Carbs & Cadavers (15 page)

The Livingstones gave an imperceptible nod.

“I’ll take you to see your daughter now,” the doctor added softly, steering the stunned parents to their only child’s room in the intensive care unit.

James and Lucy stared after them, trying to absorb all of the medical details that they had both overheard.

“This sounds pretty bad,” James said, feeling a twisting inside his stomach as he thought about Whitney’s blood-encrusted hair and chilled limbs.

“She’s a strong-willed young woman.” Lucy sounded as though she were talking more to herself than to James. “If anyone can pull out of this, she can.”

“But who . . . who could hit her like that and then just drive away?” James asked, his voice rising in anger.

Lucy stared off down the hall. “It’s
got
to have something to do with Brinkley’s murder. If Whitney did lie to us about not having anyone over on Labor Day, then that person must see her as a threat. Someone stole that Coumadin, James, and that someone may have tried to kill Whitney tonight. I wish she would have told me the truth.” She looked at him with frightened eyes. “If the driver
was
gunning for Whitney, that was no warning tap they gave her. That car ran her down! You heard the doctor. She’s in serious condition as it is—lucky to be alive.” Lucy looked around wildly. “Do you think she’s even safe here?”

James longed to put his arm around Lucy’s shoulders, to comfort her and show her how grateful he was for her presence. As he hesitated, the sound of men’s voices caused him to turn away from her. “Looks like they sent the cavalry.” James jerked his head in the direction of the entrance doors.

Keith Donovan and Glenn Truett were marching double time in their direction.

“Should have known you had your nose in this mess, Lucy Hanover,” Keith began, running a freckled hand through his red hair.

James didn’t care for the tone with which Keith was addressing Lucy. He stepped forward an inch so that his shoulder blocked part of Lucy’s body and before she could speak he said, “Actually, it’s
my
mess.”

Keith blinked at James in surprise. His stunned expression quickly transformed into a hostile one, however. “Oh, right. Man, for a librarian, you sure keep late hours.” Behind Keith, Glenn smirked.

“Is there something
relevant
that you’d like to ask me?” James stood firm.

Keith stared hard at James, torn between continuing his bullying act and needing information quickly. Flipping a page open in a small spiral notebook, he uncapped a pen and gestured toward a group of chairs. “I’d like to hear your version of tonight’s events,
Professor
.”

James ignored the deputy’s churlishness. He recounted the scene in which he avoided the deer and how the wink of metal from Whitney’s umbrella alerted him to her presence. He gave as much detail as possible, but was unable to provide any clues regarding the actual hit and run.

“So you saw no other cars in front of you. Just the deer?” Though Keith was obviously seeking clarification, he asked his question in such an accusing tone that James felt guilt over not seeing Whitney’s attacker.

“Sorry, no.”

Glenn had been silent during the interview, watching James intently. Finally, he let loose a sigh and said, “Hey, man. At least you found the girl. She probably owes you her life.”

“
If
she’s not brain-damaged.” Keith abruptly stood. “I’m gonna talk to her folks right quick. Then I’d like you to lead me back to the exact spot where you found her. Can you do that?”

James balled his fists at Keith’s patronizing tone. “Of course I can. I’d do anything in my power to find out who did this.” He watched the deputy swagger down the hall, his hand caressing his gun holster.

“Don’t mind him,” Glenn whispered to James so that Lucy couldn’t hear. “He always acts like a big shot whenever there are ladies present. He thinks they’re all in love with him, ’cluding Lucy.”

When Keith returned, Beau Livingstone accompanied him. Beau thanked James again and promised to call with any updates on Whitney’s condition.

“And don’t
you
worry about anything except your daughter,” Lucy said, grasping the harried father’s arm. “I’m going to talk to
my friend Gillian and we’ll find some way to help out your family with ...” she gestured around the room. “Just take care of yourselves.”

James walked out into the parking deck, feeling like it was days, not hours, since he had pulled up in front of the emergency room doors. The rain had ceased, but the air was bitingly cold and a sharp wind wrapped around his bare neck and sent chills down his arms.

“I’ll follow you!” Lucy called to James and he waved with an appreciative smile, relieved that she had decided to come along.

Driving back toward the Stony Creek Bridge, James began to feel the effects of lack of sleep. His head felt like a bowling ball and he was positive that his neck couldn’t possibly support its weight for another second. Desperate to be more alert, he rolled down his window and let the crisp air slap his face into wakefulness. He longed for another hazelnut coffee to give him the strength to make it through his next face-off with Donovan.

Keith pulled in behind James and got out of his patrol car with a flashlight the size of a baseball bat.

“
Someone’s
compensating,” Lucy mumbled and James hid a laugh behind his hand.

“Say something, Professor?” Keith demanded forcefully.

“At least it’s not raining,” James replied quickly, thinking that at least “compensating” and “raining” sounded a little alike. Lucy grinned mischievously.

“Whitney was down here.” James retraced his steps down toward the gulley. Keith shone the powerful beam of his flashlight around the area.

“No bike,” James said to himself.

“Why should there be?” Keith looked at him carefully.

“Mrs. Livingstone said that Whitney rode to town on her bike. I told her that I hadn’t seen a bike when I found her daughter.”

While Keith searched the nearby underbrush, James and Lucy trudged back up the slick hill. After a few moments, Keith joined them by the side of the road.

“Those your tire tracks?” he pointed the beam of light at the erratic skid marks on the pavement.

“Yes. The deer was standing in the middle of the road about ten yards from this spot.” James moved forward, pointing. “It just stood there. Never moved.”

“Guess you city folk aren’t used to wildlife.” Keith spat his gum onto the road. “That’s why it pays to drive with caution at night.”

“I wasn’t speeding. That deer came out of nowhere!” James retorted. His energy was falling too low to come up with a more demonstrative answer.

“Well, with your tracks crisscrossing the road from one side to the other, I doubt we’ll find anyone else’s tire tracks here. Got anything, Glenn?”

Glenn had been sweeping the road and both shoulders with his flashlight, methodically covering the area where Whitney had most likely been hit.

“We’ll have to come back when it’s light!” Glenn yelled. “I don’t see anything here, Donovan.”

James glanced at his watch. It was almost five in the morning. He glanced at Lucy. Her shoulders were drooping with weariness and she rubbed vigorously at her tired eyes. It was time to call it a night.

“Guess I’ll head home, then,” James said more to Lucy than to Keith.

Keith smirked. “I suppose
you’ll
be calling in sick today, huh Lucy?”

Lucy stopped on the way to her car and pivoted to face Keith. “Damn right I am. I spent the last few hours helping folks in our community.” She lowered her voice so that only James could hear the rest of her sentence. “Too bad we can’t say the same thing about
you
, Keith Donovan.”

“What happened to
my breakfast?” Jackson Henry demanded, standing in the threshold between the hallway and James’s bedroom.

James opened half an eye and read the neon digits on his clock. It was 11:00 a.m. He groaned and covered his head with his pillow. This laborious maneuver was unsuccessful in blocking out his father’s complaining.

“I had to eat that God-awful cereal you bought for your big
diet
. That crap tastes like twigs and bark. Next time you’re gonna sleep this late, let me know and I’ll go outside and eat some pine mulch.” Jackson paused, waiting for a reaction. “What are you doin’ in bed anyhow? Don’t tell me you got fired from the easiest job in the world? ’Cause you ain’t sick. If you were, folks wouldn’t be calling over here and invitin’ you to breakfast. Don’t they know it’s almost lunchtime? Your friends on dope or somethin’?”

James pushed the pillow off of half of his face. “Who called, Pop?”

“I’m not tellin’.” Jackson sounded pleased at having something to hold over his son. “I think I might have erased that message from the answering machine, too. I can’t figure out all them buttons.” He tapped his forehead with his finger. “Not enough college degrees, I guess.”

James sat wearily up in bed. “Was it a woman named Lucy?”

Jackson pretended to think. “Nope. Why, that your girlfriend? That why you’re crawlin’ home at an hour when most decent folks are just wakin’ up?”

James threw back the covers and slipped his feet into a pair of tattered leather slippers. He stood and pulled on an equally ratty bathrobe and shivered, feeling goose bumps erupt along his arms and legs. He would need to make sure their oil tank was full for the coming winter. The experts were calling for record-breaking amounts of snow starting later in the month. James couldn’t believe it was November. He felt his new life in Quincy’s Gap had actually begun years ago instead of months.

After getting dressed in his chilly room, James turned up the heater on the way downstairs and then grabbed the phone. He called the Fitzgerald brothers to explain his absence.

“Glad you’re okay, Professor,” Francis said, obviously relieved. “Scott and I were wondering what had happened when you weren’t here this morning. I’ve got good news for you, though. The manager of Shenandoah Savings came over this morning with the
real
$3,000 check. We’ve got to figure out what to do with it!”

James perked up at the mention of the prize money. “Why don’t you and Scott make a list of suggestions? You two won the money, so you should help decide where it goes. I’ll be in after lunch and we’ll make some decisions then.”

“Right-O, Professor,” Francis answered cheerily.

Next, James pressed the play button on the answering machine and was informed that he had no new messages. His father
had
deleted it on purpose. James pressed *-6-9 and recognized Gillian’s voice at the other end.

“Oh, James!” she chirped. “Bennett called me first thing this morning about poor Whitney. He heard all kinds of things on his police scanner while he was reading in bed last night. Come on down to the salon. I’ve made you and Lucy a late breakfast. Your very
souls
must be hurt and completely drained of energy from all you went through. It’s the least I can do.” A cacophony of barking erupted in the background and Gillian excused herself and hurriedly rang off.

She had hung up before James could even thank her for the invitation. His stomach growled at the thought of breakfast. Looking around for his car keys, James spied a wet paintbrush sitting next to the kitchen sink. Puzzled, he picked it up and examined it. It was a small artist’s brush and appeared to be of high quality. James inspected the fine, soft bristles for traces of color but there were none. He was so intent on the mysterious brush that he didn’t hear his father creep up behind him. In the blink of an eye, Jackson snatched the brush from his hand, stuffed it in the front pocket of his overalls, and marched out the back door in the direction of the shed.

James followed close behind, but by the time he reached the shed door, the dead bolt was sliding into place. “We can’t go on like this, Pa! You’ve got to rejoin society at some point!” he shouted, but the only sound he heard in return was Jackson’s battery-operated television set being switched on. It was belting out the theme music to
Wheel of Fortune
as loud as its tiny speakers would allow
.

A buxom brunette wearing skintight pink pants and a low-cut black sweater was carrying a newly perfumed and beribboned Pomeranian out the front door of the Yuppie Puppy as James arrived.

“You’re a genius, Gillian! See you next week!” the customer called over her shoulder while receiving a series of doggie licks from her grateful pet. “Yes, yes, Sophia Loren. Mommy thinks you are
so
beautiful. Who’s beautiful? You are? Yes, yes! Give Mommy kisses.” James could barely squeeze past the affectionate duo to enter the toasty interior of Gillian’s grooming salon.

“James!” Gillian gushed, holding a hand over her heart. “I’ve got an herbal tea all ready for you. It’s got peppermint, eucalyptus, and licorice root—just the thing to calm your nerves and exorcise all of last night’s negative feelings from your consciousness.”

Lucy was already perched on a purple barstool back in the Yuppie Puppy’s kitchen area. While the storefront and grooming areas seemed rather clinical in their clean whites and chromes, the kitchen was an explosion of purple, yellow, and orange hues. James spied a handmade pottery platter containing an artistic display of bacon strips and what looked like poached eggs. A jar of Tabasco sauce and salt and pepper shakers sat next to the platter.

“Help yourself.” Lucy smiled and beckoned at the food. “These eggs are delicious.” She turned to Gillian. “I’m so sick of frying and scrambling eggs for breakfast. This is a nice treat. I thought you couldn’t cook!”

“I can cook. I just got out of the habit. That’s turkey bacon next to the eggs. Tastes like pig, though, so don’t worry.” She eyed the bacon. “Poor dear things,” Gillian added mournfully while pouring tea from a porcelain kettle into a mud-colored pottery mug decorated with pink cherry blossoms. The mug’s handle was so hot that James couldn’t hold onto it.

“It’s Japanese. They’re the world’s tea masters. The pottery is so thin that it retains the water’s heat better.” Gillian pointed at the scalding mug. “Now, Lucy, tell me more about these Pet Palaces. My next client doesn’t come in ’til two. I’ve got to declaw a cat and I so
hate
going against nature in that way. I’d like to have something else to think about during the appointment, especially if it’s a new business venture.”

Lucy slid Beau’s drawing across the marigold tabletop. Gillian examined it with keen interest. “This is really something!” Her eyes sparkled and she twirled a lock of hair ferociously around her finger. James thought Gillian’s hair was an entirely different shade than it had been on Halloween night and that it bore an uncanny resemblance in hue to the Tabasco sauce he had just splashed on his egg. “I could put these for sale on the Internet and make a killing. Do you know how many pet owners would treat their pets to something like this?”

“Beau uses indoor-outdoor carpeting. Do you see this?” Lucy pointed to a contraption inside the house. “That’s an automatic feeding and watering system. This is a place for a raised bed, fur-lined of course, and this is a toy bin that the animal can access by pressing on this lever with its paw. And look at this! There’s even a place for a framed photo of the pet’s family.”

“So it looks like the cat houses get scratching posts on their front porches and the dog houses get chew ties on strings. I love it!” Gillian suddenly frowned. “Still, these can’t be cheap to build, especially if Beau’s using vinyl siding and other all-weather materials. We’d have to charge a lot to have enough profit to split and cover shipping costs, marketing costs—”

“Whoa!” Lucy held out her hands. “I just thought you might like to talk things over with Beau. Maybe sell a few for him from here. They’d look great in your window.” Her tone grew more somber. “We’ve got to think of some way to help that poor family out.”

“We need to do more than sell a few houses for them.” Gillian’s expression turned rigid and determined. “They have
really
suffered. Like you told us a few days ago, Beau is already swamped with medical bills. Now they’re going to have a lot more where those came from. But we live in Quincy’s Gap, Shenandoah County, Virginia. This
whole
state is filled with good-hearted spirits. If we could bring them together somehow . . .”

“Like having a benefit or something?” James asked.

Gillian thumped him on the back. “Exactly! A Help Your Neighbor Day!” Her eyes shone with charitable fervor. “If we could get the local businesses to chip in some products to sell and if Dolly and Clint would cook some food, we could take in some money for the Livingstones.”

“We’d need a
huge
turnout to make enough to help them with the kind of bills they’re facing.” Lucy looked thoughtful. “And a
lot
of help.”

James piped up. “We should call Murphy Alistair. Maybe she’d like to take a break from murder headlines and use the media for good for once.”

“Stellar idea, James,” Lucy said. “You deal with the media and I’ll help Gillian solicit the businesses. What date should we shoot for?”

“This weekend!” Gillian declared. “I know that’s short notice, but if we wait any longer, people will forget. After all, one of their own has been injured and left for dead. People’s hearts are overflowing with good karma right now after reading about Whitney’s injuries in
The Star
and we need to take advantage of it. We can use the field right behind this strip mall. No one uses it and there’s plenty of parking out front.”

“I knew you’d be able to help.” Lucy beamed at her carrot-topped friend. “I’ll make some calls from work. I’d like to ask the Shillings if they’d let us borrow some of their ponies for rides. We need baked goods, too. I’ll see if Lindy can round up some parents, and we’ll get students and teachers to organize other concession stands. James, do you have time to see Murphy before you go in to work? We need her to start printing stories right away.”

James glanced at his watch. He had promised the twins that he’d be in after lunch, so technically, he had a few minutes in which he could visit the officious reporter. Luckily for him, he didn’t need to go far. Murphy Alistair was next door getting a manicure and practically slammed into James as she headed toward her car, flailing her hands about like a pair of startled bats.

“Professor Henry!” She gathered herself together and offered James a phony, professional smile. “I’ve been calling you all morning! Haven’t you received my messages?”

“I’ve been home until now, actually. I had a rather late night.”

“That’s
exactly
what I’d like to speak to you about. Can I follow you back to the library?”

James thought quickly. “I’ve had several calls from city reporters about last night, including
The Daily Progress
from Charlottesville and Richmond’s
Times-Dispatch
. I guess they see me as some kind of hero librarian,” he lied, watching as Murphy’s eyes grew round in alarm. “So far, I haven’t talked to anyone. I’ll give you the exclusive story on
one
condition.”

Murphy’s narrowed her eyes in suspicion. “What’s that?”