by Paula Munier
She’d tramped back to the snowmobile alone and driven back to the truck. Thrasher was there, along with two ambulances, one for Patience and Troy and the other for the suspect.
According to the captain, Rucker wasn’t talking. He refused to name himself or his companions, nor did he ask after them. They’d have to find another way to establish their identities. There was a team tracking the other snowmobiler who’d gotten away, but he had a good head start, and so far he’d eluded them.
A dive team was tasked with looking for the man who went down with his snow machine into the lake. Since they had a location, they would give it a try, knowing that he had most likely drowned and that this would be a recovery operation, rather than a rescue. But this was dangerous work, and if the conditions were bad enough that the divers were at risk, they’d have to pull the operation until conditions improved. Sometimes that might not happen until spring.
Not that Mercy cared much at this point. She was only thinking about Troy and Patience and Elvis, hoping and praying their injuries weren’t serious.
She kept on rubbing Elvis’s cold back as she and Susie Bear watched as they carried Troy to join Patience in the first ambulance. The Newfoundland howled her displeasure, while the shepherd hung on, breathing but unconscious.
Mercy felt like howling, too. She and Susie Bear were desperate to help, but there was nothing they could do now, for Troy or for Patience or for Elvis.
Except wait.
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
A police officer named Winston drove Troy’s truck, racing Mercy and the dogs to the hospital after the ambulances, siren wailing. Still, it seemed like forever before he steered the Ford-150 into the Emergency entrance of the Rutland County Medical Center.
She pointed across the parking lot to the bright yellow oversized commercial van with STERLING MOBILE VETERINARY CLINIC emblazoned on the sides. This was the fully equipped mobile unit that allowed Patience to make house calls, treating big domesticated animals like horses, goats, sheep, and cows. As well as the occasional moose or bear, among other wildlife.
“Over there.”
Winston pulled the truck up next to the van, jumped out, and came around to the passenger side to help Mercy and Elvis. She cradled the unresponsive shepherd in her arms.
“What about Susie Bear?” asked Winston.
“She’ll stay with us. Come on, girl.”
Susie Bear leapt from the truck and ran for Claude, who was waiting at the door of the van. Mercy thanked Winston, and hurried over to join them. She followed the veterinarian into the mobile unit, a bright and clean space lined with gleaming white and stainless steel medical fixtures and built-in cabinets. She could hear Susie Bear scrambling in behind her.
“On the table.” He directed the Newfie to a mat in the corner while Mercy deposited Elvis on the examination table, which was covered in a large heating pad.
Claude wrapped thermal blankets around the shepherd and added more heating pads.
“Is he going to be all right?”
“He needs fluids,” he said, not answering her question. “Let’s get an IV in him. Hold his leg, please.”
Mercy clasped Elvis’s front right leg while the vet inserted an IV.
“This will help warm him from the inside out.”
Elvis barely acknowledged the maneuver, which worried her all the more. Usually he was very alert during visits to the vet.
She scratched the sweet spot between the shepherd’s ears as Claude retrieved an oxygen mask and placed it around the dog’s muzzle. Elvis opened his eyes briefly. Still slightly dilated.
“Will he be all right?” she asked again.
“It’s going to take time. We need to warm him up, keep him on the oxygen and the fluids.”
She patted Elvis’s back over the heating pads and blankets. His breathing seemed less labored now. His body more relaxed. Mercy nodded at Claude. He may not be Patience, but he was still a damn good veterinarian.
“I’ve got this,” he said. “Go see your grandmother. Leave Susie Bear with us.”
She hated to abandon Elvis, but one of them had to check on Patience. And Troy.
Elvis needed Claude more now than he needed her.
“I’ll be back as soon as I can.” Casting one long last look at her brave Malinois, completely sheathed in protective gear, only his dark eyes clearly visible, she said a silent prayer to St. Roch. The patron saint of dogs. One of Martinez’s favorite saints. She hoped that wherever he was, Martinez was praying for Elvis, too.
Mercy spotted Thrasher in the lobby and cornered him immediately.
“How are they?”
“Patience is doing very well. Room 354.”
“And Troy?”
“He’ll be okay.” The captain’s handsome face was creased with worry or weariness or both. “No punctured lungs, but a couple of broken ribs. He’s hurting, although he’d never admit it.” He looked at her squarely. “I’m sure he would appreciate a visit. Room 367.”
“Got it.”
“How’s Elvis?”
“I’m not sure. He’s with Claude in the vet van.”
“Susie Bear?”
“She’s with them.”
“Good.” He dismissed her with a wave. “Get on up there.”
Mercy excused herself and ran for the elevators.
* * *
HER FIRST STOP was her grandmother. Patience was sitting up, supported by her electric bed, her cast-encased arm elevated on a pillow, holding court. Surrounded by people and pink roses and bright Get Well balloons. Mercy’s parents were there, as well as Lillian Jenkins and Bea Garcia.
“What are you all doing here?” She couldn’t believe it. “Patience is supposed to be resting.”
“We felt responsible for your grandmother’s ordeal,” said Lillian.
“We needed to see for ourselves that she was okay,” said Bea.
“I keep telling everyone that I’m fine. And that it’s nobody’s fault.”
“It’s Becker and Goodlove’s fault,” said her mother, Grace, smoothing her perfectly creased Ralph Lauren trousers. Her idea of dressing down on the weekends. “You should consider legal action against the department.”
“Nonsense.” Patience patted the side of her bed. “Come and tell me about Elvis, Mercy.”
She filled them in on the shepherd’s condition.
“He’s in good hands with Claude,” Patience said. “Try not to worry.”
“I’m sure he’ll be fine.” Lillian squeezed Mercy’s shoulder. “He’s a very strong character.”
“That he is.” Patience patted her hand. “Just like you. I was telling them everything that happened, and how strong you all were. Troy and Susie Bear, too. You should visit him.”
“If you’re sure you’re all right…”
“You can report back to Claude that I couldn’t be better.”
“I’ll do better than that. Smile.” Mercy pulled out her cell and snapped a photo of Patience grinning at the camera.
“A picture is worth a thousand words,” said Lillian approvingly.
“Go on,” said her grandmother. “Go see your game warden.”
Her mother caught her eye and waylaid her in the hallway. “Wesley Hallett came by.”
“Already?”
“Captain Thrasher told us what he’s trying to do. Unacceptable.”
“The man must be glued to a police scanner.”
Her mother frowned. “He’ll try to use this against you. Evidence that your lifestyle puts Elvis in danger.”
Mercy thought of Elvis, wet and cold and barely breathing. She leaned against the pale green wall and closed her eyes, willing the image out of her head. “Maybe he’s right.”
“You’re the best that ever happened to that dog.” Grace took Mercy’s hands—still clammy with a cold she just couldn’t shake—into her own warm ones. “We’ll prove it.”
“We?”
“Sometimes having lawyers in the family is a good th
ing.”
Mercy opened her eyes and forced herself to smile. “And possession is nine-tenths of the law.”
“Exactly.” Her mother squeezed her fingers for a moment and then released them. “Say your thank-yous to Warden Warner, and then go take care of your dog. Don’t let Hallett find him first.”
* * *
ROOM 367.
The door was half open, and through it Mercy could see a pale-faced Troy flanked by a man and woman in their fifties. The man, an older, craggier version of Troy dressed in work boots and jeans. The woman, a taller and friendlier looking version of Grace, if she shopped at the Vermont Country Store instead of Newbury Street.
His parents. She’d come back another time. She didn’t want to intrude, or maybe she was just being a coward. She eased back into the hallway, but not before the man caught her eye.
“Come on in,” he yelled.
The woman smiled. Troy smiled, too, and that’s when Mercy saw the mother’s mark upon the son. He had his mother’s smile—and it was a killer. The kind of smile that said I see right through you, and I like you anyway.
She waved her in, and Mercy had no choice but to comply. She couldn’t be rude to the parents of the man who’d helped save her grandmother’s life. And Elvis’s life. And her own.
She resisted the urge to smooth her hair, but she put a smile on her face—not as brilliant as Troy’s or his mother’s, yet hopefully bright enough to hide her unease at having yet another Warner get under her skin—and pushed into the room.
“Harrison Warner.” Troy’s father stepped forward. “Harry.” He squeezed his wife’s shoulders. “And this is Lizzie.”
“Lovely to meet you.”
“We’ve heard so much about you,” said Lizzie. With that smile.
Mercy ignored that. “How’s the patient?”
“He’ll be as good as new,” said Lizzie. “If we can keep him down long enough to recover.”
“I’m right here, people.” Troy leaned forward, and then fell back with a wince.
“Keep that ice pack on.” Lizzie bustled back to her son.
Mercy grinned as she watched Troy squirm under his mother’s attentions.
“I’m fine, Mom.”
Lizzie laughed. “Sure you are.” She positioned the ice pack over the blue hospital gown along the right side of Troy’s rib cage. “Hold that right there.”
Troy did as he was told.
“Let’s go get a cup of coffee, Harry.” Lizzie took her husband by the arm.
“Sure.” Harry winked at Mercy on his way out.
Mercy drew closer to the bed. “You look terrible.”
And he did. He was ashen under his game warden’s all-season tan. And she could see the tiny flinches of pain that flitted across his face every now and then.
“Thanks.” He laughed, stiffened abruptly, and cursed. “Don’t make me laugh.”
“I’m sorry. Can’t they get you something for that pain?”
He shrugged. “I hear Patience is doing well. How about Elvis?”
Troy was as good at avoiding questions he didn’t want to answer as she was.
“He’s had a rough time. He’s with Claude and Susie Bear in the mobile clinic.”
“The Nana Banana,” he said, using her pet name for the big yellow van.
“That’s right.”
“Time for your meds.” An attractive young nurse who obviously enjoyed having a handsome game warden to care for shooed Mercy away from Troy’s bedside.
“This is Sophia,” he said.
Sophia ignored Mercy, focusing all her attention on her good-looking patient. She handed him a tiny paper cup with two pills inside, and a large paper cup with water. “These will take the edge off the pain. And make you drowsy.” The nurse frowned at Mercy. “Nap time.”
Mercy wanted to talk to Troy on his own, discover what they’d found out about the suspects. And thank him for everything. And just be here with him for a minute. But not with Sophia the Super Nurse playing sentry. “I’d better get back to Elvis.”
“You don’t have to go just yet.” Troy stifled a yawn and blanched.
“He needs his rest.” Sophia glared at her.
“Agreed.” Mercy reached over and squeezed his shoulder gently. “I need to go anyway. Hallett’s been hanging around.”
“Don’t listen to him.” Troy caught her fingers with his own as she pulled away. His hand curled around hers and she smiled in spite of herself. “He’s wrong about Elvis. He’s wrong about you.” She wished she could believe him. But with Elvis so close to the brink, how could she?
“Time to take your blood pressure.” The nurse waved her away from the bed.
Mercy untangled her fingers from Troy’s.
“What about Hallett?” he asked her.
“My parents are on it.”
“Outstanding.” He smiled at Mercy as the nurse wrapped the monitor around his arm in a practiced but very proprietary way.
Too proprietary. After all, Troy did not belong to this interloper in scrubs. Troy belonged to her.
As soon as the thought popped into her head, Mercy rejected it outright. Troy was not hers, even if she wanted him to be.
Time to leave. “I’ll be back when you’re feeling better,” she told Troy. “Rest easy.”
He gave her a thumbs-up. Sophia the Super Nurse jerked the curtain around the bed, disappearing with Troy into her private world.
Mercy did not like Sophia the Super Nurse.
* * *
MERCY RELIEVED CLAUDE at the van, taking up his spot by Elvis so he could go visit Patience in the hospital. Susie Bear was snoring lightly on the mat in the corner. Didn’t look like she’d moved an inch in her absence.
“Elvis’s blood pressure is returning to normal,” said Claude as he slipped off his white coat and slipped on his parka. “And he’s breathing more easily. Let him sleep. The more rest, the better.”
“So he’s out of the woods?”
“Not completely.” He smiled at her. “But he’s getting there.”
“Patience is doing well.” She showed him the photo of her grandmother.
“She looks good,” he said.
“I know you want to see for yourself. And I know she wants to see you. For what it’s worth, she told me it was a mistake to send you packing.”
“I knew she didn’t really mean it.” He changed the subject. “That soldier was here.”
“Hallett?”
“He was asking about Elvis. I put him off. But he had a very determined look about him.”
“Thanks for the warning.” Hallett would be back, no question about that.
Claude gave her a quick hug. “I’ll be right across the parking lot if you need me.”
“Thank you.”
Mercy watched Claude go, stroking the shepherd’s soft belly. When the veterinarian disappeared into the hospital entrance, she leaned over and whispered into one of Elvis’s triangular ears. “I’m here, boy. Hang in there.”
She moved her palm up to the left side of his chest, behind his front leg, where she could feel the beating of his heart. Steady as a metronome. Stalwart as a good soldier. As true as her tears.
CHAPTER THIRTY
By the next morning, Claude declared Elvis fit to leave the clinic—and up for a little celebratory Howl at Pizza Bob’s, provided he went straight home to the cabin for a long nap afterward. The Malinois was still a little weak, and he was wearing a special bodysuit to stay warm, but he’d regained his composure, strutting along with her and Sunny down Main Street to meet Captain Thrasher and Troy and Susie Bear for lunch at Pizza Bob’s. This was to be the golden retriever’s first trip to the best pizza place in Northshire.
Pizza Bob smiled. “Another dog?”
Mercy laughed. “I sort of inherited her.”
“She’s a beauty.” He petted the retriever first, and then Elvis. “What’s with the fancy dress?”
“He caught a chill.” She felt guilty just saying t
hat out loud.
“Then let’s get you inside away from the door.” He ushered them around the reception area, pausing just long enough to envelop Mercy in a big bear hug. She breathed in the comforting scent of garlic and pepperoni. He presented Elvis and Sunny with breadsticks from his back pocket, and the dogs gobbled them down as he escorted them to their seats. Past the massive one-of-a-kind stone pizza oven that dominated the colorful Sixties-style restaurant and through the crowded dining room to the back, where the captain had commandeered a quiet booth.
Troy and Susie Bear were already there, Troy sitting across from Thrasher and the cheerful dog waiting patiently at the game warden’s feet. Mercy stepped over Susie Bear and slipped into the booth next to Troy. The dogs exchanged a couple of sniffs and Elvis and Sunny settled in next to their canine pal. Elvis and Susie Bear knew the best was yet to come: two extra-large Howls—hand-tossed pies with pepperoni, sausage, bacon, meatballs, and ham—and fresh root beer on tap for the humans and a large bowl of water for them. But it would be a happy surprise for Sunny.
“The body in the lake was Rocky Simko,” said the captain without preamble. “Rucker finally confirmed it.”
“Guess who the guy who got away was,” Troy said to her, a challenge in his eyes.
Mercy paused dramatically. “Ruby Rucker’s son.”
“Never bet against her,” Troy told the captain.
“So I guess lunch is on me.” Thrasher grinned as Pizza Bob put the tray holding two Long Trail Limbo IPAs and a glass of Big Barn Red on the table with one oversized hand and placed the dogs’ water bowl down on the floor next to the dogs with the other. He slipped each of the canines another breadstick. “I’ll be back with the pies shortly.”
“What, no root beer?” asked Mercy.
“Technically we’re off duty,” said the captain.