Till the Cows Come Home (23 page)

Chapter Thirty-Two

I called the police station. Willard wasn’t in.

“Well, where is he?” I demanded.

“I’m sorry, I can’t divulge that information, ma’am.”

“Is this Officer Meadows?”

“Uh, no ma’am, this is Officer Wolfe. Do you want Officer Meadows?”

“Hell, no. Can you reach Willard?”

“I can try, but he’s in the middle of something and can’t really be disturbed.”

“I’ve got to talk to him. It’s urgent.”

“Can you tell me?”

I thought about what I’d seen. “Someone’s stealing my milk.”

“Excuse me?”

“And I think it might have something to do with why people are getting sick. Can you tell him that?”

“Sure thing, ma’am. Um, what’s your name?”

I told him, then punched in Jethro and Belle’s number, getting the answering machine. Good grief. Didn’t they ever answer the phone anymore? I left a message telling them not to drink any more milk, and to tell everybody else. They’d probably think I was crazy.

I stared at the phone for a long minute. I felt totally useless, and hoped Willard would call back soon. What else could I do?

Pulling out the phone book, I quickly found Pam’s number and dialed. No answer, and no answering machine. Damn.

I called more of the Grangers. Jermaine. Jordan. The welding shop. Nobody was around. Where the hell were they?

I started to feel dizzy and realized I hadn’t eaten lunch, so I hung up the phone and gazed into my refrigerator. There was nothing the slightest bit appetizing—even the food from Rochelle—so I drank a glass of orange juice and let it go at that. I stared at the milk carton for a moment before dumping it all down the drain. I didn’t know if I’d ever look at milk the same way again.

I tried Pam’s number once more, and still got no response. I’d have to go find her. But first I’d get the Grangers on board. And the best place to do that, seeing as how nobody was answering their phone, would be at Ma’s.

I ran upstairs, jumped into my leathers, and jogged out to my Harley. I tried to ignore the fact that Howie’s apartment, where the outside light still shone, was right over my shoulder.

The rumbling of the low-rider’s pipes gave me an extra jolt of adrenaline, and I almost stalled the bike by letting out the clutch too quickly. Queenie yelped and trotted beside me to the end of the drive, then watched as I sped away.

As I rode, my brain was too free to wander to places I couldn’t control. Howie. Nick. My milk poisoning children. I tried to concentrate on the feeling of the bike beneath me, the sound of the wind rushing past my face, the smell of the outside. But it took more effort to forget than to remember.

Das Homestead loomed up on my left, and I didn’t have enough self-restraint to look away. There was an ugly, empty space between the Lexus and the chopper. No more Ranger. No more Nick.

I was about two miles from Ma’s when I saw a different truck in my rearview mirror. I didn’t think much about it until I was getting close to the part of the road that led into that nasty S curve. The truck wasn’t slowing down, and I wanted to make sure I had enough room to take the curves at the slower speed they demanded. About two hundred yards from the curves, I put out my left arm and waved it up and down, signifying I was going to be slowing. The truck drifted back and I breathed easier until I noticed it was the same kind of truck I’d seen at the processing plant. It was a black Dodge Ram.

Oh, hell.

I focused on the road and leaned right, into the first curve. I had straightened out and was starting to lean the opposite way into the second curve when I heard the truck speeding up behind me. I glanced over my shoulder for a split second and saw the bumper only ten feet from my fender. I squeezed the handle bar, trying to stay out of the gravel that lay on the edge of the road.

The truck sped up and started to drift toward me. I straightened out to avoid getting hit. I couldn’t brake, or the bike would completely slide out from under me. The truck came closer and when my wheels hit the gravel, I lost traction.

The bike fell on its side and started to slide, taking me with it. My left leg was trapped underneath six hundred pounds of moving steel, and my arm scraped on pavement and rocks. My pants ripped and I could feel the burning of stones and dirt tearing up my leg. Long grass whipped my face, lacerating my mouth and eyelids. My helmet whacked the ground, jarring my skull and neck. Finally, my body caught on something and the bike’s weight pulled the machine over my ankle and foot and down into the ditch.

I lifted my head to make sure I was in one piece. When I saw that I was, I fainted.

Chapter Thirty-Three

When I regained consciousness, it was almost dark.

My first thought was that my bike must be completely destroyed, but when I tried to get up to look, the pain was so immense I forgot everything else. I lay back down and closed my eyes until the stars in my head went away.

My second thought was amazement that no one had stopped to help me. When I got my bearings I realized no one had stopped because no one could see me. The bike had pulled me down the steep hill and I was completely out of sight of the road. My Harley had continued down another ten feet to the bottom of the ditch, and when I raised my head a few inches I could see it crumpled and scratched, lying on its side like a dead animal. The red eyes of my new timing cover were somehow still glowing, and a cold shiver overtook me as I tried to comprehend what had just happened.

I took stock of my body as well as I could. My left arm and leg were torn up, my clothes completely ripped off of them. Oil coated my chest and what I could see of my jeans, and its metallic flavor tingled on my lips. The tattoo on my arm now said something like “hine own self be tr,” with a lot of extra red and gravelly designs. Thankfully, my back had been spared by my leather vest, and my hands by my gloves. I moved each of my fingers, grateful none of them had been broken or ripped off.

I rotated my left ankle in a slow circle, and while this was very painful, it didn’t seem to be broken. A miracle. The rest of my leg also seemed to be free of breaks. Many miracles. Ma’s prayers must have been working.

I pushed myself into a sitting position, and when my head started to spin I put it in between my knees instead of lying down again. I had to get myself up and out of this ditch before I lost too much blood. There seemed to be a cut on my forehead that was dripping blood faster than I thought necessary.

Using my right leg and arm, with a little help from the left, I dragged myself up the hill to see where I was. There seemed to be something wrong with my ribs, because every time I put weight on my torso, pains shot through my chest.

I tried to stay out of sight of the road, not wanting to get hit by a car or make myself too visible, should the truck come back. This was probably irrelevant, because they could have come back during any of the hours I was unconscious and finished me off, but I wasn’t going to take any chances with what body I had left.

I got to the top of the hill and stuck my head up over the top. From what I could see, I was about half a mile from Ma’s house. Not very far if you’re healthy, but a freaking marathon in my condition. I laid my head on the ground and muttered a small prayer of my own.

Slowly, I got to my knees, and then to my feet, trying to ignore the throbbing in my left limbs, my ribs, and my head. I took about five steps in the direction of Ma’s house and fell onto my left knee, making me say many unladylike things. I dropped my head and blood ran into my eyes. I wiped it away and took deep breaths, trying to focus my energy.

It was getting darker by the minute, and I knew I either had to get myself noticed by a passing car, or make my way to Ma’s. I pushed myself to my feet, gritting my teeth and clenching my hands.

This time I made it about twenty feet before falling. I was either overcoming the pain, or doing so much damage to my nerves I couldn’t feel much anymore. I kept on with this rhythm, pushing myself to my feet, going as far as possible, and then falling and wiping the blood from my eyes, until I wasn’t thinking—just moving.

I’d spent so much time in the past years complaining about housing developments and increased traffic, I guessed it was God’s joke that no traffic passed to rescue me. If I hadn’t been in such bad shape, I would have laughed.

About twenty minutes into my trek, when I started to see Ma’s house in detail, I saw headlights coming toward me. They looked like car lights, as opposed to truck ones, so I stood straight and tried to wave my arms. The next thing I knew, I was waking up again, and it was almost dark. So much for an SOS.

I didn’t know if I could go any further, but when I started to think about poisoned milk, and Howie, I got enough adrenaline pumping to get myself up and moving again. I kept Zach and all the other kids I needed to save up front in my mind as a sort of carrot, and by the time I thought I couldn’t go another step, I was falling painfully onto Ma’s front steps.

I lay there for a few minutes, amazed I had made it so far, and furious I had somehow been so stupid I hadn’t seen the truck coming. I did my best to pound on the steps, hoping to rouse someone from supper or whatever they were doing, but could barely lift my fist to do it. Where was that stupid Missy when I finally needed her?

I grabbed at the railing and made my way up the steps one at a time, pausing to rest once I got over each. I pulled myself onto my knees to try to get onto the top step, but this was too much for my body to handle. I got my hands out and caught myself before I fell face first, but I landed on my left arm and collapsed face down, anyway. Several bright red drops landed on the wooden floor. I reached up with my left hand to wipe my eyes and my hand came away covered with blood.

I lay with my upper body on the porch floor, my left arm underneath me, my legs bent up on the stairs, and tried to focus on breathing—in through the nose and out through the mouth. Pain hit me in waves, but now that I’d made it to Ma’s, I could feel consciousness gently slipping away.

The screen door was in front of me and I could hear Ma rattling around in the kitchen. She was humming as she worked—an old tune I recognized from Sundays when I was younger and she used to drag me to church. A hazy image floated into my head of me squashed between Abe and Ma, in my one frilly pink dress that Ma had made herself. She hadn’t minded making it. What mattered was that I got my Bible learnin’.

“’
Tis so sweet to trust in Jesus
,” she sang now. “
And to take him at his word
.”

Fighting the cloud that was descending over my brain, I tried to push my body up with my right arm. I pulled my left arm until it came free and I crashed onto the floor again, slamming my chin. Blood splashed onto the wood from my forehead, and my head shook from my teeth banging together.

“
Just to rest upon his promise, and to know ‘Thus saith the Lord
.’”

I heard myself moan as I pushed with my good leg. I scooted half a foot closer to the door and if I stretched I could just touch it. My foot slipped on the step and my thigh banged onto the lip of the porch. I fell onto the floor, tasting dirt.

“
Jesus, Jesus how I trust him, how I’ve proved him o’er and o’er!”

I rolled onto my right side, daggers of pain shooting through my chest, and looked up at the porch light, moths dancing around it. The light was reassuring, somehow, and I decided it was too much work to get to the door. If I could just rest, I’d try again soon. I closed my eyes and my head lolled against the floor. Ma’s singing was soft and gentle, and I let myself melt into it.

“
Jesus, Jesus, precious Jesus! Oh, for grace to trust him more!”

I must have lost consciousness, because I was awakened by the pounding of feet.

“Stella? Stella! Oh my God!”

Vaguely I heard voices and felt fingers probing my face and bones.

“Is anything broken? Is she okay?”

“Don’t feel around too much. Did someone call the ambulance?”

“I’m awake,” I said. Or tried to say.

“Go call now,” the second voice—a woman—said.

“Hey,” I said, and they heard me this time.

“Stella?”

I opened my eyes, and when the blurring stopped the first thing I saw was Missy. I started to giggle. “Did you…are you.…” I giggled some more.

She was pushed aside and suddenly Abe was there, staring down at me, a look in his eyes I couldn’t describe.

“Stella,” he said sternly. “What happened? Who did this?”

I sobered up. “I don’t know. A truck.”

“A truck? You crashed your truck?”

I shook my head. And blacked out.

Chapter Thirty-Four

When I woke up, I was surprised to see it was still dark. I was also surprised to see I was in a hospital bed. The last thing I remembered was seeing Abe’s face above me, worried and scared. Not an unpleasant memory, surprisingly, and one of the only recollections I had of the last day. Since I’d lost Howie.

I was hooked up to an IV with two bags hanging on it—one with clear liquid, one with dark. I had bandages wrapped around my left leg and arm, and my forehead felt tight. I reached up to touch it and felt a bandage there, too. If the snugness around my chest was real and not imagined, I was wrapped up like a mummy. I wasn’t sure how long I’d been sleeping or what had woken me. I began to suspect the throbbing in my arm and chest had something to do with it. Not to mention the nightmares I’d been having about Howie coming to pull me up from a ditch, only to reveal a bowling ball-sized hole through his torso.

I lay there for what felt like an eternity, trying to breathe through the pain, when the door opened and a nurse came in. She looked like a high schooler.

“You’re awake!” she said. “How are you feeling?”

“Like I was run over by a truck.” My voice sounded foggy and slurred. Like my brain felt.

The nurse gave a bubbly laugh. “It’s time for your pain medicine, if you want it.”

I didn’t know why I hadn’t thought of it earlier. “Fill me up.”

She smiled, like I was a good student giving the right answers, and helped me wash down a couple of pills with some water by my bed. “That should do you till morning. Let me know if you need anything else. The button is by your right hand.”

I glanced down and saw the button with a line drawing of a nurse.

“What’s up with me?” I asked.

She suddenly got serious. “Your leg is very beaten up. Lots of blood loss, lots of skin taken off. Same with your arm, only worse, since you weren’t wearing long sleeves. Your forehead got twelve stitches. And you have two fractured ribs.”

“Wow,” I said, and promptly fell back asleep.

The next time I woke it was completely light, and Abe was sitting in the chair at the foot of my bed. I studied him as he paged through some magazine, his foot crossed over his ankle, a Styrofoam cup in his hand.

“What time is it?” I asked, my voice clogged with gunk.

His head snapped up and his face went through a variety of expressions until it finally settled on a non-committal one.

“So, you decided to rejoin us, after all.” He glanced at his watch. “It’s about ten.”

“What day?”

“You just got run down yesterday.”

“Oh, God!” I said. “My cows!”

“All taken care of. Marty’s been milking them, with help from whatever Granger kids can make it over.”

“The heifers?”

“Fed and watered.”

“I guess they’re all right, then.”

“Of course they are.” He put down his magazine and came over to the bed. He reached out his hand, but pulled it back and crossed his arms without touching me. “You remember anything?”

“Howie’s dead.”

He blinked. “Yes.”

“And a truck ran me off the road.”

He nodded.

“My bike?”

“Jethro and Jermaine hauled it to their shop. What’s left of it.”

I turned and looked out the window, utterly exhausted. An overwhelming desire to cry washed over me, but I suppressed it.

“That detective wants to see you,” Abe said.

“Willard?”

He nodded. “Probably wants to hear about your accident.”

“Okay.”

Abe picked up the phone and dialed a number from a business card. He gave someone a message for Detective Willard, and hung up. “He can’t come now. He’ll try to get here soon.”

I nodded and closed my eyes, then opened them again when I remembered why Willard would want to see me. He didn’t care about my accident. He wanted to know about the milk. I had just left him a message that my milk was being stolen before I ended up in a ditch. I opened my mouth to tell Abe, but he was talking.

“I was going to call Nick,” he said, “but I don’t have his number.”

Grief exploded in my chest, and I had to labor to breathe.

“What’s going on, Stella?”

I looked at him, unsure if he was talking about Nick, my accelerated breathing, or everything else. The seriousness on his face told me.

“I thought it was over,” I said. “I found out who was doing the sabotage, and I thought I’d stopped it. But Howie…he left me.…” My throat closed.

Abe came closer and took my hand in his. “Howie didn’t leave you, Stella. He never would’ve left.”

I shook my head painfully. “No. A notebook. He left me notes.”

“Notes? About what?”

I was trying to form the words when the door opened and Missy walked in. She held out a sandwich encased in plastic wrap.

“Here, Abe. I got this for you in the cafeteria.”

He kept a hold of my hand and inclined his head toward the table where his coffee and magazine sat. “Thanks. Can you set it there?”

Missy looked at Abe’s hand holding mine, but didn’t comment. She placed the sandwich on the table and sat in the chair.

Abe turned back to me. “I’m sorry. What were you saying?”

I cleared my throat. “I need a drink.”

He got the cup from my bedside tray and angled the straw toward my lips. The water was warm, but soothed my throat anyway.

“Okay,” I said. “Thanks.” I tried to scoot up an inch, and my breath caught at the pain in my ribs.

Abe used the button on the side of the bed to make me a tad more upright. “Better?”

“Much. Thanks. Anyway, I was on the way to Ma’s to try to find somebody to tell. I couldn’t get anybody on the phone.”

“To tell what?”

“That somebody’s been stealing my milk.”

He looked at me blankly. “What?”

“They’ve been taking it to a little processing plant and bottling it in Rockefeller bottles. I don’t sell my milk to Rockefeller. I sell to the co-op.”

“I don’t understand,” Abe said.

“Abe,” Missy said. “Her milk is being stolen.”

She spoke to me. “And what are they doing with it?”

I tried to look at her without moving too much. “I don’t know for sure. But I’m afraid—”

The door swung open and a nurse came in.

“Sorry,” she said. “It’s time to take your vitals. Should I wait a minute?”

“Yes,” I said.

My phone rang. I looked at Abe, and he answered it.

The nurse backed toward the door. “I’ll come back.”

Missy and I stared at each other.

When Abe hung up, he said to me, “That was the police. Someone will be coming by soon to take your statement.”

“Not Willard?”

“Didn’t say.”

My eyes closed briefly of their own accord, and I almost drifted off.

“You okay?” Abe asked.

Missy stood up and walked to his side. “Come on. Let her sleep. We have to get going, anyway, remember? We’re supposed to watch Jacob and Nina’s kids, and we’re already late.”

“But how do we know she’ll be safe? Maybe whoever was in the truck will try to come back and finish the job.”

I thought about that. “I don’t think so, Abe. If they really wanted me dead, they would’ve come back and made sure while I was lying in the ditch.”

His forehead creased with doubt.

“The nurses will keep an eye out,” Missy said.

“You think?” Abe asked.

I nodded. “Sure. You guys go do what you need to do.”

“I’ll be back,” Abe said to me, “so you can finish your story. You’ll tell the cops about your milk?”

I nodded.

Missy pinched her lips together. “I’m really sorry about Howie, Stella.” She wavered there for a moment, but walked toward the door when I had nothing to say.

Abe squeezed my hand, then scooped up his coffee, magazine, and sandwich before joining Missy in the hallway.

The nurse came back a minute later, waking me from a doze. She was about the age my mother would’ve been. “Cute visitor.” She waggled her eyebrows, and I had a flashback to Carla doing that when she saw Nick.

I snorted, trying to ease the sudden ache in my heart. “Cute, maybe. But taken.”

She laughed. “All the good ones are, sweetheart. All the good ones are. Now lie back and try to relax. Your blood pressure is out of this world.”