My heart was pounding, but I drove below the speed limit. There was enough traffic on the Diagonal heading toward downtown Longmont that I could perhaps blend in. Then I could head to Berthoud up Main Street instead of taking the chance that my stalker was sitting in wait on the side of the road.
Should I call the police before heading home? Truth be told, I was too scared to get out of my car. If only I had a cellular phone! And what could I tell the police? That someone had been following me for a few miles, but that I had no description of the driver or the vehicle. What could the police do with that information? Plus, after I’d left my car to reach a public phone, I would have to wait in hope that the patrol car arrived before my stalker. Was that safer than driving home? I was closer to my own house than I was to the police station.
High schoolers in Longmont were known for cruising at this hour, which could have been all this was—some kids who spotted a woman driving alone at night down a country road and decided to get their kicks from intimidating her. I knew better, really, but decided I would hang onto that possibility because it was less frightening than the alternative.
On edge, I watched through my rearview mirror every time a car approached me and slowed down a little. Each car sped past me in the left lane. I realized though, that if I was wrong, if this person was following me deliberately and knew that I was going to Berthoud, he or she could wait for me.
As I neared the outskirts of town, I let out a sigh of relief to discover that I was very much alone on the road. I made a rubberneck at what could have been a sedan behind some shrubs well off the side of the road. My pulse raced.
An instant later, a car turned on its beams and pulled out behind me. I cursed under my breath as the driver focused the high beams on me and ran up onto my bumper.
Chapter 17
My heart was pounding so hard that I could barely breathe. With the high beams from that vehicle right behind me, it felt as though I was under a spotlight when my only protection was to be hidden in darkness.
What could I do to escape? And why the hell was this happening to me?
Every instinct urged me to stomp down on the accelerator and try to lose this maniac. Yet we were near downtown Berthoud. There might be other cars in the intersections, or pedestrians or animals on the road.
Instead, I battled my instincts and slowed, but did not pull over. The Berthoud police station was only a mile or so past my turnoff for home. I would have to drive there. I certainly couldn’t lead this person directly to my home.
I winced as the driver behind me leaned on the horn, then shut the lights out entirely. I braced myself, expecting the car to ram my bumper. Instead, the driver suddenly pulled a U-turn and drove away.
I hit the brakes and looked back, trying to get a view of the license plate or the silhouette of the driver, but the car vanished from view down the hill.
Why would someone behave this way? I decided to stop in at the police station and report what had happened, in case the driver intended to return. The officer I spoke to was very nice, despite my inability to give him useful information. Upon his insistence, he followed me home in his patrol car and walked me to the door. He would have accompanied me inside, but I insisted “that would only alarm my mother, not to mention my dogs.”
Despite my brave words, my hands trembled as I turned the knob and entered. The four dogs were there to dutifully greet me, despite the hour. I finished petting them and went into the living room. Mom was asleep on the couch, a book tented over her chest. A floorboard creaked, waking her. “Allida?” she asked groggily.
“Yes. Hi, Mom.”
She sat up a little, closing her book and setting it on the coffee table. “I must have dozed off for a minute. How did your day go?”
“Well, nobody I know died, which is an improvement.” I took a seat in the upholstered wing chair in the corner of the room.
“That’s . . . nice, dear.” She yawned and stretched as she sat up. Then her eyes searched mine. “You look a little pale. Are you sure you’re all right?”
“I’m fine. I just had to deal with an obnoxious tailgater, that’s all.” Before she could ask me for more details, I asked, “How was Maggie’s behavior this afternoon?”
“Well, she’s not exactly ready for the Westminster Dog Show, but she is getting a little easier to control.”
The phone rang and I rose to answer while Mom clicked her tongue and muttered, “It’s well past eleven! That’s too late to be calling somebody. If this is anything short of an emergency, tell whoever it is to call back at a reasonable hour tomorrow.”
“I will, Mom,” I replied automatically, having heard this from her for years now.
“Allie?” a tense voice replied the moment I’d said hello. “This is Joanne Palmer. What the hell do you think you’re pulling?”
Caught off guard, it took me a moment to place the name and realize that this was Maggie’s veterinarian. “Could you back up a bit? I don’t even know what you’re talking about.”
“I was just taking inventory of my pharmacy, and my pills are gone! All of my sample packets of Clomicalm and acepromazine! You were the only person to have un-supervised access to my supply closet, when you were supposedly looking for towels.”
“You’re accusing me of stealing medication for dogs?” I asked incredulously.
“No one else had the opportunity or motive. You could take a couple of years’ supply of drugs and pass yourself off as a vet with no license.”
“I did no such thing, Joanne! I can’t believe you’re even serious!” Maybe she’d been taking doggie drugs herself and was hallucinating.
“I always lock the supply cabinet. No one else has a key. Not even my assistant. Then I thought back a little and realized they could have been missing since T-Rex was here.”
Though I told myself to stay calm, that Joanne was just reacting out of the heat of the moment, I didn’t care for her much to begin with, and her absurd accusation was hard to take. I replied testily, “The problem with your theory, Joanne, is that I didn’t touch your drug supplies. And why would I jeopardize my future just to steal a batch of pills?”
There was a pause and then a sigh. “You’re right. Maybe I should have thought this through better. I guess if you wanted to get your hands on Clomicalm or ACP, it wouldn’t be that hard for you to convince a veterinarian friend to give you a prescription.”
“Right. What do the police have to say about the theft?”
“I haven’t spoken to them yet.”
“Why not?”
She ignored the question and said, “If it wasn’t you who raided my supply cabinet it had to have been Yolanda. She was back here visiting T-Rex while we were all up front in the waiting room.”
“My advice to you is to contact the police and let them handle this. You’re probably every bit as off base with your accusation of Yolanda as you were with me.” I spoke with a confidence I didn’t feel.
“No, no. This time I’m positive. It’s Yolanda all right, and she’s not going to get away with this.” Joanne abruptly hung up.
“Who was that?” Mom asked as I returned the handset to its cradle.
“A fringe-element veterinarian in Boulder.”
“ ‘Fringe element’?” Mom repeated.
“I watched her save a dog’s life from an overdose, so she does know what she’s doing medically. But she’s too quick on the draw to prescribe canine antidepressants and tranquilizers. Now she’s upset because somebody apparently stole a batch of pills from her.”
“Why would anyone steal dog medication?”
“Doggie downers have been used for years as a cheap high. And I suppose, in combination with alcohol, the same can probably be said for Clomicalm. Though it’s medically very similar to Prozac.”
“So you think that the thief could be selling them for human consumption?”
“Yes. Or just using them herself. Or himself.” The dogs huddled around my feet, vying for placement and at
tention. I scratched Pavlov’s ear. The more I thought about it, the more the possibility of Joanne’s being right the second time—that Yolanda might have been the thief— seemed plausible. Yolanda did have the opportunity to steal those pills. T-Rex had overdosed while under her supervision, and she blamed Dr. Palmer’s pills for her friend Ruby’s death.
“Could that have been the motive for the murders, do you think?” Mom asked.
“I suppose it’s possible. It would have to be one heck of a huge drug ring, though. I can’t imagine even a couple of hundred pills of Clomicalm or ACP being worth someone committing murder over.”
Then again, maybe I’d been wrong all along. Maybe Ken hadn’t really gotten his fortune from a patent on some obscure television circuit, but rather from pushing drugs. Or Ruby or Mary had been pushing drugs, with Ken completely in the dark, which struck me as more likely. But . . . still. Murdering someone over canine antidepressants? That was just so implausible.
Mom stood up. “As I’ve said before, I don’t understand why you’re suddenly up to your elbows in crazy people. On the other end of the scale, Russell called. About an hour ago. He said he’d call again tomorrow.”
I couldn’t think about Russell right now and responded only to Mom’s earlier statement. “I know what you mean. It’s like everyone in Ken’s life had a few screws loose.”
Mom pursed her lips and crossed her arms tightly against her chest. “Maybe I should postpone my lessons tomorrow. I don’t think you should be alone.”
“I won’t be alone. I’ll take Pavlov and Maggie with me tomorrow. I’ve got mostly office visits on my schedule, and I could put them in Russell’s office when necessary.” At my own mention of Russell, I was filled with a longing to see him. “Did Russell leave a number?”
“Yes. I think I wrote it down when I was in the kitchen. He sounded depressed, actually. He said he misses you.”
Mom went to bed, and I dialed Russell’s hotel room. It was an hour earlier in California and I reached him. We chatted for a while, and I tried to ignore my inexplicable nervousness that was leaving me somewhat breathless.
After a pause he said, “It was a bit late when I called. I hope I didn’t wake your mom up.”
“If so, she didn’t complain to me about it.”
Russell remained silent, and I realized then what he was really asking.
“I got together tonight with some girlfriends from high school.”
“Oh, good. Did you have fun?” Russell asked, sounding greatly relieved.
“Yes.”
“How’s the softball team doing?”
“I forgot to show up for the game last week, but they won without me.”
“Must have been a fluke,” he replied pleasantly. He sighed. “I’d better get back to work.”
“It’s—” I glanced at my watch “—ten-forty at night there. You’re still working?”
“The sooner I can complete this project, the sooner I can get home to you. Uh, home, I mean, where you’re also located. I didn’t mean to imply that we were . . . I know you don’t want to be rushed.”
I smiled, wondering if my appreciation for the sound of Russell’s voice would last. Though I was sorely tempted to reveal my longing to see him, my more immediate worries won out and I merely said, “By the way, I ordered you a new door for your office the other day. Your current one’s pretty gouged up. I told the landlord about it, and he’s just sending me the bill.”
“Ah. You forgot that I was gone and couldn’t wait for me to open the door?”
I chuckled and said, “Since the damage has already been done, you don’t mind if I give a couple of dogs run of your office tomorrow, do you?”
“No, that’s fine. Have ’em take a look at those schematics in my top drawer of my desk while they’re at it. They might have some suggestions.”
We said our good-byes and hung up.
The next morning, I folded the back seat of my Subaru hatchback down for the “additional cargo space” that the car ads were always talking about, and let Pavlov settle herself down. Then I fastened Maggie’s seatbelt harness on her and put her in the passenger seat.
While I made the drive back into Boulder, I wondered again whether or not Ken could have lied about the source of his wealth. I’d seen the yellowed patent on his wall, but I’d never seen an actual patent before then and would never be able to discern its authenticity. Arlen, however, had verified the story about how Ken had struck it rich. Maybe another chat with him would let me be able to stop worrying about any possibility of Ken’s having gotten his money from illegitimate sources. In any case, I wanted to know Arlen better. As Ken’s one remaining blood relative, my having put him low on the list of inheritors had to be with good cause.
Once again, Arlen was in his open garage as I pulled into his driveway. He was wearing a plaid shirt and grimy jeans again, topped off with his beat-up straw cowboy hat. He had been working on his truck engine. He held up a greasy palm in greeting, but continued to stare at Maggie with apparent apprehension.
Wiping his hands on a rag, he rounded the truck to speak to me, and I rolled down the window. Maggie began barking at him, which made Pavlov sit up and take notice as well, but she knew better than to join in.
Arlen gave me a nervous smile. “See you got yourself a shepherd there, too, hey?”
“Yes, she’s one of my own dogs.”
He focused again on the still-barking golden retriever. “How’s Miss Maggie doing?”
“She seems to be settling down pretty well. Not counting her current noisiness. I had her in the car and brought her over for a quick visit. Is that all right with you?”
“Um, sure, but I was just about to leave.” He gestured at his pickup, which currently had its hood raised. A carburetor and a few less-recognizable engine parts were spread on the concrete floor of the garage.
“Okay. Maybe we can set an appointment and do this another time.”
“Or not at all?” he suggested, then followed it up with a sheepish smile. “I mean, I am Ken’s next of kin. I’m obviously the one to get his dog.”
The dog’s barking right in my ear was getting to me. I got out of the car, rolled the window up, and shut the door to blot the noise. Watching for his reaction, I asked, “Did you hear about Mary’s being alive? Though I guess she’s now missing.”
He frowned and nodded. “Wouldn’t necessarily bet on her still bein’ alive. That gal was always mixing with the wrong people. I swear. She could go to a gathering where there was a hundred or two folks and one of ’em was a hardened criminal, and she’d not only find the one rotten apple out of the batch, but he’d fall head over heels for her.”
“Is that what your brother was? A rotten apple?”
“Hell, no. But that’s why it couldn’t ever have lasted with the two of them. Ken was decent. She hated that. She walked over his face.”
“I’ve gotten the impression that Ken allowed a lot of people to ‘walk on his face.’ ”
“Yeah. He was too kindhearted. Had no real idea of what people was really like. That’s part of why we hired Terry Thames—to help him get a grasp on the real world.”
“Who is this we who hired Dr. Thames?”
“Uh, me and Mary.”
I was caught off guard by his openly admitting that he’d once been teamed with his former sister-in-law. “The two of you were friends at one point?”
“I don’t know if you’d call us friends, exactly. Though I . . . kind of introduced Ken to Mary in the first place.” The muscles in his jaw were working. “Mary and I were dating for a while. Till I made the mistake of telling her about how rich my brother was.”
That was interesting. “Did you and she get back together after the divorce at all?”
“Hell, no. I saw her true colors by then.”
“Do you know if she was dating anyone else?”
He shook his head. “Don’t ever talk to her, if I can avoid it.”
“And yet the two of
you hired Dr. Thames?”
Arlen shrugged. “Kind of. But I was on Ken’s side all along. Mary came to me one day, insisting that Ken needed to be declared incompetent. She just wanted to be named as his guardian so she could get her claws on his money. So I wound up talking Ken into gettin’ examined by Dr. Thames, and he became a patient. Dr. Thames told me right off the bat that Ken was perfectly capable of takin’ care of himself. I kind of explained about how Mary was after me to see to it that my brother was declared incompetent, nevertheless. Dr. Thames said he’d see to it that some adult-care provider could work with Ken, so’s Mary couldn’t get away with it.”
“The care provider was Rachel Taylor?”
“Yeah. Then, supposedly, a month or so after that, Mary had her accident. You ask me, I think the whole thing was a con. I don’t think she ever got hit by a car in the first place.”
I nodded and glanced again at the car and his work that I’d interrupted. “I’d better let you go. Would sometime next week be good for me to bring Maggie for a scheduled visit? Monday morning, perhaps?”
He stared through the windshield at Maggie, who’d kept up her steady barking at him. “Yeah, sure. I s’pose that’d be all right.”
“Okay. I’ll call first and set up an exact time. See you then.”
He tipped his hat then returned his attention to his engine. I drove off, Maggie quieting the moment we were out of sight. Arlen was not comfortable in the dog’s presence, and the feeling was clearly mutual. I remembered that Ken had once said that he trusted me because Maggie had liked me. Perhaps the corollary was also true—he hadn’t trusted his brother with Maggie because she shied away from him.
Something bugged me as I drove, and I realized it was a suspicion about Rachel Taylor. Something somebody had said about her didn’t match up correctly. Could Yolanda be right about her? Then again, what about Yolanda herself? Could she just be casting aspersions on Rachel to keep them from settling on herself?
I remembered then that I’d forgotten to ask Arlen about Ken’s patent. I still had an hour or so before my first appointment, so I decided to see if I could perhaps go into Ken’s trailer and get the number on the patent. I sorely wanted to dismiss forever my notion that Ken could have gotten money by selling the Clomicalm that had been prescribed to Maggie.
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