Meadowlark

by Sheila Simonson

  Sitting out of the fitful wind felt good, so I drank a lukewarm cup of the stuff in the car. As I walked back to the rescue scene, the ambulance screamed past me, heading for Kayport. I caught a glimpse of Jason, bundled in blankets, with an i.v. hanging over him and a tense paramedic at his side.

  The rescue squad was bringing Bill up to the road in a basket-like stretcher. They had been arguing whether to move him up or have the helicopter hover over the canyon. They were being very careful. Apparently they decided the risk of gusts was too great. The helicopter was going to land on the road.

  Once that decision was made, the first deputy who had arrived began, rather officiously, to clear an area on the road. I was standing on the shoulder, and he waved me off. He probably expected me to go on down to the Honda, but I walked back to Jay and stood beside him as the rescue crew inched Bill's basket up the hillside.

  As the carrier reached the shoulder, one of the rescuers slipped and fell halfway down the side of the ravine. He wasn't seriously hurt, but his sudden movement jolted the stretcher.

  Jay reached down to steady it, and I caught a glimpse of Bill's face. I looked away. Bruises had swollen and turned black, reducing both eyes to slits, and one of the many lacerations had torn his nose, exposing the cartilage. When the paramedics had slipped the stretcher onto a gurney, they wheeled it over to the rescue van. They changed i.v.s, and the woman began monitoring his vital signs.

  Beside me, Jay stirred and cocked his head. "It's coming," he said quietly. I could hear nothing, but Jay was a medic in the army, and he tends to recognize the sound of helicopters.

  He was right. The Life Flight copter landed on the road about five minutes later, churning an amazing amount of dust and debris into the air considering it had rained the night before. The helicopter medic and the rescue crew had Bill aboard and secured within two minutes, and the aircraft took off. I watched until it was a speck in the sky above the Coho River.

  Jay and I walked back to the Honda. He had changed his mind. He was going to drive the Honda to the hospital and stay there as long as he was needed. He drove slowly, carefully.

  At the base of the shortcut the road came to a T. One arm led east toward the farm, the other to Kayport.

  "Do you want me to drop you off now?"

  I started. I had been brooding over the meaning of the accident. "No. I want the car."

  "Okay." He turned right in the wake of another log truck. "Don't say anything, not a damned thing, about this business. Pretend it didn't happen."

  "All right. The workshop starts tomorrow. There should be enough adrenaline flowing about that to keep their minds off Bill and Jason."

  He sighed. "I can't believe that woman didn't cancel the conference."

  Neither could I. And I was beginning to get stage-fright.

  Chapter 13

  "I just talked to Frank Hrubek," Bianca said. "Can you drive to Portland tomorrow to pick him up?"

  Hrubek was the first of the two science writers who were going to address the workshop. I admired his writing. Even so, I was not tempted.

  "No," I said with great firmness. "Rent the man a car."

  "He doesn't drive."

  We were standing in the seminar room of what I thought of as the conference wing of the house. In spite of catastrophe, chaos, and the memorial service, the room had been freshly dusted and vacuumed, and Marianne, arms folded, stood silent witness to the conversation.

  I drew a long, careful breath. "You did not hire me as a chauffeur. I'm supposed to help you run the workshop."

  Bianca thrust a hand through her hair. "I know. I apologize. I was going to get him myself, Lark, but you must see that I can't be away from the farm for six hours, not now."

  The drive from Kayport to Portland International Airport took two and a half hours in good weather. It was raining again. "More like seven hours altogether," I said coldly, "what with waiting around and claiming luggage. Let Keith do it."

  She shook her head. "He's distraught over the students--Mary missing and now Jason. Keith's on medication. He shouldn't drive." She didn't mention Bill. Maybe Bill was too much Jason's shadow for her to notice him. He was lying in the hospital, probably with a broken neck. Bianca didn't know that yet. I gritted my teeth.

  "Come on, Lark," she wheedled.

  "Why not Angie?"

  "Angie and Del will be putting in a full day of work. Farming," she added with maddening complacence, "operates on its own time line. They have to plant the spinach."

  "Send one of the interns." I was flailing around and knew it. "Send the Carlsens."

  "What if they had a wreck on the way? With the others missing..." Her voice trailed and the intense eyes pleaded.

  I got the point. Parental lawsuits. "What if I have a wreck?"

  "You won't," she said with superb confidence.

  "Send Mike."

  "No." Marianne didn't even bother to raise her voice. She knew how to deal with Bianca.

  "If I agree to drive to Portland tomorrow to fetch Francis Hrubek, my husband will divorce me on the grounds of mental incompetence."

  Bianca smiled a sad smile. "You have a great sense of humor."

  "When does Hrubek's plane arrive?" The moment I asked the question I knew I was defeated.

  Bianca did, too. Her face lit. "Ten. Nine forty-five, actually."

  "In the morning?"

  "Of course in the morning. He wants to be here for the reception."

  I groaned. "I'd have to be on the road by half past six." I tend to wake at six spontaneously, so six-thirty wasn't all that horrible, but Bianca didn't need to know about my biological clock. I wanted her to owe me bigtime. I gave another artistic groan. If she could manipulate, so could I.

  "Come and have some lunch," Marianne interposed.

  I glanced at her. She looked grave and sympathetic. I hadn't had lunch, as a matter of fact, and it was past one. The muffins were ancient history.

  Bianca turned the big brown eyes on me. "You'll go, won't you? That's wonderful. I'll get the flight number for you."

  In my own defense, I will say that I didn't stick around to be manipulated further. I left the farm. After lunch.

  I drove straight to the hospital in Kayport. The receptionist told me Bill was in surgery and Jason in Intensive Care.

  "Second floor?"

  She frowned. "You can't see either of them."

  "I know. My husband is here, probably in the nearest waiting room."

  "He's a relative?"

  I stared at her, unwilling to explain that Jay stood in loco parentis, as far as the college was concerned.

  "Second floor. West elevator," she conceded. "The waiting room's across from the nurses' station."

  "Thanks."

  The Shoalwater hospital is one reason the Peninsula is becoming a retirement center. It has excellent diagnostic and immediate treatment facilities, good stroke therapy, an attached nursing home for long term care, and the Life Flight service, which can airlift patients to Portland as well as rescuing them from obscure country roads. The average age of patients was around fifty. Bill and Jason were bound to be oddities.

  I don't like hospitals. Most people don't. A woman I knew had died of a stroke in this one a few months earlier, and memory was making me edgy.

  The elevator decanted me opposite an empty alcove with a philodendron and a built-in sofa upholstered in soothing shades of blue and purple. A tasteful watercolor of the Kayport marina hung over the bench. I stood for a moment looking at it and thinking of the view from Hugo's apartment. Then I made myself peer around the corner.

  At the far end of the long corridor, a knot of people stood talking in hushed voices. I could see Jay, head cocked, hands in his jacket pockets, listening to someone. As I watched, a figure emerged from the clump and strode toward me. Dale Nelson. I retreated to the alcove and sat waiting.

  He spotted me as he was reaching for the elevator button. "Hey, I thought you were at the farm."

  I stood u
p. "I was. What's happening?"

  He made a face. "The usual waiting game. Jason Thirkell hasn't regained consciousness yet. Jay's dealing with Johnson's parents, thank God. Kid got out of the operating room half an hour ago. He's in post-op. Thirkell's there in intensive care."

  I cleared my throat. "Bill's pretty bad, then."

  "They think he'll live, but--" The elevator arrived. "Hey, I gotta go. See you." Dale hopped in, and the doors slid shut.

  I watched the illuminated buttons until Dale reached the ground floor. Then I sat again. In a surprisingly short time, a middle aged couple, the woman crying, the man with his arm around her trying not to, came around the corner and pressed the elevator button. Bill's parents, I suspected. I got up and started to say something, offer my sympathy, but they were speaking in low, intent voices and it was apparent they didn't notice me. I decided not to intrude. What could I say?

  When the elevator doors had closed on their anguished faces, I stuck my head into the corridor again. Jay was still standing by the nurses' station, but there was only one other person with him. As I passed the first of the two-bed wards, the man shook hands with Jay and went off in the other direction. Jay took a seat on the dispirited sofa in the hallway and picked up a magazine.

  He looked up as I approached and gave me a smile that was half grimace.

  I sat beside him. "I saw Dale."

  Jay sighed. "Then you know about Bill."

  "I know they operated on him."

  "He's a healthy kid. He'll live." His face was bleak.

  "Is he... Will he be paralyzed?"

  Jay shrugged. "It's too soon to tell. At the moment, the doctors seem more worried about brain damage. His skull was fractured. They operated to relieve the pressure."

  I tried to digest that.

  "What about Jason?"

  "He's still in a coma, and there's a strong possibility he'll develop pneumonia. He was damned cold."

  "What about injuries?"

  "Bruises, some lacerations. Nothing like Bill."

  "I think I saw Bill's parents."

  Jay's hand clenched on the National Geographic, but he didn't say anything.

  "Have you talked to the Dean?"

  "Left a message for him."

  "Did you eat lunch?" I asked because Jay is a little apt to forget the practicalities in stressful situations.

  He blinked at me. "No."

  "You must be Jay Dodge."

  Both of us started and stood up. A young woman in a flowered dress, pumps, and a blue raincoat looked up at us. She was about five feet two, heels and all.

  She held out identification so Jay could inspect it. "I'm Louise Callender. Dale said you'd fill me in." She had round pink cheeks and blond hair and might have been Dale Nelson's sister.

  Jay shook hands and introduced me.

  Dale had called Deputy Callender away from a shopping spree at the mall. She was detailed to sit outside Jason's room until he regained consciousness. Dale wanted to question Jason, of course, but I gathered that Callender was also supposed to guard the boys. That was interesting, but not entirely surprising. I tried to envisage her wrestling with a large man, Del Wallace, perhaps.

  When Callender had conferred with Jay and was sitting on the couch with the National Geographic, we headed down the hall, bound for the cafeteria in the basement.

  Jay leaned on the elevator button. "How are things at the funny farm?"

  "Uh..."

  "That bad, huh?"

  The doors opened, and we got in beside a couple of nurses in polyester uniforms--pastel pants outfits, one with daisies all over it. They smiled and went back to a conversation about the Portland Trailblazers. They rode with us to the basement and also made for the cafeteria. Bill's parents huddled in a far corner over coffee. It wasn't until Jay and I were sitting at one of the tiny ice-cream parlor tables that we could say anything of significance.

  In other words, I had some time to think up a rationalization for my wimpishness in the matter of Francis Hrubek. As I had expected, Jay was outraged. Between savage bites of turkey sandwich, he forbade me to go, told me I was a dolt and a patsy, and offered me the use of the Honda. My ancient Toyota is not suitable for long drives.

  I dallied with my cup of bad coffee. "I'll be back by one-thirty."

  "Ha."

  I said, "I'll have two and a half hours to persuade him to sign all his books."

  "Wonderful."

  I eyed him over my mug. "Let's go home."

  He finished chewing the last of his sandwich, patted his moustache with the paper napkin, and laid the crumpled napkin on the table. "I can't leave until Jason regains consciousness."

  "That could take days!"

  He explained that he was convinced the accident had been rigged and that Jason had seen something incriminating.

  I leaned back. "Was he blackmailing the murderer?"

  "Maybe, maybe not. The timing is strange."

  "Hmm. Hugo is killed. Ten days pass. Mary disappears--"

  "And things start to happen. I think Jason and Bill saw her in Seaside with the murderer."

  "Does Dale agree?"

  "He's willing to think about it."

  "Hence Louise Callender."

  "Yeah." He took a last swallow of tea.

  I got up. "I thought your opposition to my little Portland jaunt was uncharacteristically feeble. If you're going to camp out at the hospital, I'll bring you a razor and a toothbrush."

  "Thanks." He actually looked guilty.

  "Do you want me to wait with you?"

  "No. It could--"

  "Take days," I finished. "All right, Jay, but I don't think Jason is your responsibility."

  He shrugged back into his all-weather jacket. "I don't have a legal obligation to him, but he is a student. His father's driving down from Seattle, and his mother and step-father should be here any minute. I'll have to talk to them."

  I shivered. "Good luck."

  He walked me out to the Honda. As I unlocked the car, he said, "Don't let that conniving woman bully you into anything else."

  I gave him a wifely peck on the cheek. "I won't. See you later."

  I didn't stop by the bookstore. From then until the end of the workshop it would have to wait. When I got home, Bianca had left a message on the recorder. She sounded urgent. I called Bonnie.

  That absorbed a good hour. I took a nice hot shower and changed into sweats. I read the paper. I packed a duffel with supplies for Jay. He might as well be comfortable. Then I called Bianca.

  Angie answered, sounding tired. When I had identified myself, she said, "Del just drove Trish to Raymond. She was having false labor pains. At least she thinks they're false."

  "Wow. Bianca called me. Do you know why?"

  "It's probably about Bill and Jason. You knew about the wreck, didn't you?"

  "Uh, yes."

  "Oh, here she is. She wants to talk to you."

  She wanted to rank me down for not telling her about the wreck.

  When she paused for breath, I said, "Bianca?"

  "What?"

  "Shut up. If you want me to drive to Portland tomorrow you will speak to me very, very softly."

  She made a noise of protest.

  "Jay and I found the boys this morning. I didn't tell you because Dale Nelson told me not to."

  "But I was so worried about them--" She broke off. When she spoke again, her voice sounded scared. "Did somebody cause the wreck?"

  "I don't know, Bianca, and I'm not going to talk about it." I had just talked about it to Bonnie in considerable detail, including speculation, but Bonnie was a friend and Bonnie was discreet.

  After that Bianca made a disheartened attempt to get me to hang around the airport for another hour waiting for two of the workshop participants. She wasn't up to her usual form, however, and I managed to resist.

  I drove back to the hospital at six. Jason was still unconscious. It would be days, of course, if not weeks, before Bill could be interviewed. The do
ctors now thought he was paralyzed from the waist down, though there was some possibility of partial recovery of movement. They still had no firm opinion about permanent brain damage. Jay had been dealing with the Johnsons and Debbie Davis, Jason's mother, all afternoon.

  I dragged Jay down to the cafeteria again and we had a macaroni and cheese casserole for dinner. A noisy family group dominated the restaurant area, so it wasn't until we got to the Jell-O pudding that we had an opportunity for real conversation. The family dissolved, leaving us alone except for the servers, who were doing a desultory clean-up.

  I don't know what it is with cafeterias and the Jell-O company. You can go for years without seeing a Jell-O pudding--except in cafeterias. I toyed with mine. It tasted of cocoa and cardboard, except for a blob of white stuff on top. That tasted of plastic.

  Jay dug in without hesitation. He scraped the last of the chocolate from the glass cup and shoved the cup back, swabbing his moustache with a paper napkin. "Dale got preliminary results from the crime lab this afternoon." He crumpled the napkin.

  He meant the state crime lab's analysis of the scene of Hugo's murder. I wondered what the crime lab would make of my pudding. "And?"

  "This is confidential--"

  "For God's sake, Jay."

  He scowled. "You don't seem to be able to resist Bianca Fiedler's blandishments. We want Bianca and her staff kept in the dark."

  This was unsurprising, but I was interested to observe that Jay was using the pronoun "we" without consciousness. That meant he thought of himself as inside the investigation. He wouldn't think that unless Dale did, too.

  "My lips are sealed." I shoved my unfinished dessert away. "Probably permanently, by that fake mousse."

  "Aw, it wasn't that bad. Comfort food."

  "Jay," I said gently, "tell me about the lab report."

  "They found traces in the wheelbarrow."

  The wheelbarrow he was referring to was one of those large, low-slung carts used to haul plant clippings. "Hugo was carried to the ice house in the wheelbarrow?"

  Jay nodded. "Postmortem."

  "So he was killed near the greenhouses." I brooded. The wheelbarrow was stored near the greenhouses--Angie's territory. Not Del's. "But Angie--"