Indivisible (9 page)

As it stepped onto the grass, he noticed the limp, the hang of its head. An injured coyote. Why on earth was it coming to him? His mournful harmonica some sort of clarion? Pace after pace, it drew near, then lowered itself and lay panting with soft whines. He could see blood clumping the fur of its shoulder, neck, and side.

He holstered the gun, pocketed the mouth organ, then took out and flicked on his flashlight. He sat forward, letting the animal register his movement. It raised its head, bared its teeth, and growled. The effort took energy the creature didn’t have, and it lowered its head. Slowly Jonah stood. The coyote whined.

He moved toward it, taking one step down and then another. The animal tensed when he reached the grass, and he waited, letting it sense him. It was a female. And she wasn’t a pure coyote. She looked part shepherd. A coydog.

He moved, slowly and quietly, expecting her to spring up and run. As he came within a couple of steps, she reached out a paw and dragged herself a few inches toward him. He looked into her eyes, saw the wild fear but also something close to resignation.

He squatted down and examined her wounds. No cutting or stitching. She looked to have been caught with a shotgun blast. By the matting in her coat, she’d lost a lot of blood. She licked weakly at the wounds stretching from shoulder to distended belly.

Jonah swallowed. She was a wild predator, but he took out his phone and dialed the vet. When she answered, he said, “Dr. Rainer? This is Chief Westfall. I know it’s past hours, but I have an animal here that I can’t transport. Any chance you can come have a look?”

He described the injuries and gave her directions to his place without mentioning that it was a coyote. Half coyote. Panting, the animal rolled farther to her side. Jonah ran the light over her, looking for anything he may have missed. Her eyes had dulled. Her tongue hung slack. Her ribs rose and fell in shallow breaths.

“Hang in there,” he whispered. Slowly, he extended his hand, fingers curled to the palm, letting her get his scent. He brought it closer, rested it on her head. She tensed but couldn’t sustain it. He moved his fingers softly through the fur. Odds were good she’d be dead by morning, but she’d come to him. “Hold on now. Hold on.” He kept her as calm as he could until the grind of gravel announced Liz arriving.

She approached tentatively, her eyes widening when
coyote
registered. By then the animal’s head lay heavily in his cupped palm. She caught the new scent and eyed Liz warily, drawing her lips back and rumbling in her throat.

Jonah felt more than heard it. “I don’t think she has much fight, but I don’t have to tell you to be careful.”

“You want me to put her down?”

That would be the obvious choice, maybe the wise one. More wild than not, when she got strong again, she’d take off and be bolder than before. But he shook his head. She’d come to him for help, conquered her instinct and made herself vulnerable. “I thought we could treat the wounds, stop the bleeding and the pain.”

A smile touched Liz Rainer’s lips. “Is that what your head’s telling you?”

He took the jibe with a glance and shrugged.

Liz ran her eyes over the animal. “She’s carrying a litter.”

“I thought so.”

“Well, let’s see what we can do to make her comfortable.”

He sat back as the vet worked over her, pinching the fur to insert the needle to sedate her, removing thirteen pellets, then salving the wounds. He went inside and brought out a woolen blanket that he tucked under the animal’s head, then laid the remainder loosely over her.

Liz said, “She’s not a pure coyote, is she?”

“Coydog, I’d guess. A bolder, cannier predator with less fear of people.”

“That’s why your scent didn’t warn her off.” She looked at him in the glow of the flashlights. “Maybe I should take her to the clinic.”

“I don’t think so. She’s still mostly wild.”

“What then?”

“Can we get her onto the porch?”

“We can try.”

He straightened. “Let me get some more blankets.” He piled them in a heap, knowing dogs preferred that to a neatly folded surface. Then he wrapped the other blanket more securely around the coyote so that he and the vet could safely transport her.

The animal’s eyelids parted as they lifted, her lip curled. She whined. He noted the awkward position of Liz’s hip and took the weight of the animal from her. He carried her up the stairs, then placed her gently into the corner opposite the swing.

Liz looked down at her. “She’s easy prey.”

“I’ll stay out here tonight.”

“You’re going to sleep on your porch for a wounded coyote?”

“She asked.”

Again the smile tugged a corner of Liz’s mouth. He didn’t explain how that little drag had opened him up.

“Then what?”

He sighed. “She might be dead by morning.”

“Would you like me to come check her status?”

“I’ll call.” He turned toward the door. “Let me get my checkbook.”

“This is outside my fees.”

“You made a special trip.”

“Well, what goes around, comes around.”

He eyed her. “At least let me cover the medications.”

She nodded. “Okay.” She followed him in, told him the charge, and accepted his check. “Ordinarily I’d prescribe a course of antibiotics. If you think you can get them into her, I’ll have them at the office.”

“We’ll play that by ear. Thanks for coming over.”

After she left, he settled on the swing with the blanket from his bed. The coydog hadn’t moved. He wondered who’d shot her, someone disturbed or frightened by her approach? A sport hunter shooting from a car? Coyotes were fair game, especially if she had seemed off or aggressive.

He closed his eyes and woke at dawn to find her still breathing. His fingers were stiff with cold as he called Jay. “Are you free today?”

“I make my own schedule.” Jay’s construction and renovation company kept him as busy as he wanted to be, but being his own boss had its advantages.

“Any chance you can come by? There’s something here that needs watching.”

“Does it wear diapers?”

Jonah laughed. “Come see for yourself.”

He brought out two cups of coffee when Jay arrived, striding casually across the yard. “Hold up.”

Jay paused. “What?”

“She’s here on the porch. I don’t want you to startle her.”

“She?”

Jonah indicated the coydog. Jay whistled low.

“Showed up last night. Hurt pretty bad.”

“You want me to watch her?”

“Until she can watch herself. I have to work.”

“A coyote comes to you, and you have to work?”

“She’s a half-breed.”

Jay pulled a slow smile.

“I’m guessing you can fix her some kind of mash or something.”

“What do you have?”

“Steak?”

Jay snorted. He chopped raw meat and corn, added milk, and warmed and softened and mashed it on the stove, then ladled it onto a saucer.

When they brought it out, the coydog snarled.

“Step back,” Jonah murmured.

Jay moved over by the swing. Carefully Jonah inched closer and set the saucer near the animal’s head. She watched him with wary eyes, taking his measure with instinct and senses more acute than he could fathom. She didn’t move until he’d stepped back two paces, then raised her nose and sniffed. She gave the food a couple of weak licks, then laid her head back down.

He turned to Jay. “That’s a start, I guess.”

Jay had a strange look on his face. “You know this is important, right?”

“Why?”

“Because she’s coyote.”

“And …”

“As the story goes, when the coyote-man made the world and all the land, he stuck two sticks into the places he wanted people to live. He named the places and turned the sticks into men and women. Then he and the lizard-man and the grizzly-bear-woman and all the others became animals. The people learned by watching the animals what things were good to eat. They grew wise by observing how the bugs and animals lived.”

“Okay,” Jonah said softly.

“This coyote finding you is a big deal.”

“She has something to teach me?”

Jay shrugged, the corners of his mouth twitching. “Watch and see.”

Nine

Go from me. Yet I feel that I shall stand henceforward in thy shadow.

—ELIZABETH BARRETT BROWNING

L
iz woke with her mind full of Chief Westfall, the coyote that had conquered her instincts, and the coyote’s pups. She imagined them pressed into each other, enwrapped, entangled, sleeping, squirming inside the mother’s belly. Separate in their own sacs, not even necessarily squired by the same male but growing, living, drawing nourishment from the same source. Littermates.

Lucy rolled to meet her eyes. “There you are. What happened last night? Where did you go?”

She told her about the coyote, how gently Jonah had carried her to his porch and laid her on the blankets, how the animal neither snapped nor thrashed. But she didn’t say she’d wondered how it would feel to be held by him, soothed by his hands.

“Will she live?”

“I have a feeling she might. From the sheer force of Jonah Westfall’s will.”

Lucy looked at her curiously. “You like him.”

“He’s a compassionate man.”

Lucy’s gaze penetrated. “You really like him.”

“I hardly know him.”

“But you like what you’ve seen.”

“Yes. I told you. I think you could meet him.”

Did she say it to silence her sister’s questions? They both knew how few people would understand. Yes, she’d enjoyed the time with him, working together to save a creature most would consider a benefit to kill. And of course Lucy saw that.

“He might come by for medicine today. Say yes and I’ll introduce you.” Lowering her eyes, Lucy withdrew. As Liz had known she would.

Tia settled the sculpture into place, three feet of polished granite composite with five niches to hold candles. She looked up when the fingerprint man pressed through the door, looking side to side. He saw her without acknowledging it. Once again his clothes were pristine and very nice quality. She had assumed him a tourist, but now she wondered. Remembering how touchy he’d been last time she’d offered assistance, she let him peruse the displays without repeating the mistake.

She placed five forest green candles into the hollows of the elongated sculpture, studied the effect, then tried ocher instead. Better. She stepped back. Yes. The ocher brought out the muted tones of the granite. She had consigned several of Lloyd’s sculptures, but this was his best so far, and she hoped it sold. He could use the income.

She wouldn’t sell it short, though. He was coming into his own with his art, and he’d agreed to let her push the envelope and see where it could go. She placed the card with Lloyd’s name, the piece’s number, and the price.

“Too many candles,” the man said behind her.

She thought he meant the store’s inventory, but he was referring to the pillar’s five hollows.

“It only takes one candle to keep someone alive in a car in freezing temperatures. That much heat in one holder is excessive. It could be hazardous.”

“I think five candles on this piece is jubilant.”

He eyed her as though she’d missed the point entirely, then held up another pair of beeswax candles by the joined wick. “I’d like these tapers.”

“The others worked out all right?”

“I sent them to my aunt.”

“Well packaged, I hope.”

“Bubble wrap.”

Tia nodded. While she rang him up, Rachel Drake came in and waved. He laid the candles on the counter and went through the process of money retrieval. Wouldn’t a credit card be cleaner and easier? But he removed the bills and laid them on the counter.

She gave him—gave his coin pouch—his change. He lifted the candles, but the wick slipped from his fingernails. Reaching out, her hand brushed his. He sprang back, thrusting out his hands, and backed into a display that fell with a crash of merchandise.

The crash panicked him even more, and Tia rushed around the counter. “Please, calm down.”

Trying to get around her, he bumped another shelf unit that tipped and went down. If he would just contain himself.

Rachel was on her phone. Tia hurried past her. As the frantic customer rushed for the door, he tipped Lloyd’s sculpture. It caught her in the calf and cracked on the floor. Gritting her teeth, Tia sagged against a support pillar.

Rachel rushed over. “Are you all right? I called 911.”

“I’m fine.” Lloyd’s sculpture wasn’t. She reached down to right it.

“Don’t do that.” Rachel touched her arm. “You need to leave things as they are. For the police report.”

Now it sank in that an officer would arrive and investigate. “He couldn’t help it.”

“That doesn’t change what happened. You’ve lost a lot of merchandise.”

Tia pushed the hair back from her forehead. She might need a police report in order to file with her insurance, but she didn’t want to get the poor guy in trouble. He hadn’t intentionally torn things up. He’d lost control. And she’d precipitated it.

She told Rachel about his first visit as they waited. “Touching is obviously a trigger for deep-seated fears. He just panicked.”

Officer Donnelly came in and halted. “Wow.”

“Yeah.” Tia rested her hands on the small of her back. “You got here quick.”

“I was just down the street. Is he gone?” The sturdy young woman scanned the shop, a hand covering her weapon.

“He went out. I didn’t see where.”

“So what happened?” Sue raised her notebook.

Tia and Rachel described the incident. Sue wrote it down. “Were you physically threatened?”

“No.” Tia shook her head.

“What happened to your leg?”

She looked down. The skin of her calf was raw, blood forming a bruise from the back of her knee to her Achilles tendon. “The sculpture hit my leg. I just didn’t … I hadn’t felt it until now.”

The doorway darkened as Jonah strode in.

“Officer Donnelly’s taking the report,” she said, hoping he’d take the hint.

He addressed his officer. “I’ll finish here.”

She said, “We’re almost—”

“You need to go, Sue. Eli fell. Sam’s taking him to the emergency clinic.”

Her face flushed. “Is it bad? Did he say what happened?”

“Just go.”

She handed him the clipboard. Sue Donnelly was not a Redford native. She hadn’t grown up with them, had no idea of their history. With news of her injured child everything else had left her mind. As it should.

Jonah watched her out the door, then turned back. “You want to fill me in?”

She didn’t, but Rachel did, ending with, “He just freaked out.”

Jonah nodded. “Thank you. I’ll finish with Tia now.”

Rachel tugged her purse strap higher. “I’ll come back tomorrow, Tia. I want a bunch for my party.”

“Okay. Thanks.”

Jonah reviewed the officer’s notes. What more could he need?

“Have you seen this guy before?”

“A couple of weeks ago. The day Sarge collapsed. He bought candles.”

“Credit receipt?”

“He paid cash.”

“Description?”

She pressed a hand to her forehead. “He’s quite big, round shoulders. A blunt haircut and very large square hands. He wears his clothes pressed and spotless. He’s afraid of germs and fingerprints. And … being touched.”

Jonah lifted his pen. “Is that what set him off?”

“It is, and I don’t want any wisecracks.”

A hint of dark humor touched his eyes, but he refrained. “Did he threaten you?”

“No.”

“You’re injured.”

“He knocked Lloyd’s sculpture. It fell against my leg. It wasn’t intentional. None of this was.” The mingled scents of the broken and spilled packages confused her senses. Or maybe it was Jonah’s scent interfering with her damaged creations.

Jonah pocketed the notebook. “You want help cleaning up?”

“No.”

“Those shelves look heavy.”

“I’ll manage.”

He clicked his pen and stuck it in his pocket. “I apologized last night.”

“So forget it.” She wrapped herself in her arms. “Anyway, you’re wrong.”

“About what?’

“I’m not bitter.”

He gave her his cop face. “Okay. So let me help you with the shelves.”

“No, thanks.” She turned her back.

“You ought to have that leg looked at.”

“So they can tell me it’s bruised?”

“Ice it then.”

It was hurting enough to bring tears if she bumped it. Gritting her teeth, she grabbed one end of the tempered glass shelf lying across the display frame. No way could she move it alone. Jonah came up beside her.

Together they lifted the shelves off the frame. A broken edge had gouged the floor. They raised the frame and inserted the three unbroken shelves. The other display was a single unit. They righted it, and she straightened.

“Can you think of anything else about this guy that might help me find him?”

She shook her head. “I don’t want him prosecuted.”

“You’ve got serious damage and personal injury.”

“It was an accident.” She looked at her leg. “I just need to clean up.” She surveyed the shards of glass and broken pottery and crumbled wax. She had intended to make a claim for her insurance, which would require a police report. When had that changed?

“You should close up until it’s safe. Last thing you need is someone slipping on a shard.”

“Last thing I need is someone minding my business.” She hadn’t meant to snipe but hated his stating the obvious.

“Yeah. Got it.” He looked her up and down, then walked out, turning the sign to CLOSED as he went.

Jonah left Tia’s shop, scanning for the person she had described. He might be long gone, but if he was still upset about Tia’s touching him, he could endanger others or himself. He checked the nearest shops. The kid at the T-shirt store had seen nothing. The man at the Western gallery had heard the crash but not seen anyone.

Jonah went into the bakery, glad to see Piper had forgiven Sarge’s outburst and gone back to work—with no renegotiation of terms, as far as he knew. She looked up from arranging items on a tray and said, “Hi.”

“Hi.”

“Can I get you something?”

“No, thanks. Tia had an altercation next-door. I wondered if you saw or heard anything.”

“Just now?”

“Forty minutes to an hour ago.”

She shook her head. “The smoke alarm went off in the kitchen. I’ve been dealing with that.”

“Okay.”

“What happened at Tia’s?”

He repeated an abbreviated version, then described the man.

“That guy?” Piper looked distressed.

“You saw him?”

“Not today. Awhile ago. I can’t believe he’d do that.”

“Tia said it wasn’t intentional. He snapped.”

Piper shook her head. “Poor guy. He’s got that Monk thing.”

“He’s a monk?”

“No, you know the TV show.”

Jonah hadn’t owned a television in years. Typical mountain reception, and it wasn’t worth paying for satellite.

“That guy who has to have everything lined up and spotless.”

“OCD?”

Piper shrugged. “He seemed nice enough. A little funny about germs. I sold him a fig and pine-nut sticky roll that could have been yours if you’d come in that time I asked.”

He half smiled and got her back on point. “He made no threats …”

“He’s not mean, just different.”

“And you didn’t see him today.”

Her silky blond ponytail swung as she shook her head. “Is Tia okay?”

There were too many ways he could answer that. “You can check with her.” He palmed his notebook. “Thanks for your help.”

Having done all he could with that, he drove to the emergency clinic, found Sue and Sam in the waiting room.

Sue looked to be holding herself together with sheer force of will. “Eli’s getting x-rays.”

Sam sat, elbows on his thighs, hands shaking. He raised red-rimmed eyes, his face rough with several days’ growth of beard. “What are you staring at? Accidents happen.”

He was a thin man, narrow across the shoulders and chest, getting a bad-habit belly that made his jeans ride low. Jonah curbed his tongue. The last thing Sue needed was an altercation between her husband and her boss.

“How did he fall?”

“Climbed the railing on the balcony. He knows he’s not supposed to go there.”

“Where were you?”