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One way to find out—I’ll call Mrs. Vargas, then Karen Burns. Maybe she knows why Stephen wanted to talk with the Vargases. Never hurts to ask questions, right?”
     
    “What are you doing?”
    I jumped at the sound of Abby’s voice coming from the door way of my home office. With a hand to my chest, I glanced over my shoulder. “Jeez, Abby, you shouldn’t sneak up on people like that.”
    “That doesn’t answer my question,” she replied, crossing to where I sat at my desk.
    I tugged my linen jacket on with one hand fiddling with the clip holding back my hair with the other hand. “I thought I’d catch up on a few things before work,” I said, my eyes darting to the scanner holding Stephen’s date book. I knew I had to turn the book over to Bill, but it didn’t mean I couldn’t copy it first.
    Abby leaned against the corner of the desk, crossed her arms and cocked an eyebrow. “Do you think going to the library is wise?”
    “Yes,” I answered, trying to sound confident. “Work is the best thing for me now. I don’t need to be there until noon, so I’m going to the hospital first.”
    Her expression softened as she placed a hand on my shoulder. “Of course you want to see him.” She lifted her hand and smoothed my hair. “I’m worried about you—yesterday was a shock.”
    “Yeah, but I’m not the one who was shot. Stephen is the one hurt.”
    Abby released a long sigh. “I’m concerned about him, too, but you’re my granddaughter—you’re my primary concern. You might’ve been hurt.”
    Standing, I gave her a quick squeeze. “But I wasn’t, and now I need to know why him.”
    A look of surprise flickered on Abby’s face. “This isn’t like you. I’ve never seen you willing to get involved in a situation like this.”
    A wry smile played at my lips as I thought of my words to Darci. “Maybe I’m trying to change.”
    Returning my smile, Abby patted the side of my face. “Not too much, I hope,” she said. “I rather like you just the way you are.”

Six
    I slipped my car into a parking space at Regional Medical Center and quickly opened the door. The hot morning air poured into the cool interior, and the sudden brightness had me shading my eyes. Only 10:00 a.m. and already heat shimmered in waves off the concrete lot. Grabbing my purse, I settled my sunglasses on my face and exited the car. I walked with purposeful steps past the heliport where the helicopter that had transported Stephen sat waiting for the next emergency. A couple of women dressed in navy scrubs milled around the emergency room entrance, while at the main entrance a car waited for a man who was being wheeled out the doors by a nurse.
    I slowed my steps and tightened my grip on my purse as an unpleasant thought crossed my mind. What would Bill say when I told him about Stephen’s date book? Could he arrest me for withholding evidence?
    Entering the revolving doors, I shook my head to chase the thought away—Bill always threatened to arrest me. As I entered the hospital lobby, the smell of carnations, roses, and lilies from the gift shop near the information desk assaulted me.
    Behind the desk sat a woman manning the phones. A wide gold bracelet winked in the artificial light as she picked upthe receiver and lifted it to her ear. I heard her answer the caller in a crisp, polite tone. Walking up to the desk, I waited while the woman efficiently pressed buttons, transferring the call to the correct room.
    “May I help you?” she asked, looking up at me.
    “I’m here to see Stephen Larsen, please,” I replied.
    She ran a finger down the patient list and stopped. A frown wrinkled her brow. “Are you a family member?”
    “Ah…” I hesitated for an instant while I debated about telling a lie, but since I’ve always been a rotten liar, I said, “No.”
    “Mr. Larsen is in the Cardiac Surgery Intensive Care Unit and only family members are allowed.”
    “I’m Ophelia Jensen and Stephen is a friend. May I