Different Paths

by Judy Clemens

  The gym was hopping. Not something I would’ve expected on a late Saturday morning in the summer, but maybe these people were all like Alan and just wanted to exercise somewhere air-conditioned. Since it was so busy I was able to slip past the front desk without being stopped by the two very healthy men in the Club Atlas polo shirts. I thumped my way back to the weight training area and checked out the guys working there.

  Two especially caught my eye—one whose upper body looked way out of proportion with his lower body, like Popeye, and one who showed the tell-tale smattering of pimples on his back. He also had some on his face, so I thought him a good bet, since forty-somethings are usually past the acne stage.

  I waited to approach him until he was done with his set and was drinking from his water bottle. I limped over and sat beside him on the weight bench.

  He glanced at me in the mirror, taking in my cast and tattoos before looking at my face. I tried out a smile. “Could I ask you a quick question?”

  He didn’t say anything, but continued to look in the mirror, so I took that as a good sign.

  “I’m looking for someone who could get me some help with strength-training and muscle-building. You look like you might know someone. Any chance you could give me a name?”

  His water bottle made a sucking sound as he emptied it, and he tossed it to the floor, bouncing it off the wall. “Lots of trainers in this place. They have the red shirts.”

  “I’m not talking about them. I’m talking about another kind of help.”

  I held my breath as he studied me, and hoped he wasn’t going to pick me up and smack me over the nearest apparatus.

  He blinked slowly. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  I looked at the floor and rubbed my forehead. “I’m not a cop, man. I’m not working for a cop. I mean, look at me. Do I strike you as someone who would be in with cops?”

  He looked at me some more. Not all of his brain functions seemed to be working together, so it took a while.

  “A friend of mine has been in here this week,” I said. “Big guy. Fair hair. Came in with his nephew a time or two. He told me I could find help here.”

  Now that seemed to register. “Guy from Lancaster?”

  I tried not to show my relief. “That’s him. So, can you give me a name?”

  His eyes moved in the mirror, and I followed them to a man at the other side of the free weight area. Not huge, like this guy, or like David, but strong.

  I nodded. “He’ll help me out?”

  The guy grunted. “He helps me. Calls himself Snake.”

  “Okay. Thanks, man.”

  I could feel his eyes on me as I made my way across the matted area. I hoped his were the only eyes, and not those of the employees, wondering just what I was doing walking around in street clothes in their gym.

  Snake saw me coming. He met my eyes when I was halfway across the space and gave his head a little jerk, back toward the locker rooms. I changed course and walked down the hallway, out of sight of the front desk. Snake met me there a minute later, maneuvering so his back was to the wall and he could see out onto the weight floor.

  “You want to talk to me?” He wiped his face with a towel, his eyes not meeting mine.

  “Yeah. I’m looking for someone who could help me with some—”

  “Strength-training?”

  “That’s right.”

  He nodded. “Saw you and your boyfriend in here the other day. You here for him?”

  I blinked. I hadn’t noticed this guy when we were here. I guess my attention was all focused on Nick being sweaty and gorgeous. And then on David and Trevor and the issue of steroids.

  “Yeah,” I said. “It’s for him.”

  Snake eyed me. “He didn’t look like a body builder.”

  He was right. “It’s actually not for that, Snake. You see, he’s sick. Has MS. We heard that st… That the things you have might be able to help him.”

  He nodded, sucking in his cheeks as he thought. “Doctors won’t prescribe them?”

  “You kidding? They have their own kind they give him, and only a set amount. We think more could help him.” I had no idea if I was making any sense, and knew it wouldn’t really work medically, but figured if this guy was selling steroids he didn’t care about people’s health. He just wanted to make a sale. “You were also recommended by another weight lifter who was here that same day. In fact, he gave me the idea.”

  His eyes went fuzzy, then focused again. “Oh, the guy from Lancaster.”

  That seemed to be the one thing these guys remembered about David.

  Snake nodded. “It doesn’t surprise me that he suggested it.”

  “Yeah, he’s gotten good results. He’s huge.”

  “I don’t mean for body building. I mean for health issues. Didn’t he tell you he was getting them for his wife?”

  Fire hit my chest and moved down to my stomach. I tried not to look shaken. “Oh. That’s right. What does she have? I don’t know them that well.”

  His face wrinkled up. “Cancer of some kind. I forget what, exactly. Said she got it from something called DES. Don’t know what that is. But docs wouldn’t help them either. So he turned to me.”

  Lovely.

  Snake glanced down the hallway, then back at me. “I can help you, too.”

  “Really? That’s great.” I clenched my teeth together, fighting my cramping stomach. “I’ll tell my boyfriend, and he’ll get in touch with you. Should he just come here?”

  “Early morning or late at night is best.”

  “Early morning?”

  “Before the gym opens. Better make it plenty early, though. The Lancaster guy and I just about got caught last week.”

  So I’d been right. It had been David. But he hadn’t been here to attack Babs.

  “Thanks, Snake. We’ll be in touch.”

  “My pleasure.” He gave me a smile, and slipped into the men’s locker room.

  I walked down the hallway and out of the gym, ignoring both my burning stomach and the trainer who was calling after me, asking if he could be of assistance.

  Chapter Thirty-eight

  “I’ve never heard of DES.”

  Neither had Queenie.

  “And poor Tricia. No wonder she looks so miserable and worn out all the time.”

  I tapped my fingers on the steering wheel. “Come on, Queenie. We have some investigating to do.”

  The Indian Valley Public Library was just down the street. I drove there, hoping I’d make it before it closed. I pulled into the parking lot with fifteen minutes to spare.

  “Be right back, Queens.”

  She looked out the passenger window, showing her complete lack of interest in whatever I was doing if it didn’t include her.

  The librarian looked irritated as I signed up for a computer. She obviously was ready to close down the machines and head out for the day. I promised I wouldn’t be long.

  Once I was logged on I punched in “DES,” not knowing what to expect. I got hundreds of hits, and clicked on a main one—DESaction.org. It was a gold mine.

  DES, or diethylstilbestrol, however the hell you pronounced that, was an estrogen supplement given to pregnant women from the 30s to the 70s, with the belief that it prevented miscarriages and premature deliveries. It was finally taken off the market when it became clear that not only didn’t it work, but it caused terrible health problems, namely a higher rate of breast cancer in the users, and a high risk of a rare cervical cancer in the babies whose mothers took the drug.

  If you were a DES daughter and didn’t know your mother took the drug you weren’t getting the special testing necessary to find the cancer. Apparently, the usual exam we women all have to live through once a year isn’t good enough. And if you hadn’t gotten the test and were diagnosed only when symptoms began you didn’t have much chance of overcoming the disease.

  The timeline made sense. Tricia’s mo
ther would’ve been pregnant during the 60s, years the drug was heavily in use. And Tricia’s mother herself died of breast cancer.

  Katherine had to be worried, too, that she might get the disease. I wondered if she’d gotten the special exam, or had started now that Tricia was ill.

  “We need to close this terminal down now, ma’am.” The librarian hovered over my shoulder.

  “All right. I’m done.”

  I could look up more at home.

  I climbed into my truck and stroked Queenie’s head while I considered what to do. The first step was obvious. I drove down the block and stopped at the police department.

  The same officer was at the desk. “Back so soon?”

  “Yeah. Willard still here?”

  “I think so. Let me check.” He called on the intercom, then buzzed me through. “You just caught him.”

  “Thanks.”

  I found Willard in the big room with Meadows, who was sitting at a large-screened computer, studying fingerprints. Willard held his briefcase in one hand and his keys in the other. “Make it quick. I’ve got a date with my wife.”

  I dove right in, telling him what I’d discovered.

  “DES?” His forehead furrowed. “You ever hear of that, Meadows?”

  Meadows shook his head.

  “Think about it,” I said. “David’s obviously getting desperate. He’s looking for alternative medicine for Tricia. Takes Carla’s truck, which had drugs. Goes to Dr. Peterson, who also has drugs, and she won’t help him, so he…he kills her. Tries at the gym. It all fits.”

  “And the church? The milk truck?”

  “I don’t know. He’s just mad, I guess. But he’s on steroids. He’s prime for going into rages.” I looked at Meadows. “You match his prints yet?”

  “I haven’t had that much time since you left. I’m working on it.”

  “I know, I know. Sorry.”

  Willard looked thoughtful. “It does make sense, Stella. Maybe you have caught the guy, after all.”

  He clapped Meadows on the shoulder. “Meadows is on it. We should know this afternoon.”

  “Well. Good.” I hoped for everyone’s sake he was right.

  Chapter Thirty-nine

  “Up for one more stop, Queenie?”

  She blinked at me, ever the patient companion.

  I turned the truck onto Telford Pike and in fifteen minutes found myself in Kulpsville. Slowing when I neared the church, I saw Katherine’s car and pulled in.

  All of the doors were open, so I walked in and tapped on the door to her office. She called for me to come in.

  “Stella! What a nice surprise!”

  She might not think so later.

  I glanced at the computer, where she was sitting, hands perched on the keyboard. “Got a minute?”

  She took her hands away and turned to face me. “Of course. Have a seat. I’m just putting the final touches on my sermon for tomorrow. Want it to be extra good, being the first one and all.” She smiled, but looked a little anxious at the thought.

  I hesitated for a moment, wondering what I was going to say and why I was actually there. What would it help? I finally said, “I’m sorry to hear about Tricia.”

  She frowned. “Tricia? What about her? She already called to say they made it home to Lancaster.”

  “I mean, about her being sick. I didn’t know.”

  She raised her eyebrows. “Sick? Tricia’s not sick. At least, she wasn’t when she left this morning.”

  I went cold. Did she really not know? “I mean about her…cancer.”

  Katherine’s face went white, then blotchy red. “I’m sorry. I don’t know what you’re talking about. Tricia doesn’t have cancer.”

  I swallowed. Was I wrong? Was Snake completely off-the-mark? “I heard…someone at the gym told me she was…that she has it.”

  “At the gym?” She snorted. “You mean one of David’s body building buddies?”

  I nodded.

  “I wouldn’t exactly take what they said to heart.” She gave a crooked smile. “Why would they know and not me? Her sister?”

  “I don’t know.” And I couldn’t explain it. As soon as Nick was sick, his entire extended family knew, as well as his neighbors and everyone in my neck of the woods. And now his family wouldn’t leave him alone.

  “I guess I got bad information. I just…I was in town and wanted to say I’m sorry that I didn’t know.” I stood up. “I’ll go. Sorry to disturb you.”

  Her face had gone hard. Well, hard for her, anyway. Even in that state it was kind. “You never disturb me. You’re always welcome. And thank you for thinking of me.”

  “Sure.”

  She made a move to rise, but I waved her down. “I can see myself out. Thanks.”

  I didn’t quite run, but by the time I reached my truck, the front door of the church hadn’t even shut.

  Chapter Forty

  I sat in my truck, staring at the church and thinking about sisters who don’t tell each other their secrets. And how bad communication could destroy a relationship. I sighed, knowing there was something I should do, but not wanting at all to do it.

  “Think Carla’s at home, Queenie?”

  Queenie angled her eyes toward me.

  “I know. She probably doesn’t want to see me.”

  I didn’t exactly want to see her, either, but I had to try.

  We drove to her place, only to find it dark and empty, except for Concord, who did his usual whining behind the door.

  The next stop was the veterinary practice. I’d forgotten this would be her first day back at work since the car-jacking.

  “She’s out on a call,” the receptionist told me. “Doylestown.”

  Ugh. “Know when she’ll be back?”

  “Not for hours, I would think. She has another appointment after this one. Want me to give her a call?”

  “No. I need to see her. I’ll catch her later.”

  “She’s popular today.” The receptionist smiled.

  “What do you mean?”

  “That new boyfriend of hers was in here, too, looking for her.”

  “Oh, yeah? What did he want?”

  She gave a short laugh. “I didn’t exactly ask.”

  Of course not. But why didn’t he just call her? Unless she’d left her phone off again.

  Back in the truck. My foot was starting to hurt.

  “If it’s David, it’s not Bryan, right?”

  Queenie looked uncertain.

  “Yeah, I don’t know, either. But still…”

  I drove to the Home Depot. Scanning the vehicles in the parking lot, I couldn’t find Bryan’s Tundra. I even went to the side, where employees usually park. I found an empty spot, and took it.

  “I’ll be right back, Queenie.”

  The customer service girl, who didn’t look like the kind to be hauling heavy tools, said Bryan wouldn’t be in until later that afternoon.

  And he was out looking for Carla.

  For the first time I found myself wishing I had a cell phone.

  I raced home and maneuvered my way to the garage. My driveway was beginning to look like a parking lot. Lucy’s Civic, Randy’s Caddy, Nick’s Ranger…and Miranda’s Lexus, parked around the back.

  Oh, God.

  I stormed into the house, ignoring the eyes that bored into me as soon as I got in the door. Nick’s computer was still on the kitchen table, plugged into my phone jack again. I took it out and dialed Carla’s number.

  “What do you want, Stella? I’m busy.”

  “Hey. Carla. Are you alone?”

  “No, I’m not alone. What do you think? I’ve got two farmers accompanying me on a herd check.”

  “Okay.”

  “Why?”

  “Um, did Bryan find you?”

  “Stella, I’m working. He’s working. It’s real life now. Not like the past several days.”

  “He’s lookin
g for you.”

  “And you know that because…?”

  “Your receptionist told me.”

  A pause. “I’m not even going to ask why you were talking to her about Bryan. Can I get back to work now?”

  “I just—”

  But she’d hung up.

  I went to the fridge and pulled out another pop, drinking half of it before I’d even shut the door.

  “A new kind of air conditioning?” Nick stood in the doorway.

  I shut the fridge. “What’s your sister doing here?”

  He gave a tight-lipped smile. “She wants to get to know you better.”

  “Uh-huh.” I took another swig. “She convince you to go back to Virginia yet?”

  “Stella.”

  I finished off the Pepsi and tossed the can into recycling. “Okay. Fine.” I went into the living room where Miranda sat on the sofa.

  “If you’re staying, you can have the second bedroom on the right upstairs. Feel free to make yourself at home.”

  And I went back outside.

  Lucy was coming toward the house. “Thought with this big crowd I’d make some sloppy joes for lunch. Sound good?”

  “Whatever.” I kept walking, past the barn, through the paddock, past the manure lagoon. Out to the back pasture, where the mother-to-be corner was empty. I sat on the grass, my back against the single tree, and stared at the line of houses bordering the fence.

  I heard footsteps, and Queenie shoved her head onto my lap, licking my face.

  I pushed my forehead against hers. “Oh, Queenie. Maybe we’re better off just the two of us, huh? We sell the farm, become millionaires, and travel the world without worrying about anybody else.”

  She slumped down onto my lap.

  “Yeah. Sounds awful, doesn’t it?”

  We sat there for a while, me picking burrs out of her fur and thinking about Nick, and Miranda, and women who don’t tell their own sisters that they’re dying, until my stomach began to growl. Queenie looked up at me.

  “Okay. Let’s go.”

  The rest were gathered around the kitchen table, where Lucy was saying grace. An empty chair sat between Nick and Randy, and I took it.