The Plague Doctor Read Free Page B

in a lovely soft pink. Four plump down pillows graced the head of the bed, and a beautiful old Grandmother’s Flower Garden quilt in shades of rose and green was folded across the bottom. The quilt just happened to have been made by my own grandmother from hundreds of pieces no bigger than a nickel. It was all the cover I needed at this time of the year. The big old house was up on a hill, and we always enjoyed a pleasant breeze from the direction of the lakes. At night I opened all three of the tall bay windows in my room so I could hear every note of the nighttime chorus of crickets and frogs.
    I had fallen asleep listening to this symphony of nature shortly after ten. I was still snoozing soundly in my soft cocoon of luxurious pink comfort when Cassie banged loudly on my bedroom door at one o’clock in the morning. She flung it open without waiting for me to invite her inside.
    â€œMom! Wake up!”
    She disappeared into the adjoining bath where I heard her blowing her nose. I struggled to disengage from the arms of Morpheus and make some sense out of the situation.
    â€œHumpf, whatf, wah time is it?”
    She came out of the bathroom swabbing her face with a handful of tissues. Her eyes and nose were red, making it obvious she had been crying.
    â€œWhat in the world is wrong, Cassie? Is Gran all right?”
    â€œGran? Oh, I guess so.”
    She sat down hard on the side of my bed and bounced me into a further state of wakefulness.
    â€œMom, we are in terrible, terrible trouble. Ethan has been arrested.”
    She started crying again.
    It was on the tip of my tongue to say that it was “he” who was in trouble not “we,” but that would have been an insensitive and provocative remark. Besides, I couldn’t imagine that Cassie was right. What in the world could our mild-mannered Ethan have done to get himself incarcerated?
    Most of the arrests reported in the weekly paper were for driving under the influence. Rowan Springs was in a so-called dry county, but the local moonshine trade was a thriving business. I’d bought the white wine and Cointreau we served with dinner at a specialty shop in Nashville over a year ago. Ethan, I remembered distinctly, hardly touched either. Speeding was my next guess, but in that funny little car? Forty-five miles an hour would be too much to expect out of that ancient VW engine.
    Whatever it was, I was sure his offense could not be very serious. Reassured by my own thoughts, I pushed myself up to a sitting position and plumped two pillows behind me.
    Cassie was still crying. Her shoulders were shaking with deep heartfelt sobs. Feeling certain that this was just another episode of the perils of motherhood in the post-teen years, I patted her arm and suppressed a yawn.
    â€œThere, there, Cassie, dear,” I sighed. “I’m sure we can straighten this out in the morning. I’ll go talk to Chief Joiner and…”
    She raised her head slowly. Her tear-filled eyes flashed sparks of indignation and outrage.
    â€œMom, this isn’t just another teenage melodrama!”
    She always had been able to read my mind. I closed my eyes. This was going to be one of those nights. The pillow was so soft and the sheets so inviting. Maybe if I kept my eyes closed she would go away.
    â€œEthan is in jail for rape and murder, and I don’t know what to do!” she wailed.
    I raised my head so fast I hit the lampshade. I had to make a lightning grab to keep lamp, bulb, and shade from falling to the floor.
    â€œOh, my God! Why didn’t you tell me? Oh, crap! Does Mother know?”
    Cassie looked at me with exasperation.
    â€œWell, first of all, I have been trying to tell you for the last ten minutes. Secondly, all Gran knows is that we had a late-night phone call. I guess she wasn’t too worried. She went back to sleep.”
    â€œNonsense! Call her in here and tell her what’s going on. She might work herself into a stroke