Rausch & Donlon - Can Be Murder 01 - Headaches Can Be Murder (14 page)

By the time Jo arrived back at the condo, she was exhausted and hungry. Flipping on the light by the entryway, she leaned against the wall and removed her boots. A soft blue glow emanated from the living room. Jo walked into the room and saw that John had fallen asleep on the couch while watching television. Caddy’s head poked up from her spot on the floor in front of John and her tail thumped a few times as a greeting. Jo whispered, “Hello, sweet girl. Did you miss me?” Caddy got to her feet and walked over to Jo, nudging her hand with her muzzle. Jo reached down and rubbed behind her ears. “I missed you, too.”

John let out a loud snort and tossed in his sleep, his long legs dangling over the arm of the couch. Smiling, Jo grabbed an extra blanket from the armoire in the living room. She flicked it open and draped it across John’s body. Jo watched as a small smile crept across his sleeping face. He looked more like a little boy in that moment than a world-famous neurosurgeon.

She walked into the small kitchen, looking for something to eat. She turned towards the small dining table and saw that John had left a place setting out for her. A note was on the placemat.
Jo. Thought you might be hungry after the long day. There’s a sandwich in the fridge for you. Hope you like ham and cheese on rye.
Jo raised an eyebrow. She whispered, “Just when I thought I had you figured out, you do something else to surprise me.”

Chapter Sixteen

Turners Bend

Mid-December

Turners Bend was decked out for the holidays. Garland, wreaths, and lights decorated every storefront on Main Street. The deep woods aroma of freshly cut pine scented the air. The Bun had a Christmas tree where patrons hung mittens, scarves and hats to be sent to homeless shelters in Ames and Des Moines. The Bend hung a silver disco ball in preparation for its New Year’s Eve gala. Plywood nativity scenes and inflatable Santas and snowmen were stuck into snow drifts around town.
Krumcakke
, spritz, rosettes,
sandbakkels
, and
lefsa
came pouring out of kitchens around the county to fill the tables at First Lutheran’s Christmas Bake Sale. Bathrobes were being gathered for the little shepherds and wisemen who would perform in the annual Christmas pageant at Sacred Heart Catholic Church.

It was a time for homecomings.

Mabel came home after two week at the Mayo clinic, where Dr. Stein had determined she had been suffering from chlorine and nitrite poisoning, most likely from tainted well water. The first week was “touch and go,” and Iver only left her side to grab food in the hospital cafeteria. It appeared her kidneys and liver might be shutting down. A brief round of dialysis and Iver’s tenderness, along with Stein’s considerable skill, reversed the process and began to restore her to health.

Still weak but improving steadily, Iver brought her home. He moved a Glenwood water cooler and big jugs of water into her kitchen. He also quietly moved himself into her house, a move the town’s wagging tongues looked on with kindness.

With Mabel on bed rest, Iver became Chip’s regular breakfast companion. “I tell you, Chip, we almost lost our girl up there at the Mayo. Doc Stein said it was life threatening, but he brought her through. He said she’s got to recuperate for six months and get her blood tested every month. She’s real weak and doesn’t have any get-up-and-go. I sure as hell am not going to let her drink any water from that well of hers.

“Say, that Stein is kind of a weird guy. I never saw a guy cover his bald spot with a little black cap before.”

Chip snorted the coffee he was drinking. “He’s Jewish, Iver. That cap is a yarmulke. It’s worn by devote Jewish men.”

“You mean like Jesus? No wonder he can bring sick people back from almost being dead.”

Chief Fredrickson dragged over an extra chair, as was his habit now, and brought Chip and Iver up to date on the police department’s activities.

“I brought Sven home,” he reported. “I knew right away where to look for him, but I gave the kid a few days to arrive at an ‘attitude adjustment’ before I drove out to Hal’s deer hunting shack and lugged the cold and hungry kid back to his mother.

“Boy’s been a handful ever since Jane divorced Hal. Hal’s a piss poor role model, and the kid sure knows how to push Jane’s buttons. Told me to go to hell. I told him I’d send him to juvie if he didn’t shape up. He tried to tape me with that damn video camera he’s always toting around, but I put a stop to that nonsense. Fool kid.

“By the way, Chip, I read that book of yours. I think the police chief could have easily found that serial killer without having to call in a doc to help. You made Chief Katz out to be a bumbling dolt. Next book, give the police some respect. Just my opinion, of course. I suppose handsome doctors sell more books than middle-aged police chiefs.”

“I’ll take it under advisement, Chief,” said Chip, mentally adding another literary review to the growing list of Benders telling him how to write.

Honey and her eight pups came home to Chip’s farmhouse along with an early Christmas gift from Jane and Ingrid … a playpen. The puppies ate and played and pooped and pooped and pooped. Then they nestled together in a heap of soft, golden puppy fur and fell asleep for a few hours, only to start the whole process over again. He gave the girls flower names … Violet, Pansy, Petunia, and Lily. He named the boys after gods … Zeus, Thor, and Jupiter, and then, of course, there was little Runt.

Chip had landline phone service installed in his farmhouse. He found he no longer craved the isolation of his farm. Instead, he had a growing need to communicate and no desire to return to the roof of his shed for decent cell service. He saw the move as a giant step backward in technology and a giant step forward in personal growth and healing. His first call was from California.

“Darling, what’s that terrible racket I hear in the background?” Lucinda’s voice was strangely deep and melodramatic, like an actress in an old movie. Hollywood was having its effect on her.

“That’s just the puppies nipping and yipping.”

“Puppies? Did you say puppies?” Now she sounded like a bad imitation of Glenn Close as Cruella de Vil.

“Yes. Say, Lucinda, I’m sorry I’m a little behind on my writing schedule. Things have really been hopping here in Turners Bend.” Chip rattled off a tale of dead cows, a poisoned resident, a runaway teen, and eight puppies.

“If there’s any trouble in that dreadful place, I suggest you investigate the vile lump of a man I met in that seedy tavern … Hal something. I could tell he was up to no good, and there were a couple of goons hanging with him.

“Now about our movie. I’m staying in Hollywood over the holidays. I may have to sleep with Howard Glasser to get this contract finalized, but anything for you, dear. Kiss, kiss to you and your puppies. Tata.”

No sooner had he hung up the phone from Lucinda’s call, when Jane called. “Chip, the lab results are back from the water samples. The cows are dying of nitrate poisoning from the water in the creek. I’ve alerted all the farms along the creek. Mabel doesn’t drink water out of the creek, but she must have a faulty well where creek water is seeping in. No one else in town has reported being sick, but I’ll warn Doc Schultz to keep an eye out for any additional cases. And, Chip, we’re not talking low nitrate levels like we might expect from farm chemical run-off; we’re talking dangerous levels of three different nitrates, over 2,100 ppm of KNO3 alone.”

“My chemistry is a little rusty. What is KNO3?

“Potassium Nitrate, better know as saltpeter. No sexual jokes, please. It’s not dangerous in low levels, of course, but it can be converted into nitrites by bacteria and causes symptoms like Mabel’s. It’s rare, but it happens.

“The lab has sent an alert and request for investigation to the state and federal authorities. They warned me it might be some time before anyone shows up here to do a more exhaustive study. They are short-staffed and the holidays will slow things down, too.”

“What about the sample from the creek out west of AgriDynamics?” asked Chip.

Jane did not immediately respond.

“Jane …”

“Chip, those samples were clean, but we can’t just assume that AgriDynamics is the source.”

“Jane, I’ve got a thought about the possible source of those nitrates. Let me do some online research first. How about having dinner with me? I have to drive over to the pet store in Ames tomorrow for some supplies. Maybe we could get some dinner and talk this over. Do you like Chinese?”

Much to Chip’s delight she said, “Yes, as a matter of fact, I love any kind of Asian food.”

Sparked by Lucinda’s mention of Hal and the results of the water tests, Chip googled “industrial chemicals” and after an hour of searching link after link, he had a theory to share with Jane. He also had an idea of how to check out his theory and oddly the idea came from
Brain Freeze
.

Chip was getting into the rhythm and discipline of writing for four hours every day. If he could keep on track, he would just make Lucinda’s deadline. He was plotting scenes on Post-It Notes, and for lack of a more suitable space, he was putting them on his refrigerator door. The door was plastered with yellow rectangles and the plot was thickening.

Chapter Seventeen

Brain Freeze

Two Harbors, Minnesota

John woke early to the tantalizing scents of bacon and coffee. He sat up and stretched, stiff from being folded on the couch all night. Caddy padded over to him and pulled off the blanket, dragging it behind her to the kitchen. “Okay, I get it. Time for breakfast.”

He stood up and reached toward the ceiling, working out the kinks. Wandering out of the living room, he yawned. At the doorway to the kitchen, he paused when he saw Jo. She stood in front of the small stove with a spatula in hand, wearing a white t-shirt and faded jeans. Her feet were bare, with red polish on the toe nails. The morning sun streaming through the kitchen window lit up the curls that flowed freely down her back. He thought it would be a long time before he saw a more lovely sight.

Jo flicked a piece of bacon in Caddy’s direction. The retriever snatched it mid-air and swallowed it whole, licking her lips. Jo caught sight of John watching her and smiled. “Hungry?”

When he found he could speak again, he said, “Not everyone can say they’ve had a special agent of the FBI make them breakfast. Smells delicious.”

Jo laughed and turned back towards the stove. She slid the spatula under a slice of French toast, flipping it expertly. “Would you mind setting the table and pouring some coffee?”

He stepped into the kitchen and went to the cabinet next to Jo. Reaching for the cups and plates, he caught the scent of her shampoo. He was grateful his hands were already filled with their dishes. He longed to reach out and wrap one of her curls around his finger.

They bustled around the kitchen, each lost in their own thoughts. Caddy lay next to the table with a rawhide bone, crunching loudly. Jo and John had to step over her each time they moved around the tiny kitchen. John found himself enjoying this quiet, domestic activity. He searched his memory for a similar time with Tanya or any other previous girlfriends and came up empty.

Once they had settled at the table, John ate with his usual gusto. Between bites, he said, “Jo, this is great. How did you learn to cook?”

“Oh, you pick up a thing or two when you have a workaholic father and you are home alone quite a bit. It was either learn to cook or get in trouble with the local boys.” Her eyes danced.

John choked on a piece of French toast. Something about the way she said the last line made him forget breakfast for a moment and he felt a stab of jealousy. Not quite meeting her eyes, he said, “And did you … I mean, did you get into trouble? With boys I mean?”

She laughed out loud. “Why, Dr. Goodman, are you asking me if I fooled around?” She was clearly enjoying his discomfort.

He raised serious eyes to her taunting ones. “Yes. I guess I am.”

“Well, I’m not the type of girl to kiss and tell, so you’re just going to have to keep wondering.”

He shrugged his shoulders. “One of these days, you’re going to spill all your secrets. Hey, speaking of secrets, did you find out anything new yesterday?”

Jo brightened. “Yes! Do you remember the CFO I told you about? Well, turns out she’s got a microchip in her head, too. Can you believe it? They are experimenting on their own people.”

“You’re kidding, right? Why on earth would she allow them to perform surgery on her? Seems like she would be in the know about the risks and short-cuts they’ve been taking.”

“Maybe she doesn’t know the whole story. Besides, sounds like she has issues with migraines. She might have been desperate to get rid of them, at any cost.”

Jo took a bite of toast and chased it with a swallow of orange juice. “But that’s not the only thing I got from eight hours of pushing around the janitor’s cart.” She got up from the table and picked up the flash drive from the countertop. She walked back over to John and held it up. “I managed to gain access to her desktop.”

John raised an eyebrow. “Now I am impressed. You can cook
and
sneak out top secret documents.”

“Hurry and finish your breakfast. I got up early this morning and dug through some of the files. Didn’t get too far. There are literally hundreds of them and most are pretty mundane. Lots of procedures on reporting cost of goods sold and depreciating assets. Typical bean-counter stuff. However, I did find a few things that look promising.”