by Terry Odell
“I teach.” He didn’t stop moving. Did he want to keep his muscles warm, or was he afraid to stop for a serious conversation?
“What?”
He swung his arms, twisted his torso, did some quad stretches. “I guess you’d say it’s what they called shop class when we were in middle school. Officially, all-purpose handyman stuff.” He stopped, stared at her as if daring her to put him down for not being a doctor or a lawyer like his parents.
Her heart had stopped drumming in her ears, and she stood. He watched, the defiance switching to wariness.
“So, why are you here and not teaching?”
“Spring Break,” he said. “I guess I’m not the only one who thought it was a good idea to see my grandparents.”
“I agree. They’re not getting any younger.”
“You sure you want to do this?” he asked.
“I’m okay,” she said. “Let’s walk.” He stayed close enough to catch her if she stumbled.
They strolled in silence, reaching the point where the road formed a T at the path to the pond, then continued toward the trail that ran along its circumference. “So you’re teaching middle school shop?” she asked as they approached the benches in the clearing. “That explains what you’ve been doing at Rose and Sam’s.”
He gave a quiet grunt. “Not exactly middle school. More like Last Chance Before Jail U. Alternative school. Or, if you want to use the out of date, down and dirty term, reform school.”
She’d never have thought of that one. “Um…you like it?”
“Yeah, I do.”
“Well…that’s good then.” Justin the Jerk, who couldn’t stand his ground, now dealing with what had to be acres of attitude?
He’d gone tense, as if he sensed her disapproval. She realized her tone hadn’t been exactly…positive. “Hey, I didn’t mean—”
“Forget it. It’s what I do. Period.” He paused by the bench. “Sit. Rest.”
She sank to the wooden seat. “I’ll be here.”
He paused, eyeing her.
“Go. What could happen?”
He nodded, then took off, his pace increasing as he moved farther away. He disappeared around the first curve. She leaned against the wooden slats of the bench, enjoying the fresh air. Her eyelids drooped. She swung her legs onto the bench. She drifted.
Slowly, she surfaced to the sound of rustling in the leaves. A deer? She propped herself on her elbows, hoping to catch a glimpse of the animal. They were gorgeous creatures, with their big eyes and delicate legs.
With the image of a deer fixated in her mind, when the man emerged from the trees, it didn’t register. Not until he raced to her side, clapped his hand over her mouth and knocked her to the ground did she realize that one, it wasn’t a deer, and two, she was in deep trouble.
###
Justin checked over his shoulder. They’d only come a few blocks, and Megan had already caught her breath. He let go of any remaining concern and kicked up the pace to make up for the leisurely way his workout had started. And to get his mind off the two nagging questions. One, would he be able to keep his grandparents’ names out of the mess he was trying to prevent? Two, what was Megan doing here, showing up unannounced? And the logical progression. Were the two related?
He pushed himself faster, striving for the mental disconnect where there was nothing but the run. Breathing. Feet hitting the ground. Sweat dripping from his hair, down his face, off the end of his nose. Down his arms, off the tips of his fingers. Washing away stress. Cleansing. Nothing but the run.
No thoughts of the way Megan had looked at him when he told her what he did. Disbelief. Disappointment. The same undercurrents he got from his parents. “As long as you’re happy,” they’d say. But he could see it in their eyes, hear it in their tone. Working with those kinds of people. No status, no prestige. Teaching was honorable, but why not a university professor?
Even Oma, who’d always tried to make him feel special, kept implying this was temporary. That one day he’d see the light and get a high-paying job. But, since she and Opa had lived through the depression, Justin understood the value they put on money.
But it was helping those kind of people that made a difference. Like Eldon, who’d found a better use for his hands than pummeling someone into a pulp, and was putting food on his mom’s table three times a day. Justin had no delusions about saving them all, but the ones he reached made it worthwhile. His father prided himself on putting punks into jail. Screw that. Justin preferred keeping them out of jail in the first place.
He realized his pace had reached a flat-out run and eased off a bit. Laughter and splashes filled the air as he rounded the curve along the swimming area. A group of kids having some afternoon fun, getting in a quick swim before dinner.
Maybe he’d invite Megan for a swim tomorrow, if for nothing more than to watch her eyes pop and jaw drop again. He hadn’t missed the double-take when she’d actually recognized him. Did she even know why he’d never wanted to go swimming?
Probably not.
He tried to recapture the rhythm of the run. His shoes thudded against the packed dirt. Left, right. Left, right. He concentrated on breathing. In. Out. In. Out.
Halfway around the pond, he’d shaken the memories, only to have them replaced by anxiety, which was rapidly escalating to fear. The sleazeball had given him two weeks, and the first one had yielded a big, fat zero. On the other hand, he had fewer places to search. But with Megan here, it would be a lot harder to explore.
If he told her, would she help? Or would she go straight to Oma and Opa? Or Gordon, the cop?
The path veered away from the pond on an upgrade, and he focused on the extra effort he needed to maintain his pace. His mind clear at last, he settled into the run for the remainder of the distance.
As he approached the spot where he’d left Megan, he slowed to a jog. He could make out a second figure sitting on the bench. Had someone joined her? And so what if someone had? Dozens of homes used that clearing as pond access, and Megan knew half the people in town. Of course she’d chat with anyone who stopped.
From here, all he could tell was that the second person on the bench was definitely male. And had his arm around her. A turn in the path blocked his view. When they came into sight again, they were kissing, not chatting. And not the friendly, “Welcome home, good to see you” kind of kiss. More like tonsil hockey. He fought the urge to rush to her side. Her life, her business. And maybe she’d spend time with whoever he was and be out of the house.
Head down, he walked the last twenty yards, making enough noise so he wouldn’t surprise them. They didn’t seem to notice. Small wonder, engrossed as they seemed to be. Ten feet from them, he cleared his throat. They jerked apart, and two pairs of startled eyes met his. Eyes he’d never seen before.
“Um…hello,” the female said. Aside from her general coloring, she bore no resemblance to Megan. And these were kids, probably high-school.
“Hi,” Justin said. “I…um…a friend was meeting me here.”
“We got here about ten, fifteen minutes ago,” the boy said. “Haven’t seen anyone.” He and the girl exchanged guilty glances. She blushed and dropped her gaze.
“Guess she got tired of waiting,” Justin said. “I’ll be on my way, then.”
“Bye,” the girl said.
Justin didn’t look back. Megan wouldn’t have tried to catch up while he was running, would she? No. Stubborn maybe, but she wasn’t stupid. He jogged toward Oma’s, keeping an eye out for Megan, half-afraid he’d find her collapsed by the side of the road. He trotted up Oma’s front steps. As usual, despite his admonitions, the door was unlocked. Opa glanced up from the television. “You have a nice run?”
“Pretty good.”
Opa looked past him. “So where’s Meggie? Rose said she went with you.”
Chapter Five
Gordon stifled a yawn as the mayor droned on about decreases in parking ticket revenue, raising the fines for speeders, the need f
or more school crossing guards, and something about coleslaw. Gordon blinked. Coleslaw? Once he realized the mayor was rambling about the Fourth of July picnic plans, which would probably change six ways from Sunday between now and the event, three months away, Gordon let his mind sift through the facts in the Karl Franklin case.
Case? He suppressed a snort. He had an accident victim, not even in his jurisdiction. The only facts he had were that the guy’s name was Karl Franklin and he was from Florida. But those pictures of Megan Wyatt. They definitely had his cop sense tingling. Another tingling came from his belt, where his cell phone buzzed. The mayor looked up from his papers and glowered.
“Sorry,” Gordon said. He glanced at the display, then arranged his face into what he hoped was a solemn expression. “Police business. I’ve got to take it.”
Good old Laurie, calling right on time. He wondered if anyone on the town council had figured out that he got called away from a lot of meetings. So what if they had. He nodded around the table and beat a hasty retreat for the hallway. Once out of the meeting room, he sauntered toward the exit.
“Thanks, Laurie,” he said. “You’re a life-saver, as always. I thought I’d go crazy—”
“This one’s for real, Chief.”
Gordon stopped mid-stride. “What?”
“Another ambulance call to the Kretzers’. And Officer Solomon’s rolling.”
Gordon remembered the call earlier in the day, but that had been a straight paramedic issue. Why Solomon this time? “Rose or Sam?”
“No. Something about Megan Wyatt. Since she was in here before, I thought you might want to know.”
“Details?”
“I heard the tail end of the radio traffic. They sent Solomon out code two, not three, so I figured it wasn’t too bad. You want me to find out?”
“Don’t bother. I’m on my way to the Kretzers’. Be there in ten.” He lengthened his stride, making his way out of the building and across the parking lot to his cruiser. Code two. More than a parking violation, but not urgent enough for lights and sirens. Then again, police code threes were few and far between in Mapleton. He hadn’t heard the ambulance siren, so his concerns eased a bit further. He climbed into the SUV and flipped on the radio. “Connie, what’s going on at the Kretzers’?”
Connie’s voice came over the radio, clear and calm. Gordon would have relaxed at her tone, but he knew Connie could handle an armed robbery, a bomb scare, and a shootout, all at the same time and never sound any more excited than the weatherman predicting a mild and sunny day. At least he assumed she could, should anything like that ever happen in Mapleton. She’d been chief dispatcher longer than Gordon could remember, and he’d never heard her lose her cool.
“Solomon’s not on scene yet. Caller reported an injury, possible mugging.”
“Anyone else involved?”
“No others injured. The incident didn’t happen at the Kretzers’,” Connie said. “Solomon didn’t request backup.”
Gordon thanked her and lead-footed it toward the Kretzer place. He started to switch on the lights, but didn’t bother. Traffic was light, and everyone in town knew to get out of his way when they saw the official police SUV. Sometimes it was good to be the chief, he thought. Except for the damn budget meetings.
He switched to the Nextel. “Solomon,” he barked.
“Yes, Chief.”
“Report.”
“Just arriving. Ambulance is on scene.”
“I’m about five away.”
He arrived in three. The ambulance sat in the driveway. Good sign. If it had been a scoop and scoot, they’d be racing away, sirens wailing. Or did they have a body? Fighting the adrenaline rush, he parked on the street, loped across the lawn and bounded up the stairs. The front door stood open. He tapped once, then stepped inside.
Megan lay propped up on a gurney in the middle of the living room. Dave Gilman and Tom Reynolds hovered over her, Reynolds on the radio and Gilman starting an IV. They worked methodically, and Gordon didn’t get a sense of urgency. Relieved, he moved closer. Bruises were already apparent on her face. Her eyes were closed. Plastic tubing hooked over her ears and into her nostrils.
He resisted approaching her while the medics did their thing. Ed Solomon was offering reassurances to Rose and Sam, while the grandson—Justin, was it?—leaned against the wall, clenching and unclenching his fists. He wore running shorts and an oversized sweatshirt, sweat-darkened triangles at the chest and armpits. Matted hair, damp. But breathing easy.
Gordon slid his gaze to the gurney. Megan wore a pair of loose cotton shorts. A warmup jacket hung over the arm of a nearby chair and a pair of sneakers sat on the floor below. Had she been running with Justin? He nodded in Solomon’s direction, then edged across the room to Justin’s side.
“How is she?” Gordon asked.
Justin stared into space, as if he were trapped in another dimension. A muscle in his jaw twitched rhythmically. He seemed agitated, which was understandable, but it seemed to be more than concern for Megan.
“Justin?” Gordon said. “Are you okay?”
The man blinked and clawed his fingers through his hair. “What?” He shook his head, as if to clear it. “Oh, yeah. No problem.”
“Can you tell me what happened?”
Robot-like, Justin stepped to an end table. Picked up a water bottle. Unscrewed the cap, took a long drink. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. “I wish I knew. I was out for a run. Around the pond. Megan wanted to tag along, but she’s not adjusted to the altitude yet. She got as far as that open space down the road”—he swept a hand in the general direction—“before she realized she’d never make it. She wasn’t there when I finished my run. I thought she’d gotten tired of waiting and left. But when I got here, she hadn’t shown up.”
Gordon pulled out his notepad and pen. “Go on. When did all this happen?”
Justin drained the rest of the water. “It was about four, maybe a little after, when we left the house. Maybe twenty minutes to get to the pond?” The water bottle crackled as he squeezed it, accompanying his speech like a background percussionist. “I don’t know. Megan was having trouble keeping up, so we went slow. Stopped a couple of times. I can usually do the pond trail in about thirty minutes. I’d say less this time.”
“So, you finished somewhere around five?” Gordon glanced at his watch. It was quarter to six.
“That sounds reasonable,” Justin said. “I wasn’t too worried—figured Megan had stopped to chat, or had decided to walk along one of the pond trails while I was running.” His mouth twisted up in a half-smile. “You know, to prove that she wasn’t a wimp.”
Gordon nodded. “Guess she hasn’t changed.”
A sharp hiss came from the gurney. Then a yelp.
###
Justin snapped his head around. The cop spun on his heel and got to her side seconds ahead of him.
“What’s wrong?” the cop asked.
“Tweaked her wrist,” Dave said. He bent over Megan. “I’m going to immobilize it. I don’t think it’s broken, but they’ll x-ray it at the clinic.”
“Can you get this tubing off me?” she asked, rocking her head back and forth on the pillow.
“Sorry, no can do,” Tom said.
“You can use the extra oxygen,” Justin said.
She frowned. “Yeah, yeah. Sea level to six thousand feet. I got it. But it’s annoying.”
Justin moved forward, took her good hand, careful to avoid the IV. “What happened?” Please say she did something stupid, like trip and fall on the trail. That she made her way home before collapsing on the porch. As if she hadn’t heard his question, she stared at him. Or past him. She blinked, and her eyes cleared.
“Rose and Sam?” Megan asked. “Are they—?”
Oma and Opa appeared on the other side of the gurney. “We’re here. You do what Davey and Tommy say,” Oma said.
Justin smiled, not bothering to remind her how she’d refused to listen to them a few h
ours ago. He exchanged a quick glance with Sam, who returned the smile.
“We want to get her to the med center,” Davey said.
“Hang on one second,” Gordon said. “I’d like to ask her a few questions.”
“No can do, Chief,” Davey said. “She’s bruised and passed out. There’s a lump on her forehead, and her wrist should be x-rayed. Docs want to see her.”
“Did someone do this to you, Megan?” Gordon asked, ignoring Davey. The scrapes on her forehead and cheeks stood out in bright contrast against the pallor of her skin.
“I…I don’t know. It’s fuzzy.” Megan said.
“Can you give a painkiller?” Justin asked the paramedics.
“Not until the ER folks check her out,” Tommy said.
Justin stepped away to give them room. “Can I come along?”
“Not in the rig,” Davey said. “But you can follow us to the ER.”
“We’ll come too,” Sam said. “I’ll call Doctor Evans, let him know what happened.”
“Of course,” Justin said. “Give me a minute to change.”
The cop who’d been talking to Oma and Opa nodded Gordon over. Justin was torn between wanting to eavesdrop and getting to the medical center. Oma’s insistence that he get his tuchis moving made the choice obvious.
“Ten minutes, Oma. We’ll be there in plenty of time.”
An hour later, they were still in the small waiting room of the Mapleton medical clinic. Oma paced, Sam grumbled. Justin tried to stay calm. He’d grabbed Megan’s purse and dealt with getting the insurance ball rolling. She’d had all the requisite cards, and he’d used the opportunity to search for evidence that hinted at any ulterior motive for her visit, but aside from typical female handbag clutter, he had zilch. Maybe they’d keep her overnight and he could search her room and her luggage.
The double doors opened. The antiseptic hospital smell intensified. It took a moment to recognize the two paramedics, now in street clothes. They smiled, and Justin stood. “Any news?” he asked.