A Man of Means. Diana Palmer

      Forty-five minutes later, there was a problem. It was six feet tall, had black hair and dark eyes and it erupted into the hospital cubicle like an F-5 tornado, dressed in jeans and boots and a fringed rawhide jacket thrown carelessly over what looked like a beige silk shirt. The wide-brimmed hat slanted over those threatening eyes was a Stetson, one of the most expensive made, with its distinctive feathered logo pin on the hatband. He looked impressively rich, and excessively angry.

      The man was livid when he saw his big brother, still drifting in and out of consciousness, on the examining table. He gave Meredith a scrutiny that could have peeled paint off old furniture, his eyes narrowing contemptuously on her costume.

      ‘‘Well, that explains why you were on the street at two in the morning,’’ he snarled angrily. ‘‘What happened? Did you feel guilty and call for help after you tried to roll him?’’ he added sarcastically.

      ‘‘Look here,’’ she began, rising.

      ‘‘Save it.’’ He turned to the big man on the table and laid a lean, strong hand on his brother’s broad chest. ‘‘Leo. Leo, it’s Rey! Can you hear me?’’ he asked in a tone that combined affection with concern.

      The big man’s eyes blinked and opened. He stared blankly up at the leaner man. ‘‘Rey?’’

      ‘‘What happened to you?’’ Rey Hart demanded gently.

      Leo grinned wearily. ‘‘I was thinking about new forage grasses and wasn’t paying attention to my surroundings,’’ he murmured drowsily. ‘‘Something hit me in the head and I went down like a brick. Didn’t see a thing.’’ He winced and felt clumsily in his pockets. ‘‘Damn! My wallet’s gone. So’s my cell phone.’’

      Meredith started to tell him that she had the phone and wallet in her purse for safekeeping, but before she could speak, Rey Hart gave her a furious, speaking glance and walked out of the cubicle like a man hunting a fight.

      His brother drifted off again. Meredith stood beside him, wondering what to do. Five minutes later, Rey Hart walked back in accompanied by a tall man in a police uniform. He looked familiar, but Meredith couldn’t quite place him. She knew she’d seen him before.

      ‘‘That’s her,’’ Rey told the policeman, indicating Meredith. ‘‘I’ll sign anything necessary as soon as I see that my brother’s going to be okay. But get her out of here.’’

      ‘‘Don’t worry. I’ll handle it,’’ the policeman said quietly. He handcuffed Meredith with easy efficiency and pulled her out of the cubicle before she could protest.

      ‘‘I’m being arrested?’’ she exclaimed, stunned. ‘‘But, why? I haven’t done anything!’’

      ‘‘Yes, I know, I’ve heard it all before,’’ the officer told her in a bored tone when she tried to explain what had happened. ‘‘Nobody’s ever guilty. Honest to God, dressed like that, out on the streets alone after midnight, you were bound to be up to no good. What did you do with his cell phone and his wallet?’’

      ‘‘They’re in my pocketbook,’’ she began.

      He confiscated it from her shoulder and propelled her out of the building. ‘‘You’re going to be in a lot of trouble. You picked the wrong man to rob.’’

      ‘‘See here, I didn’t mug him! It was two men. I didn’t see their faces, but they were bending over him as I came down the sidewalk.’’

      ‘‘Soliciting is a felony,’’ he pointed out.

      ‘‘I wasn’t soliciting anything! I’d just come from a Halloween party dressed as a burlesque dancer!’’ she raged, furious that she was being punished for having done someone a good turn. She read his name tag. ‘‘Officer Sanders, you have to believe me!’’

      He didn’t say a word. He drew her with him, firmly but gently, and put her into the back seat of the police car.

      ‘‘Wait,’’ she told him before he could close the door. ‘‘You get my wallet out of my purse and look in it. Right now,’’ she insisted.

      He gave her an impatient look, but he did what she asked. He looked through the plastic inserts in her wallet and glanced at her with a changed expression. ‘‘I thought you looked familiar, Johns,’’ he murmured, using her last name, as most people she knew at work did.

      ‘‘I didn’t mug Mr. Hart,’’ she continued. ‘‘And I can prove where I was when he was being mugged.’’ She gave him her friend Jill’s address.

      He gave in. He drove to Jill’s apartment, went to the door, spoke to an obviously intoxicated and amused Jill, and came back to the squad car. He let Meredith out of the back of the squad car and took off the handcuffs. It was cool in the night air, and Meredith felt self-conscious and uncomfortable in her garb, even though the police officer knew the truth now.

      ‘‘I’m really sorry,’’ he told her with a grimace as he met her grey eyes. ‘‘I didn’t recognize you. All I knew was what Mr. Hart told me, and he was too upset to think straight. You have to admit, you don’t look very professional tonight.’’

      ‘‘I do realize that. Mr. Hart cares about his brother, and he doesn’t know what happened,’’ she pointed out. ‘‘He walked in and saw his brother on the table and me dressed like this,’’ she indicated her clothing, ‘‘and his brother said his wallet and cell phone were missing. He doesn’t know me from a stump. You can’t blame him for thinking the worst. But those two men who hit him would have gotten his wallet if I hadn’t come along, and they’re still on the loose.’’

      ‘‘Can you show me where you found him?’’ he asked.

      ‘‘Of course. It was just down the sidewalk, that way.’’

      She led and he followed her, with his big wide-angle flashlight sweeping the sidewalk and the grass as they walked. She pointed to an area of flattened grass. He left her on the sidewalk and gave the area a thorough scrutiny, looking for clues. He found a candy wrapper and a cigarette butt.

      ‘‘I don’t guess you know if Mr. Hart smokes or likes candy?’’ he asked.

      She shook her head. ‘‘Sorry. All he told me was his brothers’ name and where they lived. I don’t know anything more about him.’’

      He stood up. ‘‘I’ll ask his brother later. Wait here while I call for one of the technicians to bag this evidence,’’ he told her.

      ‘‘Okay,’’ she said agreeably, drawing the feather boa closer. It was getting cold standing around briefly clad, waiting for crime scene investigators. ‘‘Somebody’s going to love being turned out of bed to come look at a cigarette butt