Man With A Miracle. Muriel Jensen

Hill.

      He yanked off the headphones. “What’s that?”

      “Are you going anywhere near Maple Hill?” she asked again.

      He looked her over and smiled. “Sure am, dudette,” he said. “That’s my first stop. You need a ride?”

      She nodded, grateful that he was friendly and amenable, if not the brightest light on the field. She wanted to add, Yes, and a dozen doughnuts, please, but she said instead, “I’m looking for someone named Evans there. Do you know anyone by that name?”

      He nodded. “I do. Hop in, time’s a-wastin’.”

      She couldn’t believe her good fortune. She closed her eyes against a thumping headache and was mercifully ignored while the young man sang loudly to the tunes from his Walkman. Within half an hour, he pulled off the road and into the parking lot of what looked like an old mill. It was now about four a.m.

      “You’ll find him in that office,” he said, pointing to the far end of the building. “But probably not for a couple of hours.”

      Beazie was also grateful that the driver’s youth and “duh-ness” prevented him from arguing about leaving her on what was now a dark and lonely road.

      “I’ll be fine,” she assured him, and with a heartfelt “thank you” leaped out onto the parking lot and headed straight for a garden bench under a floodlight.

      The sign on the building said Trent and Braga Development. Trent and Braga. Beazie turned to the truck, but the driver was already back on the road and almost out of sight.

      She hoped this wasn’t simply the boy’s idea of a joke on a disheveled “dudette” and that there really was someone named Evans here.

      Tired as she was, she decided to try the windows and was deliriously relieved to find one slightly open. She pushed it open even farther and climbed inside. The smell of sealant was strong, and she imagined that was why the window had been left ajar.

      In the glow of the floodlight, the room appeared to be large and empty, and she made her way carefully to a door, which led to a hallway. Every other room along the hallway was also empty, except for one at the end that appeared to be a sort of office-storage area. And it had a sofa!

      The room wobbled as she stumbled to the lumpy couch. She would lie down for a minute; then, as soon as the world straightened again, she’d look for something to eat. If this place was used as an office, there might be cookies or chips stashed in a drawer. She closed her eyes, quickly reviewed all the horrible things that had happened to her over the past sixteen hours, and reaffirmed her determination to grant Gordon his dying wish. He’d been a good friend to her, and she felt bound to help him in the only way she had left. She fell asleep with tears on her cheek.

      THE WOMAN WAS STILL UNCONSCIOUS five minutes later when Randy arrived, ripping off his jacket. He was tall and dark-featured, with what Evan had heard the Wonders Women, his wife and his friends’ wives, refer to as heartthrob good looks. Randy never seemed to be aware of them himself.

      Evan pointed him to the sofa and Randy sat on the edge of it and leaned over the woman, putting his cheek to her mouth and nose to check for breathing.

      “What’s her name?” he asked Evan as he straightened up. He put his index and second fingers to the pulse at her throat.

      “I don’t know,” Evan replied.

      “Pulse is a little thready.” Randy shook her lightly. “Hey, pretty lady. Can you hear me?” he asked loudly. “Hello! Can you hear me? Can you talk?” He gave her another gentle shake. “What did you say happened to her?”

      Evan went to the cupboard for coffee cups. “I’m not sure. She said something about seeing her boss killed, then being chased all night long. She started out in Boston.”

      “How’d she get here?”

      “Don’t know. I unlocked my door to find her threatening me with a bat. She looked pretty desperate.”

      “No purse?”

      “Uh…don’t think so.” He left the small table with the coffeepot, to check the corners of the office. He searched behind a stack of boxes, then under the love seat. Nothing. “No purse,” he confirmed.

      “No coat, either?”

      “No.”

      The woman stirred as though uncomfortable, then moaned.

      Randy lightly placed his hand above her waist. “It’s all right,” he said. “Can you hear me?”

      When she didn’t respond, he took one of her hands and rubbed it. “She’s breathing a little fast, but that would be consistent with being frightened. And her pulse isn’t really strong but it’s definitely there.”

      He put her hand back under the blanket and rubbed her arms through it. “She wasn’t dressed for a winter night. That coffee ready? That’ll do her the most good. She’s probably just cold and hungry. Not to mention scared and exhausted.”

      The woman opened her eyes then, and at the sight of them, tried to propel herself backward on the sofa, looking desperate to escape.

      “Whoa,” Randy said, catching her hands. “It’s okay. I’m an emergency medical technician.”

      “He’s okay.” Evan came forward and handed her a cup of coffee. “I called him when you fainted. You’re safe. I’m driving a red Jeep, remember, not an SUV. This is Randy Sanford, a friend of mine.”

      She studied Randy suspiciously, then looked up at Evan, her suspicion obviously deepening. But she took a sip of the coffee and seemed to relax a little.

      “I’d like to take you to the hospital,” Randy said, “just to make sure you’re all right and that you fainted because you’re cold and hungry, not because of something more serious.”

      BEAZIE MADE A QUICK DECISION. She could not go to the hospital. Someone would have to take down a lot of information, create a file that could be traced.

      “No, thank you,” she said firmly. “I’m fine.”

      “You fainted,” the first man reminded her. “Fine people don’t faint.”

      “Hungry people do,” she replied. “You don’t have another doughnut, do you?”

      He reached for the bag he’d given her earlier and offered it to her. She pulled out the cinnamon twist. “You should go to the hospital.”

      She took a big bite of the doughnut, then glanced at him apologetically. “No, thank you. This will put me back on my feet.”

      “What are you going to do then?” he asked. “You have no purse or coat.”

      Many times during the cold night she had wished she’d handled her escape with more thought, but when she’d seen the red SUV on the street below her apartment, she’d panicked.

      It didn’t matter, though. Somehow she was going to find this Evans person and give him the tape Gordon had passed to her with his last breath. He hadn’t deserved to die the way he did.

      “I’ll do what I came to do,” she replied with far more conviction than she felt. “I’m looking for a man named Evans. Either of you know him?”

      Randy Sanford pointed to his friend. “Your host is Evan Braga. But I don’t know anyone with the last name Evans. What’s your name, by the way?”

      She hesitated a moment, then replied, “Beazie Deadham.” There was little point in withholding her name. If the men in the red SUV had been able to find out where she lived, she was sure they also knew her name.

      Now that she was seeing more clearly and was more coherent, she realized Evan Braga wasn’t one of the men from the SUV. But Gordon had warned her not to trust anyone, and had directed her to give the tape to someone named Evans, not Evan.