Time to Heal (Harlequin Heartwarming) by Karen Young

him. In a sea of flashing red and blue lights, a jackknifed eighteen-wheeler dwarfed two midsize cars locked in a tangle of metal and glass. He counted three ambulances. On the side of the road two bodies were draped with white sheets. There were two of his own Kinard County black-and-whites and two units from the state highway patrol. Off to the side, with little apparent damage, was a run-down pickup. The driver stood slouched against the mud-splattered fender.A small child was being wheeled into one of the ambulances. Close by, a medic gently supported a dazed woman whose head was bleeding through a white bandage. When the child was in place, the woman was coaxed to lie down on a second gurney, then whisked into the ambulance.
    Jake got out of his car, taking it all in. One look and his stomach was in a knot. No matter how many years he put in as a lawman, he would never be able to witness the carnage at the scene of an accident and remain detached.
    Frank Cordoba walked over to him. “Morning, Jake. Hell of a wake-up call, huh?”
    Jake grunted, his eyes on the two cars. “What happened?”
    Frank followed his gaze, his notebook open. “Two fatalities, both female. Driver of the Toyota and one of the passengers in the BMW. See the lady they’re settling in the ambulance? She was driving the BMW. They’re all related. Traveling together, heading to Orlando for a few days at Disney World, according to what I could get out of her. She’s pretty upset.”
    “Where’s the driver of the rig?”
    Cordoba nodded to his right. “Over on the side of the road behind his rig being sick. I hate to say it, but it looks as if the women were at fault. They were traveling together, the Toyota in the lead. They came up behind the eighteen-wheeler,then changed lanes to pass him. Doesn’t appear anybody was speeding, either. Anyway, once the Toyota cleared the big rig, she pulled into the right lane in front of the truck. The BMW followed without waiting to clear the rig.” He shook his head. “I don’t know if she misjudged or was just careless. I couldn’t get a coherent statement from her. Looks like she’s in shock. The truck driver slammed on his brakes and went into a jackknife, but it was too late. He hit the BMW, which rear-ended the Toyota. They both went out of control.”
    Cordoba looked up as two of the ambulances started to move out. “The EMTs patched up two more passengers. I guess they’re taking them out now.”
    Jake glanced at the pickup. The driver was still propped against the fender. “What about him?”
    “He’s been drinking,” Cordoba replied, “but he wasn’t the cause. He was behind the big rig and slammed on his brakes when he realized it was all going to hell. He rammed into the truck, but both of them had managed to slow down enough that there wasn’t much damage. We’re citing him for DUI.”
    “Is he local?”
    “Yeah. Lives out in the boonies, beyond those fishing camps at Cross Corners.”
    “Any priors?”
    “Not for DUI, but he’s an ex-con. Poaching andillegal possession of a firearm. Small-time stuff. He’s mean, though. He gave the boys some lip when they didn’t want to let him drive away.”
    “What’s his name?”
    “Willard Biggs.”
    Jake nodded. “Yeah, I remember him.” Again his gaze swept the scene, lingering on the draped bodies, the twisted remains of the two cars. There was an overpowering smell of gasoline and burned rubber. The driver of the big rig appeared around the front of the truck’s cab. He was pale but seemed to be steady on his feet.
    “Did you get the name of the rig driver?”
    “Walter Hammond.”
    Relegating the ex-convict to the back of his mind, Jake drew in a deep breath and started toward Hammond. “Thanks, Frank,” he said. “I’ll take it from here.”
     
    “H OW ABOUT A COLD DRINK ?”
    Rachel didn’t know about Michael, but she was more than ready for something cold after two hours of serious shopping.
    “Will you let me