by Jen Talty
“I don’t like that,” Kicker said. “My only goal is to lighten the tension on this place before people start accusing each other and become suspicious of their co-workers.”
“I’m already suspicious,” Kenzie said.
“People are also talking about now we lost another sale to Thatcher,” Kicker leaned against her desk, arms folded over his chest. “I’m afraid the rumor mill is going to hurt us where it counts.”
“We’ll recover,” she said. “Our horses are doing well this year, race wise, so as long as nothing else happens, we should be fine.”
“But something else could happen,” Kicker said.
She closed her laptop and stuffed her it in her backpack, along with the morning's paperwork.
Kicker had moved to the barn opening, then paused and looked back. “Can I ask you a question?”
“Sure,” she said.
“If Jake’s not coming back to the farm to run it, what’s going to happen when Mr. Prichard…I hate to even think about it, much less voice it. He’s been so good to me and my family over the years.”
She flung her backpack over her shoulder, and snagged her portable filing case as she took a few tentative steps toward the barn door, where Kicker stood. “The farm will stay the same. Only, I’m going to need you to step into COO. I know you didn’t want it before—”
“I wasn’t ready,” he said. “I am now, if that is what Mr. Prichard wants. I’d do just about anything for that man.” He took the case from her hands and followed her to her Jeep. “He helped me when my father died and when my mom had her stroke. I’m not sure I can ever repay him.”
“He doesn’t want you to.” She slid behind the steering wheel, pulling the backpack off her shoulder. She was about to set it down on the passenger seat when she heard the tick tick of a rattle, only it vibrated continuously. “What the hell?” She looked over and coiled in the seat next to her was a large rattle snake, his tail wagging high in the air and his head in the center of the large coil. She froze, unable to tear her eyes away from the slippery reptile staring at her, waiting to strike. Her breath hitched and her pulse shot up so fast it made her dizzy.
“Move slowly,” Kicker said. “Leave the door open and just step away.” But before she had the chance, the reptile lunged forward, striking her backpack. She dropped and ran from the vehicle. In all her years on the farm, she had never once seen a rattlesnake. While there was a sighting at least once a year in the area, they were rare. Most people thought rattlesnakes were non-existent in the state of New York. They weren’t, just not something anyone thought about. “Do we need to call anyone?”
“I’ll take care of it,” Kicker said. “You can take my truck. Keys are in the ignition.”
“Thanks.” When she rounded the corner, she once again heard the tick tick of a rattle, only this time it echoed, like one of those songs you sing where one group is a few words behind. She paused mid-step, searching the ground. Her heart beat so fast it was in tune with the rattlesnake. “Kicker?”
“What is it?”
“There are more,” she whispered, as she saw another snake coiled under a bush near the barn, staring at her. His tongue reeling in and out as if to say the snake was coming to get her. And there were more snakes, all coiled and ready to strike at any moment. Retracing her steps, she pulled out her phone with a trembling hand. “Hey Siri, call Jake Prichard mobile.” She could hear Kicker talking with someone about snakes in the background. She shivered. One thing she always liked about living in New York. Not many animals could kill you.
“Miss me already?” Jake’s husky voice soothed her nerves.
“Sort of,” she said. “Ever see a rattle snake on the farm before?”
“No, but I’ve seen a few on the islands in Lake George. Why?”
“There was one in my Jeep and I just saw at least three others in a bush near the west side of the barn.” She heard tires squeal over the phone. “Am I being paranoid to think someone put them there?”
“No,” Jake said. “Where’s Kicker?”
“Right here with me. He called someone to remove them or whatever.”
“Stay close to him. I’ll be there in less than five minutes.”
“I really hate snakes,” she whispered as she tapped her phone, Kicker now standing next to her in the open area.
“I’m glad you saw that bugger before setting your backpack down.”
She rubbed her stomach. Her nerves had set the baby off kicking, but still, she couldn’t feel it on the outside. “How does a snake get on the passenger seat of a car?”
“I have no idea,” Kicker said. “But I’ve seen garter snakes in some pretty strange places. Once, I saw one curled up in the back of an outhouse.”
“I appreciate you trying to make me feel better, but it’s really not working.” Off in the distance, she could hear the roar of Jake’s truck as it came into sight, barreling down the dirt road, a Trooper car not too far behind. She focused on the big red pick-up, hoping it would calm her racing heart, and the baby. It felt like it was ready to punch its way out. Now she understood why pregnant women constantly rubbed their stomachs.
Jake rolled the truck to a stop only a few feet from where she stood. When he stepped out, the sight of his uniform caught her off guard. He could be an intimidating man, but decked out in his Trooper uniform, he commanded his surroundings. He stood in front of her, cupping her face. “You okay?”
“Not really,” she admitted.
He tipped her head, pressing his warm lips on her forehead.
“Where are the snakes?” the other State Trooper asked. She recognized him as Frank Harmon.
“There.” She pointed to the bushes. “And in the front seat of my Jeep.”
Frank walked slowly toward the barn. “Shit,” he said. “I see at least five.”
She held her belly tight. “I think our child will hate rattles.”
Jake stepped away from her. “Where are you going?” she asked.
“I want to take a look in your car.”
“No.” She grabbed his hand. “It’s not safe.”
“I’ll be all right.”
“He actually got bit by one a few years ago,” Frank said. “Wailed like dying cow.”
“What do you know about dying cows?” Jake furrowed his brow. “Much less what it’s like to get nailed in the calf by a one of those nasty critters. I spent two days in the hospital, thank you very much.”
“All the more reason why you don’t need to go see it.” Kenzie swallowed as she remembered the beady little eyes and the snakes long, looping tongue.
“Don't worry.” Jake squeezed her hand, then he and Frank made their way toward the Jeep, both with a hand on the butt of their gun.
The baby flipped and flopped inside her as Jake peered into the Jeep. Kenzie held her breath.
“That thing has to be four feet long,” Jake said.
“Nastier than the one that go you.”
“You can say that again.”
Kenzie let her breath out. “Can we please step away from the snake?”
“Yes, dear,” Jake said. “Kicker, did you see anyone when you entered the barn this morning?”
“Saw half a dozen seasonal farm hands making their way toward the main house for breakfast along with a couple trainers taking horses to the pen, Overton being one of them.”
“What was he doing?” Jake asked.
“I don’t know exactly, but suspect training or looking after the new breeds.”
“Frank,” Jake said. “Mind questioning a few people?”
“Be my pleasure.”
“Thanks. I’ve got to get going.” He took her hand. “Why don’t you go work at the main house with Dad. I know he’d like the company. He’s nervous about the surgery.”
“Sounds like a plan.” At least she knew she’d be under the watchful eye of Jeanie, the ex-military nurse who didn’t say much.
“Sorry to bother you,” Jake said. The woman holding
the door open just enough to show part of her face appeared to be in her mid-fifties. “Is Doctor Harvey Dickerson available?”
“And you are?”
“I called earlier,” Jake said. “He said he’d meet with me. My name is Jake Prichard.”
“Oh,” she said. “He did mention that.” She held the door fully open. “Sorry to have been so rude, but your uniform threw me and all I could think about was what would a State Trooper want with a man with a foot and half in the grave.”
“This isn’t official. I’m actually off duty.” He followed her down a long hallway. The Dickerson home was in was situated on the east side of the lake, about five miles up the road. The house was meticulous, but had that nursing home smell.
“My name is Neda. I’m his day nurse.”
The last ten years of Jake’s life all of a sudden felt empty. As if everything he’d ever accomplished meant nothing.
“He’s in bad shape. Ticker isn’t good anymore and he won’t have open heart.”
“I won’t be long,” Jake said. He stood behind her at the entrance into the family room, which had the most beautiful view of the lake. The house sat up high on the hill side. A long windy path leading to a steep stair case that headed to the water front and a dock. No boat.
“Harv,” the nurse said. “Mr. Prichard is here to see you.” She stepped aside and he saw an elderly man sitting in a recliner, an IV drip flowing into his arm, oxygen tubes stuck in his oversized nose. His face looked more like a road map than an old man’s face with wrinkles.
“Thanks for meeting with me,” Jake said.
“Have a seat, boy.” Harvey waived to a chair across from him. “I delivered you. As I recall, it was a difficult birth.”
“I’ve heard the story.”
“I didn’t know you were a cop. Figured you’d work on that farm.”
“I chose a different career path,” Jake said. “I mentioned wanting to talk to you about—”
“Not sure I want to talk with you now,” Harvey said. “A lot of shit went down that day.”
“I’m not here in that capacity,” Jake said. “This is personal.”
“But you’re still a cop and you’re asking me to confess to something that could taint my long-standing career, my good name, and get me in trouble.”
“No offense,” Jake said. “But at this point, I don’t think anyone is going to bother with what you did thirty years ago, especially when you won’t live to see the inside of a court room.”
“Fair enough.” Harvey nodded. “Not sure where to start.”
“Let’s start with who was in the house that day and who actually took the baby.”
“It was me, my nurse, your mother, and Richard Lattimore.”
“Nurse’s name?”
“Molly Brooks, but she won’t talk with you.”
“Why not?” Jake asked.
“Because she’s not dying and won’t incriminate herself by talking about staging the death.”
Perspiration beaded at Jake’s hair line. His stomach churned like his first hang-over where the feeling of being sick lingered for hours. “What do you mean ‘staging the death?’”
“The stillbirth. The one that everyone thought your mother had. I had to make it look real.”
“Make it look real? How” Jake fisted his hand.
“Your mother lost a lot of blood, so we took her…and a dead baby…to the hospital.”
“What?” Jake blinked a few times. “What dead baby? I thought my mother’s child survived?” Either this man was delusional, or lying, or his father was one or the other.
“That boy did survive. Even if your mother didn’t lose a lot of blood, the baby was eight months along and there had to be a record of the death and your mother needed medical care. I got lucky with the timing of things.”
Jake pinched the bridge of his nose. “My father didn’t tell me any of this.”
“He didn’t know.”
“How is that possible?” Jake twisted his neck, while both hands were fisted tight, ready to strike something. Anything.
“Because he wasn’t there,” Harvey said. The man’s wrinkled forehead eased over his eyes, making them barely noticeable, but what was there, showed no emotion. No remorse. “I didn’t tell him how I was going to make it a stillbirth and he didn’t ask. When he got to the hospital, we’d already taken care of the body and everyone believed the baby your mother delivered had died.”
“Are you telling me you swapped a live baby for a dead one?” Jake gave his temples a quick rub. “How did you get a dead baby?”
“I’m a doctor who treats a lot of pregnant women. Some who want to be pregnant, others that don't,” Harvey said. “I had a patient who was seventeen. Didn’t want anyone to know she was pregnant. Didn’t want to have the baby, but she was too far along for an abortion.”
Jake closed his eyes. “You didn’t give her a late abortion, did you?”
“God no. I’m a lot of things, but I’m not a murderer. I set the young girl up in a private school, paid for by someone who desperately wanted a baby, but when she came to me for her eight-month check-up, the baby had already died. Rare, but the umbilical cord had strangled it,” Harvey said. “I helped a lot of people who couldn’t have babies and didn’t want to go through all the red tape to adopt. Lattimore and I worked this together. We placed a lot of babies.”
“I’m confused. How did you cover up this young girl’s stillbirth? Didn’t she need medical treatment? Wasn’t there a record of a of the death?”
“The family that wanted her baby paid to take care of all of that and I made sure the young girl got the care she needed. Your mother’s case was different.”
“This is the craziest thing I have ever heard.”
“I’ve seen crazier,” Harvey said.
Jake had come here thinking he could ask a few questions and walk away, but hearing the horrors coming out of this man’s mouth. The lives he manipulated, including Jake’s father, couldn’t go unnoticed anymore. “Let’s get back to the day my mother gave birth.”
“It went much quicker and easier than yours. Once the baby was born, my nurse took it away.”
“How did my mother come to believe she had a stillbirth?”
“The baby didn’t cry at first, so it was easy to say the baby died. Then your mother demanded to see it, so we—”
“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me?” Jake worried he might hit the man.
“I didn’t let her hold it.”
“That’s supposed to make me feel better?”
“I suppose not.” The old man had the nerve to shrug.
“And my father never knew you’d brought in a…” he couldn’t even say it. He wanted to put his fist to the man’s nose.
“The less your father knew, the better it was all around.”
“This is sick. How the hell did you cover all this up?”
“It wasn’t hard,” he said. “The autopsy matched what I said happened. The baby was near the same gestational age. I know everyone at the hospital.”
Jake swallowed as he shifted his gaze from the old man to the sun beating down on the lake. A slight ripple raced across the water as the breeze blew in from the west. Short jabs of pain pinched through his temples. “Why even tell my father the baby lived?”
“Because instead of selling the baby, he paid the family who took him a good chunk of money.”
“Unfucking believable,” Jake muttered. “I need the name of the family took the baby.”
“I don’t remember.”
“Right,” Jake muttered. “I can force you to tell me.”
“Good luck trying,” the doctor said. “That boy and his family don’t need their lives disrupted.”
“Next time you see me will be for a warrant for that information,” Jake said. “I’ll see myself out.” He stood, his body swaying slightly. He’d heard and seen a lot of crazy shit in his days as a Trooper, but this was the worst.
“It wa
sn’t like we stole babies,” Harvey said. “We found unwanted children a fine home and it wasn’t like we were doing this daily. Maybe ten over the course of twenty years.”
“I’m going to get your records, and Lattimore’s, subpoenaed. I sincerely hope you get to see the inside of a jail cell.”
Neda met him at the front door.
“You work for a monster,” he said, then hightailed it to his truck. His skin itched like he’d been rolling around in the mud and it had begun to dry. The need to take a shower was so strong he was tempted to call in sick and bury himself in Kenzie’s arms, but that meant going back to the farm and seeing his father, and he didn’t think he could be nice right now. He did believe his father didn’t know what they’d done until after it was too late, but the fact he had allowed his wife to believe she had a stillbirth was unforgiveable.
12
Jake stood on the front deck of Stacey’s house, overlooking the lake. All of his co-workers and their spouses were inside. Their voices echoed in the night air. The moon danced across the still water. He wasn’t sure what was more uncomfortable. The humid evening air that clung to his skin or all the personal questions everyone flung him about himself, his father, Kenzie. They were polite. Nothing too outrageous, but still, he wasn’t used to it. The worst part had been when their questions were done, he wasn't sure what he should ask, if anything.
“Need a fresh one?” Frank asked as he stepped from the kitchen to the deck, holding a beer.
Jake downed the last swallow of the bottle he held in his hand, before setting the empty on the tray and taking the cold one. “Thanks.” He kept his focus on the water, wishing he were twenty feet under where it was quiet and the only communication he had with people was a thumbs up or down. There had to be twenty people inside. He knew just about everyone, but he realized how right Kenzie had been. His life had been lonely. He hadn’t made a deep connection with any of these people, didn’t know how to talk outside of work, yet he trusted his life to them.
“How’s your father doing?”
“Damage wasn't as bad as they thought and the prognosis is better.”