See Also Deception (11 page)

“Why's that? I wanted to thank her for having the good sense to call Doc Huddleston.”

Jaeger looked up and stared me in the eye. “She thinks you're mad at her, Mrs. Trumaine. Mad for bringin' Hank here. But it was my idea to call the doctor. Hank was struggling to breathe like a fish out of water. I just couldn't stand to think of him panicking any more than he already was. I was scared for him. Betty left because she was scared of what you would do or say.”

I suddenly felt very ashamed of myself. I stepped up to him and touched his shoulder gently. “I'm sorry. It's been a difficult couple of days. Calla Eltmore's death has come as a shock and shaken me to my core. And I always worry over Hank, over pneumonia. I feared this day would come more than most. I'm sorry. I've acted like a mean old harpy. I'll apologize to Betty the next time I see her. I've been without my manners for a few days.”

“It's okay.”

“No, it's not really okay. It's not okay, Jaeger. I know you're fond of Betty. I didn't mean anything by it.”

He hesitated. “You don't like her much do you?”

“I don't know her well enough not to like her, Jaeger. I just worry about you, that's all. Your parents aren't around to give you any advice, and I'm not sure it's my place to. You're a grown man with a grown man's problems. But you lack experience and wisdom. I just don't want to see you make a mistake that'll wreck your life. You've got enough to overcome the way it is.”

“I get lonely in that house by myself.” It was a whisper, and there was no mistaking the pain in Jaeger's voice.

I pulled him to me and hugged him the best I could. I wasn't his mother, I wasn't Lida, but I could offer him some of the same comfort. If I'd ever had a son, I would have been proud to have had one just like Jaeger Knudsen.

“Just promise me you'll be careful,” I said, pulling back, looking him in the eye. “You know what I mean by that, right?”

He nodded. “Yes, yes, ma'am, I think I do.” Then he turned away and started down the hall. “Call me if you need anything,” he said over his shoulder.

“I will.”

Jaeger disappeared, and I was left to myself. It was just me and the television in the waiting room, both of us void of energy and left with nothing to think about but the ghosts in our memory.

Time slipped away. I'd settled into the hard, orange, plastic-cushioned chair and stared at the silent television after Jaeger had left, tempted to turn it on for company, but uncertain of it enough to stay seated, alone.

The hospital remained eerily quiet. Every once in a while, the automatic door opened, and I could hear Olga Olafson talking above everyone else. She must have come from a large brood of children, all vying for attention, the loudest one the victor. But beyond that, I hadn't seen any sign of Doc Huddleston. Just an occasional nurse I didn't know and who didn't bother to stop and chat. They always seemed to be in a hurry. I was glad a nun hadn't wandered through the emergency room without stopping, too. They made me uncomfortable. I was certain I was going to say something wrong. Even though my Lutheran training was closely tied to the Catholic faith, I knew little about nuns and priests, their life of celibacy, and their idols and saints. Martin Luther had fled the church for his own reasons, and I pretty much shared them. I'd been born into a Lutheran household—at Momma's insistence. Left to his own devices, Father would have worshiped at the library first and out on the land second. I most likely would have felt different if I'd been born into a Catholic home. But I hadn't, and the cold sternness of the nuns who roamed the halls of St. Joseph had always unsettled me and most likely always would. I lacked the ability to understand their sacrifice, their faith, their humanity.

I was tired, and, while I should have been working on the
Common Plants
index, I sat there and dozed in and out, my mind fluttering from the events of the day. I couldn't have slept if I'd wanted to, but it felt good to close my eyes and give them a rest.

The emergency room doors groaned open and startled me out of my torpid state. I opened my eyes, hoping to see Doc ready to go in and change out the dome, but that's not who it was.

It was Guy Reinhardt, the Stark County deputy sheriff I'd spoken to last when I'd called the library. He had a deep, concerned look on his face as he made his way over to me.

CHAPTER 18

I stood up to meet Guy's approach. My gaze looked directly into his chest, since he was at least a head and a half taller than me. The silver star over his heart glimmered in the fluorescent light. He had his campaign hat off and carried it with his right hand. The hat resembled a Mountie's hat, only dark brown instead of Canadian tan. It matched his Stark County sheriff's department uniform.

Guy's head bore a red indented rim in the flesh, like the hat had been permanently attached—or done permanent damage to his skull. Gray flecks peppered his perfectly trimmed sideburns and hair, a few shades lighter brown than the hat, which was neatly parted and recently cut. I couldn't remember a time when I'd ever seen Guy and he hadn't been wearing his uniform. But if I had, I would have recognized him anywhere. He was hard to miss, as tall as he was. The Gary Cooper limp that accompanied his easy gait was even harder to mistake.

“I was hopin' you'd still be here, Marjorie,” Guy said.

He stopped a few feet from me, but I could smell his aftershave—Old Spice mixed with a healthy dose of vim and vigor. At that moment, I preferred the antiseptic hospital smell I'd grown accustomed to.

“Doesn't look like I'll be going anywhere anytime soon, Guy. Is something the matter?” I said.

“No, I just ran into Jaeger Knudsen earlier, and he told me about Hank. How is he?”

I looked at my feet, trying the best I could to conjure a lie, but I lacked the desire and the creativity to make something up. Besides, there was no hiding anything from Guy. “I don't know. Doc Huddleston has him in an oxygen tent as a precaution. Everything seems to be all right, but you never know with someone who's in a condition like Hank is.”

“It's a hard road, Marjorie.”

I'd heard that phrase so many times in the last year, I could've screamed. But I didn't say a word and tried not to show my discomfort on my face. Guy meant no harm, and he couldn't have known what he'd said was a bad thing. It just was to me. One full year of it.
Happy Anniversary
.

I looked up at Guy and at that second I wasn't sure if he meant it was a hard road for Hank, for me, or for both of us. He had striking blue eyes, the color of a clear summer sky, and they seemed sincere. I was being sensitive because I really didn't know how to take Guy. I really didn't know him that well, even though we'd been though a trying time together a few months back.

“I'm sure Hank'll be fine. He's always bounced back before,” I said.

“I suppose it's hard not to hope so,” Guy said. He darted his eyes away and hid his ringless left hand behind the campaign hat like a hawk afraid to lose its supper to an approaching coyote. He seemed suddenly flustered, nervous for some reason.

I held back mentioning anything about his personal life. I'd heard that Guy and his second wife, Ruth, had finalized their divorce. A second divorce was a scandal in these parts and proof that Guy Reinhardt was damaged goods—regardless of who was at fault in either divorce. It would be a difficult character flaw to overcome in an election—since I knew that Guy had ambitions to become the sheriff. Though Duke Parsons held that position now and would most likely run in the upcoming emergency election.

“If there's anything you need, Marjorie . . .” Guy continued.

“Thanks, Guy. Jaeger's helping out at our place. He's picked up as much extra work as he could and has been a big help. He's got a new hand now, too.”

“I heard he took on Lester Gustaffson. That's a good move, but he'll need more'n Les come spring.”

I agreed with a nod. “He knows that.” I paused, trying my best not to bring up a bad subject, but I knew I had no choice. Even with my current situation focused on Hank, I was still bereft about Calla. “Last time I talked to you,” I said, “you were at the library.”

“A sad day,” Guy said. “I sure liked Miss Eltmore, and I was surprised to find her like that.”

“You found her?”

“Well, no, not right off. That was Herbert. He came in for the day, and she was at her desk. Wasn't no use tryin' to save her from what Herb said. I'd just come on duty, got the call, and wasn't but a couple of minutes away.”

That made sense. Herbert had told me he'd found Calla. I sighed and shook my head.

“What's the matter, Marjorie?”

“You really think she did it, Guy? Do you really think that Calla stuck that gun to her head and killed herself?”

“Well, what else would it be, Marjorie? Lord, it was a hard thing to see. I gotta tell you that, but it looked plain and simple to me and Duke, and to the coroner, Pete McClandon, too. What else are you sayin', Marjorie?”

“I'm not saying anything; I'm just wondering, that's all. Asking a question, right? I can't help myself. It just doesn't make any sense to me that Calla would have done such a thing.”

“It's a shock, Marjorie.”

“Everybody keeps saying that. But it's more than a shock; it's a puzzle piece that doesn't fit anywhere. Did she leave a note, Guy? Herbert didn't see one.”

“You talked to Herbert?”

“I was worried about him. Found him at the Wild Pony. He's tore up, Guy, and just as confused as I am. Calla was my friend, and she didn't give me the slightest hint that she would ever do something like this.
Ever
, Guy.
Ever
. Calla Eltmore loved life, her job, books. All you had to do was watch her. She wasn't a depressed person. She was smart, engaged, well-read, and never ever mentioned that she was unhappy. I talked to her frequently. I would have picked up on something wrong. I'm sure of it.”

“We don't know people as well as we think we do, Marjorie.”

“Did she leave a note, Guy?”

He stepped back, looked up and down the hall, then back to me. “You know I can't say anything about that, Marjorie. Duke would fire me quicker than a happy dog waggin' its tail if he knew I told you something about an ongoing investigation.”

“It's ongoing? Why?”

“Just a practical matter, Marjorie, until the coroner signs off on the death. Standard operating procedure. Just the rules, that's all.” He stared at me with some pity. “Don't you have enough burdens to carry? Why are you all worried about something like this? It looks like Calla Eltmore committed suicide, plain and simple, except I can't say that officially till everybody else says it. I'm sorry, it's just that way. You just have to accept that there's eyes on this that know exactly what they are looking at. Calla Eltmore is dead, and there's nothin' we can do to put things back the way they was. As hard as it is to believe, she's gone, Marjorie. I'm sorry about that. I really am.”

A pulse of anger shot up my spine. Guy's tone was typical. A man telling a woman what to do, what to think, because he said so. Hank took that tone with me on occasion, but he'd been fool enough to do it more than he should have after we'd first married, and he'd learned the hard way that I wasn't the kind of woman who bowed to the status of a man just because he said so. I was raised by both of my parents to have my own mind, to stand up for myself. I was the son my father never had and the daughter my mother had hoped for. I was no doormat, even if I was a woman.

“Is that the sheriff department's official stand?” I demanded.

Guy blew out a deep breath and tensed up at the same time. “There's nothing for you to question here, Marjorie. I'm sure of it. I'm sorry to have bothered you.” He turned to leave, then stopped short of breaking into a run. “Give my regards to Hank. I hope he gets to go home soon.” He completed his turn, put his Mountie hat back on, and scurried away.

I was left again with my thoughts and regrets. But no matter how I looked at it, I couldn't just accept what someone told me to accept because it looked like the plain and simple truth. Calla's death deserved more respect than that.

CHAPTER 19

The real world and the time it abided by ceased to exist inside the confines of the hospital. Schedules and routines were clear as long as everything moved as it should, without a crisis, without an alarm that brought nurses and doctors running to save the day. But beyond that, the minutes dragged into hours, and the hours quickly accumulated, promising to turn into long, exhausting days. The dull white walls, acoustic tiled ceilings, and white shiny linoleum floors never changed, never offered a hint of weather. They were void of any emotion or cheer. I could never predict what was next, though I constantly sat on the edge of my chair waiting for bad news. I couldn't outrun this pure white storm. It was early winter without the deep freeze.