange student when we first moved here. He’s a couple of years older than me.”

“Do you keep in touch?”

“No. He was close to Billy, though. They played GI Joe together.”

“How did he find out about the funeral?”

“He said the story about Billy’s death made the wire services and got picked up by his local newspaper. There’s only one funeral home in Coldwater. It would have been easy enough to get the number and information on the church services.”

“Did he say what he’s been doing all these years?”

She turned her head toward the window. “Teacher, somewhere. He never went home, I guess. I didn’t pay much attention. It was a rough day for me.”

Tom tried to watch her eyes, but she wouldn’t make contact. “I spoke with a friend of Billy’s who said that Billy was unusually happy the month before he died. That Billy claimed he was going to make a lot of money soon and settle a lot of old scores.”

Susan looked up. “He didn’t seem happy to me.”

“Any idea where he thought he was going to get his hands on a pile of cash?”

She hesitated. “Not really. Unless I agreed to sell this place, which he