Run to Me (7 page)

Zack turned back. A round bit of steel, like the end of a trumpet, stuck out
from the bottom of the truck. He climbed up onto it and grabbed a handle, heaved with all his weight and pulled.

The door creaked open, nearly pushing him off his perch. He let it swing past him, then reached his hand down to the others.

‘Corey first. Reece, push him up to me.’

As he heaved Corey up, Zack threw an anxious glance at the shop. The truck stood just to the left of the entrance,
clearly visible to anyone inside.
If
they happened to be looking that way. He prayed the truck was far enough to the side that no one would notice them.

With Corey safely inside the truck, Zack climbed in after him. But even as he reached down to give Reece a hand, the shop doors opened and a man came out.

Zack held his breath. The man’s interest in his wallet was all that was keeping him from
spotting the boys as he strode towards the truck. The instant he disappeared around the front of it, Zack yanked Reece up into the hold.

His relief was short-lived. Nolan had spotted the driver as well and had broken into a shambling jog. ‘Hey! Wait! Don’t go! Hey!’

For a moment, Zack felt a crushing defeat. Then the engine roared and he realised the sound of its idling had been enough to
drown
out Nolan’s shouts. But would the driver see him when he checked in his mirror?

Again Zack braced. The truck started forward. The back door swung towards him and he quickly grabbed it.

Nolan was still shambling along the shoulder, waving his arms, shouting after them. But those massive oak trees that had posed such a threat now cloaked the man in heavy shade. He was no more than a ripple in
a sea of shadow.

The truck commenced its slow acceleration. Closing the door, Zack smiled and flipped Nolan the bird.

Whistling a verse of ‘Downeaster Alexa’, Dr Chase Hadley set his last patient’s file on the desk and picked up his jacket from the chair beside it.

‘Someone’s in a good mood,’ Elaine commented, her fingers flying over her keyboard.

‘Had a good day. What about you?’

She shot him a look over the top of her glasses.

‘Sorry, you’re still converting those files. I guess that’s no picnic.’

‘It’s not your fault. If Doctor Muir hadn’t been such a fossil we’d have kept our records on computer to begin with.’

‘Well, don’t stick with it too long, will you? You’re bankrupting me with all this overtime.’ He shoved his arm through the sleeve of his jacket and spied the carving he’d set on the cabinet.

Smiling, he picked it up. ‘Elaine, did Shyler . . . Did Ms O’Neil give you her contact
details?’

‘No. Why?’

He turned to blink at her. ‘She said she was going to.’

‘Sorry, haven’t seen them. I was getting a coffee when she came out of your room, but she didn’t leave them on my desk.’

He frowned at the carving then pushed back a sense of disquiet. ‘Guess she forgot again.’

‘She ran past me as I came out of the kitchen. Flew out the back door like the devil was chasing her.’

‘Must have been in a hurry. I’m sure she’ll give them to you next time she comes.’ He turned, about to wish her goodnight, but something in her silence made him step back. ‘You don’t think she will.’

‘Give us her details? Doesn’t seem likely. If she wouldn’t give them to Doctor Muir –’

‘Wouldn’t? She told me she’d been moving back then and didn’t know which address to give.’

Elaine arched a
brow. ‘Her last two visits were four months apart. A bit long to have no address, don’t you think?’

Ten minutes later, as he pushed through the door of old Bill Ramsey’s general store, Chase was still pondering Elaine’s remarks. Her words had rekindled his earlier concerns – ones he’d dismissed as products of his own over-sensitive radar – and now the questions were surfacing again.

Shyler had
been tense and withdrawn at her visit, a fact he could conceivably attribute to the stress of the procedure. But what if, as he had briefly sensed, it was due to something more than that? She’d had no money to pay for her visit, presumably because she didn’t work. Was that because she couldn’t find a job or didn’t want the exposure of one?

If Shyler had lied about why she hadn’t given her details,
it cast these facts in a totally different light. Each on its own was hardly suspicious, but taken all together –

‘Just about ready to close up, Doc, if you’re wantin’ something.’

‘Thanks, Bill,’ he said to the Grizzly Adams clone behind the counter. ‘I’ll just be a minute.’

The store was a relic from a different era. Bare wood floor, glass-topped counters and a cash register that belonged
in a museum. Barrels and crates displayed many items. Iron rakes stood beside fishing rods and brooms, kerosene lamps hung with coils of garden hose. If the store had been in Quincy Market it would have been labelled environmentally trendy. Here it was simply that things had never changed.

Chase walked the aisles collecting the items on his father’s list. He was just heading back to the counter
when a familiar object caught his eye.

He picked it up. A white-tailed deer, carved with distinctive needle-fine gouges to depict its fur. Around him he saw others now, their style too similar to be anyone else’s.

‘Bill, do you know the woman who does these carvings?’

The man looked up from sweeping the floor. ‘Shyler? Sure do. Comes in regular every other month. Makes all them feeders and
mailboxes, too.’

Chase turned to where he had nodded. Displayed on a table in front of the window was an assortment of handmade wooden items. Picture frames of rough-cut pine. Mailboxes that looked like colonial mansions. Platform feeders with the silhouettes of birds carved into the rims.

‘You wouldn’t happen to know where she lives, would you?’ Chase called over.

‘Sorry, Doc, couldn’t tell
ya.’

He picked up a log cabin made of birch twigs. Its cedar roof shingles appeared to have been cut and attached individually. ‘Do you know her well? Know much about her?’

‘I know her stuff’s real popular with tourists.’

‘Does she live with anyone that you know of?’

‘Never said. Lady keeps pretty much to herself.’

‘Well, has she ever come in the store with anyone?’

‘Not that I’ve seen.’
Bill stopped sweeping and leaned on the broom. ‘Now you mention it, I’ve never seen her anywhere else.’

‘So she just comes in here every other month, you pay for her delivery and she leaves.’

‘Oh, no, we barter. I keep a tally of how much she’s sold and she picks out groceries for that amount.’

Chase put the cabin back on the table. Bartering again. No cheque – no bank account or ID required.

‘’Course, this time o’ year she falls behind some.’ Bill stood before him, having swept his way closer.

‘Falls behind?’

‘Not as many vacationers coming through town to buy her stuff.’ The old man shrugged. ‘Pretty lady. I let her run up a bit of a tab.’

The old man’s gaze lingered this time – the scrutiny of the local for the town newcomer.

‘Guess it seems odd, me asking all these questions
about her.’

‘Don’t seem funny at all, Doc. Figure a respectable fella like you must have their reasons.’

Chase sighed as the man walked away. All right, so maybe he was worrying over nothing. Elaine could be wrong about Shyler deliberately withholding her details and the other issues surrounding the woman could be perfectly innocent.

He picked up a crow from the table of carvings and smiled
at a sudden realisation – he’d probably have asked the same questions anyway. The simple truth was he was interested. And not in an entirely professional sense. Chase Raymond Hadley, who’d never done an irrational thing in his life, who never took chances or acted impulsively or followed hunches,
that
Chase Hadley was smitten by a woman he’d met only once and about whom he knew absolutely nothing
at all.

Shaking his head he put the crow down. ‘This’ll be all, Bill.’ He carried his basket of goods to the counter.

As he opened his wallet he noted the barred owl next to the register, its feathers rendered with the same exacting detail as the moose’s fur. These pieces would have taken hours to make. And their prices didn’t come close to doing them justice.

‘Hang on a second.’ He ran back,
grabbed up an armful of items from the display table and returned to the register. Bill watched, impassive, as he set them one by one on the counter.

Chase shrugged. ‘I like to support struggling artists.’

Bill began ringing up his purchase. ‘Like I said – pretty lady.’

Chase carried the boxes up the ramp, noting with pleasure the solid feel of the plywood construction beneath his feet. He’d
built the ramp the week they’d moved in and still felt pride in his bit of handiwork. Bracing the boxes against the back door, he twisted the knob and entered the kitchen.

The house, a classic colonial design, had needed only minor modifications to accommodate his father’s wheelchair. The dining room was now his father’s office and the original den had become his bedroom. Chase had the entire
second floor but only made use of two of its four rooms – one for a study, the other his bedroom.

But the best feature of the house, the reason Chase had chosen to rent it, was the glass conservatory off the living room. With its natural light and commanding view of the lawn and woods it was the perfect place for his father to paint.

As he set the boxes on the kitchen table he heard the buzz
of his father’s wheelchair approaching from the living room. A moment later the robust figure of Allen Hadley swept into the room.

‘Hey,’ he said in his usual greeting.

‘Hey, yourself.’ Chase hung his jacket on the hook by the door and surveyed the kitchen. The breakfast dishes were right where they’d been when he’d left that morning. Rolling up his sleeves, he stepped to the sink. ‘How was
your day?’

‘I finished the Lynxes.’

‘Great. That puts you ahead of schedule, doesn’t it?’

‘If “ahead” means being two weeks behind.’ The man’s gaze grew distant. ‘I was thinking I’d do the bobcats next. I had a terrific idea for the scene – a male in deep snow, leaping after a snowshoe hare. Lots of action. Winter shadows to offset the white. What do you think?’

Chase nodded. But the lengthy
description had the ring of diversion. ‘Can’t wait to see it. Did you do your exercises?’

Allen shifted in his chair. ‘Well, you’ll be pleased to know I sat down this morning and actually worked out –’

‘Did you do your exercises?’

He sighed. ‘No.’

Chase aimed a soapy finger at him. ‘After dinner. Or no TV.’

The man let out a good-natured huff. ‘You’d think I was five the way I get treated
around here.’

‘And we both know the response to that one, don’t we?’

‘Probably wouldn’t have finished the Lynxes if I’d stopped to bother with all that nonsense.’ Allen buzzed his chair to the fridge and opened it.

‘Exercises here instead of three months in a rehab centre. Wasn’t that the deal, or am I mistaken?’

‘Did I ever tell you you’ve got a lot of your mother in you?’ Allen’s muffled
words issued from the fridge.

‘In fact I seem to remember the word “religiously” used a few times,’ Chase added, unfazed by his comment.

Clutching an armful of salad ingredients, Allen reversed and closed the fridge. ‘All right, let’s not argue. Especially when you’re
winning. I’ll do them right after dinner, okay? You can even count.’

‘Don’t think I won’t.’

‘Yeah, I know how you doctors like
to watch folks suffer. Bunch of sadists.’ Allen plunked the groceries on the counter and pulled a cutting board out from beneath it. ‘You shouldn’t have done it.’

The man’s voice had gone suddenly serious. Chase turned back to the sink. ‘Done what?’

‘Taken the practice. You had no business moving way up here in the middle of nowhere. You were happy in Boston.’

‘I was, was I?’

‘You had friends,
contacts, a social life. That’s where you should be. Not holed up in some wilderness babysitting a crippled old fart.’

Chase cocked his head. ‘You know, now that I think about it,
you’ve
got quite a bit of Mom in you too.’

‘Well, I know what she would’ve thought of all this.’

‘It’s not a life sentence for either of us, Dad. Once you’re out of that chair for good I can find a different practice
if I want.’

‘I know. And don’t think I don’t appreciate it. It’s just . . . Well, it kills me to think I’ve become such a burden.’

Chase regarded him over his shoulder. ‘Nice try, Dad, but you still have to do your exercises.’

‘Smart alec kid.’

With the salad completed, Allen buzzed his chair to the kitchen table and began unpacking the first of the boxes. ‘Any chance we can get to Presque
Isle this weekend? I’m nearly out of Sienna acrylic and I could use some more canvases.’

‘I suppose my hike around the lake can wait.’

Allen had finished emptying the first box and now sat staring into the second. ‘What’s all this?’

Wiping his hands, Chase came over. ‘Those are bird houses and that’s a feeder. Thought we might put them up in the yard.’

Allen reached in and held up the moose.
‘And this?’

Chase took a moment, gazing down at it with the same sense of wonder he’d felt at first seeing it. ‘A patient gave me that today as payment for a consultation.’

His father turned the carving this way and that, scrutinising it with an artist’s eye. ‘He’s good.’

‘She.’

‘Oh?’ His bushy brows rose. ‘Unusual hobby for a woman. We should hire her to fix that ramp you built.’

Chase frowned.
‘What’s wrong with my ramp?’

‘So, this woman carver . . . Anyone I know?’

‘No one you or anyone else knows, apparently.’

‘A lady of mystery, eh? Good looking?’

A red flag suddenly appeared on the field. ‘Didn’t really notice.’

‘Eligible age?’

Chase turned away. ‘Start the spaghetti, Dad, I’m hungry.’

Allen went back to studying the moose. ‘A mysterious stranger giving my son gifts. And
here I was worried you wouldn’t meet anyone.’