Till the Cows Come Home (20 page)

Chapter Twenty-Seven

I stormed out of my office, but halted once I’d shut the door. I had no idea who had shot Howie, and nowhere to start looking. My brain was paralyzed, and I walked stiffly back to the parlor. I automatically avoided the feed room.

Missy and Zach both noticed my arrival, but neither said anything. I fit myself back into the routine and tried to work on auto-pilot. My fingers shook, but eventually I got into the rhythm of putting on milkers and taking them off.

If only I had called the police instead of storming off after Hubert, Howie would be alive. I would’ve been home to protect him.

And I might be dead, too.

A truck came speeding up the lane, narrowly avoiding the law enforcement vehicles, sending dust flying. Jethro’s Dually. I sighed, knowing what was coming, but went outside anyway.

Jethro jumped out of the truck and smashed me with a hug. Belle came scurrying right behind.

“You will come stay with us, won’t you?” she said tearfully.

I freed my face from Jethro’s shoulder. “No, I won’t.”

“Then I’ll stay here.”

“No, you won’t.”

“But—”

“Look, I appreciate the offer. Really. But I need to be here. You have two sick kids to take care of. I’ll be okay.”

Jethro looked around at the vehicles and bustle. “But, Stella, what
happened?”
His voice broke.

“I left Howie alone and someone killed him.”

His head snapped toward me. “It’s
not
your fault. You were taking care of business. Nasty business caused by
our
family.”

“Marianne didn’t kill Howie, Jethro.” At least I didn’t think so.

“But still.…”

Belle put her hand on Jethro’s arm. “Jethro, stop.”

He shoved his hands in his pockets and stared angrily toward the back field.

Belle tore her gaze from his stony face and raised a hand toward me. “You’ll call if you need us?”

“You’re on my speed dial.”

Without another word, Jethro stomped to his truck, where he opened the back door and gently helped Ma step down. I hadn’t seen her through the high window.

She walked over to me and put her hands on my face. “You’re going to be all right, Stella.”

“I hope so, Ma.”

“There may be a point when you feel your soul breaking. But you’ll get through it. Just trust and the strength will come.”

“Thanks, Ma.”

“I’ll be praying.”

She’d be praying. Having Ma pray for you was like having the Pope as your cousin, so I felt a little more confident about toughing out the next difficult days.

Ma looked steadily into my eyes. “And I’m so sorry about…about Jude’s
wife
.” Without waiting for a reply, she turned and went back to the truck, where Jethro lifted her in. They left without the usual parting waves.

Zach, Missy, and I were close to done with the milking stage when Abe drove in the lane. His headlights shined in the parlor windows, making me squint. He came right in.

“Where have you been?” I asked.

“The hospital. I wanted to see what I could find out.”

“And?”

“It was…pretty straightforward. A gunshot directly to the stomach. He never really had a chance, even if you would’ve found him right after it happened.”

I let out a huge breath. I’d been kicking myself for getting to Howie too late.

“The doctor said he wouldn’t have suffered much,” Abe said. “He most likely went into shock immediately after he was shot.”

“Bullshit.”

“Stella!”

“You think you could get a fatal shot to the stomach and not suffer? Save me the sentimental doctor speeches.”

Abe lifted his hands and let them drop. “Whatever. I thought you’d want to know.” He gave Missy a look, and that was enough to send me over the edge.

“Okay, everybody out.”

Missy blinked. “What?”

“Thanks for coming to help, but now I need to be alone.”

“You’re not alone,” Abe said dryly, gesturing toward the drive.

“Cops aren’t company,” I said.

“Not just cops.” He tilted his head and I looked out the window. Nick was sitting on the side yard brushing Queenie.

I looked at Abe steadily, my emotions so tumbled I couldn’t untangle them just then.

Without another word he walked out of the barn, got back into his car and drove away. I stood still, waiting, until Missy flicked a few errant pieces of hay off her pants and left. Zach didn’t even bother to glance my way as he followed.

I took up where we’d left off, and soon finished up the milking. I unclipped the herd, then watched them blankly as they made their way out of the parlor. They seemed a bit bewildered by the darkness outside, but that didn’t keep them from heading there.

I left the radio on Temple’s station, wanting the soothing tones of classical music, and slowly began the clean-up process. I worked meticulously, knowing that as soon as I finished I’d have time to think. I was spreading lime on the walkways when Willard came in.

“Little later than usual, huh?” He leaned against the doorjamb, looking as tired as I felt.

“It’s keeping me busy.”

“Work’s a good antidote to worry.”

I stopped sweeping. “Then I guess you haven’t been thinking about your son at all, huh?”

“Right.” He pushed himself off the door. “You going to be okay here tonight? You have people to call?”

“I’ll survive. And I’ve got plenty of back-up should I need it.”

“You feel safe? I can send someone to watch the place for tonight.”

I thought about that. “I think I’ll be okay. They…they came after Howie when I was gone. They could’ve waited around till I got back.”

He nodded. “All right, then. I’m off, and I’m taking my menagerie with me. Call if you need to.”

I watched as the officers and whoever they all were packed themselves and their equipment into their various vehicles. As they left, I was struck by how many times I’d stood in that exact place during the last few days. It seemed people were always leaving my farm.

When I turned around, I realized Nick was still there. He sat on the side steps of the house, Queenie at his feet. I went and sat beside him for several minutes until he said something I didn’t hear.

“What?” I asked.

“What can I do?”

“Nothing, Nick. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“You sure?”

“Please.”

He gave me a look that was both tender and exasperated. “Okay. I’ll check in sometime tomorrow.” He started to say something else, then stopped.

“What?”

“Just a second.” He jogged to his truck, messed around inside for a minute, then came back. He held out a piece of paper. “Here. It’s a number where you can reach me if you need to.”

I looked at it. “You mean I hired you and never bothered to get your number?”

He shrugged.

I took the paper. “Cell phone?”

A look of embarrassment flitted across his face.

“It’s okay,” I said. “People have them.”

“You sure I can’t stay?”

“I’m sure.”

He brushed his fingers over my hair, got into his Ranger, and drove away.

So I was alone. Alone, confused, and determined.

“It’s you and me, girl,” I said to Queenie. “What do we do now?”

I looked around at the farm, silent and stately in the glow of the dusk-to-dawn light. The heifer barn was gone, but the cows were safe and Queenie was beside me.

And Howie was dead.

I started sinking into a black hole when I remembered what Howie had said only that morning.

“I’m just doing a little research.”

Research? What would he be studying? More to the point, could what he was doing have gotten him killed?

My God, he’d tried different times to tell me about something and had been interrupted every time. I felt a surge of panic, and pushed it down. Could I have saved Howie if only I’d listened? Would whoever it was be coming after me?

“C’mon, Queenie,” I said, my voice shaking. “We’re going where no one has gone before—at least since I was six.”

We went over to the garage. I stood at the bottom of Howie’s stairs and looked up at the darkened doorway. My throat tightened. Every night Howie had turned on that damned light. Well, tonight, his light was out. Tears pushed at the back of my eyes at the thought of that gentle man lying broken on the feed room floor. I breathed forcefully through my nose, straightened my shoulders, and walked up the steps, feeling like I was breaking and entering. I was a bit nervous that Willard might show up and ask what I was up to, but I had every right to be there. I did own it, after all.

The door was unlocked and swung open easily when I turned the knob. I flipped on the outside light and felt better once that nightly ritual was in place. Illuminating the inside was different, and I hesitated before hitting the switch.

The lights came up on a surprisingly clean and tidy apartment. The police had been searching, but had either been neat-niks or didn’t have much to mess up. A few spots of fingerprint dust, but other than that, nothing looked out of place. Not that I would’ve known.

Queenie trotted in and started sniffing around, but I stood in the doorway, struck by how small the apartment actually was. When I was up there as a child to bring Howie a fresh apple pie my mother had baked, the rooms had seemed much bigger.

Now, the bachelor pad seemed like just that—something a college kid should have before he can afford a real place. I stepped into a combined living room/dining room that had a small kitchen off the end. I walked down and looked in there, shocked at the lack of space. Maybe two feet of counter, one of those stoves that seems too small to cook anything, and a skinny, short refrigerator. Sitting on a small table jammed against the wall was a small microwave. Big enough for a plate of food and nothing more.

I returned to the main area and crossed to the only other door. This led to his bedroom, which was no bigger than it needed to be. A bed, a dresser, and a closet, with a small bathroom just outside the door. Shower, no bath.

Back in the living room, I stood and tried to get a feel for Howie. I quickly stopped myself, knowing the tears that had threatened minutes before were still there, waiting to spring forth. I looked around.

Behind me was a small couch, the only sitting space in the room, and in front of me was a small color TV and VCR. I felt a pang as I thought about the movies Howie had liked to watch. Old movies and action/adventure. When I was a teen-ager,
Terminator
had been a truly bonding experience.

Stashed in the corner of the living room were a battered desk and folding chair. On top of the desk was the only thing of much value I’d found in the entire apartment—and a real surprise. Sitting there like a trophy was a blue iMac. What was the correct name? Blueberry? I dropped into the folding chair, shocked. I didn’t know Howie
used
computers, let alone
owned
one. And a
blue
one? Good grief.

I booted up the computer and watched as the smiling Mac icon came on the screen. The computer beeped and groaned, and finally the desktop appeared. I looked at the folders that came up, and they all seemed to be for software he had installed.

I clicked on the hard drive icon and studied the folders. Mostly software, systems folders, and other computer-oriented files. There were a couple of extras—solitaire and Myst. And one personal folder. It simply said, “My stuff.” I opened it. The folder was sparse. Just a list of material possessions Howie owned. Which weren’t numerous. I felt a pain in my chest, wondering how much Howie had sacrificed for me in the past fifteen years.

I suddenly couldn’t be in Howie’s apartment another minute.

“C’mon, girl,” I said, and Queenie followed me obediently out the door.

When I got to the bottom of the stairs, I was at a loss. I didn’t want to go into my house, but I couldn’t just stand there all night, either. I looked at the barn.

“I’m not going in there,” I said. Queenie looked up at me. “I’m not.”

But I did.

The milking parlor was silent and dark when we walked in. I grabbed Queenie by the collar so she wouldn’t go running into the off-limits feed room. We stood outside the tape and surveyed the mess of blood, straw, and grain that was smeared on the floor and walls. My stomach was trying to find its way out of my body, so I tugged Queenie’s collar and walked quickly away before I decided to lie down on the floor and not get up.

In the office, I shut the door. Queenie lay down by the desk and put her nose on her paws. I put my hands over my face, then rubbed my forehead, eyes, and cheeks to get my blood moving. When I opened my eyes, I was staring at the aerial photo. Something looked weird. I cocked my head first to the left, then to the right. The photo was crooked, that was all.

I tilted the photo to the right to straighten it, but as soon as I let go, it tilted back to the left. I tried it again, but it seemed to be stuck on leaning. I grabbed the sides of the frame and pulled it off the wall to see if the hanging wire had gotten caught somehow. But that wasn’t the problem at all. There was a manila envelope taped to the back of the picture.

I set the photo on the ground, tore the envelope off the backing, put it carefully on the desk, then hung the picture back up on the wall. It hung straight.

I sat and squinted at the envelope.

“What is this, Queenie?”

She looked at me without raising her head and made a groaning sound.

There was no writing on the outside of the envelope, and it wasn’t sealed. It was just closed with the metal clasp. I bent the tabs up and three things fell out. A green spiral notebook and two stapled stacks of printed sheets. I started with one of those.

It was information about where our milk was sent—a list of all the markets which bought product from co-op members. I could see from the small printing at the top of the page that Howie had downloaded it from the co-op’s web site. Buyers ranged from small to large, and hailed from places practically next door and places a thousand miles away. According to the information, our milk had gone to just about every one of the markets in all the years we’d been producing. Until this year. I looked through the entire stack, but could find nothing at all for where our milk had been going for the past twelve months. What the hell?