Читать книгу The Plague Doctor - E. Joan Sims - Страница 8

Chapter Six

I thought I would fall asleep immediately, but my mind kept nagging my body awake. Through heavy-lidded eyes, I stared at the bright red, yellow, and orange leaves as they danced and swirled in the wind outside the French doors. Fall was definitely here. I could already see the squirrels’ nests exposed to predators in the forks of the big old oak on the field side of the back fence.

Mother had a fierce ongoing battle with each and every squirrel on the farm. She called them fancy rats with delusions of grandeur. She vowed that they were responsible for everything from house fires to the high unemployment rate.

Last year she placed a wicked, evil-looking squirrel trap in the back yard. When a poor furry soul wandered inside Mother called one of the army of high school students who worked for her to come and carry the cage far away and bring it back empty. I secretly believed that the crafty kid would let the squirrel out before he left the driveway—insuring himself a future phone call and another five bucks.

Mother forgot to disarm the trap last May when we went to visit Cassie at Emory University. When we returned home we found a poor little dead squirrel huddled up on the bottom of the cage. It had obviously starved to death.

The trap disappeared the next day. I haven’t seen it since. From the look of the size of the nests, we would be hearing lots of fancy deluded rats playing in the attic this winter. Mother was right about one thing, though. Squirrels carried diseases like all rodents. What was that word Horatio had told us about—vector?

Squirrels were vectors and so were prairie dogs. Why was that so important? I fell asleep in a mild state of curiosity. I dreamed I was running and running on a wire wheel in a big cage and getting nowhere.

I awoke fours hours later in a dark, chilly room with no furry little companion to keep my feet either wet or warm. I lay there puzzling for a moment, trying to get my bearings. Then I heard Aggie’s welcome home bark. Cassie was back.

I stood and stretched, surprised to feel remarkably rested. And I was famished.

I headed toward the kitchen to let Cassie in and feed my face.

The back of the house was warm and bright with good smells coming from every corner of the kitchen. My mother’s answer to everything is “when in doubt, cook!” I opened the oven a tad to peek and got smacked on the behind with a wooden spoon.

“Paisley Sterling, you’ll fall my cake!”

I rubbed my smarting nether parts and opened the back door for Cassie. I knew better than to try and correct my mother’s grammar.

Cassie slumped into the kitchen with a long and mournful mien and a worse disposition.

“Get out of the way you stupid dog!” Immediately contrite, she bent and lifted the fat, squirming puppy into her lap.

I sat down at the table across from Cassie and waited for her to open up.

“He’s such an idiot!”

I knew better than to reply to that.

“He doesn’t even try to defend himself. He just keeps saying, ‘I didn’t do it’ over and over, but he won’t explain anything. I just don’t understand, Mom. He needs help, but he refuses to let me call Dr. Haywood, or anybody in Atlanta. What are we going to do?”

She turned her lovely tear-stained face to me. She must have cried all the way home.

“What about Bruce Hawkins? Mother, has he returned your call yet?”

Mother carried the unfrosted cake and a big bowl of icing over to the table and sat down.

“I talked to him about an hour ago. That’s why I’m baking.”

Cassie and I exclaimed in unison, “Uh-oh.”

“Yes, I’m afraid the news is not so good. Bruce is representing the family of the victim, or victims, I should say. He cannot even recommend anyone else because it might be considered a conflict of interest. He said he was sorry because he’d met Ethan when he first came to town and liked him a lot.”

Cassie’s face got even longer and more morose looking. She was absently stroking Aggie’s soft furry ears. I was a nervous wreck waiting for the first nip of those nasty little teeth. She never let any of us, including Cassie, pet her.

“Cassie, tell us exactly what the situation is—not what Ethan says, but what Joiner told you.”

“That’s just it,” she cried. “I couldn’t talk to Chief Joiner. They made me go in through the back of the jail. I never got to the front office, so I didn’t get to see anyone else. The deputy said it was for my own safety. Something about the town being ‘riled up’—whatever that means.”

“So, we still don’t know exactly what happened.”

Mother cleared her throat and licked the icing-covered spatula. I was astounded. That was a first. She must really be upset.

“I spoke to Mavis,” she said quietly.

“Ah, ha! Now we’re getting somewhere.”

Mavis was an erstwhile friend of Mother’s. She had a police scanner and the biggest personal address book in town. Mavis knew everybody’s business before they did. I should have suggested that Mother call her in the first place.

“Mavis heard the call over the police scanner when the young woman telephoned for help. I think her name is Hayes, Brittany or Brandy, one of those 1980s names. Anyway, she called 911 and said her father had been shot. Mavis heard the dispatcher order a police car to the Hayes’ farm and then call Doc Baxter. When the police got there, the girl’s father was lying out on the side of the road by his mailbox with a bullet through his head. The girl was found lying unconscious on the front porch.”

I glanced at Cassie and watched her face grow paler as her back stiffed.

“When the doctor got there he revived young whats-her-name and put her in the ambulance. On the way to the hospital she accused Ethan of raping her. When they told her that her father was dead, she said Ethan must have done that, too.”

“Impossible!” cried Cassie.

“Go on, Mother,” I encouraged grimly.

“Chief Joiner himself went over to the Parsons’ house and quietly arrested Ethan. He was in his apartment working on some papers. He claimed that he knew nothing about Mr. Hayes being killed, or the daughter’s rape, but he couldn’t explain some really bad scratches on his hand and arms.”

“No, no,” moaned Cassie.

“Mavis said they photographed his wounds and booked him. The judge has refused to set bond since it’s a murder case.”

Cassie jumped up, dumping the sleeping puppy in a furious snarling heap on the kitchen floor.

“Ethan is innocent! He could never do anything like that!”

“Listen to me, Cassandra! Your friend is in big trouble, but you can help him if you don’t wallow in your own feelings. His little genius medical brain seems to have shut down for the moment, and we’re going to have to do the thinking for him. So cool it and calm down.”

She stared down at me for a moment, then sat down hard on the kitchen chair. Aggie jumped back up on her lap immediately.

“You’re right. You’re absolutely right.” She tucked in her chin and grew three inches taller. I was proud of her. “Where do we start?”

Mother knew.

“Cake, anyone?”