“How did you find us on the ham?” he asked.
“Dad, I’ve been trying to reach Mom for weeks,” Emi confessed, looking chagrinned. “I finally found a ham operator in northeast Florida that agreed to get a message to her at the District Emergency Operation Center.”
“When the operator told me of Emilee’s regular radio time schedule, I kept trying to get on during that time, but I’m on the move so much it was difficult and I kept missing the window,” Brenda said. “I’m thrilled to finally talk to her. I’ve missed her so much, Eric, but I know she is much better off up there with you than down here. Just knowing she’s safe means everything to me.”
“We’ve been doing as well as could be expected. Life gets hard at times, though we always make it, and it’s relatively safe here,” Eric assured her.
“It would have to be better than here! It’s very dangerous now since we lost the southern half of the state.” There was a long pause on the other end. “Eric, I want to set up a regular time to talk with her, maybe every couple of weeks.”
“Of course, Beth,” Eric answered. After catching up, he turned the seat back over to Emilee and she plugged the muffs back in. As we went back to the other office, I could hear Emi talking to her mother.
“I’ve been doing good in school, Mom, don’t worry. All A’s,” she said with pride. “We only go to school three or four days a week, but we’re in class all year.” There was a pause while she listened. “Sometimes during the winter we can’t get out because of the snow, and dad or Uncle Jason homeschools me and Jacob.” There was another longer pause, and then Emi said, her voice quivering, “I miss you too.”
CHAPTER 35
July 22
I brought egg salad sandwiches for lunch, and Jim joined me.
“Have you seen Ken or Karen around town?”
“No, why?”
“Today is their regular patrol day and no one has seen them. They usually check in first and then cruise on their bikes,” Jim said. “Want to take a ride with me over to their house? I can’t imagine them sleeping in this late.”
*
We pulled into the long gravel driveway, and I could see the Passat sitting in the parking spot.
“Their bikes are still here, too,” I said to Jim as we approached the door where the bicycles were leaning.
Jim suddenly thrust his arm out to stop me. “The door is open.” He pulled his Beretta and pushed the door open with the barrel. “Ken? Karen?” he shouted into the silent house. We stepped across the threshold into chaos. Blood was splattered and smeared everywhere.
Ken was lying on the floor in the living room; a large pool of crimson had formed under him. Only one small chair had been turned over. That was the only sign of a struggle in the room other than the trail of blood left by Ken crawling to where he was now, face down on the cream and gray tile. Jim knelt beside the body and felt for a pulse.
“He’s dead,” he said angrily.
I turned toward an open door and caught a glimpse of the bed. I pushed the door further open and caught the coppery scent of more blood. Karen had been stabbed multiple times in the chest and neck. I didn’t bother checking for a pulse – no one could live after that vicious of an assault. I let out a sob.
Jim came rushing into the room when he heard me. As I turned toward him my attention was grabbed by the wall behind the door. I stood, shocked, and pointed. “Justice” was written on the wall in dripping red - likely Karen’s blood.
*
Outside on the deck overlooking Lake Meade, I took a couple of deep breaths, trying to get the stench of death out of my nose.
“Are you doing better now, Allex?”
“Yeah, I guess.” I leaned my forehead against Jim’s broad chest. “Who would do something like this? And why?”
“I think the why is easier than the who,” he said. “I would venture that someone felt Karen needed to be punished for that shooting six weeks ago, which may also take us to the who.” He stared out at the lake. “While we were going through all those pricey houses in Marquette, you had a real knack for figuring out the death sequence when we found bodies. I know Ken and Karen were close friends of yours. Do you think you can put that aside for now and do a forensic walk with me?”
I straightened my shoulders. “Let’s do it.”
We went back to the entrance. We both looked at the door, the floor, and the walls.
“I don’t think it started here,” Jim said.
“No, I don’t think so either. Let’s try the bedroom.” I stood by Karen’s body and detached my feelings. “There are no defensive wounds. She was killed or disabled in her sleep, with the first blow.”
“There’s no blood on this side of the bed,” Jim observed. “The perp probably woke Ken and he got up before he was attacked. Maybe he chased the assailant out into the living room where he was stabbed.” We walked the crime scene as we described what we saw, what we felt.
“The assailant, younger, stronger, turned when Ken came after him and… can we turn Ken over to see the stab wounds?” I asked. Jim carefully nudged the body over. I almost lost my lunch. “One wound. Either the knife was double edged or it was turned upward and it was very, very sharp.” The slash started low in the abdomen and traveled several inches up to the sternum, effectively eviscerating Ken.
“My guess is the fatal wound was inflicted by the back door, and Ken crawled to where he is now. He tried to get up, toppling the chair in the attempt,” Jim said, mirroring my thoughts exactly.
“Once the assailant saw Ken down, he went back to finish off Karen.” We stepped back into the bedroom. There were so many stab wounds it was impossible to say which was first or last – they all could have been the fatal one. “He was in a rage by this time.” I pulled the bloody sheet over Karen’s face with shaky hands. Jim pulled an afghan off the couch and covered Ken.
It was now three o’clock in the afternoon.
“Your thoughts, Allex?” Jim’s voice was calm and washed over me like a healing salve.
“I’d rather hear yours first.”
“The writing on the wall points to an act of vengeance. Who would want revenge? Jeremy Smith or Loraine Misko may feel that justice wasn’t served,” Jim said.
“Jeremy was the only other one there that heard me call out to Karen to not shoot. He knows she didn’t have to shoot his father, that it was an act of passion.” Jim started to say something, and I held up my hand to stop him so I could finish. “I couldn’t see what Karen was seeing, and it’s quite likely she felt they were still in danger. All I know is what I saw from my angle.” I turned in a circle, looking up at the ever-gray sky. “And Jeremy didn’t have to kill either of them,” I said, gesturing toward the house.
“Let’s go question the boy,” Jim said.
*
The Misko house was several houses away from the Giffords’, placing it between the crime scene and our house. It was a small bungalow, clad in white siding with deep green shutters. Loraine was in the yard hoeing in the spacious and lush garden.
“Mrs. Misko, is Jeremy here?” I asked her, as pleasantly as I could force myself to be. She looked up when I called her name.
“I think he’s still sleeping. He’s been staying up all night and sleeping all day,” she shrugged, and reached down to pull a weed. “It’s very strange for me to suddenly have an adult child. I don’t know what to do with him and—”
“We need to talk to him, now,” Jim interrupted.
She had an air of defeated resignation as she led us into the house. She walked over to a closed door and knocked. “Jeremy, you have company.” There was no answer. She turned the doorknob. “It’s locked. He does that.”
Jim moved her aside and kicked the door open. There was Jeremy, hanging from an open ceiling beam, a note pinned to his bloody clothes.
“Vengeance is mine,” was all it said. Loraine sank to her knees and wailed.
JOURNAL ENTRY: July 23
We laid Ken an
d Karen to rest beside Bob and Kathy in the baseball field, with Father Constantine officiating in the rain. Everyone in town joined us. Most wept openly for our loss and the loss to the town. Jeremy was buried over in Camp Tamarack. Only Loraine knelt beside his grave.
~~~
August 1
Jim’s hand had completely healed and Dr. James gave me permission to start therapy on it.
“That feels good,” Jim sighed, as I massaged his palm. I worked my way down his wrist and up the forearm to the elbow. Many don’t realize that most of the control in the fingers start in the arm and elbow.
“The rest might not,” I warned him, as I worked the tips of my fingers into the muscles of his ring finger. The muscles were stiff from lack of use and he had a hard time bending that digit. He winced as I dug in but I didn’t stop.
Jim sucked air in through his teeth when I forced the knuckle to move. I worked his hand and finger for several more minutes, and then had him soak it in hot water to further relax the tiny muscles.
Later I caught him flexing the hand and forcing movement on his own. He’s a stubborn man and I could see him regaining full use in record time.
August 10
“Allex!” Jim called out, opening the door to my bedroom. With dawn still hours away, the night was coal black.
“I’m awake now,” I answered, my breathing ragged.
“I could hear you in the other room. Another nightmare?” he asked gently, sitting down on the edge of the bed.
“Yeah,” I said, rubbing my feet.
“Tat?”
“Yeah.”
I shifted over to the center of the bed so Jim could slide under the covers. He held me close.
CHAPTER 36
August 20
The nights were getting cooler already and that was worrisome. An early frost would damage the crops that were doing so well now.
Emilee pedaled her bike down the long driveway where I was working at stacking wood inside the garden area, getting ready for needing the smudge pot.
“Nahna! Rayn’s in labor! Dad said I should get you in case you wanted to be there.” I was surprised she wasn’t riding the new four-wheeler, and then realized she likely came in the truck with her father and Rayn.
“Of course I do. I was there when you were born down in Florida, and I was present when Jacob was born too.” I rushed to put my tools away, then dipped my dirty hands into the bucket of water I kept nearby to rinse off the mud. “You go on back to the hospital while I get my keys and I’ll see you there.” I darted into the house, pausing to wash my hands with soap. The baby coming in mid-August concerned me, as I thought he wasn’t due until September.
*
“How is she doing?” I asked Eric, who was pacing the narrow entranceway of the small hospital.
“Contractions are four minutes apart,” Eric told me. “Dr. James is examining her now. He said for you to scrub as soon as you got here.”
“Would you send Emi over to the offices and tell Jim and Tom where I am and what’s going on? I don’t want either of them to worry when they can’t find me.”
I waved to James as I passed the partially closed curtains that surrounded Rayn’s bed to let him know I was there. I scrubbed and donned gloves and mask, then joined Eric by his wife’s side just as another contraction hit.
“You’re doing fine, Rayn. You need to dilate just a bit more before you can start pushing,” Dr. James said. I could tell his confidence level had grown tremendously since his first delivery.
“Have you selected names yet?” I asked to fill in moments between contractions.
“We’ve decided on Alan for a boy and Harmony if it’s a girl,” Eric said, wiping the sweat off Rayn’s forehead.
“Both beautiful names…”
A half hour later the baby was crowning. “Okay, Rayn,” Dr. James said, “on the next contraction you can push.” And she did. We welcomed little Alan into world at six-ten in the evening.
I wrapped the baby in a soft blanket and laid him on his mother’s chest. I caught Eric wiping tears from his eyes as his son latched on to his finger with a tiny fist. Dr. James worked the afterbirth out, and then tied off the umbilical where I had clamped it.
“I’m going to wash him and wrap him in a clean blanket,” I said and took my grandson. I had a small basin of warm water waiting and quickly sponged the birth blood from him. Once he was covered in a fresh, warm blanket, I set him on the baby scale I once used for measuring shredded cabbage. Alan weighed in at six pounds eleven ounces, exactly what his father weighed at birth. This baby was not premature. Then I remembered an old saying my mother repeated to me a very long time ago: “The first baby can come anytime, the rest take nine months.”
*
“I feel like a grandfather,” Jim grinned when I stepped out into the small lobby where he and Emi waited.
“You have a new brother, Emilee. Would you like to see him?” I asked. Knowing she would, I had brought an extra mask with me. I fixed the loops around her ears, then tiredly smiled at Jim and told him I’d be right back.
*
Jim greeted me with a hug when I came back out. “You look exhausted, Allex. Did everything go okay?”
“It went perfectly. Labor was relatively short for a first baby, only seven hours,” I said after glancing at the clock. “Why is the power is still on?” I asked in confusion. It was now seven o’clock and the generator should have shut off an hour ago.
“We made a quick executive decision to keep the gennie going until the baby was born,” he answered. “This baby is too important to us to interrupt the birth. Jason is getting ready to switch the hospital over to the standby generator now and shut down the main one.” Jim brushed a lock of hair out of my eyes. “Are you ready to go home?”
“Yes. Let me go tell them I’m leaving,” I said and then added with a grin, “Grandpa.”
*
I accepted a drink from Tom, took a swallow, and let it warm me as the alcohol slid down my parched throat.
“I want to thank both of you for keeping the generator on.”
“It was the least we could do,” Tom said.
“By the way, did you notice how chilly it’s gotten?” Jim asked.
“Yes, I noticed it earlier. I’ve started stocking some firewood inside the shelter, just in case we have to use the smudge pot. I think tomorrow we should also alert the other gardeners to the possibility of an early frost so they can cover their plants. It would be a shame to lose the harvest after so much work.”
August 25
I slipped out of Jim’s bed, intent on an early shower. The view through the enclosed deck stopped me cold. It was white outside, and it was snowing! I was stunned for a moment, and then I rushed back into Jim’s room.
“Jim, wake up!” I shook him until he opened his eyes. He looked at me dreamily until he realized I was distraught.
“What’s the matter, Allex?” he sat up, now fully awake. The down comforter slipped off his bare chest to expose a mat of curly gray hair.
“It’s snowing! We need to cover the gardens!” I rushed back to my room for appropriate clothing.
Pulling on a jacket I hurried to our small garden of raised beds, thankful I had dropped the sides a few days ago, though it was still very cold under the shelter. Inside the enclosure I wadded up some newspaper and stuffed it into the smudge pot. Then kindling and a few larger sticks went in. I struck the lighter that was always in my pocket. On the third try I got a weak flame and lit the newspaper. The wood was well seasoned and soon the fire was sending up billows of smoke that hung at the top like a heavy fog. I used a long pole and opened the plastic flap Jason had installed. The gray smoke drifted out and the air cleared. I put a couple more pieces of wood into the half barrel and went back into the house.
The battery clock on the wall said it was only six-thirty. How were we going to alert everyone so early?
Tom stepped out of his room, concerned over the activity. Apparently
I hadn’t been very quiet in my rush to get outside.
“What’s going on, Allex?” he scowled.
“It’s snowing, Tom, and if we don’t let everyone know so they can cover the gardens, all the vegetables will freeze!” Instinctively I reached for the coffee pot to make our morning brew. Within ten minutes, the three of us were out the door, dressed, with coffee mugs in hand.
Jim ran next door to wake Harold. That house wouldn’t need any further protection, and we needed his help up at the community garden.
Tom and I grabbed some sheets and tarps from the barn and took off for Bradley’s Backyard with Harold close behind. Jim piloted the Humvee around the town, blasting the loud horn to wake people.
*
By noon, the gardens were mostly covered, but the snow was coming down even heavier. Inside the church, people were gathering to get warm and for guidance.
“It may be premature or too late to worry about the plants, so I would highly suggest everyone pick the mature produce and quickly,” Harold said from the podium. “The root crops should be okay for now. However, beans, tomatoes, peppers, tender greens, and anything above ground will get frost burned if left out.”
“There are a lot of beans out there, Mr. Wolfe, we can’t possibly eat that many,” a young woman called out from the back.
“Keep some fresh for eating over the next two or three days, and the rest we will start with mass canning,” he looked over at me and I silently nodded. We had days of processing ahead of us.
The Journal: Raging Tide: (The Journal Book 4) Page 26
