Witch Dance (20 page)

The door opened, and she came through. Kate Malone looked like hell.
Beautiful
hell. She was thinner than he remembered, and her face was pinched with tension.

“Dr. Grant.” Nothing wrong with her walk though. The way she glided along with those hips swiveling just right was enough to make a man forget his resolutions to play cool and hard to get. “The first thing I have to do is apologize.”

“Apologize?”

“For San Diego.” She pushed her hair back from her forehead in a gesture he found charming. But damned if he was going to be charmed by her. Blackhearted Mark. That’s what he was going to be.

“I was rude to you,” she added. “There was no excuse for my behavior.”

“Why don’t you try me? I like excuses.”

“Would you believe a relationship gone bad?”

“With you? Not a chance.”

“PMS?”

“Ah, a medical mystery.
That
I’ll buy.”

Kate Malone smiled and was transformed. Her green eyes sparkled and all the fatigue lines left her face.

Remaining hardhearted with her was going to be a pain in the ass.

“Now,” he said, striving for the upper hand. “Tell me why you’ve come.”

“My patients are dying from something that looks like hepatitis.”

“How many?”

“Five out of eight.”

Mark Grant whistled. The death rate from hepatitis was one percent.

“Cause of death?” he asked.

“Liver failure.”

“You’ve started looking for a link among the victims?”

“The victims are little children.” Her voice cracked, and for a moment he thought she was going to cry. Then she stiffened her shoulders and jutted out her chin. “My nurse and I have studied case histories extensively. So far, we’ve found nothing.”

“You’ve done fieldwork?”

“That’s why I’ve come to you. I want an expert, and they say you’re the best.”

“Yep. I’m the best.” Mark didn’t try to suppress his grin. “And you want me?” he asked, deliberately baiting her.

Kate was equal to the occasion.

“Something is killing the children of Witch Dance. Yes, Doctor . . . I want you.”

He checked his right shirt-sleeve to see if the frayed end was showing, then fiddled with his pencil, letting her sweat. Vindictive, perhaps, but nobody ever said he was perfect.

“I wouldn’t want to waste time driving from Ada to Witch Dance twice a day,” he said.

“There’s a guest bedroom in my cottage. You can stay with me.”

“Dr. Malone, you’ve just made me an offer I can’t refuse.”

 o0o

Mark Grant turned out to be a blessing in disguise. He breezed into her cottage like a cyclone, full of booming male noises and explosive laughter, and suddenly all the emptiness was swept away.

“You don’t mind if I make myself at home,” he said, not waiting for her permission, but dropping his bags in the middle of the floor and plopping onto her sofa. With the remote control he flipped the television to a sports channel then grinned. “I always settle in with a beer and see what’s happening in the sports world this time of day.”

Thinking of her mother, and the way Martha scurried to wait on Mick hand and foot every time he came through the door, Kate drew herself up.

“I don’t provide waitress service.”

“I’m not as pampered as I look. Been waiting on myself since I was six years old. No mama and no daddy.”

“You were an orphan?”

He struck a pose with his hand over his heart. “It brings ‘em to tears every time.” His grin showed two gold crowns. “Heck no. My parents were always off in some exotic part of the world. Left me to fend for myself at Grandma’s mansion down in Atlanta. It took every waking moment to outwit the servants so I could enjoy the independence any six-year-old boy deserves.”

He flipped off the television then stood up to stretch. Kate suddenly realized how lonely she’d been. Just to have Mark taking up space in her house felt good.

“Sit tight, Kate . . . you don’t mind if I call you Kate, since we’ll be living together?”

“No.” She smiled. It was impossible not to with Mark Grant.

“I’ll hustle us up some grub. We’re going to need our strength.”

“You cook too?”

“Best derned cook in three states. I bribed Grandma’s chef.”

“How?”

“Hid frogs in his stew pots till he gave in and let me watch.”

She followed him into the kitchen and watched as he nosed around her cabinets and into her refrigerator. Another time, another man, Kate would have been appalled at such an invasion of her privacy. But it was not just any old time, and Mark was not just any old man. He was the man who might well save the lives of the children in Witch Dance.

Besides, she’d had enough privacy to last her a lifetime.

“It will be a relief not to eat my own cooking.”

“I know.” He grinned over the pots and pans.

“Don’t tell me. . . . Let me guess. You’re clairvoyant too.”

“I ate one of those chocolate chip cookies you brought to Sally Blaze’s birthday party last year.” Sally Blaze, the pharmacist in Ada who had become her friend over the years.

“I didn’t see you there.”

“You had already gone. I took one bite of that cookie and said to myself, ‘It’s a derned good thing I didn’t marry that woman. I’d be a mere shadow of myself by now.’”

“Heaven forbid that you should be a shadow of yourself.” She looked pointedly at his midsection.

He sucked it in. “Been meaning to hit the old barbells, but you know what a demanding bitch medicine is.”

Kate made two cups of tea then sat at the table while Mark moved around her kitchen. Humming. Her mother used to hum.
She
used to hum.

Maybe it was time to remember music once more.

 o0o

The crushing sense of loss never left Anna, not for even the briefest second; but at least she was functional. Cole sat huddled over a bottle in dark rooms, first Bucky’s bedroom, then Mary Doe’s. Back and forth he went, alternating as the mood struck him.

Sighing, she watched out the window. Where was Clint? He’d been there only seconds earlier, tossing the ball in the air and catching it.

Panic seized her, and she raced to the door.

“Clint!” she called. There was no response, no dark head turned her way, and no gangly legs raced toward the house. “
Clint!
”

He stuck his head around the barn door.

“Mom?” Loping in his loose-jointed way, he came to her and touched her arm. “Is anything wrong?”

“No. Nothing. It’s just—” Just that she couldn’t bear for her only surviving child to be out of her sight.

Anna felt like a fool. Then she felt like crying, and she guessed a few tears leaked out, for her son wiped them away with his grimy hand.

“It’s okay, Mom. I understand. Really, I do.”

Only thirteen, and suddenly he was all grown-up. The sad thing was that he had to be. She was barely coping and Cole was not coping at all. Somebody in the family had to be strong.

“I’m sorry, Clint.” She cupped his face. So handsome. So strong. So like Cole, it broke her heart to look at him. “It’s going to get better. Just give me time.”

“Sure, Mom . . . can I go now? I need to feed the horses.”

She nodded, and then as he turned away, she called after him.

“Clint . . . thank you.”

“That’s what families are for.”

Anna stood a moment on her front porch with the setting sun warming her face. It seemed like forever since she’d been in the sunshine. A breeze rustled through the dead leaves on her front lawn. She hadn’t raked this year. The flower beds beside the front steps were full of weeds. She hadn’t plucked weeds either.

There were lots of things she hadn’t done lately. Anna went down the steps and knelt at her flower beds. With her hands in the dirt she saw Mary Doe, digging with her small spade.

“Not so deep, sweetheart,” Anna said, laughing at her daughter’s enthusiasm. “You don’t have to dig all the way to China to plant flowers.”

“These are special flowers, Mama, ‘cause they’re
mine
.”

Mary Doe wiped her grimy hands across her face and down the front of her overalls, leaving streaks. Anna laughed again, remembering her visions of a daughter dressed in pink ruffles and lace.

A sob closed her throat, and Anna bent over her unkempt flower beds, her hands still clenched in the dirt. Wrapped in her cocoon of beautiful, painful memories, she didn’t hear the sounds of the approaching car, nor the footsteps.

“Anna?” Kate Malone was bending over her, her face crinkled with concern. “Are you all right?”

Someday she would be. Maybe. But not right now.

“I can’t seem to . . .” Anna stood up, groping like an old woman. Kate took one arm, and a man Anna didn’t know took her other. “Thank you,” she said, dusting off her hands. “I must look a mess.”

“You’re fine.” Kate’s hand was warm upon her arm. “Anna, this is Dr. Mark Grant. We’d like to talk to you and Cole . . . about the children.” Anna pressed her trembling hands together. “If this is not a good time, we can come back.”

“No . . . no. Come in.” Anna’s house was as neglected as her flower beds, but she couldn’t worry about that now. “I’m afraid Cole is . . . busy. What is it you wanted to know?”

“We’re trying to make sense of what happened. Hepatitis was not the killer; liver failure was. And we don’t know why.”

“Mrs. Mingo.” The man called Dr. Grant leaned forward in his chair. He had a kind and earnest face. “We’re trying to find a common thread. Do you remember any connection between your children and the others?”

“No. Nothing.”

“Any parties they might have attended together?” he said. “Any picnics? Any social outings of any kind?”

“No. The ranch is big. Clint and—” Anna’s voice cracked, and she thought she might cry again. Kate reached over and covered her hand. “—Bucky and Mary Doe kept pretty much to themselves.”

“Was there anyplace special they played?” Kate said.

“Not that I know of.”

“Any old water troughs?” Mark added. “Any lakes? Any water at all?”

“No. Mostly they played in the yard or the pastures or the barn. It was too cold to go down to Witch Creek.”

“Witch Creek?” Mark and Kate exchanged glances. “Had they ever played there?”

“All summer long. Mary Doe could swim like a fish, and Bucky was learning to dive. Clint always went along to watch them though. I didn’t want them to . . . drown.” A sob caught in her throat.

She covered her face with her hands, and her shoulders shook. The river of grief had to flow, no matter who witnessed it.

Anna felt Kate’s arms around her, heard Mark leave the room, smelled the strong aroma of coffee when he returned.

The coffee made her feel better. So did the companionship.

She wondered what Cole would say if he knew Kate Malone was sitting in his den, drinking coffee.

 o0o

The room was dark and smelled of stale liquor. But it still contained Bucky. Cole could see his son in the fishing poles and football posters hanging on the walls, in the books on horses and race cars lining the shelves, in the telescope that sat at the window, ready to bring the constellations down to earth.

A pair of Bucky’s socks, wadded up and smelly, was just under the bed, and the sneakers and jeans and shirt he’d last been wearing were strewn across the floor.

Cole hadn’t let Anna clean their rooms. Sometimes it seemed that if he closed his eyes and wished hard enough, they’d come back. Bucky and Mary Doe. His children. Bright-eyed and laughing.

The sound of a car intruded on Cole’s solitude. He went to the window and looked out. Kate Malone was in his yard.

Rigid, Cole stood at the window, watched while Anna brought her inside, listened while she talked to his wife about finding a cause of death.

He knew the cause.

Cole didn’t bother with a glass but drank straight from the bottle. Kate Malone’s voice sounded like serpents hissing in his ears.

Or maybe it was the liquor. Had the whiskey turned to snakes? Did it speak with the
sente
soolish
?

Covering his ears, Cole dropped the bottle. It crashed at his feet, sending whiskey and glass flying.

Cole gazed down at the mess. The room spun a moment, then righted itself. He had desecrated Bucky’s room.

Hurrying, stumbling over his feet and the small furniture, Cole went into the bathroom for towels. On his knees he scrubbed at the wreckage. Hard. He didn’t even notice when the broken glass cut his hand.

All he saw was the whiskey and the blood.

Chapter 23

Melissa Sayers Colbert wore a plain black designer suit with a pearl and diamond choker that had been in her family for three generations. Her hair stylist had arranged her hair in a simple French twist. She sat with her legs demurely crossed at the ankles and her hands folded in her lap.

Folded and still. No fidgeting. Fidgeters didn’t get out of The Towers.

The Towers
. How she hated that name. As if she’d spent the last four and a half years at some great and glorious height instead of in a bare room that contained nothing she could use to cut her wrists or hang herself.

“You look good, Melissa.” Dr. Marlin Houston looked like Buddha sitting behind his desk with his disgustingly fat belly and his bald head, but Melissa didn’t tell him so. Her release depended on him.

“Thank you.”
Keep
it simple. Say nothing to tip him off
.

“You’ve made great progress these last three months.” Dr. Houston folded his fat hands and propped them on his belly.

Clayton hadn’t had an ounce of extra fat on his body. She remembered how he used to stand with his shoulders back and his hips jutted slightly forward so that he looked relaxed and arrogant at the same time.

Her hands began to tremble and she hid them behind her purse.

Don’t think about Clayton until you get out.

“This is the most rewarding part of my job, Melissa. Signing the release.” He wrote his signature with a flourish then smiled at her. “I expect I’ll be seeing your picture again in the society pages before too long.”