The Secrets of Rosa Lee. Jodi Thomas

to be careful. There’s probably glass in your hair.” He touched her arm with a light pat as if he’d read somewhere in a manual what to do.

      Lora tried to smile but couldn’t manage it. “I had my head turned toward the door where Reverend Parker and the professor were standing. Billy hit me and knocked me to the floor before I even realized what happened.”

      She stared out onto the porch. Billy Hatcher sat on the steps. He’d removed his jacket. Blood spotted his shirt. The medic’s college helpers were cleaning cuts along his left hand and face. “When it happened, all I could think about was how angry I was that he knocked me down. I even fought him for a few seconds.”

      “Don’t worry about it.” The sheriff smiled. “I’m sure he’s not sorry he knocked you out of harm’s way.”

      “How bad is he hurt?” she asked.

      “I offered to take him over to the doc’s, but he said butterfly bandages are all he needs. He’ll have a scar on his forehead worth talking about. The leather jacket protected his arm and back. His hand is bleeding from several scratches but he says they are no worse than what he gets at work. He’s lucky.”

      “No, I’m lucky. That drill bit would have hit my head if he hadn’t flown into me.” For a moment, her imagination pictured the jagged iron teeth flying into the back of her head. She could almost see her mother leaning over her casket saying something like, “Thank God it hit her from behind and didn’t mess up her face.”

      “Did you see or hear anything that might help me out?” The sheriff broke into her daydream. “Did anyone say anything to you before the meeting? Did you see the truck pull away?”

      “Nothing. I didn’t even know it was a truck. I’d been watching the clouds a few minutes before. I didn’t even notice the traffic.” Lora closed her eyes, wishing she could cry. Billy Hatcher had been hurt. Dr. Dickerson was on her way to Wichita Falls with chest pains. The Rogers sisters were wound up tighter than speed babies. They’d told their story to everyone and were now recounting it to each other. Only the reverend appeared calm. He paced slowly around the room as if looking for a clue everyone had missed.

      In fact, he’d been calm since the beginning, like some kind of robot. He’d caught the professor when she’d passed out, dialed the sheriff on his cell, talked everyone into remaining still until help came. She couldn’t help but think it strange that a brush with death didn’t affect him.

      After he’d called the sheriff, in what seemed like seconds the room flooded with people. Firemen from the station two blocks away, the sheriff, campus cops from the college and the hospital’s only ambulance. Clifton Creek might be small, but they could move when needed. She had heard talk that the sheriff ran everyone through drills twice a year in case a tornado hit. Their practice paid off today.

      Half the town turned out to watch. Traffic was down to one lane in front of Rosa Lee’s old place. If Lora knew them, and she did, most had already made up their minds about what had happened. A few were planning punishment for the villains when they were found.

      Through the open door, she could hear Philip Price chanting like a cantor questioning why anyone would want to hurt this group of people. “Who’d want to hurt the Rogers sisters?” he asked, but didn’t bother waiting for an answer. “Or a professor? Or the preacher? Or the poor brokenhearted Whitman girl whose husband…”

      Lora ducked her head. She didn’t want to go outside. Somehow, it seemed safer to stay in here. The coolness of the house felt comforting. The dusty smells settling around her seemed strangely familiar. She looked up at Sheriff Farrington. “Why?”

      The sheriff shook his head. “Maybe just kids seeing the opportunity to break something. A twelve-foot window in an abandoned house would be hard to resist. Maybe someone who just wanted the house torn down and didn’t really give much thought that their note might hurt someone.”

      “But you don’t think so?”

      “But I don’t think so,” he echoed. “There’s no way anyone passing could have missed seeing the committee sitting in that bay window.”

      “Then why?”

      “Someone doesn’t want one of you, or all of you, in this house.” He stared directly into her eyes. “Whoever threw this meant harm, Lora. To you or to someone at that table.”

      Lora covered her eyes with her palms, pretending to be invisible as she had as a child. She couldn’t think of anyone who would plan to harm her. Phil, the town crier, had been right. Who would want to hurt any of them? The only person she could think of who hated her was Dan, and he didn’t want her dead. He only wanted her to suffer. Their marriage, in and out of bed, hadn’t worked from the first and he’d blamed her.

      “Hey, pretty lady, you going to crumble or fight?”

      Lora looked up at Billy Hatcher. He didn’t seem nearly as threatening with a bandage across his forehead. “Leave me alone. I’m busy having a nervous breakdown.”

      “Thought you had more grit, Whitman. Where’s that ‘Fight! Fight! Fight!’ cheerleader spirit?” He leaned closer and whispered, “You mad at me for slamming you to the floor?”

      “What do you want? If it’s a thanks, you got it.” Much as she hated admitting it, she might very well owe this thug her life.

      He shook his head and winked. “Wish I’d had time to enjoy climbing on top of you, but in truth, I’ll settle for one thing.”

      “What’s that?”

      He offered his hand. “Friendship. Looks as if all the committee members may need someone to cover our backs. When my probation officer told me to do some community service, I had no idea it would be so exciting.”

      Hesitantly, Lora took his hand, convinced that the kid bordered on insane. “Thanks,” she answered honestly. “For what you did.”

      He pulled her away from the wall. “Friends?”

      “One condition.” She smiled. “Drop the cracks about having the hots for me.”

      “Mind if I still think them?”

      “Not as long as you keep them to yourself.”

      “Fair enough, Whitman.” He lifted his bandaged hand. “How about giving me a ride to Wichita Falls? I’d like to check on the professor.” He picked up Sidney Dickerson’s glasses. “And take her these.”

      “The hospital’s an hour away. It’ll be afternoon before we can get back.”

      “I know. I figured I’d offer to buy you lunch on the way back. Just lunch, no date or anything like that.”

      “I don’t have a car.” Lora watched the preacher fold up the contents of the professor’s case, carefully shaking glass from each piece.

      Billy dug into his right pocket. “Then you can drive my car, but that means you buy lunch.”

      Lora thought about what it would mean to go home and listen to her mother, or go back to work and have to recount what happened to every customer who walked in the door. Going to Wichita Falls with Billy Hatcher suddenly seemed like a good idea. “Want to come along, Reverend Parker?” she asked over Billy’s shoulder.

      “No, thanks. I’ll see that the sisters get home. Tell Dr. Dickerson I’ll be there this evening.”

      Lora lifted her purse and glanced outside. Her mother poked a manicured finger into the chest of a campus cop blocking anyone from entering the house. Lora couldn’t hear what Isadore said but guessed the cop wouldn’t hold the line for long under such an assault.

      Turning back to Billy, Lora raised her eyebrow in question.

      “My car’s out back,” he said, taking the cue. “Give me a minute to talk to the sheriff and I’ll be right there.”

      Lora nodded and slipped out of the room.