“Chatham Fast Squad! Grant McIan!” Grant held out his identification card.
“Stay back! There’s nothing you can do here! Stay back!”
“What’s going on?”
“We’ve got a shooter inside. Get back in your truck! Now!”
Grant stared at him, dumbstruck. A shooter … “What about the people inside? Are there other people inside?”
“Don’t get in my way, buddy, or it’ll be all over for you. Now get the hell out of here!”
Grant looked back at the trailer. Two ambulances called but now no one could go near the place. A shooter inside. But who would want to shoot Teddy and Marcia?
Then, suddenly, it was all so incredibly, horribly clear. The shooter was Teddy. Teddy had come home when Marcia wasn’t expecting him. Jesus Christ. Teddy had come home early.
Whether he slipped on the ice or his legs buckled beneath him, he would never know. All he knew was his elbow hit the ice-covered road first, then his hip and his shoulder. The wind was knocked out of him, and the first aid bag skidded away on the slick surface as he lay stunned on the ground.
A shot rang out in the darkness. One shot. Then someone shouted, “He shot himself! The guy just shot himself!”
“He’s down! I saw him fall!”
“Let’s go!”
Grant struggled to his feet in spite of the sharp pains shooting through his elbow and hip. There had only been one shot. And it sounded like Teddy had shot himself.
The trooper, a rifle in his hand, was still barring Grant’s way to the bizarrely lit scene beyond his squad car.
“ He shot himself?” Grant shouted at the officer. “Is he alone?”
“Naw. We think he’s got two people in there.”
“Then we need to get in there! Are they okay?”
Red and white lights flashed in Grant’s peripheral vision – the ambulances were coming through. He’d get inside now, with the ambulance crew. He turned away from the squad car to look for his first aid kit.
“We’ve got a triple here, Captain!” a male voice shouted, and Grant looked up toward the trailer. A state trooper was leaning out of Marcia’s front door. “Two men and a woman! All fatals!”
Miriam returned home around four o’clock. The power had come on when she was at Natalie’s, which meant she now could look forward to a normal evening.
The house was dark and perfectly still inside except for the reassuring hum of the refrigerator. She flipped on the kitchen light and called for Shelby – the girl had been known to sit in the dark – but there was no answer. Apparently Shane had come for her after all. Sonny must be asleep, exhausted by all of the shoveling.
She put the food Natalie had given her into the refrigerator and went into her room to take off her Sunday clothes and put on something more comfortable. She wasn’t hungry, but Sonny would be. And she had no idea when Shelby would come home and if the girl would be hungry as well. She returned to the kitchen and pulled some potatoes from the basket beside the stove, peeled them and put them into a pot of water to boil, then took a buttercup squash from the box beside the potatoes and cut it in half. She would start it baking upside down on a sheet pan, then invert it later and fill it with maple syrup. The roast beef Natalie had sent home with her would be enough for the other two; Miriam would be content with just the potatoes and the squash.
She glanced at the clock. It was almost four-forty-five. She wiped her hands on her apron, then headed for the door and the stairway to upstairs.
Sonny was not in his room. She went back downstairs and walked through the living room. Perhaps he was asleep in a chair or on the couch. When she didn’t find him, she went out into the summer kitchen, then traveled the length of the ell. He must already be in the barn.
No Sonny. The cows shifted expectantly in their stanchions as she approached. Their udders were full and they were ready to be milked. The mess behind and beneath each of them, and on the flanks of a few, made it clear that Sonny had not been in the barn lately. Miriam turned and walked back to the house, concerned now.
His snowmobile suit was gone from its hook beside the kitchen door. So were his boots. She went back to look for his snowmobile and saw the tracks leading away from the barn. It wasn’t like him to cut things so closely, but perhaps something was keeping him longer than he had expected. At least she knew why he wasn’t here.
She turned and went back into the house to make a salad.
Five o’clock. No sign of Sonny. Miriam frowned to herself. She wasn’t one to worry, but this wasn’t like him. Snowmobiling could be dangerous, of course. But, more likely, something had happened to the snowmobile itself. He was probably walking down some road right now, looking for a ride home. Perhaps she should go out to the barn and start the chores, just in case.
She took off her apron and put on her oldest sweater, hung near the back door for just this sort of thing, and went back into the barn. She cleaned out behind the cows and spread clean sawdust beneath them, then filled their feed troughs with grain. The milking machines were clean and ready to go, but each cow would need to be cleaned and have her teats disinfected before the suction cups could be attached. Outside, the sky was darkening and still no sign of Sonny. She could go out and look for him or she could milk the cows. She went into the whitewashed milking room and took the machines down from the shelf.
Shelby sat beside Cassie’s bed and listened as her friend talked to her sister on the phone. The delivery had been fast, and they were now in Cassie’s hospital room. A beautiful, healthy little girl lay in the nursery with the name “Penfield” on her bassinette.
“I’m calling Marcia now,” Cassie said. “Then I’ll call Sonny and Miriam.”
Shelby waited through a long pause.
“Still no answer at Marcia’s.”
Cassie dialed the phone again.
“No answer at Sonny’s either.”
“What time is it?” Shelby asked.
“Around six.”
“They might be milking. Miriam helps him sometimes.”
“That’s right. They’ve got more cows now.”
“What about Grant?”
Cassie sighed. “I don’t think he’ll care.”
“Cassie, how could he not care? He cares about you.”
“I don’t think so. Corey Sloan’s separated from her husband now. That’s a dream come true for Grant.”
“You really think he would actually just pick up with her again?”
“Yes. You were at her house a couple days ago. What did she say to you then?”
“She asked me if you and Grant were a couple. That means they haven’t talked about getting back together.”
“Yet. But obviously, she’s thinking about it. I’ll call his folks later. He’s probably in the sugarhouse anyway.”
A nurse came into the room to administer to Cassie, and Shelby stood up. “I suppose Shane and I should get going. He had an early start today. And you need to get some sleep.”
“Well, thank you for everything. Thanks for your great coaching. I couldn’t have done it without you.”
Shelby laughed. “Cassie, you practically did it without anyone! Shane and I will be going to Penfields now. We can tell Sonny and Miriam unless you want to tell them yourself.”
Cassie yawned. “You can tell them. I’ll talk to them tomorrow.”
Shelby was deep in thought as Shane drove them from Wild River to Chatham Ridge. The afternoon’s events had been exhilarating, yet awkward. Under normal circumstances, she would have been congratulating Cassie and sharing in her excitement, but for Cassie the safe arrival of this child was an ending, not a beginning. She was not the typical excited new mother; yet Shelby knew Cassie would be going through some rough emotional times now as her natural maternal urges vied with her intellectual decisions about her newborn daughter.
“The power’s back on in Chatham,” Shane said. “I was talking to one of the orderlies at the hospital.”
“Good. I w
as afraid the house was going to be really cold when you went back, but the furnace should come on now.”
“I’ll come by tomorrow and pick you up and we can try again with the music.”
Shelby smiled. “At least I heard some of it. I’m so excited for you, Shane!”
“It’s not a guarantee of anything, Shel, but it’s a start. We’re here.”
Shane helped her from the car and led her to the ell door. “Mrs. Penfield’s car is here. Do you want me to come in?”
“No, I know you’re tired. Get some sleep and call me tomorrow.”
She and Shane were kissing good-bye when the outside door to the ell opened, and Miriam said, “Oh! Shelby! Oh, my. I’m sorry.” Shelby drew away from Shane to turn toward the woman’s voice as Miriam said, “I was hoping it was Sonny.”
“He’s not here? To milk?”
“No. And that’s not like him at all.” Shelby could hear the worry in her voice. “Was he upset when you left?”
“No. He came down from his room just before Shane came, and he didn’t seem upset. We didn’t really talk. I just said I’d be gone most of the day and to tell you not to worry about me for dinner. That I wasn’t sure what time I’d be back. So, you have no idea where he is?”
“No. I just know he went off on his snowmobile, and he hasn’t come back.”
“Where would he go?”
“I have no idea. Sometimes he’s gone for hours, and he says he’s just out riding. Sometimes he stops to see one of his friends, but I called a couple people and they haven’t seen him.”
Shelby felt a chill of apprehension envelope her. “People have accidents on those things. How would you know? Isn’t there someone you can call? The police?”
“Just the state police. I suppose I could call them, but they’re not going to start a search for him without good reason.”
Miriam turned and led the way back into the house.
“What about Grant?” Shane said, as they stepped into the warm kitchen. “Maybe he could round up some firefighters to go out on a search.”
“I don’t know Grant.”
“Grant McIan,” Shelby said. “His mother is Irene McIan. I think you know her. “
“You have to call his parents if you want to reach him,” Shane added. “He doesn’t have a phone.”
Shelby heard Miriam go to the drawer where she kept the phone book and flip through the pages. She dialed a number on the wall phone in the kitchen and waited.
“Hello? Irene? This is Miriam Penfield in Chatham Ridge. Yes. Yes, I would like to get in touch with your son, Grant, and I … I’m sorry. Say that again? … I don’t understand.”
Shelby waited in tense silence.
“He didn’t come back? But I still … It was what? … Oh, no.” The startled tone of Miriam’s voice had Shelby’s heart pounding with fright. “Oh, no … That can’t be … Oh, my word, and … What do you mean, you don’t know who it was? They what?”
Miriam’s voice had become strangely strangled. “Here! Take this!” she said frantically, and Shelby felt Shane brush past her.
“Mrs. McIan, this is Shane Freeman. Yes, Shane. I’m here at Penfield’s. Can you tell me what you just told her?”
Miriam moved swiftly past Shelby and pulled out a chair at the table behind her. Shelby turned toward the sound, the blood pounding in her head as fear overwhelmed her. “Miriam! What’s going on?”
“Something terrible happened at Marcia Boardman’s house.” Miriam’s voice was shaking, adding to the terror Shelby was now experiencing. “Irene heard it on the scanner. Two people were shot and then the shooter killed himself.”
“What?”
“Nobody knows for sure, but the word is Teddy Boardman killed his wife and a man that she was with and then killed himself.”
Shelby felt her legs begin to tremble, and she reached for the counter she knew was nearby.
“Shelby, Marcia is Sonny’s …” Miriam could barely talk. “She’s his friend.”
“What are you saying? It could have been Sonny?” Shelby felt faint, as though her heart had stopped beating.
Shane came up beside her and took her arm to guide her to a chair at the table. “They’re not saying who the man was until they notify his family. Sit down, Shelby.”
“Irene’s son is missing, too,” Miriam said. “But they know it’s not him. They know he went on the ambulance call. But he never came home, and now they can’t find him.”
“Oh my god,” Shelby said, her own voice shaking now. “Miriam, we were coming to tell you. Cassie’s had her baby. A girl. We were with her all afternoon. She tried to call you. And Marcia Boardman … that’s her best friend!”
Miriam had begun to cry, and the sound terrified Shelby. Miriam was her pillar of strength.
“Sonny and Grant know each other,” Shane said. “Maybe they’re together. If they both knew these people, maybe they’re off somewhere together, talking it out or something.”
“They ’re not saying … who the man was that Marcia’s husband shot,” Miriam said between sobs. “And Sonny’s not here!”
“Are they saying her husband found her … with another man? I mean, why else would he kill her?” Shelby asked.
“Nobody knows what they’re talking about,” Shane answered. “This is all speculation. Two people were killed, and then the killer shot himself. People are drawing their own conclusions from what they heard on a scanner.”
“But where’s Sonny?” Miriam sobbed.
Shelby was shaking so badly, she felt like she would pass out. “Would he go to bed with this Marcia Boardman?” she asked, realizing that Miriam might be the wrong person to ask.
“I don’t know,” Miriam said, drawing deep, ragged breaths. “It’s possible. Oh, God, please … not Sonny. Oh, and Arthur and Claire! My God!”
The three of them sat in silence, each lost in his or her own thoughts. Shelby could not stop shaking. Sonny couldn’t be dead. Not like this. Her breath caught in her throat. But if it were so, then everything he dreaded most in his life – being thought of in the same vein as his father – would become his epitaph. But how could she even think like this? That he could be dead? Not Sonny. But if he was … But he couldn’t be. Not Sonny. Not now. But where was he? And why was he gone? And Grant, too. Who was this woman and her husband that this would have such an impact on Grant and on Sonny?
“What’s that?” Miriam said suddenly. A car was pulling into the driveway. Her chair scraped across the floor, and she moved past Shelby. “Sonny?”
And then Miriam let out a strangled, half-scream: “No! No!”
“What is it?” Shelby cried, spinning in her chair toward the terrible sound.
“A state police cruiser,” Shane said quietly. He rose and walked out the door to meet the officer while Miriam broke into hysterical sobs. Shelby stood up to put her arms around the smaller woman’s shoulders as they waited for Shane to return.
“Mrs. Penfield! Mrs. Penfield, stop!” Shane’s voice filled the room. ”This is Sargeant Davidson. He needs to ask you some questions.” Shane’s hands gripped Miriam’s arms and he gave her a small shake to get her attention. “Mrs. Penfield! It wasn’t Dawson.”
“Mrs. Penfield, please. I need to speak with you,” the officer said. “Mrs. Penfield, we’re looking for your son, Dawson. Do you know where he is?” Miriam’s sobs were quieting, and Shelby could feel the tension leave the woman’s body. “Mrs. Penfield, we believe he’s the one who called in the incident on Deerkill Road this afternoon, and we need to talk with him.”
Shelby breathed her own sigh of relief and released her hold on Miriam.
“Someone broke into Arthur Boardman’s house while he and his wife were napping this afternoon and used their phone,” the officer continued. “When Arthur heard him and came out, he told them to stay where they were and not to leave the house because it wasn’t safe. That the police would be coming soon. They said he looked like an Indian, and that he was driving a sno
wmobile. We believe it was your son.”
“Oh my God,” Miriam was breathing heavily now. “Oh my God. He’s okay. It’s not him. It’s not Sonny.”
“I told the officer we don’t know where he is,” Shane said.
“I’m leaving you my card, Mrs. Penfield. When he comes home, we need to talk to him. We need to know what he saw or heard.”
“That’s why he’s not home,” Miriam said, her voice full of relief. “He’s somewhere working this out …”
“We’ll call,” Shane said to the officer.
Lonely Souls Page 34