WISHBONE (32 page)

Julien nodded. He was not going to allow the doctor to skirt the issue. 

“Margaret Hourglass had one of the most severe cases of cerebral palsy I have seen in nearly fifty years of practice, Mr. Grenier,” he paused, “…
and
early-onset dementia. All she had in this world was her sister, and when Nancy passed away…what would you like us to have done with her? We found her a permanent care facility. One of the best in the North-East, mind you.”

“And her sister? She died of…?” Julien pressed.

The doctor went along with his interrogation unconcerned. He thought long and said, “I believe it was cancer…yes, cancer,” he shook his head, “Took the poor woman very fast… if I remember correctly.”

“And the Sutters?” Julien continued.

“Ah, yes…the Sutter family. Young. Very young. And the little boy…” He nodded. He seemed to grow distant then suddenly snapped out of his trance. “Your question was?”

“The Sutter’s,” he reminded. “This was not strange to you? Such a young man…a heart attack…in the coop?”

The doctor was growing annoyed; his expression befuddled. “Where are you getting your information, Mr. Grenier?”

“Public information, Docteur,” he responded with a smirk.

“Did your public information mention that Mr. Sutter had
already
undergone triple by-pass surgery two years prior,  was a raging alcoholic, and was born with a congenital heart defect?” He glanced at the two packs of cigarettes in Julien’s hand and added, “
And
smoked like a chimney.” Lind, realizing his volume was escalating, glanced around. “Mr. Grenier…you are forcing me to betray client confidentiality here.”

“Eh,” Julien stepped closer, “they’re dead…almost all of them. I doubt they’ll initiate a law suit.”

Lind began walking again; Julien stayed with him refusing to give up. They reached the doctor’s office. “Come inside, Mr. Grenier. I’ll show you any file you need to allay your curiosity.” He held the door open.

“We can discuss this right here,” Julien insisted—Nothing could convince him to enter that office alone.

Lind stepped closer to him. He spoke softly, “Why Julien, if I didn’t know any better I would say you’re afraid to enter my office.”

Julien stepped back and, unaware of his own body posture, puffed up his chest, silently holding the doctor’s gaze.

Lind continued, “If you’re going to ask about Adele Sutter and the boy…well, all I can tell you there is that she had long-term depression issues. She was also having difficulty paying their mortgage and bills after her husband’s death. Bills piling up, depression…” Dr. Lind placed the wine bottle on the ground beside him while fishing for his keys. 

He continued, “A recipe for disaster if you ask me. Oh and there was also Ken Craig and his wife Gwen…both found to have blood-alcohol levels
off the charts
. They were heading back from a bar here in town,” he pointed to The Mohawk Tavern across the road, “It was a snowy evening. You and I both know that road leading up to your driveway is a rough one to navigate under any conditions. Wait until you try it in a snow storm.”

Julien was relentless, “And the missing priest…his sister?”

“We can do this all day, Julien. If you ask me…that fall from the ladder…I’m beginning to suspect I should have sent you to a neurologist.” The doctor tapped at his own temple mockingly. 

He remembers the ladder.

Lind asked, “Am I forgetting anyone?”

“Yes, the priest.”

“How would I know? He was never sick a day to my knowledge…at least not during his time at the Victorian.  Never met the man but once or twice. Never met his sister either. Insurance scam perhaps? Some sort of scandal? Perhaps he had a lover? I can’t help you with that one. People run off all the time.”

Julien pressed on. “The D’Anna’s?”

“You are making a fool out of yourself,” the doctor scorned.

Julien remembered Rachael’s expression from their argument on the porch. “
Humor me
.”  By now, he was sure the doctor would have a rehearsed answer for anything he threw at him, but he wanted to see how far he could push.

“Let’s see…Santo, right?” he asked, feigning forgetfulness. “Yes, Santo. He got his pant leg caught up on the tractor pedals, took a fall right off the seat…brain damage…a stroke. Died at the hospital two days later. The daughter…severe case of Lyme disease…ended up with respiratory paralysis. I sent her up to a hospital in Albany but she didn’t pull through...a weak immune system perhaps. The mother…if you ask me, she died of heartbreak, but those are the words of an old country doctor who also happens to be a hopeless romantic. Clinically? She suffered kidney failure when her body shut down from starving herself after Donna, her daughter, passed away. I put her on a sedative, but she was an older Italian woman…a tad over-dramatic for my patience level,” He waved a hand dismissively through the air, “Did nothing but throw herself on the casket at the funeral, wailing away. She collapsed on her property. My own daughter found her one morning while tending to the chickens. A woman with a disposition like that and at her age, doesn’t need much of an excuse to give up and die”

“Celest Combs?”

Enough, Julien.” The doctor wrinkled his face in repugnance. “She fell! She fell from a ladder picking apples in the orchard. She supplied pies for one of the bakeries in Cobleskill a few towns away.” Lind picked up his wine and scoffed, “Julien…accidents happen…you, of all people, should know that. People die…people get sick. You have been looking for something to be wrong with that property from the day I met you. Why did you buy it?”

Julien huffed with a smile born of disgust,“I’m not sure I did.” He admitted and walked away.

The doctor waited until Julien was halfway across the road then called after him, “Glad my daughter was able to work her
magic
on that leg, Mr. Grenier.”

Julien stopped in the middle of the road turning back slowly.

Lind winked and added, “She’s quite the little miracle worker, my Sarah. Just treat her well and she’ll always be there for you.” The doctor stepped into his office and slammed the door. .

Julien stood watching the door for a long moment. A horn blared and he jumped, startled nearly out of his skin. He took a step back, allowing the car to move past him then turned to head for his bike. He had one more stop to make and having already talked to two of her relatives today, he was sure Arlette would be expecting him.

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

Julien flew past his usual left turn leading up the driveway to the Victorian and instead headed in the opposite direction en route to Arlette Vandermark’s office. He felt satisfaction in having ruffled Dr. Lind’s feathers yet fearful of what such a confrontation could root. Lind’s last words, confidently bellowed for all to hear, felt like a dare and Julien was only at the tip of the iceberg of realizations. The events at the Victorian were not such that he could enlist someone else’s help. He imagined himself walking into a police station and attempting to explain what he and Rachael were experiencing since their move to Kings Hollow. He would surely end up in a bed next to Margaret Hourglass, institutionalized and classified insane. He could probably find an organization to investigate the real-estate fraud, but that would open them up to Arlette’s retaliation and in turn, joining the long list of missing and deceased ex-tenants of Arlette’s property. The more he dissected the bind they were in, the more hopeless he began to feel. For a fleeting moment he thought to turn his bike around and return home to formulate a more solid plan before taking any further actions, but a silver Mercedes sped past him in the opposite direction interrupting his thought.

Arlette?

That was Arlette.

His immediate inclination was to
not
follow her. Perhaps it was paranoia having its way with him, but he could easily imagine Arlette running him off the road. He drove his bike for another eighth of a mile before he could safely pull into a convenience store parking lot. He tucked the bike at the rear where he lit a cigarette and bought himself some time to think. His hands were shaky and his chest felt tight with anxiety.

I am too old for this…all of this.

You’re only forty-five, not eighty-five.

This would be too much for anyone…at any age.

We could fly to Paris…runaway.

Maybe Father Boyle did runaway…

Rachael would never go. She’s too caught up in this.

I could fly to Paris alone. Leave right now.

The baby…Rachael…

His mind ran the gamut of scenarios, none of which seemed feasible. Satisfied he had allowed for enough time between he and Arlette, he flicked his cigarette to the ground and was about to start the bike when his cell phone rang.

“’allo?”

“Dude, it’s Matt…”

Julien ran his fingers through his hair in frustration.

Bad timing, Matthew.

“Matt, ça va…what’s up?” Julien drummed his fingers nervously on the bike.

“Not much, just sitting here looking at a printout Phil handed me a few minutes ago. I guess you went into the security check program recently.”

“Oh, yes. I used it to check some information on a potential client. Is this a problem? Tell Phil I will call him…”

“Nah, dude, Phil’s fine. Doesn’t look like potential clients on this printout though. It looks like you were searching for a shit-wad of information on
your
property. Phil was just concerned, is all. Everything’s okay up there? Something up with the house?”

“Wow…” Julien’s mind raced. “I feel like I’m being monitored,” Julien said with an air of contempt.

“Well, you access a restricted company program…there’s bound to be questions. I don’t think he’s pitchin’ a bitch or anything. He really did sound concerned…maybe a little curious.”

Julien lit another smoke and took a long drag. “Matt,” he desperately wanting to ask for help, but how? “Everything is fine. I was doing some research on the house. Getting a little bored up here I guess.”

He changed the subject asking, “How are Lily and the kids?”

“Everybody’s great man, thanks. How’s the leg?”

“Great. Better. Healed. Listen, I am in the parking lot of a grocery store and I need to head home. Can I give you a call in the next day or two?”

“Yeah, sure, go back to what you were doing and we’ll talk over the weekend or something,” he agreed and then added, “Hey Jules, if you need anything…like if anything
is
going on…call me. Cool?”

“Yeah, yeah, will do. Everything’s good, Matt. I will call you.” Julien flipped his phone closed and slipped it back into his pocket. If he wanted to get home in time to confront Arlette he would have to push the speedometer. He gunned the Indian and roared out from the lot lost in contemplation.

He reached the winding road and revved power beneath his wheels taking the mountain at top speed. He was two-thirds of the way to the top when Jérome reached out from the trees and narrowly missed him. The rear wheel of the bike veered to the left, skidding along the pitted top layer of dried dirt baked to a loose dust by the summer heat. Julien fought the momentum and righted the bike just as the rear wheel clipped the cliff’s edge. Jérome appeared again, now directly ahead in the middle of the road at the mouth of the driveway.

He’s not real.

He’s not there.

He is there…

You have felt how real he is.

Sarah’s angry…

She must be angry.

He sat tight planting his weight deep into the seat then gunned the bike and broke straight through Jérome and onto the gravel. The rearview mirror framed only scenery—
no sign of his father.
Julien turned to look over his shoulder, but Jérome was gone. He glanced toward the barn and could clearly see two thin paths of flattened grass leading to the far side of the outbuilding where the bumper of Arlette’s Mercedes was barely visible. Julien cut the engine and walked his bike off the driveway abandoning it before rushing across the grass alongside the tire marks.

He approached the barn door; the distance he had crossed worsening the subtle limp he had yet to recover from. He stood listening. Winded, the sound of his own breath distorted Arlette’s words but not her coercive tone. He leaned back against the outer wall and tried to quiet his lungs. He could make out only fragmented portions of Arlette’s lecture, but was able to piece the argument together.

“
It’s time, Sarah…now…worked the same way…you get to play…things get out of control…cause trouble…playtime is over…new toys soon…always more for you to play with.
” 

There was a long pause and he began to worry that Arlette had detected his presence. He fully expected the real-estate agent to appear at the door. He was greatly relieved when she continued. His breathing had quieted now and he could make out her words more clearly.

“I don’t understand what is so different about these people,” she asserted, her voice taking on a stern edge. “You just remember that without me there is no place for you to play. You have to follow the rules, Sarah. Do you want to be punished again?”

Julien heard Sarah’s muffled sobs. He stepped into the barn without hesitation. Arlette had Sarah cornered by the coop door. She glanced over her shoulder. Her posture grew rigid and tall, she moved toward him. Julien stopped at the center of the barn. He looked past Arlette to Sarah who was rubbing the side of her face; an angry red mark, which could have either been delivered by Arlette, or self-inflicted by Sarah’s repetitive gestures. The girl seemed reluctant to look at Julien. He thought of Jérome on the road and reasoned that Sarah had become enraged, possibly in trouble for
his
actions, sending Jérome onto his path with a vengence, but now she seemed nothing but submissive.

Arlette watched Julien studying her niece then stepped closer until there was no more than a foot between them.