Healing Sands by Stephen Arterburn, Nancy Rue Page A

with her to see if he’d called to cancel, she swore he hadn’t. I called him later, all concerned about him, and he said he’d notified Olivia two days ago. I confronted her, of course, and she melted like a pat of butter.”
    â€œTears?”
    â€œBeyond. She said she was afraid to tell me she’d messed up.” Martha blinked at him. “I just don’t understand that.”
    Sully bit back the explanation that Martha could be as intimidating as a boa constrictor and tapped his recorder. “You want me to say something to her?”
    â€œNo. I’ve got it handled. This is just FYI.”
    â€œAnd not a moment too soon.” Sully nodded at the French door where Olivia herself was approaching, hand already poised to tap on the glass. He stifled a grin when Olivia looked Martha’s way and turned a little green.
    â€œCome on out,” Sully said as she pushed the door open only far enough to speak through. “We were just talking about you.”
    Olivia’s eyes, which bore a strong resemblance to Bambi’s, widened as if she were staring into the proverbial headlights. Her face, already a powdery shade, went paler, leaving every fine freckle on her nose in bas relief. Sully could have predicted that both hands would go up to her brown straggle of hair and shove it behind her ears. Then they clutched at the long string of beads she wore with what Sully thought they called a peasant blouse. The lace on it had the same chewed-on-by-a-goat look as the ends of her hair.
    â€œAm I in trouble?” she said. “I am, aren’t I?”
    â€œNah,” Sully said. “You’re just on a learning curve.”
    â€œOh,” she said. “Okay—well—you said to tell you when it was almost time for your appointment—you know, with that guy who’s applying for the job. And it is. Almost time.”
    â€œGood, then,” Sully said. “Just show him back when he gets here.”
    She skittered out without a glance at Martha, who closed her portfolio and stood up.
    â€œWhat I want to know,” Sully said, “is who hired her ?”
    â€œCarla,” she said. “She was a rescuer.”
    And Martha, clearly, was not.
    When Martha was gone, Sully went into his office, propped his feet on the desk again, and pulled out his cell phone. There was just enough time for a quick check-in with Porphyria before she left for Nashville.
    The connection to the Smokies was faint at best, but Porphyria’s voice was still as rich as molasses when she answered. He closed his eyes; he knew she’d have hers closed too. She did that with him, as if, as his mentor, she was shutting out everything else to give him all the space.
    â€œDon’t you ever work, Dr. Crisp?” she said.
    â€œI’m working right now. I’m calling for advice.”
    â€œYou’re calling to check up on me, and I’m fine. I told you this is just my annual physical.”
    Sully chuckled. “Nothing gets by you.”
    â€œI didn’t get to be eighty-one years old by being a fool.”
    â€œWinnie’s driving you down to Nashville?”
    â€œYou know she is.” Porphyria paused. “Sully?”
    â€œYeah?”
    â€œI am fine. You worry like an old woman.”
    Sully let out a guffaw. “Just have your niece call me when you get down there.”
    â€œMm-hmm.”
    â€œAnd when you get done with the exam.”
    â€œMm-hmm.”
    â€œAnd when you get back home.”
    â€œYou don’t have anything else to do out there in New Mexico?” Sully imagined the dark face smoothed out like the countenance of an African queen.
    â€œNow that I’m here, I think I’m putting it off, Dr. Ghent.”
    â€œYour search for Belinda Cox.”
    â€œYeah.” Sully dropped his feet to the floor and swiveled the chair around, his back to the door. “The trail led me here, and I don’t think