by Lakota Grace
Silver had not intended to let that show on her face. Her poker-playing skills were slipping. She considered her visit to the gallery and connected a whole row of new dots.
“You're Henry Fisher's kid, same as Andy is—was,” Wolf continued. “He told me about Manresa and Henry. You were aware they were still married?”
“I don’t believe you. And even so, you propose I prove my relationship, how? Henry Fisher is dead and so is Andy.”
Wolf looked nonplussed.
“Hell, I don't know. Maybe DNA testing? All you need is a hairbrush or something. And the old guy was rich, just didn't let that young wife know about it. You’re an heir or something.”
He pointed at her.
“Now you. Who was Andy’s drug connection?”
“Maybe the guy just committed suicide,” Silver said. “You were supposed to be his friend. Why didn't you stop him?”
“I tried!” The man's face twisted in anguish. “I was too late. Tell me what you know.”
“Don't know anything. Sooo sorry,” Silver lied.
Wolf lunged forward and grabbed her throat.
Silver tried to knee him but was off balance. Her knee missed its target, landing solidly against his thigh instead.
Wolf howled and jerked out of harm’s way, releasing the grip of rough fingers on her throat.
Silver leaned against the side of the pickup, breathing heavily. She glared at him.
“Help me, please,” he said. “I'm out of money and I'm out of time.”
“You touched me.” Silver rubbed her bruised throat.
“Please. Take my number. Call me if you find anything.”
“Oh, fine.” She tapped his number into her phone with angry fingers.
“And what do I put it under?” she sneered. “S for Sleazebag or A for Asshole?”
“Sometimes you just have to accept things on faith,” he said.
He ran a frustrated hand through his hair. “I can’t stay here in the Verde Valley much longer. I have to know who did this to Andy.”
“Don't lose any sleep waiting for me to call. Your friend is dead, and you probably caused it.”
In the distance, the high-pitched whine of the Ducati grew louder. Leaving Wolf at a half run, Silver reached the corner and then under a streetlight touched her aching throat. With shaking fingers, she dialed a number she had committed to memory in a safer world.
At the recorded prompt, she blurted, “Rory, Peg’s precious boyfriend just tried to murder me. He's got the gun. He's the one who killed Henry Fisher.”
She reeled off precise directions to Wolf's location. Then, before she could change her mind, she disconnected. She made one final call to Pegasus Quincy’s voicemail, and she was done.
The motorcycle squealed to a stop and Silver climbed on. As the Ducati shifted into high gear, Silver's eyes blurred with angry tears. Forget the loser drug dealer and his loser friend. It was time to look out for Number One.
When they reached HT's house, Silver bid a disappointed Ben goodnight. She sat on the porch swing for long minutes. Then she lifted to her feet and walked out into the yard.
HT’s gold-flecked paperweight glittered in the waning moonlight. When Silver picked it up, it was wet with dew and the slime of an unknown creature. She shuddered and gave it a swipe with her sleeve.
Then she quietly opened the front door and placed the paperweight on the coffee table. She gathered her backpack and started the long walk to Peg's cabin. There, she curled up in a wooden rocker on the porch and stared into the moonlit night.
Just before sleep arrived, she scrolled through the As on her phone and sent a short text.
“They're coming for you. Run!”
Peg Won’t Tell
~ 38 ~
Pegasus
When I let Reckless out the next morning, I discovered Silver asleep in the porch rocker.
I touched her shoulder. “What are you doing here? You were supposed to be at HT's.”
“Your door was locked,” she mumbled as she stumbled past me into the house.
“What happened at my grandfather’s house? HT called and said to tell you thank you. What did he mean?”
“You leave any coffee?” She grabbed a mug and poured a cup without my invitation.
That evasion plus the message she had left on my phone last night was the last straw.
“You're a suspect in a murder case and you accuse Wolf? What sort of game are you playing?”
“I'm not playing any game,” Silver said. “Your boyfriend tried to kill me. And you haven't located my father or gotten my mother to speak to me. I found out more in one hour than you've done since you started looking. I want my money back.”
“Fat chance,” I said.
She couldn't have the retainer because it was sailing through the black hole of the banking system to my landlady.
“In that case, you're fired,” she said.
“Fine by me. You're a pain in the neck to work with.”
“And you're an asshole,” she retorted, “just like your boyfriend.”
She pushed past me. “Going to take a shower.”
“What about HT’s message?”
She yawned. “Your grandfather accused me of something I didn't do. I fixed it. And for the record, I didn't murder anybody. Somebody tried to frame me with that gun and that’s why I dumped it. If you were on the ball, you'd know that.”
She disappeared into the bathroom, and a knock sounded at the front door. It was Rory. I pictured a nubile young woman appearing from my bedroom dressed only in a towel, and Rory Stevens sitting on my living room couch. No way!
I pushed him back outside and closed the door behind me.
“We can talk out here.”
“Just as well. What I have to say won't take long.” He stiffened and drew in a breath.
I'd never known Rory to show up and not ask for food. Something was up.
“What's the problem?” I asked.
“We got a hit on the ballistics of those bullets. The gun was registered to Wilfred Brandeis.”
“Wolf,” I said.
“That's the one. Your boyfriend.”
First Silver and now Rory. I was getting tired of the insinuations.
“I knew about the gun. He told me.”
“And you couldn't have let me know?” Rory asked.
“Wolf said he didn't do it.”
“And you believed him?”
“Why not? I thought you had Robbyn figured for the murder.”
Now Rory looked uncomfortable. “She's playing the sad widow. Chas is after my hide because she did a Silent Witness newscast the other night.”
“And that means you've got wackos coming out of the woods and no real suspects. This case is going south in a hurry.”
“And if it is, the problem is you, Peg. You have been aiding and abetting a suspect—this Wolf guy. That's a criminal offense. You want to be arrested yourself?”
I shrugged. At least in jail, I wouldn't worry about paying the rent or feeding moochers like Silver Delaney who slept on my porch.
Rory shifted from one foot to the other. Something else was on his mind.
“Spill it,” I said.
“We got an anonymous phone call telling us where Wolf Brandeis was. But when we arrived, he was gone. Again.”
“Big surprise.”
“Do you know where he is?” Rory asked me.
“No. But even if I did, I wouldn't tell you.”
So maybe I wasn't as nice as I could have been. But I didn't expect what came next.
“I can’t use your services anymore, Peg.”
“What?”
“Chas says you have to go.”
“But Chas didn't hire me, you did, as a special consultant,” I blurted.
Rory reddened, but he held firm.
“Bring your gun and credentials into the office. You are off this case and maybe off the force permanently.”
My fist crept to my chin to hide its
quivering. “You can't mean that.”
Without responding, Rory turned on his heel. He pounded down the stairs and climbed into that big atomic orange Hummer. A cloud of dust swirled around it like a setting sun as he backed out the drive.
Sinking onto the steps, I watched it leave. Three strikes and out. That’s what we did to criminals through the penal code; it shouldn’t apply to regular people.
And yet within a few weeks’ time I’d been fired three times—twice this morning in fact.
Okay, I deserved the first two. I’d been derelict and hadn’t produced what I’d promised I would, either to the Red Rock State Park folks or to Silver Delaney.
But to be fired this third time was devastating!
Being a cop was all I'd ever dreamed of since I was five. And my best friend delivered the message.
Pulling out my cell phone, I punched the number.
“Wolf, we need to meet. Now.”
HT and the Doctor
~ 39 ~
Pegasus
When my cell phone rang, I thought it was Wolf calling me back. But it was Armor Brancussi, my grandfather's friend.
“Maybe I’m stepping out of line here, but something's going on with HT.”
I didn’t want to hear it. Not now. Not ever.
“He was just fine last night,” I defended. “Silver Delaney was there. They played poker and everything.”
I tried to ignore the fact that I wasn’t there, too.
“Well, even so,” Armor said, “HT’s not acting like himself. He lost his way this morning, walking here to have breakfast with me. And this place is only two blocks away from his house.”
“He give you an explanation?”
My jaw clenched, and I rubbed it to relieve the stress.
“Said the sun was in his eyes,” Armor said. “You know how he jokes around.”
Yeah, I did. “Where's he now?”
“I walked him back home a few minutes ago.”
“Isabel with him?”
“No, she had to clean the new banker's house. I think you need to go check on him.”
Armor wasn’t my uncle, even though he assumed that role sometimes, giving me orders. But family was family, and I loved HT.
My mother had dementia and lived in an enclosed facility back East. My visits to her dwindled as her paranoia advanced to where she didn’t recognize me and thought I was a nurse coming in to give her a shot. Finally, I stopped going.
But her problems had been brought on by heavy drinking. This was the grandfather who raised me when I was little, who was the rock that stood by me, no matter what. I drove, my foot pressing hard on the accelerator. If HT needed help, I’d be there for him. I had no other choice.
***
Isabel met me at the door. “The doctor's office said they'd work him in, if you arrive in the next half hour. You've got enough time if you hurry.”
She pointed to HT's room. “He's in there.”
I entered the darkened bedroom to find HT sitting on the bed. He'd managed the shirt and trousers and even the socks. But now he held a shoe in one hand and looked at it curiously as if he wasn’t sure what to do with it. He looked up when I came into the room.
“Hi, Ellie.”
Ellie, my grandmother's name.
“Hi, there, HT. Got a speck of trouble with that?”
I knelt in front of him and gently took the shoe from him. My eyes moistened as I fit the shoe on his foot and tied the laces. Then I crept on my hands and knees to retrieve the other from under the bed. HT waited patiently for me to tie the laces.
I'd maneuvered falling-down drunks into a patrol car on late night duty. HT had that same loose-limbed compliance as I steered him through the hall and into the living room.
Isabel shoved a big paper bag filled with pill bottles under my arm as we walked out the door.
“The doctor wanted to see these,” she said.
The pill bottles vibrated like a timber rattler as I thrust the sack onto the back seat and helped HT climb in front. Then he sat there obedient, staring straight ahead.
“HT, your seatbelt.”
He fumbled for the lock, but the maneuver was too much for him. Another knife to my stomach. I reached over and clicked the belt in.
“Thanks, Ellie. These fingers get a little stiff sometimes.”
His voice was humble and my heart sunk as this rock I had relied on crumbled to gravel bits.
No, I cried inside. No, HT, it's too soon.
I went through the list of awful scenarios ahead of us at the doctor’s office. If it wasn't dementia, which was bad enough, it could be cancer—inoperable brain cancer—or stroke. I didn’t want to think about it.
My foot drifted off the accelerator. The ride from Mingus to Cottonwood seemed to take hours as the Jetta went slower and slower. I didn't notice until the car behind me tapped their horn. Then I speeded up again. Beside me, HT had fallen asleep, his soft snores ruffling a lock of gray hair on his forehead.
I pulled the car to a stop in front of the medical office. HT's regular doctor was on vacation in Florida and we were scheduled to see another. I felt irritation at HT’s doctor. Why was he vacationing when his patients needed him?
The doctor on relief duty had his own practice as well, so the waiting room was full. I settled HT next to a fish tank and went up to the front. I tapped on the glass window barrier and the young woman behind the desk took my information.
“Have you been here before?” She smiled.
Her cheerfulness grated on me. I had to remind myself it wasn’t her fault we were here. It was mine.
“It's not for me, it's for my grandfather.”
I gestured to where HT was listlessly flipping through a woman's magazine, upside down. “He's not a regular patient.”
“Oh, a work-in. We’re really busy this morning. You may have to wait awhile.” She was apologetic.
I checked my phone. No return message from Wolf. I couldn’t act until he called. There was no place else I needed to be but here. I tried to breathe slower.
Two more people entered the waiting room. One knew HT and came over to say hello.
“Hey, HT, you sick? Got that bug that's been going around?”
HT brightened and reached out his hand. “Not sure why I’m here, but good to see you. Remember my granddaughter, Peg? She's a regular police officer now.”
Now I was back to being Peg? Maybe the nap on the way over helped.
The wall clock ticked, and we waited. And then waited some more. I tried to estimate how many people were still ahead of us. Finally, our turn came.
“Horace Tewksbury?”
“That's us, HT,” I said.
I shook him awake and helped steer him to the hallway door, clutching his arm with one hand and juggling my purse and the pill sack in the other.
The nurse opened an examination room, and we went in.
“Staying for the appointment?” She looked at me for confirmation.
I nodded. “His granddaughter and next-of-kin. I'd better stay.”
She gave a knowing smile and left. Did she have problematic family members at home, too?
“What have we here?” the doctor said, breezing into the room. He gave my hand a brief shake and then appraised his patient.
“Let's get you up on the table and do our basic tests. Okay with you, Mr. Tewksbury?”
“That was my father. You can call me HT. Everybody does.”
That was HT’s standard answer. It was also the joking manner that Armor had commented upon. How alert was HT, really?
Although the doctor was young, I was impressed with his gentle thoroughness. He took blood pressure and pulse, and then shined a light in HT's ears.
“A little wax buildup there. Might contribute to hearing problems.”
He examined HT's throat with a tongue depressor and listened to his breathing.
“Breathe in now. And now,” he said, moving the stethoscope.
HT sat on the end
of the examination table, obediently breathing in and out when ordered.
“Sounds nice and clear,” the doctor said. No sign of congestion.”
Then the doctor looked at me. “So what really brings you in this afternoon?”
I embarrassed myself by breaking into tears. The doctor handed me a tissue and HT patted my hand.
“Now, now, Ellie. It's not that bad.”
“He can't remember.” I gulped and sniffled. “And he walked up to the bar in his pajamas.”
“That true?” he asked HT.
“I guess. My buddy Armor brought me home.”
HT sounded proud of Armor as though that's what good friends do.
“Any trouble sleeping?” the doctor asked.
HT shook his head. “Retired. Can sleep as much as I want. Take a little nap in the afternoon sometimes.”
“He sleeps all the time!” I interrupted.
Now that HT had napped in the waiting room, he was back to pretending everything was fine. Only it wasn’t. The doctor had to understand the cogent man in front of him wasn’t always this way.
HT fidgeted on the table, and the doctor patted his knee.
“Sometimes family see things we don't. You're lucky to have this granddaughter of yours, cares for you.”
Silently I handed the doctor the big paper bag,
He opened it and lined brown plastic bottles on the counter. He looked at the labels, rearranged a few.
“You've got a lot of pills, here.”
“Just what the doctor ordered,” HT said proudly. “That automatic renewal thing. When I don't use them, I save 'em. Never can tell when I might need them.”
“And I would guess you've been taking a few more in recent days?” the doctor asked.
“Maybe a few. Knee's been bothering me.”
“Okay, HT, I’m done for now.” He helped my grandfather off the examination table and into a side chair.
“Mind if I talk to your granddaughter for a moment?”
“Oh, sure, sure.” HT reached for a magazine. 'I'll just sit here and read a bit.” He stared blankly at the open page.
The doctor steered me into his office and gestured for me to sit.
“Don't buy this act HT is putting on,” I said.
