Till the Cows Come Home (17 page)

Chapter Twenty-Two

I wasn’t sure what else to do, and I didn’t have screening to replace the door Queenie had busted through, so I forced myself to go into the house and eat something. There wasn’t much there, so I scrambled up an egg, slapped two pieces of bread around it, and called it lunch. While I ate, I sat at the table and stared blankly at the twelve o’clock news on my little black-and-white. The voices droned on, floating past my ears in unintelligible blurbs, until I heard a voice I recognized. I blinked and sat back with surprise. Pam Moyer was on television.

“The illness has become a menace as frightening as the plague,” she was saying. “We know the partial cause of illness, but the Department of Health has yet to come up with the source.” She stood behind a podium at a press conference, looking professional and neat, but also about ready to keel over. I hoped she’d soon be able to get some sleep. I wondered why on earth Sonny wasn’t doing the press conference, and figured he was too busy managing his conglomeration of businesses.

“The dedicated Department of Health and Centers for Disease Control are working around the clock, trying to save our children,” Pam said. “We feel confident a cure will soon be found, and the culprit—the aflatoxin—negated. We have the antidote to the poison, but it unfortunately can’t keep new cases from developing, and some cases need more than a simple cure. This situation is absolutely our highest priority.”

I would hope so. I grabbed the phone and dialed Jethro and Belle. There was no answer, so I left a message.

The news was now back to the regular broadcaster. He oozed concern. “Doctor appointments in the small borough and surrounding areas have become almost impossible to schedule, and we’re still no closer to finding the cure for the geographically centered problem. The two children who died had both been suffering from severe allergies prior to contracting the illness, and doctors surmise this was the final factor in their deaths. Stay tuned to this station for the most up-to-date information.”

I dusted the crumbs off the table and rolled my rock-hard shoulders. I wondered how Richard was getting on with the home office. Hopefully he was a little more assertive than he had sounded. If he didn’t get on the ball, I’d have my new lawyer—well, once he called back—get on him.

I also wondered how Detective Willard was doing with tracking down the phone number of the fake who had called Richard. It had been at least a half-hour since I talked with him. My kitchen phone is a throwback that still has a cord, and I stood and pulled the receiver over to the table so I could sit again. When the phone was ringing at the police station I realized I had left the TV on, but didn’t feel like getting up again and dragging the phone cord across the room, so I tried to ignore it.

“Police, Officer Meadows speaking.”

Oh great. Mister Rude. “Detective Willard, please.”

“Who’s calling?”

“Stella Crown. I talked to the detective a little bit ago and he was checking on something for me.”

“The phone stuff?”

“Yeah, the phone stuff.”

“Hang on.”

I heard a click and a few seconds of some weird music before Willard got on the phone.

“Detective Willard speaking.”

“Stella Crown here. Find anything out about that phone number?”

“Boy, you expect fast work. But I actually do have an answer for you. Unfortunately.”

My heart sank. I thought it had already reached the low point, but I must have been wrong.

“Unfortunately why?”

“Because it’s basically impossible to track the number. First off, there’s the privacy issue—”

“If there’s been a crime—”

“I know, Ms. Crown. Please let me finish. Besides the privacy issue, the number is vanished by now. After a day or so it’s practically impossible to track, and local calls are most likely not captured, anyway. The phone company says there’s really no way they can help us.”

“And you believe them?”

“I have no choice but to believe them. They can, however, check phones for local calls that originated
there
. So they could check
your
phone to ascertain you didn’t call the insurance company.”

“Like I don’t know that already.”

“It might clear you with the insurance company.”

“They’d just say I called from somewhere else.”

He sighed loudly. “I didn’t say it was a brilliant plan. I said the phone company thought of it.”

“Well, thanks for nothing.”

“A lot of times, nothing is what I do best.”

Even in my condition, I laughed.

He continued to talk, but I didn’t hear him. Hubert Purcell, that slimy, pathetic developer, was on TV.

“Gotta go,” I said, and jumped to hang up the phone. I turned up the volume on the TV and leaned against the table to watch.

Hubert sat in a leather executive chair, probably in his own office, wearing a very nice, dark blue suit, his hair slicked back. He was smiling his nauseating smile that always drove me nuts. I hoped my egg sandwich wouldn’t end up on the floor.

The interviewer was out of sight, asking intelligent questions for which she hoped to get interesting, if not always truthful, answers. The segment was part of a series called “Get to Know Your Business Neighbors.” I guess they mistook Hubert for a human being.

“What do you consider your finest achievement?” the reporter asked in her low, full voice.

Hubert smiled even wider and my stomach heaved.

“I would have to say all of the communities I’ve started where people can find friends and…well…community. Thousands of people in this county have found a new, warmer lifestyle because of the homes I’ve built. I’m very proud of that.”

“The houses,” the reporter said. “What can you tell us about them?”

“They’re built of the finest materials, from the most detailed blueprints, and the most updated technology. The team I’ve gotten together is the best in the business, from electricians, to roofers, to interior designers. When you buy a Hubert Purcell home, you know you’re getting only the best.”

Now my cookies were really at risk for being tossed. Howie and I always joked about people falling through the floor in one of Hubert’s houses and ending up in their basement, or finding that all the electricity is hooked up to one fuse. Anyone who had any brains knew that Hubert used waferboard for his sub floors and the carpet manufacturers refused to put warranties on anything laid on them. And there was always the one complete side of the house with no windows, to save money. Great view. Sub par roofing materials, unsanded drywall—don’t get me started.

Hubert was still smiling, but that diminished when the reporter got serious.

“What about the people who say our farmland is being swallowed up by developers and we’ll soon have no room left to breathe?”

Hubert took a deep breath, as if testing the amount of air around him, and put on a show of concern. “Let’s be realistic. We have thousands of people moving into this area every year. We need to put them somewhere, and that means unless we want to turn families away we need to build more homes. As for the farmers…what can I say? They have a hard life and a hard job to do. Some of the smaller ones are finding themselves out-dated and maybe a bit redundant at the same time as their finances are dwindling and the commercial farms are taking the business. Most farmers I know are hanging on by their fingernails, and if there are any wrenches thrown at them—say, machinery that breaks down, livestock that dies, insurance that’s unreliable—that can put them in a downward spiral that takes them nowhere but bankruptcy, and they’re happy to have someone like me to rescue them.”

“People have accused you—”

I snapped off the TV and breathed evenly through my mouth. I couldn’t believe it. My doubt of Hubert’s criminal abilities had been wrong. Willard’s belief that Hubert’s alibis had cleared him had been wrong. We were both incredibly,
fatally
wrong.

Hubert, in his pathetic attempt to identify himself with the farmers’ plight, had given himself away.

Chapter Twenty-Three

I jumped into my truck and pulled out of the drive so fast I spun my tires and kicked gravel into the yard. I pounded the steering wheel with my fist until my hand started to bruise, then switched to shouting curses instead. I turned toward Hubert’s office and floored it.

It wasn’t until I almost hit a young mother pushing a stroller that I realized I was driving blind. Blinded by rage, frustration, and disappointment. I had known Hubert was scum, but hadn’t realized to what magnitude. I pulled into the next drive to put my head on the steering wheel and take a few deep breaths.

What was I planning to do when I got to Hubert’s office? Beat him to a pulp? It might feel good, but it wouldn’t exactly help me in the long run. I sat up and looked out the windshield, not really seeing the house where I’d pulled in.

If I followed my heart, Hubert would look like hamburger in fifteen minutes. If I followed my head, I’d go back to the farm and tell Howie what happened. See what he’d say. He’d probably say I should call Detective Willard, but I wasn’t sure I could do that this time. I had no proof. Nothing but my instincts.

I backed out of the drive, making sure the young mother wasn’t behind me, and drove home like a sane person.

Howie still wasn’t in sight when I got back to the farm, but Jethro was, along with Jermaine and Jordan. They all stood staring at the black space where my heifer barn used to be. Seeing them, I was suddenly struck by an idea for dealing with Hubert.

Jethro suffocated me with one of his bear hugs when I stepped down from my truck. I patted him on the shoulder, knowing the zeal with which he hugged me wasn’t only for my troubles.

“Thanks,” I said. Jethro finally let go and I stepped back.

“Anything we can do?” Jordan asked.

“Not much to do until the insurance comes through.”

“You know what happened?”

“Someone soaked a rag in gas, lit it, and threw it into my hay mow.”

They looked at me, aghast.

“How do you know that?” Jethro asked.

“Arson dog found the place where the gas had soaked into the dirt. We knew the area where the fire started, and the investigator didn’t have much trouble finding the evidence.”

“Holy cow,” Jethro said.

“You know who did it?” Jordan asked.

“I do.” I pointed at Jermaine. “And you’re going to help me pay him back.”

***

The guys left after extracting promises I’d call them once we could start cleaning up and rebuilding the barn. I watched them go, and Queenie dug her nose into my thigh.

“Where’s Howie, Queenie? I haven’t seen him all day.”

She trotted toward the garage as if she’d understood my question. I followed her up the stairs and knocked. Howie came to the door looking just as awful—if not worse—than when I last saw him that morning.

“You okay, Howie?”

“Hey, Princess. I’m okay. Just doing a little research.”

“Research? On what?”

“You remember I was telling you I was looking into something and— What’s up with you? You’re looking crazy.”

I wanted to hear what he had to say, but my news was about to fry my brain. “I know who’s been sabotaging the farm.”

“What? But I—”

“It’s Hubert, the little rat. I saw him on TV. He was schmoozing with the reporter and mentioned everything that’s happened to us so far.”

Howie looked at his socks for a minute. “But he’s got alibis—”

“So he paid somebody. I’m telling you, Howie, it’s
got
to be him. And he’s going to be sorry.” I told Howie my plan.

Howie sat down on the top step and rubbed his hands on his knees, looking around the farm, studying it. I sat beside him and watched him think. He finally had to laugh. “So all you’re asking is that I do the evening milking by myself.”

“That’s it.”

His face got serious but still held remnants of his laughter. “Even if you’re wrong, he can always use a little bullying. I wish I could see his face when you show up.”

“I’ll take a picture.”

Howie patted me on the shoulder and stood up.

“What about your research?” I asked. “What are you thinking?”

He put his hands in his pockets and looked toward the main barn. “I’ll tell you when you get back. That’ll give me a little more time to check on some stuff.”

“You sure?”

He wouldn’t look me in the eye, but nodded. “I’m sure.” He turned to go, and I suddenly had a terrible thought.

“You’re not getting the sickness are you?”

He kept his back to me. “Just tired, Princess. Just tired.” He disappeared into his apartment.

After an anxious minute spent worrying about his health, I went to my office to finish my planning. The light on the answering machine was blinking. I punched play.

“Stella, it’s Nick. Just wanted to see if you were ready for some help, or something. I’ll call again later.”

I sat back and thought about how different my life had been when he’d showed up three days ago. I wished I could still feel that just seeing his face—well, the rest of him, too—could make my day complete. All that beauty wasted.

A second message started to play.

“Brigham Bergey here. Sorry I missed you. Abraham Granger gave me a call and said you might need some help. Give me a call at your convenience and I’ll see what I can do.”

I dialed the number he left, but now the lawyer was out for lunch.

“I can leave him a detailed message, if you like,” the secretary said.

I liked. I gave her Richard’s name and number, the number of the main insurance company, and an explanation of what had happened. She promised to give it to her boss as soon as he came in.

I hung up, took a deep breath, and called Hubert’s office. His receptionist answered.

“CHP, may I help you?”

“Stella Crown here. I’d like to speak to Hubert.”

“One moment.” I heard a split second of Muzak before Hubert picked up.

“Stella?”

“It’s me, Hubert.”

“The farmer of my dreams.”

Nightmares, maybe
. “I’ve been doing a lot of thinking. Things aren’t going so well here, and I want to find out about my options.”

He was quiet. If he were smart, he’d realize I would never capitulate and my call had to be bogus. But greed can make a person stupid.

“How can I help, Stella?”

“Is there any way you’d have some time later to go over some things with me?”

I could visualize dollar signs popping out of Hubert’s head.

“Sure, Stella. Whenever is convenient for you.”

“How about six? At your office?”

“You got it. I’ll be here. Say, would you like to do dinner, instead? We could meet at—”

“I don’t think so, Hubert. I really haven’t got much of an appetite.”

“Right, right. Okay, then, see you here around six.”

“Thanks so much, Hubert.” Might as well envelop him in charm. I’d eradicate it soon enough.

I made another call, got a promise that more help was on the way, and decided I’d better do a little work around the farm until it was time to go deal with Hubert.

***

By five o’clock I had scraped the paddock, emptied all the manure into the lagoon, and fed the heifers and yearlings. Once I stopped working long enough to stand still I could feel my fury beginning to emerge from where I’d shoved it for the afternoon.

I went into the house, did my usual stripping routine, and took a long, hot shower. Once I had thoroughly steamed up the bathroom, I stepped out and began the process of deciding exactly what to wear. It was much more fun than picking out clothes for the co-op dinner.

When I was dressed and primped, I checked the final result in my mirror. I was wearing my fancy boots, seeing as how they had higher heels and bore the nice, thick chain. My black jeans were partially covered by my fringed leather chaps, which matched the vest I’d snapped over my black tank top. For good measure, I put on my riding gloves—leather over the palms with the fingers cut out—and tied a red bandanna around my throat. My tattoo showed up nicely on my neck, and the one on my arm looked great. I gave myself a thumbs-up. I might get hot, but the effect was worth it.

I went out to the garage to pull out my bike and shine it up with a rag. It didn’t take much to make it sparkle since I’d just washed it the other day. Around five-thirty I heard some throaty rumbling, and two more Harleys pulled into the drive. I went to meet them.

“Hey, guys,” I said, once the motors were off.

That last call I’d made had been to the Biker Barn, where I’d found Bart and Lenny back from their swap meet and eager to help. They were some of the nicest guys I knew, and when I’d told them about my plan, they’d laughed.

“You want us to be the big, bad bikers and scare the crap outta that cheap bastard?” Bart had said. “Count us in. We’ll try to look mean.”

Now, Lenny stepped off his ride and gave me the peace sign. I checked him out and nodded my approval. If I were Miss Ordinary Citizen I wouldn’t want to meet Lenny anywhere except a very public place at high noon. His red hair was still wild, sticking out from under his almost non-existent—and definitely not DOT approved—helmet, but his beard had been tamed into a braid that reached down to touch his chest. Under his black vest he wore a black T-shirt tucked into his jeans. His riding boots looked heavy and huge.

Bart’s look was just as good, although his was more a wiry threat, while Lenny’s was bulk. Bart was decked out in all black, with the addition of a wallet with a chain that hooked onto his belt loop, and a sheathed knife I wasn’t sure was legal.

“Nice timing cover,” he said.

I glanced at the grinning skull. In all the excitement I’d forgotten it was an under-the-table gift from Lenny.

“Oops,” I said.

Bart looked at me and then at Lenny. Neither of us confessed. Bart turned his face to the sky, hands raised. “Lord, why do you send me these trials?”

“Dressed like this, I’d never guess you were a churchman,” I said.

He dropped his hands. “Hey, so was John the Baptist—and everybody was scared of him.”

“Are we it?” Lenny asked.

“One more.”

A couple of seconds later we heard what sounded like a really pissed off thunderstorm. Jermaine appeared, sitting low and large on his Fat Boy.

“Oh, man,” Lenny said. “Hubert’s gonna wet his pants.”

Jermaine pulled up and cut his engine, giving us all the once over.

I smiled and yelled, “Howie!”

Howie appeared in the door of the milking parlor, where he had just gotten the herd clipped in.

“What do you think?” I asked.

His grim face broke into a smile, and he walked out to get a close-up view, Queenie at his heels. “What I think is that Hubert Purcell will be the least of our worries after tonight. He won’t even want to
imagine
you, for fear he’ll die.” He gave me a hug. Then, holding his hand on the back of my neck, he looked solemnly into my eyes.

“You be careful, okay, Princess? I’ll be waiting to hear the whole story when you get back.”

“You got it, partner.”

He gave my neck a light slap and stepped back while we mounted our bikes. The sound of all four bikes starting was enough to send Queenie hustling back into the barn. I held up my hand, gave the go ahead sign, and led my trusty hunters to our kill.

***

We cut our engines about half a block from Hubert’s office, coasting to a stop in front of the building. I sat for a moment and considered what we were about to do. I hoped it was the right thing, and guessed I’d know in a little bit if it was. If Hubert wasn’t ready to give me his first-born when we left, then I should’ve done something else.

We got off our bikes and left our helmets on the ground beside them. Lenny pulled a leather skull cap over his head, and Jermaine decided to leave his sunglasses on. I approved of both.

Hubert’s receptionist, a little-bitty blonde thing held over to announce Hubert’s important visitor, looked up with something approaching terror when I entered the lobby. I could tell when the guys got in the door because she dropped her pen and actually started to shake.

“Hubert’s expecting me,” I said. “No need to call back.”

I don’t think the poor girl had the wits left to remember her boss’ name, let alone call him, so I walked past her toward Hubert’s door. I rapped on it with my knuckles.

“Come on in,” Hubert said.

I opened his door and went in. He stood and looked at me for a moment, taking in my clothes, and forced a smile. He never did approve of my biker leanings.

“So nice to see you, Stella. Please have a seat.” He gestured to a chair in front of the desk and sat back down in the leather executive chair I’d just seen on TV.

“I hope you don’t mind I brought someone with me,” I said.

“Not at all, not at all. I thought you might bring Howie, since he has a lot invested in your farm, too.”

“Oh, I didn’t bring Howie.”

I waved to the guys, and they walked in to fill up the space.

A look of utter horror swept over Hubert’s face as Bart and Lenny entered the room, but that was nothing compared to the squeak he gave out when Jermaine dipped his head under the doorjamb and squeezed through the door.

I sat in the chair Hubert had offered. “Like I said, I hope you don’t mind I brought support.”

Hubert stammered for a moment before shutting his mouth. Bart sat beside me on the other chair, while Lenny and Jermaine drifted toward opposite sides of Hubert’s desk.

I shook my head and clicked my tongue. “Hubert, Hubert, Hubert. I know we’ve never been the best of friends. I know we’ve actually leaned toward hostilities. But violence? Deceit? I thought your level of scumminess was above that.”

His eyes rolled. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. What
are
you talking about?”

I leaned back in my chair, crossing my right ankle onto my left knee, and played with the chain on my boot. Jermaine found something interesting on the desk and leaned toward Hubert to look at it. A bead of sweat rolled down Hubert’s face, and his ears started to turn red.

“Let’s see,” I said. “Shall I list your latest accomplishments, or do you want to do the honors?”