Breeding Ground (13 page)

“Geeze.”

“Rusty's a smart guy. And he saw where it was going. So he never let her know where they were. Another reason he went to Wichita was that his sister was there, and she'd agreed to help with Jess, trying to give her a stable situation. A couple of years later, he moved back to Minnesota, where his parents helped raise her before he married his high school sweetheart. He eventually gave Tara a financial settlement she was happy to take, to get custody of Jess. I don't know exactly how all the legal stuff got done, but he has to let Tara see her twice a year, but she didn't even want to for several years.”

Jo was still taking notes, and Betsy waited till she'd finished, while she drank iced tea.

“What happened then?”

“I know less about the next stage, but I can give you the name of the woman who does. Grace Willoughby. I know where she used to live, and that may help you trace her. I know for a fact that within weeks of Rusty's departure, Tara talked Grace, who was the wife of one of the local ministers, into letting her move in with them.

“Tara got a job somewhere too, but something went wrong, and the next thing we heard, six months after Rusty left, she'd married the sergeant who'd been a friend of Rusty's and was on her way to Germany where he was being stationed.”

“Is that Giselle's dad?”

“As far as we know, yes.” Betts laughed, and shook her head, then popped a chip in her mouth.

“What happened with him?”

“I don't know much about it. His name is Dwayne Kruse. I only talked to him once, and I don't know where he is, though I imagine he's still in the army. All I know is she came back with Giselle and moved in with my folks in Knoxville. She said he'd beaten her up, and she divorced him. By then I didn't want to be around her any more than she wanted to be around me, so I really don't know the details. Probably nobody here does, because the truth wouldn't come from her. Talking to him makes the most sense, if you can find out where he is. Do you have any contacts in the army?”

“I don't now since Tom died. But I know someone who might.”

“I'm sorry about Tom. And your mom too. I meant to say that before.”

“Thanks. So what happened next? And what about Tara's dad? Nobody ever says anything.”

“Her father lives in Knoxville, and over the years he's tried to stay in touch, but she hasn't wanted to. When she was in Knoxville with my folks, she never even went to see him. She doesn't like the stepmom and has never felt suitably appreciated since they've had kids of their own. I know she stayed with my folks for several months after she got back from Germany, and my dad helped her get a secretarial job at the Chamber of Commerce. He has a hardware store and had friends at the Chamber who took a chance on her. My mom took care of Giselle so Tara could go to work.

“But she and my folks were hassling within weeks. They still let her move into a house they rent out when Giselle was a year and a half, and they hardly charged her a thing. Tara left her with the next-door neighbor while she worked, and had one boyfriend after another, and was engaged at least twice in the two years she stayed in Knoxville. Within days of when her child support and alimony came through, she started fighting with people at work and quit just before she would've gotten fired. My dad heard that from his contacts at the Chamber.

“Then she came here and moved in with her mom. And her first job here was with Equine Pharmaceuticals.”

“Really? That's where my friend who may have contacts with the army works. He hasn't been there long, and I didn't know Tara worked there.”

“She lasted there longer than any other job I know about. Probably close to three years. But sometime during the first year there was a big blow-up with my mom, and she left her place and rented a small house not far from U.K. The next-door neighbor watched Giselle to begin with when Tara was at work, but Gigi's almost six now, and the neighbor only watches her when she gets home from kindergarten. That's essentially all I know.”

“Wow.” Jo was staring at Betsy, her eyebrows baffled above worried eyes, her lips pressed together.

“That's my unselfish, upstanding niece. She can be extremely persuasive. You have to understand that. She plays the victim role better than anybody and makes a whole lot of men want to take care of her at the same time she manages to make them think she's plucky and strong and independent. That she's someone who's suffered unbelievable betrayal but gallantly soldiers on to raise her daughter alone.”

“How does she treat Giselle?”

“Aside from wanting everyone else to take care of her on a day-to-day basis, I think Tara loves her. I don't think she deliberately mistreats her in any way. Gigi may be the only person Tara's ever actually cared about. But because of the way Tara is, she must be doing her damage. I mean, what kind of an example is she? She'll lie just to lie about absolutely anything. Things that don't matter at all. Maybe she thinks lying keeps people from knowing anything about who she really is.”

Jo said, “I guess that makes some kind of perverted sense.”

“It's only my own interpretation. I've never understood her. Though I do know she's very good at meeting somebody and figuring out what will appeal to them, and making herself seem to be that. It's like she puts on a tailor-made persona, one after another, depending on what the man wants. It's always a man. She has no use for women. And nothing has ever been her fault, believe me. I have no doubt that mental illness plays a large part in what she does. But Giselle's there, seeing it all the time, and that concerns me for her.”

“Yes. What a way to grow up.”

They were both quiet for a minute. Watching a Great Horned Owl who sat scrutinizing the world from a telephone line by the road.

“Would you be willing to give me whatever information you have about the minister's wife in Louisville, and the last location of Dwayne Kruse?”

“Sure.” Betsy wrote what she knew in Jo's notebook and then handed it back.

“I'll call my friend tonight, the one who might have some way of tracing Dwayne.”

“Good.”

“If I type up my notes, would you be willing to sign them? So the fiancé knows they're accurate?”

“Of course. I'd like to do something to help some poor sucker keep from getting taken to the cleaners. I'm still working at St. Joe's, by the way, so that'd be closer for you.”

“I could bring the notes to you there, maybe even tomorrow.”

“Give me a call in Critical Care. Tomorrow I'm working seven to three. Managing the department means you can get me at the nurses' station more often than not.”

“I'll call before I come. Why don't you trailer a horse over sometime? We could ride cross country like we used to, and then spend time with Toss.”

“I'd like that. How's Toss doing with the broken legs?”

“About like you'd expect. Grumbling about the wheelchair and looking for things to do. He's sorted the low shelves in every tack room, and he's spent a lot of time giving the young guy who's helping out his perspective on the horse business.”

“He knows it.”

“Yes, he does. The best and the worst, both.”

Monday, April 23, 1962

“Rachel, sweetie, I know how you feel, but it's not something you can get involved in.” Bob Harrison watched his wife from behind his large messy desk as she stood and stared out the window at the etched brass sign that read
Equine Pharmaceuticals
in the center of the wide front lawn. “Rachel?”

“What?”

“It's a bigger issue than the family. The business needs Alan Munro. He's a chemical engineer who can help us design and test formulations, and evaluate raw materials with greater speed and accuracy, and manufacture so there's greater consistency from one batch to another. And that, with pharmaceuticals, is the first and final necessity when you're—”

“That may be true, but—”

“Rachel, please—”

“It's not fair to Brad. It looks like you're bringing in someone from the outside because you don't have confidence in him.” She was a small woman, short and a little plump, wearing a plain brown shirtwaist dress, who looked tired and sad and worried when she sat down in front of her husband, holding her large white purse in her lap with short sturdy hands.

“It's got nothing to do with Brad. He's got no experience or expertise in any of those areas. He trained as a lawyer and can help us with patents, even though he never took the bar exam. He oversees accounting just fine. But he's not a scientist, and he can't possibly be expected to contribute to the—”

“You never have gotten over him not taking the bar exam. You still hold it against him.”

“No, I don't. But it does show a lack of followthrough. You know it does. You can see that yourself.”

“He was sick then. He'd just gotten over mono.”

“He could've taken it another time, just like anyone else.”

“You don't respect him because he's not a scientist.”

Bob Harrison sat for a minute gazing silently at his wife, then he buttoned his lab coat and slid a red lab crayon into its breast pocket. He was a thin man, maybe five feet ten. Not handsome, but calm-looking and purposeful, and ready to get to work. “Can we talk about this tonight? Alan seems like a fine young man and I want you to get to know him. And believe you me, with us as small a business as we are, we're lucky to have gotten someone of his caliber and experience.”

“Dad?” Brad Harrison was standing in the door looking from one to the other. He was taller and rounder than his father, but you could see he was his father's son, with the same high forehead and dark angled eyebrows. Though unlike his dad, Brad had very little chin and a small narrow rabbity mouth that made him look indecisive. “What are you doing here, Mom?”

“Talking to your father. I'm on my way to see your grandmother and take her to the doctor.”

“Could I talk to you later this afternoon? There're some changes being made that need to be discussed.” Brad was looking at his dad, one hand in his pants pocket rattling loose change.

“You two go right ahead. Don't wait on account of me.” Rachel Harrison was up and walking when she said, “I'll see you at home tonight, Bob,” as she smiled at her husband.

“Your mother's worried about your grandmother. On top of all the heart trouble, her memory's beginning to fail.”

“It has been for months. So when can you and I talk?” Brad was standing to the left of the open door.

Alan Munro didn't see him until he'd stepped through. “Oh, I'm sorry. I can make another appointment for later, Mr. Harrison.”

“Call me Bob like everybody else. Alan and I have an appointment, Brad. Then we're going to the lab meeting.”

Brad didn't leave. He stood where he was with his hands in his pockets staring at his dad's desk.

Alan looked at Bob Harrison, who gestured toward a chair. And Alan sat and waited a minute before he decided he might as well start. “I think we need to reorganize the lab. The analytical work ought to be concentrated in one area, and we need more bench space. I don't think it'll cost a great deal. It's more design and work station reorganization, and I wondered if it would be okay if I asked Jo Grant to take a look. Maybe find out what she'd charge per hour, and get an estimate of what she thinks it would take to evaluate and redesign it.”

“Fine with me. I haven't had time to get into it.”

“If any changes are made,” Brad said, moving closer to his father's desk and crossing his arms across his midriff, “there's a longstanding problem in the lab that needs to be fixed soon. The toe space under the cabinets. The baseboards, or whatever you call them, are entirely too low.”

“I guess I hadn't noticed.” Alan was looking at Brad, but aware of Bob just past him, looking away from them both.

“Someone could stub their toes. Ashtrays too. In the truck drivers' lounge. There aren't enough, and they aren't emptied when they should be, and it doesn't make a good impression.”

“Ah.” Alan said, “I'll talk to Jo about the toe space. I guess the plant manager or the maintenance guys are the ones to talk to about the ashtrays.”

“I'd appreciate it if you'd take care of that.” Brad was smoothing his tie, squishing his small double chin against what jaw he had, while his thin reddish brown hair flopped across his forehead.

“That's nothing Alan should be bothering with. You talk to maintenance. Alan's here as a chemical engineer to help us improve our laboratory and production methods. And right now, Brad, Alan and I need to talk.” Bob glanced at Alan and then looked away with a slightly embarrassed expression on his face that told Alan a lot – that Bob knew what he'd just seen and wished it hadn't happened.

Brad said, “Fine,” and walked out the door leaving a silence behind him Alan filled first. “Before we talk about the lab meeting, there's something personal I'd like to bring up.”

He told Bob Harrison about Jack Freeman needing a job and asked if he had any ideas about where he ought to look. “You know the business community better than anyone else I know. I hope you don't mind me asking, but—”

“No, not at all. We don't have anything here that's suitable. If he doesn't know horses, the farms would be a long shot. Perhaps he should try Alice Franklin. Booker told me their maintenance man had a heart attack two or three weeks ago. Maybe that would be a possibility. And now that we're on the subject, let me ask you something.”

“Sure.”

“Someone told me Spencer's engaged.”

“Right. To someone named Tara Kruse. She works at Blue Grass Horse Vans.”

Bob Harrison was quiet for a minute, while twirling a pen on his desk. “Tara worked here for almost three years.”