Free Murder Under the Covered Bridge by Elizabeth Perona

time Francine had seen William and Dolly had been at the wedding of her middle son, Adam. In some sense, the encounter had been a microcosm of their relationship. As family, Francine made certain her cousin was seated at her table. Yet, William had seemed uncomfortable and hardly talked, even when he was asked a question directly. He mostly drank. Dolly, on the other hand, talked nonstop, none of it worth hearing. The only time she stopped was to seethe at William’s drinking, which led Jonathan to compare her to a volcano with an active lava flow: “You know any minute it could just explode.”
    Had it been some kind of remorse on William’s part, that Francine had a son to be married and two other sons seated at the table of bridesmaids and groomsmen? Had Dolly’s verbosity simply shut off William’s need to speak? Or had William never conquered whatever demons had made him a socially backward teenager? Francine could easily see William running an efficient set of nursing homes, filled with elderly or infirm people whose basic needs were supplied by people he hired to do that. As the owner, with whom did he really need to communicate besides the few managers who worked under him?
    Francine remembered when they were very young, when they shared secrets and played together in the attic of her grandmother’s house. How differently they had grown up. But because of the good times, she still felt an attachment to William.
    When they came to State Road 163, they turned onto it and crossed the Wabash River into Clinton. They followed the blue H signs until they found Union Hospital. Even given the traffic, it hadn’t taken more than a half hour to get there.
    Dolly was in the ICU when Francine and Jonathan finally succeeded in getting admitted as visitors. Dolly looked like she’d just spent an hour in front of the mirror despite having a husband in the ICU. Her makeup was perfectly applied, down to the faint blue eye shadow and red lipstick. She wore a casual white blouse and black jeans.
    â€œI’m so glad you came.” Dolly gave Francine a quick awkward hug. She shook hands with Jonathan. “It’s been so difficult to just sit here, watching him sleep.”
    Dolly walked to the hospital bed and they followed. William looked like himself, his bald head sporting scraggly stands of gray hair that popped up indiscriminately over the shiny dome. It was scratched and marred with angry red wounds, though. A thick fringe of salt-and -pepper hair curled around the back and sides of his scalp. His color was good, but he was hooked up to a ventilator to help him breathe and his neck was in a brace. As a former nurse, Francine knew the odds William faced. “What did the doctors say about the coma?”
    â€œThey say he has a head injury, probably from the fall, that’s caused swelling in his brain. The swelling is minor, and they’re hopeful he’ll regain full consciousness. But they don’t know how long. A few days, a few weeks. Weeks, Francine! Weeks!”
    Since their initial hug had been fast and uncomfortable, Francine didn’t go there again. Instead, she put her arm around Dolly’s shoulder.
    â€œThey say the prognosis is good,” Dolly continued, “but it’s too difficult to predict how he might respond when he wakes up. I’m thankful you were there, Jonathan, to pull him out of the creek. Even though it might have injured him further.”
    Francine released her hold on Dolly’s shoulder momentarily as the thought ran through her mind that Dolly might try to file some kind of lawsuit against them because of Jonathan’s action. She hoped she was being paranoid.
    Jonathan seemed to be of similar mind. “It was a difficult decision to make. But I couldn’t let him slip into the creek.”
    Francine gently finished his thought. “If he’d been pulled any farther into the water, he would have drowned since he was