by Judy Clemens
Abe tilted his head back, too. “We are almost thirty, you know.”
“Yeah. I know.”
Queenie insinuated herself between us, and our hands met as we both reached out to pet her. Abe grabbed my fingers. “I need you to be happy for us.”
I looked at our hands, then at his face, tense and serious. “She’s really who you want? She makes you feel…complete?”
He didn’t hesitate at all before saying, “Yes.” Then, “I love her.”
I squeezed his hand. “Then I am happy for you, Abe.”
He blinked. “Really?”
I smiled and squeezed his hand back. “Really.”
He let go of my hand and hugged me, Queenie making a little squeak before scooting out from under us. Abe finally let go and slumped backward onto the ground, where he started laughing.
“What?”
He laughed some more. “Now that’s over, I can have fun telling everybody else.”
“You haven’t told anybody?”
He shook his head. “Just Ma. She said I’d better come out and tell you next, before you heard it from somebody else, or I’d wish I’d never been born.”
I grinned. “She knows me pretty well.”
“Plus, I was so scared to tell you I knew I couldn’t enjoy telling anyone else until I got it over with.”
I frowned. “Really?”
He stopped laughing. “Really.”
I rubbed my face, ending up with my face in my hands.
“Stella?”
I threw my hands up. “I don’t mean to be such a bitch. Good grief. Scaring my best friends half to death.”
He smiled again. “I know you don’t try to be scary. You’re just…intense.”
I thought of Carla, and how I’d been terrorizing Bryan. But then, I didn’t know Bryan. Not like I’d gotten to know Missy.
“But, anyway,” Abe said. “Now Missy and I can spend the rest of the evening telling my brothers.”
“After you eat your ice cream.”
“Of course.”
Nick and Missy soon got home, bringing the ice cream, slightly melted from the drive home. I watched as Missy and Abe shared a look, and her shoulders visibly relaxed. They really had been worried.
Nick handed me my Peanut Buster Parfait and smiled. “Hungry?”
I took it. “Starving.”
We ate our sundaes sitting on the grass, talking about the wedding—they were, thank God, going to spare me the humiliation of dressing up as a bridesmaid—and catching up on all of our lives. They asked Nick only a few questions about his illness, and he responded casually, underplaying the whole experience. Abe cast a few worried looks my way, and I tried to act unconcerned. No reason to get everybody all worked up, especially with Nick playing it cool.
Sooner than I would’ve liked we’d finished and Abe was pulling Missy to her feet, saying they had a lot of people to visit before the evening was through.
Nick helped me up, too.
I reached out to give Abe one more hug. “Thanks for coming by to tell us.”
“Sure.”
“And Missy, welcome to the family.”
She gave a little cry and flung her arms around me. I could feel Nick’s hand on my elbow, keeping me from tipping over. Abe’s eyes crinkled, and I gave Missy’s back a little pat.
“By the way, Missy…”
She stepped back, suddenly tense again.
“You never did show us your ring.”
“Oh!” She giggled and thrust her hand out, ring sparkling even in the dim light.
“It’s beautiful,” I said.
And it was.
Nick and I stood in the drive, his arm around me as we waved good-bye until their taillights had disappeared into the night.
“So,” Nick said. “They’re getting married.”
“Yup. They are. And they seem pretty happy about it.”
He stuck his hands in his pockets and looked at the stars. “Stella?”
Oh, God. Oh, no. “Yeah?”
He smiled and looked down at the grass, rolling back and forth on his toes before meeting my eyes. “You did really well taking the news.”
I shook my head. “What?”
“You did a good job. With Abe and Missy.”
“Oh. Well. I’m happy for them.”
He looked at me some more. “So am I.” He gazed into my eyes for a few more seconds before taking his hands out of his pockets and slapping them together. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’m going to go take a shower. Not used to smelling like a barn, you know.”
“Right. Sure.”
And he went inside.
I looked down at Queenie. “What was that that just happened?”
She had no idea, either.
Inside, I puttered around for a few minutes, throwing away the ice cream trash, picking up the living room. I was in the bedroom choosing a T-shirt to wear to bed when Nick’s phone rang. I hunted around for a moment before finding it on the floor next to his dirty jeans. I flipped it open.
“Hello?”
“Stella?”
Oh, great. I should’ve looked at Caller ID. Dumb, dumb, dumb. “Hi, Miranda.”
“Where’s Nick?
“In the shower.”
She paused. “Really?”
“Yes. He helped with milking.”
A growl. “I should’ve known. You’re making him feel useful.”
“Excuse me?”
And suddenly she was crying. “You’re making him think you need him up there. That he should be there instead of here.”
“Miranda—”
“Well, you can try all you want, but this will always be his home. Where we are. Mom and Liz and me. We care about Nick, but all you care about are your stupid cows.”
“That’s not true, Miranda.”
But she had already hung up.
I sank onto the side of the bed and stared at the floor.
“Stella?” Nick stood in the doorway, hair wet from the shower, towel around his waist. He saw his phone in my hand. “What is it?”
I shook my head.
“Stella.” He sat next to me, smelling good like soap, drops of water clinging to his shoulders and chest. “What’s wrong?”
“Miranda hates me.”
“Ah.” He sighed. “She called?”
I nodded. “She says Virginia will always be home for you, no matter how hard I try to steal you away.”
“And what did you tell her?”
I gave a short laugh. “She didn’t give me a chance to say anything.”
He smiled. “Sounds about right.” He took the phone out of my hand and set it on the bed before taking both my hands in his. “You need to remember something.”
I waited.
“Miranda can say whatever she wants. She’s my little sister, and she’s going through a rough time. She loves me, even though she has a weird way of showing it.” He stroked my hand with his thumb. “But remember, I’m here with you right now. Because I choose to be. I’m not in Virginia, with Miranda.”
I rested my head on his damp, warm shoulder. He was here with me. In my home. And for the moment that would have to be good enough.
Chapter Twenty-five
When Doug drove the tanker up to the milkhouse the next morning I had to take a second look. “That’s not your usual rig, is it?”
He jumped down from the cab, his expression dark. “No. It sure isn’t.”
“What’s going on?”
He cut the cable tie from the hose plug with extra force and flung it even farther than usual down the drive. “Someone decided to slash the tires last night.”
“What? Isn’t the truck somewhere protected?”
“As protected as it can be. The whole fleet is in the truck yard behind the office, in a locked wire fence. Can’t fit ’em all in a building, you know.”
He stomped off toward the milk
house and I followed. “So how did they do it? A knife? A Saws-All?” Those tires were huge and thick. It would take more than a little blade.
Doug took the samples from my tank, unscrewing and screwing the tops and lids jerkily, spilling drops of milk onto the concrete floor. “Cordless drill.”
“A drill?”
“Made holes in the sides of all the tires. If the bastards would’ve at least damaged the treads, we might’ve been able to plug ’em and use ’em some more. But no, they had to go after the sides.”
Wow. “Just the one truck?”
“Nope. Started with it, then moved onto the next one. Got three tires on that one done before something interrupted ’em.” He looked at me with exasperation. “It would’ve taken them over an hour to get all that done.”
He went back out and dragged the hose into the milkhouse to hook it up. “I guess we should be glad they didn’t do anything worse to the trucks themselves. Those tires cost two-fifty each, but if they would’ve gone for the tanks…” He ran a hand through his hair. “Those are upwards of ninety-two thousand. And that’s not including the semi.”
I shook my head. “So the truck will be okay?”
“Sure. It’ll take all freakin’ day to get those tires replaced, but it’ll be fine.”
“Insurance?”
He checked the hose, then stood back up. “It covers vandalism. But geez, if I could get my hands on whoever did it…”
The milk tank emptied, and Doug pulled out the hose, closing the tank lid and taking the hose back out to the truck. He yanked a new cable tie out of his pocket and fixed it around the hook, checking it twice to make sure it was tight. “Now I’m all paranoid, worrying about somebody getting into the milk.”
I must’ve looked concerned, because he waved his hands in the air. “Don’t worry. I’ve got it covered. I’m just a little nervous today.”
“Don’t blame you.”
He climbed up into the cab, and it hit me.
“Hey, Doug? How was your daughter’s softball game the other day?”
He smiled. “Her team got creamed. But that’s okay. She had fun.”
“Well, good to see you back.”
He shut the door and pulled out the drive.
I turned right around and made a bee-line for my office.
Lucy and Zach looked up as I passed through the parlor, but I didn’t stop until I got to my office, picked up the phone, and dialed. My call was answered in the middle of the first ring. I interrupted Gladys’ usual spiel.
“Gladys, I need to talk to Willard.”
“Stella?”
“Sorry. Yeah. Is he there?”
“Sure. Let me put you through.”
There were only a few bars of Muzak before Willard was on the line.
“There’s been another attack,” I said. “And you can’t say it has nothing to do with women.”
“Tell me,” he said.
So I explained how Patty had driven the truck on Thursday, and had even had her baby girl with her as she made her rounds.
“I don’t know, Stella…”
“Oh, come on. Don’t you tell me they’re not connected.”
“But you said she doesn’t usually drive the truck.”
“No, she usually runs the office. And can obviously drive the truck when she needs to.”
He was quiet for a moment. “Okay, where did this happen?”
“Hatfield.”
“All right. I’ll call the police there to get more information. But don’t get your hopes up. I’m not convinced this is part of the same thing.”
But I was. And I was damn well going to find a connection before somebody else got killed.
Chapter Twenty-six
“It all started with Carla.”
Nick sat across from me, feet resting on the front of my desk, laptop balanced on his lap. He looked up. “Huh?”
“These attacks. Carla began it all. But why? People don’t usually get mad at Carla. I mean, how can you be mad at someone like her?”
“Because she picked the wrong boyfriend?”
I ignored him. “And if they don’t want a woman taking care of their animals they can just ask for one of the guys. It’s not hard. There are two men who do the same work she does.”
“Well, maybe she’s thought about it more by now.”
He was right. I picked up the phone and called her house, miraculously getting her and not her watchdog. And I didn’t mean Concord.
“People that were mad at me?” She sounded unsure.
“If the attack wasn’t random. If it was somebody that was upset with you for some reason.”
“I can’t think of anybody.”
“No one who lost a lot of animals recently, or a really valuable one?”
She was quiet for a bit while she thought. “I had to put down a horse a few weeks ago. A pretty high-priced stud. But he was getting old, and the owner is the one that said he thought it was time to give the poor thing the rest he deserved. And a whole litter of pigs died last week, but it was because the mother accidentally suffocated them. I don’t think the farmer blamed me.”
“What about folks that might resent your being a woman vet?”
“You’re thinking this because of the other attacks.”
“Right.”
“I’ve been trying to come up with something about that, actually, and see if I could think of anybody. But if they don’t like me they just ask for Bruce or Tim.”
Exactly. “Everything okay over there?”
“Sure.”
“Bryan’s treating you well?”
“Very.”
Another idea struck me. “What’s Bryan’s last name? I don’t think you ever told me.”
“Really?”
But then, maybe she had, and I just didn’t remember.
“It’s Walker. Bryan Walker. Why?”
“Just wondered.”
It did sound familiar. I guess I’d just blanked it out.
“If you think of anybody else who might’ve had it in for you, let me know.”
“I’ll try. But it just doesn’t make any sense.”
“I know. Talk to you later.”
I hung up and immediately swiveled to my computer and typed in “Bryan Walker” on the search line at Ask.com.
Nick glanced up from his laptop. “What are you doing?”
“Googling Bryan.”
“But you’re using Ask.com. Can you still call it Googling?”
I stuck my tongue out at him and he grinned. “May I ask why you’re doing this?”
“Why do you think? To get the dirt on him.”
“Okay. But what if there isn’t any?”
“Don’t worry. There will be.”
But there wasn’t. I found “Bryan Walker” in all sorts of guises: Game creator, baseball fan, Kentucky lawyer, Amazon reviewer, doctor, and deceased. Even as a player for the New York Rangers and a disgusting YouTube video made while he was drunk and sitting on a toilet. I must say I was relieved when that wasn’t the same guy. For a brief moment I thought I had found him under a listing for North Wales, a town close to mine, but it turned out it was talking about North Wales as in Europe, and the guy was a professional tennis court cleaner. Not our guy.
Finally, a mention under Montgomery County Community College. A member of the class of ’95, and then a blurb of him being on the basketball team at North Penn High School, 1992-93 season.
Nothing else.
“Well, crap.”
Nick looked up again. “No luck?”
I grunted, and deleted his name from the search line. I typed in gender + attacks + Pennsylvania + the last two months and the year. Nothing. I substituted “female” for gender, and then “woman.” Both of them got a few hits, but nothing new. Some things that had happened in other parts of the state, too far away for me to consider, and then the things we already knew about.
/> I swiveled back around to face Nick. “Nothing before Carla. And hardly anything after. It just seems so weird that Carla would’ve started it all.”
Nick was looking thoughtful.
“What?” I asked.
“What if…I know it sounds backward, but what if she wasn’t the start of it?”
“But there’s nothing before her attack.”
“But what if something else was the catalyst. She’s just the first thing that happened. Or at least that we know about.”
“Okay. Let’s look at everything else. Katherine, Dr. Peterson, Club Atlas, and now the truck line. They all happened after Carla.”
“But…when did Dr. Peterson’s father announce his retirement?”
“You mean—”
“This could be something that’s been brewing a long time.”
“All right.” I turned back to the computer and looked up Dr. James Peterson. And there it was. The announcement of his retirement. Two months before.
“Too long ago,” I said. “If that was the catalyst, why wait till now to act on it?”
“Maybe somebody didn’t need a doctor till now. And when they went in they couldn’t have him.”
I nodded, thinking.
“And,” Nick continued, “when did Katherine get the job at Kulpsville?”
I tried to remember. “She said they came down for interviews during the past year. I don’t know for sure when it was decided, but it had to be at least a few months ago. But they didn’t move here until last week sometime.”
I glanced at the calendar, then got up and went to the door. “Lucy?”
Something banged far down the barn, and I walked out to the parlor. “Luce?”
But it was Zach and Randy, sorting through some old wood. Mostly old fencing and stall boards.
Zach acknowledged my presence with a jerk of his chin, but Randy didn’t look up at all.
“What are you guys doin’?”
Zach stood and hitched up his jeans. “Looking for some cool-looking boards to make signs.”
Signs. “What kind of signs?”
“You know. For the fair. That have our calves’ names on ’em and stuff. People usually use cardboard, or just paper, but we thought wood would be neat. We could paint ’em.”
“That’d be nice.” I mentally took inventory of the farm’s castoffs. “Have you guys checked out the feed barn? I’m pretty sure there’s some old wooden barn siding out there. You could use whatever of that you want.”