by Dave Daren
“Lila!” I shouted as I tried to shake her gently.
She moaned, and then her right hand flapped in my direction. A moment later, she tried to sit up and I eased her backwards into the seat.
“Are you okay?” I asked. “Can you move?”
“I’m okay,” she said. “I hit my head when we crashed, but everything else still works.”
“I need to get you to a doctor,” I said as I tried to pull the door wider.
“Where’s my gun?” Watkins suddenly demanded.
He sounded seriously drunk at the moment, though I suspected that had more to do with the crash than any alcohol he might have ingested. I glanced over my shoulder and saw that he was limping along the road, his eyes glued to the pavement.
“I need to call an ambulance for you,” I yelled back. “Do you have a radio or CB or something in the truck?”
“Fuck you!” Watkins shouted as he stopped his search and pointed a finger at me.
“You need to go to the emergency room,” I insisted. “You’ve been seriously injured.”
The idea of going to the hospital seemed to terrify the man. He started to shake his head and wave his hands, and then he turned and started to shuffle run along the road, away from Folsom.
“Where the hell is he going?” I asked in an exasperated voice.
“Most of the people who go to the hospital don’t come back,” Lila murmured. “Though that’s because they OD.”
“Great,” I muttered. “You stay here, I’ll round up Watkins. He must have something we can use to call for an ambulance.”
“I think he’s got a police radio in here under all these airbags,” Lila said. “I’ll try to find it.”
I took one step away from the truck, and then another pair of headlights appeared ahead of us. They swept around the curve before I could do much more than register their arrival, and just for a moment, Watkins was caught in the middle of the lane in the bright flash of the lights. He froze for a moment, his mouth open in a wordless shout, and then the car smashed into him. Watkins cartwheeled onto the hood of the car and landed with a thump.
The brakes squealed on the other car, and the deputy was airborne again, this time as he tumbled onto the road in front of the car. Watkins twitched a few times, and then I looked towards the windshield of the other car. It was cracked, but still intact, but all I could see of the driver in the darkness was a vague profile. A woman, I thought, though that was probably because the hair looked longish.
The car, a white Sentra, stood still for a moment, and I thought the driver would at least put the car in park and then step out to investigate. I wasn’t sure how to explain the scene, and had decided to say that I had stumbled upon the truck smashed against the side of the road, when the Sentra revved its engine and took off into the night.
“Are you kidding me?” I asked in disbelief as the white car vanished around a curb.
“I think the radio’s broken,” Lila said from the truck.
I walked over to Watkins, but even before I knelt down to check for a pulse, it was clear he was dead. His neck was twisted at an awkward angle and his eyes were completely lifeless. Still, I went through the motions, then stood up and walked back towards the truck.
“Let’s get out of here,” I said to the environmentalist. “We can call the Sheriff and tell him where to find the truck.”
“Is he dead?” she asked as she tried to slide from the cab.
“He is,” I assured her.
“But what if someone else comes along?” she asked as she tumbled onto the road.
“Maybe he’s got some flares,” I said as I helped Lila limp towards the Suzuki.
Lila flopped into the passenger seat with a grunt, then leaned her head back against the headrest. It took her a moment to realize that the duffel bag was on the floor, but she found a way to plop her legs on top without banging her knees against the dashboard.
With Lila settled in the car, I strode back to the truck and looked around. There was a toolbox welded into the bed, just behind the cab, and I knew that many truck owners kept their emergency tools in just such a box. I climbed into the back and opened the toolbox, and beneath a few basic tools and some extra shotgun rounds, I found the emergency flares for marking the scene of an accident.
I set the flares around the truck and Watkins body, then returned to the Suzuki. I checked my phone before I ducked inside, but there was only one bar and when I tried to dial, the bar disappeared. I gave up on the cell phone, and after making sure that Lila and I were both buckled in, I eased the Suzuki around and started back towards town.
It was slow going, especially since I couldn’t remember all of the twists and turns we had taken on the way out to the ridge road, but Lila was alert enough now that she could keep me pointed in the right direction. I pulled in at the 7-Eleven, found some loose change in the car, then stepped over to an old pay-phone at the corner of the building. Since I didn’t have the Sheriff’s number memorized, and I also really didn’t want to talk to him personally, I dialled 9-1-1 instead. There were a series of clicks, and then a hissing sound before the operator came on and asked me what the emergency was.
“There’s been an accident,” I said in my best impersonation of a Boston accent. “Up on…”
I tried to remember what the signs had said, and decided that the ridge section must have been on twelve.
“On twelve,” I continued, “along the ridge there. A truck crashed into the hillside. There was a body in the road. I put flares around it, but the man was dead and I didn’t have a phone, so I came back here to call.”
“You said there was a dead man?” the operator asked.
But I hung up and retreated to the Suzuki. Lila was watching the people in the store, mostly a collection of teen-age boys who were talking to the teen-age girl working behind the counter. We pulled away without anyone noticing we had been there, and continued back towards Folsom.
“There was another car,” Lila said as she rubbed her head.
“A white Sentra,” I agreed.
“Shouldn’t they have helped?” she asked in confusion.
“The driver hit Watkins as he tried to run away,” I said. “The car stopped, then kept going. I didn’t get a look at the driver, but they might have been drunk or high and didn’t want to be arrested on a DUI.”
“So what do we do?” she asked. “Do we even trust the Sheriff? What if he’s the one who told Watkins to kidnap me?”
“Let’s find Belle,” I suggested. “She’ll know someone who can take care of our wounds, and maybe help us figure out what to do next.”
My own brain was still running in circles as I tried to work out why Watkins had taken Lila and who had ordered it. The obvious answer was that someone didn’t want her to give me an alibi and that someone was the Sheriff. But that also seemed too easy, and the fact that Watkins had just met with Eliot couldn’t be discounted. Eliot, for whatever reason, seemed determined that I be blamed for Hup’s death.
By the time we were back in the center of town, I was no closer to solving the mystery and my arm was starting to throb. I pulled over by the park, and saw that the fire had been extinguished although the fire truck was still there and men in bright yellow slickers moved around the site. From what I could tell, the wall was charred and blackened, and a couple of windows had been destroyed, but the inn was otherwise undamaged. I sighed in relief and shared a grim smile with Lila.
“Do you see Belle anywhere?” I asked as I tried to scan the crowd that was still in the park.
Lila started to shake her head, then stopped and rubbed it with her hand again.
“Those airbags really hurt when they pop out,” she sighed.
“You might have a concussion,” I said in a worried voice as I watched the brown haired woman scrub at her freckles.
“Oh, I see Belle!” she cried out. “And she’s seen us because she’s coming this way!”
I followed her finger and saw Belle’s gray
pantsuit cutting through the crowd. She’d left the jacket back at the office in our rush to leave, but she still managed to look intimidating enough to clear a path without uttering a word. Even the state trooper driving down the road toward the inn stopped and let her cross as she zeroed in on the Suzuki and stepped into the roadway without even bothering to look. The cruiser swept by without threat or complaint, and then Belle was standing by Lila’s door and peering inside at us.
“You found her,” she said with a sigh of relief when Lila rolled down the window.
“Watkins had her,” I said. “I don’t know what his plan was, but he crashed his truck back on twelve. At least, I think that’s the road we were on.”
“Oh, dear,” Belle murmured as she glanced towards the scene of the fire. The Sheriff was still there, now engaged in a conversation with the state trooper.
“He’s dead,” I added.
“Ken?” Belle asked in surprise.
Both Lila and I nodded.
“A car came around the curve,” Lila said.
“It hit him while he was in the road,” I added. “And then it drove on. The cell phone wouldn’t work so we drove back to the 7-Eleven and I called 9-1-1.”
“Okay,” Belle mused as she looked at the two of us. “So nothing to link you two directly to the scene unless the other driver comes forward.”
“The airbags deployed,” I mused. “And Lila was bleeding onto one. They’ll know there was a second person in the truck.”
“But they need a DNA sample to compare it to,” Belle pointed out. “Come on, let’s get you two back to my place. I’ve got a neighbor who can check you out, and then we can figure out what to do next.”
“Um,” I hesitated as I looked at Lila and then at Belle.
“We’ll fit,” Belle insisted as she opened Lila’s door. “I’ll just toss the bag in the trunk if you’d be so kind as to open it for me.”
I examined the buttons on the console as Belle hefted the duffle bag from the front of the car and carried it towards the bag. I tried a couple of different buttons, and eventually the lid popped open. Belle dropped the bag into the trunk, closed the lid, and then trotted back to the open door.
“Just scootch over a couple of inches, dear,” Belle said.
Lila shifted towards the middle console and was practically on top of the gear shift before Belle squeezed inside and pulled the door shut. Lila finally draped herself onto my right shoulder and left her legs dangling on Belle’s lap.
“Can you find your way back to those houses on top of the hill?” the attorney asked.
“I think so,” I replied.
“Good,” Belle said. “I’ll direct you when we get to the top.”
I managed a decent three-point turn, despite the arm that was damp from blood and now going numb, and the possibly concussed younger woman who was pinned to my other side. I drove slowly back up the street, careful not to violate a single law as we moved away from the crowd and past the storefronts.
At the top of the hill, Belle led me to the other side of the little park, down a street barely wide enough for the Suzuki, and ordered me to pull into a carport attached to a single-story home. An outdoor light blazed on as the car pulled into the spot, and I could pick out more detail, like the olive green color of the house, the morning glory vines that covered the top of the chain link fence that surrounded the backyard, and the very large dog head that peered at us from the window pane in the door to the house.
“Is this your house?” Lila asked as she blinked in the harsh light.
“It is,” Belle said as she struggled to dislodge Lila’s legs so she could step from the car.
The dog, which had to be a Great Dane, woofed when he saw her and stood on his back legs. He was taller than a lot of the men I know when he did that, and I heard myself chuckle as I tried to imagine Belle somehow ‘losing’ the dog during a stroll in any of the parks I’d seen in town.
“Yes, yes, I’m home Chester,” Belle cooed as she waved to the dog. “And I’ve brought friends for you to meet.”
Chester sat back down at the word friends and looked towards the car where Lila was slowly emerging from the passenger side. Belle helped her to her feet while Chester looked on with interest, and then I slowly eased the driver’s side door open. I stepped out of the car, which set Chester on a round of barking until Belle knocked on the door and told him to sit.
I closed the car door and locked it as Belle opened the porch door and stepped inside her house. She had to push Chester out of the way, not an easy thing to do with Lila still in her arms, but the big dog made way, and a moment later, lights started to click on inside the house. I walked the few short feet back to the road and looked around, but no other cars appeared and the three other houses that I could see on the dead end street remained quiet.
Satisfied that we were safe for the moment, I walked back to the door and stepped inside. I was in a tidy kitchen with nice, if not exactly brand new, equipment and a breakfast nook in the front window with a built-in bench. Lila was seated on the bench while the dog sniffed her curiously, and I could hear Belle moving around somewhere else in the house.
Chester heard me close the door, and he finally turned to study me. His fur was a light brown color though there were patches of gray near his nose and beneath his chin. Even standing stock still he was intimidating, and the short growl he gave me didn’t endear him to me, either.
“Oh, Hunter’s fine,” Lila told the dog. “He saved me tonight.”
Chester woofed, but he still hadn’t taken his eyes from me. We stared at each other for a few moments, and then I took a few steps towards Lila. The dog didn’t bark or growl, but he was still standing at attention. I stopped at the island instead and wondered what the Dane would do if I tried to pour a glass of water for myself.
“Dr. Cummings is on his way,” Belle announced as she returned to the kitchen. “He just has to gather his supplies.”
“Dr. Cummings?” Lila asked. “The vet?”
“That’s him,” Belle said happily. “He just lives across the street. Oh my, Hunter, you’re bleeding!”
I looked at my arm and saw that my sleeve was soaked through and my arm was painted red.
“It hurt at first,” I said. “But it’s sort of going numb now.”
“That can’t be good,” Belle replied as she hustled me towards the breakfast nook.
Chester only stepped aside when Belle nudged him out of the way, and he sniffed me suspiciously when I sank into the soft cushion on top of the bench.
“Ignore him,” Belle advised as she retreated towards the sink. “He doesn’t like men.”
There was a knock on the side door before I could say anything and Belle set down the glasses she had been about to fill and went to open the door. The gray-haired attorney opened the door to admit a middle-aged man with dull brown hair and bright blue eyes set in a square face. He carried a black bag like the doctors in all those old westerns always seemed to have though the rest of his outfit, a pair of gray sweatpants and a stained sweatshirt, was decidedly more modern.
“Are these the patients?” the man asked as he took in our appearance.
“They are,” Belle agreed as she waved the doctor in our direction. “How about I make some coffee?”
“That would be excellent,” Cummings replied as he strode towards the table. “Well, aren’t you two a mess.”
“Check Lila first,” I insisted. “She may have a concussion.”
“My goodness, Lila,” Cummings said in a warm voice. “You’ve got quite a bump there.”
Lila smiled as the doctor set his bag on the table and opened it up. He cleaned away the blood first, then peered into the environmentalist’s eyes and watched as she tracked his finger. He felt her head, asked her a few more questions, then asked Belle to bring the ‘poor girl’ some water.
“No concussion,” Cummings declared. “But your head will probably hurt the rest of the night. I don’t see any issues with
the neck either, but you might want to go by the clinic in Fairmont tomorrow and get everything checked out.”
Lila tried to nod, but gave up and smiled instead. The water appeared and Cummings handed Lila a pair of pills. She swallowed them whole and then gulped down the water. The doctor nodded in approval, then turned to me.
“You’ve been busy,” he noted as he stood back to study me. “Heard about the fight outside the diner.”
“Stupid rednecks,” Belle muttered as she pulled mugs out of one of the cabinets.
“Someone gave you some of the Bronica salve,” he added as he leaned in closer and sniffed. “Well, that will do the trick for the bruises. Let’s see if we can’t take care of this bullet hole.”
Cummings numbed the arm with a local anaesthetic, then set about sewing up the wound in between sips of coffee. Despite the shot, I still ground my teeth and stared out the window as he worked, and tried very hard not to pull my arm away.
“Good news is that there’s no bullet in there,” Cummings murmured at some point.
“That is good news,” I managed to mumble as I stared at my reflection.
After what felt like an eternity, Cummings started to clean up the arm and then tape gauze over the stitches. He examined his work, then nodded in approval.
“I’ll come by and check on everyone in the morning,” he announced as he stood up. “Call if anything happens during the night.”
Cummings dropped some extra packets of pain pills on the table, nodded to Belle, then walked to the door with Chester by his side. He patted the Great Dane on the head as he stepped outside, then closed the door and started back to his own home. I listened to his steps clatter along Belle’s driveway and caught a glimpse of him as he walked across the street to a small house bathed in the yellow light from a flood light.
“This coffee is really good,” Lila said after several minutes of silence.
“I pick it up at the Whole Foods in Charleston whenever I’m there,” Belle replied. “I’m pretty sure it’s the only reason the doc even comes over here.”
