by Wendy Tyson
Seeming to realize what he just said, his eyes widened. “I don’t know what happened out there, Megs, or why, but had I not gotten involved, Chase might still be alive, and Dillon would not have been anywhere near him.”
Megan sat next to Denver for a long while, in silence. When she spoke, it was with firm conviction. “Denver, stop. This line of thinking is unproductive. One, your aunt is a pediatrician fully capable of making informed decisions. Had she felt this was a bad idea for Dillon, she wouldn’t have sent him. I’m certain of that.” And she was. Dr. Kent was a stubborn woman. She’d lived alone much of her life, and she was accustomed to being the boss. “Two, the Chase I met at the restaurant was an opportunist. He was going to do this, one way or another. Winsome, PA or Walleye, Kansas, he was going.” Megan pulled Denver’s face gently toward her. “Don’t fool yourself into thinking that Chase—or any of them—came here for you.”
Megan watched Denver’s eyes close, his face relax. Hard truths, but he needed to hear them. When he opened his eyes, they were clearer.
“I only met Dillon a few times, mostly during dinners at Eloise’s house or when I was over to see to the horses, but the boy seemed shy. Kind. I watched him with Eloise’s colt, the one who startles, and Dillon was gentle, even when he thought no one was looking. A gentle giant.”
Megan nodded.
“I don’t think he killed Chase. Why would he? He didn’t even know him.” Denver turned off the ignition, and the interior of the SUV started to warm up immediately. “But if not Dillon, then who could have done something so heinous?”
Megan opened the vehicle door. She paused to collect her bag. I guess that’s the question, she thought. Who wanted Chase dead? And why?
Eloise was on the phone in the kitchen when they walked into the home’s large center hall. She barked something into the receiver before ending the call abruptly when she saw Megan and Denver. She placed her cell on the kitchen island’s marble top and greeted them with a half-hearted hug.
“I guess you heard.”
Denver nodded. “I had to make a statement at the station.”
Eloise frowned. “What did they ask you?”
“How I knew the victim, his whereabouts and itinerary while in town, where I have been the last six hours. The norm, I would imagine.”
“Surely they don’t suspect you.” Her tone was indignant.
“Just doing their jobs.” Denver glanced around the large, immaculate kitchen. His eyes fell on a man’s coat draped over one of the stools at the marble-topped island. “Someone here?”
“I’m afraid that belongs to Dillon. I was packing up some of his belongings for the hospital before his agency called.”
No hint of emotion in her voice, which concerned Megan more than histrionics would have.
“Is someone from the school going to visit him at the hospital?” Megan asked. “I would think they have a staff psychologist, someone who could talk with him. This had to have been very traumatic.”
“They do, Dr. Star. And he will visit eventually, when the dust settles. I’m afraid it’s about to get much more traumatic.” Eloise sat heavily on one of the stools. Her voice remained flat, but Megan could see the flush creeping along the edges of her ivory skin, the tremor in her hands. “The police suspect him of murdering your friend, Denver.”
“We got that sense from Bobby.” Denver’s voice had the ring of alarm. “Have they arrested the boy?”
“No, nothing like that. He’s at the hospital being treated for shock. He’ll have a psychiatric evaluation. A youth defender is being assigned.” Her shoulders slumped. “He’s nearly catatonic, so I don’t know what they think they’re going to get out of him.”
Denver shot Megan a concerned look. “Eloise, how are you? This has to have been traumatic for you as well.”
“Do you really think my comfort matters right now?” Her tone was sharp, and Megan took an involuntary step back. “I’m sorry,” Eloise said immediately. “I don’t quite know what to do. What does one do to help a boy in this situation? I can stitch up wounds, treat pneumonia, diagnose viral infections, but this type of emotional pain? It’s not so easy to cure.”
Her voice trailed off. Denver put an arm around her. “I imagine you do what you would do in any health crisis situation in which there is no obvious cause. You treat and monitor the symptoms. In this case, once the shock has been addressed, the symptoms will be emotional. If what you say is true, he’ll feel embattled and alone. Support and friendship will be the tonics you can provide.”
Eloise nodded. “How did you get so wise?”
“I was lucky enough to have a good aunt in my life.”
Eloise picked up the jacket. She held it to her face and took a deep breath, looking distracted. “When Dillon first arrived, I wondered what I was going to do with this kid. He’s not much of a talker. He’d walk around looking morose, picking at his food, remaining largely in the shadows. He likes to read. And play video games. That’s about it.” She stood. Once at the window overlooking the barn, she turned. “Then I saw him with the horses. They listened to him. Even that wild little filly, the headstrong one that threw you, Denver. She let him ride her.”
Eloise put on the faucet and ran the water for a moment, holding two fingers under the spigot. She was lost in thought. Without washing or doing anything else, she shut off the water and dried her hand with a small towel.
“The clinical part of me says he could have done it. Violent father. Deceased mother, with whom he was very close. Who knows what he witnessed in that house. Pent-up anger, they’ll say. All those months of ‘yes, sir,’ and ‘yes, ma’am,’ and he finally broke. Maybe that Chase Mars did something to upset him. Maybe Dillon had a psychotic episode, though he has no history. Maybe he confused Chase with his dad.”
“Or maybe he didn’t do it,” Megan said.
Both Denver and Eloise turned to her.
“Yes,” Eloise said softly. “The other part of me says that’s right. I’ve gotten to know Dillon, perhaps as much as he’d let anyone in. I don’t think he’s capable of an act of violence against anyone or anything.”
Denver studied his aunt. After a pause, he said, “I’m sorry I urged him to go. If he hadn’t—”
Eloise laughed. It was a bitter, high-pitched laugh, full of malign amusement. “Denver, I love you, but let’s be clear. I wanted your opinion, of course, but if I didn’t think he should go, he wouldn’t have gone. Period. So don’t blame yourself. This is on me.”
“This is on whoever did the act,” Megan said. “Period.” She looked at Denver. “What about the others? Barbara, Xavier, Jatin…have you connected with them?”
“Just by text.” Denver leaned against the island. “They’re being questioned by King and his officers. I think Xavier is still there. Dillon was his charge, so I imagine King wants to understand why Dillon was off by himself in the first place.”
“They’re teens, not first graders,” Megan said.
“True. But it was a mentoring event. And these kids have special needs.” Denver shrugged. “That’s the last I heard. Obviously, the rest of the event has been called off. My friends are all staying at the Bucks County Inn, so I’ll connect with them there later.”
The phone rang, startling Megan. Eloise picked up the cell and stared at screen. With the same maddening calm, she answered.
“Dr. Kent.” A long pause. “Oh, I see. So soon?” Another lengthy silence. “That’s fine.” She clicked off.
“Dillon?” Denver asked. “Is he responding?”
“On the contrary. That was his social services agency. They’re placing him in the psychiatric unit. They feel that’s the best place for him right now, all things considered. They want me to bring his clothes to the hospital.”
“We can take them over,” Denver said. “Or at least go with you.”
Sad
ness shadowed her features. “That would be nice,” she said before disappearing into that center hall.
Seven
Winsome’s closest hospital was six miles away, a distance Denver once again covered in record speed. Megan sat in the back, next to a medical kit and a box full of leashes, treats, and dog toys. Denver was of the habit of stopping to rescue stray and lost dogs and cats, and he kept everything from small cages to extra towels and blankets in his vehicle. Today he made room in the rear for Dillon’s belongings, which amounted to one small suitcase and a duffle bag of books and comics.
At the hospital entrance, they were greeted by a stern-looking woman in a beige suit. She let them know Dillon was on the fifth floor but reiterated three times that he was not allowed visitors.
“No problem,” Eloise said. “We’re simply bringing him his belongings.”
The nurse on the fifth floor was warmer but just as adamant. “You can leave everything here,” he said. “I’ll make sure Dillon’s agency gets the belongings when they arrive.” He glanced toward a uniformed officer standing guard by Dillon’s hospital room. “Technically he’s under police custody. I don’t think we can let you in there.”
“I’m his foster mother, and a doctor as well.”
The nurse smiled apologetically while tapping on the clip board he was holding. He was a tall man, well over six foot, and he loomed over even Denver. “You understand procedure.”
Megan and Denver exchanged a look. Megan hoped this wouldn’t get ugly. There’d been enough ugly for a while.
“Can you call Chief Bobby King of the Winsome Police Department?” Megan asked. “I’m certain he will okay a brief visit.”
“I don’t think so.” He glanced back at the uniformed officer. “We have our orders.”
“Please?” Megan said. She held the nurse’s stare. “He’s a kid. I know he’s not responding. Maybe seeing Dr. Kent will help.” The nurse’s expression softened, and Megan said, “Just a call. We have Chief King’s cell number. I can call him for you.”
The nurse glanced again at the officer. “Fine. Give me the number. I’ll call.”
Megan obliged, and the nurse walked away to make the call, his back to them. Moments later he came back looking chagrined. “The Chief said it was fine. But as part of Dillon’s medical team, I’m saying only you—” he looked at Eloise, “—and only for five minutes, tops.”
Eloise didn’t wait for him to change his mind. She thanked him and strode into Dillon’s hospital room. Megan watched her disappear from view.
“Thank you,” Megan said.
“I feel bad for the kid,” the nurse said. “He’s had a parade of officers and doctors in there. Maybe seeing someone who cares about him will make a difference.” He squinted at Denver. “But I heard what happened.” He shook his head. “Crazy world.”
“What did you hear?” Megan asked.
“I can’t talk about the patients.” The nurse flushed. “I just heard what was on the news. Someone was murdered.” He shrugged a shoulder in the direction of Dillon’s room. “And this patient is in police custody.”
Megan knew exactly what he was implying. “That could be for his own protection,” Megan said. “He was a witness. When he becomes responsive, they may want someone here to take a statement. It doesn’t mean he had anything to do with what happened.”
The nurse didn’t look convinced. He glanced at the clock on the wall. “I’m afraid time is up.”
Before he could evict Eloise from Dillon’s room, Megan heard voices coming from the room. It was Eloise—and a lower voice. Dillon’s voice.
The nurse’s eyes rounded in surprise. He beelined for the door. Denver held up a hand. “Can’t you give them some time?”
“I have strict instructions.” He didn’t have to say more. The uniformed police officer, an older man with a bushy mustache, had heard the boy’s voice as well and was entering the room.
I guess that will end any conversation on Dillon’s part, Megan thought.
Seconds later, Eloise was back at their side. Her eyes were watery, but her mouth was pressed into an unyielding line. “You go,” she murmured. “Leave me here. I’ll get King or someone to drive me home.”
“What did he say?” Denver asked.
“Nothing of consequence.”
The tear on Eloise’s cheek said otherwise.
Camilla was a welcome distraction.
“She looks good.” Denver was kneeling in the small pig’s pen. “You’re doing a fine job of caring for her, Bonnie.”
Bibi looked away, but Megan could see the edges of her mouth turned up in an almost-smile.
“Let me see you, little lassie.” With a gentleness that belied his strength, Denver picked up the animal. He looked her over and placed her back on the ground. She squealed, then ran in circles, small tail waving. Denver smiled, bringing out his dimples. “She’s a cute one. What will you do with her?”
“The owner will turn up,” Bonnie muttered.
“Oh, I don’t think anyone is inclined to give the pig back to someone who kept her in a storage unit. Inhumane and against the law,” Denver said. “Someone named Saul Bones, no less.”
“Maybe we could keep her?” Megan glanced at her grandmother, who had picked up a broom and was suddenly engrossed by a need for cleanliness. “Bibi?”
“We’ll cross that bridge if we need to.”
“We’ll keep her,” Megan mouthed to Denver.
Denver smiled again. “Okay, then, Bonnie. We’ll see what happens. In the meantime, some fresh air and more good food for this wee one.”
“Too much food and she won’t be so wee,” Bibi said. But she grabbed a handful of fruit and vegetable slices from the Tupperware container on the floor and fed them one by one to the pig.
“Come for a walk?” Denver said to Megan. “I think Camilla is in good hands.”
Megan followed Denver out of the barn and up toward the old Marshall property—now her property. When the Marshalls moved out and abandoned the property, they stopped all maintenance. The large yard had gone to seed and was a meadow full of thistle and grasses and wildflowers. The old house stood as it had for the past several decades, parts of it worn, parts in disrepair. The fascia was crumbling, the piers holding up the front porch had long since rotted away, and Megan knew from previous visits that the interior was mice-infested and marred by vandalism caused by the occasional intruder. Fixing the house itself would be a project. And they were still awaiting the engineer’s reports.
The new barn, on the other hand, consisted of a large hole in the ground and a poured foundation. The bones of the building would be going in soon. Megan couldn’t wait. The barn would give them a place for community programs, healthy cooking classes, gardening club meetings. Clay’s vision of making Winsome a hot spot for sustainable agriculture and locavore living had become her own. Even Bibi shared the passion.
Right now, the place looked like a war zone.
“I can see it, you know.” Denver took Megan’s hand. “What this will be.”
Megan smiled. “And what exactly do you see?”
“The finished inn. The barn. Bibi teaching classes on bread-making and baking her signature scones. Lively discussions about types of turnips and the absolute best color for a broccoli head.” He picked Megan up and swung her around. “And maybe a few dogs and wee ones running around.”
Megan felt herself go stiff. “Wee ones? As in goats or pigs?”
Denver must have felt the change in her demeanor. He put Megan down on the ground. “Wee ones. Kids.”
“Whose?”
“Ours.” Denver’s eyes narrowed. “Is that so bad, Megan?”
Megan turned away, her eyes suddenly moist.
“Whoa. How did we get here?” Denver asked. He touched her shoulder. “What’s wrong?”
�
�Kids, Denver? Kids?” she said softly. “It’s a big step.”
“I didn’t mean to upset you.” When Megan didn’t answer, Denver said, “Let’s forget I mentioned it. It was just a fantasy. A vision.”
He marched on, toward the woods. But there was an iron in his voice that wasn’t lost on Megan.
Megan felt badly about snapping at him, but they never really discussed marriage much less a family. “Denver…”
He stopped walking. “What?”
What? Megan wasn’t sure. Once upon a time, she’d envisioned a home with her late husband Mick. A few kids. Sadie. Maybe a cat or two. A secure job in a law firm. Mick as a career soldier, or perhaps retiring to open a business of his own. She never in a bazillion years saw herself on a farm back in her hometown of Winsome, with two dozen animals and a Scottish vet as a boyfriend. Megan considered herself a rational person, and she knew she was being unfair. Irrational even. Even if Denver’s vision included their children, he had a right to that expectation. They’d been together more than two years.
And although Megan was reluctant to admit it in case fate snatched it away—she was happy. No, more than happy. At times, she felt true joy in her life. But with children inevitably came worry and heartache and even loss. Parenting, loving someone that much, demanded courage and faith, and since Mick’s death, Megan was afraid—terrified, really—that she was low on both. Deep down, she was afraid suffering that kind of loss again would break her.
Denver’s expectant look passed, and he turned to walk away, this time back toward the farm. “Wait,” Megan said.
He stopped.
“I love you,” Megan said.
“But?”