Till the Cows Come Home (12 page)

“They’re fine. Howie moved the calves to an empty storage room in the heifer barn last night, just to be safe. They join the yearlings today.”

“Great. Just show me that foot yet.”

I took her to where Howie had tied the lame cow, and she checked the problem hoof.

“Yup, exactly what I thought. It’s an abscess. Here, give me a hand.”

Together we pulled the foot up with a rope tied around the ankle and slung over a beam above the cow. Carla got the foot between her knees and started shaving away layers of hoof. I held onto the end of the rope so the foot wouldn’t move.

“So what’s this about dinner with the hunk, Stella?”

I sighed. I had known she wouldn’t let it go. “Howie can’t go to the co-op meeting tonight, so I asked Nick to go. No big deal.”

She paused and looked up at me, studying my face, and then went back to the hoof. “What about Abe?”

“What about him?”

“Ah, there we are. Look at that beautiful infection.”

“I have never understood your obsession with pus.” I watched the white mess ooze out of the foot.

“That means I got to the heart of it. Here. Hand me that bottle. No, the one with the copper top. Thanks.”

She sprayed the cleaned-out foot and unstraddled the hoof.

“You know what about him,” she said, going back to Abe.

“He came home with Miss Macy’s. That should end any further speculation on your part.”

“Whatever you say.” She packed up her bag. “That it? If so, I’m going to go grab some lunch.”

“If you don’t want more than a PB&J you can eat here.”

She considered that for about a nano-second. “Sorry, babe. I’m going to enjoy my lunch—not cram it down like you do.”

We were walking out to her truck when Marty Hoffman pulled up in his truck. Once again, no Queenie to bark at the tires.

“Hey, Hoffman,” I said. “What’s up?” It had been just the day before I’d seen him at the Derstines’, and I hoped he didn’t have bad news. It was unusual for him to drop by in the middle of a work day.

He stepped out of his truck and hitched up his jeans. In his fifties, Marty had yet to gather the love handles most men his age acquire. Therefore, he had trouble keeping up his pants, and he refused, for some reason, to wear suspenders.

“Rochelle made some apple pies this morning,” Marty said. “Thought you might like one.”

I breathed a quick sigh of relief that it was just a neighborly call, and could see Carla eyeing the pie he held out.

“Thanks, Marty,” I said. “That’s really nice. Be sure to tell Rochelle it’ll probably be gone today. Before Carla leaves, in fact.”

Instead of denying it, Carla asked, “Do you have vanilla ice cream?”

Marty laughed, hitched up his pants again, and climbed back in his truck. He leaned out the window. “You going to the co-op dinner tonight?”

“Yeah.”

“Then you can thank Rochelle for the pie in person. We’ll try to sit with you.”

“That would save the evening.”

We waved as he drove off. I wondered if he’d be at Toby’s funeral, too, but hadn’t wanted to bring it up.

“So, do ya have ice cream?” Carla asked. “It doesn’t matter if it’s not Breyers.”

Chapter Sixteen

After Carla, Howie, and I had demolished most of the pie, I tried calling Jude again. This time someone picked up.

“Hey, Marianne, it’s Stella. Jude around?”

“No. He’s at the welding shop. The guys think they know what happened to the combine.”

“Sorry about that.”

“Yeah. Well.”

I waited for her to say more, but she didn’t.

“I guess you could tell me,” I said. “Has Jude been working in the field at nights?”

“No. He doesn’t like to. Why?”

“Someone saw lights in the west field the other night. I didn’t think it would be Jude, but I don’t know who else it would’ve been.”

She was quiet for a moment. “I can’t help you with that.”

“That’s all right. Could you have Jude give me a call if he has any idea who it was?”

“Sure. I’ll ask him.”

I hesitated, not sure if I should say anything about her being at a fertility clinic the day before, and decided I’d better not. I didn’t want to get Jethro into hot water. So I simply said good-bye.

Instead of hanging up, I punched the flash key and dialed the metal shop. Jermaine answered.

“Granger’s.”

“Hey, Jermaine.”

“Oh, hi, Marianne. Jude’s here. Want me to get him?”

“Jermaine, it’s Stella.”

“Oh, sorry. Jude’s expecting Marianne to call. Your mower break again? Your pipes burst? Or maybe it’s your truck decided to conk out.”

“Ha ha. What’s up with Jude’s combine?”

“Fried. Found two nice little holes in the air cleaner.”

I groaned. I knew what damage that could do—the smallest of holes would allow dust and grit and all sorts of nasty things into the cylinder and do its best sandpaper imitation on the delicate innards. This would wear the rings, which in turn would cause the combine to lose compression and burn oil, causing power loss. The dirt would also get into the engine oil and cause bearing failure. If you don’t understand any of that, it doesn’t matter. All you need to know is that Jude’s combine was completely and expensively screwed.

“So where’s Jude now?” I asked.

“On the phone with his insurance agent.”

“Lost cause.”

“You’re telling me. His agent won’t touch it with her ten-foot Chrysler.”

“Tell him he can use my tractor and pull-type combine if he wants. I told him, but I don’t think it registered.”

“Will do.”

I hung up and shook my head. Poor Jude. I didn’t know what kind of financial situation he and Marianne were in, but the last thing any farmer needs is for his most important machine to crap out on him in the middle of oat harvest.

For the next half-hour I looked around the farm for Queenie, calling her name and checking all of her old hiding places. I walked out into the fields around the house in case she’d gotten caught somewhere, and looked up and down the road. No luck. I was feeling desperate, but didn’t know what else to do. If the person who killed Cleopatra had Queenie, there was no way to find her. I just couldn’t make myself believe the teen-agers I’d turned down for jobs would stoop to animal abuse as revenge. They could always get a job bagging at the grocery store. And since Hubert was now just a remote possibility, I was completely stumped as to who else might have a motive.

On my way back to the house to change for the funeral I caught up with Howie, who was standing at the door of the yearling pen, observing while the two new calves insinuated themselves into the group.

“You about ready to head to Toby’s funeral?” I asked.

He shook his head, not looking at me. “Figured one of us better stay here.”

“I took care of that already.”

He looked at me, and I caught my breath at the expression of sadness on his face.

“You okay?” I asked.

He turned back to the calves. “I’m not sure. I— What do you mean you took care of it?”

“Nick’s going to come while we’re gone.”

He gave a glance toward our big barn, then rubbed his eyes. “A stranger’s gonna protect our farm?”

“No more of a stranger than an expensive security guard.”

“I don’t know—”

“It’s just for an hour or two. In the middle of the day.”

“Gus got killed in the middle of the day.”

“I know. But I can’t imagine they’ll try that again. You want to tell me what’s wrong?”

He watched the two calves for another minute. “I’ll meet you out front in a bit.”

So he wasn’t going to tell me. Since he was as hardheaded as me, I let it go.

I was waiting on the side steps in clean clothes when Nick pulled in and parked in his usual spot. He came sauntering over in his work clothes, and I tried not to stare. I still hadn’t gotten used to how good he looked walking around my property.

“You ready to play farm-sitter?” I asked.

“Sure. Figured I’d get a little work in, too, if that’s okay.”

“Great. I just want these jerks to see someone around so they don’t try anything else.”

“Like kill another cow?”

I looked at him. “How’d you know they did that?”

He shrugged. “Didn’t think electrocution or a calf getting hung were usual things. And if it was just something like soaping your windows you wouldn’t have these new stress lines in between your eyebrows.” He reached a hand out and touched my forehead, making me shiver.

Howie came down his steps and frowned when he saw us. I stood up, and Nick took his hand away.

“Thanks,” I said. “I wish I didn’t have to go to this, but.…”

“I know. I’ve been there, too.”

I was about to ask for details when Howie blew his horn. I waved at him, irritated.

“Well,” Nick said. “See you in an hour or so.”

I trotted over to Howie’s truck and got in the passenger side. “Was that absolutely necessary? I was on the verge of learning an actual fact about Nick’s life.”

Howie grunted and started down the lane. “Didn’t think you cared about his life. Just his pretty ass.”

I studied Howie’s stern expression. “Just how shallow do you think I am?”

His lips twitched. “Just shallow enough to enjoy the resident stud muffin.”

“You got it.” I tried to believe it, but something niggled at my insides. Nick was a gorgeous addition to farm life, but if I wasn’t careful, he’d soon be more than that. An image of Abe flickered through my mind, and I pushed it aside. If I thought about him, I might as well think about Missy, too. No thanks.

The parking lot was packed when we got to the little Mennonite church, and we had to leave the truck in the grass next to the blacktop. We weren’t the first ones to make our own spaces, and if the vehicles were any indication, the sanctuary was going to be packed. I looked around the lot for familiar cars and couldn’t help seeing a Town Car taking up more than its fair share of space, the CHP logo looking as gauche as always. Hubert better not try to talk to me, I thought, or I’d have to smack him for his pathetic lawyer stunt.

Howie and I squeezed into the foyer of the church, wondering what the hold-up was.

“Oh, crap,” I said. “I didn’t even think about viewing hours.”

The line we found ourselves following led to Tom and Claire, who stood by the tiniest coffin I’d ever seen. My stomach rumbled, and I looked at Howie. “We need to do this part?”

His expression was stony, and again I saw a deep sadness sweep across his face before he covered it. “It’s a show of support. You don’t have to look at Toby if you don’t want to.”

I didn’t want to, but when we got to the head of the line twenty minutes later, my eyes were drawn to him. I reached out to touch his hand, and images flashed through my mind of the little guy giving me a thumbs-up from his front window as I rode by on my bike. Damn it, sweet kids weren’t supposed to die this way.

“Stella, thanks for coming,” Tom said. His handshake was firm, but his eyes were bloodshot, and I guessed he hadn’t had more than a couple hours of sleep in the past few days.

Claire gave me a blank look, her eyes glassed over. Her skin was pasty and puffy, and I wasn’t sure whether or not to put out my hand. I did, but when she didn’t reach for it, I let it drop.

By the time Howie and I made it to the sanctuary, every seat was filled. We found a few feet of wall space in the back, and took it. I scanned the crowd and caught glimpses of some familiar faces. Marty and Rochelle Hoffman sat about halfway up, squished between folks I didn’t know. Some of the other homeowners from my stretch of road were sprinkled amongst the crowd, and I saw a couple of the Grangers—Jethro and Belle, and Jordan. Two rows ahead of them sat Ma, a serene look on her face, eyes closed. Probably praying.

Beside Ma sat Abe, and he suddenly turned as if he’d felt my eyes on him. We stared at each other for a few seconds, till I realized his arm was around the back of the pew, and nestled into the crook of it was Missy. He looked down at his elbow, his face registering something—embarrassment?—then back at me. Feeling a little sick, I turned my attention toward the front of the church, where Toby’s casket was being wheeled. The service was starting almost a half-hour late.

The funeral wasn’t at all what I expected. I’d been afraid Howie and I would find ourselves surrounded by sobbing women and children, but was surprised to find the tone of the service more hopeful than tragic. Women cried some silent tears, as did some of the men, but the children who were present looked more interested than mournful. Posters adorned the walls, drawings of playgrounds and suns, and a photo of a smiling Toby sat on top of his now-closed casket. My throat tightened, and I had to just listen through the hymns that were sung.

Music over, the church’s minister said a few words, then introduced Sonny Turner. I looked where Sonny was getting up, all decked out in suit and tie, and was able to see Pam squeezed into the bench beside him. She didn’t look green anymore. Now her face was red and puffy, like she’d been crying. It wouldn’t have taken too much for me to break down, either.

Sonny spoke the usual platitudes, offering the family sympathy and brotherhood, then gave a little pep talk about how the culprit of the sickness had been found, thanks to Toby’s sacrifice. I was sure all the other parents in the room were feeling more than a little guilt, and a whole lot of relief, that their children had been spared. I even saw Jethro give Belle a tight smile and squeeze her shoulders with his arm.

I couldn’t help but think everybody was jumping the gun. I hadn’t heard yet about anybody’s kids actually getting better. Until I heard good news, I was going to expect the worst.

When the service was over, a few speakers and a couple songs later, Howie turned to me. “You want to stay to talk to anybody?”

I thought of Ma, but figured I’d have to endure Missy and Abe’s closeness at the same time. I also didn’t want to chance running into Hubert, who I hadn’t yet spotted in the packed room. “Let’s go home.”

Not so simple. The crowd was crammed into the little church, and movement toward the door was painstaking. I was taking shuffling steps, people pressed all around me, when the claustrophobic feeling I’d had at the Derstines came rushing back. Howie was now three people in front of me, and I couldn’t reach him to grab his elbow and gain some stability. Panic edged into my breathing, and I fought back toward the wall. I finally reached it and was pressing my forehead against it, glad to find something solid, when an arm went around my waist.

“Come on, Stella.” Abe used his other arm to block for me, and we pushed our way across the wall to the door. As soon as we were in the foyer the crowd thinned out, but Abe stayed by me and got me outside. He led me down the steps and to the side, where I was finally able to take a few deep breaths. His arm was still around my waist, and he kept it there while he put his other hand on my cheek and gently turned my face toward him.

“You all right?”

I took another shaky breath. “Yeah. I’m not sure what happened in there. Not enough space, I guess.”

“You’re not getting sick?”

“No. No, I don’t think so.”

We stood silently, inches apart, his hand on my face. My breath went shallow again, and the lightheadedness returned.

“Stella,” he finally said, “are you—” He looked over my shoulder and suddenly dropped his arms. “Hey, Missy. Lost you in there.”

She looked from him to me. “Yeah. I guess so.”

I took a deep breath and thankfully felt my steadiness returning. Fainting in front of Missy was the last thing I needed.

Howie sauntered up and completed our little circle. “You ready, Princess?” His expression said he knew I needed to get away.

“Ready.” I turned to Abe to say thanks, but Missy had already regained his attention, and I felt like a third wheel. “Let’s go.”

We were walking toward the truck when I noticed Detective Willard leaning against his car at the far side of the parking lot, scanning faces as people passed.

“Hang on a sec,” I said to Howie. He followed me as I made my way down the row toward the Caprice Classic. Willard looked awful. Worse than even that morning when he’d stopped by the farm.

“Oh, hell,” I said, and quickened my pace. Willard looked at me when I reached him, and I knew my instinct was right. “Not your son?” I asked.

Willard shook his head slowly. “Boy in the next bed.”

“When?”

“About two hours ago.”

Howie looked from me to Willard. “What are you talking about?”

“He died, Mr. Archer. Another child has died.”