Son of Stone (Stone Barrington 21)

“Just fine, thank you. I’d like to go home.”

He picked up her chart, made some notations, and signed it. “I’ll find an orderly and have you wheeled out.”

“I can do that,” Peter said.

“Okay.” He left and came back with a wheelchair. Hattie got into it, and the doctor handed Peter her chart. “Stop at the discharge window and check out with them, then take her all the way to the street in the chair. You can leave it there. You, young lady, are to go home and rest. If there’s any recurrence of the bleeding, you’re to call an ambulance and return here. Is that clear?”

“Yes, Doctor.”

“You should be okay to go to school tomorrow,” he said. “Good night.”

Peter pushed the chair into the waiting room and got her checked out. Hattie wrote a check for her bill. “I didn’t want to use my parents’ insurance card,” she said, as Peter pushed her toward the exit.

The rain had let up a lot. “I’ll get us a cab,” Peter said.

“I don’t want to go home yet,” Hattie said. “I’m hungry. Let’s get something to eat.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes, I’m sure,” she said, standing up and taking his hand. “And I’m not pregnant anymore.”

60

D avid Rutledge looked at the first copy of his magazine’s new issue and thought the Virginia shoot had turned out very well. As he scanned the piece he felt a pang of conscience. He had not done the right thing, and he regretted it. What had he been thinking?

He picked up the phone and dialed 411. A minute or so later he was talking to the sheriff of Albemarle County.

“What can I do for you, Mr. Rutledge? Are you related to Tim Rutledge?”

“Yes, I am,” David replied. “He’s my cousin.”

“Is there anything you can tell me about his whereabouts?”

“Yes. He’s in New York.”

“How do you know that?”

“He called me from a bar near my home in the city, and I met him for a drink.”

“And when was this?”

“The night before last.”

“And why didn’t you call me immediately?”

“I don’t think I was seeing the situation clearly; I reacted as a family member, and not as a citizen. I’m sorry for that.”

“Do you have any idea where he is now?”

“From our conversation I believe he might have moved into a hotel somewhere uptown.”

“I don’t know your geography there,” the sheriff said. “What do you mean by ‘uptown’?”

“Uptown from where I live. I live downtown.”

“That doesn’t help me a lot. Do you have an address?”

“No. He asked to stay at my place, but I declined to have him do that. He asked me to recommend a hotel, and I declined to do that, too. My impression was that he wanted to be uptown somewhere.”