“I don’t think the ones you were slipping to Q counts you know,” Sage replied.
Drake smiled. Rested his head back against the chair.
“Q didn’t get any meatballs. Some smoked trout maybe, but no meatballs.”
The comment spurred life from the easy chair, Wes twisting his paper to the side to peer at Drake.
“You gave that dog my trout?”
Q moaned in response before Drake could respond.
The combined laughter of Kade and Sage made it impossible for him to even try.
Drake leaned back in his chair. Returned his arm to cover his eyes. Felt his phone vibrate against his hip.
With his off-hand he fished it out and held it at arm’s length. Peered beneath his bicep to check the caller ID.
Let his arm fall away and stood.
“Yeah, that’s what I thought,” Wes said. Returned to the crossword. Drew more laughter from his progeny.
Still smiling, Drake wagged the phone at the room. Excused himself.
“Uh huh, run away,” Kade taunted.
“Go get some more meatballs,” Sage called.
Drake continued to shake his head. Exited into the adjacent dining room, already set up in anticipation of the morrow’s meal.
A red table cloth covered an expansive cherry wood table. Gold rimmed plates sat in front of five chairs. Water glasses were polished clean, silverware already in place.
Drake walked past it to the windows overlooking the front lawn. Stared out at a thin blanket of snow being whipped around by the wind.
Raised the phone to his face.
“Hello?”
“I got the information you needed,” Rink said. No salutation. No lead-in.
Drake hadn’t expected there to be.
There never was.
“Okay.”
“Sorry to call so late. It took me a while to track it down.”
Rink never apologized either. For him to do so now meant Sara must be close by.
“How’s Lukas doing?”
“No change,” Rink said. “Stable, but...” He let the statement drift off. Didn’t want to say the word coma aloud.
Drake nodded towards the window. “And Sara?”
“Exactly the same.”
Drake nodded again. He knew the feeling. Like standing on the outside, watching your own body go through the motions.
“Again, you’re welcome to come here,” Drake said. Even though it wasn’t his place to extend the invite, the Keuhl’s had done as much repeatedly over the course of the afternoon.
If he didn’t make the offer, there’d be hell to pay.
Besides, maybe two more mouths would be able to keep up with Kristina’s prodigious output.
Drake doubted it, but wouldn’t turn away the help.
“Thank you, all of you, but we’re not going anywhere.”
There was no doubt from the tone that the decision was final. It wasn’t hostile, but it wasn’t negotiable.
“Okay,” Drake said. Conceded the point. “So, what were you able to find out?”
“I shook the bushes a little bit and found out all psychiatric evaluations are done through Fort Harrison in Helena.”
“I’ve been by there. Those will be sealed medical records, but I’ll call first thing Tuesday and see what I can find.”
“I can do you one better. The lady you want to speak with is a Dr.-,” there was a pause as Rink checked the name, “Cheryl Woodson. She’s expecting you at eleven.”
Drake’s eyebrows rose a half inch on his forehead. A puff of air slipped from his lips.
“That a problem?” Rink asked. “Sorry, I know I should have checked with you first.”
“No, that’s fine,” Drake said. “I was just thinking, that was some bush you shook to pull all that off, on Christmas Eve no less.”
“It was,” Rink affirmed. “Might have even had a few stars on its shoulder.”
“Damn. There are two-star generals living in Hamilton?”
“I didn’t say two stars or Hamilton,” Rink said. Another hint of finality.
Drake’s eyebrows rose a little higher, but he let it pass.
“So eleven o’clock, Cheryl Woodson,” Drake said, shifting the subject.
“Yeah, just go to the front gate and ask to speak with her, they’ll tell you where to go.”
“I’ll be there. Thanks a lot, man.”
“Thank you,” Rink replied. “Let me know if anything comes loose I might be able to help with.”
“Will do. Merry Christmas, to you and Sara both.”
“Thanks, same to you,” Rink said. Hung up.
Drake stared another moment out the window. Watched as the top of a pair of Lodge Pole Pines in the front yard bent beneath the wind.
Had his attention drawn away by the reflection of Sage approaching in the glass.
“Get done talking to your girlfriend?” Sage asked. Arched an eyebrow.
“Sure did. Rink says hi.”
The eyebrow fell into a half smile. “Sara?”
Drake smiled. Should have known Sage would be listening.
“The sister. He’s there at the hospital with her.”
“Are they...?”
Drake shook his head. “I’m not sure. I know enquiring minds would like to know though, so I’ll ask at some point. Just haven’t had a chance yet.”
“Much appreciated,” Sage said. Bowed the top of her head.
Drake circled around the table. Headed back towards his place in the corner.
“Cheryl Woodson?” Sage asked.
“Lukas Webb’s psychiatrist.”
Sage nodded. Said nothing.
Chapter Sixteen
Boxing Day.
An English holiday demarcating the day after Christmas.
A day when employers, masters, would bestow gifts upon their servants. Everything placed in a single box.
In the United States, it is a bit more somber.
The day after Christmas. A time when people are either feeling the post-holiday hangover, fighting to return an ill-gotten gift, or dragging themselves back to work.
Drake fell into the third category.
He rose in time with the sun and bade the Keuhl’s thanks many, many times over. Accepted a bag of food for the road from Kristina that would keep he and Q both fed for much of the week.
Bumped fists with Kade on his way out.
Gave Sage a hug.
By seven o’clock he and Q were back on the road, headed south. With luck, most of the reservation was still asleep, the roads empty as he drove. Already the merriment of the previous days was gone from mind, thoughts of where he was going occupying his thoughts.
A light wind blew west-to-east across the highway beneath his tires. Pushed a spray of white powder over the blacktop. Did nothing to slow his progress as he reached Interstate 90 and turned east towards Missoula.
A quick pit stop by the house allowed him to change clothes, drop off Q, leave his duffel on the floor. Less than twenty minutes after arriving he was back on the road, dressed in slacks and a sweater.
The world around him was starting to come alive as he slipped out of Missoula and headed towards Helena. The sun, nothing more than a thin white disc, rose above the horizon. Cars dotted the interstate.
Drake paid them no mind as he drove into the morning. Kept the radio off and the heater on high.
One by one he gnawed at the fingers on his left hand. Tried to get his jaw to keep pace with the frenetic inner-workings of his mind.
Failed miserably.
An hour after leaving home, Drake nudged his truck off the interstate. Headed north up State Route 12. Had the road to himself as he pushed the last sixty miles into the state capitol.
Gone were the open tracts of land from the interstate, the meandering Clark Fork River. In their place was farm country. Rolling fields of clover and alfalfa. Scattered bunches of cattle, Black Angus and Brown Baldies.
Stretches of undisturbed snow
.
Drake inventoried the questions he wanted to ask in his mind as he went. Found Fort Harrison two miles shy of Helena proper.
Pulled up to the front gate fifteen minutes before eleven.
A guard that looked to be just a day over eighteen waited for Drake to pull even with the patrol booth before stepping outside.
“Morning,” the young man grumbled, cheeks and ears both bright red with cold.
“Good morning. Drake Bell, here to see Dr. Cheryl Woodson.”
The young man glared at Drake. Looked down at the clipboard in his hand. Peeled back a top sheet and continued to read in silence.
“Dr. Woodson is in back at the hospital. Follow this road until it T’s out, turn right. Visitor parking is out front.”
He turned and headed back without waiting for a response.
“Thank you,” Drake said to the back of his head. Rolled his window up. Pushed the blower on the heater a little higher.
Drake followed the directions given to him and pulled up in front of the VA Montana Health Care System ten minutes before the hour. He parked in a space marked by blue paint.
No other cars in the visitor stalls.
Threw his bag over his shoulder. Shuffled inside as fast as he could without running.
The atmosphere inside was subdued as he stepped through the set of double doors and stood in a wide foyer of polished white tile. Looked from side to side in an attempt to get his bearings.
Another guard, a carbon copy of the first save for his black hair to the front gate’s brown, stared from behind the front desk. Looked bored. Waited for Drake to approach him.
“Hi, I have an appointment with Dr. Cheryl Woodson.”
The man looked at Drake a moment. Narrowed his eyes.
“Active duty is across the street. This facility is for veteran’s only.”
A look of confusion passed over Drake’s face. Faded as he thought of his shorn hair.
“I’m neither. I’m a lawyer representing a recently discharged Army Ranger.”
The guard’s eyes narrowed a bit further. He let the gaze linger a second longer than necessary before lowering it to a chart on the desk before him.
“Room 321. Elevators are down the hall.”
“Thanks,” Drake mumbled. Set off before having to interact with him any further.
The elevator deposited him on the third floor, a desolate stretch of gleaming white. Drake stood a moment and looked in either direction. Started walking to the right.
Realized the numbers were going in the wrong direction. Went back the opposite way.
He found room 321 four minutes before eleven. Door closed. No light on beneath it.
Wrapped on it with the back of his hand. Didn’t get a response.
On the far end of the hallway, a janitor shuffled into view. Drake watched him a moment. Turned back to the door. Knocked again.
Still no response.
Drake removed his cell-phone and checked the time.
One minute before eleven.
He considered texting Rink and making sure he was where he was supposed to be. Reasoned with himself that both guards wouldn’t have let him through unless things checked out.
The sound of the janitor grew closer, his feet shuffling across the floor.
Drake turned towards the old man with tufts of white sprouting from the top of his head and each of his ears. Watched him push a broom forward without any real regard for what he was doing.
“Good morning,” Drake said. Smiled. Raised his chin in greeting.
The janitor kept moving like he wasn’t there. Didn’t respond in any way. Remained stooped over his implement, gaze aimed at the ground.
Kept the broom aimed in a straight line. Marched it right past Drake.
As he went, his left hand reached into the shirt pocket of his uniform. Produced a single folded white card. Extended it between his thumb and forefinger towards Drake.
Drake accepted the card. Mumbled a thank you.
Made no attempt to hide the confusion on his face.
Not once did the janitor break stride as he went.
Pushed the broom to the end of the hall and rounded a corner. Disappeared from view without ever saying a word.
Drake waited until he disappeared before opening the card and staring down at it.
Allowed the look of confusion to further cloud his features.
A single line, written in a woman’s hand.
Café Zydeco. As soon as you can get here.
Chapter Seventeen
Eleven minutes.
That’s all it took for Drake to make it back to his truck and drive the short distance into town.
He ignored inquisitive stares from both guards as he went.
Set his face in a scowl that told them both he wasn’t to be questioned.
Not that he was actually angry, he just didn’t want to be stopped. All they would do is ask a bunch of questions he had no idea how to answer.
Making the first right he came to, Drake pulled into the parking lot for Café Zydeco. Turned the truck off and sat staring straight ahead.
The entire structure was little more than a coffee hut. Maybe fifteen feet in length. Not even that long in width.
No way could it hold more than a quartet of tables.
Drake watched as a pair of middle aged ladies walked outside with white paper bags under their arms. Power walked to a Prius. Climbed inside and drove away without once looking his direction.
With a heavy sigh, Drake grabbed up his bag from the seat beside him. Wrenched the door open and headed inside. For the first time all morning, didn’t notice the Arctic blast blowing across his body.
Not that he was hostile. Just, intensely curious.
A small bell announced his arrival into the restaurant. A trio of stares turned as he entered. Two belonged to girls in their early twenties working behind the counter. No doubt college students helping out over break.
Drew the short straw on the day after Christmas.
The third belonged to a woman in her early-thirties. Couldn’t have been more than a half dozen years older than Drake.
Short blonde hair tucked behind her ears. Blue eyes. Yoga pants and a fleece pullover.
Her gaze met his as he entered and she nodded once.
Drake took the cue and walked towards her. Extended his hand out before him.
“Dr. Woodson?”
“Cherie, please. Mr...?” she asked, returned his handshake.
Firm. Warm.
“Drake.”
“Alright, Mr. Drake. Please, join me.”
Drake pulled out the chair across from her. Slid down into it. “No, first name Drake.”
Cherie nodded as one of the girls walked to the table. A strawberry blonde ponytail swung to either side of her head as she approached. Oversized smile aimed at Drake.
“Can I get you something?”
Drake opened his mouth to decline. Turned to Cherie.
“Are you having anything?”
“Cajun turkey sandwich,” Cherie responded. Offered a sheepish smile.
“Same,” Drake said to the waitress. “And a sweet tea if you’ve got it.”
“Alright,” the girl responded. Somehow managed to spread her smile even wider.
Drake waited for her to head back behind the counter before returning his attention to Cherie. She sat staring back at him, seeming to size him up.
He couldn’t help but smile.
“I’m not what you expected,” Drake said.
“No,” Cherie replied. “Can’t imagine I’m what you thought you were meeting today either though.”
“No,” Drake conceded. “Though that’s not at the top of my list of questions right now.”
The same sheepish smile crossed Cherie’s face. “Yeah, sorry about that. I got a call this morning informing me it would be better if this conversation was held off-site.”
“And off the record?”
Cherie’s eyebrows rose. �
�Did you get a similar call?”
“No, but it’s not hard to put together. The way this whole thing came about. You sitting here alone. It makes sense.”
Mock surprise crossed Cherie’s face. “Can’t a girl just be in the mood for a turkey sandwich?”
“The day after Christmas? You’ve probably got more turkey at home than you know what to do with.”
The remark brought a smirk from Cherie. “Ham, actually. But the general sentiment isn’t wrong.”
“So then why are we here?” Drake asked. “This feels a lot more like hiding out than having a real conversation about Lukas Webb’s health.”
“It is and it isn’t,” Cherie said. “I’m not worried about anybody hearing anything. It’s just that inside the walls of VA Medical Center, in my official capacity, I’m quite constrained about what I can and can’t say.
“Out here, I’m just having lunch with a new friend. If we happen to be talking about work and something comes up, so be it.”
Drake leaned back from the table. Blew out a sigh. Swung his gaze around the room.
He had overestimated the place from the outside. The counter and service prep areas were larger than expected.
It left just enough room for two tables.
“I have no idea who called in this favor, but they must have had some clout.”
“Retired or not,” Cherie said, “A four star general is a four star general.”
There was no attempt by Drake to hide the surprise on his face.
“Wow. Impressive. Dare I ask what he went to the trouble of having you here to tell me?”
“By all means,” Cherie replied. Motioned with a hand across the table. “I am here to tell you absolutely nothing.”
Drake’s jaw dropped open. He twisted his head to the side to look at her. “Come again?”
A smile crossed Cherie’s features. “Allow me to rephrase. I’m not here to tell you I refuse to speak. I’m here to tell you, there’s nothing to tell.”
Drake could feel his brow furrowing. “Wait, seriously?”
“Seriously,” Cherie said. Nodded once for emphasis. “That guy was one of the most well-adjusted soldiers I’ve ever come across. If not for his father taking ill, he would have been a lifer.
“And a good one at that.”
Tracer Page 7
