by K. C. McRae
“Knock it off,” she said, and shook her head away from the man’s hand and the beam of the tiny flashlight. A wave of pain stopped her movement, and she retched.
“Now that wasn’t really what you wanted to do, was it?” the man said.
She put together the white uniform shirt, the rocking sensation, and the sound of an engine. Moving her eyes only, she took in the interior of the ambulance.
“Apparently not,” she said. She remembered now, giving blood to Anna Knight, her exit from the stifling hot RV into the Daliesque parking lot outside the IGA supermarket. “Did I pass out?”
“I’m so sorry,” a female voice said, all twang and twitter. Merry carefully turned her head to see Anna hovering nearby. “I shouldn’t have let you give blood in that heat. You just looked so healthy …”
Embarrassed, Merry said, “Why does my head hurt so much?”
“You fell on it,” the paramedic said.
“We’ll be at the clinic soon,” Anna said. “Then we can take a better look at you and make sure you’ll be okay.”
“Her pupils are even. She’ll probably live.”
Merry closed her eyes. “Good to know.”
The ambulance stopped at a red light, and the paramedic adjusted the gurney so she wasn’t lying flat on her back. He frowned, reaching down and lifting a bag of blood. It sloshed in his hands.
“Sheez, Anna, how much did you—”
He stopped as Anna’s eyes widened. He shook his head and reached below the gurney, popped the top on a drink can, and stuck a straw in it.
Merry craned her neck and tried to see where he’d put the bag. “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing. Here, this’ll make you feel better,” he said. Merry took the can and sipped a little Dr Pepper. The sweet syrup trickled down her throat, leaving behind the stale flavor of fake fruit on the back of her tongue. It was wonderful.
The ambulance pulled up beside the Hazel Clinic, and Merry started to sit up. Anna put a hand on her chest and pushed her back. “Let us roll you inside.”
“What for? I can walk, for God’s sake.”
The paramedic gave her a sympathetic look. “Liability. Besides, you’re still wobbly, whether you realize it or not.”
“Shit,” she said, falling back. Ouch.
They wheeled her into a large room painted a cheerful yellow with blue cupboards lining the walls. A stainless steel sink sat in one corner and a large window looked out onto the tiny parking lot. Three hospital beds with curtains hanging from circular bars in the ceiling above crowded into one end of the room. The air reeked of antiseptic.
The paramedic sketched a salute to Merry and left. Anna hovered by the window while an officious male doctor she’d never met before poked and prodded at her, finishing off with x-rays. He told Merry she had a mild concussion and handed her a couple of Tylenol, which she washed down with a little more Dr Pepper. The doctor rattled off a list of symptoms to watch out for and darted out of the room.
Merry swung her legs down, and Anna rushed over.
“Quit fussing. I’m fine.”
“Don’t worry, I’ll take care of her,” Shirlene said from the doorway.
“What are you doing here?” Merry asked.
“Anna called me.”
Merry turned to Anna, who said, “You listed her as your emergency contact.”
“Oh, Jeez. Shirlene, I’m sorry. You didn’t need to run down here for this. I’m fine.”
Shirlene shook her head. “You are hard-headed. In this case that’s probably just as well, but you’re not getting rid of me yet.” She looked at Anna. “How is she, really?”
“Gave me a good scare, I can tell you that. But she’ll be all right. Her head hurts, and she’ll want to take more painkiller later. And she needs to eat something, but it might be hard to find something she can keep down.”
Shirlene nodded and turned to Merry. “You have Tylenol at home?”
“I don’t know. The truck’s at the IGA. I can run in and get some when we get there.”
“Nah. We’ll grab some out front.”
As she followed her aunt out to the waiting room, Anna whispered, “You’re awful lucky, you know. To have someone like Shirlene to take care of you. She reminds me of my grandma, God rest her soul. You’d better not take her for granted.”
And you’d better not let her hear you comparing her to your grandma, Merry thought.
She followed Shirlene through an empty waiting room to another door. It opened into the clinic’s pharmacy. Four gray plastic chairs lined one wall, and a potted ficus tree twisted toward the ceiling in one corner. The only other decoration was a print of a Norman Rockwell painting, wrinkled under the cheap acrylic frame and crooked on the wall.
Olivia Lamente stood behind the counter talking with a younger woman who leaned against the wall. Clay’s mother had pulled her white-blonde hair into a rough ponytail, flyaway wisps forming a halo around her face. No makeup, but thin lips and generous eyes and cheekbones a model would kill for. Looking all of her forty-eight years, she wore black slacks and a wrinkled white shirt. The shirt had a small stain on the front. She broke off the conversation when she saw them and held her lower lip clamped between her teeth.
“Olivia! What are you doing here?” Shirlene asked.
“Someone has to be here.”
“Well, why didn’t you call me?”
Olivia looked away. “I’m okay.”
Shirlene asked for Tylenol in a subdued voice. Olivia opened a drawer and pawed through a mess of sample packets. The younger woman hadn’t said a word. Now she turned to go.
Shirlene took a step toward her. “Barbie.”
The woman hesitated, then turned back. She wore running shorts and a navy T-shirt. Long tan legs showed well-defined muscles and her long brown hair was held back with a stretchy headband. Under her eyes, blue-gray half moons emphasized lids pink and swollen.
“Shirlene.” Her voice was tired and flat.
“I’m so sorry about Clay, hon. How’re you holding up?” Shirlene said.
“Okay.” She turned to go.
“You take care of yourself,” Shirlene said as she opened the door.
She didn’t respond, already beginning to jog as the door eased shut on its pneumatic hinge.
Merry watched her go. If the red eyes were any indication, she was taking Clay’s death hard. Harder than Lauri seemed to be. Merry still wanted to talk to her.
Not now, though. Too hard to concentrate.
Olivia handed Merry six sample packs of painkiller.
Shirlene continued to stare after Barbie, her face drawn in concern.
“Anything else?” Olivia asked.
Merry glanced at her, saw the barely concealed hostility. But her stomach, now rebelling against the Dr Pepper, had joined her throbbing head, and she couldn’t think about it.
As they walked outside, she said, “So that’s Clay Lamente’s girlfriend.”
Shirlene sighed. “Yeah.”
“Close to Olivia?”
“Treats her like a daughter. You know how Olivia takes in strays, and Barbie doesn’t have any family close.” She sighed again. “Olivia. I wish … I don’t know. Never mind.”
“It’s not personal, Shirlene. They’re just upset.”
Her aunt opened her driver’s door. “They think my daughter killed someone they love. Of course it’s personal.”
———
Her aunt parked her little Toyota truck in the IGA parking lot and they both transferred to Lotta. Shirlene slid through the Chevy’s gears as they picked up speed on the highway. Clouds piled like clotted cream on the horizon, but overhead only a few stray mares’ tails streaked the clear blue. Wild mustard speckled the barrow ditches along the sides of the road with their vivid yellow. Merry leaned her head on her ha
nd, her elbow propped into the V where the half-open window met the door. The painkiller had kicked in, but only dulled the throbbing in her head to this side of unbearable. Behind them, the paper sacks of groceries in the pickup bed quivered and rattled in the wind. Merry wondered what she’d have to throw away.
She gazed out at a clump of white-faced cattle. “Tell me more about this WorldMed you volunteer for,” she said as a distraction. “Olivia runs it?”
Shirlene’s eyes cut toward her, then back to the road. “The head office in Denver coordinates the four processing sites in the Rocky Mountain region, lets us know what to pack up and for which area of the world, helps keep track of inventory. We send out everything from aspirin and bandages to morphine.” She snorted. “Without a medical background I’m pretty much on the aspirin and bandages end of things.”
“Where do you get the stuff?”
“It’s donated by the pharmaceutical companies and manufacturers. Or people donate money and we use that to purchase supplies. Some of the money is used for overhead, but even the medical personnel donate their time.”
“You mean Barbie and Olivia?”
“And Dr. Finley and Dr. Parsi. Anna Knight.” She paused. “Barbie’s very organized, efficient, you know? Not like that roommate of hers.”
“Good Knight Nurse?”
“Mmmm. Not the best prize in the Cracker Jack box.”
“She’s very …,” Merry said, looking for the right word.
“Yes. She is,” Shirlene said.
Merry laughed, then winced. “And she volunteers with WorldMed, too?”
“Like I said, they all do, to varying degrees.”
“Why would a big organization like that operate out of a little place like Hazel?”
“All the distribution sites are in small towns. It keeps the operating costs down, so more money can be directed to getting the medical supplies out.” Shirlene downshifted.
A silver Cadillac was pulling out on the highway from the McCoy ranch road. Plumes of dust hung in the air behind it.
“Merry?”
“Goddamn it!”
T. J. Spalding, hunched over the wheel, swiveled his pale round face toward them as the car went by.
“Who’s that?” Shirlene asked.
“No one.”
Another sidelong glance. “Merry.”
She sighed. “Real estate agent. Says Mama wanted to sell the ranch. Says he has some bigwig buyer.”
“Whaaat? She never said anything like that to me.”
“Me either. I don’t know what he’s up to, but I don’t like it.”
They turned off the blacktop. Merry sat up, unwilling to jostle her sore head any more than necessary.
At the ranch, they unloaded the groceries. Shirlene poured the milk down the sink, and mixed up the no-longer-frozen orange juice concentrate, but everything else seemed to be okay. Shirlene insisted that Merry sit still while she made toast and smeared it with peanut butter. At least her stomach didn’t do the foxtrot at the very thought. She took it out to the rocking chair on the front porch and ate it in tiny bites. Through the open window she heard the comforting bustle of water running and cupboard doors closing as her aunt fussed around the kitchen.
Izzy wasn’t in her paddock, and Merry had assumed she was waiting in her stall for dinner. The distinct sound of an equine sneeze from around the back of the house belied that. Setting her plate on the railing, Merry walked around the corner to find the mare standing at the edge of the defunct vegetable garden. She ripped out a mouthful of long grass by the roots and stood gazing at Merry while she munched.
Merry’s grimace turned to a smile at the sight of the stalks sticking out around the horse’s mouth in a comical starburst. Izzy eyed her approach and continued to chew, powerful teeth pulverizing the greens. She ran her hands down the mare’s legs to check for injuries, squatting on her haunches because leaning over seemed like a bad plan. Leaving Izzy to her appetizer, she retrieved the halter from the barn and ducked into the kitchen for a few carrots and a quick explanation to Shirlene, who quirked one side of her mouth and shook her head.
The sweet carrots proved to be more interesting than the fresh grass, and Izzy crunched and munched as Merry slipped on the halter and led her back to her stall. The horse nuzzled her, pushing against her chest, and her headache ebbed as she rubbed the long face, breathing in musky horse and sweet alfalfa and dry dust. She stuffed a flake of hay into the wire rack and went out to look at the gate.
It stood open about a foot, swinging on its oiled hinges with a touch of a fingertip. The latch wasn’t damaged in any way, and designed so that even a clever horse couldn’t somehow flip it up and push the gate open.
That goddamn real estate agent. Anger pounded through her temples, and she took a deep breath. Trespassing was one thing, messing around with her horse another.
Who could want her land that badly? She determined to talk to Jamie about it. Maybe she could get a restraining order on T. J. Spalding. Maybe the law would work in her favor for once.
But she wouldn’t hold her breath.
Shirlene had cheese and crackers on the kitchen table when she returned. Merry picked at them a little and returned to the porch. After a while, her aunt joined her, settling into the other rocker with a sigh.
Merry told her about Hawkins pulling her over earlier that day.
“Prick,” was her aunt’s response.
Merry didn’t have much to add to that.
“I’ll take your Mama’s room tonight if that’s okay,” Shirlene said.
“Oh hell, you don’t have to babysit me. I feel bad about taking up half your day as it is.”
“You weren’t paying attention at the clinic. Someone has to wake you up every two hours tonight.”
“So I’ll set the alarm.”
“I’m staying.”
“What about Lauri?”
“I left her a message on the answering machine. She insisted on going out with Janelle Paysen tonight, said she needs to do something to cheer herself up. So it won’t make any difference whether I’m home or not. Frankly, I’d just as soon be here.”
The melancholy in her voice kept Merry from insisting. They sat in silence, listening as the calls of meadowlarks gave way to the songs of hopeful crickets serenading their prospective mates.
“Sure is nice out here,” Shirlene said.
Merry put one boot up on the porch railing. “When I was gone, I spent a lot of time thinking about these summer evenings.”
“Winter’s a bitch, though.”
“Yeah. I missed that, too.”
She turned to see her aunt smiling at her in the fading light.
“Say, Shirl?”
“Yeah.”
“Why did Harlan Kepper hate Clay so much?”
Shirlene half-turned in her seat. “I didn’t know he did.”
“I talked to him yesterday afternoon, and he seemed pretty happy Clay was dead.”
“That’s weird. Far as I know, Harlan and Clay barely knew each other.”
———
“Hello?”
“I’m pregnant.”
“Who is this?”
“You know damn well who this is,” Lauri said. “And I’m pregnant.”
Sigh. “Yeah. I heard.”
“It’s yours.”
“The hell you say. We only had that one little ol’ romp.”
“You’re the only romp of any kind that I’ve had. Can’t be anyone else’s. Congratulations, Daddy.”
“Well, that didn’t work out quite the way you planned, did it, babe?”
“What do you know about it?”
“Even if he hadn’t died it wouldn’t have worked, you know.”
It would have. He only had to sleep with me once and he would have believe
d the baby was his. “Clay would have married me once I brought him to his senses.”
“Wrong, baby doll. Not with Barbie around.”
“I don’t believe you.”
“Doesn’t much matter if you do or not. But I think you do believe me. In fact, maybe he told you the same thing himself. Must have made you mad. Maybe even mad enough to kill him.”
“You’re so full of shit. And I didn’t call about Clay, anyway.”
“Yeah? Wouldn’t be about money, would it?”
“You owe me something.”
A snort, then, “Oh, really.”
“I thought you might want to avoid all the drama and legalities—and publicity—and give me a lump sum up front.”
“A lump sum, you say. For child support, of course.”
“Of course.”
“What kind of ‘lump’ did you have in mind?”
“Twenty grand.”
“Twenty grand, huh. Which you would wisely invest for your baby’s future?”
“Exactly.” This was going better than she’d thought it would.
“Why not fifty?”
“I don’t think you have fifty.”
“But you think I have twenty? You’re wrong, babe. I so don’t.”
“You could get it.”
“Maybe. Yeah, maybe I could.”
“Good.”
“But I’m not going to.”
“You don’t want me to tell your wife, do you?”
“Tell her whatever you want. What makes you think she’ll believe anything you say?”
“She must know the kind of man she’s married to.”
“Yeah … well, in that case what makes you think she’d care?”
“Couldn’t hurt to find out.”
“I think a better question is whether you want the whole town to know what you’re trying to do. How you fooled around and got knocked up, tried to rope your old boyfriend in, and then, when that didn’t work, moved your sights a little to the left and came up with his roommate. See, nobody’s going to believe you, babe. Not a soul.”
“We’ll see about that!” Lauri slammed the phone down.
That son of a bitch. He’d pay. Somehow, he’d pay.