The Spider's Web Read Online Free PDF

she had come through. Father John followed her down a wide corridor paved with gray vinyl and lit with the white light of fluorescent ceiling bulbs. She wore foamy shoes that made a squishy noise on the vinyl. They turned past the plaque on the wall that said Rooms 100-110. Seated outside a closed door was a blue-uniformed police officer. He got to his feet as they approached.
    “All right if Father O’Malley sees her?” the nurse said.
    “Family only,” the officer said. He gave a sideways nod toward the door. “You gotta be the next best thing.”
    The nurse ushered Father John into a room not much larger than a cubicle, like a thousand other hospital rooms he had visited: beige curtains pushed against the wall on either side of the narrow bed, plastic tubes and bottles dangling from a metal stand. Curled away from the door, a plastic tube jutting from the needle taped to her arm and a white sheet pulled to her shoulders, was Marcy Morrison.
    There were things about the girl that Father John couldn’t reconcile. She had seemed brittle and cocky and self-assured and a little spoiled the day she had driven into the mission. And something about her story not straight. Looking for her fiancé, a man who hadn’t thought to mention that she existed and hadn’t told her where he was.
    She stirred and looked over one shoulder. Reddish-black bruises circled her eyes, and a long red bruise ran across one cheek. There was a flash of recognition in her eyes. “You heard what happened?” she said. Gone were the snap and bravado. Her voice was as thin as a child’s.
    “Yes,” Father John said. “I’m very sorry, Marcy.”
    “He really loved me.” She squinted at something across the room, some image she might have wanted to bring into focus. “We set our wedding date. July twenty-second. After the Sun Dance.”
    “Are there any family or friends you would like me to call?”
    “Daddy says he’s gonna come.” She turned her head and closed her eyes. “That’ll be a first,” she said, her voice muffled in the pillow.
    Father John glanced at the nurse standing at the foot of the bed. “We called her father. He’s coming from Oklahoma.”
    “I wanna go home.” The girl’s eyes sprung open. “They say I can’t go anywhere. I gotta hang around and wait ’til they catch those two guys. I don’t wanna stay here. I never want to see the rez again.” She made a little motion, as if she wanted to sit up, then flopped back. “They’re keeping me against my will,” she said. “Tell ’em they can’t do that. I have rights, you know.”
    “Listen.” Father John tried for a soothing tone. “They could arrest the two men tonight. They’ll want you to identify them, then you’ll be able to go home.”
    “What if they don’t get them tonight? What about tomorrow, or next week, or next month? Am I supposed to hang around with some guard watching me?”
    “If you like, I can speak with the fed.” Where would she stay, Father John was thinking. A motel in Riverton or Lander, someplace on the reservation? Whoever had killed Ned could come after her. “There’s a guesthouse at the mission,” he said. There were always parishioners coming and going. The minute a couple of strangers showed up, someone would spot them. “You could stay there until the men are arrested.”
    She stared at him wide-eyed, gratitude and incredulity moving in her expression. “Daddy’ll get my pickup at Ned’s place,” she said, choking a little. “Soon’s he gets here.”
    “The doctor will have to release her,” the nurse said. “And there’s the orders from the fed, and the guard...” She nodded at the door.
    “I’ll speak with the fed,” he told her.
     
     
    THE FIERY RED sun lifted off the eastern horizon and the sky was streaked in reds, oranges, and pinks when Father John turned past the billboard that said St. Francis Mission and plunged through the shadows of the cottonwoods that lined the road. Tiredness