Maggie's Mountain (16 page)

Time stood still in her tiny bubble. Self awareness was slow in returning. When it did she realized her skin was clammy and cold, her stomach a mass of queasy knots, her fingers stiff from clenching. Sitting in the dining room chair had made her body tight and uncomfortable. Staying in this position wasn’t helping her be very productive. The wayward thought brought a hysterical laugh. It was enough to jolt her back to reality.

She needed to call the sheriff. This was a scary leap past vandalism. This wasn’t something she could hope would go away, as she had just a few minutes before. Or had it been hours? She thought of looking outside to see where the sun was, but the squeezing of her stomach kept her staring straight ahead.

She forced her legs to move, her back to straighten, her feet to support her weight. The walk to the phone was only a few feet but felt like a mile. The ramifications of calling the police, of filing a report, of going through the motions, weighed heavy on her mind. Just not as heavy as the image of the dead squirrel, skinned and hanging with its four legs drawn apart, its blood pooled on its exposed skin and on the pale wooden boards of the back porch.

****

“Morning, Hale.”

Hale waved what he hoped was a friendly greeting to the woman behind the diner’s counter. Sharon had been working at Wilson’s since her sixteenth birthday and had stayed on to become a fixture of the place. She’d been two years ahead of Hale in school and he could remember how her well endowed curves had sent many a boy into slavering fantasies. Her hair was just as bright a red, her blue eyes just as friendly, her voice still tinged with a smile. Over the years she’d gained enough weight to look comfortable, which was what he supposed she was. She’d married Lynn Wilson, who’d inherited the diner when his father had retired from the business to run for mayor, and had three kids to fill out the ranks. It was strange to think of someone so close to his age having kids who were nearly teenagers.

He’d barely settled his rear end into the springy red booth seat before Sharon was standing next to the table. Either she was super efficient or she was out for gossip. Most likely both, he decided, and tried for another smile.

“The usual?” she asked with a grin.

“Yeah, but I think I’d rather have bacon than sausage today.”

She scribbled a note and paused to look down at him. “Looking a little bit better than the last time we saw you. Only coffee that day.”

The day after his drunken night. He couldn’t think of it without feeling green. He rarely drank to excess, believing that the payment wasn’t worth the entertainment. That night had been different. He’d realized later he was trying to punish himself, not just obliterate thoughts of Maggie. The next day he’d paid in spades, remembering too late why they called liquor devil’s water.

“I’m healthy and hardy today,” he told her. “I’ve been thinking of Lynn’s hash browns and eggs all night.”

“Good to hear it. We missed seeing you the past couple of days.”

“Business.” He supplied the one word answer and she raised speculative eyebrows.

“Um, well, you just remember what they say about all work and no play. Wouldn’t want you to shrivel away behind a desk.” She gave him a wink. “Not that I think you’d ever be such a slave to paperwork that you’d forget about women.”

With that parting remark she sashayed away, calling out his order as she maneuvered back behind the counter. So that was the gossip, huh? They were all trying to figure out who his latest conquest would be. He was surprised his name wasn’t still linked with Maggie’s. It hadn’t been that long since his mother had reprimanded him about sleeping with a Cooper. And there had been the talk, the gossip he hadn’t been able to avoid, the gossip his brother had been all too happy to impart the day after his drunken escapade. Only a few days and there was new speculation. Did they really see him as a playboy who jumped from one woman to another so quickly?

Of course they did, he thought with a sigh. After all, he’d been proud of his Casanova image before he’d left for college. Romancing a girl, sweet talking her into a kiss, maneuvering her for more, he’d enjoyed it. Not that he would ever kiss and tell. But in a town this size it would be impossible for people not to know who he was going out with. Now that he was an adult he would hope that his reputation had changed, but apparently the same rules applied.

“Coffee.” Sharon was there again, placing a mug on the laminated table before filling it with strong, black brew. “You eating alone today?”

“Just me.” He couldn’t resent her digging, not when it was done with a smile and another saucy wink, though he thought he probably should.

“All right then. You just holler when you need a fresh cup.”

He nodded and took his first sip of coffee. It scalded his tongue and made him wince, but the promise of caffeine made his blood hum. Maybe after it hit his system his thoughts wouldn’t be so muddled.

Glancing over toward the kitchen, he found himself staring at Al Mackey’s back. Memories of the morning he’d seen Maggie share breakfast with the man flooded his mind. She understood Mr. Mackey in a way very few people ever could because she shared the same sort of vicious past. Words, he knew, could hurt or heal. Over the years they’d done more damage to Maggie, and to Al Mackey, than they’d ever eased. Recalling the image, he thought of how they’d looked, two world weary souls always ready for battle, scarred from their long war. But instead of using the one weapon that would end her conflict, Maggie had chosen to keep it secret. With the clarity of hindsight he could understand her reluctance now. Those letters were tantamount to a nuclear weapon; if she detonated it, the fallout would be far reaching and it would take years for the people around it to recover. Hadn’t she tried to point out as much?

Pain speared behind his eyes and he pinched the bridge of his nose in discomfort. Thinking of her was beginning to bring more physical pain than mere lust. His anger and frustration at her self-imposed martyrdom made him want to scream and pound the walls. And yet…yet he couldn’t fault her quiet logic in what she’d done. If only he’d paid more attention years before, Hale thought. If only he’d talked to his father about more than business and school and the obligation he had to his family name. Maybe he could have seen what was happening; maybe he would have known and could have stopped the damage his father had caused.

He was leaning back, silently brooding again, when a woman came rushing into the diner. Maggie’s friend Jolene, he realized, and watched as she hurried to get Sharon’s attention.

“Could you go over and get Mrs. Young out from the dryer in ten minutes?” she asked, her voice harried.

Sharon’s soft face became a mask of concern. “Sure. What’s going on?”

Jo was digging in her purse when she answered. “Beth should be in around nine-thirty so she can take care of the shop, but Mrs. Young came in early…it’s Maggie. They’ve taken her to the hospital.”

Hale’s body jerked at the announcement. Blood pounded through his veins, the terror more effective than any caffeine. He was up and striding toward Jolene before the world came back into focus.

“I’ll drive you.”

“Hale…uh, no, it’s okay, I’m fine to drive—”

“No, you’re not. Let’s go.” He was out the door and holding it for Maggie’s friend before he’d finished speaking.

Jolene sent him a cautious look as she passed him. He didn’t bother to ask for her keys but led her straight to his car. He was sure it was faster. He pushed the alarm button to unlock the doors and hurried to the driver’s side. He had it slammed into reverse before she was buckled, geared into third before she spoke.

“They said she was in shock.” Her voice was both matter-of-fact and soothing. “I didn’t ask what happened. They just said she’d need someone to drive her home.”

It occurred to him that she was being gentle with him, as if she understood his unspoken panic. He wondered if they’d talked about him then realized they must have. They were best friends, and that’s what females did: analyzed and reanalyzed men and their actions until they thought they had answers.

He cleared his throat and rounded a corner. “They didn’t say anything else? Nothing about her condition?”

“Just that she was being seen by the ER doctor.” She reached over and brushed her fingers over his arm. “I’m sure she’s fine.”

He clenched his jaw and sent up a silent prayer that Jolene was right. He’d regretted the way their last conversation had ended. He should have stayed, should have insisted she talk to him, should have soothed her rather than lick his own wounds. Now this.

He was still in a murky turmoil when he screeched into the hospital parking lot. He grabbed his keys, shoved them in his pocket, realized he was leaving Jolene behind and forced himself to measure his steps. The ER was empty when they went in, the sunlight pouring in from the tall windows illuminating the white tiles and green chairs. A young woman’s head appeared from a niche in the corner, her blond ponytail lapping over one shoulder.

“Jo, come on back. She’s in exam room two.”

Hale followed Jolene as she pushed her way through the swinging door. Several small cubical style rooms lined the left side with a long work desk on the right. He paid no attention to the people perusing papers and signing forms. He was focused on the second room whose glass door stood a few inches open.

“Mags?”

Hale moved in behind Jolene and quietly pulled the door closed as he studied the woman on the bed. She was reclining, her body wrapped in a hideous green blanket, her hair escaping willy-nilly from its braid. She looked so small and fragile, her face a sickly white, her lips barren of all color. Her pretty violet eyes were wide and tired as she looked from her friend to him.

“They called Hale?” she asked in a shaky voice.

He shook his head. “Jolene came into the diner and I overheard her telling Sharon you were in the hospital.”

“Oh.” She turned her gaze to the other woman. “They didn’t have to call you. I told them not to.”

“I’m glad they did.” Jo sat down on the edge of the bed and ran a hand over Maggie’s arm. “What happened?”

She swallowed and he could see the distress in her eyes. “I…I found…I shouldn’t be so upset. I’ve seen that sort of thing before. Daddy hunted.”

He was almost too afraid to ask but knew he had to. “What did you see, Maggie?”

She locked her gaze with his for a moment before quickly looking away. “Nothing, just more vandalism…again. They killed my garden a few days ago, Jo.”

“What?” Jolene gasped. “Maggie! Why didn’t you tell me? That’s horrible.”

She nodded in agreement but didn’t speak. Hale’s muscles tightened as he forced himself to breath and count to ten—then twenty. He felt his restraint slipping as he watched her. He didn’t want to consider the idea that someone was doing this because of the Warrick name…because of him. He couldn’t imagine why anyone would be so cruel to a woman like Maggie. This latest incident must have been particularly heinous if she was in shock.

“Did you call the police?” he asked, his voice raw.

“The sheriff made me come to the hospital. He had one of the deputies bring me.”

“Good.” He tucked his hands in his pockets to keep from grabbing her and holding on. “What did the doctor say?”

She sent him a disgruntled look but there was no fire in it. “That I’m fine, just shaken up a bit.”

Jo tucked the blanket tighter around her friend. “More than shaken up. They said shock.”

“Tell me what they did.” The words were gruff with concern as he pressed for more answers.

“Just pulled another prank.” Her fingers squeezed the wool material as she looked away.

“Dead squirrel seems like a little more than a prank.”

They all turned to find Sheriff Powell strolling into the room, his thick salt and pepper hair crew cut sharp. His kindly aged face was congenial and his dark eyes watchful as he casually pulled out a pen and palm sized notepad. His Cherokee heritage was easy to see in the angles of his face and nose, the breadth of his chest, the length of his legs. Even at fifty-odd years Clay Powell commanded the same sort of respect in his quiet way that Hale had always remembered giving him without consciously realizing. No teenager had ever dared cross him and probably still didn’t.

“Someone sure wanted to give you a scare, young lady.” He scribbled a note and stared at Maggie. “You know anyone who’d string a dead animal across your door.”

“What?” Hale yelled the word, unable to stop himself. When he saw the women flinch, he deliberately lowered his voice. “What did you say?”

Sheriff Powell raised his eyebrows. “Someone shot and stripped a squirrel, left the insides hanging out, then hung it across Maggie Mae’s back door. Hell of a mess.”

“I can imagine,” he gritted out, his gaze narrowing on the woman sitting on the bed.

She had the grace to blush, the coloring a hot blaze against her pallid skin. He’d been afraid of something like this, had even warned her it might happen.

“Just about anyone in town might think they have a reason,” Hale managed between his tight teeth.

Maggie’s protest was instant. “Not Ben or Jo.”

“Definitely not us, Sheriff.” Jolene stood and poured Maggie a drink of water. She handed the green plastic cup to the other woman before she continued. “To be honest, your prime suspect is standing right beside you.”

Powell’s lips twitched against a smile. “Yep, he’s the first on my list to question.”

“Don’t.” Maggie’s denial was quiet but effective. “This isn’t Hale’s style. He’s more the type who comes up and tells you he wants you gone. He might try to buy you out, but I don’t see him killing an animal to make his point.”

Her protection of him sent a shaft of warmth from his heart to his gut to his loins in a millisecond. “No, I wouldn’t hurt an animal. I also wouldn’t poison a garden.”

“Poison a garden?” The sheriff’s eyes were more intense now as he studied Hale.

He nodded. “A few days back I went out to Maggie’s and found her outside, sitting in the middle of dead plants.”

“Hale…”

“Just hold on, Maggie Mae. I’m not in the mood to coddle you.” He was holding onto his temper by a fine thread, the fear that was rising from suspicion seeping in to heighten it. “I’m beginning to wonder if the fire was deliberate.”