The Last MacKlenna

by Katherine Lowry Logan

  “In here.”

  Cate stood at the bathroom door. “Good God, you look horrible.”

  Meredith tightened her ponytail and smoothed down her shirt. “I feel horrible, too. I can’t keep anything down, and all I want to do is sleep or throw up. I haven’t been out to run in almost a week, and my muscles are screaming.”

  “You need to go to the doctor. I’ll make an appointment. Go home. You’ve probably got the flu.”

  Meredith held the cold washcloth against her forehead. “I’ve got too much work to do.”

  “Go home,” Cate said. “If you have the flu, you’ll just make the rest of us sick, too.”

  Begrudgingly, Meredith agreed, but before she could get out of the bathroom, she threw up again.

  Chapter Sixty

  Napa Valley – January 27

  AT TWO O’CLOCK, Meredith sat in the examining room at her Internist’s office, waiting. He had examined her and done blood work. An hour wait for the results had turned into two. She didn’t mind. She had her iPad and was able to work. It didn’t matter whether she threw up at home or at the doctor’s office.

  Kevin sent her a text: Can you talk?

  She texted back: Sure. A minute later, her phone rang.

  “Hey. Ted and I are making flight arrangements. Should we fly into San Francisco and rent a car or fly to Napa?”

  “I’ll send a car to San Francisco to pick you up. When do you arrive?”

  “The day before, but don’t worry about us. We’ll rent a car.”

  “Check with the Mannings. Maybe you can share a ride.”

  “I’ll do that.”

  Meredith scrolled through the pictures on her iPad until she found one of her and Elliott on Christmas Eve. The memories brought tears to her eyes. She cleared her throat. “Send me your itinerary, so I’ll know when to expect you.”

  Neither one said anything for a second or two. The silence provided a painful reminder that they had agreed not to talk about Elliott. Her heart bounced up and down, begging for information, but she put on the skids and didn’t’ ask.

  “Nothing new on the investigation,” Kevin said, breaking the silence. “And Elliott’s temper—”

  “Kevin, we agreed . . .”

  “It was a stupid agreement. He’s all but crying for information. He’s in the worst shape I’ve ever seen.”

  Meredith hissed at the news.

  “Don’t get me wrong. Lyles is pleased with his progress, but Elliott’s in a foul mood and even a parade of women stopping by to visit hasn’t improved his temper. He’s not sleeping—”

  “Kevin, I don’t care.”

  “He’s not sleeping with any of them, Meredith, because you’re in his head.”

  “How’s the investigation going?” His women didn’t interest her. Well, she was glad to hear he wasn’t sleeping with anyone, but she didn’t care. His bed would never see her again, although she rarely thought of anything else.

  “He’s not drinking.”

  “How’s Stormy? You said he was back at the farm.”

  “He’s not taking pain medication either,” Kevin said.

  “Stormy?”

  “No, Elliott.”

  “Have you talked to Evelyn? She said she was coming to the launch, but I haven’t heard from her,” Meredith said.

  “His leg is finally healing.”

  “Kevin.”

  “Crap. I’ve got to go,” he said. “Elliott’s yelling for me.”

  The doctor opened the door and entered. She put her phone away. He gave her a fatherly pat on the back. His eyes narrowed, and his brows pulled down in concentration.

  Meredith’s heart leaped into her throat. “What’s the matter?”

  He sat, leaned forward, and crossed his arms in his lap. “When was the last time you had sex?”

  A heated blush colored her face and neck. Oh my god, I’ve got an STD. That bastard. I’ll shoot him. “Why?” she asked with a dry mouth.

  “Within the last month?”

  Oh God. I probably caught herpes. “About three weeks ago.”

  He patted her knee. “You’ve been a patient for over twenty years, Meredith. I didn’t think we’d ever have this conversation.”

  Her heart was beating at racing speed, and her hands turned clammy. I probably have gonorrhea. What the hell is that anyway? Shooting’s too good for him. I’ll cut his balls off.

  “I’ve been on a conference call with your oncologist, surgeon, and OB/GYN, who scheduled an appointment to see you immediately.”

  “Can’t you put me on penicillin?”

  He chuckled. “Penicillin won’t help you.”

  Good God, she probably had every STD out there. Why didn’t she insist he use a condom?

  “Then what will?”

  “Nine months.”

  “What?”

  “You’re pregnant.”

  Every nerve ending fired. Her head swam, and she fainted.

  When Meredith regained consciousness, she was lying on the exam table. She batted her eyes to focus. When the doctor’s face came into view, so did the instant replay. Pregnant. “Impossible. I can’t get pregnant.”

  “Not only can you, but you are.”

  Her entire body shook. She curled into a protective ball. Tears formed tracks on her cheeks. “I have breast cancer.”

  He pulled a chair up next to the table. “There are chemo drugs that don’t pass through the placenta. Your oncologist suggested you could have chemo now and postpone surgery.”

  If she thought her head was spinning before, it was nothing like what it was doing now. She covered her mouth, gagging. The doctor grabbed the trashcan, but Meredith had nothing left in her stomach.

  “There’s no way,” she said, wiping her mouth with a Kleenex, “that I’ll put poison in my body and trust that my baby won’t be exposed to the drug. I’ll deal with the cancer after he’s born.” The spinning finally stopped. She sat, slowly, inch by inch, testing her stomach and her head.

  “The other option is doing the mastectomy without reconstruction,” the doctor said.

  She crossed her arms and hugged them to her chest. “I had Versed and Fentenyl for the lumpectomy, but I’d have to have a general anesthetic for a mastectomy. I was told I had a reaction to the anesthetic during my last one. No. Surgery isn’t an option either.”

  “Your blood pressure dropped, but that doesn’t mean it will happen again.”

  “But if it did, the baby would suffer.” She shook her head. “No.”

  He stood, took her hand, and helped her off the table. “Nothing has to be decided right now. Go home. Get some rest. My secretary will schedule appointments for you. Talk to the baby’s father—”

  “No,” she said more adamantly than she intended. Her cheeks heated. “He won’t be involved in the pregnancy or in the decision-making.”

  The doctor scratched his chin, thinking. “You have breast cancer. Chances are good that you’ll beat it. But what if it’s worse than we anticipate? Do you want to leave your child without a mother or a father?”

  She punched the big, burly doctor in the arm. “You don’t fight fair.”

  “Not in this situation, little lady.”

  “You haven’t called me that since I was a teenager.”

  “Meredith,” he looked at her over the top of his glasses. “You may not like this guy, but he is the father of the baby you’re carrying, and he needs to know.”

  “You’re wrong. Finding out he’s going to be a father is the worst thing that could happen right now. I won’t involve him.”

  “Think about your baby.”

  “I am,” she said.

  “Then think some more.”

  Chapter Sixty-One

  MacKlenna Farm – January 31

  ELLIOTT WAS SITTING at the table chewing on a drumstick when David entered MacKlenna Mansion’s kitchen.

  “Do I smell Mrs. Collins fried chicken?”

  “Yep. Fix a plate. There won’t be any
thing left after Kevin eats. There’s mashed potatoes, gravy, and biscuits, too.”

  “I didn’t think this kind of food was on your new health food diet.”

  Elliott wiped his greasy fingers on a napkin. “She insisted I needed comfort food.”

  “If anybody needs comfort, you do.”

  Elliott pushed back from the table. “What’d you find at the library?”

  David loaded a plate before pouring a glass of tea. “A librarian identified Gates. Said he came in two to three times a week. He’d pull books from the stacks but never checked any out. He did use the computer though and always had a jump drive with him.”

  “I guess the police didn’t find a jump drive in the house.”

  “Nope,” David said, sitting down at the table.

  “So what happened to it?”

  David took a long sip of tea. “Guess it’s with the phone.” He bit into a piece of chicken and sighed. “The best there is.”

  Elliott refilled his coffee from a carafe. “What about the books?”

  “That’s the interesting part. Thoroughbreds and veterinary medicine.”

  Elliott slapped his fist on the table. “I knew it.”

  “Here’s something else,” David said. “Chuck’s been snooping around the town in Indiana where the Gates brothers grew up. Seems the younger Gates was a vet’s assistant when he was in high school. The vet said he had a special affinity with horses. Always gentle with them and that he considered going to vet school.”

  “How the hell does someone go from loving horses to hating them enough to kill them?”

  “What makes you think he hated them?” David asked.

  Elliott leaned back in his chair, sipping coffee. “Have to. Can’t right out kill one unless you do.”

  “If there’s a story there, Chuck will find it.”

  “What else you got?”

  David grew pensive. “Did you know Harrison had a gambling problem?”

  Elliott’s chair legs hit the floor, and coffee sloshed onto his pants. “Damn.” He wiped the spill with the greasy cloth napkin, making it worse. He tossed the napkin onto the table. “Had? Like years ago? Two years? Yesterday? What?”

  David did a quick visual check of the room. “Is there anyone else in the house?”

  “Kevin—” Elliott glanced up, paying special attention to the corners, crevices, and air vents, “—and whoever else is keeping watch over the flock.”

  “I don’t care about the ‘see-through’ people.”

  Elliott dry-washed his hands. “Well, you should.”

  David gave him a thoughtful glance for a moment, then rolled his shoulders as if checking the weight of the holster. “I found a note buried in Sean’s journal. Almost missed it.” He flipped through his notebook. “Here it is: ‘Talked to Harrison about his gambling. Loaned him twenty thousand dollars to cover losses. He agreed to get counseling.’”

  Elliott’s eyes widened, his jaw dropped. He made a circle in the air with his finger, indicating he wanted a replay.

  “Harrison had a gambling problem.”

  “Had?” Elliott asked.

  “There’s no indication that it’s still a problem or was at the time of Sean’s death,” David said.

  “The way Harrison’s been acting, I’d bet he’s gambling again. What was he doing? Cards? Sports?”

  “The track.”

  Elliott covered his face with his hands. “Ah, Jesus. Why didn’t I know? You can’t keep something like that quiet.”

  “Obviously, he did. He had someone place all of his bets.”

  Shaking his head, Elliott said, “Sean never said a word. How long ago are we talking about?”

  David put his hand on Elliott’s shoulder and pressed hard.

  Elliott face went slack, waiting.

  “A month before the incident in the barn,” David said.

  Elliott pushed against David’s restraining hand, but he applied more pressure to the shoulder. “You’re not going anywhere. So calm down.”

  “If he’s connected in any way, I swear I’ll kill him,” Elliott said.

  David released Elliott’s shoulder. “You’re not going to kill anybody. You won’t even step on a bug.”

  “Fifty thousand dollars is still missing. That would go a long way in repaying gambling debts.”

  “Harrison wouldn’t need fifty thousand if Sean loaned him money to pay off his debts.”

  Elliott needed a drink to swallow this development. “Pour me a whiskey.”

  David looked at him squint-eyed. “You falling off the wagon?”

  “I wasn’t on the wagon.”

  “You need to be.”

  “Stop lecturing and get me a drink.”

  David took his empty plate to the sink. “You know where the whiskey is. You want it, you get it.”

  Since New Year’s, everybody had developed an attitude. He didn’t like it and felt eerily alone, but if either David or Kevin quit, he’d probably start biting his nails or, worse, biting heads.

  “By the way,” David said, “I’ve hired a bodyguard. He’s a retired Fayette County policeman and comes highly recommended. He’s moving into the house tonight.”

  “I don’t need—”

  The doorbell rang. David looked at the clock over the sink. “He’s early. And you do need a bodyguard when I’m not here. Until you’re mobile and until the killer is caught, you’re in possible danger.”

  David went to answer the door, leaving Elliott staring at the greasy spot on his trousers. Kit would laugh. Hell, Meredith would roll on the floor. He scrolled through the pictures on his phone until he found the one Louise took of him and Meredith under the mistletoe at the restaurant on Christmas Eve. God, she’s beautiful. It had been a month since he’d seen her, and not an hour went by that he didn’t ache for her.

  “Elliott.”

  His head snapped in the direction of her voice. “Meredith.” He tried to stand.

  “Don’t get up.”

  Relief, unlike anything he’d ever experienced, washed over him. He had a second chance, and he wouldn’t blow it. He refused to let another strong woman walk out of his life. This wasn’t about flowers or romance. This was about giving part of himself. Whatever she wanted, he would give. More time. More attention. More love. He would put her first. Not in a corner, but in the center.

  “I need to talk to you,” she said.

  He ached to touch her, but he didn’t reach out. “I didn’t think you’d ever come back.”

  “I didn’t intend to, but . . .” She sat and crossed her hands under her breasts. “I have something to tell you, then I’m leaving, and I won’t see you again.”

  He sat straight in his chair and placed his shaking hands on the table. “Then don’t tell me.” He wanted to kiss her, feel her skin against his face. But he remained still, afraid he’d do something that she didn’t like and she’d fly off in her airplane. He couldn’t let her do that. Not yet. Not until she understood how he felt about her.

  “I lied to you,” she said.

  He closed his eyes and swallowed hard. She’s married. He opened them and gazed at her. Her face appeared white and drawn, her eyes red, and even now they held tears. He sighed heavily. “You’re married.”

  She laughed. “I wish it was that easy.”

  God, he needed a drink. “If you’re not married, I can take anything. What is it?”

  “I . . . I—”

  “Say it,” he said.

  “Have cancer.”

  Fireworks exploded from every nerve ending. His skin sizzled, both inside and out. Granny Mac died. Lou survived. He was batting five hundred. The way his life was going at the moment . . . Well, he couldn’t think of that now. Surely, the fates wouldn’t send him a perfect woman only to take her away.

  “It’s an invasive lobular carcinoma,” she continued. “They removed the lump, but the margins weren’t clear. The good news is that it hasn’t spread to the lymph nodes.”

  �
�The band aid you had on your breast. It wasn’t a mole, was it? That was from the lumpectomy? Why didn’t you tell me?” His heart was racing now. He grabbed the napkin off the table and wiped his eyes.

  “You didn’t need to know.”

  “Why the hell not?”

  She stood and paced the room, back and forth.

  “Meredith, stop.”

  She did instantly, like a motorized toy with a dead battery.

  “There’s more, isn’t there? What aren’t you telling me?” Desperation sounded in his voice. Her hands gripped the back of the chair. Small bluish-purple veins popped out. She studied him with her huge baby-blues, a touch of tears shimmering in them. He clutched his gut, convinced there was a knife cutting him to shreds again. “For God’s sake, tell me.”

  “I’m pregnant.”

  Chapter Sixty-Two

  ELLIOTT’S NEXT BREATH caught in his throat and hung there. He went completely numb. Time stopped. Leg pain stopped. Everything stopped. Since his first sexual encounter when he had been a lad of sixteen, he’d lived in fear of those words. His eyes drifted from her face to her belly. “Pregnant?” The words came out in a coarse whisper.

  “I don’t expect you to be involved unless . . .”

  “Unless? My God, there is no unless. You’re carrying my child, and I couldn’t be happier.” He felt a sudden chill as she recoiled. Her shoulders slumped, and her chest heaved with each breath.

  “A baby doesn’t fit with your lifestyle—”

  “Who do you think I am? Whoever it is, you’ve got it all wrong.”

  “I don’t think so. You’ve spent your life hop-skipping from one woman to another.”

  A burst of wind blew through the bare branches of the dogwood tree in the center of the garden visible from the large kitchen window. Shadows danced against the wall. The parade of women in his life had been nothing more than shadows. He knew that. They had been sexual partners without emotional commitment. That’s what he had wanted. That’s what they had wanted, too. Wasn’t it? A knot formed in his throat, capturing his breath, holding it there. That’s how it had started with Meredith, too, but . . .

  “There have been women in my life who’ve meant a great deal to me,” he said.