Different Paths

by Judy Clemens

  “What about fingerprints on the car?”

  “They wipe all the obvious places. Steering wheel. Door handle. But they forget a couple of prime areas, where we almost always hit pay dirt. The rear view mirror and the visor. They don’t think about it, that they touched those spots, and we’ll snag ’em.”

  “They really are dumb.”

  “Well, they’re criminals, after all. Not the smartest occupation to enter, no matter what the movies like to show.” He flipped his pencil onto the desk. “Our crime scene guy is over at Jerry’s now, checking out the truck. I was just about ready to head over.”

  Cool. “Can I come?”

  “Why not?” He gestured at my helmet. “You want to ride with me or take your bike?”

  “You driving a cop car?”

  “Sorry. Not today. No flashing lights for driving around town.”

  “Darn. Guess I’ll follow you on the bike.”

  “Your choice.”

  He grabbed his keys off of his file cabinet and stood up, moving toward the door.

  “Willard.”

  He stopped.

  “Did you hear about the police department that was burglarized and all its toilets were stolen?”

  He blinked slowly. “No.”

  “It was a shame. They couldn’t figure out who did it because they had nothing to go on.”

  He kept looking at me, blinking.

  “Sorry. Zach Granger’s fault.”

  “And you had to repeat it?”

  I shrugged. “It seemed right at the time.”

  He walked out of the office and I stood up to follow.

  Spoil sport.

  ***

  The ride to Jerry’s Auto Body was a short one, and I drove after Willard through the gate into the tow yard. He waited for me as I parked the bike and set my helmet on the ground, then led me toward the far side of the fenced-in area. I stopped suddenly when I recognized the officer who was processing the scene, and grabbed at Willard’s elbow.

  “Is that Officer Meadows?”

  He grinned. “It is. Want to tell him your joke?”

  “No. But I’d like to stick his head in one of those toilets.”

  “My, my. You are regressing today, aren’t you?”

  An image of Miranda flashed through my mind and I felt myself redden. “Sorry. But what is he doing with an important job like this?”

  Willard pulled his elbow from my grasp. “I know you’ve had your run-ins with Officer Meadows, but he’s grown up in the last year.”

  I lifted an eyebrow.

  “Really, he has.”

  I wasn’t going to believe that without seeing it. When my farm had been sabotaged the past summer Meadows had been the first to respond. The first to respond but the last to actually believe anything had really happened. He was rude, nasty, and unprofessional. And that was just to start with.

  Willard resumed walking toward Carla’s truck, and I followed grumpily. My thoughts of Meadows were soon tempered by the sight of my friend’s beloved Ford. The Port-a-Vet had been ripped open, with everything in it either gone or damaged. The tires were slashed, and the paint on the side had been keyed, or some such thing. The hood was smashed and crumpled, like the way Volvo advertises the “accordion” look.

  I studied the car. “The guy didn’t run into any other vehicles?”

  “Not that’s been reported. We’re thinking it was probably a building or some other stationary object he hit, and after he abandoned it someone else came along to finish the job. We haven’t been able to figure it all out yet.”

  We reached the truck and Officer Meadows pulled his head out of the car’s interior. He stopped short at the sight of me. “This isn’t her truck?”

  Willard shook his head.

  “Then what’s she doing here?”

  “Officer. What have you found?”

  “But she—”

  “Meadows.”

  The dipwad got control of himself and turned so he was addressing only Willard. “There’s no trash. No food wrappers, receipts, tissues, nothing. And the steering wheel and door handle have been wiped clean. From everything I can find on the truck bed he must’ve been wearing gloves when he trashed it. Probably a pair of the victim’s latex ones, from the box in the back. But…” He straightened, his eyes sparkling. “We got a hit on the rear view mirror. Several clear, whole prints. He mustn’t have put the gloves on until he was ready to trash the vehicle.”

  “You’re sure they’re not Dr. Beaumont’s?”

  “Well, I can’t be sure, of course, until I run them through the computer, but there are a lot there. I’m making cards of them now.”

  “Great.” Willard turned to me. “Told you those rear view mirrors come in handy.”

  I waved a hand toward the ruined Port-a-Vet. “What about all her stuff? Aren’t there drugs or scalpels or something to be concerned about?”

  Willard’s face went serious. “Just one narcotic that I’m aware of. I asked her about medications and she said she was carrying some Ketamine in the back because she always takes some during on-call days, in case she needs to work on a horse.”

  “What’s Ketamine?”

  “An anesthetic. But it’s also used as a date rape drug they call Special K.”

  “So what do you do?”

  “Follow it up. Check out the drug angle however we can. When we put out the alert on the truck yesterday we attached a special note about the Ketamine. Most likely it was just a coincidence that the drug was on board, but you never know. Only a few people were aware she’d been called out to a horse farm, but some criminals probably think vets always carry narcotics. Remember, they’re dumb, so they wouldn’t exactly do research.”

  “You think you’ll get him from the fingerprints?”

  “We might, assuming the prints aren’t all Dr. Beaumont’s. But we’re also looking for witnesses, getting descriptions of anyone seen in the parking lot or driving a truck like this. It’s an unusual vehicle, so people have a better chance of remembering it.”

  Meadows pointed his chin at me. “We’ll get him.”

  “Good.” I could’ve pointed my chin back at him, but that would’ve been childish. I looked at Willard. “Any chance I could take Carla’s personal things along?”

  Meadows crossed his arms over his chest. “No.”

  “I wasn’t talking to you.” Dumbass.

  “But I can answer the question.”

  Willard glared at his subordinate and turned to me. “After Officer Meadows is done processing the vehicle he’ll bag up anything that can come with him and isn’t needed for evidence. Dr. Beaumont will get it all back.”

  I looked steadily at Meadows. “Everything.”

  He didn’t respond.

  Willard sighed. Loudly. “Anything else I need to know, Officer?”

  Meadows angled his pointed chin toward the detective. “Not yet.”

  “Okay, then. I guess we’ll be going.”

  I stepped back, ready to get away from Mister Annoying.

  “Unless,” Willard said, “Ms. Crown wants to tell you a joke.”

  If he hadn’t been a policeman, I’d have slugged him.

  Chapter Seven

  Nick’s phone rang only once before it was picked up. But it wasn’t Nick’s voice I heard. I suppressed a groan. “Miranda?”

  A quick breath. “Oh, it’s you.”

  “Where’s Nick?”

  “Out.”

  “Out where?”

  “Look, what do you want?”

  I stifled a swear word. “What do you think I want? I want to talk to Nick.”

  “Well, you can’t. He’s not here.”

  I didn’t feel guilty any longer about wanting to smack her on the head. “When’s he getting home?”

  “Don’t know. He’s pretty busy today.”

  “Okay. Fine. Will you at least leave him a message to call me?”


  “I’ll leave a message.”

  Spoken like I’d asked for the world.

  “Thank you,” I said. “So much.” I don’t think I was successful keeping the sarcasm out of my voice. I slammed down my phone.

  “Who was that?”

  I looked up and leaned back in my office chair to stretch, my feet still resting on the desk. I was pooped from an afternoon of chores: finishing up the water cups, checking fences, cleaning the heifer barn… I’d checked on Wendy several times, but she still hadn’t produced much more than that cud she kept recycling.

  “It was Nick’s annoying sister.”

  Lucy grinned. “The younger one. Miranda.”

  “Yeah. The older one’s fine.”

  “Liz, right?”

  I grunted a yes. I didn’t want to talk about Nick’s sisters, who knew his schedule better than I did. Knew what he was busy doing, and would be seeing him yet that day.

  I pulled my feet off my desk. “Lucy?”

  She was flipping through folders in the filing cabinet, pausing now and then to check a tab before moving on. “Yeah?”

  “How long do you think you’re going to work for me?”

  She looked up, her fingers stuck in the drawer, holding her spot. “What?”

  “You think you’ll want to work for me for a while?”

  She frowned. “Well, sure. Why would I stop?”

  I looked down at my desk, then back at her. “Just wondering.”

  “Stella—”

  “Never mind. I’m just…trying to plan.”

  She pulled her hand out of the drawer and turned toward me, crossing her arms over her chest. “Stella, what’s going on?”

  “Nothing.”

  “But—”

  “You heading out for supper soon?”

  She stood there, eyes narrowed.

  I stared back.

  She finally gave a little shake of her head. “I thought I would go home for supper, since you’re taken care of for food.”

  “You can always go home, even if I’m not having supper made for me.”

  She breathed a laugh through her nose. “Like I’m going to leave you to your toast and apple butter every night.”

  “Apple butter? Who gets that gourmet?”

  Now she laughed out loud. “Have fun at Ma’s. I’ll be back to do the milking, as usual.”

  “Zach still here?”

  “Nope. He just took off with Randy to go check on Randy’s calf. Zach’s supposed to be at Ma’s house for supper, too, so you’ll see him there.”

  “Randy can drive?”

  “Got his license two days ago.”

  I shivered at the thought of Zach in a car with a sixteen-year-old driver, even if that driver was Zach’s responsible and good-natured friend Randy. They attended 4-H meetings together and Randy had bought one of my calves that winter to be his project. He and Zach made a good team. But that didn’t mean I was comfortable with my “nephew” in the hands of a teen-age driver. And a boy driver at that.

  “What’s he driving? Don’t tell me some suped-up Trans Am or something.”

  Lucy smiled. “Nope. An old Caddy. One of those huge ones. If he gets in a wreck it’ll be the other car that suffers.”

  “Unless it’s an SUV.”

  She sobered. “We’ll just keep our thoughts positive, won’t we? And pray for safety on the roads.”

  “I’ll leave that up to you. You’re better at it.”

  “Praying or positive thinking?”

  “Both.”

  She sighed. “Oh, Stella. I wish you’d—”

  “What?”

  “Nothing. Never mind. Don’t know if I’ll see you tonight or not. Depends how late you’re out partying with the Grangers.”

  “I’m gonna eat and run.”

  “Really?”

  “That’s my plan.”

  “Yeah?” Lucy smiled. “Well, good luck with that.”

  ***

  I set my helmet on the ground by my bike because there was no point in taking it into Ma’s house. She knew I always wore it, and nobody else would dare say anything. Besides, no one would swipe it from under my bike in her neighborhood.

  The small front porch was crammed with people, and I took a deep breath before heading up the sidewalk. I responded to the greetings as nicely as I could, but was glad to escape the crush, especially since there were several faces I didn’t recognize. I let myself in the front door as quickly as I could, only to find more people in the living room. I waved at Jethro and Belle, Zach’s parents, but continued past them. Ma was in the kitchen, taking the Saran wrap off the top of some almond spinach salad, and I leaned against the counter as she crumpled up the plastic and threw it away.

  Mallory, Zach’s older sister, sat at the table with her boyfriend, Brady Willard, Detective Willard’s son, who had met the Grangers—and therefore Mallory—through trouble at my farm. Now they were scooping homemade strawberry jam into a couple of cut-glass bowls, trying to keep the sticky mess from getting on their fingers.

  Ma glanced up at me, then at her watch. “Glad you could make it.”

  “I’m not late.”

  “Didn’t say you were. But come on now, it’s time to eat.”

  Mallory and Brady led the way with the jam while I followed Ma into the dining room and listened as she called the rest of the folks to the table. Two couples I didn’t know—who’d been on the front porch—filed into the room, and Ma grabbed my arm and dragged me toward them.

  “Katherine and Alan Hershberger,” she said. “This is Stella Crown, my all-but-formally-adopted daughter.”

  “Pleased to meet you.” The man, Alan, held out a hand, and I shook it.

  “So you’re here to take over one of the churches, huh?” I said. “Kulpsville, is it?”

  He smiled crookedly and looked at his wife, dropping my hand.

  Katherine laughed. “Actually, I’m the one stepping into the pulpit. But don’t worry, you’re not the first to make that mistake.”

  Whoops. “Sorry. I shouldn’t have assumed…”

  She glanced at Alan and slid a hand around his elbow. “Really, it’s all right. It’s perfectly natural for you to expect a male minister. My feelings don’t get hurt that easily. Oh.” She gestured to the couple beside her. “This is my sister, Tricia, and her husband, David Stoltzfus.”

  David grinned and nodded. Tricia gave me a tight-lipped smile and stood close to David, her arms flat against her sides. Looked like she enjoyed large get-togethers about as much as I did. She was a tallish woman, her head about even with mine, but standing next to her husband she looked small. David was huge. Not a lot of height, but built like a brick chicken house, as my high school phys ed teacher would’ve said.

  Beside Tricia stood a young woman who was practically a carbon copy of her. Although this copy was young, fresh, and holding out her hand. “I’m Sarah. Their daughter.” She tilted her head toward Tricia and the Schwarzenegger look-alike while she gripped my hand so hard I winced.

  Katherine looked around the room. “Our son, Trevor, is here somewhere…”

  Ma clapped her hands. “Have a seat, everyone. Wherever you fit is fine. No need to be formal.”

  I found a chair next to Zach and he smirked at me from under his bangs. “Smooth move with the lady pastor.”

  “Oh, shut up.”

  Randy, who was a member of Katherine’s new church, had followed Zach to supper, and sat on Zach’s other side. He grinned, too, and I gave him a glare for good measure.

  Ma stood at the head of the table. “Katherine has agreed to offer the blessing, so if you’ll take the hands of the people next to you…”

  Zach offered his hand on my left and Katherine’s sister, Tricia, who had slid into the chair next to me, took my right.

  When everyone had settled in Katherine smiled. “Let’s pray together.” She closed her eyes and began speakin
g. “Our loving God, we gather together today as old friends and new, looking forward to a renewal of relationship and the celebration of relationship to come. We thank you for the people gathered around this table and for the food we are about to eat. Please bless it to our bodies and bless the hands that prepared it. Bless also our conversation and our fellowship so that it may all be pleasing in your sight. In the name of our risen Lord, Amen.”

  Murmurs of “Amen” echoed around the table, and I dropped my neighbors’ hands. The prayer had been a good one, but what had interested me even more was the fact that neither Alan nor the Hershbergers’ son, Trevor—who had showed up to the table just in time—had closed their eyes during the prayer, instead choosing to stare either at the tablecloth or the ceiling. I wondered if Katherine was aware of this, or if it was just a one-time thing. It would be kind of embarrassing, I thought, for a minister’s family not to pay proper respect during a prayer.

  But then, I wasn’t about to tell her. Besides it being none of my business, the fact that I saw them with their eyes open meant mine hadn’t been shut, either.

  “So where is Tori these days?” Jethro boomed out. “Some fancy new job?”

  Alan shook his head. “Actually, she’s on a mission trip to Honduras. She graduated this spring with a B.A. in International Relations and headed right down south to put that diploma to work.”

  “Good for her,” Ma said. “She’ll do a bang-up job.”

  “You know her well, then,” the brother-in-law, David, said, smiling.

  Ma shook her head. “Not well. I’ve met her a time or two. But I know her mother here, and if Tori’s anything like Katherine was at that age, she’ll be setting the world on fire before we know it.”

  Alan laughed. “You’ve got that right. Like mother, like daughter.”

  “Sarah decided to step out on her own, too.” David put his arm around the back of his daughter’s chair. “Was accepted into Temple Law School last week. Tricia and I are proud as peacocks.” He looked toward his wife, his face alight with excitement.

  Tricia, beside me, scraped her food around on her plate with her fork before offering another tight smile. I guessed she was following through with the whole peacock idea, letting her husband strut his stuff.