Bill Hopkins - Judge Rosswell Carew 01 - Courting Murder by Bill Hopkins Page A

Where had he seen her? Woozy as he was, she still reminded him of someone.
    “When can I get out of here?”
    “Maybe today. Definitely tomorrow.” She looked over her shoulder, out the door, then back at Rosswell. “I’m not supposed to tell you things like that. Wait for the doctor.”
    “Tell me something else.” He tried lifting his left arm. The pain telegraphed spears to the far reaches of his body. “Will I have a cast?”
    “No,” the chubby angel said. “You’ll have a bandage for a while but no cast. The doc will be in later to explain everything to you.”
    “I need a priest.”
    The nurse shuffled to an alcove by the sink and called up Rosswell’s chart on the room’s computer workstation. “Says here when they asked your religious preference early this morning, you said, ‘Occasional’.” She clicked some keys. “You want me to change that to Catholic?”
    “No.” Rosswell closed his eyes. “Not yet.”
    “Just let me know if you change your mind.”
    “Nurse, hand me my glasses, please.” After he put them on, he struggled with putting a name to her face. “What’s your name?” He was sure that he knew the woman, but the dope and the pain kept him from recognizing her.
    “Benita Smothers.” She shuffled to the bed and patted the arm without the bandage. “Mabel—she’s my daughter—waits on you down at Merc’s.”
    Even with a fogged brain, he was astounded. Ollie’s love interest was Rosswell’s nurse. If she could put up with Ollie, then she had to be a saint. Comfort washed over Rosswell until a jolt of fear creased his spine with icicles straight from hell.
    “Listen, Benita, what happened to Tina? Tina Parkmore. What happened to her?”
    “The sheriff is waiting out in the hall. I’ll get him.”
    That sounded bad. Tina was dead. Benita wasn’t supposed to tell anyone. Frizz would break the news to him.
    Rosswell said, “About that priest, can you call one for me?” Without Tina, someone would have to pump him full of a good reason to keep on living.
    “Sure, Mr. Carew.” Benita seemed delighted to be of service. “I’ll do that for you.”
    “Am I going to die?” He turned his head so he wouldn’t have to watch her when she answered.
    “Yes.” Rosswell turned back to gawk at her. Once more, Benita smiled and giggled, sounding like Mabel. “We all must die. It’s the rule.” She leaned over him and gently closed her hand on his arm. “But you’re not going to die from that cut. You have a lot of veins and arteries in your arm. The doc says the blade didn’t do that much damage and never hit anything major.”
    “It hit something or I wouldn’t hurt.”
    “You could’ve bled to death if it had hit something major. It didn’t hit anything vital.”
    “It’s all vital to me. I’m quite attached to my whole body. And I still need a priest.”
    “Mr. Carew?”
    “Yes?”
    “Do you mind if I call you by your first name?”
    “No.”
    “I’ll call my brother, the priest over at Sacred Heart. He’s in the hospital right now visiting people. He’s one of our chaplains.” She patted Rosswell’s arm again. “You’re going to be fine, Ross.”
    He closed his eyes and whimpered.

Chapter Nine

Tuesday morning, continued
    “Rosswell?” Frizz sauntered up to the open doorway, pausing in the hallway to rap his knuckles on the doorjamb. “May I come in?”
    “Tina?” The dope stopped working. Rosswell’s heart galloped around his ribcage and sweat trickled down his chest. He reached the crescendo of an adrenaline high. His body reeked of fear. Frizz could not be the bearer of good news.
    “It’s bad.” Frizz walked to the edge of the bed. The sheriff must have missed his sleep for the last two days, judging by the lines on his face and the bags under his bloodshot eyes. He removed his hat and rubbed the inside of it with his handkerchief.
    After Rosswell belched an acidy belch, he closed his eyes. “When’s the funeral?” Visions of