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  “Really, why?” I heard him scratching his chin—the raspy sound that comes from fingers rubbing on beard growth.

  “Apparently she’s missed work for the past few days without calling in. Curtis wasn’t able to get hold of her.”

  “You might be overreacting, Gus. Maybe she’s just sick. Or sick of the whole situation.”

  “No.” I sat down at the kitchen table. “It’s totally out of character. She told me the owners of the nursing home threatened to fire her if she didn’t stop talking about the Memorphyl. She was pretty vocal about the patients getting worse, and her belief that it was connected to the change in medication.”

  “Okay,” he said, still not convinced. “So why don’t you give her a buzz?”

  “That’s just it. I don’t know her last name. I was wondering if you had any way to—”

  He interrupted with a laugh. “Okay. I knew you wanted something.”

  “Yeah, I’m sorry. Always needing a favor, huh?”

  “No sweat. You keep feeding me on Sundays, and I’ll be happy to dig into this for you.”

  I snorted a laugh, trying to stifle it so I wouldn’t wake up the whole house. “Deal. Call me when you get her number. She was the only nurse named Debbie at that facility. She had short, red curls. And she was a little bit plump. Lives in town with her husband and children, I think.”

  “Okay. I’ll nose around and find out what I can for you.”

  “Thanks, Joe. See you around three for dinner?”

  “You got it.”

  I forgot to tell him about the party planned for the same time, but figured Camille would call her mother and tell her all about it, anyway. With that taken care of, I turned to the cupboards and took out the ingredients to make mountains of blueberry pancakes.

  ***

  After breakfast, the women of the house shooed me outside and asked me to watch the grandchildren for a few hours while they prepared for the party. Adam was convinced to take Freddie away—anywhere—so the festivities could be a surprise for her. I wasn’t sure how he did it, or where they went, but shortly after I took my troops out to the garden, I saw his car bouncing down the driveway, heading away from the house.

  In three sun-drenched hours, we planted Blue Lake beans, and five hundred feet of Silver King white corn. Johnny had been the most help, plopping seeds with surprising regularity in the rows. Celeste started a colony of dust people with her mother’s old collection of troll dolls in a corner where I’d freshly tilled the soil. Covered in dirt, she entertained herself, absorbed in her world. Marion had “helped” with the planting for a while, covering seeds too deep and spilling them everywhere, but she soon grew bored and wandered to the swing set. She lay across the swing on her stomach, dark curls bouncing, gliding back and forth with her toes scuffing the dirt.

  Max and Sheba ran in circles around the peach tree, barking and chasing each other like puppies. When they’d spent their energy, they collapsed on the edge of the garden and watched us work, eyes shining and tongues lolling.

  At noon, we went inside to get cleaned up.

  I received a few raised eyebrows from Mrs. Pierce and Camille when we came in. They stared at us.

  “Gus?” Camille asked. “Are you in there under all that dirt?”

  Laughing, I guided the children back through the screen door and helped them kick off their shoes and shake out some of the crumbs of dirt from their clothing. “I’ll throw these monkeys in the tub if you want.”

  Shelby pranced into the kitchen with arms full of paper flowers. “I’ll do it, Dad.”

  I stared at her. She’d been surprisingly helpful the past few months, and I scarcely dared to hope the teen horrors were actually coming to an end. The past year had been a tough one, with boys, cars, boys, loud music, more boys, and screaming matches.

  She whisked the dirty little ones away before I could object.

  “Thanks, Shelby,” I called after her.

  “I think you need a bath, too, Gus,” Camille chuckled.

  Mrs. Pierce smiled and shook her head, carefully applying frosting to the sides of a three-tiered white cake.

  I walked around the kitchen and checked out the dining room. Twisted white crepe paper festooned the room, laced from corner-to-corner. A bouquet of blue and white crepe paper flowers was suspended from the middle. The places were set. Someone had tied fancy napkins with white ribbons, all curly and festive looking.

  “Nice,” I said, taking it all in. “And you’re right. I’m going to shower. I’ll be down to help in a bit.”

  The two women exchanged glances.

  “Uh, if you could wait a few hours, hon, it would be best. We don’t want you splattering up the kitchen with your tacos until we’re ready.”

  With the female conspiracy well in hand, I feigned offense as they both tittered. “Is that so? Well, in that case, I’ll make myself scarce.”

  I went upstairs and pulled out some fresh jeans and a tee shirt from the bureau, chuckling. Two unexpected hours to myself was a gift. I considered working on my book.

  Before I could get in the shower, the phone rang. I picked it up. Joe had found Debbie’s phone number and address. The house was situated on the western side of town, in the valley between Conaroga and Mount Morris.

  I tried Debbie’s number after showering. No one answered. After explaining to Camille, I jumped in the SUV and headed for her place.

  Chapter Thirty-five

  The rusty blue trailer sat back in the woods, on a slight rise above the road, centered on a small square of grass, and surrounded by planters filled with yellow and purple pansies. A faux grass welcome mat lay crooked on the cement block patio beneath two wooden steps leading to the front door.

  Debbie’s yellow Dodge wasn’t in the yard. A rusty black pickup rested on blocks off to the side of the gravel driveway, and a green hose lay unfurled near the pansies.

  I stepped up to the door and rapped.

  Silence.

  I tried again, this time ringing the doorbell for good measure. After a few minutes, I looked around back. A dog’s run lay across the railing on the back deck, the clip dangling in the slight breeze as if he’d just been let inside.

  I tried the back door, but wasn’t expecting results. When no one answered, I headed out to the front again, surprised when an elderly women hailed me from the log cabin from across a field next door.

  “They’re not home,” she called. A faint path beat down the grass from her house to Debbie’s. I headed across the spongy earth to meet her halfway.

  “You looking for the Turners?”

  I nodded. “Yes. I’m looking for Mrs. Turner. Debbie.”

  She pulled her thin white sweater closer around her chest and squinted at me through the sun shining over the pine trees. Her hair, thinning and gray, bounced in a neat curly perm.

  “They’re gone. Rick took the kids and the dog up to his mother’s. He’s going on the road again. A trucker, you know.”

  I nodded as if I knew. “And Debbie?”

  She sized me up. “Who are you, anyway?”

  I tried to flash a charming smile, but was afraid it would look brittle from worry. If Debbie wasn’t here, she was either in hiding, or in trouble. My brain kept saying kidnapped, and I desperately tried to ignore the darker fear that repeated, murdered.

  Logic kicked in. If Mr. Turner had taken the children and dog to his mother’s, and was about to go on the road, he must know Debbie’s location. If anything had happened to her, he would’ve called the police who would already have talked to me. Besides, Joe and Adam were my inside link to the department, so I would’ve known, regardless. I tried to relax and stuck out my hand. “Gus LeGarde. I teach over at the college. I met Debbie at the nursing home.”

  Her tight expression softened a bit. “Oh! You’re that friend of the music man, aren’t you?” She took my hand and squeezed it gently.

  I smiled, relieved that Debbie had mentioned me. “That’s right. His name is Kip St
erling.”

  “She talked about you. Said you were okay, so I guess I can tell you.” She looked around as if worried about listening ears, and lowered her voice to a whisper. “Debbie’s gone to her sister’s. I’m keeping watch here. You know, watering her flowers and bringing the mail inside.”

  I tried not to sound overly anxious. “That’s nice of you. Very neighborly.”

  She blossomed and almost preened, her cheeks turning pink.

  “So, where does her sister live, if you don’t mind me asking? It’s really important I get hold of her.”

  “Well, I guess it’s okay to tell you. Her sister lives down in Honeoye. Last name is Sedgewick, Debbie’s maiden name. Lives all alone, poor thing. She’s had a tough life. If you ask me—” She stopped herself as if she’d said too much already.

  “Sedgewick?” I repeated.

  “Yes. Lucy.”

  I reached out to take her bony hand in mine. “Thank you. Thank you very much.”

  She pulled her sweater close again and looked off into the woods when a blue jay cawed nearby. “You’re a lot nicer than that other fella who came lookin’ for her.”

  I stopped and turned back to her. “Someone else was looking for Debbie?”

  “Yeah. A rude guy in a suit. A real piece of work, that one.”

  I looked into her rheumy blue eyes. Worry eddied through my brain again. “Did you tell him where she went?”

  She spat and said, “Heck no. Couldn’t stand the guy. Pretentious bastard. I caught him in her living room, tossing stuff around as if he was looking for something. I turned my shotgun on his skinny behind, and he skedaddled right out of there.”

  I had to suppress a laugh at her fiery response, and was relieved she hadn’t been hurt. “Wow. Good for you.”

  She nodded. “Couldn’t believe he walked right in her back door. ‘Course, I watch this place like a hawk.”

  I smiled. “I’m glad you weren’t hurt. And that you kept quiet. I think I know this guy, and you judged him well. Don’t tell him a thing if he comes back, okay? And maybe you ought to alert the police, just in case.”

  She chuckled. “Already did. They drive by here couple times a day now. And it’ll be a cold day in hell before I open up to that chicken-legged, black-eyed idiot.”

  I pictured the silver-haired Novacom rep with the brush cut and flat black eyes. “Good. And thanks.”

  She nodded, and headed back to her place, flipping her hand over her shoulder to wave goodbye.

  I got back in the SUV and headed for Honeoye. If I hurried, I’d make the twenty-minute trip, see Lucy Sedgewick, and get back to the house before my two-hour reprieve expired.

  ***

  I stopped at a gas station to look up Lucy’s address in a phone book, and found it right away. The listing showed L. Sedgewick, on East Lake Road. I drove across town on route 20A, and skirted north of Conesus Lake through the town of Lakeville. The westernmost Finger Lake shimmered in the midday sun, dotted with canoes and fishing boats.

  Up the hill, through Livonia, and right on route 15A, I turned south and headed down another hill toward Hemlock. At the junction, I followed 20A east and into the quaint lake town of Honeoye, perched at the north end of the lake with the same name.

  Down another hill, around a bend, I turned right on East Lake Road, searching for her address.

  I missed it the first time, but when I turned around, I spotted it. There it was, a wooden mailbox with a carved bear on top, L. Sedgewick. A sign made from birch hung beneath it, swaying on a small chain. The Sedgewick Gallery, Woodcarvings. Shop hours followed, and it appeared to be open Sunday afternoons.

  I headed up a steep trail, curving through a quarter mile of woods. At the top, a chalet style cabin nestled on the hillside, with a basement shop that opened onto a parking lot. Disappointed that Debbie’s car wasn’t there, I parked and got out.

  A Bernese mountain dog bounded out to meet me, her tongue lolling and big jowls almost curved into a grin. She danced around my feet, sniffed my ankles, and looked up at me as if I were her long lost pal.

  “Hey, girl. Whatcha doin’?” I thumped her soft black fur.

  She bounced up and down with pleasure, and allowed me to scrub behind her ears. As if announcing she’d had enough, she suddenly turned and cantered toward the red shop door.

  Realizing this was her routine, I followed her and opened the door. Sleigh bells jingled. She bolted inside and found a dog bed near the woodstove in the corner. Turning several times, she settled on it and laid her head on her paws, watching me with big brown eyes.

  The shop, warm and inviting, was scented with balsam fir. The front section, Lucy’s showroom, was packed with carvings of pine trees, bears, deer, pine cones, and most of all, big dogs who looked exactly like my new pal. Sprinkled in between the carvings were grapevine wreaths, and small scenes made of bark, pinecones, and dried grasses. I stopped to look at one that showed an open-walled feeding station with a peaked roof, hay crib, and a family of deer resting on the grass beneath. The roof, made from slabs of pine bark, was sprinkled with crystal sparkles, reminiscent of snow.

  In the back, visible over a half-wall, sat a woman at a bench. Leaning over a project with her back to me, she didn’t look up, but flapped a hand. “Feel free to look around. If you find something you like, just holler.”

  “Thanks,” I said. “Are you Lucy?”

  This time she spun on her seat, a ready smile in place. Her steel gray hair was shorn short like a man’s, but her face, mobile and pleasant, looked young, with a resemblance to Debbie around the mouth and eyes. I guessed she was Debbie’s older sister, probably in her early forties. She wore sturdy work boots and a faded pair of overalls with many pockets. She had rolled up the sleeves of her green plaid flannel shirt and flashed no jewelry.

  I felt as if I’d intruded on her moment of creation, and that she’d needed to summon her patience and put on her “customer face” to greet me. But if this was her livelihood, it had to be something she did every time a customer came through the door.

  “Yes. I’m Lucy Sedgewick. How can I help you?” She didn’t get up.

  I picked up a gold glittered pinecone and turned it in my hands. “I’m a friend of Debbie’s, and I’m worried about her. Her neighbor—”

  “Mrs. Stillson.”

  “Ah, yes. Mrs. Stillson said Debbie was staying with you. I just want to be sure she’s okay. With all that’s going on at work, I’m concerned.”

  She got up, business-like, now. Dusting the shavings from her hands and overalls, she marched briskly to my side. “Got any ID?”

  I nodded and fumbled for my wallet. Flipping it open, I showed her my license.

  “Can I take a closer look?” Her demeanor had switched from a “customer-voice” to a more masculine, solid voice.

  I slid the license out of the holder.

  She studied it under the light. “Okay. Looks legit.”

  She gave it back to me and motioned for me to follow her to a sofa in the corner by the dog. We sat side by side in silence for a minute. She folded her hands and leaned forward, looking down.

  The huge dog got up and immediately jumped on my lap.

  “Whoa.” I settled beneath her massive weight, stroking her ears. “Good girl.”

  “Susie, get off Mr. LeGarde.”

  “It’s okay,” I said, patting her more to convince Lucy I didn’t mind. “She’s a sweetheart.” A heavy sweetheart, but I didn’t care.

  “So, you’re Gus. Debbie’s spoken highly of you.”

  Lucy leaned back in the corner of the couch and put her feet up on the rough-hewn wooden coffee table. Her eyes, hazel like mine, stared at me earnestly. I saw warmth, strength, and resolve. And maybe a touch of strength, borne of pain.

  “So where is she?” I asked. I decided not to pussy foot around with this straight shooter. She wouldn’t appreciate evasive tactics or platitudes.

  She pushed Susie’s wagging tail out of her face. “I’m not
going to tell you, Gus. But it’s for your own safety, as well as hers.”

  Not surprised, I nodded. “Understood. But can you assure me she’s safe?”

  “She is. But only if I keep my mouth shut until this all blows over.”

  Susie tried to lap my face with her big tongue. I gently pushed her head down, stroking her ears instead. She closed her eyes in ecstasy. “Okay. So, she’s told you all about it?”

  Lucy ran a hand over her shorn hair. “Yeah. And now it’s all over the news.”

  I showed my surprise. “Really?”

  “Don’t you read the papers?”

  I shook my head. “Not lately.”

  She rolled her eyes. “There was a big splash in the Democrat & Chronicle today, it’s all over the Internet, the news programs are interviewing people who have relatives in Bello Mondo, and the attorney general even made a statement after dozens of families camped out on his doorstep to protest the change in medication.”

  “Really?”

  She picked at something in the pad of her forefinger. “Splinter,” she said, as if it were the most natural thing in the world. Which for her, it probably was. “But even though it’s gone public now, they’re going to need witnesses. And Debbie was the closest to patients at Bello Mondo. She’d be the best witness. They know it. And they threatened her.”

  Sitting up straight now, I said, “Tell me more.”

  She shifted in her seat, her features steeling in anger. “Bastards went to her house, pushed her and her husband around. Rick got his shotgun out, chased them off in the end. That’s when he took the kids away. But he didn’t dare keep them near Debbie, in case she’s a target.”

  “Whoa. You’re telling me they threatened Debbie’s family? Did she call the cops?”

  “No time. Just got the hell out of Dodge, if you know what I mean. Besides, the cops aren’t too fond of Rick. He’s got a reputation from a few years ago, before he dried out. They’re not on the best of terms.”

  “I see.”

  I thought about it for a while. “So how long is she going to stay in hiding? She can’t do it forever.”