“But there wasn’t.”
“She came out before I could check, so I took off with the truck.”
“And when you checked later?”
“Nothing but Ketamine. I thought that might come in handy later, when I need…sedation.”
Queenie, in a crouch, slunk toward Tricia, her teeth bared. Tricia made a wild swing toward her with the pitchfork, and Queenie ducked out of the way, pivoting backward, behind Jasmine, who stood completely ignorant of the atmosphere, as did the rest of the herd. The pitchfork was back on me.
I gestured to the parlor, keeping my movements small. “I don’t have any drugs here. Nothing that would help you, anyway.”
She gave a short laugh. “Do you think being sick has made me ignorant? I know that.”
“Then why—”
“You’re the only one who can connect me to the shovel. No one else knows my fingerprints are on it, except that stupid Dorie woman at the church, and she doesn’t have a clue about what’s going on, does she? About my illness or the steroids or
anything
. No one did, until you opened your big mouth.”
“I would’ve thought you’d tell Katherine yourself, since she’s also at risk from your mother taking DES.”
She waved the pitchfork. “This cancer is rare. There’s no way she’d get it, too.”
“You don’t know that.”
“You had no
right
—”
The phone split the air with its shrill jangling. Tricia jerked the pitchfork upward. “They’ll just have to leave a message.”
“No problem.”
I wondered who it was. Nick? Willard? A telemarketer who had no idea what she was interrupting?
Queenie was peeking out from between Jasmine’s legs, her eyes trained on the pitchfork. If the tool made any movement toward me, Queenie would be on it in a heartbeat. I had to hope she would get the handle in her teeth, and not the tines in her face.
The phone stopped ringing.
“One question, Tricia.”
She twisted the fork in answer.
“If you’re the one who took Carla’s truck, who was the guy in Green Lane? The hitchhiker?”
She shook her head. “I have no idea. An angel sent to confuse the authorities?”
“But he was wearing a ball cap.”
“As do millions of other people.” She grinned. “And I wouldn’t abuse the Phillies that way. David’s hat was for a minor league team from Ohio.”
Oh, much better.
“Anyway, David saw me take off in the truck and followed me with our car. Picked me up after I crashed the truck into the side of that building. No one even thought about looking for a woman. The public service announcements on the radio were only asking about men.”
“Because Carla was sure her attacker was a guy.”
“She was
sure
?”
I thought back. We’d always assumed it was a man, because Carla had assumed it. Babs was certain the person at the gym had been a guy, and I’d put it down to the same attacker. But Carla had said only that the person who stole her truck was tall, with a ball cap. That she’d gotten the
impression
it was a man.
“Why didn’t your family realize you were gone the morning you killed Dr. Peterson?”
She smiled weakly. “David was out running. The rest were still sleeping. Alan and Katherine have never been early risers, and the kids…well, you know how they are.”
“But David knew?”
“He got home before I did. And when he saw me…he knew something had happened. I told him.” She blinked hard, like she was trying to keep focused. “It was…he had a hard time with that.”
“Did he have a hard time with Katherine’s office, too?”
Tricia swallowed. “That was…I was just so angry. No one would help me. Mom took that drug and
I’m
the one who got sick. Katherine has her perfect life with her perfect family. Her perfect,
meaningful
career.”
Perfect, if you consider the teen-age son who hates your guts, and the people who think you’re going against God’s will.
“And the milk truck? Why vandalize that? There weren’t any drugs there.”
Tricia’s eyes flicked to the side, and back. “That was just…that woman was so
happy
. Had that beautiful little girl, the rest of her life ahead of her…”
Rapunzel, standing next to Tricia, raised her tail, and Tricia followed my eyes. It took only a split second for her to realize what was about to happen, and only a moment longer for Rapunzel to do her thing. Tricia raised her arms to her face as she spun away, and I lunged toward her, my face to the side to avoid the tines of the pitchfork. My hands found the handle as we crashed to the ground in the gush of urine, my elbow hitting the cement at the same time Tricia’s head made a hollow, smacking sound. She looked up at me, her eyes glazed, and shook her head, frantically trying to clear it.
I blinked, trying to ease the sting of the ammonia in my eyes, and pulled the pitchfork from Tricia’s hands, throwing it to the side. She used that moment to go for my face with her nails. Grabbing her hand, I pushed it toward the floor while she kicked and squirmed, doing her best to wrench her other hand from my grasp.
Queenie danced around us, whining and barking, unsure what she should do, waiting for an opening. Tricia’s arms and legs were so entwined with mine Queenie didn’t have much chance of seeing which part belonged to who.
“Stop, Tricia,” I screamed. “Just stop!”
She made a growling sound and flung herself sideways, pulling me over, my shoulder smashing onto the floor, sending shots of pain through my back. She scooted off of me, scrabbling toward the pitchfork. I turned over and crawled frantically down the aisle toward my rifle while Queenie snarled and held Tricia away from her weapon of choice.
I reached the rifle and grabbed it, using the wall as leverage to get on my feet, and swung around just as Tricia made a final lunge toward the pitchfork. I held the rifle steadily, pointed right at her heart as she leaped upright.
“Drop it, Tricia.”
Her eyes flashed. “I don’t think so.”
“
Drop it
.”
We stood, eyes locked, weapons pointed toward each other. A symphony played on the radio, melodic and aching, the strings crying out. The cows stood quietly, eating, drinking, waiting for their full udders to be relieved. Queenie, knowing a stalemate when she saw one, hunkered down in my sightlines to wait for an opening or an order.
A bead of sweat rolled from my head and down my back, and I blinked away what dripped into my eyes. Tricia didn’t move except to breathe, her chest heaving with the effort to calm herself. The air around us hung heavy and still, seeping into my bones as I waited for whatever came next.
Queenie’s head jerked up, and her ears rose to points.
My eyes darted to hers. “Go, Queenie.”
She jumped up and ran outside.
“It’s over, Tricia.”
Her face twitched as she held up the pitchfork.
I took a step closer. “Put it down.
Please
.”
“Stella, you still have things to lose. What do I have anymore?”
“Stella?” It was Nick, in the doorway.
Tricia’s eyes pleaded with me, but she didn’t relax her stance. I really didn’t want to shoot her, but one quick thrust from her, and I’d be skewered.
“Nick,” I said. “Why don’t you go call the cops.”
Tricia whimpered. “Please don’t, Stella. Please don’t do that.”
“But Tricia. You’re not giving me much of a choice.”
The fire grew in her eyes. “You
had
choices. You had them and you chose to turn me in. That’s why I can’t let you get away with any more!” She poised herself, ready to launch the pitchfork at my face.
And Miranda snuck up behind her, and hit her over the head with a shovel.
The ambulance showed up with the cops and carried Tricia away. It took them only a few seconds to snip off the cable ties we had locked around her wrists and ankles. I wasn’t taking any chances—when she woke up I wanted her trussed up good and tight. She’d shown that even being sick she had the strength of a healthy woman, and if Doug trusted cable ties to protect his milk truck from saboteurs, I’d trust them to keep a crazy woman from impaling me with a pitchfork.
The paramedics wanted to take me away, too, but I wasn’t about to go anywhere. My elbow and shoulder were sore, and they’d probably turn stiff and ugly by the next morning, but I hadn’t suffered anything time couldn’t heal. Tricia would have a good-sized lump on her head, with a headache to match, but Miranda’s not so strong she did any permanent damage.
At least, permanent for as long as Tricia had left.
I called Meadows, my new best friend, and he got to the scene before the ambulance left, rolling Tricia’s prints right there on her stretcher once the paramedics got her situated. This time I was sure he would get a match with the prints on the shovel. It was over. But for Tricia’s family, it was just starting.
Meadows needed to process the scene, since violence did occur, and he did his best to work around the cows, who were finally in the process of being milked. Lucy had rushed over as soon as Nick called, assuring me Lenny and Tess would forgive her for missing this family night out. Meadows took my pitchfork, but left my rifle with me, seeing how it hadn’t been fired and no one was sporting any bullet holes.
Willard had shown up soon after Meadows, dressed casually for the birthday party, and followed Nick, Miranda, and me into the house, where I told my story, the other two filling in details of the last few minutes in the barn. Thank God they’d gotten my voice mail and had immediately come home, leaving their dinners on the table. Miranda was still a bit unnerved, but was feeling pretty proud of herself, too, the way she’d crept up on Tricia and taken her out.
During the interview Willard never once rubbed it in that he’d been right all along—that it had been about the drugs, not about the women. The signs Tricia had made for Dr. Peterson and Katherine had been misleading. She really was mad that they were women, and that they weren’t on “her side.” But that hadn’t been the impetus for the attacks, no matter how the signs had made it look.
Willard listened quietly while we talked, and wrote his notes with the pencil he pulled from his pocket. He didn’t bounce it, chew on it, or toss it in the air. Willard, my good buddy, had been shaken.
When he finally left, squeezing my sore shoulders in a bear hug—despite the urine smell—and asking me to please stay home and not get into anymore trouble,
ever
, I stood in the middle of my living room, Nick and Miranda watching me.
“I think,” I said, “that I need to take a long, hot shower.”
So I did.
***
The bonfire out back was blazing, and a pot of sausage and vegetables sat in the midst of it, the smell beginning to filter through the air, taking my salivary glands into overdrive. The past three days had been crammed with filling out police reports, fending off TV interviews, and attending Dr. Peterson’s viewing and funeral, where her husband had stood stoically, patting my back, as I’d cried on his shoulder. Katherine called once to apologize for her family’s violent intrusion into my life, and while I’d said I didn’t blame her, I hadn’t heard from her since. The last news I’d had from Ma was that Katherine was going to stick around, her congregation not willing to kick her out for her sister’s sins. How very progressive of them.
Sarah had decided to postpone her schooling for a year, choosing to stay home and help her dad take care of Elena, her younger sister, and do whatever she could for her mom. It seemed, she’d said, like the most important thing she could be doing.
Lucy finally declared it was time for an employee cookout to get our minds off of things, and set about planning the whole affair.
Now I was waiting for supper and hanging out with Tess at the calf hutches, where she scratched the nose of Wendy’s heifer.
She squinted up at me. “I’ve picked a name.”
I brought myself back from wherever I’d been as I’d gazed into the darkening sky. “Oh, yeah? What is it?”
“Rachel.”
Tears welled in my eyes. “That’s perfect, pumpkin. And lovely.” I laid a hand on the calf’s head. “Dr. Peterson would like that.”
Tess smiled.
“Everything okay?”
I dropped my hand and turned toward Carla, who stood beside me, her face closed.
“Everything’s fine.”
“Good.”
I looked over my shoulder to see Carla’s truck in the driveway, a new Port-a-Vet gleaming in the bed. “Looks good. You enjoying it?”
“Yeah.” She crossed her arms and leaned against the calf hutch. “You know, it has some features the old one didn’t have. A GPS system. Better gas mileage. A larger refrigerated section in the cap.”
“That’s nice.”
“Uh-huh.”
I glanced at Tess, who was down rubbing noses with Rachel, and turned my back on her. “Look, Carla, I’m sorry—”
She waved a hand. “Can we just…not go there?”
I stuck my hands in my back pockets and looked toward the bonfire, where Bryan and Nick were busy stoking the flames and splitting wood, while Lenny sat watching and offering suggestions and drinking a birch beer. You know. Man stuff. Queenie and Concord raced around the yard, stopping only to sniff at trees and water them. It was fun to see the old greyhound stretching his legs.
“You know Bryan’s old cross country coach called him?” Carla didn’t look at me. “Said some woman with a tattoo on her neck was at the school, asking questions. He couldn’t remember her name.”
I bit my lip.
“He felt guilty afterward for some of the things he’d told her. And he let Bryan know what all he’d said.”
“I—”
“Thanks, Stella.”
I blinked. “What?”
“I know you were trying to help. And you actually did. Bryan told me about his dad. And his sisters. His mom. It brought us a lot closer.”
“Oh, well, good.”
She gave a little smile. “I’m sure that was your intention, and not to prove that he was out murdering women.”
I stayed quiet.
“Anyway, do you think you have it in you to give him a chance now? He really is a good guy. And I think I might love him.”
Tears pricked my eyes again, dammit. “I will, Carla. I promise. If you love him…”
“Good. Now it looks like Miranda and Lucy could use a little help setting up the picnic table. Want to come?”
We left Tess and the calf getting to know each other and helped Lucy set out a feast. Deviled eggs, baked beans, homemade bread, fresh lettuce from the garden. Carla had called dibs on planning dessert and promised a full ice cream sundae buffet with warm chocolate pudding cake, if we could all save just a little room. I had a feeling she’d save more room than the rest of us.
Zach and Randy were washing the Caddy, which was fresh back from the garage, where the mechanic had replaced a few of the older parts and gotten it back into shape. Until the next part broke. But for now the old car shone with the love and care given by a teenage boy, and it would probably see him through many dates and days out with the guys.
I walked over to them. “You about ready to eat?”
Zach wiped the driver’s window before looking up. “I’m starved.”
“Randy?”
He was crouched down by the rear tire, where he scrubbed the white walls with a brush. “I can always eat.”
I gently took his chin and turned his face toward me. “Looking less black and more yellow. And I can see your eye. That’s good.”
He smiled. “Yeah. Doesn’t hurt anymore, either.”
“How about Crystal? Has that stopped hurting, too?”
He glanced at Zach over the top of the car.
I followed the look. “What?”
“Well, actually…”
I waited.
“I met a real nice girl when Zach and I went to the pool the other day…”
I laughed. “So Crystal’s history.”
“Oh, she is so done.”
I let go of his chin and patted his cheek. “Good for you. Now let’s go eat.”
Dinner was a cheerful affair, the teenagers eating as much as the rest of us combined. Well, the rest of us minus Carla. She held her own. Dessert was overload, but we managed to force it down, and had to sit for a while to let it settle.
Lucy finally got up to take in the leftovers, and I grabbed the empty deviled egg tray and the pot of baked beans and followed her into the kitchen.
“Thanks, Luce. This was…nice.”
She got out a Tupperware container and dumped the beans into it, scraping out the good sauce before closing it up. “You’re welcome.” She hesitated, and turned to me. “You know, Stella, that I’ll do whatever I can to help you. To keep things…working here. Whatever you need.”
“I know. But thanks for saying it.”
She smiled. “Now why don’t you go sit down, and I’ll take care of the rest of this. Lenny will give me a hand, right, hon?”
He lumbered past me, setting the pot of sausage and vegetables in the sink for Lucy to empty. “’Course. Can’t have the boss lady doing all the work.”
“And by that,” I said, “you mean Lucy.”
He raised his eyebrows. “Who else would I mean?”
Lucy laughed and swatted at him with a dishtowel, and I made my exit before they got mushy.
Nick caught me outside the back door, spinning me around and giving me a quick kiss. He held up a blanket. “Can you manage a stroll to our favorite spot?”
I looked toward the campfire. Carla and Bryan were holding hands, looking into each other’s eyes. Tess threw sticks for the dogs. And the boys were busy flirting with Miranda, who was much older, and therefore very exciting. It looked like she didn’t mind the attention.
“Sure. My foot feels pretty good. Let’s go.”
He grabbed my hand, and we walked out toward the back field. The corn was the height of our knees, but the irrigation lane was open. The same lane we’d traveled a year ago when he’d questioned my loyalty to the farm. The same lane we’d traveled when he’d questioned my loyalty to
him
. The place I’d come often to be alone, to get away, to have some peace.
We reached the center of the field, and Nick let go of my hand. Together we spread out the blanket and lay on our backs, gazing up toward the sky. The stars were just beginning to come out, and the moon shined brightly, casting shadows of the corn onto us.
“Fun night,” Nick said.
“Yeah.”
“A lot of your closest friends are here.”
“Uh-huh. And then there’s your sister.”
He grinned. “She’ll become one of your friends. You’ll see. I mean, she did like you enough to save your life.”
I raised an eyebrow.
“Well, she helped, anyway.”
I rolled onto my side, my shoulder over its main soreness. “It’s important to you, isn’t it? That we get along?”
He looked at me, his hands behind his head. “Of course. Just like it’s important to Carla that you like Bryan. And to Abe that you approved of him marrying Missy. It hasn’t been easy for them to see you questioning their choices.”
I dropped back down. “God, I’m a bitch.”
He laughed. “Think of it as a strong personality.” He rolled over now, looking down into my face. “With all of those people here, don’t you think we should celebrate something?”
“We are. It’s a Royalcrest Farm employee picnic.”
“Sure. Okay. But I had another idea.”
“Like what?”
He sat up and reached into his pocket. When he brought out his hand it held a small jewelry box.
My breath caught. “Nick?”
“Go on. Open it.”
I sat up, my hands shaking, and took the box. The lid opened easily, looking as I expected, with the velvet cushioning, and the gold-plated name of a jewelry store. What wasn’t there was…a ring. Instead, a business card lay on the soft fabric. I pulled it out and squinted at the lettering in the fading light. The card had Rusty Oldham’s name on it, a long-time friend, along with his tattooing business’ address and phone number. I looked at Nick, confused. “You want to get me a tattoo?”
He smiled and took the box, setting it on the blanket, then held my hand in both of his. “Stella, I know you can’t risk stabbing cows or getting a ring caught in conveyor belts or whatever other machinery you use. Lord knows we wouldn’t want one scratching your Harley.” He kneaded my knuckles. “A diamond, beautiful as it would be, just isn’t…
you
. So I would be honored if…” He cleared his throat. “If you would let Rusty tattoo a ring on your finger. I want… Stella, will you marry me?”
A rush of dizziness overwhelmed me, and I closed my eyes. A vision of my farm passed through my mind. My cows, my land, my house, my barns. The friends I had in my little corner of Pennsylvania. The Grangers—the only family I’d ever known. Carla and Lucy and Lenny and Bart. Home. My home for as long as I could remember.
But now…
“Yes, Nick.” I opened my eyes. “
Yes
. I would
love
to marry you.”
The smile on his face matched the one in my heart, and I reached out and held onto him, wanting never to let go.
But after a minute, he started to squirm. I sat back.
“I think,” he said, “that there are some folks back at the farm who would like to hear the news.”
My grin felt ridiculous. But oh, so good. “So let’s go tell them.”
He helped me up, and together we shook out the blanket and folded it. Once he’d tucked it under his arm, he grabbed my hand with his.
“And then,” he said, “I need to go back to Virginia and start packing.”
I stared at him.
He raised his eyebrows. “You don’t expect me to move all the way up to Pennsylvania without bringing my stuff, do you?”
I looked into the face of my beautiful, amazing,
incredible
fiancé. And I laughed with joy, with disbelief, and with a heart full of love.
I was home.