I couldn’t believe Rick would show up at Fairfield Springs unannounced. Though I was impressed (and more than a little intimidated) by his heroism, the thought he had a beautiful ex-wife and two children made my stomach hurt. I’d put off calling him for a week, then decided too much time had passed and abandoned the idea altogether. By the time my nose stopped running I’d gained six pounds and lost my nerve. I dashed in the ladies’ room to check my hair and swiped a mystery stain from my scrubs, cursing the fluorescent lighting.

The man in the lobby was not good-looking, and considerably shorter than Rick O’Shea. He wore a drab brown sheriff’s deputy windbreaker and khakis. “Veronica Johnson?” he asked, his expression flat and bored.

“Yes, that’s me,” I said.

“This is for you.” He handed me an envelope and waved. “Have a good day.”

It was a subpoena from William Ratliff, attorney at law. I recognized the name from the endless commercials on the Birmingham channels, all of which insisted William was “for the people.” By this, he meant he’d be happy to sue anyone over anything for the possibility of a juicy settlement. I’d always thought of him as “BillRat.” BillRat wanted to question me about the circumstances surrounding Violet’s death. I took a deep breath and went to Donna’s office.

“I got one too,” she said, barely glancing up at me. “Frankly, Ronni, I have no damned idea what to tell him.”

“It’s better that way, Donna,” I replied. “I’ll be the one to explain. You just show up and tell him you weren’t here, nor were you aware of the situation.”

She leaned her forehead into her palm and scratched her hairline with long red nails. I’d known Donna long enough to know what came next.

“Ronni, my career is on the line here. You do realize the man was married, do you not?”

I nodded, “Yes, I do. His family’s not involved in the suit, though, are they?”

“No, they want to forget Fairfield Springs and the whole mess it represents in their lives. His wife and son told me this place ‘sickens’ them. They don’t want a lawsuit and they don’t want money.” She paused to close her eyes and sigh, exhaling her frustration. “They’d simply like for us to disappear, and I can’t say I blame them. Their husband and father was admitted here in a fragile condition. Losing him like that...”

“Donna, there is so much more to this story,” I interrupted. “Violet was in love with him, and he with her.”

“You’re delusional, Ronni. He was a devoted family man. His wife said dementia led him to believe he’d known Violet in a past life or something.”