Different Paths (22 page)

“And dish it out, too,” I said. But I said it quietly. She was holding a pitchfork, after all.

Chapter Forty-one

“So it really was David?” Nick asked.

“It looks like it. We’ll know for sure once Alan and Trevor get their prints analyzed.” I laid my head against the back of the sofa. We were sitting in the front room, the afghan cushioning our heads. I had my foot, throbbing with the exertion of the day, up on a stool, and held my cold glass of lemonade against my forehead. “They’re going to have a lot to work through in the next few days, with all of this, plus Tricia’s illness that she didn’t tell anyone about.”

“If it’s true.”

“If it’s true. And if it is, why didn’t she tell them? I mean, you told your family first thing.”

“Family is different for different people.” He reached over to take my hand, and held it against his thigh. “Speaking of that, thanks for dealing with this whole Miranda thing. I didn’t know she was coming.”

“I know. And you’re welcome. I was actually glad she was here earlier, because it felt…uncomfortable when Alan thought I was here alone.”

He looked at me. “Alan? But I thought it was David who’s been hurting women.”

“I know. But he’s a man, and he was acting kind of weird.”

“I thought those things went together?”

I laughed. “Sometimes.”

“What are you two laughing about?” Miranda came in and plopped down in a chair.

Nick’s hold on my hand tightened. “Weird men.”

She raised an eyebrow.

Nick smiled. “Never mind.”

“So what’s the plan for supper?”

“Supper?” I rolled my head sideways to look at her. “We just had lunch.”

“Yeah, like four hours ago.” And she hadn’t eaten very much.

I tried to think about what was in the fridge. “I guess we have a frozen pizza. And Lucy gave me some applesauce she froze last summer.”

Miranda gaped at me. “You have got to be kidding.” She turned to Nick, her voice pleading. “Can we go out for supper? Please?”

I closed my eyes.

“What do you think, Stella?” Nick’s voice was soft in my ear. “I’ll pay.”

I looked at him. “It’s not that. I’m just…tired.”

His eyes showed his disappointment, which was mirrored in Miranda’s expression.

“You two go.”

“No, Stella.”

“I mean it. I could use a quiet night.”

“But the milking…”

“It won’t be the first time I’ve done it alone. Go ahead. And if you get back in time I’ll let Miranda help clean out the stalls.”

She paled.

Nick wasn’t buying it. “I don’t want to leave you here alone. You know, with everything…”

“But we know who it was. It’s over.”

“They don’t have him in custody yet.”

“What’s he going to do? Drive over from Lancaster to come get me? And why would he? Willard hasn’t called him yet. And even if he did, David wouldn’t know the prints were from my shovel.”

“I don’t know…”

“Oh, come on. I’ve got Queenie here. She saved me the last time he came. And I can keep my rifle handy.”

Miranda’s expression was almost desperate as she waited for Nick’s decision.

He studied my face. “If you’re sure.”

“I’m
sure
. Now git.”

Miranda jumped up from her chair and held her hand out to Nick.

He still hesitated, so I pulled my hand from his and pushed him away. “Will you go already? Before I get mad?”

“I’ll have my phone.”

“Of course you will. Now go away.”

They finally went.

I stayed where I was, except for getting up to pop an ibuprofen, until it was time to go out to the barn. Once I got there, I took one look at the parlor and went to my office, where I called the police station. I couldn’t wait any longer. The other officer was gone, so Meadows answered the phone, sounding harassed.

“It’s Stella. Any luck?”

“None of them match.”

“You mean neither of them. Alan or Trevor.”

“No, I mean
none
. David went to the Lancaster police a couple of hours ago, where they got his prints and sent them. They don’t match.”

Oh,
shit
. “So there’s somebody else.”

“Apparently so.”

I clenched the phone, my heart racing. “Who?”

“How am I supposed to know? Who else touched that shovel?”

I tried to think. I squeezed my eyes shut and pushed on my temple, going over the past day. The shovel hadn’t been anywhere other than the Hershbergers’ and the back of my truck until I’d brought it into the barn in the evening. Maybe I’d missed some prints when I’d wiped it down. It’s not like I was trying to wipe off evidence—just the extra cow crap that had stuck on it. So the unidentified fingerprint could be anybody’s—Lucy’s or Zach’s or Nick’s or even Tess’.

“Those are the only ones I can tell you for sure. I don’t know who else it could be other than the folks who work here. And I thought I’d wiped it clean.”

I could hear his sigh over the line. “Then we’re out of luck.”

“I’m sorry, Meadows.”

“Yeah. Well, if you think of anybody, call me, okay?” And before I knew what was happening, he was rattling off his cell phone number. I grabbed a piece of paper and scribbled it down, marveling at the way life works. My archenemy, and here I was, able to call him at any time, day or night. I promised to keep in touch, and hung up.

I looked around the office. It was quiet. Too quiet. I was alone, except for Queenie, and Dr. Peterson’s killer was still on the loose, knowing who knew what about my shovel and how I’d gotten involved. A rush of adrenaline swept through me, and I picked up the phone to call Nick. The phone system sent me directly to voice mail, and I tried not to sound panicky as I left a message, telling him Meadows’ news and that I wouldn’t mind if he and Miranda would order their meals to go and get their butts back home. Once Nick ended his present call his phone would ring, telling him he had a voice mail. I hoped the call was a short one.

I looked at Meadows’ number in my hand. Should I call him? Nope. Couldn’t stomach it. Even if he had become less repulsive in the last few days, I still wasn’t ready to ask him to come hang out in my barn.

How about Willard? Now him I wouldn’t mind calling. I tried the police department, but got the answering machine, informing me it was after business hours and I should call 911 if there was an emergency. I wasn’t having an emergency. Yet. I looked up Willard’s home phone number and called there. Brady answered.

“He’s out.”

“Out?”

“Yeah. He came home, grabbed Mom, and they drove off to some birthday party. Adults only. Not that I wanted to go. I mean, Mallory’s here, and—”

“While your parents are gone?”

“Well, they know she’s here, it’s not like—”

“I’m joking, Brady. Chill. Your dad have his cell phone with him?”

“I’m sure he does. Want me to call him?”

I looked around the office again. Me and Queenie. And my rifle. “Nah. I’ll be okay. Thanks.”

I hung up, telling him to be good, and looked at the clock. Nick would get my message soon and come home. Right?

I took the paper with Meadows’ number into the parlor and pinned it to the bulletin board, where it wouldn’t get lost. It would also serve as a bit of humor if I ever needed it. Just the thought of it…

Also accompanying me to the parlor was my rifle. I’d told Nick I’d keep it near me, and now that David was off the hook and the other guy—whoever he was—was still out there, it felt good to have it close by.

I turned on the radio and got the herd in, Queenie nipping at the heels of the slowpokes. I’d put feed in the bowls and turned on the milker when Queenie ran out of the parlor, barking. I looked out, expecting to see Miranda’s Lexus. It wasn’t there. Instead, I saw an unfamiliar Buick LeSabre.

I glanced down the aisle toward my rifle, where it was hidden behind a beam, and was moving toward it when I recognized the driver. She walked over and stopped in the door of the parlor.

I couldn’t hide my surprise. “Tricia?”

“Hi, Stella. Milking alone?”

And suddenly it came to me. The shovel. I’d been to Alan and Katherine’s, where I’d taken the mulch and helped scoop it out. I’d left my shovel in the bed of my truck when I left their house, and parked right in front of the flowerbed at the church, where Tricia planted the geraniums. She’d stopped me as I was leaving the church, telling me she’d borrowed something, when Queenie went crazy, barking at the squirrel. I’d never heard what it was she’d borrowed.

But now I knew.

“I thought you went home to Lancaster.” I inched toward my rifle, but she matched my steps, coming closer.

Queenie was tense, watching every move. Confused. But ready.

I was kicking myself.

Tricia had every connection the guys had had. Seeing Carla on moving day, knowing what doctors were on the list, visiting my farm when Patty drove the milk truck. The drug dealer at the gym. And most of the attacks were early in the morning. When David would’ve been out running and wouldn’t have noticed she’d left their bed.

Tricia shrugged. Casual. “We
were
at home. But you know, when my husband is suspected of murdering someone, it makes me kind of crazy.”

“He was?”

She smiled. “Don’t play stupid, Stella. It was your shovel they were testing, after all.”

Oh.

“Yes, they told us. Once none of the guys’ fingerprints matched, the cop in Lancaster figured it didn’t matter anymore. Don’t blame him, though. He’s young and dumb.”

“So you came back? David wanted to talk to the local cops himself?”

“Oh, David’s not here. He’s in Lancaster, at work. Catching up on the last week of e-mails and office stuff. You know.”

“Sure.” I held her gaze. “So what is it you want?”

“What do I want? Now there’s an interesting question.
What do I want
? The problem is, no matter how I answer that, what I want isn’t going to happen, is it? I’m not going to see my daughters graduate, be at their weddings, grow old with David, or know my grandchildren. And as for the photography or interior design careers Katherine keeps pushing on me, they’re certainly not going to happen, either, are they?”

So I was right. She really was dying.

Down the row behind me I heard a cow shift, and a rush of urine hit the floor as she relieved herself. Tricia didn’t bat an eye.

“So you’re here to…” I left it open-ended.

For a moment she looked uncertain, but a shake of her head brought her back. “Get closure on some unfinished business.”

She took a quick couple of steps to the side, grabbing the pitchfork that rested there, and was back at the end of the aisle, giving me no time to lunge for the rifle. She held up her weapon and came my way. I backed between the cows, watching her. With my foot in a cast there was no way I could outrun her, especially with the slippery floor covering left by the cows. I prayed desperately that Nick had gotten my voice mail and was on his way home.

Queenie growled, a low, menacing sound. Tricia slid her eyes once toward her, but kept her attention on me.

I held up my hands. “Tricia, think about what you’re doing.”

“Think? You want me to think? I’m going to die sometime in the very near future, leaving everything important behind me, and you want me to
think
? About what?”

“What this will do to your family. You don’t want to end up as a murderer, do you?”
Even though she already was one
. “Think of how this will affect your daughters.”

“My daughters already think I’m a dud. At least, Sarah does. She thinks the only women who matter are the ones out doing their own thing. Some important career.”

“All college kids think they know everything. You know that. They think they have the answer for changing the world. Sometime soon Sarah will look back and see you did the most important job of all when you stayed home to raise her.”

Tricia shook her head. “Not in time for me to know about it.”

“She might come around quickly. Especially if you tell her about being sick.”

Her eyes sparked. “What would you know? You don’t have kids.”

And never would, the way this was going. “No. But I
know
kids.”

“So what? That makes you an expert?” Her nostrils flared, and the point of the pitchfork rose toward my neck. I hoped Queenie wouldn’t scare her now, or that dirty point would come right my way.

“
They’re
all important.” Tricia sounded sad.

“Who?”

“Those women. You know. The vet, the doctor, the truck driver.
They’re
all out there getting the glory for their
important jobs
.”

“So that’s why you attacked them?
Killed
Dr. Peterson?”

“Don’t be an idiot.” She sniffed, and wiped at her nose with her sleeve, not letting go of the pitchfork. “It just worked out that way, that they were all women. And I didn’t mean to kill that doctor. She wasn’t supposed to be there. She was supposed to be home. But no, she was working at an ungodly hour of the morning, when
normal
people are still home sleeping. She surprised me, and I… she wouldn’t help me. David had gone to talk to her about it earlier, try to get her on board with some alternative medicine, and she wouldn’t help him, either. So I…I pushed her. She hit the edge of the table, and…I thought, being a woman, she might see my side of things. Maybe it would’ve been better if it had been her dad.”

She shook her head slowly. “If only
one
of them would’ve helped me…” She closed her eyes, but opened them before I could move. “The vet lady, what’s her name?”

“Carla.”

“Yeah, well, she didn’t really get a chance to help. I saw her truck when David and I went out for brunch.”

I remembered Willard asking me about David’s whereabouts on Sunday, when Carla was car-jacked. I’d known he and Tricia didn’t go to church, but mistakenly had thought of Tricia as her husband’s alibi. I’d never considered that
he
would need to be
hers
.

Tricia was still talking. “I recognized the truck from the day before, and knew there were drugs in it. When David went to the bathroom I grabbed his ball cap and slipped out to see if I could open the back of the truck. There could’ve been something helpful.”