Death, Guns, and Sticky Buns Page 11

  “Teenagers.” Moonbeam sighed plaintively. “I don't understand why I have so much trouble… Well, never mind. I haven't been much help to you so far, Tori. I know you're trying to find out why Macmillan was killed, but I am sure my sweet father-in-law had nothing to do with it.”

  “You seem very close to your father-in-law even though you're divorced,” I remarked. “That's kind of unusual.”

  “Dad's a wonderful man,” Moonbeam said, spearing a piece of pepperoni from the pizza. “I don't know how he raised such a dumb-ass son.”

  “Where is your ex living?” I asked.

  “About six blocks from here. He teaches math and coaches football at Gettysburg High School. Had a midlife crisis which only a former, much younger, student could help him through.”

  “Oooh. Nasty stuff. Sorry to have brought it up.”

  “Don't feel bad. I'm better off without him. And he does make a point of seeing Tamsin regularly.”

  “I'm not sorry to see him gone,” Gloria said. It was the first comment she'd made since we sat down to eat, and it caught me by surprise.

  “Who? Moonbeam's husband?”

  “No, Mack Macmillan.”

  “Did you know Mack?” I asked.

  “Unfortunately, yes. After his retirement, he became a lobbyist for the Pennsylvania dog breeding industry.”

  “For years I've tried to get a law passed in Harris-burg outlawing puppy mills. I've testified at the state capitol a dozen times, but it never got anywhere because of him.”

  “What's wrong with selling dogs?” I asked. “Isn't dog breeding a legitimate business?”

  She shuddered. “Sure, if it's done humanely. But many farms here in Pennsylvania, especially ones in rural areas, are puppy mills where hundreds of dogs are penned up under the worst conditions imaginable. The bitches are bred immediately after having a litter, so they never get a chance to get their strength back. The puppies are shipped off to pet stores before they should leave their mothers. They're often sick or have congenital defects and need to be destroyed. It's just awful. The poor things live their whole lives packed together like… like animals.”

  “They are animals,” Moonbeam pointed out.

  “No creature of God should live that kind of life.”

  “You're telling me Macmillan supported this?”

  “He certainly did. No big surprise, considering he raised puppies at his own farm. Dogs can bring in big bucks, if you've got enough of them to exploit.”

  “I thought he owned a horse farm,” I said.

  “True. But that's his wife's pet project. I think the puppy sales support the horses.”

  This conversation reminded me of the sad little white dogs I'd seen at the Amish farm. “Do you have any authority over the area west of Lickin Creek?”

  “I do. Why do you ask?”

  “There's a farm out there. The Hostettler place. They've got some dogs penned up there under disgusting conditions. You probably should take a look.”

  Gloria helped herself to another slice of pizza. “I'll check it out,” she said.

  “As long as we're speaking ill of the dead,” Moonbeam said, “I might as well tell you I didn't like him much either. He started coming into the shop last summer, and was always rude to us, especially to Phoebe.”

  “Can't say I blame him for that,” Gloria said. “She asks for it. But you never said anything about him being a customer. How come?”

  “Because, even though there are no formal rules about patient-healer privilege in holistic medicine, I didn't think I should mention it.”

  “Are you saying that Macmillan was a client of yours?” I had trouble picturing the dignified congressman in her shop.

  “Since last summer. He came in for the first time about a month after his wife's accident. She was still in the hospital.” Moonbeam paused for emphasis. “He bought powdered rhinoceros horn!”

  “Moonbeam! You don't sell that stuff, do you? You know rhinos are an endangered species!” Gloria was so indignant, she spluttered a piece of pepperoni halfway across the table.

  “Don't look at me that way, Gloria. It's synthetic. I get it from China.”

  “How can you be sure…?”

  I broke into their argument, hoping to get us back on the subject. “Isn't rhino horn supposed to be an aphrodisiac?”

  Moonbeam looked as pleased as a teacher whose students had finally grasped long division. “Exactly, and his wife was still in the hospital.”

  “Maybe he was looking forward to her return,” I suggested.

  “Not on your life, Tori,” Moonbeam said. “While she was in the medical center, he was running around with a topless dancer from the Brick Shed House. My guess is she wanted more from him than companionship. That's why he came to see me.”

  “What's the Brick Shed House?” I asked.

  “An adult toy store. I'm surprised you haven't noticed it on the road between here and Lickin Creek. It's set back from the road behind a stockade fence.”

  Gloria snickered. “The guys think nobody can see them go in if they park behind the fence.”

  “Do you know the name of the dancer he was seeing?”

  “Lillie White.” Moonbeam giggled. “Isn't that a hoot of a name for a topless dancer?” She changed the subject. “At Dreamgate you asked me some questions about Woody. I guess I should tell you we're very close. Very close, if you understand what I mean.”

  I didn't want to tell her he'd made a pass at me, and I didn't have to because Gloria broke in. “He's an S.O.B., Moonbeam, and you know it. He'll go after anything that wears a skirt. If I've told you once, I've told you a thousand times, he's using you—for you know what.”

  Moonbeam turned to her boarder with fury in her eyes. “And I've told you a thousand times I don't want to hear any more negative comments about Woody. You don't know him the way I do.”

  “I hear he took Leslie Schmalberger to the dance at the high school last week. Rumor has it they did a very sexy tango.”

  Moonbeam's lower lip quivered, but she still stood up to her housemate. “Woody and I had a few problems to work out. We decided to date other people for a while. But we're going to get back together. I'm sure of it.”

  “So… who have you dated?”

  “That's mean-spirited, Gloria. You know I haven't gone out with anybody.”

  The silent air over the table was charged with electricity.

  How could someone like Moonbeam, who was obviously well educated and even attractive in an oddball sort of way, be so blind when it came to her choice in men? My best friend, Alice-Ann, was the same way. For once, I was proud of being sensible, even felt a little virtuous, for having picked someone as steady as Garnet.

  From the living room, Tamsin called, “Mom! I forgot chorus practice is tonight. You've got to take me. Right now.”

  As Moonbeam grimaced, I shoved a kitten off my lap and reached for my bag. “I have to go too. Thanks for dinner, Moonbeam. And for all the information.”

  “I'm sorry I couldn't tell you more about my father-in-law. He teaches on Friday mornings, so you can catch him at the college.”

  On my way across the mountain, I noticed the Brick Shed House for the first time. It was a large concrete building, not brick, I noted with amusement. On top was a large sign, red letters on a yellow background, that said ADULT BOOKS, TOYS, AND VIDEOS. Smaller signs, nailed to the stockade fence, said OPEN 24 HOURS, LIVE NUDE DANCERS, and TRUCK PARKING IN BACK.

  Since I was here, it seemed like a good idea to go in and ask Lillie White about her relationship with the former congressman, but when I pulled into the gravel parking lot I saw half a dozen cars parked with their backs to the fence to hide their license plates from view, and lost my nerve. I'd come another day when there were no customers to see me.

  For a few hours, while I'd been with Moonbeam, I hadn't given any thought to tomorrow's surgical procedure. But now, in the car, driving back to Lickin Creek, worry and fear of the unknown overwhelmed m
e. With my head swimming and my eyes brimming with tears of self-pity, I barely noticed I'd passed the turnoff to the borough. I kept driving, past one farm after another, until I came to a boarded-up peach stand. There, I turned right and continued on until I saw the black mailbox with the name Hostettler in white letters.

  I parked as close to the barn as I could, and walked slowly, as though in a trance, toward the Mail Pouch tobacco sign. When I came to the door in the foundation wall, I knocked, rather gently, almost as if I didn't want anyone to know I was there. Just as I was about to give up, the door opened and there stood Darious, wearing only a pair of jeans. His golden curls were tousled, as if he'd just awakened from a nap.

  He blinked a couple of times, then smiled. “Tori! I was just dreaming about you. What are you doing here?”

  “I need to ride your carousel again.”

  He stood back while I slipped inside. And suddenly I was in his arms, and his lips were pressed against mine.

  CHAPTER 10

  Friday

  “TORI, TIME TO GET UP.” ETHELIND'S VOICE entered my dreams like fingernails raking a blackboard.

  I yawned and tried to bury my face back in the pillow, but my outstretched hand found Fred's soft fur, and while I rubbed his belly I thought about what had happened last night. I'd done nothing to be ashamed of, really, so why did I feel like Scarlett O'Hara in the famous “morning after” scene?

  After that first kiss, I'd convinced Darious that wanting to ride his carousel was not a sexual metaphor, and after that he'd been a perfect gentleman. He took me into his workshop, offered me a soda, and showed me he had my picture, cut from the Chronicle, in a frame on his workbench. After that, I rode the carousel until I felt all tension and fear leave my body. Then I sat with him in the chariot and poured my heart out. I explained my worry about the upcoming biopsy, shared some of the abandonment issues I'd been going through because of Garnet's leaving, and lastly, told him of my hostess, Ethelind, and my fear that she would never leave. He didn't say much, but somehow I felt a lot better when I was through. Unburdened, I came home and slept dreamlessly. That was all there was to it.

  So why did I feel so guilty about one little kiss? Well, two actually, if you count the one he gave me as I was leaving.

  “Tori! Are you up?”

  “Sure am, Ethelind.” I reached for the brown plastic prescription bottle beside my bed and peered at the label. “Take one or two tablets if needed for anxiety.” Dr. Washabaugh had reluctantly called in a prescription for two pills. I was feeling very anxious, so I took both. As I showered and dressed, I decided to put last night's escapade behind me. It had been a momentary digression. Simply an incident triggered by my vulnerable emotional state. Nothing like that would ever happen again.

  Despite my anxiety, I must have fallen asleep in Ethelind's car on the way to the hospital. When I opened my eyes, I was staring at a brick wall.

  “We ’re here.”

  I swung my legs to the side and let myself drop down to the ground. Unfortunately, my knees buckled, and I tumbled to the pavement.

  Ethelind screamed, and a security guard came out and hoisted me to my feet. “What's wrong with you?” he asked.

  “Nothing. I'm still sleepy. This is the middle of the night for me.”

  After that, everything else seemed to happen in a fog. I vaguely remember being led into a room, where I removed my clothes from the waist up and put on a paper gown that opened in the front. I was told to lie down on a narrow bed, where a woman opened up my gown and painted my right breast brown. “Just relax,” someone said. “Dr. Washabaugh will be right in.”

  I closed my eyes. When I opened them, Dr. Wash-abaugh was standing next to me. “Are you going to do it now?” I asked.

  “It's all done, Tori. I think you might have taken more tranquilizers than you really needed this morning.”

  “I only took two.”

  She sighed. “I would have bet on it. Okay, Tori. Go home and sleep it off. I'll call you when I get the results.”

  “Do I need to rest?”

  She laughed at me. “Only until the tranquilizer wears off. After that you can do anything you want.”

  “So when will you call me with the results?”

  “In a few days. Try to keep busy. And don't worry.”

  A nurse helped me get back into my clothes, and wheeled me out to the car. After that I don't recall much of anything until I woke up, once again, in my own bed with a cat pressed tightly against either hip. They considered it their job to stay with me on the rare occasions when I was sick.

  “That's enough,” I told them, shoving them away. “You've raised my body heat to near boiling.” I felt a little hungover, but was surprised I had no pain. I lifted my shirt and studied the offending area. There was nothing to see but a small Band-Aid.

  I followed the trail of noise and nicotine downstairs to the library, which served Ethelind as a TV room, where she was absorbed in a talk show. She didn't notice me, so I continued on to the kitchen and dialed Dr. Washabaugh's number. I was hoping that maybe, just maybe, she already had the results of my biopsy. The phone rang a number of times, but there was no answer. Even if the office was closed, it seemed to me at the very least she ought to have an answering machine. I rechecked the number and tried again. Still no answer.

  According to the kitchen wall clock, it was only a little past four. Someone should be there. Then I remembered I'd promised Cassie I would be in at ten to proof the paper. Somehow I'd managed to sleep all day. I tried calling the Chronicle to apologize but only got the answering machine referring me to my own number.

  I returned to the library, where Ethelind jumped to her feet and gently led me to the sofa. There, she covered me with a wooly afghan, put a pillow behind my head, and poured me a cup of tea from her favorite Staffordshire pot.

  “I could get used to this,” I sighed. Fred, who had assumed his favorite position on my stomach, seemed to agree.

  “I was worried about you, Tori.” Concern showed in Ethelind's eyes.

  “No need,” I said. “Dr. Washabaugh said I could do anything I wanted to do.”

  “I was talking about the handful of pills you took this morning. All day long, I've been checking on you every fifteen minutes to make sure you were still breathing.”

  “It wasn't a handful, Ethelind. The instructions said to take one or two as needed. I needed two.”

  “I'll get dinner,” Ethelind said. “I didn't think you'd be feeling very chipper, so I fixed something easy to digest. Boiled eggs, kippers, scones, and floating island pudding.”

  “Yummm. My favorites!” I said.

  Ethelind left the room and reappeared with a tray, which she placed in front of me on the coffee table. She served us each a large helping, then settled down to noisily enjoy her kippers. I pushed the food around on my plate.

  “You're not eating much,” Ethelind noted.

  “Must be the aftereffects of my surgery,” I murmured, trying to sound weak.

  Ethelind transferred my kippers to her plate. “No point in letting them go to waste. I have to order them in.”

  The grandfather clock in the hall chimed four-thirty. “Let's catch the early-bird news.” Ethelind pointed the remote at the TV and switched channels.

  “… and in a surprise move today, Lickin Creek police have made an arrest in the slaying death of retired Representative Edward Macmillan. Charged is Woody Woodruff, a Gettysburg entrepreneur, well known for his…”

  I struggled to sit upright. In the process Fred tumbled to the floor.

  “Do you have a phone in here?”

  “I only have two extensions. One in my bedroom, and the other in the kitchen.”

  I struggled off the sofa, ignoring her tirade about the phone company monopoly and its conspiracy to bankrupt the college professors of the world.

  “Well?” she asked when I returned.

  “It's true. Luscious arrested him this afternoon. He said he was under tremendous
pressure from the old boys’ network to make an arrest.”

  “You mean the informal group of wealthy businessmen who are direct descendants of the town's founders?”

  I nodded. “They pretty much run Lickin Creek, don't they? You can see them almost any day having lunch in the back of the drugstore. The local equivalent of the smoke-filled room.” I thought for a minute about exactly who it was I'd seen there. “President Godlove is one of them, isn't he.”

  From the look on Ethelind's face, I knew I'd hit the nail on the head.

  I groaned. “I know he wants to resolve this, and especially make sure nobody blames the college, but I do wish he'd talked it over with me first.”

  “You don't think it was Woody's fault?” Ethelind looked incredulous. “He'd be my first choice. He was the one who loaded the guns.”

  “That's just the point. If Woody were going to murder someone, why would he do it in such an obvious way?”

  “He's not exactly a rocket scientist, Tori.”

  The phone rang again, and Ethelind went to answer it.

  She came back carrying the portable telephone, which she handed to me.

  “Tori? Tori, is that you?” I recognized Moonbeam's voice, despite the panic that pitched it an octave higher than usual. A flood of screeches and sobs came through the phone as soon as I answered.

  “Ohmygodohmygodohmygod! WhatamIgoingtodo? WhatamIgoingtodo?”

  “Calm down, Moonbeam.” I couldn't resist adding, “Take a deep breath. You need to visit your special place.”

  “Oh shut up,” she snapped, but at least she was speaking in a normal register. “Did you have something to do with this?”

  “Me? Of course not. How can you even think such a thing?”

  “Because the police chief said you put the idea in his head. You said the bullets didn't crawl in the guns by themselves. Ohmygodohmygod. WhatamIgoingtodo?”

  “I had nothing to do with this, Moonbeam. What is he charged with? Murder?”

  “Manslaughter. Will they keep him in jail?”

  “You can post bail.”

  “Bail?” she wailed. “I don't have any money. WhatamIgoingtodo?”