Thunder Moon Page 9

  “What do you want?” I asked.

  “I’m following up on a report we had from the local DNR. Birds run amok? Imagine my surprise to see your name on the complaint.”

  “How do you always know every damn thing?”

  “Just a service of your federal government, ma’am.”

  Sometimes the services of my federal government were downright creepy.

  “If I’d wanted J-S help, I’d have asked for it.”

  “You don’t have to ask; we freely give.”

  I snorted. “Force yourself in and do whatever you like, you mean.”

  “Goes without saying.”

  She was kind of amusing when I didn’t have to look at her. Elise was a perfect example of Aryan beauty. Hitler would have loved her.

  “Listen,” I said. “This wolf’s a messenger wolf—a spirit, maybe a ghost. No worries.”

  Silence came over the line. Hell. I hadn’t complained about a wolf but birds. I should never be allowed to speak without first drinking at least two cups of coffee.

  “There’s a wolf in Lake Bluff and you’re asking questions about ravens and crows?”

  “The wolf’s nothing. My great-grandmother came back from the Darkening Land. Wants me to keep an eye on her friend. Forget it.”

  “I’ve often wondered what people would say if they listened in on some of my conversations. This one’s a beaut.”

  “Lucky no one can listen in, then.”

  The Jäger-Suchers had all the best toys in security and electronics.

  “I’ve dealt with ghost wolves before,” Elise said. “They aren’t anything to screw with.”

  “What kind of ghost wolves?”

  “Ojibwe legend. Witchie wolves guard the resting places of warriors, and they aren’t nice about it.”

  “How much damage can be done by a non-corporeal animal?”

  “You’d be surprised,” Elise murmured. “You do realize that crows are an indication of werewolves?”

  “And ravens?”

  “Them, too.”

  “I’d heard that crows increase in rural areas when the timber wolf population increases. I wasn’t sure about werewolves.”

  “Works the same way.”

  “I’ve only seen one wolf and, as I said, not really a wolf. You don’t need to get your knickers in a twist, Doctor. I know what I’m doing.”

  “That remains to be seen. What, exactly, have your crows and your ravens been up to?”

  I told her, finishing with, “I think the birds are out of whack because of the storm. I even saw an eagle a few times.”

  “And that’s out of whack why?”

  “They usually stay south, especially at this time of year.”

  “I don’t like the sound of that. Let me do a little checking on eagle shifters.”

  I opened my mouth, shut it again. What could it hurt?

  “Next time you see any bizarre animal behavior, call me first,” Elise said. “Don’t make me hear it through the grapevine. That always pisses me off.”

  “And I do live to please you,” I muttered, but she’d already hung up.

  I was wide-awake now. No chance of going back to sleep. Usually I hit the snooze three times before rolling out of bed, but today I was so far ahead of schedule, I not only made coffee and toast, but also read the paper while I enjoyed them.

  Since our last newspaper editor was still listed as a missing person—though Claire and I knew better—we had a new one who was doing a very nice job. Balthazar Monihan had treated the Gazette like a small town Tattler, printing all the gossip and running embarrassing photos of the citizens, which is probably why no one made much of an effort to find him. Not that they would have.

  I turned the page, planning to glance over the smattering of obituaries published weekly, and paused. An entire section was taken up with names, dates, and survived bys. Mostly elderly, a few terminally ill, nothing odd in the least—except for the large number.

  I knew that during storms maternity wards were packed, with deliveries taking place in the hall, the elevator, the lobby. I blamed the barometer.

  If there were more births during a storm, maybe there were also more deaths, and I’d just never noticed it before. All of these people had died of natural causes. If there’d been a hint of anything hinky, I should have been called to the scene. Nevertheless, I made a mental note to speak with the funeral director.

  Since I was up so early, I stopped at the clinic. The doctor was in.

  “Grace.”

  Ian’s smile was full of the memories of the last time we’d met. Though I’d like nothing better than to step inside and have a repeat, I couldn’t let myself be distracted. I had far too much to do.

  Especially if I wanted to be ready for our date tonight—if he’d actually been serious. From the expression in his eyes, he had been.

  “Would you make a house call?”

  His smile widened as he reached for me. “Anytime.”

  I stepped back, laughing. “Not that kind of house call. A real one, to a friend of my great-grandmother’s.”

  “Oh.” The hand that had been extended toward my waist lifted to push his hair out of his face. “Sure. I thought—” He stopped. “Well, you know what I thought.”

  “Yeah.” I couldn’t say that I wasn’t tempted, but if I was going to take Ian to Quatie’s, then get to work on time, I couldn’t allow the temptation to become reality.

  “Be right back.”

  He disappeared into the clinic, returning a minute later with a doctor’s bag that looked like something straight out of a seventies TV show-Marcus Welby, M.D., or maybe Medical Center. My brother Gene had always watched the reruns. He’d wanted to be a doctor, but he hadn’t had the grades or the money. Last I heard, he was a paramedic in Cleveland.

  Ian and I piled into my truck—if I had time, I’d check on my new squad car later—and I pulled a U-turn, then headed for Quatie’s.

  “You want to fill me in on this friend of your great-grandmother’s?” he asked.

  I gave him what facts I knew, which weren’t many—an approximate age, no real knowledge of her medical history, my armchair diagnosis of age and arthritis.

  “I’ve got more balm in my bag.”

  Only a few days ago I’d have rolled my eyes or laughed out loud at the idea of herbal balm healing anything. But my nose didn’t hurt and the skin around my eyes was fading from green to yellow already. I’d become a believer.

  At Quatie’s, we found her sitting on the porch as if waiting for us. When we climbed out of the vehicle, she frowned in my direction. “You didn’t have to come, too. You’re busy.”

  Was that a dig?

  No. Not Quatie. She just didn’t want to burden me.

  Right now, I wanted to be burdened. Maybe coming here often enough would ease my lingering guilt; I hoped it would send the spirit wolf back where she had come from.

  “I brought Dr. Walker.”

  “You didn’t have to rush.” Quatie moved to the steps and began to descend, slowly, painfully.

  Ian sprinted forward. “Don’t bother, ma’am. I’ll come up.”

  Her round face became even rounder as she smiled. “Sweet boy. I’m so glad to see you.”

  Ian took her arm, and she leaned on him, patting it as he led her toward the door. But she sat in the chair she’d just vacated with a heavy sigh, her smile fading, her face strained.

  I stood in the yard uncertain if I should return to the truck. Was this a case of doctor/patient privilege?

  “Could you grab my bag?” Ian had dropped it when he leaped to help her, so I scooped it up and climbed the stairs as he knelt at Quatie’s feet.

  “If you could stay and give me a hand.” He glanced at Quatie. “All right with you?”

  She seemed to hesitate, and I couldn’t blame her. Illness was private. But then she nodded. “Of course. I have no secrets from Gracie.”

  Ian got to work with his stethoscope, asking soft questions. “Wh
ere does it hurt?” “How do you feel?” Making quiet demands. “Take a deep breath.” “Say ‘ah.’ “

  Now and then he’d ask me to fetch him something from his bag—a small rubber hammer to check her reflexes, an instrument to peer into her ears, eyes, nose, and mouth. As he continued to poke and pry, she began to question him.

  “Where are you from?”

  “Who are your people?”

  “What clan is your mother?”

  “Who taught you the old ways?”

  “Why did you come here?”

  “Do you plan to stay?”

  And last but certainly not the least embarrassing: “Are you married?”

  Ian answered every query with jovial patience. However, by the end of the inquisition, my patience was frayed. Quatie was obviously checking him out to see if he was good enough for me.

  At last the exam, and the interrogation, was finished. Ian straightened and stepped back, leaning over his bag and pulling out a jar of balm that matched the one he’d given me.

  “Use this for your aches, ma’am. I think it will help.” She screwed off the cap, took a whiff, then nodded in approval. “Rattlesnake oil. I’d run short.”

  I couldn’t help but smile at that before asking, “How is she?”

  “I’m wearing out,” Quatie said, and shot me a glare when I began to protest. “Truth is truth. The body wears down. The only way to completely cure what ails me would be to get another.”

  “Barring that,” Ian said, “use the balm. Alternate ice and heat. Rest. Eat well. Exercise as much, but as carefully, as you can.”

  “Thank you, Doctor.” She reached for his hand, then sandwiched it between hers, peering at him as if he were a long-lost grandson. “I’d love to talk to you more about the old ways.”

  He patted her shoulder with his free hand. “I’d be happy to.”

  “Now?” she asked.

  Ian glanced at me.

  “I... uh—” I had to get to work, but I didn’t want to take him away when she was so clearly enjoying him.

  “I’m afraid I have appointments.” Ian tried to remove his hand, but Quatie held on, and he let her. “Contractors. Painters. But I’ll come another day.”

  Quatie released him.

  We left her on the porch enjoying the sun and returned to Lake Bluff.

  “Sorry about the third degree. She was my great-grandmother’s best friend and—” I broke off.

  “She wants to make sure my intentions are honorable. I understand.”

  I kept my eyes on the road; I couldn’t look at him.

  “She doesn’t want you hurt,” he continued softly. “Neither do I.”

  There was something in his voice I couldn’t read. But his face was open and honest. I wasn’t sure what to say, so I said nothing. A short while later I pulled up in front of the clinic.

  “I’ll see you tonight,” he said, then leaned over and kissed me. Before I could respond, he was gone.

  I thought back over the last hour’s happenings. I hadn’t seen Quatie in nearly a year—my own fault—but despite my neglect, she’d stepped right into my great-grandmother’s role. That she had made me a little choked up.

  Though I didn’t need anyone to protect me, it was nice when someone tried.

  Chapter 14

  I went to work, meaning to check in, then head to the funeral home as planned, except the day got away from me—extensive cleanup after the storm, electricity still out in several places, dogs gone missing. We’d had a bit of looting, too.

  And the Chuck Norris bandit was back.

  Today’s chuckle went like this: MacGyver can build an airplane out of gum and paper clips, but Chuck Norris can kill him and take it.

  “I never liked MacGyver,” Cal said. “That wasn’t realistic.”

  “And Walker, Texas Ranger is?” Jordan asked.

  Cal scowled at her as if she were nuts. “Of course!”

  There was really no talking to him.

  I handed the joke to Jordan. She was keeping a file, not so much for investigative purposes as for the employees. Whenever anyone needed a laugh, they pulled out the Chuck Norris file. Cal didn’t know. He’d have a cow.

  Jordan went back to the switchboard. A tiny thing, despite her father’s bulk, Jordan reminded me of a pixie with attitude. Maybe it was the way she kept her dark hair cropped close to her head. Could be the sharp edge to her chin or the spark in her blue eyes. Maybe it was just the collection of killer spike heels. But I liked her, and while she was the best dispatcher I’d ever had, I still hoped she earned her college money soon so she could live out her dream.

  I glanced at my watch. Only an hour until change of shift. I needed to walk across the parking lot to the funeral home.

  “Can you take over here?”

  Cal nodded, staring morosely at his desk. Were the jokes making him sad or was his inability to nab the culprit making him crazy? Perhaps a little of both.

  Five minutes later I let myself into Farrel and Sons Funeral Home. Strangely, none of the viewing rooms were open for business. With the number of deaths, you’d think they’d be stacked like cordwood.

  A shuffle of a shoe against carpet announced Grant Farrel even before his Lurch-like bass murmured, “May I help you, Sheriff?”

  Grant might have sounded like the butler of Addams Family fame, but he didn’t look like him, being short, round, and sweet in both face and nature. I’d never understood how anyone could be a mortician, but I guess someone had to. I’d heard many people say that Grant’s gentle and discreet manner had eased their grief. The man had a gift.

  I gestured at the empty rooms. “What gives?”

  His nearly invisible white eyebrows lifted toward his receding baby-fine silver hair. “Excuse me?”

  “I saw in the paper that we’d had a rash of visits from the Grim Reaper. So where are the bodies?”

  Grant’s round gray eyes widened. Why I felt the need to be flippant whenever I entered this place I had no idea. Must be my way of coping with the uncopeable.

  I cleared my throat and tried to be a good girl. “Mr. Farrel, considering the number of obituaries published in the Gazette today, and taking into account you’re the only game in town—” He frowned and I rephrased. “You’re the only funeral establishment in Lake Bluff, I’d think you’d have several services tonight.”

  “Oh no, Sheriff, not a one, considering. Was there someone in particular you were interested in? I could arrange for a private visit.”

  It took me a minute to realize he was offering to show me a corpse. “Uh, thanks. Maybe some other time. Let’s get back to the lack of funerals. Why isn’t there even one?” I lifted my hands and made quotation marks in the air. “Considering.”

  “Ah, I see what you mean. A layperson such as yourself wouldn’t know.”

  “Know what?” Grant’s discreet nature was starting to get on my nerves.

  “In many of these cases the deceased was quite elderly. Most of their friends have already passed and some of their family members as well.”

  “Cut to the part where there’s no funeral.”

  Grant’s well-manicured hand fluttered up to his chest, and he cleared his throat. “The families, or sometimes the deceased, will make arrangements for a graveside service only.”

  “Straight from hospital to cemetery in one easy payment?”

  “It is cheaper, no doubt.”

  “Everyone who’s died lately has been on the ‘do not pass go, do not stop for a funeral’ plan?”

  “Not everyone. There is one service tomorrow for the family of an Alzheimer’s victim.” He lowered his voice on the last two words, as if afraid that just by speaking them aloud he’d give the disease the power to rise up and grab him.

  “There was nothing unusual about any of these deaths?” I asked.

  “Unusual? In what way?”

  “Seems strange to have so many.”

  “It happens that way sometimes, Sheriff.”

  “I
guess you’d know.”

  Grant beamed. “Been in the business for forty years. Be sure and come to see us when you’re ready to plan ahead.”

  I don’t care what anyone said, Grant Farrel was ghouly.

  I thanked him for his time, and as I headed for the door, Grant’s phone rang.

  “Hello?” He paused, listening. “Another one?”

  I turned.

  Farrel’s eyes met mine. “All right. Send him over.”

  * * *

  The most recently deceased citizen of Lake Bluff was an octogenarian by the name of Abraham Nesersheim. There hadn’t been a thing wrong with him until he’d come down with a summer cold that had turned to bronchitis.

  His doctor, not Ian Walker, had ordered amoxicillin and rest. The next day Abraham’s niece had found him in his bed after a long night of eternal rest. She’d called 911 and his doctor. In a replay of Ms. G.’s death, the doctor had pronounced the body and the EMTs had contacted the funeral home for direct delivery. I gave in to temptation and called the medical examiner, Dr. William Cavet.

  Grant was beside himself. “Can you just order an autopsy, Sheriff, without even consulting the family?”

  “When there’s suspicion of foul play, yes.”

  “What foul play? You didn’t even see the body.”

  “I’m afraid I can’t tell you that,” I said in my best cop voice.

  “Of course.” Grant practically bowed as he back-pedaled. “Police business. I’ll just get the embalming room ready. Doc Bill has used it several times before.”

  I don’t know that it had been several. We didn’t have a lot of suspicious deaths in Lake Bluff—until last summer anyway—which is why we shared a medical examiner with the nearest town, Bradleyville.

  Still, I supposed Doc Bill had used the room enough to feel comfortable there. I doubted I ever would. Not that I fainted at the sight of blood. Far from it. But I’d never been thrilled at observing an autopsy.

  Looked like I didn’t have much choice in this case. I wanted it done, I’d have to suck it up and watch. Twenty minutes later, the door opened and Doc Bill walked in.