Dark River Road (58 page)

“But animals don’t write the checks.”

“I’m not doing this for money.”

“Good thing. You might want to discuss it with Doc, though. He still has to pay rent.”

Right. “Yeah. Thanks for the advice. Where does Doc keep the Betadine these days?”

Mindy got it for him, gave him a look, then went back up front while he cleaned a spider bite on a cockapoo. He’d never really thought too much about that part of veterinary work. His focus had always been on the animal, not the people connected with the animal. Shortsighted of him.

Doc got back to the clinic a little after noon. He told Mindy to go to lunch, then went in the back with Chantry. “How’s the Ledbetter pup?”

“I think he’ll be okay. Got it in time. He knows to watch for symptoms in the other dogs for the next week. Where’d he get the dog? They’ll probably have an outbreak soon, if they don’t already.”

Scrubbing up at the deep sink, Doc nodded. “Yeah. I think he got it from a breeder down in Madison County. He said he’d call. Got the pup in quarantine?”

“Yeah. The pup should have been inoculated. He’s old enough. Ledbetter needs to hire someone new to check up on all that.”

“Some folks get lax. Lazy. Or just don’t give a damn. I run into that a lot.”

“Man who doesn’t want to take proper care of his animals shouldn’t be allowed to own any.” Chantry stood up, closed the door to a bottom cage where he’d put the dog with the spider bite.

“No one’s figured out how to discourage people from having kids they don’t take proper care of yet, so I figure it’ll be a while before they get around to preventing the same people from owning animals. Anyone come in while I was gone?”

“Mrs. Tidwell.”

Doc grinned. “Glad I had my arm up a cow’s ass and you got stuck with Precious. The usual, I suppose.”

“Hasn’t changed much since I was a kid. That cat should have shit itself to death years ago.”

“I think he’s still alive out of sheer spite. People should have it so good.”

Chantry didn’t answer. Precious was one of the lucky ones. For some reason, he thought of Tansy’s cats then, wondered how many were still alive, and remembered the old yellow tom. It was unlikely he was alive. Feral cats had a much shorter lifespan than house cats. Disease or wild animals or both got them within a few years. Maybe it was better that way. Living wild and free for a short time was preferable to being cooped up in a velvet prison for too long. When it came to some cats, anyway. Just like some people, he guessed. There were those who liked living on the edge, and those who liked security too much to take any risks. He fell somewhere between. And wasn’t happy being in the middle. But then, he hadn’t been happy at either end.

After the clinic closed for the day, Chantry went by the real estate office. Nancy Owen was waiting on him, looking uncomfortable. She had to be somewhere around his age but he didn’t really remember her from school. She had brown hair and pale eyes, and gave him nervous glances like she expected him to pounce on her at any moment as she handed him the paperwork. It was a simple lease with the usual caveats and conditions, renewable month to month. Probably to give either him or Cinda or both a chance to get out easily if it didn’t work out.

“Here are the keys,” Nancy said, “and since it’s empty, you can move in any time. If you have your own furniture and would like anything moved out, just inform the caretaker, and Herky will see to it.”

“Herky Welch?”

Nancy nodded. “You remember him?”

“We were in the same grade in school.”

“He works for Ridgeway Realty now. Actually, more for Cinda. Odd jobs. Maintenance. Security. Whatever she needs done. Two separate checks, please, one for the first month’s rent, and one for the security deposit. If all is in order when you leave, the security deposit will be returned to you.” She hesitated then said, “I assume you don’t plan on staying longer than the six months.”

It was one of those remarks he didn’t intend to answer, and he wrote out the two checks and took the keys. “Thanks. You’ve been a big help.”

Nancy looked at him and her mouth went flat. “You shouldn’t have come back.”

“Why not?”

That seemed to take her back. He didn’t know what she’d expected him to say, but she didn’t have a ready answer, that was obvious. She looked away, then finally mumbled, “It’s just going to stir things up again.”

“That’s what I keep hearing.”

But he wasn’t at all sure what she really meant, if it was going to stir things up with old man Quinton or with Cinda. He certainly meant to shake up the old man, but didn’t know what to do about Cinda. Not that it mattered. She was leaving town for a couple of months anyway. It was probably better that way.

He didn’t have much to move in. Some clothes, a computer, his books and papers. He’d kept personal belongings to a minimum. Less to move. It left him free. Possessions tended to bind a person too much. Mikey said he did it because the less he had, the less he had to care about, but Mikey always liked talking shit. Doctor Mike said he should go into psychology, but Chantry had said his calling was probably more along the lines of tarot card reader at a carnival. It’d suit him better. Mikey loved making predictions.

His first night spent in the carriage house felt oddly welcoming. It wasn’t big, but it had a really good feel to it, private and comfortable. The kitchen was efficient and modern, the bathroom had one of those water jet tubs and a separate shower, and the bedroom had a huge bed that looked antique and sturdy. It was spare without being stark, a few things lying around to give it a homey feel without being cluttered. He liked it. It reminded him of Cinda in a way, a no-frills, classy look.

Some kind of green fern gushed from a brass planter set into the fireplace, but other than a bit of water for it now and then, the place was almost maintenance-free. He doubted he’d need Herky for anything other than to show him the laundry room.

Big, slow, shuffling along in a rambling gait, Herkimer Welch had always been behind other kids in school. He wasn’t quite what used to be called retarded, just traveled at his own speed, a happy, pleasant kind of guy in no particular hurry to be anywhere or go anywhere. Content just to exist.

“Hey, Chantry,” Herky said amiably when he saw him come outside on the patio. He had a water hose in one hand and a big smile on his face. “How you been?”

Just like he’d seen him the week before, no big questions, no curiosity. Chantry nodded.

“Been fine, Herky. You doing okay?”

“If I was any better, I’d be too good to stand it.” That was the standard Herky response to the casual greeting of How you doing? Chantry nodded.

“Need any help watering?”

“Naw, I like doin’ it. As long as I ain’t botherin’ you.”

“You’re not. Maybe later you can show me where the laundry room is.”

“Sure. Miss Cinda told me you’d be needin’ to know. I told her I’d take care of you.” He squinted at him a minute. “Looks like you take care of yourself pretty good though.”

“I do all right.”

Herky nodded. “Yep. I stay around the corner. Just ask anybody an’ they’ll show you.”

He wandered off, hose spraying water on potted plants and flower beds, whistling like he hadn’t a care in the world. Probably didn’t. Chantry wondered how he’d managed it.

At night when the shadows grew dark it was easy to spot lights gleaming in the big house. Cinda must not have left for her vacation yet. He thought about her up there, wondered about her even when he tried not to. Maybe it was a good thing she was leaving. If she stayed
 . . .
if she stayed there, it’d be too tempting. He’d want to see her, talk to her. He had to be crazy to be this close to her anyway.

But it was certain to get a reaction from old man Quinton.

That came the day Cinda left Cane Creek for her vacation. Italy, he’d heard, but not from her. He hadn’t seen her again since the day she’d shown him the carriage house, not even at a distance. It was just as well. He’d probably say something stupid again.

When he got home from the clinic that afternoon, he got a beer out of the fridge and went out onto the patio where it was shaded and relatively cool. Someone was mowing a lawn nearby. He heard the mower sputter, the whining yowl of a weed eater. He stretched out in an Adirondack recliner and closed his eyes. He’d been up and gone early, riding with Doc to a few of the farms in the area, making calls, checking livestock and family pets. It was different, the mobile work out in the field, and most of the time he liked it better than clinic work. He liked working with just the animals best.

Maybe he slept a little, lulled to sleep by the drone of lawn equipment, but woke quickly at the sound of a drawling voice.

“So you really are back.”

Chris Quinton leaned up against a post covered in some kind of vine, looking at him, his hands stuck deep in his pockets. The years had softened the gaunt look to his face, given him more definition, and his blond hair was a little darker but the eyes were the same: gray, piercing, guarded.

“Yeah.” Chantry just looked at him, waiting.

“Cinda said you were. I never thought you were so stupid as to come back here. But, hell, guess I was wrong.”

“Guess you were.”

Chris smiled slightly. “Well, I warned you.”

“I remember.”

“And you came back anyway? I bet I know why.”

“I bet you do, too.”

“And it doesn’t have as much to do with Cinda as it does my grandfather. Right?”

Chantry didn’t answer. He shouldn’t have to. Chris knew the answer to that. It was just a rhetorical question anyway because he shook his head, gave Chantry a wry smile.

“He’s been waiting for you. He always said you’d come back, that you wouldn’t be able to stay away. I’m glad I never bet him on it. I’d have lost my ass.”

It wasn’t really pleasant to hear that Bert Quinton knew him well enough to know he would come back even when he’d spent years convinced he wouldn’t, but it didn’t really matter. It probably even made things easier. Chantry shrugged.

“So what are you doing here?”

“Had to see for myself. It’s all over town that you’re back, that your first night here you were with Cathy and Cinda.”

Chantry stood up, saw Chris eye him with the old appraising look in his eyes. “I guess you came to tell me to stay away from Cinda again.”

“No need to. By the time she gets back from Italy, you’ll be gone from here. She always stays away a month or two.”

There was no point in arguing, so he just let that lie. After a moment, Chris shrugged. “It won’t work, Chantry. You can’t go back. Can’t correct old mistakes. I should know. I’ve tried.”

“I’m not you.”

“Jesus, do you think you can change the past?”

“No. But I can find out the truth about it.”

Chris shook his head. “Man, you don’t know what you’re doing. Some truths should be left alone. It gets dangerous when you start poking at things that are supposed to stay dead.”

“Is that another warning?”

“Take it any way you want. Just keep it in mind.” Chris turned to walk away, then paused and looked back at him. “I hope to hell you know what you’re doing, because you aren’t the only one liable to get hurt.”

“Yeah,” he said, “so I heard.”