Texas...Now and Forever. Merline Lovelace

The little makeup she’d had on when she’d answered Carl’s call had long since worn off. Inability to sleep during the long flight had added a hint of grayness to her olive-hued skin. Satisfied that she more than looked the part, Haley slid back into the rental car and turned the air-conditioning up full-blast.

      She kept her head averted when she passed Lake Maria. The memory of that awful night almost a decade ago still seared her soul. Mission Creek’s historic downtown called her hungry gaze, however. The old granite courthouse looked exactly the same. So did the bank, founded in 1869 and still serving the local community. She flicked quick glances at Jocelyne’s fancy French restaurant and the Tex-Mex favorite, Coyote Harry’s. Her taste buds tingled at the remembered fire of Harry’s Sunday special—huevos rancheros topped with mounds of French fries, all drenched in his award-winning chili. As hungry as she was, she had no thought of stopping. Her one goal, her one driving need, was to get to the Mission Creek hospital.

      Luckily she arrived post-afternoon visiting hours and pre-supper. The staff was busy getting ready to feed the patients, and the visitors had all departed. Haley took the elevator to the second floor and picked the most harried candy-striper to ask directions.

      “Excuse me.”

      The aide flicked her a quick glance. “Can I help you, Sister?”

      “Yes, please. Which is Isadora Mercado’s room?”

      “Three-eighteen. Around the corner, at the end of the hall.”

      “Thank you.”

      Tucking her hands inside her loose sleeves in imitation of the nuns who’d taught her during her Catholic grade-school days, Haley glided around the corner. Halfway down a long corridor that smelled strongly of pine-scented antiseptic, she stumbled to a halt.

      A heavyset man lolled in a chair at the far end of the hall, his nose buried in the paper. Haley guessed instantly he was one of the mob’s goons. He had the disgruntled air of a man who’d rather be out shaking down pimps and two-bit dealers than spending empty hours in a hard, straight-backed chair.