Different Paths (3 page)
I discovered Wendy where I expected to, in the far corner of the pasture, where soon-to-be mothers hung out. From the looks of her back end she’d be going into labor sometime in the next day or so. She acted calm and pain-free, chewing her cud in a regular rhythm, so I backed off and left her alone, the way cows like it. The less human involvement, the better, as far as they’re concerned. As far as I’m concerned, too.
By the time Zach and I had finished mucking out the stalls Lucy was at the calf hutches, feeding bottles to a few new additions to the herd. I scratched one of the babies on the head and looked at the blue sky, wondering when we’d ever get some of that rain I’d seen in Harrisonburg that turned the Shenandoah Valley green and vibrant.
But I didn’t want to think about the pleasures of Virginia.
“So you’ve got supper plans with Ma?” Lucy asked. “That’s nice.”
I wrinkled my nose. “Yeah.”
“What’s that attitude for? Ma makes great food.”
“Well, sure, it’s just—”
“—that you’ve got to meet the new minister?”
I looked at her. “How’d you know?”
She tapped a finger on the side of her nose.
I frowned. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
She placed both hands on the bottle and planted her feet more firmly as the calf tried to yank its breakfast away from her. White spots of milk dotted the calf’s fuzzy nose. “You know, I’m not sure. Santa does it in
‘Twas the Night Before Christmas
. I think it’s just supposed to look mysterious.”
“Well, it doesn’t. So how’d you know about the minister?”
“Peter told me.”
“Reinford?”
“Yes, Peter Reinford. How many Peters do you know?”
Peter Reinford was the minister at Sellersville Mennonite, where Lucy attended. She hadn’t had many options in churches, since the Grangers pretty much dragged her to theirs, but she’d never regretted the choice. It was a friendly congregation, and Peter was a caring and competent minister. The few times I went to church during a regular year it was at Sellersville—Christmas Eve, Easter, Zach’s youth group fundraisers, Lucy’s wedding, whenever Ma insisted I go… I had many memories from my childhood, fidgeting in the pew, wearing the one dress I owned that Ma had made for me. As I grew older I attended less and less, but every time I went I got a warm welcome. And I had to say this for Peter—he never pressured me.
“How’d Peter know I was going to the Grangers for supper?” I asked. “And don’t tap your nose.”
“I guess Ma told him she was inviting you. I don’t know. Maybe God told him.”
“Yeah.” I put my hands on my hips and rolled my neck. “I’m going to head over to the hospital now and see Carla. That all right?”
“Sure. Zach’s around, isn’t he? We might get started replacing the water cups that need fixing in the parlor. There are at least three. Okay with you?”
I waved as I walked away. “Whatever. I shouldn’t be gone too long.”
“Take your time.”
Queenie met me in the drive and trotted along to the garage, where I pulled out my Harley. “Sorry, girl. No truck today. It’s too nice to travel in a cage. You wouldn’t be allowed in the hospital, anyway, no matter how unfair that sounds.”
She looked disappointed, but I’m sure she understood.
I found a parking spot in the front row at the hospital, close to the Emergency entrance, and carried my helmet in under my arm. Pennsylvania is a no-helmet-law state, and I didn’t want to take the chance I’d get lectured by some well-meaning but annoying ER nurse. I always rode with my head protected, but that didn’t mean I was going to tell everyone else they had to.
The nurse at the ICU station was a different one from the day before, and she studied me, her eyes lingering on the points of the steer head tattoo that snaked around from the back of my neck to the front.
I shifted the helmet to the other arm. “I’m here to visit Carla Beaumont.”
“Are you family?”
Yes
. “No. A friend.”
She considered this. “I’ll check with her.” She walked purposefully to Carla’s door and went inside. A moment later she was back.
“Sorry. I can’t let in just anybody, you know. You can go on back.”
I met her eyes, trying to determine if she was this protective with all visitors, or if it was the “biker thing” Nick had been talking about. No telling. I let it go and went to Carla’s room, swinging open the door to face a severe frown. I stopped at the foot of the bed, trying not to grin at Carla’s toddler-like expression. “Mornin’, Sunshine.”
Carla narrowed her eyes. “I don’t want to hear about your breakfast. Eggs and pancakes and sausage and a glass of that whole milk, straight from the cow. And don’t even begin to tell me about waffles and ice cream or even that piece of buttered toast. I don’t want to know.”
I pulled up the visitor’s chair and plopped into it. “How ‘bout a stale granola bar and a glass of OJ at five this morning? Want to hear about that?”
Her lips pursed. “That’s all?”
“Only a glass of warmish water since.”
“Well, all right.” Her face relaxed and she grinned. “So how’s your hot boyfriend?”
“He’s good. Sends his regards. Hopes you can get out of here soon.”
“He coming up to visit? I’d love to see him.” She grinned and waggled her eyebrows, and I remembered those days a year ago, when she would come around to the farm just to watch him paint my heifer barn or simply walk around, being gorgeous. Those were the days before he and I were anything official. Well, other than as employer and employee. Before I knew he was a developer. Before I knew he would be the love of my life, who would contract a serious disease. Who would have a home and family two hundred miles away.
I tried to smile. “I hope he can come up soon. We don’t have definite plans.” Of any sort, which Miranda loved to rub in.
Carla waited for more, but I didn’t offer anything. She tried again. “Sorry about not asking after him yesterday. I forgot when you were here.”
“Guess you had other things on your mind. Speaking of which, how’s your head?”
She waggled her hand back and forth. “Feels okay, but then, I think I’m still doped up. The nurses and doctors seem happy.”
“That’s a good sign.”
“I guess. I just wish they’d let me eat.”
“Patience.”
She growled. “They claim they have to wait twenty-four hours and then I can start on real food again. Just in case I have to have brain surgery.”
I grimaced. “Aren’t head injuries supposed to make you nauseous, anyway?”
“Not me.”
“Yeah, right.”
“Really.”
“So is there anything I can do for you?”
She brightened.
“
Other
than smuggle in food?”
She dimmed. “No.”
“I didn’t think about asking after Concord yesterday. You need me to do anything with him? Take him home with me? Queenie would love to have him.”
Carla had adopted a greyhound only a month or so earlier, his name a testament to the purple tint of his smooth hair as well as to the speed at which he ran. Like a jet plane. He used to run that fast, anyway, before he aged and was deemed of no use at the racetrack. I was sure Carla wouldn’t want him home alone.
“Bryan’s taking care of him. He took him to his place so he can walk him and keep him company. Said he’s adjusted pretty well. Poor guy’s lived too many places and been treated too badly.”
“Bryan?”
“Ha, ha.”
“And where is your knight in NASCAR armor today? I’m surprised he’s not glued to your bedside gazing at you with awe and wonder.”
“Will you stop? He’s at the Home Depot. The new one there at the corner of 113 and Old Bethlehem Pike. He works in the lumber department.”
“I’ve never seen him there.”
“So?”
She was right. “He really does seem to adore you.”
“Yeah. It’s something, isn’t it? This flabby body and all.”
“You’re not…” Well, she was. Kinda. “You’re
curvy
.”
A giggle. “That’s what Bryan says.”
“I’m sure he does.”
“But I am a little embarrassed…”
Uh-oh. “About what?”
She glanced down at her belly and pressed on it with her palms. “Those EMTs yesterday. They got a full view of me without my shirt on. You know, since it got ripped off by the truck door. I didn’t think about it at the time, but now…”
“Carla, you’re beautiful. It doesn’t matter that you’re…fluffy. I’m sure the EMTs didn’t think anything about it.”
She sighed. “Maybe you’re right. But I’m still going to do something about it when they let me out of here.”
I stared at her. “You’re
not
going on a
diet
?”
“Are you nuts? No, I’m going to start working out at the gym.”
“The gym.”
“Sure. A new client gave me a free two-week pass as a gift for taking care of his dog. I’ll try it out, see how it goes.”
“What gym?”
“That one there in Souderton. Club Atlas. It’s a fitness center for anybody, but lots of serious weight lifters go there, too. Another one of my clients actually runs the place, but
she’s
never given me a free pass.” She pouted, then smiled brightly. “So I could get a workout, plus see those hunky weightlifters at the same time. Two-for-one.”
“Bonus. Just don’t tell Bryan that’s why you’re going.”
“I would never.” She sat up. “Why don’t you come with me? You could get in shape, too.”
“Carla, I am in shape.”
“Oh, come on. When’s the last time you exercised?”
“I exercise every day.”
“Work doesn’t count. When have you actually gone for a run, or lifted weights, or been to an aerobics class? Something to purposefully boost your heart rate and burn calories?”
I stared at her. “Carla, think about it. Can you picture me at an aerobics class?”
“You wouldn’t have to wear a fancy outfit. A Harley T-shirt and shorts would be fine.”
“Carla…”
“Well, okay, maybe not, but lifting? Sure.”
“I’m not going. I can’t afford it.”
“Sure you can.”
“I can’t.”
Her smile took on an impish tilt. “You know that pass I told you about? It also says I can take a
guest
.”
The police department was on the way home, so I glided into a parking space and locked the bike. Regardless of what Carla thought, I wasn’t so out of shape I couldn’t handle the big machine. I gave it an extra waggle from side to side, feeling its weight, just to prove I could.
The receptionist, Gladys, greeted me with a smile. “Good morning, Stella. Can I help you with something?”
I set my helmet on the counter and leaned on it. “Willard in? I wanted to talk to him about my friend Carla.”
Her forehead furrowed, then relaxed. “You mean Carla Beaumont, the one who got car-jacked yesterday? How is she?”
“She’s fine, I think. I’m just coming from the hospital. She’s there for observation, and I have a feeling she’ll annoy them enough about getting food they’ll be glad to see her go.”
Gladys laughed. “I guess that’s a good sign, if she’s hungry.”
“I guess. But then, she’s always hungry.”
Gladys pushed a button and the dividing door clicked. “Go on back. The detective’s doing some paperwork on the truck theft and will probably be happy for the interruption.”
I made my way to Willard’s office and stuck my head in the door. Paperwork lay stacked on his desk, but he wasn’t working on it. Instead, he sat back in his chair, looking out the window and bouncing a pencil in his hand.
“I don’t know,” I said. “My taxes shouldn’t be paying for daydreaming.”
He swiveled around in his chair. “Who’s daydreaming? That was some focused theorizing you were watching.”
I snorted.
“Have a seat.” He waited until I did, then leaned forward on his desk. “What can I do for you? You’re not having problems at the farm again?”
He was right to be concerned. In the almost-year we’d known each other he’d been out at the farm to deal with criminals way too many times. We’d seen arson, vandalism, animal cruelty, and, of course, Howie’s murder. I pushed the thoughts from my mind.
“No problems at the farm, knock on wood.” I reached out and tapped his desk, which was made of fiberboard, so I hoped it counted. “I wanted to find out what’s going on with Carla’s truck and the investigation.”
His face changed. “You mean Dr. Beaumont? You know her?”
“Sure. We’re good friends. Plus, she’s my vet.”
He shook his head. “Should’ve figured it. I just hadn’t made the connection. Have you been to see her?”
“Yup, just now.” I filled him in on her health, then said, “So I was wondering what you could tell me about what happened yesterday? Stuff I wouldn’t have seen on the news.”
“Not too much, except for the newest development. I just got off the phone with the Green Lane police. We put out an alert on the truck yesterday as soon as we were notified of the theft, and Green Lane received it and found Dr. Beaumont’s truck abandoned down there.”
“You tell her yet?”
He winced. “No. I didn’t want to bother her until I knew the full extent of the damage. But…it doesn’t look good.”
“How come?”
“Well, from what the Green Lane cop told me it’s pretty much a lost cause. Everything that wasn’t stolen was destroyed, and the truck’s most likely totaled. We won’t know for sure until we examine it, but that’s how it’s looking.”
Poor Carla. She loved that truck. “The Port-a-Vet, too?”
He nodded.
Damn. “Where is it?”
“Jerry’s Auto Body, out on Bethlehem Pike. Where we always have things towed and stored until we can process them.”
“What do you hope to find?”
He leaned back in his chair. “You never know. Hopefully something to identify the attacker. Criminals are amazingly stupid. They’ll do things like take the stolen vehicle through a drive-through and toss the trash in the back seat. That greasy paper is prime for fingerprints. Or the receipt will be in the bag with a time stamp, placing them in the vicinity at the time of the attack. Dumb stuff like that.”
“What about fingerprints on the car?”
“They wipe all the obvious places. Steering wheel. Door handle. But they forget a couple of prime areas, where we almost always hit pay dirt. The rear view mirror and the visor. They don’t think about it, that they touched those spots, and we’ll snag ’em.”
“They really are dumb.”
“Well, they’re criminals, after all. Not the smartest occupation to enter, no matter what the movies like to show.” He flipped his pencil onto the desk. “Our crime scene guy is over at Jerry’s now, checking out the truck. I was just about ready to head over.”
Cool. “Can I come?”
“Why not?” He gestured at my helmet. “You want to ride with me or take your bike?”
“You driving a cop car?”
“Sorry. Not today. No flashing lights for driving around town.”
“Darn. Guess I’ll follow you on the bike.”
“Your choice.”
He grabbed his keys off of his file cabinet and stood up, moving toward the door.
“Willard.”
He stopped.
“Did you hear about the police department that was burglarized and all its toilets were stolen?”
He blinked slowly. “No.”
“It was a shame. They couldn’t figure out who did it because they had nothing to go on.”
He kept looking at me, blinking.
“Sorry. Zach Granger’s fault.”
“And you had to repeat it?”
I shrugged. “It seemed right at the time.”
He walked out of the office and I stood up to follow.
Spoil sport.
***
The ride to Jerry’s Auto Body was a short one, and I drove after Willard through the gate into the tow yard. He waited for me as I parked the bike and set my helmet on the ground, then led me toward the far side of the fenced-in area. I stopped suddenly when I recognized the officer who was processing the scene, and grabbed at Willard’s elbow.
“Is that Officer
Meadows
?”
He grinned. “It is. Want to tell him your joke?”
“No. But I’d like to stick his head in one of those toilets.”
“My, my. You are regressing today, aren’t you?”
An image of Miranda flashed through my mind and I felt myself redden. “Sorry. But what is he doing with an important job like this?”
Willard pulled his elbow from my grasp. “I know you’ve had your run-ins with Officer Meadows, but he’s grown up in the last year.”
I lifted an eyebrow.
“Really, he has.”
I wasn’t going to believe that without seeing it. When my farm had been sabotaged the past summer Meadows had been the first to respond. The first to respond but the last to actually believe anything had really happened. He was rude, nasty, and unprofessional. And that was just to start with.
Willard resumed walking toward Carla’s truck, and I followed grumpily. My thoughts of Meadows were soon tempered by the sight of my friend’s beloved Ford. The Port-a-Vet had been ripped open, with everything in it either gone or damaged. The tires were slashed, and the paint on the side had been keyed, or some such thing. The hood was smashed and crumpled, like the way Volvo advertises the “accordion” look.
I studied the car. “The guy didn’t run into any other vehicles?”
“Not that’s been reported. We’re thinking it was probably a building or some other stationary object he hit, and after he abandoned it someone else came along to finish the job. We haven’t been able to figure it all out yet.”
We reached the truck and Officer Meadows pulled his head out of the car’s interior. He stopped short at the sight of me. “This isn’t
her
truck?”
Willard shook his head.
“Then what’s she doing here?”
“Officer. What have you found?”
“But she—”
“
Meadows
.”
The dipwad got control of himself and turned so he was addressing only Willard. “There’s no trash. No food wrappers, receipts, tissues, nothing. And the steering wheel and door handle have been wiped clean. From everything I can find on the truck bed he must’ve been wearing gloves when he trashed it. Probably a pair of the victim’s latex ones, from the box in the back. But…” He straightened, his eyes sparkling. “We got a hit on the rear view mirror. Several clear, whole prints. He mustn’t have put the gloves on until he was ready to trash the vehicle.”
“You’re sure they’re not Dr. Beaumont’s?”
“Well, I can’t be sure, of course, until I run them through the computer, but there are a lot there. I’m making cards of them now.”
“Great.” Willard turned to me. “Told you those rear view mirrors come in handy.”
I waved a hand toward the ruined Port-a-Vet. “What about all her stuff? Aren’t there drugs or scalpels or something to be concerned about?”
Willard’s face went serious. “Just one narcotic that I’m aware of. I asked her about medications and she said she was carrying some Ketamine in the back because she always takes some during on-call days, in case she needs to work on a horse.”
“What’s Ketamine?”
“An anesthetic. But it’s also used as a date rape drug they call Special K.”
“So what do you do?”
“Follow it up. Check out the drug angle however we can. When we put out the alert on the truck yesterday we attached a special note about the Ketamine. Most likely it was just a coincidence that the drug was on board, but you never know. Only a few people were aware she’d been called out to a horse farm, but some criminals probably think vets always carry narcotics. Remember, they’re dumb, so they wouldn’t exactly do research.”
“You think you’ll get him from the fingerprints?”
“We might, assuming the prints aren’t all Dr. Beaumont’s. But we’re also looking for witnesses, getting descriptions of anyone seen in the parking lot or driving a truck like this. It’s an unusual vehicle, so people have a better chance of remembering it.”
Meadows pointed his chin at me. “We’ll get him.”
“Good.” I could’ve pointed my chin back at him, but that would’ve been childish. I looked at Willard. “Any chance I could take Carla’s personal things along?”
Meadows crossed his arms over his chest. “No.”
“I wasn’t talking to you.”
Dumbass
.
“But I can answer the question.”
Willard glared at his subordinate and turned to me. “After Officer Meadows is done processing the vehicle he’ll bag up anything that can come with him and isn’t needed for evidence. Dr. Beaumont will get it all back.”
I looked steadily at Meadows. “Everything.”
He didn’t respond.
Willard sighed. Loudly. “Anything else I need to know, Officer?”
Meadows angled his pointed chin toward the detective. “Not yet.”
“Okay, then. I guess we’ll be going.”
I stepped back, ready to get away from Mister Annoying.
“Unless,” Willard said, “Ms. Crown wants to tell you a joke.”
If he hadn’t been a policeman, I’d have slugged him.