Chapter 5

Pipp Memorial Hospital, where Katherine Street lay in a coma, had opened exactly one day after the birth of her only granddaughter Della…or should her infant self be referred to as Maeve? Della wasn't sure any more what to think of herself, but thought it fitting that the hospital in which she had been born was now an asylum for the mentally disturbed. Perry found it downright hysterical, and she knew she would regret telling him about it for the rest of her life.

The hospital was large and square, with a façade of blonde brick, and was positioned just yards from the highway that divided the small town in which she grew up from the next small town. Perry steered the rental car, a clunky four-year-old Ford Galaxie Club Sedan, into the visitor parking lot that stretched out in front of the eyesore of a building. He squinted at the glare of the sun ray's bouncing off the light-colored brick.

"Yikes," he said.

Della laughed. "It is ugly, isn't it?"

"The only thing uglier is this car." He slid from beneath the wheel, walked around to the passenger side and opened the door. Della took his hand and was quickly standing next to him, shaking out her skirt in the way he simply had to pause and admire.

"Buildings tend to be on the Spartan side around here," Della explained. "It's felt that money is better spent elsewhere."

"Mr. Pipp certainly took that feeling to heart when he endowed this hospital." He placed his hand at the small of her back and piloted her across asphalt turned mushy from the intense heat of the day toward the main entrance, which was simply two very plain metal and glass doors. The hospital name wasn't even painted on the glass.

"According to my grandmother, Mr. Pipp had no heart. And she would know, because she doesn't have one, either."

Perry jabbed at the elevator button as he took in the plain, uninviting lobby of the hospital. The walls were a lifeless pale grey, the furniture Bauhaus bent metal chairs upholstered in a darker shade of lifeless grey. Absolutely nothing adorned the walls. He shivered, despite the warmth of the day. "Bitterness does not become you, my dear."

Della wrapped her hands around his forearm. "I can't help it," she sighed. "You have no idea how much I don't want to be back in this town. I thought I had put it behind me when I told them all off and Carter shoved me onto a plane two and a half years ago."

"Look at it this way – you can pay him back in person now."

"Oh, I'll pay him back," she vowed.

Perry shook his head. "Della…"

"I promised I'd behave, and I will." She smiled at him a bit crookedly. "Eventually."

The elevator bumped to a stop and the doors opened slowly. "Come on, brat," Perry said, taking her by the elbow, "time to be a grown up."

Della's feet suddenly turned to lead. "Perry, I – I…can't…I don't want to go in there."

"Darling, she's your grandmother. Go in and say goodbye to her."

"I don't know if I can. You don't understand. She never had any use for me. It doesn't matter if I say goodbye to her or not."

Perry placed his hands on either side of her face and looked deeply into her distressed eyes. "Yes, it does."

"You think I'm a better person than I am, Perry."

"Della, you are the best person I know. You'll be fine."

"Tell me what to say," she begged.

He shook his head. "I can't do that, kiddo."

"Why are you making me do this?"

"Because all reports to the contrary, you grandmother is a human being, and she's dying. Say goodbye to her. You don't want to have any regrets."

She brought her hands up to grasp his wrists. "Oh darling, I'm sorry. If I had been thinking…"

He slid his thumbs over her lips, cutting off more words before the conversation took a turn he didn't want to navigate. "This isn't about me. This is about you and your grandmother."

Della swallowed hard and let her eyes wander down the hospital hallway toward the room where her grandmother lay. "Come in with me."

"No, it wouldn't be proper to be introduced to your family that way."

"I don't give a fig about propriety right now. This place is strangled by propriety. It's drowning in propriety. People dine on propriety, bathe in propriety, gossip about propriety. I can't do this without you. I need a friend."

What on earth did the people in her family do to her that the bright, confident, capable woman he knew was now this cowed, insecure, needy woman standing before him? If only she had talked to him about her family, but she hadn't, not ever, not really. He'd tried to pry eleventh hour information from her on the plane, but the more he pried, the more agitated she became, closing herself off from him until he admitted defeat and suggested that they put in writing everything they knew about her mother. Looking into her troubled and panicked eyes he suffered a momentary regret for forcing her to submit to her father's wishes – delivered not by the man himself, but via the proxy of his son – but he couldn't stand the thought of her going through life without closure in regard to the grandmother who had raised her with what appeared to be outright disregard.

"Della Katherine."

The voice was chilly and sharp, lacking in any semblance of affection. Perry and Della turned to face the man who had literally crept up on them and was standing a scant two feet away. His grey-blue eyes glittered with coldness for Perry and disapproval for Della simultaneously.

Della's fingernails dug into the skin of Perry's wrists. "Father," she acknowledged formally. Perry jerked his arms from her grasp as the pressure of her nails became painful.

"It's about time you arrived. We expected you an hour ago."

A sickening déjà vu swept over Della. The last time she had come home, her grandmother had said virtually those same words to her in greeting. And promptly slapped her face. "We had difficulty arranging for the rental car," she explained stiffly.

Her father's expression of disapproval moved from his eyes to his thin lips, which he pressed together in a tight line. "You should have taken a taxi. There was no need to rent a car." He turned to the man at her side. "And who is this?"

Perry thrust out his hand toward Della's father, a tall, thin man in his early to mid-sixties with a surprising shock of silver hair. "Perry Mason."

The older man didn't offer his name, and didn't accept the attorney's outstretched hand, but looked to his daughter with impatient expectance. Perry continued to hold out his hand with marginally less impatience.

"Father, this is my boss, Perry Mason. Perry, my father, Jameson Street."

Then and only then did Della's father grip Perry's hand in a formal hand shake.

The hospital room was small and dark and incredibly warm. Perry immediately began to sweat, and even Della wilted visibly in the oppressive heat. A man rose from a chair positioned near the head of the bed in which the matriarch of the Street family lay, formidable even while in a coma, and faced the trio as they entered the room.

Perry was surprised at how much Carter Jameson Street resembled his half-sister. Knowing now that Della strongly resembled her mother and had inherited no discernible traits from her father, he found it interesting that he could easily pick Della's brother out of a crowd. His eyes were a deep shade of grey not hazel, but the wavy chestnut hair, straight nose, and bowed lips were a masculine version of Della's. He was about Perry's age, not quite as tall, not nearly as broad and muscular, and he made no attempt to hide his displeasure that his sister had arrived with a stranger in tow.

"I take it you're Perry Mason," he said in a distinct geographical flatness of voice.

Della refused to release Perry's hand, her body turned away from the sight of the old woman lying in the bed, and Perry decided not to bother offering his hand this time. "I am," he confirmed. "And you are Della's brother Carter."

"I am," the man confirmed as well. "We didn't expect you would accompany Della." Unspoken disapproval cloaked his words. "This is a private matter."

"If it weren't for Perry," Della spoke up, "I wouldn't be here, Carter."

Carter Street bowed slightly. "Then I will be more gracious toward your guest. Thank you, Mr. Mason, for bringing my sister home."

Perry felt Della stiffen at the word 'home' and her grip on his hand increased. He hadn't realized what phenomenal strength she had until today. She could very easily crush every bone in his hand. "I'm sorry that our first meeting had to be under such sad circumstances."

Jameson Street slipped behind Perry and Della to stand next to his son. "My mother would expect no sorrow at her passing," he said, staring expressionlessly down at the woman in the bed.

Perry shot a glance at Della in case she attempted to respond to her father's comment. She raised innocent eyes to his, refusing to look at her grandmother. "You still have my sympathy," Perry insisted, relieved that Della let her father's remark pass.

Jameson Street didn't look up. "We will mourn her, of course. But she would not have tolerated emotional expressions of grief. Death is an inevitable part of life. Her age was advanced and she remained in complete control of her faculties. That's more than most of us will realize in life."

Della let her eyes wander to the white-haired woman on the bed, then quickly shifted them to her brother. "What happened?"

Carter Street shrugged. "We're not sure. Henny found her unconscious on the stair landing. The doctors don't know if she had a stroke and then fell, or if she fell and then had a stroke."

"She's had a stroke," Della repeated dully. Then she put one hand on her hip and cocked her head to the left. "Who the hell is Henny?"

Carter blinked rapidly. "Henny is…an assistant. When you abandoned your duties and ran back to Los Angeles we had to do something. Father and I entertain a lot and it was becoming too much for Grandmother to manage by herself. Henny handles administrative duties at the mill and acts as hostess for business gatherings."

"Hostess? So Henny is a woman?"

A subtle but distinct blush crept across Carter Street's cheeks. "Henrietta," he offered.

"Well I'm glad you hired someone to help Grandmother, since I left you in such a lurch," Della responded acidly. "It's not as if I'm a grown woman with a mind of my own and a right to live my life as I see fit."

Perry fought back a smile, relieved that Della's feisty personality had re-emerged. Gone was the unsure woman who had tentatively stepped from the plane, clinging to him for all she was worth. The past few minutes in the company of her father and brother had given him some insight into why she closed off this aspect of her life: they were clearly insufferable.

"We shouldn't have been forced to bring an outsider into our home at all, but it was necessary for business purposes," Carter responded.

"I didn't feel it when the earth stopped spinning." She turned to Perry. "Did you notice a difference? Did I miss the end of the world as we know it because I was selfishly living a very happy life in L.A.?"

Perry opened his mouth to speak but a motion at the corner of his eye caught his attention. He nudged Della. "Look," he whispered, nodding toward the elderly woman lying on the bed.

Katherine Street was staring unblinkingly at her granddaughter, light grey-blue eyes wide open. Then she heaved one huge, rasping snort of a breath and closed them once again.