Golden Malicious

by Sheila Connolly

  “Heatstroke. I got him cooled down and got some water into him, but then we had to walk out.”

  They went into what looked like a well-rehearsed dance, checking vital signs. Seth was conscious, but he sat, dazed, on the back of the ambulance. “Seth Chapin, right?” one of the EMTs asked. Seth nodded. “We need to get you to the hospital, get your electrolytes stabilized.”

  “No,” he said. “No hospital.” Seth was looking at Meg.

  “Seth, don’t be stupid. Let them do whatever it takes,” Meg said.

  “I’m okay, Meg, really. I’d go if I wasn’t.”

  Meg looked at the med techs, then took one aside. “Can he do this?”

  The tech shrugged. “Probably. Keep pushing liquids and keep him down for a while. Can you handle that?”

  After what she had just done, that would be a walk in the park. “No problem.”

  When she got back to the ambulance, the other tech had already set up an IV drip in Seth’s arm, with a bag of clear fluid suspended above him. She sat down next to him and took his other hand.

  Art materialized in front of them. “You two had us worried. Seth, what the hell happened?”

  Meg spoke before Seth could answer. “Art, can it wait until morning? Right now I know I’m exhausted, and I can’t imagine how Seth must be feeling. We’ll both be a lot more coherent tomorrow. Come by for breakfast—say, eight.” Why didn’t you mention Gabe, Meg? Do you want him to escape? She was surprised to realize that maybe she did. She wasn’t about to judge what had happened with David Clapp, but she knew that without Gabe’s help, she and Seth would probably be dead. For that she was willing to give him a chance, however slim.

  Art gave her a searching look, but in the end he nodded. “Fair enough. It’s not like I don’t have enough to keep me busy.”

  “How’re the fires going?”

  “Most have burned out—this is the last patch. No homes damaged, thank God. It’s been a hell of a day.”

  “Tell me about it,” Meg said.

  “I’ll see you in the morning, then. Take care of him, will you?” Art nodded toward Seth.

  “I plan to,” Meg said, and watched Art walk away.

  Seth spoke suddenly in her ear. “You didn’t tell him about . . .”

  She turned to him and said in a low voice, so the EMTs couldn’t hear, “Gabe? I wanted time to think about what happened here. Gabe told me some things . . . I don’t think he was a bad person, but he got caught up . . . I just want to get my head clear before I tell the authorities anything. And talk to you about it, and now is definitely not the time for that.”

  “What, I’m not my usual levelheaded self?” he said with a more authentic smile.

  “Not exactly. But you’re here.” Meg couldn’t think of anything more to say, so she just leaned against him, and Max settled himself at their feet. They sat like that for a while, until the fire crew declared the last fire under control and all but one of the trucks departed.

  Art came back one last time. “We shifted your vehicles in case the fire came this way—they’re down the road a bit. Meg, why don’t you take Seth’s van, and I’ll get someone to bring your car back?”

  “Thanks, Art. For everything.”

  “Just doin’ my job, ma’am. Although I may have to add a few things to that official job description. See you in the morning.”

  The EMTs took a whole new batch of readings, then unhooked Seth from his IV. One of them said, “I won’t say I approve, but I think you’re good to go. Here—take a couple of these, and make sure you drink them tonight.”

  Meg looked at the bottles that he held out. “Gatorade?”

  “It’s got electrolytes—it’ll do the job.”

  Seth stood up, and he seemed steadier than before, Meg noted. “Thanks, guys. Good job.”

  “You still have your keys?” Meg asked. “No way I’m letting you drive.”

  “No argument.” He fished a key ring out of his pocket and handed it to her.

  They found their vehicles down the road, as promised. Meg let Max in the back of the van, and Seth climbed into the passenger seat, sat back, and closed his eyes. Meg started the van and drove cautiously home, fighting a sense of unreality. What had happened today? She’d told Art that she didn’t want to talk about it until she’d had time to think—but there was a lot to think about, and it was going to take time to process. Tomorrow morning might not be time enough, but they had to start somewhere. And she had a feeling that she needed to include Christopher in the conversation.

  But there were still things to do. She pulled into her driveway and parked the van as close as she could get to the kitchen door. She nudged Seth. “We’re home.” Even as she said it, she realized she had never stopped to question what he had meant by “home.” She’d come straight here.

  He opened his eyes and smiled. “I know.” She climbed down and came around to help him out on his side, but he seemed steady enough and managed the steps into the house. Bree was sitting at the kitchen table. She took one look at them and said, “What the hell?”

  “I’ll explain, but first could you get Max out of the van? Oh, and there’re some bottles of Gatorade on the floor in front—bring those in, too, please.”

  “Right,” she said dubiously, but she went out the back door.

  Meg stood in the midst of her brightly lit kitchen, leaning against Seth. Or was he leaning against her? It didn’t matter much. They were alive, and they were safe. That was what mattered. It took her half a minute to say, “You need to lie down and drink that stuff.”

  He nodded. “Can I get a shower in?”

  “I think that would be okay. But I’d better be there in case you feel weak. Wouldn’t want you to pass out and fall down now, would we?” They leaned together for a few more seconds. “Are you hungry?”

  “Nope.”

  Bree returned, Max in tow. “I let him do his business. You said something about an explanation?”

  “I think that’s going to have to wait until tomorrow morning. By the way, Art’s coming by for breakfast. Hand me those bottles, will you?”

  With a puzzled expression, Bree handed over the bottles.

  “We’re going upstairs. See you in the morning.”

  The stairs seemed endless, and Meg was beginning to feel each and every muscle. And here she’d been thinking she was in pretty good shape. She guided Seth toward the bathroom and sat him down on the commode. When she caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror she nearly burst out laughing: Bree had shown admirable restraint, because between the sweat, soot, and, yes, even a few small burns from cinders that she hadn’t even felt, Meg looked like she’d been through a war. Seth looked worse.

  She handed him a bottle. “Here, drink this. Then shower.” When Seth had drained the bottle, she had to help him out of his boots and unbutton his shirt, and somehow together they managed to get him undressed and under the tepid shower. She leaned against the wall, her eyes shut.

  “God, that felt good,” he said afterward, finally drying himself off.

  Meg laid her hands on his chest—his temperature felt almost normal. He wrapped his arms around her and pulled her close, and she found she was fighting off sobs.

  “Are you crying?” Seth said into her hair.

  “I don’t know. Maybe. Probably. Oh, Seth, I was so scared, and I couldn’t even admit it to myself, because then I couldn’t have done anything at all, and I knew I had to do something . . .” She was babbling against his wet neck.

  “Shh, shh . . .” he murmured.

  She fell silent. Who was comforting whom here? And did it really matter? Somehow they’d survived, and here they were.

  “Can you make it to the bedroom?” she said finally.

  “I think I can handle that.”

  “Then go. I need a shower.”

  By the time Meg was clean and dry, Seth was sound asleep, and Max was lying on the floor keeping an eye on him. She lay down next to Seth and was out.

 
; 28

  Meg woke at first light and hovered in that lovely place between asleep and awake. Could she sneak in a little more sleep, if she didn’t open her eyes?

  And then reality came slamming in, as she recalled all that had happened the day before. Her eyes flew open and sought the clock—six thirty. It seemed dark for that hour. She rolled over to find Seth awake and watching her, and she reached out to touch his face.

  “How’re you feeling?”

  “Tired. Sad, too, I guess.”

  “I know what you mean. What a mess. You should call your mother. I don’t think I alarmed her, but just in case, it would be good to touch base.” He was still watching her. “What is it?”

  “Meg, marry me.”

  For a few long seconds she couldn’t say a word, a kaleidoscope of emotions whirling through her. And then she found her voice. “Yes. Yes! Of course. Wait—is this because of what happened yesterday?”

  “You mean when I almost died? In part, I guess. I did have some time to think, before things got woozy, and I knew that if I didn’t make it out of there, the thing I’d regret most was not telling you how I felt. I love you. I want you. I want to share your life. I want to be part of it every day, not just when we happen to have the time.”

  “Oh, Seth,” Meg said helplessly. She laid her head on his shoulder. “I was so terrified when I couldn’t find you yesterday, and it made me realize how much a part of my life you are now. I can’t imagine living here without you. And I want the whole package, including kids.”

  “Me too. It’s not a deal-breaker, but I’m glad you feel that way.”

  They smiled gleefully at each other. Suddenly Meg heard a noise and stilled: she’d realized why it seemed so dark. “Seth,” she said, in a hushed whisper, “I think it’s raining!”

  He raised his head to listen. “I think you’re right. That’s good, isn’t it?”

  “That’s very good. Definitely.”

  • • •

  It was close to an hour later when they managed to get down the stairs, where they found Bree in the kitchen.

  “It’s raining, right?” Meg asked cheerfully. “I mean, it’s been so long since I’ve seen rain, maybe I don’t remember what it looks like.”

  “Yes, ma’am, that is rain. I would have told you about the forecast last night, but you two seemed a little, uh, preoccupied. You gonna fill me in?”

  “Of course, but I want to say it only once, and Art should be here soon, and I want to call Christopher.”

  Bree looked bewildered. “Why?”

  “You’ll see when we explain—it’s complicated. Can you make a fresh batch of coffee while I make that call? And, Seth, can you see if we have anything that resembles breakfast?”

  “Of course.”

  Meg found her cell phone and went into the dining room. At this early hour Christopher should still be at home.

  He answered quickly, sounding chipper. “Meg, my dear, to what do I owe the honor of this early call?”

  “I’m sorry to bother you so early, but there’s something important that we need to discuss in person. Could you possibly come over here?”

  “You mean, right now?”

  “Yes, and Art Preston will be here, too, if that tells you anything. Again, I apologize for the abruptness of this, but you’ll understand soon enough.”

  “Give me half an hour.”

  Back in the kitchen Meg announced, “Christopher will be here in half an hour. Have you talked to Art this morning, Seth?”

  “Not yet,” he said, mixing what looked like a coffee cake batter.

  She came up behind him and hugged him. “Afraid of what we might hear?” she asked softly.

  “About Gabe, you mean?” He kept stirring. “Maybe. But I don’t want to face bad news on an empty stomach.”

  “Hey, you guys, you’re creeping me out,” Bree said. “What’d I miss?”

  “A lot. Be patient.” Meg’s landline rang, saving her the need to answer Bree’s question. She wasn’t surprised to see Lydia’s number. “Morning, Lydia.”

  “Have you seen Seth?” Lydia said immediately.

  “Yes. He’s right here—I’ll put him on.” She held out the phone to Seth, mouthing “your mother.”

  He took the phone from her. “Hey, Mom. Sorry about yesterday—Meg told me she called you. Hope you didn’t worry. I was moving around a lot, but Meg and I connected late in the afternoon. I forgot to call you.” He paused. “Yes, everything’s fine—couldn’t be better. Maybe we can get together later today?” Another pause. “Sure, great. Call you later.” He handed the phone back to Meg and resumed mixing.

  Bree was watching them both with something like amusement. “Uh, you know, guys, you didn’t look exactly ‘fine’”—she made air quotes—“when you stumbled in and crashed last night. Although I gotta say, you’re looking a lot more fine this morning.”

  “Oh, we are,” Meg said. “Definitely fine. Seth, you want me to grease the pan? And you did turn on the oven, didn’t you?”

  “Done and done. Don’t worry. Time?”

  “Quarter to eight. Art should be here any minute, right?”

  “Come on, you guys—what do you need Art for?” Bree protested. “Does it have to do with that dead guy you found?”

  “That’s where it started, but there’s a lot more. Just hang in there a little longer. At least there’ll be breakfast. So, tell me, what will this rain change?”

  Bree gave Meg a disgusted look at her abrupt change of topic. “Depends on how long it lasts. Obviously longer is better. But the forecast says this is the real deal, not just a passing shower. I’ll have to keep an eye on the soil saturation numbers, and watch the water level in the well, but I think we can take a breather, for at least a few days. Oh, Seth—that pal of yours, Donald what’s-his-name, called at least three times yesterday. I stopped answering after the second call. But for the record, I have now passed the messages on to you—you deal with him.”

  “I will.” Seth slid the pan into the oven and set the timer.

  Meg reached past him to refill her coffee cup and somehow ended up in Seth’s arms, which was fine with her. “It’ll work out—you’ll see,” he said quietly.

  “I hope so. We haven’t had time to talk about any of this. How much do we tell them?”

  “I think we have to lay it all out and then figure out what to do. I trust Art—let him decide what he passes on. And I have a feeling Christopher may have additional information we need. Let’s just play it by ear.”

  “I’m not going to lie to either of them. I only wondered if maybe we should kind of omit a few details.” Funny, she was still in his arms. It felt good.

  Bree’s voice interrupted their quiet exchange. “Guys, I’d tell you to get a room, but I think you already have one. Is there something I need to know?”

  Meg looked at Seth before answering. “Yes. We’re getting married.”

  “Well, congratulations! It’s about time you two got it together. Everybody’s been expecting it.”

  A knock at the back door announced Art’s arrival, effectively shutting down Bree’s commentary. And he came in carrying a box of donuts, which Bree seized from him. “You’re welcome,” Art said, as she dove into the box.

  “These guys cook too slowly. I’m a growing girl,” she said around a mouthful of glazed donut.

  Art turned to take a closer look at Meg and Seth. “You two look a couple of hundred percent better than you did yesterday, not that that would be hard. You feeling all right, Seth? Because last night you looked like . . . well, I won’t try to describe it with tender young ears listening.”

  Bree snorted.

  “I’m good,” Seth said, “thanks to you. And Meg, of course. But I’ll admit it was a close thing.”

  “It was,” Art agreed. “As for my end, the fires are out, and this rain is a big help—I don’t think they’ll pop up again. I was getting a bit worried at the end of the day—we were stretched pretty thin. Sorry I cou
ldn’t do more to track you down.”

  “You did enough, and Meg did the rest. Uh, about that property where you picked us up—did you happen to find anything, or anyone?”

  Bree looked up when she heard Seth’s question but kept quiet. Art said, “No, but once we got the fire out it was full night and nobody felt like hanging around. Why?”

  Seth glanced at Meg. “I think we have to tell this story in the right order. Let’s wait for Christopher.”

  Now Art looked perplexed. “Christopher? Why is he coming?”

  “You’ll see, Art,” Meg answered. “Coffee?”

  “Well, if you’re going to clam up about whatever this big mystery is, maybe there’s something else you want to tell Art?” Bree challenged.

  “If I tell Art before I tell Mom, she’ll disown me,” Seth said.

  “So I should save my congratulations?” Art said, smiling.

  “Told you so,” Bree said. “They’re the last to know, right, Chief?”

  The timer went off just as Christopher rapped at the screen door. Bree went to let him in while Seth extricated the coffee cake from the oven. Meg placed the full coffee carafe and mugs in the center of the kitchen table. How odd this all felt, she thought: refreshments for a discussion about murder and more than one kind of mayhem. Granford was not the peaceful little town she had once thought it was.

  Once everyone was settled around the table and supplied with food, Meg realized she didn’t know where to start. She looked at Seth, sitting next to her. “Do we begin at the beginning, or the other way around?” she asked.

  “I think we need to lay out some ground rules first. Art, we’re going to be talking about more than one crime here, but I’m not sure what they all are or who’s supposed to have jurisdiction. I know it’s a lot to ask, but can you listen as a friend rather than a police officer?”

  Art gave Seth a long look. “I think so. As long as you aren’t asking me to do anything illegal.”

  “I hope it doesn’t come to that. But there are some rather gray areas in all this. You’ll see.”