by Brant, Kylie
His eyes twinkled. “Don’t you worry ’bout that. Just have Connie Streich out there with her son Bobby. She’s a bit overprotective and runs him in every week or so with some imaginary ailment. Do them both good to sit a bit. Not much wrong with the boy that the business end of a willow switch wouldn’t take care of.”
She had to agree. “I was treated to some of his . . . ah . . . charms while I was waiting.”
“I’ll just bet you were.” He clasped both hands around his knee and leaned his head back, as if thinking. “Let’s see, now. Healers. The hills used to be full of ’em when I first went in to practice. Figure I only treated a hundred or so of the town’s residents in the first two years I was open. Wasn’t uncommon for even the townspeople to go to one for whatever was ailin’ them. Times change slowly in these parts, and opinions even more so.”
“But you won them over.”
He threw her a satisfied look. “I did, yes. Took years of hard work. And a fair amount of education. But I built a decent practice, despite there still being some that clung to the old ways.”
“Do you remember any names?”
“Shoot.” He shook his head. “Most of those people would be long gone now. Rose Thornton used to dabble in it, but she’s gettin’ up there in years, just like the rest of us. At any rate, she’s such a cantankerous old soul, I don’t know that people could much stand to have her pokin’ at ’em.” His eyes twinkled behind the glasses. “Regardless of what Dev says, my bedside manner isn’t all that bad.”
She smiled, as he meant her to. “So you can’t think of anyone else who still might have an interest in the area?”
Appearing deep in thought, he sucked in his bottom lip. “There was Selma Pritchard. Lived about five miles or so out of town in the hills. Can’t recall whether she’s still alive or not. Haven’t seen her in years, but that’s neither here nor there.”
Stifling a stab of disappointment, Ramsey stood. She’d gotten at least a couple names, and by checking them out, she may get more. For that matter, it wouldn’t hurt to ask Letty at the sheriff’s office. Ramsey would be willing to bet she was close to Doc’s age and may recall more names.
“I won’t keep you any longer. But I do appreciate you taking the time to talk to me.”
He rose and walked her to the office door, his manner courtly. “I may be old, but I still grab the chance to spend a few minutes with a pretty woman when the opportunity arises. You tell Devlin that I’ve been beatin’ his time. Little competition would do that boy some good.”
Since it seemed churlish to point out that Stryker wasn’t in line for any such competition, she merely smiled and thanked him again before walking out the door he held.
The nurse must have been waiting for her exit, because before Ramsey was out of the hallway, she’d called the Streichs in. Stepping aside for the two to walk by earned Ramsey a hard kick in her ankle from the boy. She fervently hoped he’d need a shot during this office visit. One with an extra-long needle.
Jenny sent Ramsey a bright smile as she entered the lobby area where two or three new patients had appeared. “Was Doc able to help you?”
Impulse had her veering course for the woman’s window. “He was. Maybe you can, too. I’m looking for healers or people around here who deal with holistic herbal remedies.”
A faint frown of disapproval marred the woman’s brow. “I always tell people it can be dangerous to take things that haven’t been . . .”
“No, I don’t want to be treated,” Ramsey assured her. “I just need to ask some questions.”
There was a shrewd look in Jenny’s brown eyes. “You’re full of questions, no doubt ’bout it. Well there are a few in these parts. Probably more than I know. But you could start with Cora Beth Truman. I hear her name more than most. Lives up east of the bridge on old Highway Eight. Nellie Rodemaker is another one, but I’ve always heard she does more midwifin’ than anythin’ else. And Raelynn Urdall is another. She’s got a fair reputation with some folks and is willing to trade services. I understand she treated Cleve Willits’s whole family for bronchitis last winter and got herself repairs to her porch this spring in payment.”
Ramsey pulled a notebook out of her back pocket and jotted the names down. Beneath them, she added the two that Doc had given her.
Jenny peered at her notes and shook her head. “Oh, no, dear, Selma Pritchard passed on nearly two years ago. As for Rose . . .” She sent her an arch look and lowered her voice. “That one’s as likely to run you off with a load of buckshot as answer questions. You be careful there, you hear?”
“I will,” Ramsey promised. “I appreciate the help.” As she walked out of the office, she reflected that she wasn’t particularly relishing being met at someone’s door yet again with a shotgun.
One of these days the damn thing might go off.
Chapter 11
Lightning flashed as the skies opened up, threatening to drown Dev as he leaped across the growing puddles in the motel parking lot. He took a quick glance around. Ramsey’s vehicle was parked in front of cabin seven, but cabin eight was lit up. He took a chance and knocked at that door. Sure enough, Ramsey opened it, looking decidedly unenthusiastic to see him.
“Your light was on.”
She made a face when he repeated her words from a few nights earlier. “That’s because I’m working.”
“I have pizza.”
Looking suspiciously at his empty hands, she asked, “Where?”
The overhang didn’t offer much protection from the deluge. Water dripped from the roof and ran down the back of his neck. “In the car.”
She looked torn for a moment before saying, “Bring it next door.”
By the time he’d waded through the slick gravel and water-filled potholes to his car and back, she was standing in the open doorway to cabin seven. He ducked inside, shaking his hair out of his face. She took the pizza box from his hand, which, by this time, was looking a bit soggy, leaving him with the manila envelope he’d fetched along with it.
“Where’d you find pizza around here at ten o’clock at night?”
“The Kwik Stop on Main Street is open ’til midnight.”
She appeared decidedly more cheerful as she served up a slice for each of them on the napkins provided. He made a mental note that food tended to soften her up, and reached for the helping she handed him. He set the envelope down beside him and dug in.
“So.” She finished chewing and swallowed. “You were just out driving around, got the craving for pizza, decided you couldn’t eat the whole thing by yourself, and being in the neighborhood, dropped in?”
He grinned in spite of himself. He was contrary enough to find that sarcasm of hers sort of charming. “Somethin’ like that.”
She shook her head, took another bite. “I’m not the type to be swayed by a few kisses and pizza, Stryker.”
“Swayed into what?”
“Into sleeping with you.”
He choked a bit on a bite of crust. The woman had a habit of blunt speaking that was rare in these parts. And there was no reason on earth he should find that so alluring.
“I don’t recall askin’.” He waited a beat before adding, “But now that you bring it up . . .”
Ramsey eyed him knowingly. “Your reputation precedes you. Every female between nine and ninety may have a soft spot for you around here, but I’m not looking for a romance. Frankly, I don’t need the distraction.”
She may not have been looking for romance, he reflected as he reached for another slice, but he’d never seen a woman more in need of it. He wondered if she’d ever allow him close enough to provide it. “Heard you went to see Doc Theisen today.”
Her pizza froze midway to her mouth.
Wondering at her response, he went on. “Ran into him at the Half Moon tonight. He was talkin’ big about stealin’ you away and runnin’ off to Borneo with you.”
Relaxing again, she continued eating. “He answered a few questions for me. He’s a n
ice man.”
“None better. Present company excepted.”
“Of course,” she said with mock politeness.
They ate in companionable silence for a few minutes, during which time he wished he’d brought along something to drink. Now that he wasn’t standing outside in it, the rain seemed cozy, with drops tapping the window and the thunder still rumbling ominously overhead.
“So does this count as our dinner?”
He shook his head sorrowfully. “Mighta known you’d try to welsh out on our date.”
“I’m not welshing. I’m asking a question.”
“No, this doesn’t count as dinner. Obviously anythin’ eaten after nine o’clock at night is a snack. For dinner, we’re goin’ to have to eat before eight.”
“I stand corrected.”
“Actually, after our conversation the other night, you got me to wonderin’.” He picked up the damp envelope he’d carried in and handed it to her. “I stopped by the police station today and got a copy of the police report from the night my daddy was arrested.”
She looked at him then, her expression somber. He found himself distracted for a moment by the gold flecks in her eyes. They matched the streaks in her short brown hair, which he recalled her mentioning earlier hadn’t come from a salon. “Cost me two hours of waiting and ten dollars twenty-five cents for copies, under the Freedom of Information Act.” It had also earned him a few odd stares from the officers on duty, and from Zelda Pike, the office assistant who’d run the copies. He had no doubt that his request would be fodder for speculation at Zelda’s regular weekly coffee group come Saturday morning.
“Nothin’ in it jumped out at me, but after those questions you asked the other night . . . thought you might pick up on somethin’ I wouldn’t.” Her silence was starting to wear on him. He wished he knew her well enough to tell what she was thinking.
“I’ll take a look at it. I have to admit, it didn’t even occur to me that Buffalo Springs had a police department.”
“It’s small. There’s talk every year of dissolvin’ it as a way to save the town some money. With the sheriff’s office stationed here, it seems like a waste to some folks.” He welcomed the switch of topic. There had been something a bit voyeuristic in reading through those pages written in dry police-speak and knowing they were talking about his daddy. It had taken far more effort than he’d care to admit to shift part of himself away in order to reach some sort of objectivity.
“Spent the rest of the afternoon at the courthouse.”
“For . . .” she prompted him.
He was gentlemanly enough to leave the largest remaining piece for her, but he helped himself to two others that were relatively puny to make up for it. “Lora Kuemper wasn’t buried in the cemetery.” He took a large bite, caught the dangling cheese with his tongue. “Not all of the red mist victims were. Thought I’d see if I could figure where they lived. Get permission to do some readings on the properties.”
“What exactly would you be looking for?” she asked, real curiosity in her voice.
“Cold spots. Signs of radioactivity. Changes in the magnetic field.” He shrugged. “There are all sorts of indicators of paranormal activity.”
“And you’re keying in on the so-called red mist victims because one of them is most likely to be haunting Buffalo Springs after this latest murder?”
He didn’t mind the skepticism in her voice. Most of the people he knew were skeptical about things that couldn’t be explained scientifically. “If there is any paranormal activity connected to the red mist, I’d expect to get readin’s from one of the earlier victims. Since it all seemed to start with the Beans, and Lora Kuemper, they’d be the ones I’d focus on first.”
“So you struck out at the cemetery?”
He thought of Reverend Biggers then, and of his fury with Dev’s presence there. “You could say that.”
“Well, I can’t say I’m having any better luck than you are,” she said in disgust, wiping her fingers on a spare napkin. “Some of the people I talked to today made Donnelle look positively chatty by comparison.”
Intrigued, he looked at her. “Maybe I can help you in that area again.” His mouth kicked up at the narrowed look she sent him. “Came in handy the last time, you have to admit.”
“I doubt it,” she said shortly. “These were hill people.”
“Their names?”
She looked at him impatiently. “Cora Beth Truman.”
Her tone made the words sound like a dare. “Played summer ball with her youngest son.” He smiled at her expression. “Who else?”
“Nellie Rodemaker.”
He stretched his legs, his foot bumping hers in a friendly fashion. “I believe she’s by way of bein’ my mama’s great-aunt’s oldest daughter’s girl.” He waited for her to make the connection.
“Wouldn’t that make her your cousin?”
“Second cousin, twice removed, I think.”
“Why don’t you just say that?” she wondered irritably.
His stomach pleasantly full, he sent her a lazy smile. “I just did. Were there any others?”
“Raelynn Urdall.”
“Roomed next to her son my first year at the University of Tennessee.” He shook his head as the memory took him. “That boy could actually slam a beer while standin’ on his head.”
Ramsey looked unimpressed. “Why would anyone practice doing that?”
“Posterity. Are those all the names?”
“The only other one was Rose Thornton. It was just after dark when I reached her place. But she didn’t answer the door when I knocked. She may have been sleeping. I know she’s older. She probably goes to bed earlier than most people.”
“Either that or she was ignorin’ you.” But it would be odd for Rose to show such restraint. If she didn’t want to talk to Ramsey, she’d have faced her down with a loaded shotgun. Dev had no doubt he’d get the same treatment, regardless of the fact that they weren’t strangers. Rose had never been the welcoming sort.
“Maybe she wasn’t home.”
“She’s home. Nowhere else for her to be. Only comes to town every month or so for provisions. Doesn’t have any family to speak of. Some distant cousins someplace north, I think.”
Ramsey shook her head. “No, I mean maybe she was out in the woods beyond her house. I saw some lights in her yard, like someone was in the trees with a flashlight searching for something.”
The thought of ol’ Rose with a flashlight filled Dev with bemusement. He could still recall when the old cabin she lived in had been outfitted with plumbing and electricity back when he was a kid. Hers was an isolated property. It was flanked by a gravel road on the north, the cemetery on the west, and woods on the other two sides.
“I doubt it,” he said dubiously. “Haven’t seen her for ages, so don’t know how she’s gettin’ ’round these days. But she has to be goin’ on ninety. Can’t see her out messin’ in the woods at night, with or without a flashlight.”
“Well, someone was there.” Ramsey dropped her crust in the box and wiped her fingers with surprising daintiness. “Maybe it was that Ezra T. you told me about. He runs the woods, you said.”
“He’s as unlikely to have a flashlight as Rose . . .” Dev straightened in his chair as a thought struck him. “Exactly what did these lights look like?”
She looked at him with an expression of exaggerated patience on her face. “Like someone was at the edge of the woods, shining a light around.”
“You saw just one light? Or several?”
His question seemed to take her by surprise. “It could have been several, I guess,” she said slowly. “I thought it was one light flicking all over, but I suppose there could have been three or so. It seemed to move fairly rapidly around, so that’s why I figured maybe someone was looking for something.”
Dancing lights. That’s how Becky had described what she’d seen in the woods. Dev continued staring at her, his mind working. Her words made him think of or
bs, a manifestation of paranormal energy. Exactly one of the things he’d been looking for in the cemetery. Like what he’d be watching for at the old Bean or Kuemper places he’d traced through courthouse records.
“Quit staring, Stryker. You’re creeping me out.”
His mouth kicked up absently, but his mind was still racing. “Before we go back to talk to those healers tomorrow—”
“I never agreed to have you accompany me.”