Different Paths

by Judy Clemens

  He stood there a little longer, until he stepped away. “Keep me—”

  “In the loop. I know.”

  He left, but Lucy stayed, looking down at me. I could feel her eyes burning the top of my head. “Anything you want to talk about?”

  “No.”

  “You’re sure?”

  I finished putting on the milker and let Lucy help me up. “Yes, Lucy. I’m fine.”

  “Uh-huh.”

  “Really.”

  “Okay.” She was halfway down the aisle when I called her. She turned around.

  “Do you think Bryan could be the one?”

  “Taking steroids? He’s skin and bones.”

  “No. Not that. The women thing.”

  She looked at me. Shook her head. Kept on going down the aisle.

  “So I shouldn’t tell Willard about him?”

  She kept going, but said, “You want to get a lawsuit slapped on you, go ahead. But you have nothing.”

  “He’s—”

  “You’ve. Got. Nothing. Except an over-active imagination and a boatload of protectiveness.”

  Crap.

  We finished up and Lucy took off for home, not saying anything else about my Bryan-as-Bad-Boyfriend-and-Neighborhood-Killer theory. I went inside, took a shower, and Nick and I tried to relax by watching a baseball game, which the Phillies weren’t in. By the fourth inning I still couldn’t get into it (who cares about the Yankees and the Red Sox?), and Nick was fast asleep, his head nodding onto his chest.

  I got up and went outside to whistle for Queenie, who came running into the house, showing her enthusiasm for the invitation by running over to Nick and licking his face clean of all germs. Who wants to play? Nick opened his eyes enough to realize he was on the couch and I wasn’t the one doing the licking.

  He sat up and yawned, patting Queenie absently. “I’m going to bed. You coming?”

  “Soon.”

  “You need help getting up the stairs?”

  “No, you go ahead. Might want to wash your face first.”

  He shuffled off, closing the stairway door behind him.

  I held out my hand. “Come on, girl.”

  Queenie and I found a pot big enough to hold some water for her during the night—I just wouldn’t tell Lucy how I was using the kitchenware—and I opened the living room window a smidge so she could hear anything—or anyone—lurking outside. I turned off the inside lights and switched on the outside ones, illuminating the yard and barn, and we sat, looking out the window, Queenie’s head in my lap while I stroked it.

  “So I don’t know, Queenie. I’m being a jerk about Bryan, I guess. It’s just… Bryan’s mad because I’m not warm and soft, although why he’s so concerned about Nick’s welfare, I’m not so sure, unless it’s just a guys’ team kind of thing. Zach’s friend Randy is pissed because his girlfriend likes some swimming pool stud, but you know, it’s high school. Trevor basically had no say in changing his life completely right before his senior year of high school because of his mom’s new job, and I’m sure that went over real well.

  “How do you think Alan, Katherine’s husband, feels about it all? Think he cares that she’s determining where they live? That she’s causing controversy? Her sister seems to think she should quit. But then, maybe Tricia’s ticked because she had to give up her job to stay home with kids and her mother. What was her career before? Photography? And who knows if David would let her get back to it. It sounds like he’s a bit more conservative when it comes to that stuff. Except when it came to illegal prescription drugs and getting buff.

  “Patients are mad about having a woman doctor, someone’s slashing the truck company’s tires—which I’m sure is because of Patty—Babs can’t even go to work on her own…”

  I bent over and rested my head on Queenie’s. She was warm and soft, and before I knew it my eyelids were beginning to droop.

  “You’re lucky you don’t have to worry about it. Men and women stuff. Relationships. You’re a girl, and no one expects you to act any differently as a dog because of it. You can bark and run around and nose people in the crotch, and it’s just because you’re a dog, not because you’re a female dog.” I sat up and looked at her. “Although I’m not so sure about the nose in the crotch thing.”

  Her eyebrows twitched.

  I gave her one last good rub. “You be good. Let me know if anyone comes around.” I really doubted they would, as all of the attacks had been when the women were alone, or not expected to be around. In a quiet parking lot, a deserted church, a truck yard at midnight, a supposedly empty doctor’s office…

  Upstairs, Nick was sound asleep, his breath coming in little puffs against his pillow. I slid under the sheet next to him, his face a quiet sculpture of shadows and angles, his arm tucked under his chest.

  Perhaps I wasn’t a typical woman. But then, who was?

  I watched the face of my sleeping, wonderful man, who didn’t seem to care how I compared to others of my gender. My eyes eventually closed, and I slept.

  Chapter Thirty-four

  There was a misty rain falling when I woke up. Queenie was happy to get outside despite the wetness, and ran around in fast circles during the short time it took to cover the distance between the house and the barn. The cows, enjoying the cool morning, were congregated outside, and had to be strongly encouraged to join us in the parlor.

  My foot felt the best it had since Wendy crunched it, and I was able to get around pretty well, which was good, since Zach takes weekend mornings off. If Nick didn’t wake up in time to help, milking would take a bit longer than usual, but I felt at least like I could do it. In a few weeks the cast would be able to come off. I wondered who would be doing that. Would Dr. Peterson’s dad be taking over office hours again? Would he bring a new doctor in? And, the big question—would it be a man or a woman?

  I got the girls clipped in and stood at one of the windows to take a breather. From where I stood I could see the very end of one of the neighboring developments, but other than that it was my house, my heifer barn, my yard. Nick’s truck. If I tried hard enough I could imagine that it really was just my farm, in the midst of rolling fields and crops. Truly alone.

  Which made me think about how alone I actually was. Nick asleep, me out in the barn in the dark morning, the commuters not even buzzing past yet. I’d always been a morning person, and was glad about that, but today it felt a bit…creepy. I went back into the dry barn and tried to lose myself in work, but my mind wouldn’t go on autopilot. The matching fingerprints Willard had discovered, but couldn’t find in the database, kept me wondering why someone would do these horrible things after a lifetime of law-abiding living. Or of just not getting caught.

  I tried to concentrate on the cows and the homey smells, the sound of the grain in the cups. Tried to lose myself in whatever symphony was on the radio, but when Queenie sat up in her corner, her ears perked, my blood pressure elevated instantly to racing speed. My shovel, which I’d taken off my truck and set in the barn after getting mulch for the Hershbergers, leaned against the wall, and I hobbled quickly toward it, grabbing the handle. Just in case.

  Queenie trotted to the doorway, a low growl in her throat, and she shot out, barking. A man’s voice said, “Whoa, it’s okay. It’s okay.” His voice was strained, and I could hear fear in it.

  I stepped into the opening of the door. And recognized him. “David?”

  His eyes flicked toward me, but went back to Queenie, whose teeth were bared. David held up his hands, as if in surrender, knowing his bulging steroid muscles wouldn’t be much help against the teeth of a dog.

  I gripped the shovel tighter, and said, “Come, Queenie.”

  She wasn’t happy, but she obeyed, and stood quivering at my heel.

  I laid my hand on her head. “She’s not used to people showing up uninvited this time of day. Neither am I.”

  He took a deep breath and let it out, fists on his hips. “Ye
ah, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to scare anybody.” He looked from side to side, as if making sure there wasn’t anybody else hiding in the barnyard’s shadows.

  I took in his Spandex shorts and tank top, and his hair, matted from the rain. “I thought you were going home last night.”

  “We were, but decided to stay one last evening. We got to talking, and before we knew it, it was too late to drive home, even though it is only an hour and a half. It’s still early enough today. I can get to work at a decent time if we leave after breakfast, and Sarah can work this afternoon.”

  “And what are you doing here?”

  “You mean at your farm?”

  Duh.

  “Nothing. I mean, I wanted a new route. Thought I’d come out to your place since I knew you had an early morning schedule, too.”

  “Awfully far to run. Especially in this rain.”

  “Oh, I didn’t run. I rode that.” He pointed to a bike, lying on the drive. “It’s nice to change up every once in a while. I get tired of running every day.”

  So take a day off. “Look, David, I need to get back to work.”

  “Great. Can I help?”

  I glanced up at the house, wondering if I should wake Nick, thinking I was probably just being paranoid that David had come to do me in, that he’d visited several other women or their workplaces in the past week. And I did have Queenie to watch my back. “Why don’t you just relax, if you’re staying. I have my routine.”

  “Oh. Okay.”

  Queenie kept herself between David and me as we walked into the barn. I leaned the shovel against the closest straw bale and headed back into the aisle of cows, turning so I could see what David was doing. He picked up the shovel and moved it to the side of the bale so he could sit down. Queenie lay down at the end of the row, where she could see both me and David. Good girl.

  I felt no reason to talk to David, since I certainly hadn’t asked him to visit, and I hoped the lack of conversation would give him the hint and he’d take off. No such luck. He started the conversation, instead.

  “Tricia said you did stop by the church then, the other day, after bringing the mulch.”

  I jumped at the sound of his voice, right by me on the other side of Sleeping Beauty. I glanced at Queenie, and saw she was standing up now, keeping an eye on our visitor as he moved about the barn.

  “Yeah. Katherine gave me the tour. Tricia was busy decorating.”

  “She enjoys that.”

  I stepped back to the bucket and got a rag to clean off Esmerelda’s teats. “I hear Tricia is quite the photographer, too. Or used to be.”

  “She’s still good at it.”

  “But doesn’t do it as a job.” He was quiet, and I looked up at him from where I squatted between the cows. “She used to, didn’t she?”

  “Sure, before our kids were born. Then she stopped so she could be home with them. And then her mother moved down.”

  I stood up. “And now?”

  “Now, what?”

  “That the kids are older. That her mother’s gone. Will she go back to photography?”

  He put his hands in his pockets and rocked on his feet. “So, you’ve been talking to Katherine, have you?”

  “She just said Tricia used to work as a photographer.”

  “And that now the kids are older she should get back to work? She keeps telling Tricia that.”

  “And Tricia doesn’t want to?”

  “She has a good job. At home. She likes it. It’s where she wants to be. For now.”

  I studied the rag in my hand. “She’s interested in interior design, too.”

  “Because she’s enjoyed decorating our home, not as a job. What is this? You trying to convince me to let her go back to work?”

  “Not at all.”

  “Because it’s her decision.”

  Uh-huh. “Just making conversation.”

  He moved down the line, looking at the cows, stepping carefully around the dirt in his clean cross-trainers. Which reminded me of Missy, Abe’s brand-new fiancée, who had met Abe at work. Somehow I doubted she would be quitting her job to stay at home and take care of him. Like he needed that.

  “She’s got them all brainwashed.”

  I squeezed water out of my rag and knelt beside Ariel. “Who does?”

  “Katherine. Alan and Trevor follow wherever she goes. At least Alan does it because he wants to. Trevor doesn’t have a choice. The church, and even the Grangers, seem to be under her spell. You’d think the Granger mother had grown up recently, the way she goes on, instead of in the era when women always stayed home.”

  I kept my voice level. “Ma’s had to raise that family of boys mostly on her own, and she’s done a great job.”

  He held up his hands. “Hey, don’t get me wrong, I know she’s a hard worker. It just seems she’d have a more old-fashioned way of viewing things.”

  I switched the milker to Esmerelda. “So you have a problem with Katherine’s new job?”

  He hesitated. “It’s not what I’d choose for my wife. And I don’t think Alan would’ve, either, if he’d had a say in it. Not that he’d ever admit that.”

  “So you have a problem with women in authority?”

  “Not in general. But in the church—”

  “How about doctors? Or veterinarians? Or driving trucks?”

  “What? I don’t—”

  “Hey.”

  David and I both looked over to see Nick in the doorway. His eyes met mine with a question, and I gave a subtle nod.

  David looked with confusion at Nick, who had leaned over to pet a much happier Queenie, then back at me.

  “You remember Nick,” I said. “From the gym.”

  “Sure. But I didn’t know he lived here.”

  Nick smiled, not bothering to correct him. “That your bicycle out there?”

  “Yeah.”

  “I have one a lot like that. How do you feel about—”

  And they were off, talking technical bike talk, and moving outside to look at David’s model, which was probably good and wet by that time. I guessed I should’ve had him bring it inside when he’d arrived, but oh well.

  A few minutes later Nick came back into the barn, without David.

  “He gone?”

  “Yeah.” He grabbed a rag and went to the opposite aisle to help. “What did he want?”

  “I don’t know.”

  He paused, his forehead furrowing.

  “I know,” I said. “I was worried, too. But I had Queenie.”

  At the sound of her name, Queenie looked up from where she’d lain back down at the end of the aisle. I told her what a good girl she was.

  Nick still stood there. “I don’t like it.”

  “I don’t, either.”

  And I noticed the shovel, leaning against the wall beside the bale of straw.

  “I’ll be right back.”

  Willard’s home phone rang three times before he picked it up, his voice groggy.

  “I have some fingerprints I want you to check against the ones from Dr. Peterson’s office,” I said. “And I’ll bet you twenty bucks they’re going to match.”

  Chapter Thirty-five

  The rain had stopped by the time Willard came by to pick up the shovel, so I went out to meet his car and tell him about David’s early morning visit.

  He frowned. “I guess there’s nothing criminal about it. Even if exercising at that time of day ought to be against the law.”

  “Exercising any time of the day should be against the law.”

  He shook his head. “Slacker.”

  “So you’ll test the shovel?”

  “Sure. Where is it?”

  I took him to it, having left it where it was so I wouldn’t smudge the prints, and he picked it up carefully by the blade. I followed him back out to his car, where he set the shovel in the back seat on some plain brown paper.

  I stepped away from
the car. “Let me know, okay?”

  “I will. I’ll have your favorite cop go over it when he comes in.”

  “Meadows again?”

  “He’s the man with this stuff these days. He’ll run the prints through our computer, and we could possibly have an answer by lunch time.”

  “David will be long gone by then.”

  “Nothing we can do about that. But we know where he lives, right?”

  Right. “Somewhere in Lancaster. We can ask Katherine and Alan if we need to. And I guess we hope he doesn’t get pissed off by any more women before we bring him in.”

  “Keep this under your hat, Stella. You don’t know he has anything to do with any of these attacks. I’m only checking these prints as a favor to you.”

  I looked at the ground for a moment before saying, “He’s the one on steroids.”

  He gave a little shake of his head. “What?”

  “Remember last night when I was asking about steroids? He’s the one.”

  “And you know this how?”

  “He’s huge, for one thing.”

  “And…”

  “He’s got acne on his back. And thinning hair.”

  “All things that could be explained by something else.”

  “Willard… He’s obsessed with exercise. I mean, look at him.”

  “I would, but I’ve never seen him.”

  “Oh. Well, he is.”

  “Okay. But it doesn’t mean he’s a killer.”

  I grabbed my head, trying not to let my anxiety out at Willard. “Steroids make people crazy. Their tempers flare. They’re unpredictable. Right?”

  “Right.”

  “So…” I held my hands out.

  “So you could be right. Let’s get the prints checked before we go any further, okay?”

  “Fine.”

  He looked at me, his expression one of fatherly patience, even though he wasn’t old enough to be my father. “I’ll be in touch.”

  He got in the car, started it, and rolled down the window. “And Stella?”

  “Yeah?”

  “You’re welcome.”

  I rolled my eyes as he drove away, knowing he was doing me a favor, but also knowing I had a good chance of being right.