by Judy Clemens
The women said good-bye to Lucy and I herded them outside, where they met up with the guys, who had somehow managed to survive the bobcat/silo tour.
“Sorry it got a little heated in there,” Katherine said as she opened the van door for Ma.
“Well, it was Lucy more than you. And I started it all by asking about your office.”
We stopped talking and stood back as a big milk truck pulled into the drive. I held up a hand to wave to Doug, but realized he wasn’t driving. And there was a tiny little passenger riding shotgun.
I got to the side door as a woman hopped down. “Patty?”
“In the flesh.”
“Then that must be Iris. Doug told me all about you two.” I waggled my fingers at the little girl strapped into a car seat. Her shock of black hair stuck straight up, and she blinked her dark eyes sleepily at my fingers. “Just wake up?”
“Hard not to sleep in this big old rumbly truck,” Patty said, laughing. “Soothing, kinda.”
“So where’s Doug?”
“New Jersey. Had to take his daughter to a softball tournament. I said I’d fill in. It’s been a while since I’ve been behind the wheel. Gets old sitting in the office day after day. For Iris, too.” She stretched out her hands over the truck seat. “Want to come out, honeypie?”
Iris jiggled in her seat, reaching toward her mother. Patty climbed back in and undid the car seat’s buckle, sliding the girl toward her. She backed down from the truck. “Hold her a minute?”
“Uh…”
I looked down at my crutches, and Patty giggled. “Whoops, sorry. What happened?”
“Cow.”
“Oh, sure. Stepped on you?” She held Iris out toward Sarah. “Want to hold her?”
Sarah wrinkled her nose.
“Here, I’ll take the baby.” Katherine came up and took Iris from Patty. “How long have you had her?”
“Almost two months now. Seems like much longer.” The look she gave the girl was warm with affection. She reached behind the seat and pulled out a backpack. “I’ll put her in here.”
Katherine set Iris in the contraption, and Patty squatted down to get the straps over her shoulders. “This way she can see what I’m doing, and I don’t have to worry about her getting, um…” She glanced at my foot. “Stepped on.”
“I’m too big to put in a backpack,” I said.
Patty laughed, and Iris gurgled something in reply.
“So.” Patty stood up and turned around. “You have some visitors today?”
I introduced her to the group, everyone taking their turn to shake her hand. Everyone but Trevor, that is, who merely gave a jerk of his head. Iris peered at them over the top of Patty’s head.
I gestured toward the truck. “You folks want to see what she does?”
They all agreed, except for Ma, who elected to sit in the minivan and wait. The rest followed behind as Patty cut the cable tie on the hose door and put the scrap of plastic in her pocket.
I grunted. “Doug always leaves those for me to pick up.”
“Yeah,” Patty said. “He would.”
We all squeezed into the milkhouse, where she proceeded to take her samples of milk in little tubes, explaining that they would be used to test milkfat, and also to check for antibiotics, should her tank end up showing contamination. The cable tie she cut off the hose door was a safety precaution, so she’d know her load hadn’t been messed with in-between trips.
Alan and Sarah asked a lot of questions and seemed to be taking in the whole experience, exclaiming over the work and the fact that Patty was driving a truck, as if they couldn’t quite believe she was allowed to do it. Katherine and Tricia spent more time doing baby talk with Iris, while David and Trevor stood in the corner with their hands in their pockets.
“Whoa! Full up in the milkhouse.” Lucy appeared in the doorway.
I introduced her to Patty, and while they started out talking about the milk load, it soon merged into the trials and joys of single motherhood, and the rest of us eased our way back outside.
“Thanks for taking the time to show us around,” Alan said. “And for loaning us Zach, and letting us see how your milk gets collected. We appreciate it. You women are all amazing. And the teen-agers, too, of couse.”
I laughed. “That we are. Come back when I’m out of this—” I tapped my cast with a crutch—“and I’ll give you a fuller tour. Amaze you some more.”
He smiled. “We just might take you up on that.”
Ma held out her arms and I leaned into the van the best I could, giving her a one-armed hug while trying to keep my crutches from going out from under me.
“Let me know if you need anything.” Her breath tickled my ear.
“I will.”
“Uh-huh. Like you let me know about your foot?”
I stepped back and tried to look contrite. It mustn’t have worked, because she was frowning as she eased back into the middle of the seat.
The rest of them followed, Alan and David shaking my hand, Katherine reaching for a hug, then appearing to think better of it and simply patting my arm, and Tricia giving a little wave from the other side of the van. Trevor got in without acknowledging me in any way.
Sarah held out her hand, and I braced myself for the grip of steel. “It’s so great that you run your own life. I mean, that’s so cool.”
“Yeah,” I said. “It is.”
Katherine stopped to pet Queenie good-bye, and that got her a friendly nose in the crotch, making her jump.
“Sorry,” I said.
She laughed. “No problem. But that’ll teach me to get too close.” She brushed off her pants and slid into the van, easing the door shut beside her.
They left in a cloud of dust, Alan waving out his window as they drove away. I eased myself onto the grass beside the house and lay flat on my back. My armpits ached, my foot throbbed, and my shoulders were on fire. What I wouldn’t have given for one of Nick’s massages.
“Stella?”
I looked up at Patty, Iris’ eyes peeking out from behind her shoulder. Sucking sounds came from the backpack, and I could see that most of Iris’ hand had disappeared into her mouth.
Patty waved toward the tanker. “I’m all set. Doug should be back next time.”
I pushed myself up onto my elbows. “Thanks. Appreciate your coming by. And it was nice to meet Iris.”
She looked back over her shoulder. “Say bye-bye to Stella, Iris.”
The sucking sounds continued, and the girl didn’t even blink.
“Bye-bye, Iris.” I tried out a smile, but got nothing in return. Patty laughed and swung the backpack to the ground in a fluid movement, finally getting the girl to pull the fingers from her mouth.
Once Iris was strapped into her car seat and the backpack was stowed away, Patty climbed into the driver’s side, slamming the door behind her. She put the truck in gear and roared out the lane, sending a cloud of dust over me. I lifted a hand in farewell as I coughed, then fell back onto the grass, my neck protesting the weird position I’d been in.
I’d just begun to relax when yet another vehicle drove up, cracking the gravel. I repressed my desire to scream and opened my eyes.
Carla waved to me from the passenger seat of a shiny black Toyota Tundra. Her smile was contagious, and I found myself returning it until I realized whose truck she was in. Bryan walked purposefully around the front of the vehicle and put out a hand to help Carla down from her seat.
Carla came to stand over me and hitched a thumb toward the departing tanker truck. “Different driver from usual, wasn’t it?”
“Yeah,” I said from the ground. “Doug’s off taking his daughter to a softball deal in Jersey. His sister Patty’s driving today. She runs the place from the office, usually.”
“Was there a kid with her?”
“Iris. Just got her from China.”
“Nice.”
“Yeah. She’s pretty cute. So
I guess the doc let you out?”
“Just now. Thought I’d stop by and let you know.”
I glanced at Bryan, then back to Carla. “You’re feeling okay?”
“Feel great. They told me I’m supposed to take it easy, but I’m not on house arrest.” She grinned.
“Food?”
She made a face. “Told me to take it easy there, too.”
“Hey!”
We turned to see Zach coming from the barn, Randy slouching behind him. Zach smiled at Carla. “You come to see Barnabas?”
“Well, no, but I’d be glad to take a look at him.”
Bryan and I both made noises, and she shushed us with an impatient gesture. “I’m not going to do anything. Geez. Come on guys, let’s go see.”
And like the pied piper—although I wasn’t sure who was leading whom—Carla and the boys started toward the barn.
Bryan gave one look in my direction and took off after Carla.
Chicken.
Chapter Sixteen
When everyone had finally left my farm except for those who were supposed to be there—Lucy, Zach, and me—I went into the house, struggled to the front room, and collapsed onto the sofa. It didn’t take me long to fall asleep.
I woke about an hour later, hot and tangled in an afghan, thinking about Nick. This wasn’t surprising. I often think about him, and it often leaves me hot and tangled in the sheets. But this time it was a little different.
When Nick had come back into my life the past December after several months of not knowing what the hell had happened or whether or not I’d ever see him again, that sofa—the one where I lay at the moment—was where he had slept. We’d met the summer before when I’d hired him to paint my barn. I’d developed an enormous crush on him, been hit with all sorts of personal tragedy not related to him, and discovered he made his living as a developer. Not the kind of person I normally associate with, especially after one of his kind had tried to send me into bankruptcy so he could have my farm. Nick had taken off, my reaction to his career anything but calm, and I’d done nothing to look him up.
But there he was, at Christmas. Showing up on my doorstep like the little doggie in the window. Against my instincts I’d let him in, and while it had been anything but easy the past six months, I couldn’t imagine being without him again. Ever.
But I was without him. A majority of the time. He had his life in Virginia, while mine took place here, a couple hundred miles north. His family was in Harrisonburg, with his house, and his job. And mine was in PA.
I shoved my face into the afghan and inhaled the scent of it. It smelled like home. I pushed myself up, rubbed my temples, and took a deep breath before struggling upright onto my crutches. If armpits could talk, mine would’ve sounded like a sailor.
Biting my lips against the pain, I stomped out to the barn, left a note for Lucy, and crawled into my truck. Queenie whined pathetically at my feet, and I leaned over the seat to open the passenger door. She changed instantly from pouty girl to happy-go-lucky canine and ran around the truck, jumping into the passenger seat with much more agility than I had at the moment. Or ever did.
We drove uptown to the medical supply store, where I closed the windows halfway and told Queenie to stay. Ten minutes later I had traded Dr. Peterson’s prescription note for a pair of new crutches. The luxury model. Padded tops and hand grips, easily adjustable height, and rubber tips with no cracks. I felt ready to take on the world. Well, no. Not really.
The clerk from the store followed me out and tossed the old crutches into the bed of the truck. I thanked him and got into the cab, where Queenie had made more than her share of smeary nose lines on the passenger window. “So,” I said to her. “Let’s take these old crutches back to Dr. Peterson.”
She panted happily.
We drove across town toward the doctor’s office, and when it came into view I slammed on the brakes and swerved to the curb, causing a chorus of horns behind me. I waved them past, not bothering to see how many middle fingers were aimed my way, and stared at the scene in front of the brick building, where hordes of vehicles, lights flashing, blocked the drive and parking lot. My stomach hatched an immediate and ferocious batch of butterflies.
Had that crazy, outraged patient from the other day come back to mess with Dr. Peterson?
I checked my mirror and eased back onto the road to get as close as possible to the scene. I found a spot away from the cop cars, in front of another office building, and sat for a moment more, wondering what I should do.
“Well, I have to know, don’t I?” I asked Queenie.
Telling her again to stay, I slid down from the seat, got balanced on my new crutches, and trundled along, up to the police tape stretching in front of the drive. Amidst the crowd of cops and who knows who all, I somehow managed to catch the eye of an officer I’d been acquainted with since the past summer, when she’d helped gather up my younger cows when my heifer barn burned down. Her face was tight, her mouth a thin line.
“Ms. Crown?” She glanced at my crutches, momentarily distracted. “Why—”
“Pregnant cow, broken foot.”
She nodded, unimpressed.
“What happened?” I asked.
Stern glanced toward the building and I followed her gaze, stopping on the receptionist, who stood alongside the front steps with her arms wrapped tightly around her stomach. Her face looked even paler than the other day after dealing with the mad guy. Another female cop stood next to her, posture straight, eyes darting around the scene, her face as hard as Officer Stern’s. The butterflies in my stomach changed into hornets.
“Where’s Dr. Peterson?” I asked. “Is she okay?”
Officer Stern turned back to me, her eyes softening. “She’s…she’s gone, Ms. Crown.”
A gush of air escaped me, my relief almost enough to topple me over. I took a firmer hold on my crutches. “Where did she go?”
Stern’s mouth twitched. “I don’t mean she left, Ms. Crown. Stella.”
But of course I knew what she meant. I closed my eyes for a moment, fighting dizziness. “What happened?”
Stern opened her mouth, then shut it. “I’m not sure what I should say. You’ll have to wait for the detective, or someone else. I’m sorry.” She glanced down at my foot. “Did you have an appointment?”
I shook my head. “No. No, I didn’t. I just…I came by to return my old crutches. She loaned me some. Asked me to be sure she got them back.” I looked at the building, not really seeing it. “I guess she doesn’t need them now.”
Stern looked at me sharply. “Ms. Crown, why don’t you sit down?”
And the next thing I knew I was on the ground. Stern squatted beside me, one arm around my shoulders, one hand under my arm, holding me in a sitting position. She must’ve broken my fall, but I wasn’t really sure.
She let go of my upper arm. “Can I call someone for you?”
I blinked a few times. “No. No, don’t. I’ll be okay.”
I pulled my crutches toward me from where they’d fallen, then rested my head on my good knee. “I’ll just sit for a minute.”
“Okay. If you’re sure.”
She left me to go back to her duties, and I sat. I’m not sure how much time passed before I felt another presence beside me. Willard. He knelt on the sidewalk.
“She was your doctor?”
I nodded, turning my head to see him. “Since last summer.” Only a year ago. “What happened?”
He looked at his shoe, blowing up his cheeks, and letting the air out. “You know I can’t say much. But Dr. Peterson is—”
“I know. She’s dead.”
“Yes. I’m sorry.” He was quiet, while a breeze came along, cooling my face, which felt wet. I reached up. I was crying.
I wiped my cheeks on the sleeves of my shirt. “Can you tell me anything?”
He shifted, kneeling on his other leg. “Somebody broke in. Messed the place up pretty go
od. There are patient files all over the place, must be thousands of papers…” His face tightened. “It looks like she’d been working late. Or really early. I’m not sure which. But when they broke in, she was there…”
I sniffed and wiped my face again. “How? How did she die?”
He looked at me, then down at his shoes. “It’s hard to know for sure, but if I had to guess, I’d say she hit her head hard enough it killed her.”
“She hit her head? Or someone hit it for her?”
His lips formed a thin line. “I can’t answer that yet. But I assume from the way she’s lying that she was pushed, and she fell on something sharp. Meadows is testing the corner of a sink in the examining room where we found her. I expect it will match the wound on her temple.”
I tried not to think of how she must have suffered. “Was it for drugs?”
He nodded shortly. “Probably. There were some stolen. And other supplies. Hypodermic needles. Scales for measuring medicines. In fact, that’s what I was…where I was going. I need to put out a message to all the police within a hundred mile radius, telling them what was taken.” He sighed again, this one lifting his shoulders up and down.
I waved toward the building. “But isn’t there an alarm system on this place? I’d think a doctor’s office—”
“Sure. But alarm systems don’t help all that much, a lot of times. Too easy to defeat.”
“How?”
“They cut the phone line. It’s not rocket science, unfortunately.”
I opened my mouth to ask more, but he cut me off. “I have to go, Stella.” He pushed himself up from the ground. “You’ll be okay getting home? You need me to call Lucy?”
“No. I mean, yes, I’ll be fine. Willard?”
“Yeah?”
I looked up at him. “Help me up?”
He reached down and pulled me to my feet, bending over to get my crutches and hand them to me.
We stood for a moment, side by side, watching people go in and out of the parking lot and the building itself. Cops, medical folks, people in plainclothes. Officer Meadows made an appearance at one point, a camera in his hands, and I didn’t have it in me to complain about him. I just hoped he knew what he was doing, so he could help nail the bastard who did this.
