by Robyn Carr
She drove straight to Sarah Kelleher’s house where, indeed, she saw Daniel’s truck parked outside.
Tom was usually the first one into the office in the morning, unless some police business called him before morning even arrived. He would routinely listen to any messages left on the answering machine during the night, look at the headlines on the five newspapers that were delivered to the police department, check the schedule to see when Ricky and Lee would be working, look over his appointments, then head down to George’s for his complimentary coffee and the first gossip of the day.
This morning he found Chris Forrest waiting for him at the door. By his posture and expression, this wasn’t a friendly visit. “Morning, Chris,” he said.
“Tom,” Chris returned with a nod. “Got a minute?”
“Got several. Come on in.” He picked up his newspapers from the front step and piled them on top of the leather folder full of reports he carried from home. Paperwork traveled with him daily, from home to office to home.
He opened up the door and preceded Chris into the office. He let Chris follow him down the hall where he put his papers and folders on his desk. Then he turned to his old friend who he understood was no longer a good friend of his. “What’s up?”
“Our boys. They’ve got some issues.”
Tom’s left eyebrow lifted into a questioning arc. “That so? Like?”
“Like, they’ve been fighting.”
“How do you know this?”
“What do you mean, how do I know?” Chris shot back, anger in his voice. “My guys have black eyes and bloody noses. They’re bruised up pretty good. They were real reluctant to snitch, but they said Johnny and a bunch of Indian friends jumped them!”
“What?” Tom asked, a smile breaking across his face in spite of himself.
“You heard me. That pack he hangs with.”
Tom laughed outright. “Give me a break,” he said. “Johnny doesn’t run with any pack of Indians. Or, as we PC people like to refer to them, Native Americans. Their tribal names will work, also.”
Chris plunged his hands into his pockets, a sour expression on his face. “When we were kids, you were an Indian.”
“When we were kids, you weren’t such an asshole.”
“You saying my boys lied?”
“Oh, yeah.”
“They wouldn’t lie about that. It was hard enough for me to get them to tell. Why would they make up a story?”
“Because they jumped Johnny and he fought his way out of it. Because there was one of him and two of them and they still lost. Because they’re in trouble a lot, Chris. They’re vandals and sometimes thieves, but they can’t fight. Can’t fight worth a damn.”
“That’s ridiculous.”
“No, it’s not. It’s true and you know it.”
“That’s just what Johnny wanted you to—”
“Johnny didn’t tell me how it was. He wouldn’t, even under pressure. But I’ve been wise to this trouble for a while now. And I watch real closely. Here’s one little thing I know. Johnny’s a lot stronger and tougher than the twins. He came home the other day looking like he’d run into that pack of Indians you’re talking about. Now I ask you, genius, if Johnny and some pack jumped the twins, would Johnny have a mark on him?”
“Why would the twins jump Johnny?”
“Think about it, Chris. Where’s your head?”
“What are you talking about?” he asked again, genuinely stumped.
“Johnny and the twins started out friends, right? Johnny was pretty excited about them coming to town. Then cars started getting egged on the highway. A bunch of kids were running from the scene but I caught one—and he turned out to be mine. He wouldn’t tell me who he was with, but he was done with the twins. They don’t hang together anymore, Chris. They haven’t for quite a while. Did you even know that?”
“Well, I—I guess I haven’t seen Johnny in—”
“A few weeks,” Tom reinforced. “At least. Then I caught them stealing eggs from the bakery the other night. I suppose they think I’m too dumb to have figured things out, that the only way I could’ve known is if Johnny ratted them out.”
Chris frowned and shook his head as if shaking loose the cobwebs. “You build up this whole scenario without any evidence? Of any kind?”
Tom was incredulous. He looked skyward, his mouth open slightly, and shook his head. Then he looked back at Chris. “Yeah, Chris, without any evidence at all. Right up until I saw their hands in the refrigerator, pulling out the eggs.”
“But…what I mean is…”
The phone began to ring, distracting Chris. “Gimme a second,” Tom said. He lifted the phone. “Tom Toopeek,” he said. He never called himself Chief or answered “Police department.” The way he saw it, he was as much a neighbor as an officer of the law.
A dark and angry look crossed his features. “When did they get there?” he asked. He listened carefully. “You just sit tight and stay out of their way. I’ll be right there. Are you okay?” He listened. “Good. I’m on my way.”
He hung up the phone and told Chris he would have to finish their conversation later. There was an emergency. He ran down the hall, causing Chris to move pretty fast behind him and out the door so Tom could lock up. Leaving Chris on the stoop, Tom jumped in his Range Rover and, with lights and siren going, wasted no time getting to Myrna Claypool’s house. He wasn’t worried about her safety just yet. But he was thoroughly pissed.
June found Daniel and Sarah having a cozy little breakfast on her patio. He was wearing a sweater that looked to be handmade, and there was a throw over his legs, but underneath all this was jeans, boots and a cow-boyish-looking plaid shirt. Underneath her fussings he was still a rancher and stable owner. But he sure did look comfortable in her care.
First she asked, “How are you feeling, Daniel?”
“I’m feeling almost normal,” he said. He lifted his cup to his lips, sipped, put it down and said, “Decaf.” He pointed to the remnants of eggs on his plate and said, “Egg-beaters. No fat, no cholesterol.”
She nodded, though something told her that if Blythe had provided these things, he’d be complaining about this treatment. He’d demand his bacon and butter and would’ve given that lap throw to the dog. But this wasn’t really anyone’s fault. Sarah’s house was like a nest, while the house he shared with Blythe had always been functional. Practical. “Very good, Daniel,” she said. “Diet is the first line of defense.”
“Coffee?” Sarah asked.
The idea suddenly made her queasy. She’d slept very little, if at all, and had already had a stronger than strong cup at Blythe’s.
“Tea?” Sarah asked, noticing the grimace. “Something to settle your stomach?”
June’s hand went to her stomach. “Too much black coffee before breakfast,” she said.
“The water’s hot,” Sarah said, heading for the kitchen.
June sat down across from Daniel. “I went out to the stables, Daniel. I guess I thought I’d find you there.”
“I haven’t been out there nights in a real long time, June. Maybe a year.”
“I didn’t know.” Which would explain why Blythe didn’t expect Daniel to have any idea she was packing.
“Doubt anyone would notice. I was never late for work in the morning. Never left the stable wanting for attention.”
“But what about Blythe, Daniel?”
“Didn’t leave her wanting, neither.”
The situation was starting to take on the ring of a harem, yet these people—all three of them—were the sweetest, kindest, most apparently moral and upstanding she knew. Daniel and Blythe seemed not only devoted to each other, but almost prudish. And Sarah was so nurturing, it seemed impossible she could allow Blythe to feel this hurt. June realized that this situation was so confusing for her because she would have fully expected either Sarah or Daniel to turn away from temptation and do the right thing. Instead they seemed to blame Blythe for her own discomfort. June pre
ssed a hand against her queasy stomach.
Sarah put a cup of tea in front of her and said, “Now, Daniel, June doesn’t understand. She thinks you’re making sinful suggestions. He only means he always has and always will take good care of Blythe. She should never worry about her future. Or her retirement.” Sarah touched the saucer. “This is a special blend, June. It’ll settle your stomach.”
June took a hopeful sip.
“I came right out here after talking to Blythe. She asked me not to say anything to you, but I can’t keep a secret that I’m afraid might hurt someone. She’s packing. She’s planning to leave Grace Valley.”
Sarah gasped.
Suddenly June’s eyes filled with tears. “What did the two of you expect?” she asked, her voice taking on a desperate tone. “She’s devastated! Humiliated!”
Daniel’s fist came down on the patio table. “Damn stubborn, pigheaded woman! She promised me over thirty years ago that it would never come to this. We were partners, best friends. We shared everything! I always wanted what’s best for her and she for me and now she’s gonna bring all we worked for to ruin! Damn pigheaded woman!”
Sarah covered his ham-fist with her round soft hand, but she looked at June. “We’ll take care of this right away, June. This surely has to stop.”
“Blythe is going to be so upset that I came to you,” she said, then sniffed. Sarah gave her a tissue, which she used, but she thought, What the devil is the matter with me? Why the hell am I crying? She felt sorry for Blythe, true, but she was hardly overcome. They weren’t even close friends!
“We’re going to make sure she isn’t upset with you, June. You’re not to worry. Now, how is your stomach? Has the tea worked?”
She let herself concentrate for a moment and realized she had not a hint of nausea. It was magic! “Yes,” she said. “Yes, it has.” And at that moment her pager began to vibrate. Tom’s cell phone number showed in the window. Without asking, she went the short distance into Sarah’s kitchen and dialed.
“Your aunt Myrna has been served with a search warrant by the county sheriff’s department. I’m on my way there now. You’d better come.”
June couldn’t get very close to Myrna’s house because of the crime scene van and police cars. When she got out of her truck and started up the driveway toward the house, she heard a very rare sound—Tom Toopeek shouting.
“What the hell do you mean you weren’t obligated to bring the warrant to my attention! Is that the way you do business now? Since when do we sneak around each other like that? This is my town, my neighbor, my—”
“And it’s my county, god dammit! I had a warrant to serve and a crime scene to investigate and couldn’t have you tipping off the—” the deputy shouted back.
“Tipping off the eighty-four-year-old woman? In case she wanted to move the body? Are you guys stupid or just plain mean?” Tom was poking a finger into a deputy’s chest, the deputy reddening more with each poke. “If that old woman has any problems—health or emotional—because of the indelicate way you’ve handled an idiotic and asinine—”
The deputy swatted Tom’s hand out of the way. “Listen, Tonto, you’d better keep your grimy little hands—”
Pushed to the limit already, Tom grabbed him by the front of the shirt and had nearly lifted him off the ground, ready to do some serious damage, when the man’s partner came to the rescue. “Hey, hey, hey!” he shouted, putting his arms between the two of them. June jumped in as well, pulling at Tom, shouting, “Tom! Stop it!”
Tom came under control faster than Stan. The latter, a little overweight and wheezy, had trouble calming down.
“Stan, Chief Toopeek is right. We should have informed his office of the warrant, had him meet us here to talk to the old lady. He’s right to be offended. Now back off.”
Stan jabbed a finger in Tom’s direction. “You put your hands on me! Don’t you ever put your hands on me!”
“I apologize,” Tom said. “Don’t call me names.”
“He’s sorry,” the other deputy said. “He can be stupid, but he’s a good cop.”
“Don’t tell him I’m stupid,” Stan ground out between clenched teeth, giving his partner a shove.
“Incredibly stupid,” the man clarified. “Go sit in the car before I help him clean your clock.” Stan seemed to quiver with anger. “Go,” his partner said. He reluctantly turned away.
June left the men to sort things out while she ran into the house to find her aunt. There was no one in the living room, but she could hear sounds coming from upstairs. As she passed the parlor she looked out the back window and saw that yellow crime scene tape had been stretched across the backyard, strung between trees. Two men were out back digging.
“Myrna?” she called, but no one answered. She checked the kitchen where the teakettle whistled, but no one was there. She took the kettle off the fire. She could hear typing and was driven to the study.
Myrna sat at her word processor in her robe and slippers, her springy white hair flat on one side and puffy on the other, a pencil behind each ear, her glasses on her nose, her fingers going a mile a minute on the keyboard. “Myrna?” June asked.
“Come in, darling. Have they completely destroyed the house yet?”
“I haven’t even looked. Oh, Myrna, I’m so sorry about this!”
She looked completely perplexed. “Sorry? June, darling, why are you apologizing? You didn’t call for the warrant, did you?”
“No, no, I’m just sorry this is happening. And I don’t understand why—”
“I’ll tell you why. Because the bones that were found under the flower bush are approximately twenty years old, from a male the approximate age Morton was the last time I saw him.” She frowned angrily, an expression Myrna almost never wore. “That seems highly unlikely to me.”
“Because…?” June led, waiting.
“Because if a piece of someone were buried twenty years ago in my garden, don’t you think I’d know about it? I had much more time for my garden twenty years ago than I’ve had lately.” There was a crash from upstairs. “Louts,” she said, glancing at the ceiling. A worried look crossed her features. “If they make much of a mess, it’s going to take more than the Barstows to tidy up. They’ve never really been that domestic, you know.”
June reached out and held her aunt’s hand. She was so dear, so generous. She had employed the sixty-something bickersome twins for years, despite the fact that they had very few domestic talents. How she loved Myrna. Who could possibly suspect her of a crime. If not for those books…
“What are you writing, Auntie?”
“I’ve never been this close to a house search before, so I thought I’d get as much material out of it as possible. What I’ve always thought is true—I feel completely violated.” The sound of something heavy being dragged across the floor of the bedroom upstairs caused them both to look at the ceiling. Myrna sighed heavily. “Believe it or not, I know where everything is in this cluttered old house.” She looked again at June, her eyes quite sad. “June, darling, I think you’d better call me a lawyer.”
Fifteen
June wanted to stay with her aunt Myrna, but she reluctantly turned that assignment over to Elmer. She not only had patients, but other promises to keep. Fortunately, the most important items on her list could be delegated, which she did from her cell phone as she drove. First she called Birdie and told her what was happening at Hudson House. Birdie promised to get the name of a good lawyer from Judge. Next, Charlie MacNeil offered to provide transportation for Jurea Mull so that she could visit with her children. And it was imperative that June find the time to visit Charlotte, who was barely able to get from bed to chair without help from Bud. But not today, she decided. She was coming down with a bug. Possibly the flu. Either that or she’d gotten a bad bean…
When she got into town she stopped at Sam Cussler’s gas station. The Gone Fishing sign was on the door, so she pumped her own, cleaned her windows and slipped her I.O.U. for the cost
of the gas into Sam’s mail slot. When she drove on toward the clinic, she slowed down as she passed the Flower Shoppe. When she realized what she’d seen, she slammed on the brakes and backed up. There was a sign on the door of Justine’s place of business that read Closed Until Further Notice. “Oh no,” she said aloud and headed toward their home.
Justine and Sam lived in the house that had been Sam’s for better than fifty years. There were a couple of cars parked out front, in addition to Sam’s old truck. Instinct told June to take her medical bag with her.
Justine had four sisters and one of them wordlessly opened the door for June. She looked down at the floor. June could sense the doom in the house and, without being directed, went to the bedroom. There was Justine, pale as the sheets against which she lay, Sam sitting beside her, holding her hand. Justine’s gaze left Sam’s face and found June’s. She smiled weakly. “Oh, June,” she whispered. “I’ve made a terrible mistake.”
A short time later John brought the ambulance and helped June load their patient into the back. He bent over Justine and placed a kiss on her forehead. “I’ll call Dr. Worth and have him meet you at Valley Hospital,” he told her.
“Are you very angry with me, Dr. Stone?” she asked.
“Of course not, Justine. But there’s no reason for you to be in pain. Let Dr. Worth help.”
She nodded and closed her eyes.
Justine’s sister got into the back of the ambulance while Sam elected to follow in his truck so that he’d have transportation. “How did you know to come?” he asked June.
She shrugged. “We’ve all known she’s sick,” she said. “And the flower shop was closed.”
Sam hung his head. It was the first time in June’s memory she had seen him look old. And all June could do for him now was take his young bride to the hospital.
