by Mark Mueller
Wuhrer pointed at me. “Why is it that every time he shows up something happens? Don’t bother answering that. Louis McMurphy is a pathological drunk who’s been nothing but a scourge to my family. I want him out of my house.”
“We’ll be out of here in ten minutes, Mr. Wuhrer,” Ducky advised. “Oh, and when I’m done with Mac, I’m going to want from you a damn good explanation why you left your house when I explicitly ordered you to stay put and by the phones.”
Wuhrer glared at Ducky, but said nothing.
Ducky focused on me. “Okay, Mac, walk me through what happened.”
* * * *
I spent the next ten minutes recalling everything that had happened during the past hour and a half. I left out nothing. When I was finished, Ducky went out to his cruiser and brought back a digital camera and a tape measure. He photographed and measured the bay window from both inside and outside of the house. He then photographed the shattered glass on the floor, followed by the blood-stained couch. After that, he photographed me. I knew there wouldn’t be any portrait photos out of this stock because I was covered with Maddy’s blood.
Ducky inspected the couch, the wall behind it and then the floor. He didn’t find the expended bullet, which meant that it was still inside Maddy’s body. Lastly, Ducky measured out the living room, making note of the distance and angle from the bay window to the couch across the room.
When he was done, Ducky told me I could go, but not before he said he was headed to the sheriff’s department in a few minutes to process the evidence he had collected. He promised to keep in close contact.
I wanted to get to the hospital as fast as I could, but I knew I’d better not show up the way I looked. I didn’t want the hospital staff to think I was hurt. And I didn’t want the gaping stares that would no doubt occur, either.
Twenty minutes later I arrived at my house. The cat was asleep on my desk, as usual. As I removed my clothes I discovered that Maddy’s blood had soaked all the way through and had dried on my skin. I left the clothes on the bedroom floor and took a scalding hot shower, scouring myself as best I could. I put on a fresh set of clothes and then got a garbage bag from under the kitchen sink. I put the bloody clothes in the bag and took it out to the garbage can next to the garage. I doubted if I’d ever get the blood-stains out.
Back in my bedroom, I put the shoulder holster back on and then holstered the pistol. As I got another sport jacket out of the closet, I realized I had left a pistol magazine in the pocket of the jacket I had tied around Maddy. I hoped I’d be able to retrieve it before someone at the hospital discovered it. If not, I’d have some Ricky Ricardo “Lucy you’ve got some ‘xplaining to do.” And I didn’t want that to happen.
Before I left the house, I fed the cat and topped off its water dish. What a life, that cat. It had the whole house as its playground and free food that arrived on a regular basis. I wish I had it that easy.
When I got out to the driveway, I found Harry Cassidy waiting for me.
“You okay, Mac?” he asked.
“Couldn’t be better, Harry,” I replied.
“I heard on my police scanner there was some sort of commotion at your lady friend’s house.”
“You could say that.”
“What happened?”
“Someone shot up the house. Maddy got hit and she’s at Hunterdon Medical.”
“My lord, Mac, who would do such a thing?”
“I don’t know.”
“Is she going to be okay?”
“I hope so. I’m on my way to see her, now.”
“Give that young lady my best, okay?”
“I will, Harry. Talk to you later.” I didn’t want to seem rude or anything, but I needed to get to Maddy right away. I hoped he’d understand.
Chapter Thirty-Two
Hunterdon Medical Center was on Route 31 just north of Flemington, about twelve miles south of Spruce Run. I got there so fast that I was surprised I didn’t get pulled over along the way. It helped to be a local.
An older nurse named Mrs. Samuelson, a Spruce Run townie I’d known all my life, greeted me at the emergency room reception desk. Her name may have been Samuelson but it would have been more accurate if her name was Ratched. Mrs. Samuelson was meaner than a snake with shingles, and I’ve had my share of run-ins with her over the years. It seemed as though every hospital in America had a Nurse Ratched on staff.
When she saw me coming, Mrs. Samuelson’s face soured and she crossed her arms. It was as if she was expecting me.
“You may have a seat in the waiting room, Mr. McMurphy.”
“Maddy Wuhrer. Is she okay?” I asked.
“The waiting room, Mr. Mc Murphy.”
“Can you at least tell me how she’s doing?”
“You know I cannot do that. You’re not family.”
“Come on, Mrs. Samuelson. I was with her when she was hurt.”
Mrs. Samuelson eyed me dubiously. “You are trouble, Mr. Murphy. Maddy Wuhrer deserves better.”
I leaned in across the desk. “Look,” I seethed. “I don’t need your condescending crap and I don’t have to explain why I’m here. I want to know how she’s doing. Are you going to tell me, or am I going to go in and find out for myself? Either way, I’m going to find out. I’m not screwing around with you.”
“Don’t you talk to me that way, young man. I know your mother raised you better than that.”
“My mother’s not here so you keep her out of it. I’m not putting up with your nonsense, not now.”
“Who do you think you are, Mr. McMurphy? You can’t just barge in here and—”
I put up my hand in a dismissive way…
(talk to the hand)
… and walked away.
“Mr. McMurphy!”
I acted like I didn’t hear her.
“Mr. McMurphy!”
I went down the corridor behind the front desk and turned a corner. I found Maddy’s sister Peggy talking on her cell phone. When she noticed me approaching, she disconnected her call.
“Hi Mac,” she sniffled as she hugged me.
“Hi Peg. How’s she doing?”
She hesitated.
“Peg?”
“She’s not good, Mac.”
“Where is she?”
“She’s in surgery.”
“How bad?”
Peggy took my arm and turned me around, guiding me to an empty room.
“You were there?”
“Yeah. I was there.”
“What happened?”
“We were in your parents’ living room talking and waiting to hear for news about Charlie. I was starting to call my friend Ducky when the bay window shattered. It startled me and I dropped my phone. I turned around and saw Maddy hunched over on the couch, bleeding like crazy from her shoulder. Ducky called me back and I got him to send an ambulance. Then I took off my jacket and tied it around Maddy’s shoulder and held pressure where she was bleeding. The ambulance got there fast and brought her here.”
Peggy hugged me. “Thank the lord you were there.”
“How bad is she?” I asked.
“Her lateral thoracic artery was punctured. She’s lost a lot of blood.”
I turned away and frowned. My heart was breaking.
“Mac,” Peggy said. “It’s not your fault.”
I looked at her. “It sure feels like it is.”
“Look, you probably saved her life when you tied your jacket around here. You did good, okay?”
I wasn’t convinced. “Did they say how long she’d be in surgery?”
“No, they didn’t.”
“So, we’re in a holding pattern, huh?”
“Sure looks like it. Oh, I just remembered. I have your jacket.”
“Oh, okay. Thanks.”
I followed Peggy to a small waiting room where family members could wait in private while their loved one was in surgery. Hugo and Amanda Wuhrer were already there, sitting close to the door.
“Can’t you ever stay a
way from my family?” Wuhrer snapped when he saw me.
“Not now, Daddy,” Peggy admonished.
I ignored Hugo Wuhrer and followed Peggy to a chair with two shopping bags on it. One bag contained Maddy’s clothes and the other had my jacket. The jacket was soaked through with Maddy’s blood and I knew right away that I could never wear it again. I checked its pocket and located the pistol magazine, and placed it in my new jacket pocket. One less thing to worry about. I then draped the bloody jacket over my arm and turned to Peggy.
“Thank you, Peg. Will you call me when you hear something?”
“I will, Mac. And you call me if you hear anything about Charlie, okay?”
“You got it. Take care.”
Peggy gave a weary smile. “I will.”
I turned and left the room. Before the door had swung closed all the way, I could hear Peggy’s father berating her for talking to me. I couldn’t have cared less what Hugo Wuhrer thought about me. That was his problem, not mine. My only concern right now was finding Charlie. I knew I couldn’t help Maddy by waiting around the hospital. Her survival was now in God’s hands, and I had no say in the matter.
Chapter Thirty-Three
My cell phone blasted off as I walked through the hospital parking lot. The Caller ID displayed Beth Henry’s cell phone.
“Where have you been, Beth?” I snarled as a greeting.
“I’ve been running down some leads, just like you wanted,” she replied.
“You need to work on your staying-in-touch skills.”
“Sorry, Chief. I’ll work on it.”
“You’d better.” I ended the call.
The phone blasted off a second time, and again the Caller ID showed Beth Henry’s cell.
“What?” I growled.
“You hung up on me.”
“No kidding.” I got into the Charger and put the blood-soaked jacket on the passenger seat.
“If you had hung on for another second, I could have told you about a development.”
“What development?”
“An envelope was delivered to the Bugler.”
“Why didn’t you call me?”
“I tried. You didn’t answer.”
“You could have left a voicemail.”
“Sorry, Chief.”
“You’re at the Bugler now?”
“Yes I am.”
“Don’t go anywhere. I’ll be there in a few, okay?”
“I’ll be here.”
I ended the call and dropped the phone on top of the bloody jacket.
* * * *
Fifteen minutes later I parked in front of the Bugler.
“Where’s the envelope?” I asked as I walked through the front door. I wasn’t in the mood for pleasantries.
“On your desk,” Beth pointed. “Where else would be?”
“Did you read it?”
“No. It didn’t have my name on it.”
I went to my desk and found a FedEx letter envelope on the blotter. My name was hand-written on it. Nothing else. No return address, nothing.
“Beth!” I called out.
“What?”
“How did this envelope get here?”
“I put it on your desk.”
I took a deep breath and exhaled. I could feel my blood pressure rising.
“Where did you get it from?”
“It was under the front door when I came in.”
I picked up the envelope and examined it. Although it was a FedEx envelope, it hadn’t been delivered by them because there was no shipping label on it. My name was handwritten in thick black marker. Someone wanted me to have it in a hurry.
I peeled the envelope open and removed a letter-sized envelope, which was also sealed and hand-addressed to me in thick black marker. Someone was no doubt covering their tracks.
When I opened the smaller envelope, I discovered a standard three-by-five index card inside. “Shack on Spruce Run Creek” was typewritten on it.
I picked up the blower next to my right hand and dialed Ducky.
“F.O.T.! F.O.T.!” he answered.
“Where are you?” I asked.
“I’m at the sheriff’s department following up on things. How’s Maddy?”
“She’s in surgery. It’s touch and go.”
“Sorry, Mac. I wish there was something I could do.”
“That’s why I called. I just got a strange delivery at the Bugler.”
“What was it?”
“A typewritten message that reads ‘Shack on Spruce Run Creek.’ I think it’s a lead.”
“I’ll be right over.”
“Good. See you when you get here.”
“Okay. See you in ten.” The blower went dead in my hand. Typical Ducky exit strategy.
I cradled the blower and looked at Beth Henry. She was at her desk checking her email. All I could do was shake my head and think, good lord, why did I hire her? She was more trouble than she’s worth. And a total waste of my time.
I knew why I had in actuality hired her, and it wasn’t because Old Man Letts had insisted I pay it forward and train a new reporter. It was because she was young and good-looking, and she had more than a passing resemblance to Maddy. I was disgusted with myself, because I had hired her based on looks instead of on talent. In all honesty, Beth Henry was a horrible reporter and had a miserable personality. And I was getting tired of having to rewrite everything she turned in. I should never have hired her in the first place. Things were going to have to change.
Ducky arrived a few minutes later. He always seemed to arrive faster than his ETA. It was like he never got caught in traffic. I wouldn’t be surprised if he had activated his cruiser lights while he was driving. Ducky didn’t like getting stuck in traffic.
We half hugged each other when he came into my office. We didn’t hug each other often, but always did when things were stressed out and we needed to bond.
I handed him the FedEx envelope and he looked it over.
“This was the way you found it?” he asked.
“No, it was sealed when I first got it. Beth found it when she came in.”
“Someone slid it under the front door,” Beth added.
“Who opened it?” Ducky asked.
“I did,” I said. “My name’s on it.”
Ducky put on a pair of surgical gloves he kept in his back pocket and opened up the envelope. Seeing the smaller envelope, he pulled it out and removed the index card. He then phoned the sheriff’s department and requested four deputies and a forensic expert to meet him at the Bugler.
“Okay,” he said when he was done. “When my crew arrives, we’re going to look for a shack on Spruce Run. Forensics will find out if either of the envelopes or the index card have fingerprints on them.”
“My fingerprints will be on both items,” I noted. “Beth’s will be on the FedEx envelope.”
“Understood.”
“One other thing,” I added. “Something I just remembered.”
“What’s that?”
“Right after Maddy was shot, she tried to tell me something.”
“What was that?”
“She was trying to tell me to keep looking for Charlie. She wanted me to protect her.”
“We’re searching for her, Mac.”
“She said something else, too.”
Ducky glared at me but didn’t say anything, so I continued.
“Maddy kept saying ‘shack.’ She said it a couple of times. She even said ‘Charlie shack’ once.”
“She was losing blood, Mac. She was confused.”
“Come on, Ducky, don’t you see it? Maddy was trying to tell me something about Charlie and a shack, and now I get a note about a shack on the Spruce Run creek. She’s got to be down there somewhere.”
Ducky shook his head. “There’s no way Maddy could know if she’s in a shack on Spruce Run. Unless she had a hand in it.”
I glared at him. “You know Maddy better than that. She loves Charlie too much for something l
ike that.”
“I guess we’ll soon find out, won’t we?”
I didn’t answer. I wasn’t about to let Ducky accuse Maddy of something she didn’t do. She would never do something like that. I knew better. I knew without question that Maddy was a great mom. She was one of the most compassionate, honest and loving people I’d ever known.
While we waited for the sheriff’s deputies to arrive, I checked my email and then began editing the following week’s edition of the Bugler. There wasn’t much to do, but I needed something to keep myself busy with while we waited. Editing always relaxed me.
I needed to get Charlie back to Maddy if it was the last thing I ever did. I owed it to her. After everything I had put Maddy through six years ago, I owed her big. And I owed it to myself, too. Charlie was my daughter, too.
And it was time for me to be her father.
Chapter Thirty-Four
Forty minutes later I joined Ducky and four sheriff’s deputies in the Spruce Run Reservoir recreation area parking lot. I knew three of them. Mike Sullivan and Roger Beck were high school classmates of Ducky and me, and Mary Jo Peluce lived on my street. I didn’t know the fourth officer until Ducky had introduced us. Her name was Tanya Chen and she was a rookie from Bloomsbury.
As Ducky and his crew studied a map spread open across Ducky’s cruiser hood, I called Peggy on her cell. Maddy was out of surgery and in recovery, but was still unconscious. I knew I wouldn’t be able to see her until she was in her own room.
When I ended the call, I realized how ridiculous this looked. I mean, four sheriff’s deputies, a sheriff’s detective, and a newspaper editor in a parking lot gearing up to search for a phantom shack along the Spruce Run Creek? I’ve lived in Spruce Run all of my life and knew that no one would find a shack anywhere along the creek. People stopped using those years ago. I decided it was a ridiculous waste of time, and I told Ducky so.
“Do you have anything better to go on?” he asked. “You read the note just like I did. It’s the only lead we have at the moment.”
“And you know better than I do that there’s no shack,” I insisted. “You were right. Maddy was confused when she said ‘shack’ when she was shot. This is a bad idea.”
