by Nene Adams
After the doctor left the room, Veronica said, “I thought I lost you, Mac.”
“Sorry,” Mackenzie said.
Veronica went on as if she hadn’t spoken, “I got your call in the middle of directing emergency crews to people injured in the crash on I-85. At first, I figured it was an accidental call and I was about to hang up, but then I heard her.”
“Who?”
“I heard Annabel.”
A chill passed through Mackenzie at the mention of the ghost. She had a vague memory of seeing Annabel after the rattlesnake had bitten her. The memory had a lot of blood involved, so she dismissed it to concentrate on Veronica.
“Annabel kept saying, ‘Help.’
“I knew you were in trouble, so I didn’t bother waiting for permission to leave. I just jumped in my patrol car and floored it to Sweetwater Hill,” Veronica said. As she spoke, her voice grew thinner and thinner, like a thread unraveling. “Oh, Mac…you scared me. When I got to the church, you were semiconscious. Your face was so white. I didn’t think you were breathing very well and you were dry heaving constantly. A couple of times while I was waiting for the ambulance, I thought you’d died, but the paramedics at the scene told me your vital signs were good. I guess I couldn’t hold it together very well.”
Mackenzie squeezed Veronica’s fingers. “Sorry, Ronnie.”
“Don’t be sorry, just don’t do it again!” Veronica cried. After a moment, she whispered, “Annabel stayed there, Mac. The whole time. I saw her in the car next to you, plain as day, and I wondered…”
She was silent so long, Mackenzie prompted, “What?”
“I wondered if she’d come to guide you to the Other Side.” Veronica lowered her head to press her brow against Mackenzie’s hand. “I’m glad I was wrong.”
Chapter Twenty-One
Four days later, Mackenzie paused at the top of the cement steps and braced a hand against the wall, fighting a wave of dizziness. Her vision blanked at the edges and she thought she might throw up. Eventually, the desperate panting eased. Once she was certain she wouldn’t lose consciousness, she opened the door of her apartment and slipped inside.
Veronica wouldn’t be happy she’d taken a taxi home, but she hadn’t been able to stand being stuck in the hospital one more minute and she’d found out from Sarah Grace that her car had been driven from Sweetwater Hill by Veronica and left in its usual downtown parking space She had only waited for Dr. Cornsilk to give the all-clear before signing the paperwork and calling the cab company.
Her apartment smelled slightly stale when she entered, carrying a small bag from the hospital pharmacy. She moved to the living room and opened the windows before turning off the air-conditioner. The fresh air helped clear her head and invigorate her, no doubt aided by the delicious smells wafting from the bakery downstairs.
Going to the kitchen, she opened the refrigerator and eyed the nearly bare shelves. Her mother’s work, she supposed. While she appreciated the gesture, she wished Sarah Grace hadn’t bothered. The only items to survive the purge were three bottles of beer, an egg and several lemons. She had staples in the pantry, but didn’t feel like scrounging up a meal even though she felt as if someone had scooped out her insides, leaving her as hollow as a gourd.
Faced with the hospital’s gelatin, oatmeal and similar bland, ill-prepared institutional food, she hadn’t eaten much. Sarah Grace had managed to bring her sausage biscuits once the eating restriction was raised, but she craved a hot, well-seasoned meal, preferably with a dessert afterward that wasn’t wobbly or putrid green. Unfortunately, her injured leg throbbed too much to contemplate eating out.
Mackenzie sat on the sofa, her leg thrust stiffly out in front of her. The dramatic swelling had started to go down just after her second day and her seventh dose of antivenin, and all but vanished by her third day, but the muscles remained weak and painful.
No further necrosis at the bite site, thank goodness. Dr. Cornsilk had arranged for the damaged, dead tissue to be cleaned and debrided. She’d have a scar on her calf, but it could have been much worse. In the doctor’s opinion and her own, she was a lucky, lucky woman.
Hearing a couple of knocks, Mackenzie levered herself off the sofa and answered the door. The bakery owner and the owner of her rental apartment, Sam, stood on the threshold smiling and holding a box emblazoned with his company’s logo.
“Welcome back,” he said, stepping into the apartment when she moved aside.
“Thanks. It’s good to be back.” Mackenzie liked Sam. Apart from being an excellent landlord, he was a distinguished baker and a generous soul.
“Hospital food is terrible,” he said with a grimace. “I should know, I nearly starved to death years ago after my gall bladder surgery. Here.” He thrust the box into her hands.
Mackenzie raised the lid. The box contained three hand-sized, flaky pastries that smelled savory rather than sweet. Her mouth watered. “This is new. Empanadas?”
He beamed, showing a gap between his front teeth. “No, baked sambusak with chickpea filling, or feta and kashkaval—a Bulgarian cheese—or beef and onions,” he replied, pointing at each pastry in turn. “Nice and spicy. I just hired a new assistant baker and these are his grandmother’s recipes. We’ll try the fried variation next, see where it goes.”
“I can’t wait,” Mackenzie said, meaning every word. Her stomach rumbled. She was so hungry, she could’ve eaten the box. “Thank you very much, Sam.”
“I’d be glad to hear your opinion whenever it’s convenient.”
“No problem. You know I love being your test subject.”
When he began to leave, she had a thought and stopped him. “You’ve owned the bakery a while, right?” she asked. “What do you know about the building next door?”
“This has to do with the lady’s body they found in your office?” he asked instead of answering her question. When she nodded, he added, “Eat while we talk.”
Without bothering to fetch a plate, she sat at the kitchen table and tried the cheese sambusak. Like an angel pouring blessings on her tongue, she thought. The pastry melted in her mouth and the cheeses were delicious. The spicier chickpea and beef fillings were equally good. She couldn’t wait to try a crunchy fried version, and told him so.
The look on her face made him chuckle. “Okay, I guess they’re all winners. Now as for the bakery, my father bought it in ’fifty six. It was just a warehouse and offices then, this building and the one next door. He had to convert this place for use as a retail bakery. At the same time, the other building’s owner was also renovating his property, but who that was, I couldn’t tell you.” He seemed lost in his memories for a moment. “I was a kid, but I remember arguments Dad had with my mother about the costs running over. At one point, he ran out of money and had to stop work until my grandfather lent him what he needed. By that time, the building over there changed hands and the new guy halted the renovation work. No idea why. He left everything half-finished, rubble everywhere, broken windows, a real mess. Dad was pretty cheesed off. He used to complain to Mom that he’d never get customers in the bakery with that eyesore next door.”
“When was this?”
“About nineteen ’fifty-seven or somewhere thereabouts.” Sam opened the front door. “Got to run, Kenzie. If you need anything else, give a holler.”
Her cell phone rang while she digested the sambusaks and Sam’s information. Interesting that the buildings had been under construction in ‘fifty seven, the same time as Annabel’s disappearance and presumed murder.
“Cross speaking,” she muttered into the phone.
“Hey, Kenzie, I hope this isn’t a bad time,” James Larkin said. “How are you feeling?”
The journalist had called twice while she was in the hospital and visited once when she’d been loopy on morphine. He hadn’t stayed long, just dropping off a get well card and a bouquet on his way to his wife’s appointment with her OB/Gyn. At the time, Mackenzie wished he’d brought her a chili dog and fries
instead of flowers.
“Just got home, Little Jack,” she said. “I’m fine. Thanks for the sunflowers. They really made the room a lot brighter.”
“You’re welcome. Listen, we’re doing a story on your rattlesnake bite,” he said.
“No.”
“What you were doing, where it happened, the whole enchilada. My intern from Welcome College is already researching snakebite statistics in Mitford County.”
“No.”
“I’m angling to get hold of Deputy Birdwell to hear her side—”
“Absolutely not,” Mackenzie interrupted. “Why, Jack? Slow news week?”
“Actually, your story has local interest and it’s a link to the controversy with the Covenant Rock Church of God with Signs Following and the Antioch city council.”
“What controversy? What the hell happened when I was laid up?”
“It’s been going on a while. At the last city council meeting, some of the more conservative members talked about an ordinance against snake handling, but the proposal didn’t receive majority support. You getting bit on church property is like a gift for them, Kenzie. Dearborn and his crowd will get a lot of mileage out of your accident.”
“Jacob Dearborn?” Mackenzie blurted. “He’s a city councilman?”
“That’s right. I’d really like to get a quote from you,” Larkin said.
Mackenzie considered the pain in her leg and made a decision. “Can you come over, Jack? I’d like to talk to you, but I’m not in any shape to traipse over to the newspaper.”
“Sure, sure, Kenzie,” Larkin replied. “I’ll be there in ten minutes.”
“I’ll put the coffee on.” Some nice person—probably Veronica—had replaced the coffee machine’s broken glass carafe when she’d been in the hospital.
While she waited for Larkin to arrive, she thought about Dearborn, Wyland and what Larkin had told her about the Antioch City Council. Perhaps there was more to the situation than Kelly Collier had told her. Only one way to find out, she decided. She checked the time and picked up her phone. Luckily, she still had Kelly’s number.
“Hey, Kelly, it’s Mackenzie Cross—don’t hang up,” she added hastily. “I want to ask you a question and then I’ll never call you again.”
“Screw you,” Kelly replied, making an obvious attempt to sound brave and cool. “And lose this number, bitch, or I’ll call the cops. Mr. Dearborn says this is harassment.”
“Just one question, Kelly, unless you’d rather I had Jack Larkin from the Antioch Bee ask you. I’m meeting with him in a few minutes. Or maybe I should just ask your father.” Mackenzie crossed her fingers and waited, hoping the teenager wouldn’t call her bluff.
Kelly sounded suspicious when she said, “One question. After that, you’ll leave me alone and never, ever call me again or try to see me.”
“Deal.”
“Go ahead.”
“Did you actually hear Rev. Wyland demand Mr. Dearborn’s resignation after the park incident, or did Dearborn tell you about it later?” Mackenzie imagined crickets chirping in the background while Kelly hesitated.
“He told me after it happened. Why shouldn’t he? I’m marrying his son, after all,” Kelly finally said. “You were just supposed to deal with that freak on the hill, but you messed that up, didn’t you?” she added spitefully. “I heard you got bit on the leg by a rattler. Maybe next time you’ll do us all a favor and die.”
Ignoring Kelly’s insult—she’d known the girl had a nasty streak—Mackenzie pulled the phone away from her ear and disconnected the call.
If what she suspected was true, Wyland had wanted a great deal more from Dearborn than his resignation from the United Methodist Church.
Chapter Twenty-Two
“—and I’m very grateful to the Antioch Volunteer Fire Department and Life Line Air Rescue, and offer my sincerest thanks for their heroic efforts. They saved my life,” Mackenzie concluded, watching while James Larkin scribbled in his notebook. “Happy?”
“Ecstatic,” he answered.
“Thanks Jack.” She refreshed his cup from the pot on the coffee table and sat back against the sofa cushions. “Now tell me about Dearborn and the city council.”
Larkin flipped his notebook shut. “Why are you so interested, Kenzie?” he asked. “You’ve never given two hoots about local politics.”
“I don’t like the idea of some politician making hay out of my snake bite to further his own agenda,” Mackenzie replied. “I’d like to get a little background on Dearborn, the council and the current situation before I go blundering into something.”
“As a city councilman, Jacob Dearborn tends to go along with the majority except when it comes to issues that might affect his business concerns,” Larkin said. “Remember last year when the city council was getting ready to vote on a change in the property tax laws?” At her blank expression, he went on, “If the change in tax laws had gone through, Dearborn would have owed a lot more money on several of his businesses, like the Lucky Strike Bowling Alley. He campaigned heavily and the proposal lost the vote, ten to two.”
“Okay, I get that, but why’s he so hot to ban snake handling? Rev. Wyland’s church is tiny compared to the Methodist church in town,” Mackenzie said, “and the congregation is certainly no threat to anybody but themselves.”
“That’s the part I can’t figure out. God knows I’ve tried,” Larkin confessed. “There’s never been a cross word exchanged between Wyland and Dearborn.”
“Dearborn’s definitely behind the proposed ordinance?”
“Yep. The proposal on the table will make it illegal to display, exhibit and handle dangerous or venomous snakes or reptiles within the city limits. Offenders will be subject to a ten-thousand-dollar fine and up to twelve months in jail for each violation.”
“But Sweetwater Hill isn’t in the city limits.”
“Sweetwater Hill was incorporated into Antioch a year ago, Kenzie. Try to keep up with the news,” he said, shaking his head as if in despair at her ignorance.
Mackenzie was disappointed by the lack of a connection between the two men. Maybe they needed to dig deeper into the past. “Where’s Wyland from, anyway?”
Larkin finished his coffee in a few gulps. “Good question. I’ve already looked into the possibility of them knowing each other As far as I can tell, Wyland sprang forth fully grown from his mother’s forehead since the furthest I can trace him is nineteen eighty-six in Cochran—that’s in the middle of the state in Bleckley County—when he was mentioned in the Cochran Journal as a guest speaker at a Holiness Pentecostal church down there. Before that, nothing. Wyland and Dearborn share no commonalities I’ve been able to find.”
“I’m curious, what’s Wyland’s first name? I don’t think I’ve ever heard it.”
“Neither have I, but the Journal article listed him as Wilson Wyland.”
Mackenzie thanked Larkin and saw him to the door.
He paused on the threshold. “You remember you mentioned Dr. Isaac Rush?” he asked. “Pastor Rush’s son. You wanted to poke around the archives for information on him.”
“Oh, right. I haven’t had time.” She’d almost forgotten. The doctor seemed to have some significance for Annabel.
“I thought I’d do it for you. Isaac Rush served eight years for violating the state’s abortion law,” he said. “He’d been performing abortions on the down low, made quite a bit of cash before he was caught and convicted. When he was released in ’sixty-six, he was diagnosed with lung cancer and died in a hospice. Mind me asking why you want to know?”
“Miss Laverne,” Mackenzie lied. “She comes up with crazy stuff sometimes.”
He gave her a suspicious look, but started down the steps after giving her a wave.
A half hour later, she heard a brisk rap on the door. Before she could get off the sofa and make her slow way to the door, Veronica let herself inside the apartment.
“Hey, Mac, I wanted to make sure you were okay. Hope you don
’t mind.” Veronica held up the spare key. “I went to the hospital and they told me you’d checked out. Why didn’t you call me? I’d have given you a ride home.”
Mackenzie smiled. “You know me, Little Miss Impatience. I called a cab. Thanks for getting my car, Ronnie. I’d hate for anything to happen to Daddy’s pride and joy.”
“No problem. Visitors?” Veronica asked, glancing at the empty coffee carafe.
“Little Jack Larkin came by,” Mackenzie replied, scooting over to give Veronica room to sit next to her on the sofa. “Jealous?”
“Of Larkin? No. He’s not your type. Besides, Esmeralda would kill him if he strayed and she’d claw your eyes out to boot. What did he want?”
“A statement about my accident.”
Veronica sighed, took her hand, turned it over and kissed the palm. “Are you okay?”
“I’m good.” Mackenzie leaned over and kissed Veronica’s lips, her cheek, her chin. They’d done this in the hospital, casual kisses that were more about affection than passion. She wondered when Veronica would turn up the heat. On the other hand, she wasn’t exactly in the best physical shape to get her groove on. At the moment, kisses suited her fine. “Hi there. How’s the hardest working deputy in Antioch?” she asked.
“Busy.” Veronica sat up and unbuckled her duty belt, laying it on the sofa beside her. “I had to talk to Rev. Wyland today about his rattlesnakes. He insisted none of his regular snakes had escaped their cages, but I’m not sure he was telling the truth.”
Mackenzie caught her breath at a sudden mental image of Wyland standing under a cherry tree, calmly watching her struggle to reach her car after she’d been bitten.
“What’s wrong? Need a pain pill?” Veronica asked, starting to rise.
“No. It’s fine,” Mackenzie replied, touching Veronica’s arm to make her sit down. “Just…well, when the snake bit me, I think I hallucinated about Rev. Wyland.”
Veronica frowned and leaned forward. “Really?”
