Free Healing Waters by Stephen Arterburn, Nancy Rue

it.
    â€œThere are people who hate the ones everyone else loves,” the agent said. “It’s sick, but it’s the sick who perpetrate this kind of tragedy. And again, there may not be a perpetrator at all. We could be talking about a freak accident.”
    She put out her hand to shake, and I stuck mine in it, sure it had all the warmth of a branch.
    â€œI’m so sorry for what you and your family must be going through. By the way,” she added offhandedly, “we haven’t been able to get in touch with your father. Any idea how we might locate him?”
    â€œNone,” I said.
    â€œHe hasn’t contacted you? This has been all over the national news.” She glanced toward the door. “Those two reporters aren’t the only ones looking for a story.”
    â€œI don’t even know if my father has access to a TV,” I said.
    â€œIf you hear from Mr. Brocacini, you’ll let us know, yes? I think that’s enough for now.” The agent stood up.
    Agent—
    I couldn’t remember her name.
    I couldn’t even remember my own.

CHAPTER EIGHT
    T he FBI agent vacated her domain in Lounge C later that afternoon, and I went in to close my eyes against everything, including a headache that threatened behind my brain. When I opened them, Chip was there.
    â€œHey, babe,” he said. He put a bulging white trash bag in my lap. “I brought you some of your own clothes. Not that you don’t look fabulous in those scrubs.” He attempted a smile, which I didn’t return. “See if those are okay.”
    I pulled the bag open and peered inside. Nothing in there went with anything else, and I hadn’t been able to get into any of it in weeks.
    â€œThanks,” I said.
    â€œI found your purse and got the car to the house,” he said. “And I watered your plants. You have enough to handle here. I thought I’d take care of things at home.”
    I couldn’t help staring at him. When had Dr. Chip Coffey ever done a domestic chore in his life?
    â€œYou’re scaring me, Lucia,” he said. “Talk to me.” He pulled the sack from my lap and pawed for my hand. “Tell me about Sonia.” “The FBI is going to question you,” I said.
    â€œSpecial Agent Deidre Schmacker. She got to you too.”
    â€œShe already saw you?”
    â€œThey probably contacted me before anybody. She showed up at the house.” He waved off my sudden tautness. “Relax, babe. Schmacker came alone. If I were a suspect she would have brought a partner.” His smile was grim. “It was a refreshing change, actually. She didn’t try to make me hang myself.”
    My insides shook. “Did you help her?”
    â€œProbably not.” He sat up again and took both of my hands. “Look, I don’t know what Agent Schmuck told you, but nobody is out to get Sonia. All I’ve seen the last three months is complete idolatry. People worship her. It gets a little sickening, actually.”
    â€œIs that why you quit?”
    It was out now, stirring Chip’s faded-denim gaze. He didn’t release my hands, though, and I didn’t pull away. If I moved, it would all go.
    â€œSo you know,” he said. “I was going to tell you. I never had the chance.”
    â€œDid you just decide on the plane on the way up here?” I said.
    â€œNo.”
    â€œNever mind.” I floundered against the onslaught of openness. It was too much. “It doesn’t matter right now.”
    Chip swore softly, around the edges of his sandpaper voice. “That FBI agent shook you up, didn’t she? Lucia, listen to me. They have to do an investigation any time there’s an explosion on an airplane, so they can rule out terrorism.”
    â€œTerrorism!”
    He put his finger to my lips. “It’s protocol. Nobody thinks the plane was sabotaged. They know there was structural damage, but they just