Sawbones

by Pamela Fagan Hutchins

  “No, ma’am. Not in this house.” Susanne shook her head. She hastened to add, “And certainly not at school either.”

  Trish kept her fingers up. “I can’t believe he met Ms. Coker when he was in Laramie for basketball camp last summer. That they were together. And that she moved here to be with him. Yuck. I’m glad she was fired, but I wish they would kick Brandon out of school, too. I don’t ever want to see him again.”

  “Young lady, put those fingers away.”

  Trish dropped her hands and adopted an angelic tone. “If we had another car, I could help out like this every day.”

  Patrick snorted. “Get a job this summer. We can talk about it in August.”

  “That’s so far away!”

  “Says the girl who was skipping school earlier this week.”

  Trish made a sheepish face, like she’d been caught out. Which of course she had been.

  “Come on, Trish,” Perry said from the front door.

  “You’re just in a hurry because your picture was in the paper. ‘Hero boy saves mom and sister.’ Gag. It doesn’t make you any taller, and girls still think you’re a dork.”

  “They do not.”

  “Do too.”

  “Trish,” Susanne warned. “Don’t tease your brother. Perry, you’re my hero.”

  The kids disappeared out the door, still bickering, but without the sound of any real hostility.

  Patrick stood in front of the picture window, stretching his arms over his head and arching his back. He searched the trees along the creek for traces of his mountain lion, but he hadn’t seen the animal since she’d finally gotten her message through about his family. Thank you, Lion, he thought. He wondered if she’d ever be back, or if she’d just keep wandering up the creek into the mountains as the weather grew warmer. The creek was already high against its banks. Green grass and daffodils had sprung up in the last few days between the patches of rapidly melting snow. How different the world looked since the blizzard on Tuesday. And how much safer it seemed with the bad guys off the street. Bad guys who he had learned about from his wife and kids, because Lamkin had spilled everything she knew to them, about her own crime, and her plan to involve the other players in her cover-up. Stamey, the hitman hired by the Kemeckes. Peters, Judge Renkin’s blackmailer. How could one small town have been harboring so many merciless criminals?

  Susanne lifted the percolator. “Want the last of the coffee?”

  Patrick knew that last cup would have been hers if he was at work. “You take it.”

  “If you’re sure.”

  The doorbell rang. “This early in the morning?” he grumbled.

  “Every day, although it’s usually the phone.”

  “I hope it’s not another big city reporter.” He winked at her. They’d been fielding lots of calls and a few visits from journalists eager to write their story.

  He walked over and opened the door.

  Max Alexandrov stood on their front stoop. He brushed thin blond hair off his forehead. His blue eyes twinkled in a lively way Patrick hadn’t seen in quite some time. “Hello, Dr. Flint.”

  “Mr. County Prosecutor.” A home visit from the prosecutor can’t be good. He twisted his wedding ring around his finger, then gestured for Max to enter. “Good morning, sir.”

  Max wiped his boots on the mat, then stepped inside. “There hasn’t been a good one all week. Jesus, Mary, and Joseph.”

  “Sorry about how I look.” Susanne appeared with a mug in each hand. Patrick thought she was the most beautiful woman in the world, even with the stitches, black eye, and bruises. Then he realized she was referring to her thick velour robe. He was glad he’d put on jeans and a long-sleeved shirt before he went to feed the horses earlier. “Coffee for you, Max?” she said.

  “I’m the one who’s sorry. I dropped in unannounced. But I’d love the coffee. Thanks.” He cradled the cup in both hands and blew on it. “You keep the coroner in business, Patrick.”

  Patrick closed the door behind him. “It wasn’t me. In fact, I saved one of your suspects. Lamkin.”

  The mere mention of the incident started a sequence of horrific images in Patrick’s mind. Lamkin’s inhuman screams at the first blow of his ax. Their escalation at the second blow. And how, at the third and final strike, she’d lost consciousness, which was a blessing, because getting her out of the truck would have been even more difficult if she was in pain and struggling.

  No sooner had he dragged her back to his family and his emergency kit than the truck had exploded, raining burning debris and ash on all of them. The canopy of tree branches had provided some protection, but it had still hurt. He’d started emergency treatment on Lamkin seconds later, ignoring his own pain while he flushed her wound with alcohol, fashioned a tourniquet around it with tow rope, and bound it with bandages like she was a mummy. He’d had time to inject her with morphine for the pain before the ambulance arrived. The extensive job to repair her arm he was happy to leave for someone else.

  He still wasn’t sure whether he was glad he’d done it. Susanne hadn’t been, when she regained consciousness and heard tell of it. His butt was a little smaller after that chewing. But if he had it to do over again, he would have to make the same choice. Patrick Flint wasn’t in the business of death. Death didn’t give a fellow a second chance. Patrick would rather leave that up to God, anytime he could.

  Max laughed. “Thank you, although the state might have preferred us to forego the expense of her medical bills and trial. Deputy Harcourt saved my other suspect.”

  “She may have saved the judge, too. He’s probably not feeling very grateful to her, since all of his misdeeds have come to light. We sure won’t be calling him Senator Renkin.”

  “Or Judge Renkin either. Governor Rawlins has relieved him of his position, and seems to have disassociated himself from Renkin entirely, faster than you can say lickety-split.”

  Susanne smiled. “I’m not disappointed to hear that.”

  Patrick wasn’t either. “I suppose this means another change of venue for the Kemecke trial?”

  “Possibly, unless Rawlins gets a new judge in here quickly.” Patrick knew Rawlins could work fast when he wanted to. He’d gotten his security guy there when he said he would, only for Morales to discover the excitement was over before he started. He’d gone back to Cheyenne pretty dejected. Max shrugged. “Either way, it will mean a delay. Which will keep you Flints out of the hot seat for a while.”

  Patrick blew air out through his lips. “I think at this point we just wish we could get it over with.”

  Susanne nodded vigorously.

  Max said, “That’s why I came by, actually. Don’t hold me to it, but there are rumblings Kemecke will take a deal for life now that he’s facing additional charges.”

  Susanne’s face lit up. “No trial?”

  Patrick smiled, too. “But he was in jail when it all happened.”

  “Conspiracy. Same as doing the deed.”

  “What will they charge him with?”

  “The murder of Judge Ellis and the attempted murder of Judge Renkin. Although it’s been dicey figuring out who did what to whom and when.”

  Patrick shook his head. “Who’s on first.”

  “What’s on second, I Don’t Know’s on third.” Max shook his head. “Don Peters was blackmailing Judge Renkin. Peters killed Stamey. And we think Stamey was the hitman hired by Donna Lewis to kill Ellis and Renkin.”

  “Have you figured out exactly what Peters was blackmailing Renkin about?”

  “Neither party has been entirely forthcoming on that point, although that may change now that Peters is charged for murdering Stamey.”

  “That’s good motivation for disclosure.”

  “It is. But based on what you told us you overheard about a title dispute in a mineral rights case, I’ve done some digging and found a case Renkin presided over early in his time on the bench. It appears he helped an attorney cover up evidence that would have meant millions to a fa
mily that had an ownership interest. And you’ll never guess who that family is.”

  “Well, I know it’s not the Flints. But other than that, I have no clue.”

  “Martin Ochoa’s parents.”

  Patrick and Susanne shared a surprised look.

  Patrick said, “Mayor Ochoa?”

  “Yes. But keep that under your hat. The investigation is ongoing, and, if I’m right, the judge will be facing charges. For obstruction of justice, for starters, and for his misconduct toward the Ochoas.”

  “What will happen to the Ochoas?”

  Max sipped coffee then lifted a grin from his cup. “I plan to get them their money.”

  Susanne put a hand over her chest. “Oh, Max, that would be so wonderful. They certainly need it.”

  “It would be great. The hardest thing we have to prove, really, is what Stamey did.”

  Patrick said, “And Stamey’s dead.”

  “As a doornail. But one of his drinking buddies came in and told us all about Stamey’s relationship with Donna Lewis. He backed up what Lamkin told you, Susanne, only with more detail, like how Stamey was hired on Kemecke’s behalf to shoot Judge Ellis up with phenobarbital and leave him in his garage with the car running.”

  Patrick whistled. “That drinking buddy is either really brave or really foolish to cross the Kemeckes. Are the tox results back?”

  “Yes. They confirm the phenobarbital.”

  “So, it definitely wasn’t suicide.”

  “It wasn’t. Which will make a big difference to Mrs. Ellis and the kids.”

  In more ways than one. “It’s still tragic, but that’s good news.”

  “The drinking buddy also credited Stamey for the attack on Judge Renkin and you in the hospital parking lot. Apparently, Kemecke and Donna thought they could delay the trial indefinitely and arrange for him to make another escape.”

  “Stamey was a busy man.”

  “Hopefully this drinking buddy witness will be enough to tie Stamey to Kemecke and Donna directly. Because with Stamey gone, we have no confidence that Kemecke or Donna will confess. And anything Lamkin has to say is just hearsay.”

  Susanne started another pot of coffee. “Trish told us something that makes me think Donna’s nephew Ben could do that.”

  “Oh?”

  “Apparently Donna tried to recruit Ben to help Stamey kill the judge. And since Donna kicked Ben out, I don’t think he’ll have reservations about testifying against her and his uncle.”

  Max pumped his first. “Yes! How did I not know this? Thank you. Do you know how I can get hold of the kid?”

  Susanne nodded. “Henry and Vangie Sibley. He’s living with them, working as a hand on their ranch, and restarting school in Buffalo.”

  It was a deal Trish had brokered. Patrick and Susanne had serious reservations about the budding friendship between Trish and Ben, but they couldn’t fault her good intentions. Henry and Vangie seemed thrilled about the arrangement. Everyone had their fingers crossed it would work out.

  Max pulled a pocket-sized flip pad with a clip pen from his shirt pocket and made a note. “Unfortunately for your family, even if Kemecke pleads, there may still be more testimony in your future.”

  Patrick rubbed his forehead. “Barb Lamkin.”

  “Yes. We’ll get her charged as soon as she’s released from the hospital in Billings and sent back down here to us. I hear that may be awhile. Something about a messy hatchet job.”

  Patrick groaned. He might never live that one down. He’d done the best he could under the circumstances, but it had been ugly. If he never had to do another field amputation again, it would be too soon. In fact, he wouldn’t be jumping to the front of the line if the opportunity to do one in a controlled clinical environment came up either.

  “Did Barb lose the baby?” Susanne asked.

  “No. She didn’t.”

  Susanne’s expression was sorrowful. She put her head on Patrick’s shoulder. They’d talked about the fate of the baby until late the previous night. “She’ll have a child while she’s in jail. What will happen to the baby?”

  “Assuming Lamkin’s convicted of first-degree murder and the other lesser crimes she committed against you guys, and unless Judge Renkin wants custody, the baby will go into foster care. Possibly adoption.”

  Patrick didn’t have high hopes that Renkin would step up. Or if he could. He might be incarcerated, too. “Well, let me know what we can do to help. On any of this.”

  “Just keep your family safe. It appears our justice system depends on you.”

  Patrick chuckled. Max bade him and Susanne goodbye, then departed. When Patrick had shut the door behind him, he turned to his wife.

  “Wow,” Susanne said.

  “Wow,” he agreed.

  “It’s been quite a week.” She set her freshly filled coffee mug down on an end table by the couch, then slipped into his arms. Dollars to doughnuts she’d forget it was there and fill three more cups before the day was done. He’d find this one a week later with an eighth inch of mold scum on the surface of the liquid. The thought made him want to kiss her. “I feel so dumb for having trusted Barb Lamkin,” she said.

  “Don’t beat yourself up. No one suspected her.”

  “But I made friends with a woman who tried to kill us.”

  Patrick thought of Tara Coker. “And another who was sleeping with your daughter’s boyfriend.”

  Susanne half-groaned, half-laughed. “From here on out, you and the Sibleys are all the social life I need.” She tilted her head back without letting go of him. “Speaking of social life, whatever are we going to do with our whole day off together, Dr. Flint?”

  He grinned down at her. “Oh, I think we can come up with something.”

  She rubbed her cheek against his beard. “I already have.” She pulled a razor from one pocket of her robe and shaving cream from the other. “Time to lop off your face fur, mountain man.” She slipped a finger between the buttons of his shirt and tugged him gently down the hall.

  Walking behind her with small steps, he appreciated the sway of her hips below the waist that was as tiny as when he’d first fallen in love with it as a teenager. He put a hand on either side. “Sounds dangerous.”

  “We’ve had enough danger to last us a lifetime. This will just be a peaceful, boring shave.”

  “But you could slip and cut my neck. Or it might rob me of my strength. Like Samson.”

  “Samson had long hair. This is just one patchy beard, Patrick. You’ll hardly notice it’s gone.”

  Ouch. “What will my reward be for submitting to this torture?”

  She threw him a wink over her shoulder with the eye that still sported the shiner. “Oh, I think we can come up with something.”

  The phone rang. He’d never realized how busy the house was during the day. Bad timing, from his point of view. He didn’t want to answer it, but he was conditioned to always be available, just in case. Susanne had her hands full of torture implements, so he hustled into their bedroom and picked up on the bedside table phone. Their room in their Texas house had been lavender and white—her preferences. Their old house in Wyoming had been western—his. Susanne had transformed this new bedroom into something he thought of more as “mountain,” with pine furniture and bedding in forest green and brown. Theirs.

  “Hello?” he said.

  Henry’s voice was droll in his ear. “You picked a nice day to play hooky, my friend.”

  “Why’s that?”

  “Vangie and I are at the hospital. She tried to wait for you, but she couldn’t. Dr. John delivered our son.”

  Patrick laughed. “Good job, Sibley. Congratulations.”

  “You and Susanne need to come meet Hank.”

  “We’ll see you in a few minutes, then.” He put the receiver back on the hook.

  Susanne walked in, waving the razor and shaving cream. “What was that about?”

  He grinned at her. “I’m delighted to inform you that my shave is goi
ng to have to wait a little while longer.”

  ***

  Next up: There’s more Patrick Flint and family coming in Scape Goat, due out Fall 2020.

  Or you can continue adventuring in the What Doesn’t Kill You mystery world:

  Want to stay in Wyoming? Rock on with Maggie in Live Wire on Amazon (free in Kindle Unlimited) at https://www.amazon.com/gp/product/B07L5RYGHZ/.

  Prefer the beginning of it all? Start with Katie in Saving Grace on Amazon (free to Kindle Unlimited subscribers), here: https://www.amazon.com/gp/product/B009FZPMFO.

  Or get the complete WDKY series here: https://www.amazon.com/gp/product/B07QQVNSPN.

  ***

  And don’t forget to snag the free What Doesn't Kill You ebook starter library by joining Pamela’s mailing list at https://www.subscribepage.com/PFHSuperstars.

  To my dear, darling, baby brother, Perry, er, I mean Colonel Fagan, who has always been heroic.

  And, as always, to my own knight in shining armor, Eric.

  Other Books by the Author

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  Finding Harmony (Katie #3)

  Heaven to Betsy (Emily #1)

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  Hell to Pay (Emily #3)

  Going for Kona (Michele #1)

  Fighting for Anna (Michele #2)

  Searching for Dime Box (Michele #3)

  Buckle Bunny (Maggie Prequel Novella)

  Shock Jock (Maggie Prequel Short Story)

  Live Wire (Maggie #1)

  Sick Puppy (Maggie #2)

  Dead Pile (Maggie #3)

  The Essential Guide to the What Doesn’t Kill You Series

  The Ava Butler Trilogy: A Sexy Spin-off From What Doesn’t Kill You

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