Something Bad (23 page)

“Gabe. Calm down. I’m okay. I have a problem but it isn’t an emergency. Doc says I have to stay in bed all the time. I can only get up to go to the bathroom. You think you and Wanna can watch over me for a while? I won’t be much trouble.”

Gabe’s pulse picked up. His daydream of coming to Deena Lee’s rescue was coming true. “We’d be happy to help. I’ll have Wanna make up the extra room. You need a ride over?”

“Just a minute.”

Gabe heard Deena Lee’s muffled voice, “Doc, can I drive?” He couldn’t make out Doc’s response.

Deena Lee’s voice came back loud. “I’ll need a ride, if you don’t mind.”

“I’ll be there in a few minutes.” He hung up without saying bye and lifted the sash on the side window. “Wanna. Can you come in here right away?” He hoped she wouldn’t object. She was past most of the morning sickness and moodiness.

Wanna rushed into the house. “What’s up? You all right?”

“It’s not me.” He panted. “Miz Murtry needs our help.”

“What’s wrong?”

“She needs to stay in bed for the rest of her pregnancy. I said she could stay here and we’d look after her. That okay with you?”

“Gabe, you dog.” She shook her head and smiled. “You got your heart throb under your roof. She call you?”

“Yup.”

“She’s sweet on you, too, you dog. I’ll be happy to help. I might even put in a good word for you. Tell her what a stud you are.” She giggled.

“Don’t you dare.”

“Relax, big boy. I won’t mess it up for you. But we’re going to have to think of an excuse if my belly starts to swell before she delivers.” She patted her flat stomach.

Gabe straightened a pillow on the couch. “I’m not worried about that. I just want to make sure Miz Murtry and her baby are all right.” He gave Wanna a hug. “You don’t mind playing maid for her when I’m working the fields?”

“People have been plenty nice to us in these parts, especially when our parents passed. I always have time for our people. And it might get you laid by your dream girl later on.” She returned the hug.

Gabe grabbed his truck keys. “I have to go get her.”

Wanna hooked his arm and wagged her index finger in his face. “Stay away from Misty.”

Gabe rolled his eyes.

For the first time in his life, he intentionally exceeded the posted speed limit.

T
HE ROOM WAS
cramped but cozy. Gabe liked the feeling of intimacy. Since he moved the portable TV from Wanna’s room into Deena Lee’s room, the three of them spent the evenings laughing at the comedies, worrying over the dramas, and sharing the appropriate righteous indignation when the investigative journalism programs came on. He smiled. It was Wanna’s idea to move the TV.

A lot can be learned by watching a person’s reactions to different types of shows, he thought, and he was audience to Deena Lee’s behavior as much as he was to the television shows. Without a single reservation, he liked what he saw.

He was particularly proud of Wanna. She was as doting as a future grandmother. For the two weeks of Deena Lee’s stay, he watched Wanna ask question after question about the pregnancy. She seemed to revel in the sense of discovery. Deena Lee had told him once that she wished Wanna could experience the joys of impending motherhood. Gabe had nodded and changed the subject.

They had just settled in for a night of sitcoms when the phone rang. Wanna jumped from her chair and sprinted into the front room.

“It’s for you, Gabe. Officer Ralson wants to talk to you. You do something wrong?”

Gabe gave Wanna a frown and took the phone.

“Gabe? I have some information on the whereabouts of Father Costello. Can you come in to the office tomorrow morning? The situation is a bit complicated and I got some directions. They’d be hard to give over the phone.”

“Be there first thing. Thank you.” Gabe felt a rush of excitement sweep his body. It was going to be hard to wait until morning.

Before he could hang up the phone, Wanna was on him. “What’s that about?”

He almost said “nothing,” but he remembered a delightful passage from one of the short stories by his favorite author, O. Henry, which he committed to memory, word for word, due to the common thread that tied it to his own experience:

“Hearken, brethren. When She-who-has-a-right-to-ask interrogates you concerning a change she finds in your mood answer her thus: Tell her that you, in a sudden rage, have murdered your grandmother; tell her that you have robbed orphans and that remorse has stricken you; tell her your fortune is swept away; that you are beset by enemies, by bunions, by any kind of malevolent fate; but do not, if peace and happiness are worth as much as a grain of mustard seed to you—do not answer her ‘Nothing.’“

“I have to go to his office tomorrow morning,” he finally said.

“You in trouble?” She poked him in the ribs with her index finger.

“No. I asked for information about Father Costello and he’s got some. That’s all.”

“Why you so fired up to find an old priest? You’re not even Catholic.”

Ignoring his earlier literary caution, he forwarded a response second worst to ‘nothing’: “Never mind.”

“What do you mean never mind? Gabe Petersen, what’s going on here? You in some trouble?”

“For the last time, I’m not in any trouble, dammit.” His anger wasn’t directed at her. “I’m just checking on some of the strange things that have been going on here lately and Officer Ralston has some information. That’s all. So calm yourself.” A grin invaded his face. “You swing on me and I’ll put you down.”

Wanna laughed and gave a wild swing in Gabe’s direction. He grabbed her around the waist and pulled her down on the couch. It was the first time they had shared a good laugh together in some time. Before getting up, Wanna whispered in his ear, “Careful. Don’t hurt the baby.”

Gabe gave her a hug. He felt guilty about what he was doing.

Gabe ambled into the sheriff’s office minutes after Officer Ralston arrived.

“Gabe. You’re up bright and early this morning.” Ralston stretched his arms straight up and yawned.

Gabe didn’t catch the yawn—he’d been up for a while. “Yup. What you said sounded interesting so I had trouble sleeping.”

“Pull up that chair. You want coffee? Sorry, I don’t have any donuts.” Ralston chuckled.

“Coffee. Black would be fine. Thanks.” Gabe plopped down in the uncomfortable wooden chair.

Ralston sat behind his desk and drew coffee through his lips so it made a loud, twittering slurp. He pulled some notes from his top desk drawer.

“Seems Father Costello did leave a trail, but it wasn’t easy to find. Right after his problem here he went to St. Timothy’s in St. Louis. The Monsignor there was his mentor when Costello was a novice in the priesthood. He was lucky no one here wanted to press charges for what he did. I couldn’t find anything in the books about him or the church around that time. Anyway, he stayed in St. Louis for two weeks, give a day or two. From there he went to Chicago. There’s a hospital there that caters to the Catholic Church.”

“Hospital? What kind of hospital?” Gabe leaned forward and braced himself by putting his hands on the arms of the chair.

“A mental hospital. It seems the older priests need a place to go when they lose their wits. What do they call that disease? Alzheimer’s? Something like that. Anyway, this hospital gives them the care they need until they pass on. Occasionally they take in a young priest who has problems.”

“What kind of problems?”

“Mental problems. It can happen to anyone. Why not priests?” Ralston put his notes flat on the desk. “Father Costello has been in this place for the past twenty-five years now.”

“How far is Chicago? Can I drive?”

“Slow down, Gabe. Don’t you travel much? It’s just under eight hundred miles. You thinking of going there?”

“I really need to talk with the Father.”

Ralston pushed away from the desk and stood. He squeezed an exhalation through his lips. “It’s not a good idea. There’s another problem with Father Costello.”

Gabe leaned farther forward. He was on the edge of the seat. “What’s the problem?”

Ralston took a long sip of coffee. “He hasn’t said a word since he’s been there. In twenty-five years. They’ve had in more than a dozen doctors and none of them could get him to make a peep. He just sits and stares out the windows. He’s in his late fifties now, in good shape physically, but he just stares.”

“You said you got directions?”

“Gabe. Didn’t you hear me? If you’re going there to talk with him, he won’t talk back. More than a dozen specialists couldn’t help him. You think you can do better?”

Gabe frowned. “All I know is I need to try.”

Ralston sat down and leaned back in his chair. “When you get something in your head, it stays there. You drive much?”

“No. Had no need of going around.” Gabe felt a shortness of breath coming on.

“You better talk to someone who’s been to Chicago before going, then. It’s a big place. I have directions here, but it’ll be easy to get lost.” Ralston opened his middle drawer and rifled around in some papers. He pulled out an address book. “Here. Here’s the number of an officer I know in Chicago. If you get into trouble, just give him a call.” He scribbled the number on a sticky note and stuck it to the page of directions.

Gabe stood and offered his hand to Ralston. “Thank you. I appreciate the trouble you’ve gone to. If anything comes of the trip, I’ll fill you in when I get back.”

Ralston returned the handshake. “If it’s important to my job, I would appreciate it. If it’s personal, there’s no need. Be careful driving. People drive really fast on the interstates. And be sure to watch signs. They can be confusing, particularly when you get into big cities.”

On the way home, Gabe poured over the directions while driving. He had them memorized by the time he got to the general store. He filled his basket with supplies, including a seven-day pill dispenser designed to help people remember their daily medications. He smiled. It would help Wanna remember to take her vitamins when he was gone.

Back home, he packed an overnight bag.

Wanna burst into his room. “What do you think you’re doing? You going somewhere?”

He didn’t look up. “Chicago.”

“You know you can’t leave the Tri-counties.”

“I have to try.”

“Chicago? What’s there?” Wanna paced in front of the door.

“Officer Ralston found Father Costello. He’s in Chicago. Be gone for a few days, no more than a week.” He looked in her eyes. “Can you handle everything here?”

“You know I can. You have to go?”

“Yup. I have to talk with him.”

She stopped pacing and pushed on his shoulder, turning him to face her. “I don’t suppose you’re going to tell me what it’s about?”

He looked down again. “Nope.”

“Well, if you have to—”

“I do. Will you be all right with Miz Murtry? Anything happens, give Doc a call right away.” He zipped the bag shut and picked it up.

“When are you leaving?” Wanna followed Gabe into the kitchen.

“First thing after lunch. Would you tell Miz Murtry when she wakes up?”

“Sure. What do you want to eat?”

Gabe felt his stomach growl. He wasn’t sure he would be able to hold down any lunch, but he didn’t want Wanna to see his nervousness. He ate quickly.

Gabe headed east on State Route 27. He’d get to the Herndon County line before turning north toward Chicago. If he could cross the line.

T
HE SIGN CAME
up fast, even at forty-five miles per hour. Welcome to Franklin County, it said. But the welcome wasn’t a warm one. Gabe had to force his foot down just to keep steady pressure on the gas pedal. He wanted to bust through, like it was a finish line with a victory tape stretched across the roadway. But the closer he came, the more the tape looked like a rigid barricade. A roadblock without a detour sign. The speed of the pickup tailed off, the sign fifty yards away.

The tightness hit and he buckled against the steering wheel, causing the pickup to swerve a little. He couldn’t catch his breath as the extra large heart contractions rang in his head. Dizziness came fast, and darkness ran a close second. He slammed on the brakes and turned the car to the shoulder. The shower of rocks in the wheel wells created a clamor that faded in parallel with the decreasing light. He was going out this time. He stayed on the brake and stomped the clutch long enough to slide the gearshift into neutral, hoping he could break his momentum before he went down. His last definite sensation was the fishtail of the truck—the rear slid to the left, across the gravel shoulder and into the freshly mowed grass. A horn honked in the distance.