Suspicious Origin

by MacDonald, Patricia

  “Let me go,” she insisted.

  “You’re not even on the trail,” he said.

  “So, I’m in some snow. What difference does it make? I’m already sopping wet.”

  “You see those trees you’re approaching?”

  Britt did not reply but glanced in the direction he was pointing.

  “The snow builds up under those trees, undisturbed, snowfall after snowfall. It makes wells. You fall into a tree well, and you probably won’t be able to get out.”

  Britt did not reply, but she did return to the surface of the trail. “I want to go back. I’ve had enough of this. I can see why people hate these things,” she said, looking in distaste at the snowmobile.

  Alec glared at her. “You’ve had enough. Fine. I’ve had enough, too. But we’ve got to ride back to the truck, like it or not.”

  “Fine. And then I want to go back to town,” said Britt. She suspected that he had wanted her to have a miserable, even a dangerous time today, but she didn’t dare accuse him. Maybe this was nothing abnormal, she told herself. Maybe it was always like this on snowmobiles. She couldn’t tell. She had nothing to compare it to. “I told you I wasn’t very outdoorsy,” she said, trying to be conciliatory.

  Alec said nothing, but resumed his seat on the snowmobile and revved up the engine. As she climbed on behind him, she looked around regretfully. It was beautiful here. You’d have to be blind not to notice it. But being here with Alec made all the beauty of it seem oppressive. She just wanted to get away from this mountain.

  • • •

  “Thanks for letting me use your jacket,” Britt said to Lauren, when they returned to the dealership. Without another word to her, Alec disappeared into one of the garage bays with the pickup truck and the snowmobile.

  “Did you like the snowmobiling?” Lauren asked, gazing at her sympathetically. “It’s not for everybody. Ill go get your coat and your boots.”

  “Thanks,” said Britt. She sat down on a chair with a sigh, kicked off the oversize boots and socks and unzipped the raspberry parka. She put her hands in the pockets, and, when she pulled them out, a piece of paper came out in her hand. She unfolded it, and frowned. It was some land of a gift card with a rose embossed on it. Under the rose were the words, “Love, Alec.” Britt felt herself stiffen as she gazed at it.

  “Here we go,” said Lauren.

  Britt shoved the card back into the pocket of the parka and shrugged the jacket off, handing it back to its owner. Lauren slipped it on and pulled her long, dark hair out of the hood so that it fanned over her shoulders.

  “Alec asked me to give you a ride back to your car,” she said. “Where did you leave it?”

  Britt studied the pretty young woman intently.

  “Britt?” Lauren said, frowning.

  “Sorry,” said Britt. “I left it on Main Street.”

  “Let’s go then,” said Lauren. “I don’t want to leave the phones for too long.”

  Britt followed Lauren out to her car and they rode in silence up to Main Street. All the while, Britt had to fight the temptation to ask Lauren about the card in her coat pocket. It could be nothing, Britt thought. Some birthday or holiday gift. But then why would she keep the card? And her thoughts circled back to Greta’s letter from the detective agency. And most of all, to Alec, who was out riding around the countryside on a snowmobile the day after he learned his beloved wife had been murdered. She wanted to mention all these things to Lauren. But still, she kept silent. She directed Lauren to drop her off in front of the bookstore.

  A bell tinkled as Britt opened the door to the bookstore. There was a calico cat asleep on a chair, and a pile of books on the front desk. Britt’s insides were roiling. She began to walk the aisles, gazing blankly at the endless titles, hoping to distract her mind for a moment from her anxieties. Mozart was playing on the P.A. system and otherwise the bookstore was as quiet as a library. Eventually, soothed by the peaceful atmosphere, Britt began to browse through the shelves and pulled out a couple of timeless classics she had loved as a girl. The Yearling, Little Women, Hans Brinker and the Silver Skates. Do girls still read books like these? Britt wondered. Or are they considered too old-fashioned these days?

  A young woman with glasses was shelving books in the next aisle over. Britt was just about to ask her opinion when she heard her cell phone ringing inside her bag. She reached in and pulled it out as the bookstore clerk glared at her with owlish disapproval.

  “Yes?” said Britt. She could feel the glare of the clerk, boring into her.

  “Is this Miss Andersen?”

  “Yes,” said Britt.

  “This is the school nurse. You need to come and pick up your niece.”

  “Zoe? What happened?” Britt cried.

  “She fainted in the classroom and hit her head.”

  “Is she all right?” Britt cried.

  “Yes, but you need to come and get her. There’s no answer at her fathers place of business.”

  “I’m on my way,” said Britt, realizing with relief that she had put the directions for the school into her bag before she left the house.

  “Are you going to buy those?” the clerk asked accusingly, pointing to the books Britt was holding.

  Britt looked uncertainly at the books. Anxiety about Zoe made her feel confused, and indecisive. “I don’t know. It’s my niece. She’s sick. I need to go pick her up.” Britt felt as if she was babbling. She took a deep breath. “It’s just… I loved these books when I was her age. But lads are different these days.”

  “Not that different,” said the clerk tartly. “A good story is a good story.”

  Britt nodded. Why was she so full of doubts? She knew what was right. She just had to trust her instincts. “That’s true,” she said. “I’ll take them. Can you hurry?”

  Chapter Twelve

  Britt pushed open the door to the doctors waiting room and nudged Zoe to enter. Near the door a young woman who was putting on her coat stopped to jingle her car keys at a squalling baby propped up in a plastic portable seat beside her. Once she was in her coat, she picked up the baby in its carrier and left. Otherwise the room was empty. There was no one visible at the receptionist’s desk.

  “I don’t need a doctor,” Zoe pleaded. “I just didn’t eat breakfast. Can’t we go home?”

  “Have a seat,” said Britt, ignoring her pleas. Zoe sank glumly into a chair. “If your mom was here, I’m sure she’d take you to the doctor. I have to do what I think she’d want me to do.” Britt walked up to the receptionist’s window and poked her head in. There was no one in the small office. She wrote down Zoe’s name on a list of patients and appointment times and then went and sat down beside Zoe.

  “My dad wouldn’t make me go to the doctor,” Zoe insisted.

  “Look, we tried calling him. We couldn’t reach him, so I’m in charge,” said Britt. “How does your head feel?”

  “Fine,” Zoe replied irritably.

  “Here,” said Britt, rummaging in her shoulder bag. “I bought you something.” She handed Zoe the shopping bag from the bookstore.

  Zoe reached in and pulled out the books, frowning at the titles.

  “These are some stories your mother and I both loved when we were girls. I thought you might like them,” Britt said.

  Zoe was clearly struggling not to appear ungrateful. “Thanks,” she said uncertainly

  “I know they might look a little out-of-date to you, but give them a chance. I’ll bet you’ll enjoy them,” said Britt.

  “Zoe!”

  The door to the offices opened and a stout woman dressed in a burgundy smock and white pants with a head full of black ringlets emerged. Zoe set the books aside and looked up. The woman, her dark eyes full of sympathy, came toward Zoe, arms outstretched. Britt recognized her from the funeral, remembered shaking her hand, although she didn’t recall her name.

  “Hi, Mrs. Hall,” Zoe said shyly as the woman bent over and squeezed her.

  “How are you doin’,
sweetie?” The woman did not wait for Zoe to reply. She turned to Britt. “I’m Emily Hall. We met at the funeral home.”

  Britt smiled gratefully and shook hands. “Nice to see you again,” she said.

  Emily Hall perched on the chair beside Zoe’s and squeezed Zoe’s hand. “What’s the matter with our girl, here?”

  “I fainted at school,” said Zoe. “I hit my head on a desk.”

  Emily grimaced. “Well, Dr. Farrar will look you over real well in just a minute or two. Poor thing,” she said, stroking Zoe’s hair. “What were you doing there anyway? You just got out the hospital and had your mother’s funeral. You should have been home resting. You didn’t need to get back to school so quick.”

  “She insisted,” said Britt, watching her niece. “I… I guess her father thought it might take her mind off things.”

  “Oh, I know,” said Emily. “These lads. I got two of them in high school. They all know better than you, right? Well, I’ll let Dr. Farrar know you’re here. Actually, you’re lucky. It’s quiet today. We’ve been going crazy around here without Greta.”

  Zoe nodded, acknowledging the compliment to her mother. “I told my aunt we didn’t need to bother you today.”

  “Oh no. You could never be a bother to us. Your aunt was right to bring you here.” She winked at Britt and stood up. “Let me just try to speed things along.”

  Emily disappeared back through the door to the offices. Zoe rocked in the chair, tapping on the arms with tight fists. Britt noticed that Zoe left the new books lying where she had set them. She tried not to take offense.

  Emily reappeared at the office door. “Zoe, honey. Come on back.”

  As Zoe stood up, Britt realized, with a panicky feeling, that she didn’t know whether she was supposed to accompany the girl into the doctor’s office or not. It would have been one thing if Zoe were a toddler but what did you do when a girl was eleven years old?

  “Do you want me to come in with you?” Britt asked.

  “No,” said Zoe emphatically. Without a backward glance, Zoe approached the office door, pulled it open and disappeared behind it.

  “Uh, Miss uh…Aunt Britt,” said Emily apologetically.

  Britt stood up and approached the window, leaning on the shelf there.

  “Can you fill out these papers for me?” Emily asked.

  “I’ll try,” said Britt, reaching for the pen and clipboard that Emily was holding.

  “You can have a seat and do it,” said Emily. “Just leave anything blank that you don’t know.”

  Britt ignored the invitation to sit, and began to examine the form, leaning against the countertop. “I don’t know what the insurance situation is now that Greta is…dead,” she said.

  “They’re still covered,” said Emily. “Dr. Farrar said we’ll leave them on the plan for the foreseeable future.”

  “That’s very nice,” Britt said.

  “I’ve got all Greta’s information back here. Just fill out the stuff about today’s visit.”

  “Okay,” said Britt, quickly finishing the form and handing it back over the counter.

  “That’s fine,” said Emily, giving it a glance. She opened a manila file on her desk and began to sort through it.

  “So this is where Greta worked,” said Britt.

  Emily looked up, and gazed around the office. “Well, Greta worked in the back with the patients. But…yeah…this is where she worked.”

  “Just the two of you on staff here?” Britt asked.

  “There’s one other gal who’s a nurse. She’s a part-timer.”

  Britt nodded, wondering if perhaps this personable woman might have been someone whom Greta had confided in. Britt hesitated, and then decided to go ahead and ask. “Were you and my sister…good friends?”

  Emily grimaced. “She was a very nice person to work with,” she said.

  “But you weren’t that friendly,” said Britt.

  “We were friendly,” Emily insisted. “But she was…quiet. She and her husband, they were kind of… not that sociable. You know what I mean?”

  “I think so,” said Britt.

  “She just kept to herself. I mean, like, last summer when she had her vacation. She told us Zoe was going to a dude ranch, but she never even said what she and her husband were doing. I’d ask her and she’d say, We have plans, and that was it.”

  “Unusual,” Britt murmured.

  “Exactly. I mean, usually you like to share your news…”

  Britt nodded and was about to pursue the point when the phone on Emily’s desk rang and the receptionist spoke into it briefly. Then she put the phone back on the hook. “Dr. Farrar would like you to come back so she can speak to you. Just go through that main door and down the hall. Last door on your left.”

  Britt followed the directions to the doctor’s office, wondering what Greta’s reticence meant. Was Greta keeping her distance from people to cover up for her husband somehow? She’d heard of marriages like that. Still ruminating, Britt tapped on Dr. Farrar’s door. “Come in,” said a low, clear voice. Britt opened the door and looked in. Olivia Farrar, wearing a lab coat, her silver hair coifed in a no-nonsense bun, sat behind an imposing cherry desk. The surface of the desk shone, at least the parts of the surface that were not covered by family photos in a vast assortment of silver frames.

  In front of the desk, Zoe sat in a leather chair which was too large for her. Dr. Farrar smiled at Britt and indicated the chair beside Zoe’s. Britt sat down and flashed Zoe a smile which the girl did not return.

  “Thanks for seeing Zoe so quickly, Doctor,” said Britt.

  “I was happy to do it,” said Dr. Farrar.

  “Is she okay?”

  “She’ll be fine,” said the doctor. “Her blood pressure is low. She appears to be a little anemic. I’ve taken a blood sample to check.”

  Britt felt her face redden, thinking she should have known, should have insisted she stay home today. “Is that serious? Do you think she should stay in bed for a while?” Britt asked.

  Dr. Farrar pursed her thin lips which were painted a vibrant coral. “Not necessarily. Low blood pressure is not unusual at her age. And too much time on her hands isn’t wise either. But Zoe needs to be especially careful to eat well, and to drink enough water, and take some vitamins. I’ve got a prescription here for some vitamins with extra iron that I want you to get for her. She also needs to take a rest when it all gets to be too much.”

  “What about the injury to her head?” said Britt.

  “It’s fine. I put a butterfly bandage on it. She’ll have a nasty-looking bruise because of the spot where she hit it. There’s a lot of blood in the scalp. And it may be a bit tender. She should probably avoid washing her hair for a few days.”

  “I’ll make sure of that,” Britt assured her.

  Dr. Farrar frowned, and her dark eyebrows knitted together. “This was a warning to you, Zoe. It’s not going to do to say you don’t feel hungry. You’ve got to keep your strength up. A collapse like that can be dangerous. Do you understand me, dear?”

  Zoe scowled. “I understand.”

  “I suggest you go home and put your feet up. You need time to rest and to get over your loss.” Dr. Farrar stood up, and smoothed down the front of her lab coat.

  Zoe nodded and got up from the chair. Without another word she walked toward the door, and then bolted out into the hallway. Britt stood up as well, but the doctor indicated that she should stay.

  “Is there something else?” Britt asked.

  Dr. Farrar turned and looked to make sure that Zoe was out of the room. Then she looked back at Britt. “You may as well know,” she said. “I’m having Zoe’s blood tested for more than just anemia.”

  Britt looked at her, puzzled. “I don’t understand.”

  “I asked her point-blank if she had taken anything and she denied it.”

  ‘What do you mean? Taken what?” Britt said.

  “If she has been taking drugs, it’s going to show up
in the tests.”

  “Drugs,” Britt exclaimed. “You’ve got to be kidding.”

  “Do I look like I’m kidding?” asked the doctor.

  “She’s just a little girl… why would you think…?”

  “Look, Miss Andersen. I attended Zoe at the hospital after the fire. I was suspicious about her appearance, about how she was acting, so I ordered a few tests of my own. She had a quantity of tranquilizers in her system. Out of respect for Greta’s memory, I kept that information to myself.”

  Britt stared at her in disbelief. “Where would an eleven-year-old get tranquilizers?”

  Dr. Farrar sat back down behind her desk tapping on the edge with her polished fingernails. “I suppose it doesn’t matter if I tell you this now. Physically, Greta was fine. But she was very depressed. I wanted her to see someone about it, but she resisted. She didn’t want to talk to a psychiatrist. I tried to explain to her that anything she said would be confidential, but it was no use. But it seemed to me that she was getting worse. Anyway, I gave her a prescription for these tranquilizers, just to help her with some of the symptoms. Nerves, sleeplessness.”

  “And you think Zoe might have taken some of Greta’s medication.”

  “I think it’s distinctly possible.”

  “Oh my God.” Britt shook her head. And then suddenly, Britt had a realization. “Is that what you meant at the funeral, when you told me Greta was suffering?”

  “Depression can be a severe form of suffering,” said Dr. Farrar.

  “Do you know why she was depressed?” Britt asked.

  “I couldn’t say,” said Dr. Farrar coolly.

  “Does that mean you don’t know, or you won’t tell?” Britt asked bluntly.

  Dr. Farrar returned her gaze. “Your sister and I worked closely for many years, and I had great respect for her. But we weren’t girlfriends. We didn’t gossip.”

  “But she told you she was depressed…”

  “It wasn’t like that. She never complained. I simply noticed the symptoms in her, and she admitted it when I questioned her about it,” said the doctor.