Devil Smoke

by C. J. Lyons

  Nothing. Just tools, hanging bits of tack, and bags of food. The far wall was lined with special hooks that held saddles. Below them was a mound of quilted blankets. The last wall had stacks of carefully folded blankets, woven rugs, saddle pads, and wraps.

  Damn. If Sarah wasn’t here, that meant she’d either escaped with Nellie or… the house. Anyone as obsessed as Sarah wouldn’t leave without finishing what she came for—killing Tommy.

  She pivoted, ready to leave, when the faint sound of gunfire reached her.

  But then she heard another sound. Rustling. Coming from the blankets on the floor below the saddles. She raised her weapon. Every muscle tensed, battle ready.

  <><><>

  “I’M LOSING HER.” Tommy began chest compressions. The medics swarmed into the room, dropping their gear and taking over. He quickly told them what was going on—not just with Sarah but also with Peter. “I suspect an acute MI.”

  One of the medics broke off, taking a monitor over to where Gloria huddled with Peter. His two partners bagged air into Sarah and tried without success to start an IV. Tommy tried as well, although as her belly grew more and more distended, he realized how futile their efforts were.

  “What do you think, doc?” the senior medic said, sitting back on his haunches. “We could try cracking her chest, but I have to tell you we don’t have the gear.”

  “And it’s an hour to the nearest trauma center,” his partner added. “No way the choppers are flying tonight, not in this weather.”

  Tommy stared down at Sarah’s pale body. “Cracking her chest won’t help. The bleed is in her belly. Even if I was able to cross-clamp her aorta, no way could we get her to a surgeon in time.”

  The medics nodded their agreement. “Honestly, doc, she was a goner from the start. You did all you could.”

  He grimaced and nodded. Then he turned to Peter, trying with everything he had to shut out the realization that with Sarah’s death, his last chance to find Nellie had also died.

  “You’re right,” the medic monitoring Peter said. “Elevated ST. Good idea starting the CPAP. We need to load and go, get him to a coronary unit.” His partners joined him, moving into high gear—time was heart muscle, went the adage. And this was a patient they had a good chance at saving.

  They packaged Peter for transport and within minutes were steering the ambulance away, Gloria with them. Tommy watched them from the front door, torn between the desire to help and his need to search for Nellie.

  As he turned away to ask Lucy where to start, he heard a woman calling his name, her words shredded by the wind. He stepped out into the fog. It swirled around him, taking the form of humans, caressing and reaching out to him as if they wanted him to join them in the darkness, to leave the light behind.

  Again a woman called his name. It sounded so much like Charlotte—or maybe he just wanted it to—that he was half tempted. He’d failed. Failed her, failed Nellie. He took another step, the tendrils of fog swathing him like a cocoon of gray and cold.

  “Tommy!”

  He whirled. TK stumbled through the fog.

  Carrying Nellie.

  “Nellie!” Tommy rushed to them, steered them back inside the house. Lucy and Burroughs guided TK to the couch, where she gently positioned Nellie.

  “She was in the barn. I can’t wake her up.”

  Tommy knelt beside the couch and listened to Nellie’s breathing, felt her pulse. Both steady, a comfort. “She’s been drugged.”

  Lucy searched Sarah’s pockets and pulled out a bottle. She tossed it to Tommy. “What about these?”

  He scanned the label. “Versed. We use it in the ER.”

  “So she’ll be okay?”

  “Yes. She’ll be just fine.” He glanced heavenward and couldn’t restrain his laughter. He pulled Nellie into his arms.

  “What’s so funny?” TK asked.

  Tommy hugged Nellie tighter. Her eyelids fluttered open then shut again while she wrapped her arms around him. “The main side effect of Versed is amnesia.”

  Chapter 48

  THE NEXT DAY, Tommy gave his statement to Burroughs, Corporal Harding from the state police, and the Forward Township chief of police. They met at Burroughs’ office at the major crimes squad on Western Avenue since that was central for everyone and he had proper recording equipment. The building itself was pretty depressing and without character, with its beige brick walls and steel bars over the tiny windows. He’d have much preferred the worn but solid comfort of the Zone 3 station house.

  This room did not resemble any of the interview rooms he’d been in before. It was modern, utilitarian, with glass walls that didn’t block the noise of the men and women working at their cubicles beyond. There was a rectangular conference table and upholstered but uncomfortable chairs. About the only thing the room had going for it was a lack of graffiti—and the absence of a restraining bar designed for handcuffs.

  Tommy was just finishing his statement when Oshiro and Lucy appeared outside the glass door. Burroughs looked up. “I think we’re done here. Thank you, Dr. Worth.” His tone was formal for the video recording. Then he nodded to the videographer to turn it off. “Thank you all for coming.”

  The videographer left, along with the chief. Oshiro held the door for them before bounding inside, followed by Lucy.

  Liz Harding gathered her folders and bag, hesitated, then extended her hand to Tommy. “Thank you for your patience, Dr. Worth. I’m sorry for all you’ve been through. Rest assured that we’ll have your wife’s remains released to you for burial just as soon as we can. You and your family are in our thoughts and prayers.”

  Tommy was startled by her kind words. Usually the state police trooper was a tough read—much harder than Burroughs, that was certain. But she seemed genuine and sincere, so he shook her hand. “Thank you, Corporal Harding.”

  “You can call me Liz. I’ll let you know as soon as I hear anything.” She nodded to Burroughs and left.

  Lucy sat beside Tommy and stared at Burroughs across the table. Burroughs cleared his throat. “Yeah, doc. Guess I should apologize as well.”

  Not quite as sincere, but it was better than Tommy had expected.

  Oshiro didn’t even try to apologize. He just clapped his massive hand on Tommy’s shoulder and said, “You’re okay, doc. You did a good job, helping Sarah when we thought she was a Jane Doe, and you kept your head after we figured out what was really going on.” He handed Tommy a card. “You ever need anything, call me. I owe you one.”

  Tommy wasn’t sure what to say, but Lucy smiled. “Don’t lose that card,” she said. “He means what he said.” Then she turned to Oshiro. “What’s this ‘we’ who figured out what was really going on?”

  Oshiro laughed and threw his bulk into one of the empty chairs. “Okay, when Lucy really figured out what was going on.”

  “Not just me, my entire team. Not bad for a group of amateurs, right, Burroughs?”

  The detective scowled, but it wasn’t directed at Lucy or Tommy. “Still can’t figure out how the hell I fell for her act.”

  “That’s the problem,” Tommy said. He felt the detective’s pain. He’d totally believed Sarah as well, let her into his home, into his life. The thought still made him angry. “It wasn’t all an act. She truly, utterly, and completely, until her last dying breath, believed I killed her baby and that Charlotte helped cover it up. She’d do anything to find justice for her baby.”

  “Including turning in an Oscar caliber performance,” Lucy added.

  “That’s what I mean,” Tommy said. “When you’re that delusional, you fit reality to suit the world you’ve created in your mind. She believed every word she told us—at the time.”

  Burroughs frowned. “I still don’t get it. She didn’t really have amnesia, but because acting that way fit her delusion, it felt real to her?”

  “Something like that,” Tommy answered. He slumped in his chair, really not wanting to put himself in Sarah’s mind ever again. True, she was sic
k. But what she’d done…

  “What about her husband?” Oshiro asked. “Is he delusional? Or just trying to protect his wife?”

  “Verdict’s still out on that,” Burroughs answered. “My guess is we’ll never really know, not once the lawyers and shrinks get involved. But after we caught him, all he talked about was that Worth got what was coming to him and that Sarah was innocent. He also told us what happened to Charlotte, but he seemed to think it was totally justified.”

  Lucy touched Tommy’s arm. “You ready to hear this?”

  “I need to know how she died.”

  “Better than hearing it from the press,” Oshiro added.

  Burroughs sighed, then hauled in a breath. “From what Putnam told us before his lawyer gagged him, and from the forensic findings, this is what we pieced together. First of all, they chose today—well, last year today—because it was their baby’s birthday. In the year after the baby died, Sarah was in and out of hospitals, mostly in the DC area, until her husband lost his job and health insurance and brought her home to live with him.”

  “That’s why we had no recent address for her driver’s license,” Oshiro put in. “And criminal checks through the NCIC wouldn’t register anything like a hospital admission. So, with her keeping her maiden name and most of her information from other states—”

  “Three other states,” Burroughs interrupted. “DC, Virginia, and Maryland. We didn’t have a chance of unraveling this in just a day or two. A fact that she and Putnam bargained on. All they needed was a few days.”

  “Go back to Charlotte,” Tommy said. “Tell me what happened. Was she at my ball game? Is that where they took her?”

  Burroughs shook his head. “No. It was earlier. Sarah was supposed to meet Charlotte at the convenience store. Told her she was being stalked by an ex who was an IRS agent and that he was getting violent.”

  “That’s why Charlotte didn’t take someone with her,” Lucy said. “The shelter director told me an IRS agent was their worst nightmare because they have access to almost every database imaginable.”

  “Exactly. Sarah got Charlotte to come pick her up down the road from the store, away from any cameras. Still not sure how, but Sarah definitely wasn’t on any of the store’s surveillance footage. Although Putnam was. He must have been watching in case anything went wrong.” Burroughs leaned forward. “Anyway, they took Charlotte up to Fiddler’s Knob. It’s where Putnam proposed to Sarah, so I guess in her own warped way, it meant something to her. He also rambled something about a witch’s trial. Not sure about that, something called burking?”

  Tommy startled. “Burking? It was a test for witchcraft. You’d pin someone to the ground and place rocks on them, heavier and heavier until their chest caved in and they couldn’t breathe. If they lived, they were a witch, and if they died…” He looked away, wished there were real windows instead of being forced to face the strangers in the room beyond. “It’s a horrible way to die. Is that how…” He couldn’t finish the question.

  “Yes and no. They did bury Charlotte in rocks—used the old iron furnace on the mountain. Putnam made it sound like some kind of ritual—again, who knows what’s real and what’s delusion. They thought Charlotte was dead and knew they had to ditch her car before you notified the police and anyone started looking for her. And that would take both him and Sarah to drive. But while they were hiking down the mountain, they heard Charlotte and realized she wasn’t dead and had gotten free. It was a foggy night and they couldn’t find her easily, so Putnam went to use her car to block the road while Sarah hunted her on the mountain and herded her down to the road.”

  Tommy’s mouth went dry as he visualized what Charlotte had gone through. “She was alive? She escaped?”

  Burroughs shook his head. “Not for long. Putnam found her on the road. She was hysterical, begging to go home, thought he was you, that she was saved. I guess that infuriated Sarah because she made Putnam drag her back up the mountain.” Burroughs paused. Tommy braced himself. “She collapsed near where they ended up burying her, but she was still alive, so Sarah finished her off with a rock.”

  Tommy bit his lip, trying to hold back tears. “I saw her skull. It took time to do that.”

  “I know. I’m sorry.” For the first time, real emotion colored Burroughs’ voice. “When they were done, they buried her, then drove her car to the overlook on the river. Sometime after that they used her keys to take your tire iron and plant the charm bracelet. Except for the broken charm that Sarah kept as a trophy. She had another breakdown after everything, but without a job or insurance, Putnam nursed her through it—hell, he was so wrapped up in her delusion, he believed that what they’d done was the right thing. Justice for their son. Said the only thing that snapped Sarah out of her depression was planning what they’d do to you next.”

  “So everything—they planned it all?” Lucy asked. “The wedding dress? The bones in the photo?”

  “If your team hadn’t spotted them, you can bet Sarah would have. They’d been watching Tommy for almost two years. They knew exactly how to manipulate him.”

  “And we played right into their hands,” Oshiro said. “Have to say, I was totally blindsided.”

  “We all were.” Burroughs closed his file. “Even though we’re trained to assume the worse and trust no one—”

  “Who could resist a chance to play hero to Sarah’s damsel in distress?” Lucy finished for him.

  Tommy said nothing. There was nothing left to say. He pushed back his chair and stood. “I’m going home.”

  Epilogue

  THREE WEEKS LATER…

  “IT WAS A nice wake,” Lucy told Tommy as he shoved the final covered casserole dish into his refrigerator. “Are you going to be okay?”

  Tommy stifled his sigh. Everyone had asked him that, and no one believed his answer. But he knew what Charlotte would have wanted: for him to go on, not just sleepwalk through life, but to really live. For both of them. “Thanks for bringing Megan to watch Nellie for me. With Peter just out of the hospital, Gloria has her hands full.”

  “No problem. She loved it.” Lucy closed the refrigerator door, leaning her weight against it to prevent it from popping back open. She waited a beat, holding his gaze as if deciding if he was ready for something. “So. Are you going to stay with us at Beacon Falls or go back to the ER? Not that I need an answer right away,” she hastened to add.

  “I love the ER. And I miss it.” He shook his head. “But Nellie needs me. And I need to know I can be here for her.”

  She smiled. “Our gain, then. We’ll have to find some good cases involving medical conundrums, keep you sharp.”

  Megan and Nellie raced into the kitchen, hands joined, arms swinging, and plopped down at the table, propping their chins on their hands in mirror images of each other.

  “I’m hungry,” Nellie proclaimed, even though she’d been eating all day. “Can we have breakfast for dinner? Special treat for being a good girl alllll day?”

  “I don’t know. Were you a good girl?” Tommy asked even as he reached for the cereal bowls.

  She flounced in her chair. “Megan, tell him.”

  “Nellie was a very good girl.”

  When Tommy glanced their way, they began to giggle as only girls can, heads together. He poured Sugar Loops into four bowls while Lucy opened the fridge once more and grabbed the milk.

  “Nellie,” Megan said, giving Tommy and Lucy a wink as he slid the bowls in front of them, “why don’t you tell your dad how much you love his chicken salad.”

  Nellie ladled a spoonful of neon cereal and milk into her mouth before answering. “I don’t like chicken salad. I never liked chicken salad.”

  Tommy stared at her, his spoon halfway to his mouth, the milk turning a disquieting purple color. “You don’t have to say that to make me feel better, Nellie. I know you loved your mom’s chicken salad.”

  Nellie shook her head, slurping some rainbow-colored milk from her bowl. “Nope. Yours is better
than mom’s. At least you don’t put pickles on yours. But I still don’t like it.”

  Megan sipped at her cereal from her spoon daintily, one pinky extended, a Cheshire grin on her face. Tommy frowned at her, wondering if she had coached Nellie into lying just to make him feel better. “You always asked for chicken salad last year.”

  “Uh-huh,” Nellie said, nodding. “That’s because you and mom never packed cookies. Stephen’s mom always packed cookies. Lots of cookies.”

  Tommy was getting whiplash trying to keep up. “Who’s Stephen?”

  “The boy in my preschool who loved chicken salad sandwiches, Daddy,” she said in a tone that implied an eye roll. “But his mom always packed peanut butter and jelly.”

  “Your favorite.” Comprehension dawned. “So you’d ask Mom for chicken salad, make the trade, and get extra cookies on top of the PB and J you wanted in the first place.”

  “Too bad Stephen doesn’t go to my school this year.” Nellie sighed, upended her bowl, and slurped the last of the Sugar Loops. Her milk mustache was a blend of green and orange, and Tommy didn’t even want to think about the spike in her blood sugar. He stared at his daughter, as much an enigma as her mother, and felt lighter. As if he could dare to hope that he might actually be able to give Nellie everything she needed from both a mother and a father—even if it was only PB and J.

  “Can I go watch cartoons now?” She jumped down from her stool.

  Tommy watched in amazement as she grabbed her bowl and, without prompting, put it in the dishwasher. Wow. Catch ’em being good, he thought. And by the expectant look on Nellie’s face, she’d already figured that out. “Sure, half an hour, then it’s bed.”

  Nellie skipped from the room, Megan in tow.

  Tommy looked over at Lucy, who was concentrating on her Sugar Loops as if they held the key to the Rosetta Stone in their strange shapes. “You don’t have to eat those, you know.”