I said, “Emmaline’s house is empty. Did she say she was moving?”
The woman in the chair twirled to face me. “She’s gone? Shoot. I liked her face lotion. A bit spendy, but worth it.”
Violet shook her head. “I haven’t spoken to her in a while.”
I asked Violet, “Did she have another car besides the van?”
Violet continued snipping at damp strands. “I never saw her drive anything else. She should have said goodbye. We were friends.”
The woman said, “If you find out where she’s gone, let me know. I’ve been wanting to ask her what to do about my no-good brother-in-law. I had to miss her last tarot reading.”
Violet tsked. “What’s he done now, Sherrie?”
I said goodbye and slipped out, curious about Sherrie’s issue with her brother-in-law, but more concerned about getting my herbs before bedtime tonight. What if the nightmares I’d been fending off banded together to slam me the minute I stopped taking the herbs? I walked around the block to the post office. Quick hands flipped mail into each rectangle. “Jeanie?”
Her head popped around the corner at the front counter. “Hey, Britt. What’s new?”
“I’m here about Emmaline Moreau again. She’s moved. She didn’t happen to leave a forwarding address, did she?”
“Not while I was on duty. Let me check.”
She came back in a couple of minutes. “No forwarding address so far. Sometimes they update it online once they get settled.”
I doubted if Emmaline would have opted for the online change of address—or maybe she would. She baffled me. “Would you let me know if she comes in for mail or leaves a forwarding address?”
Jeanie plucked at her hair. “I don’t know if I should.”
“I’m not asking for you to give me her mail. Just let me know if you see her.”
“Right, there’s no harm in that. And she should be coming in to pick up her packages.”
“Packages? Like for her organics?”
Jeanie spread her arms wide. “They’re kind of heavy for that.” Jeanie’s hand flew to her mouth. “We’re not supposed to gossip about people’s mail.”
“Can you tell me who’s sending the packages?”
“I know for a fact I can’t tell you that, Britt, and you do, too. I could lose my job.”
“That probably means you won’t tell me where she sends her packages either?”
A customer came in. Relief on her face, Jeanie said, “Hi Jake, how can I help you?”
They were talking about the new duck stamps when I left. Maybe Emmaline did a big wholesale business. But without a phone or computer, how would that work?
Ben hadn’t been a huge help to me lately, but I tried anyway. My call went to voice mail so I left a message. “Could you do a background check on Emmaline Moreau? She’s moved from the Pearsons’ and there’s no forwarding address. Plus I’m pretty sure there were surveillance cameras at that barn.”
He called a few minutes later. “Sorry I couldn’t pick up. We were in a meeting.”
“Can you help me? I need my sleep tea.”
“I can’t do that, she hasn’t broken any laws. Can we talk later?”
“But what about the cameras? That’s suspicious, right?”
“Were there cameras?”
“She must have taken them when she took off. The wires and cords were all that were left.”
“I’ll check it out when I get a chance.” Someone in the background asked Ben a question. He said, “Sorry, I’ve got to go. We’re trying to find the guy who attacked you with that drone.”
“Any leads?”
“Don’t worry, we’ll get him.”
*
Little didn’t know Emmaline had left town. He stirred a fragrant vegetable soup, frowning. “Now I have to find someone else for fresh herbs. Maybe it’s time to plant my own.” He dried his hands on a towel. “Let me make you lunch.”
“Thanks, I’ll have something later.”
His head tilted to the side. I rarely passed up an offer of a meal from my brother. I left before another person advised me on my health. Tired and confused, I thought about Edgar. In the past, he would have said something to point me in the right direction, but he was avoiding me. What had I done?
I called Henry. He would know.
“Hey, Britt.” He always spoke if hearing from me made his day.
I raised my voice above the casino din in the background. “How’s Edgar?
“Unfortunately, he’s still not himself.”
“Do you have time to see me? I can make it in fifteen minutes.”
“I always have time for you, Britt. Want to meet me in the Dreamcatcher restaurant? My treat.”
I said that sounded great.
The front lot was nearly always full. There was additional parking at the back, but those spaces were only full during the summer months and holidays. A giant iron Dreamcatcher sculpture sat in front of the circular drive. I got lucky and found a space near the entrance.
A limo pulled in to drop off a group of afternoon partiers. I followed them inside and made my way through dinging slots and rows of card tables to the restaurant. The restaurant door swished shut behind me. My ears appreciated the instant quiet.
Henry waved me over from one of the booths.
I squeezed his shoulder. He clapped a hand over mine. “Let’s eat and then we’ll talk.”
The waitress came and I ordered wild rice soup and tea, hoping to trick my stomach with the alternate tea.
Henry ordered three times as much food as I had. He tilted his head at the waitress. “Thanks, Crystal.” To me he said, “You’re the only person I know whose appetite rivals mine. You okay? You’re pale even for a Scandinavian.”
“I’ll get into that later. Tell me about the girls.” Henry’s pride and joy were his twin daughters, Emily and Olivia.
He did a head shake and eye roll combo. “They’re almost ten now and want new smart phones, iPads, everything. They’re on social media, but I watch over that like a hawk.”
“Do they still spend time with Edgar?” I’d seen their handiwork on the tips of the dignified elder’s long braids. They liked to add sparkly bows.
“It’s mandatory. He teaches them about their heritage and they’re still young enough to love his stories.”
Our food and my tea arrived. I lifted a spoonful of soup to my lips. It took me a few tries to swallow.
Henry put down his walleye sandwich. “What’s wrong with the soup?”
“The soup is good, but I have too much on my mind to eat right now. I wanted to talk about the way Edgar’s been acting toward me. What did he say to you the day you left in such a hurry?”
A shadow crossed his face and he hesitated, clearly not wanting to give me Edgar’s message. “He said, ‘Henry, we must go. Bad medicine here.’ I asked again later and he said the same thing. I don’t know why he said that. I’m sorry. I was going to call you.”
Ever hopeful, I asked. “Should I go to his house?”
His dark eyes locked on mine. “I called him a few minutes before you got here and asked if we could visit him. He said the ancestors have asked him to stay away from you. He wants you to leave Spirit Lake immediately—you’re in grave danger from a powerful force.”
Edgar’s warnings always sent a chill down my spine, no matter who delivered them. Frustration sharpened my tone. “I know I’m in danger. Someone tried to take me out with a weaponized drone the other day. That’s why I need Edgar’s help. I don’t know who’s doing it or why.”
I’d made Henry feel bad and that shamed me. The big man shook his head. “Grandfather’s never acted like this before. Maybe his age is weakening him. He’s planning to do a sweat.” A sympathetic frown furrowed his brow. “You should do that, too.”
“Dr. Fromm’s going to check me out. Maybe I have a flu bug.”
Henry finished his meal while I pretended to sip my tea, pondering what was in the tea I’d gotten from
Emmaline. It was all gone now so there was no way to have it tested. Was I allergic to something in it? She hadn’t even known me when she first gave me the tea. The idea she’d purposely put something harmful in it made no sense.
Before I left, he asked, “You going to take Edgar’s advice and leave Spirit Lake for a while?”
“I’m supposed to head out on an assignment in Syria soon, but I’m going to help find whoever set off that bomb first. You know Chloe lost her foot?”
His voice low, he said, “We heard. Tough for the poor kid. Call me if I can do anything for her, or you.”
I said I would, not knowing how Henry could help. The BCA and Ben weren’t making much headway. Finding the bomber was about Chloe, but it was personal for me on another level as well. Part of my psyche was broken and I believed that stopping this person would exorcize the hopeless feeling that had dogged me since witnessing the carnage in Nigeria.
Henry put a heavy hand on my shoulder and walked me to the door. “I guess you know what you’re doing, but do you really need to go to Syria? That place is bad news.”
I started to give my stock answer for that type of question, that it was my job, but this was Henry. “I know. To be honest, I’m close to backing out.”
My phone buzzed on the way to my car. Little was at the hospital and asked me to meet him. I didn’t like the tension in his voice, and asked, “Is Chloe okay? Isn’t she going to be released today?”
“It’s complicated. I’ll explain when you get here.”
*
Little was talking with Dr. Ansari outside Chloe’s room when I joined them. “What’s going on?”
The doctor said, “Ray isn’t up to the task of caring for his daughter at home. Chloe will have to get around in a wheelchair and will need someone to help her with everything for quite some time.”
Little said, “I’ve been thinking about that.”
Dr. Ansari’s voice hardened. “He’s been drunk when he’s visited her and I’m not comfortable sending her home with him. Someone will need to take her to physical therapy and to the hospital for checkups, and when she’s ready to be fitted for the prosthetic, that’s even more occupational therapy.”
Little and I moved closer together.
Dr. Ansari said, “I’ve recommended placing her in a convalescent hospital, but she’s declined. She has no health insurance.”
Little jumped in. “She’s a student, eligible under her dad’s insurance.”
The doctor said, “It seems he’s let that lapse.”
Little’s mouth fell open. “I had no idea. I’ll talk to Chloe and tell her she can stay with us.” Pain crossed his face. “I mean me. I have a guest room.”
Dr. Ansari said, “You sure you have time for that? She’s going to need lots of care.”
I said, “Let’s ask the church ladies to help.”
Little perked up. “Great idea. I’ll offer them free meals.” As if everything was settled, Little asked, “Can we let her know she doesn’t have to worry?”
Dr. Ansari said, “The meds are helping her sleep right now, but if she agrees, we can discharge her to your care tomorrow.”
We both said, “Of course.”
We left, nearly colliding with Dr. Fromm hurrying down the corridor. He peered at me through his round glasses. “Have you had those blood tests?”
Squirming like an insect under a microscope, I told him I had.
He was about to say something else when Connie hurried up to him. “Doctor, you’re needed in 103.”
On the way out the door, I put a hand on my brother’s arm. I hadn’t liked the pain on his face when he stumbled over the word ‘us.’ “You okay?”
“Oh you know, still waiting for Lars to come home.”
“You’ve talked to him?”
“He calls after closing and tries to talk me into coming to Minneapolis. He says, ‘I’ll do a little professorin’ and you can do your chef thing here.’”
“It sounds like he wants to work it out.”
Little’s eyes glittered. “His way. He wants it to work out his way.”
He switched to talking about Chloe on the way to the parking lot. “I wish I’d known about her insurance. I knew something was bothering her, I mean other than the obvious problems. We’ll have to get her covered through the restaurant right away.”
I said, “I’m going to have a talk with Ray.”
*
Ray wasn’t home but a neighbor said to try Pike’s, a bar a few blocks away.
The aroma of stale alcohol with a hint of disinfectant greeted me when I pushed through the door. Ray was at the end of the bar, head hanging over his beer. I slid onto the stool next to him. “Ray.”
His droopy gaze swung toward me. He took a second to focus and said hello.
I told him Chloe would be staying with Little for a while.
He cradled his beer in one hand. “I couldn’t help my wife when the cancer took over. Now I can’t even take care of my poor girl.”
“We’re going to see that she’s okay.” There was no point in talking to him about getting help while he was still drunk, but maybe Chloe knew of a relative or friend to steer him to rehab.
I drove him home and settled him in his recliner. He slumped forward, staring at the blank television, lost in his misery. I went to the kitchen and opened the refrigerator. As I’d suspected, it was empty except for a six-pack of beer. Someone, probably Chloe, had filled the freezer with frozen dinners and pizzas.
I stuck a pizza in the oven and sat on the couch across from Ray, remembering what it was like to have a father who drank himself to oblivion every day. A sinking sensation came over me as it almost always did when thoughts of my deceased father intruded. Watching someone you love slowly kill themselves and you try to stop it and then accidentally speed the process was a permanent stain on my spirit. Past history stays locked in its own cell in a person’s heart. Others might absolve me, but I’d never walk free. I’d learned that the hard way.
Restless, I roamed the room checking for things Chloe might need from her house. “Ray, I’m going to gather some things to take to Chloe.”
My voice startled him; he’d likely forgotten I was there. He raised an arm and pointed, then let it drop. “Her room’s on the right.”
Most of her things would be at the dorm, but I checked her bedroom anyway. It was exactly as expected. Neat, a few posters of bands I’d never heard of. She probably only wore jeans at school and those would be difficult to put on for a while. I picked out yoga pants with baggy legs and warm socks, my throat catching.
She might like to read while she recuperated. I ran a hand over the titles in her bookshelf, stopping at her stack of yearbooks. I pulled out the one from her junior year and sat on her bed paging through it. A class picture with about eighty students stacked in rows on the bleachers reminded me of my high school years. I’d always been in the back row. I scanned each student, noting Jeremy, Chloe and Hunter standing in rows according to height.
A boy in front, where they always place the shorter kids, had shoulder-length, wavy hair ineffectively tamed. His was the only sneer in a sea of beaming faces. I’d seen that face, older now, but no mistaking it. I read the names listed at the bottom, recognizing Jeremy’s, Chloe’s and Hunter’s, but no Martin Birch. I quickly paged through her senior yearbook. The sneering kid wasn’t in it.
The oven dinged. I stood up too quickly and had to sit back down until the dizziness passed. Was I having withdrawal sensations from the tea? I took the yearbook and a couple of murder mysteries from her bookcase and went back to the living room.
The fragrant smell of pizza camouflaged the home’s stale booze and garbage reek. Ray roused when I slid a plate of pizza under his nose. He sat up and took the plate, had a bite, chewed and swallowed as if the effort took more energy than he could muster.
“Thank you, and for taking care of Chloe for now.” He raised earnest eyes. “I’m going to get a handle on this. I’ll come
for her next week.”
“You’re welcome at Little’s anytime, Ray.”
He said, “I don’t suppose you’d bring me a brew? Pizza’s better with a cold one.” His lips trembled.
I got him the beer and gathered the items for Chloe, including the yearbook. Before letting myself out, I said, “Don’t worry, Ray, we’re going to make sure Chloe has whatever she needs.” Hand wrapped around his beer, pizza forgotten, he stared back at the dark television screen.
Before putting the car in gear, I argued with myself for a minute. One voice insisted Lars should know about the extra burden Little had taken on, maybe he’d offer some assistance. The other voice told me to mind my own business. If it backfired, they’d both be mad at me. I left a message for Lars.
Before heading back to Spirit Lake, I peeled off toward Weldon’s house. Barry warned me to stay away from him, but I wanted to watch his reaction to the wavy-haired kid’s photo.
Chapter 20
Lights were on in Weldon’s garage. He must have taken the night off from spooking the neighbors. I hesitated before pulling into his drive. Maybe this wasn’t a good place for me to be, but Ben said they’d searched his garage and found no weapons. Weldon was a snarly old guy, although I was beginning to think he wasn’t dangerous.
The trembling girl in Nigeria, waiting to be detonated, flashed across my vision. Hurting people remotely was a coward’s way. I ignored the voice in my head that liked second guessing, drove in and parked next to his garage.
“Mr. Weldon, it’s Britt Johansson.” I rapped on the side door.
He opened it, recognized me and barked, “You have no business here.”
I stood back in case he jabbed at me with his index finger for the second time. “May I come in?”
“What’s that in your hand?”
“A Medicine Falls High School yearbook. I’d like to show you a picture.”
He waved me away. “I don’t have time for nonsense. Go on.” He stepped back to shut the door. I stuck my boot in it and the door sprang back nearly hitting him in the face.
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