Stranded Page 11

  “Was he on the bus?” the receptionist asked.

  “The bus? What bus?”

  “The school bus,” he said, and answered a phone, motioning with his finger for her to wait. Then he began digging through papers, apparently to look up something for whoever was on the other end of the phone.

  Jessica leaned forward. “What bus are you talking about? Alex Foster is my husband. I got word from you that he was injured in a vehicle accident. He’s a police detective—”

  The man was completely ignoring her, and she turned away. There had to be someone else who could help. Had Alex collided with a school bus, was that what was going on? She saw a nurse talking to one of the worried-looking couples and approached, waiting as patiently as she could while the nurse directed them toward metal doors.

  “Excuse me,” she said as the couple hurried off. The nurse turned to face her and Jessica could see in her eyes that she only had a few seconds to explain things. “I’m looking for my husband,” she began, and gave an abbreviated version of what she wanted.

  The nurse scanned the clipboard she held in one hand. “I don’t see his name. When did he come in?”

  “I don’t know. I received the call about thirty minutes ago.”

  “Was he on the Mountain View school bus?”

  “I don’t think so. Was there an accident?”

  “A bus full of kids on their way to a holiday program overturned while rounding a sharp curve on a highway ramp,” the woman said.

  “Out on Blue Point?”

  “No, over by Campton.”

  Jessica’s mind could not wrap itself around what she was hearing. Campton was fifteen miles north of Blunt Falls. What was Alex doing way over there?

  “What kind of holiday program?” Jessica asked, suddenly remembering Memorial Day was only five days away.

  “I’m not sure. Anyway, they sent us the overflow because the Campton hospital is so small. Maybe he’s over there.”

  “Who would I ask to find out?”

  “Wait right here. I’ll look around in the back to see if he’s in a treatment room and then call Campton. His name is Alex Foster, right?”

  “Yes.”

  “Why don’t you sit down,” the nurse said kindly. “I won’t be long.”

  There was suddenly someone at Jessica’s elbow and she turned, hoping to find Alex. Silvia had arrived and now stood beside her. She took Jessica’s arm. “She’s right, you should sit down.”

  Jessica swore under her breath as she retrieved her cell phone. “I’ll try calling him,” she said. “If he’s stuck in a treatment room somewhere, maybe he’ll answer.”

  She punched in his number and he picked up before the ring stopped. “This is Alex,” he said.

  “Alex!” Jessica closed her eyes for a second. At least he was able to hold a phone and talk. How badly could he be hurt?

  “Are you okay?” she asked.

  “I’m a little busy,” he said. “Is anything wrong?”

  “I got a call you were in the emergency room, that you’d been in an accident. Are you telling me you haven’t?”

  “Who called you?” he demanded.

  Jessica tried to explain, and then Silvia got on the phone and told Alex about the call. Jessica sank down on a chair, weak now that the adrenaline rush had spent itself. When the nurse reappeared shaking her head, she told her there’d been a mix-up.

  But had there really been a mix-up or had this been a deliberate ruse to—to what? What had been accomplished except scaring the daylights out of her? Did it have anything to do with the busful of children?

  Silvia handed her back the phone. “Are you going back to the school?” Alex asked.

  “I guess.”

  “Good. It’s disturbing that whoever sent you on that wild-goose chase knew I’d be out on Blue Point. Go home with Silvia, okay? I have to finish something up here and then I’ll come for you at her house.”

  “Okay. And you’d better call the Campton police and tell them to make sure that school-bus accident was really an accident.”

  Chapter Eight

  As soon as Alex got off the phone with the Campton police, Dylan joined him in the one small clear spot they could find in the cluttered room.

  “Everything okay with Jess?” he asked.

  For some reason, Alex was reluctant to talk about what had happened until he could investigate it a little on his own. “Fine,” he said.

  Dylan nodded curtly. He held up a prescription-pill bottle by lifting the plastic bag in which it had been deposited. A few capsules rattled around inside it. “Kit found this near her body,” he said.

  “Are you familiar with them?” Alex asked.

  “Yeah. They’re a damn strong tranquilizer. Her doctor prescribed them yesterday,” Dylan said. “Five of the ten are gone, which is pretty potent. I wonder if Chief Smyth took her to pick them up.”

  Alex shook his head.

  “Anyway,” Dylan continued, “if she’d taken a couple of these and gone to sleep, the whole house could have landed on her head and it wouldn’t have roused her.”

  “Why did the boxes fall if she was asleep and not moving?” Alex mused aloud.

  “Maybe her recliner hit them.”

  “Did Kit find a glass of water in there with her?”

  “Not yet. But he’s not finished.”

  “Her son was murdered two days ago,” Alex said. “That’s why I want her checked for anything suspicious. Make sure you bag her hands,” he called to Kit Anderson, who cast him a look that clearly said, Don’t tell me how to do my job. Buck up, Kit, Alex thought. He wanted to make sure she had died exactly the way it appeared she’d died, and that meant there wasn’t any DNA under her fingernails where she’d scratched an attacker or defensive wounds on her hands or arms where she’d fended someone off.

  “Where is the chief?” Alex asked.

  “He wandered off a while ago,” Dylan said, twisting around and stretching his well-built frame.

  Alex recalled seeing him do the same thing the night before in Smyth’s office, though he sure hadn’t spared any effort uncovering Lynda Summers’s body. “What’s the matter,” he joked. “Did you pull something when you were picking up cars or whatever it is you do to buff that physique?”

  “I lift weights, dummy,” Dylan said with a smile. “You ought to try it sometime. The girls think it’s sexy as hell.”

  “Hmm—I’m going to go find Smyth.”

  One of the paramedics overheard him and hollered he’d seen Smyth go outside. Alex walked out the front door, anxious to drive to the school and see Jessica with his own eyes.

  Why had someone pulled such a stupid prank on her? He could see no purpose in it. He planned to question the woman who had taken the call and see if the incoming number had registered on the phone. He was willing to bet that would be a dead end. Was this prank related to Billy’s death and the vandalized flowers? It all seemed like a disjointed mishmash.

  He found the chief inside the shed, standing near the striped lamp. Smyth apparently heard him approach for he turned around, his expression startled. “The door was unlocked,” he said.

  “The lock was in place when I was here yesterday,” Alex said, glancing at the hasp.

  Smyth rubbed his chin. “Lynda must have come out here and opened it before she fell asleep last night,” he commented. His voice held notes of regret, though the tears that had moistened them briefly were long since gone.

  “Did you hurt yourself?” Alex asked when he noticed angry red scratches on the back of the chief’s right hand.

  The chief immediately stuck his hand in his pocket. “My daughter’s cat. Of course she couldn’t take him to Texas with her and he hates me. It’s nothing. Long as we’re here, we might as well
take a look.”

  “Sounds good to me,” Alex said, glad to finally get a chance to look around. An extension cord had been strung to connect the lamp to electricity. He switched on the light and immediately looked for the three-by-five index cards he’d glimpsed the day before. They were right where he’d seen them. Using the eraser end of a pencil, he turned the top one so he could read it.

  “What’s it say?” the chief asked.

  “It’s directions for planting rosebushes,” Alex told him. “This is Jessica’s handwriting.”

  The chief grunted. “Did you see the paper this morning?”

  “No, as a matter of fact, I didn’t. We were running late.”

  “There’s a blurb in there about your garden being vandalized. I thought we agreed to keep it out of the news.”

  “We did,” Alex said. “I mean, I didn’t alert the newspaper.”

  “Maybe your wife—”

  “Absolutely not. No way.”

  Smyth shook his head. “What’s on the next card?”

  Alex glanced at the cards in order. All of them held gardening notes except for the pink one on the bottom which gave simple directions for blocking the wheels on a plane. The handwriting on this one must belong to Tony Machi.

  “There’s nothing important in these cards,” Alex said, disappointed. But hadn’t the stack been higher yesterday? He searched his memory, trying to recall what had made him think there were well over a dozen cards instead of six or seven.

  “I didn’t know the kid had the place set up like this,” the chief said as he stared around the room.

  “It’s nice,” Alex said. He glanced at the workbench that held paints, glues and pieces of wood along with model airplane boxes. The resulting airplanes Billy had apparently built from the kits were clumsy and heavy-handed, but there were several lined up on a shelf as though he truly enjoyed his hobby.

  “First your beautiful garden and now this,” Smyth said quietly.

  Alex could see no sign of destruction in the shed and wondered to what the chief was alluding until it finally dawned on him that he wasn’t referring to the negative energy of vandalism but to the creative aspects of Billy’s interests. “He was a man of surprises,” Alex said. Had they misjudged him? Was he really a lot brighter than everyone gave him credit for?

  But the models weren’t without faults and were obviously the work of someone challenged to paint and glue without making mistakes.

  “Look at this one,” the chief said, gazing up at the big biplane hanging in front of the window.

  This plane was different from the others. Not only larger, but the design came complete with details the others lacked and superior overall workmanship. Red paint glistened on the fuselage, while the propeller looked as though it would spin easily if it had been low enough to the floor for Alex to reach it.

  “There you guys are,” Dylan called from the doorway. He whistled long and low as he looked around. “Wow. This place is a little oasis of calm in a sea of chaos, isn’t it?”

  “Yeah, it is,” Smyth said, looking around. He sighed deeply as he appeared to absorb the details of the small room. “Who would have guessed the boy had it in him?”

  * * *

  AFTER SMYTH SENT Dylan to Campton to check out the bus accident, Alex drove to the Cummingses’ house. He’d learned the twins hadn’t been arrested, although the D.A. was considering an investigation. He had no plans to talk to them; he just wanted to get a feeling for the lay of the land.

  He slowed down his truck and looked at the property. It was easy to see where they must have parked their joyriding car because of the tracks made by the tow vehicle that had taken it into the police-compound yard the day before. And from what Alex could tell, no one would see that car from the house due to the placement of a large barn between them. It was possible somebody else had taken it unobserved.

  He got out of the truck and stared at the house for a minute. It had obviously once been a farm of some kind with a two-story house and a covered porch. It needed a new coat of paint, but things were relatively well kept. He was walking back to his truck when someone called out to him. He turned to see two blond young men coming toward him.

  “You lost or something, mister?” one of them asked as they both leaned against the fence.

  Alex introduced himself and told them who he was.

  “We aren’t talking to you,” the other one said. “Mom and Dad are at work and they told us not to talk to anyone. Besides, you guys don’t listen. We don’t know how Billy’s clothes got caught in our grill. And it’s all banged up because it’s a drag car. It’s been banged up forever. I don’t know when every single dent got made and I don’t know how those pills got in our glove box.”

  Alex looked at them closely. “You guys were friends with Billy?”

  “Sure,” they said in tandem.

  “Billy was okay,” the shorter one added.

  Alex couldn’t think of a single question to ask them that wouldn’t be better asked downtown with a recorder playing, so he said nothing. His silence apparently goaded them on.

  “He wasn’t like other guys,” the taller one said. He stuck out a hand and added, “I’m Tad, that’s Ted. You’re a lot cooler than the psycho bodybuilder who came out here. We used to look out for Billy in school. He was a couple of years older than us, but not older in his head, you know?”

  Alex nodded.

  “And he didn’t do drugs,” Ted added. “Okay, sometimes Tad and me dabble a little—nothing hard-core, just weed—but we’d never involve Billy. We were teaching him how to build model airplanes and he was getting pretty good.”

  “You made the red-and-white biplane in Billy’s shed, didn’t you?”

  Tad smiled. “You’ve seen it? Yeah, we did that. Well, mostly Ted, but I helped. We let Billy do some of it, too, but he got all upset when we started detailing it in a way that wasn’t in the directions.”

  “Billy liked to follow the rules,” Ted said. “Coloring outside the lines made him nervous.”

  “Well, the model turned out great,” Alex said.

  “Thanks. I want to ask his mom if we can have it, you know, to remember him and stuff. Do you think she’d mind?”

  “I’m sorry to have to tell you that Lynda Summers is dead,” Alex said. It would be all over town soon enough.

  “How?”

  “Some of her belongings apparently toppled over and crushed her,” Alex said.

  “Oh, man, that’s tough,” Tad said. “Both her and Billy, huh? That’s terrible.”

  “Funny thing about Billy,” Ted chimed in. “He didn’t want his mom to know about the shop we kind of created out behind the house. He was afraid she’d take it over.”

  “Probably a valid concern,” Alex said. He knew the D.A.’s office would blow a gasket if he kept talking to these guys, but he was glad he’d had the chance to meet them. They seemed like pretty decent people to him and too straightforward to be killers. Still, you never knew.

  “I have to be getting along,” he said. “My wife is expecting me.” He watched them both to see if they exchanged knowing looks, but Tad just smiled. “That’s why your name is familiar. Your wife is the lady Billy was helping in the garden, right? And you’re the guy those jerks at B-Strong tried to kill. You were in the paper.”

  “My claim to fame,” Alex said.

  A minute later, he drove away. In the rearview mirror he watched Tad and Ted turn back toward their house. He honestly didn’t know if he’d just been conned or not.

  * * *

  ALEX AND JESSICA drove to the airport to pick up Nate that evening. Alex had met her at Silvia’s a while ago and they hadn’t been apart since then.

  Three days ago, both of the Summerses had been alive and well, and now both were dead. It was unbelievab
le. “Do you think Lynda’s death was an accident?” she asked Alex.

  He shrugged. “I’m not sure. I’m treating it like a homicide until I am.”

  She pressed his leg and smiled when he looked over at her. “I want you to know that I’ve arranged to spend the evening with Silvia tomorrow. When you and Nate get home from the lake, call me and I’ll meet you at the house.”

  “I have a better idea,” he said, throwing her a longer glance, this one accompanied by a grin. “Come with us.”

  “I thought you didn’t want me near your lake.”

  Another shrug. “I just want to have you close by. You don’t have to come—”

  “I’d love to come,” she said. “Will Nate mind?”

  “Of course not. It might be kind of boring, though.”

  She laughed. “If you can spend three months up there alone, I think I can handle three hours. Did you get a chance to ask Tony what to look for?”

  “Yeah. He gave me some ideas. Nate got permission from the FAA to dive as long as we buoy the location for them to take a look at later. It’s understood we won’t remove anything from the plane.”

  “And the float plane is ready to go?”

  “And loaded with dive gear.” He frowned as he said, “I’m not telling anyone where or even that we’re going anywhere and I’d appreciate it if you did the same.” He paused and added, “Did you mention it to Silvia?”

  “No,” she said, “and that’s weird because why wouldn’t I? I just didn’t. You’re not telling anyone at work?”

  “No.”

  “Do you think one of them had something to do with the crash?”

  “Of course not, but people talk. Just look at Dylan and his continual effort to impress young women.”

  “Like his new car?”

  “I haven’t seen it yet. Some eighteen-year-old in Billings got it rear-ended, so it’s in a shop.”