by Mary Logue
Bridget looked even more uncomfortable, if that were possible. “Meg, sweetie, I think you should talk to your mom about that.”
“But she said you would be a good one to talk to, since you’re the doctor.”
Aunt Bridget rolled her eyes to the ceiling, then tilted to one side and flopped straight out on the couch, her head landing in Meg’s lap. “I got an idea. You tell me what you think happens, and then I’ll tell you if it’s right.”
After listening to a few songs, they decided to join the mob when a slow dance started. Rich put a hand on Claire’s shoulder and turned her to face him. Then he took her other hand in his and began to lead her through the mass of spinning dancers. She looked at him, and her eyes widened slightly, like a cat saying hello. She smiled and dipped her head.
He pulled her in closer and stepped as gracefully as he could through the crowd. Just a simple waltz. Bless his mom for teaching him how to do the waltz. Claire seemed to be able to follow him, and he slid his arm onto her back, feeling her skin warm beneath his hand. Now that he was here, now that he was dancing, he wanted to do this for the rest of the night.
The air was the same temperature as his body; to move through it was to flow in a warm current. Claire tucked her head into his neck, and they waltzed together as if they had done it many times before. An odd thought crept into his mind: I could live with this woman the rest of my life. He tightened his hold on her, and she snuggled in closer. When the dance ended, he could feel her breath on his neck.
Then the music notched up as the band played a fast one. Rich hated to let go of Claire, but everyone was jumping and hopping and they would look silly holding on to each other, so reluctantly they separated and started to dance like everyone else. Claire swung her hair back and laughed with her mouth wide open. The Guzzlers were singing about crazy love, and Rich laughed too. God, it felt good to be in love.
When the next song slowed down, they fell into each other’s arms, sweating and laughing. They started in close and somehow got closer. The light had dropped from the sky, and the streetlights only lit up pockets of the dark. He felt Claire’s breath on his neck, and this time he turned toward her and bent down and found her lips. They were sweet and salty.
What he felt jolted him. He wanted to eat her up. He felt himself wanting more of her, and he held himself back. He kissed her gently, and her lips blossomed under his. Dancing didn’t seem like enough anymore.
Suddenly, there was a rumble in the crowd, a woman’s scream. Claire pulled back from his kiss. Rich was sure it was just someone having too much fun, but then they started to hear shouts and people yelling for the music to stop.
Claire, the cop again, moved toward the noise. He followed her through the crowd as the band fell silent. As they got closer, he heard a woman yell, “Help! Get some help!”
Claire could see instantly that the man was in trouble, even in dim light from the streetlamps. A crowd had gathered around the far side of the stage, behind the loudspeakers. A teenage girl was off to the side, whimpering. An older boy was comforting her.
Claire had pushed through the crowd and now found herself standing right over the man, the farmer. What had Rich called him? Jed something.
She knelt quickly and found a faint pulse in his neck. Blood was smeared across his face from his nose, but that just looked bad. Something else was going on here. This guy was barely breathing. She didn’t want to move him until she understood better what had happened to him. She wouldn’t let him be moved until the ambulance got here. She needed to be sure one had been called.
Claire grabbed a tall, blond kid who was standing next to her. “Has someone called the ambulance?”
“Got me.”
“I do got you, buddy. Could you check on that for me?”
The kid looked at her and curled his lip.
“Look. I’m a deputy. I’d appreciate your help. Did you see what happened here?” “No, I didn’t.”
One of the band members jumped down off the stage and told Claire, “We called nine-one-one on our cell phone. They said they’d be here in fifteen. Where they coming from? Over by Durand?”
“I sure hope so.” Claire felt a hand on her shoulder and half turned to see Rich standing next to her.
She asked Rich, “Could you watch over him for a moment? Keep people away. I need to get some order here.”
Then she turned back to the band member. “Did you see what happened here?” He might have been Hank Texaco; she wasn’t sure. He had a big thick mustache and long, thin hair pulled back in a ponytail.
“I don’t really know. With the lights on us, we can’t really see much in the audience. I didn’t see anything. Then this woman started screaming, and some other people ran over in this direction.”
“Do you know who the woman was?”
“Young, blond hair, I didn’t see her very good.”
“Could you get them to shine one of those lights over this way?”
“Absolutely.” He climbed on the stage and shouted an order. Suddenly a spotlight pointed her way.
Claire took advantage of the light and commanded everyone’s attention. “I’m a deputy sheriff. There’s been an accident. Please, everyone stand back. We need you to keep out of the way. And is there a doctor or nurse available?”
Rich helped her move people away from the scene. But no doctor or nurse came forward to help. Claire knew she needed to look at Spitzler again.
She kneeled down next to the man again. He looked like he might be dead already—the way his body sank into the ground, the way his eyes were half open but unseeing. She touched his head, and he didn’t move. It looked as if someone had punched him. That had probably caused the bloody nose.
With the light from the stage shining on Spitzler, she was able to see the dark pool of blood he was lying in. It stained the side of his shirt, telling her where the wound might be.
Blood, and she had no gloves. Claire was very careful to keep her hands away from it as she checked him over.
As she kept tentatively exploring, she noticed a sticky spot on the side of his ribs. She lifted his shirt and saw the slice. A knife wound. Maybe hit the lungs, possibly even the heart. If it had found that mark, he was gone.
3
THE light formed a circle around the two of them. People had all stepped back, afraid to be touched by the spotlight. Rich stood just on the edge of the darkness, watching Claire. She had taken charge of the scene. After clearing an area around Spitzler, she knelt by him, gently checking him over. Lovely white-shouldered woman bending over bloody body of a dark-haired man. The scene looked ancient.
What had happened to Jed Spitzler? And why? The man didn’t look good to him.
Rich watched as Claire lifted up Jed’s shirt. He was close enough to see the gash in his side, the blood oozing out of it. He touched Claire on the shoulder and asked, “Is there anything you need?”
“Do you have a piece of cloth, something for a pressure bandage?”
He reached in his pocket and pulled out a clean white handkerchief. Claire took it from him, folded it smaller, then pressed it hard into the wound.
She turned her face to him, and he could see how focused she was on what was in front of her. “I don’t know if he’s still alive. I’m afraid if he doesn’t get help soon, he won’t make it. Can you watch for the ambulance and direct them here? We don’t have any time to lose.”
Rich walked through the crowds of people toward the road that led to Durand. The ambulance would be coming from that direction. The street dance had deflated, like a balloon with the air popped out of it. People were huddled together, talking and drinking. No reason to quit drinking. Once they took Spitzler away, the band might even start up again.
Rich hit the street and walked past the last building in town. Something had been within his grasp, and now it seemed gone. Claire had changed in front of his eyes. Did he really know what he was doing, getting involved with a woman like that? Her work was all-consuming.
He raised pheasants, and in the winter he read books and fixed old chairs. She went after killers and handed out speeding tickets. Where would their lives intersect? But he was in love with her. He would have to keep walking forward and see where this road would bring them.
Far up the street he heard the shriek of the siren, pulsing through the night.
Claire had to move away from the man and step back for the paramedics to take over. She knew that. She felt a hand on her shoulder, pulling her away. A sheer plastic glove covered that hand. They would know what to do with him. But she had been trying to find any indication of life and had just seen a flicker of something when the hand touched her shoulder.
She forced herself to back up and watch Jed be swarmed by two T-shirted young men. Like sparks of light, they flitted around him, not moving him yet, checking his pulse, machines flying out of the back of the ambulance.
Another spotlight was aimed on the scene, and suddenly it turned as bright as day. She took another step back and realized she had other work to do. She had to stop focusing on Jed, let the doctors do their work, and turn toward the crime scene.
Find out what had happened here and who had played a part in it. If she needed to, she could go to the hospital later, after she had gathered what information she could at the dance.
She looked down. The first thing she needed to do was wash all the blood off her hands.
On his way back to Claire, Rich ran into his nephew, Eric Duvall. The kid would have walked right by him if Rich hadn’t grabbed him by the arm. At first Eric tried to throw him off, then when he saw it was Rich, he smiled. “Hey, Uncle Rich.”
“Where you heading?”
“Home. Not much going on here.”
Rich had always taken an interest in Eric. His parents let him run a little wild, and Rich tried to encourage him to make something of his life. He thought Eric was smart and should go on to college, but none of his friends were going to. That made it hard for Eric to consider it. All he wanted to do was take engines apart and put them back together. “You need a lift?”
“No, I’m on the bike.”
Rich had forgotten that Eric had bought a little dirt bike a few months ago. He had put in a few days helping Rich out with the pheasants to earn some money. “You interested in helping me with the birds this fall?”
Eric’s smile cracked his face. “Sure thing.”
“Hey, you know what happened to Jed Spitzler?”
“No. I just saw all the commotion.”
“Do you know his family?”
“Not well, but I do know his son, Brad. He’s a year ahead of me in school. Kinda quiet, keeps to himself. Seems like an okay kid.”
“What is he, a senior?”
“Yeah, lucky duck, he’s graduating this spring.”
“Who else in the family?”
“He’s got two younger sisters.”
“I remember their mom died, didn’t she?”
Eric shrugged. “Yeah. It was a while ago. I think I was about twelve or thirteen. Some kind of farm accident.”
Claire started to look around for Rich. He had been standing next to her when she was kneeling by Spitzler, but then he had gone off to direct the ambulance. She couldn’t see him in the crowd, but she figured if she stayed near the stage, he would show up.
The paramedics were sliding Spitzler onto a gurney. He didn’t move or react as they rolled him from side to side. She shivered. That was bad. No movement, not even in reaction to pain, was certainly a bad sign.
People were quiet as they watched him being lifted on the sling. Then a scream split the air, high and keening. It was a sound Claire would never forget, a half-animal howl.
Claire turned to see the woman who had made the sound. A dark-haired woman wearing a flowered dress launched herself at the entourage. Her hair flew around her head like it was full of electricity. She looked frantic and all charged up. Probably in her late thirties, although she was dressed like a teenager.
“Jed!” she screamed as she tried to get to him.
A large man with a cowboy hat grabbed her arm, but she shook him loose and reached the side of the gurney. She tried to touch Spitzler, but the paramedic grabbed her and blocked her way. She fought to get near him, and again Claire was struck by the animal intensity of her.
“Let me go with him,” she begged. “I’ll ride in the ambulance. Please, let me be with him.”
The paramedic told her, “We can’t do that, ma’am. You’ll have to meet us there.”
As Spitzler was loaded into the ambulance, the woman stood and watched and shook, her arms wrapped around her body and her hair covering her face. She looked as if she might collapse.
Claire had started to move toward her when the man with a cowboy hat stepped up again and tried to wrap an arm around her shoulders.
The dark-haired woman screamed and pushed him away.
“Don’t you touch me. How do I know you didn’t do this? You’ve hated him since day one.” The cowboy shook his head and walked away.
Claire walked over to the hysterial woman and asked her, “Can you tell me what happened here?”
The woman looked at Claire as if she were a freak. “What do you want? Just leave me alone.”
Claire reached out to touch the woman’s arm, but she pulled away.
“I need to find out what happened here. I’m a deputy sheriff. Can you tell me your name?”
“Why’d you want to know that?”
“I need to find out what happened to Jed.”
“Yes. I can tell you. But I need to get to the hospital. His kids already left, I think.”
Claire kept her voice low and reasonable and stood right in front of the woman. “I’ll see if I can get you a ride. But if you’d be good enough to answer a few questions first.”
The woman wiped her face and sucked in her tears. “My name is Lola. Lola Anderson.”
When Lola lifted her face, Claire saw that she wasn’t a bad-looking woman, but her skin was pockmarked, and she was older than thirty, maybe into her forties. “Did you come with Jed tonight?”
“Yeah. We were having a good time. Jed doesn’t like to go out so much, but I got him to come tonight.”
“So what happened?”
“Can I tell you my suspicions?” Lola brightened.
“Shoot,” Claire said.
“I think this is what happened. Jed and I were standing listening to the music and everything, and then he had to go to the bathroom, he said. So he left. I didn’t think too much of it, and I stood there by myself. Then I see Leonard, that’s my ex-boyfriend, going that same way.” She stopped to see if Claire had gathered the significance of this.
Claire nodded at her to keep her talking. “Was Leonard the man who grabbed hold of you a moment ago?”
“Yeah, that’s him. You gotta understand, the two of them don’t get along. All because of me. I mean, they might not have gotten along anyway. They’re both too damned stubborn, but Leonard pretty much just hates Jed because I left him and went with Jed. He’s said as much. You can ask other people. It’s a well-known fact. So I know that Leonard went over in that same direction. And then I saw him staring down at Jed when the ambulance guys came and everything.”
“But that was after he had been assaulted. How do you know he was anywhere near Jed before that?”
“I think you better seriously question him, and you can call me as a witness to his character if you need that, which you probably will if you’re going to take him to court. I had to tell you all of this before I went to the hospital, because I’ve watched a lot of TV shows, and I know how important it is to track everything down at the scene of the crime.”
Claire thanked her. She took the woman’s name and number, wrote them on a bank slip from her purse. She looked around to see if any other deputies had shown up. What was taking them so long?
Lola’s face crumpled as she asked, “I need to get to the hospital. Do you think he’s going to die?”
Claire answered truthfully. “He didn’t look good to me. When some other deputies arrive, I can try to arrange a ride.”
“No. I can’t wait that long. I’ve got a friend here.” Lola ran off, her dress flowing behind her.
After questioning a number of dancegoers who had seen nothing, Claire finally found an older woman who had been standing near where the attack had taken place—Mrs. Gunderson. She was sitting in a lawn chair with a can of ginger ale in her hands. Her hair was a halo of white curls, and she smiled as Claire questioned her.
A sprightly woman in her late sixties, she told Claire she had taught fifth grade in the local school. “But I’m retired now. I had Jenny in my class. That’s Jed Spitzler’s daughter. She was such a sweet girl. So smart and full of life. Until the accident. Do you know Jenny?”
“No, I just met Mr. Spitzler for the first time tonight.”
“She was a joy to have in class.” Her face clouded over. “I haven’t seen much of her these last few years.”
“Did you see what happened to Mr. Spitzler?” Claire asked.
“No, my eyesight just isn’t what it used to be. Even with these glasses, I can’t make out much. They tell me I have macular degeneration. The middle of your vision goes. I’ve started to listen to Books on Tape because I can hardly read anymore. I wish I could help you. I didn’t even know that was Jenny over there until she screamed.”
Claire didn’t remember seeing a young girl near Spitzler. “So the daughter was there?”
“She found him, I think. And her brother. So awful for the both of them. What that family has had to endure.”
Claire thanked her and said she might have to talk to her again.
“Oh, I would enjoy that. Since I’m retired, I seem to have more time than I know what to do with. You’re welcome to stop by my house anytime.”
Claire thanked her. When she turned away from Mrs. Gunderson, she saw that two deputies, Billy Peterson and Steve Walker, had arrived in a patrol car. She went over to tell them what she knew and to have them help her with the questioning.
Rich sat on the stage, drinking a beer, and watched Claire work. Jed Spitzler had been taken away. Two more deputies had shown up, but Claire hadn’t slowed down at all. She was talking to everyone she could corral, pointing at the spot where Jed had lain, asking them questions, noting things down on slips of paper she pulled from her purse. It was odd to see her working as a deputy in her dancing outfit. He wasn’t against women doing anything a man could do, but she just didn’t seem to be wearing the right getup for police work. He knew Claire would agree.