2 A Deadly Beef (12 page)

I
couldn’t blame him.

In the
same circumstances, I would have done the exact same thing.

Ron
was nearly unrecognizable, lying on the hospital bed with tubes and monitors
circling him as though they were a part of him.  The machines were
anything but silent, putting out a dozen different sounds as they individually
performed their functions.  Ron’s head was so bandaged that there
was very little of his face showing, but I could still see enough of him to
know that it was the right man.

"Victoria," he whispered, his voice just a rasp of its former self.  "Is
that you?"

"I’m
here," I said, speaking a little louder to be heard over the machines,
but still doing my best to keep things calm and even.

"Come
closer," he said, and I took two steps forward, with Gracie just beside
me.  Moose hovered in the background, but I knew that he could hear
everything that was being said as well.  My grandfather might be getting
on in age, but sometimes I thought he could hear better than I did.

"What
is it, Ron?  Is there something you need to tell me?" I asked.

One of
his monitors started growing in its intensity, and Gracie said patiently,
"Ron, if you can’t keep calm, Victoria’s going to have to
leave.  Do you understand?"

"It’s
okay, Ron," I told him, trying my best to reassure him.

"My
hands aren’t clean," he said abruptly as he wiped them on the sheet
covering him.  "They aren’t clean."

"Ron,
I’ve personally cleaned them twice since you came in," Gracie
said.  "They can’t get any cleaner than they are now."

Ron
shook his head back and forth in denial, dislodging one of his monitors as he
jerked.  Gracie moved in to replace it, and as she did, another monitor
started to shrilly beep.

"You
need to go," Gracie ordered, and I felt Moose’s hand on my shoulder
as he pulled me back.

"Is
he going to be okay?" I asked as two other nurses and a doctor rushed in.

"Victoria, go!"

A
different nurse led us out of the room, and ushered Moose and me back down the
hallway.  Once we were there, I felt a few tears creep down my
cheek. 

"It’s
going to okay," Moose said as he stroked my shoulder.

"Honestly,
I don’t even know why I’m crying," I said.  "Ron
and I aren’t exactly that close, but seeing him helpless like that was
just about more than I could take.  What do you think is going on down
there?"

"I’m
certain that they are doing everything they can to keep him alive," Moose
said.  "It’s just a shame he couldn’t tell us what he
wanted to say."

"I
don’t understand it.  Ron was in such an agitated state to get me
there, and when I showed up, he was barely coherent."

Gracie
came through the doors.  "Sorry about that earlier," she said.

"No
worries.  How is he?"

"Not
good.  We’re moving him to the intensive care unit," she
said.  "I’m afraid he’s taken a turn for the
worse."

"When
can I speak with him again?" I asked her.

"They’re
putting him into a medically-induced coma," she said.  "His
body needs time to heal itself.  There’s no use hanging
around."  She touched Moose’s arm lightly.  "If
there’s any change, I’ll let you know, but it could be several days
before he wakes up again."

"Thanks
for calling us," Moose said.

I
grabbed my cell phone as we walked out into the parking lot to the truck, and
my grandfather asked, "Who are you calling, Victoria?"

"We
made a promise to the sheriff, remember?  I’m going to bring him up
to date."

"For
all the good it’s going to do him," Moose said.

After
I made the call, I turned to my grandfather and asked, "Any other ideas
while we’re out running around?  Should we go back to the diner and
do a little work?"

"I
don’t know about you, but I want to see that barn," he said.

"Is
there any reason in particular?"

"Victoria, we need to know if what happened to Ron was an accident, or if someone
deliberately tried to shut him up, and the only way we’re going to be
able to tell is if we go see for ourselves."

Unfortunately,
police tape blocked the door to the barn when we got to Wally Bain’s
place, and worst yet, one of the sheriff’s cruisers was still parked out
front.

I
thought we were stymied, but Moose grinned the second he saw the deputy
inside.  "Thomas Claremont," Moose said as he approached the
barn door.  "How’s that horse-thief of a grandfather of
yours?"

"He’s
still every bit as mean and stubborn as you are, Moose," the deputy said
with a smile as he extended a hand over the tape to my grandfather. 
"Every time I call, he complains about how hot it is in Florida.  It
wouldn’t surprise me a bit if he moved back here sometime."

"We’ll
be lucky to have him if he does," Moose answered.  "Tell him I
said hello the next time you talk to him, would you?"

"I’d
be happy to," the deputy said.  His smile softened as he added,
"Moose, I’m sorry, but I can’t let you in.  Sheriff
Croft was pretty specific about keeping this place off limits to civilians, and
he happened to mention the two of you by name."

"I
wouldn’t dream of asking you for any special favors," Moose said, a
statement I knew for a fact was nothing but a big old fat lie.  "I
am
curious about what happened, since we just left Ron’s bedside at the
hospital.  Sheriff Croft asked us to look in on him."

"Really?"
the deputy asked. 

He
looked at me for confirmation, and I nodded in agreement.  "I spoke
to him not fifteen minutes ago.  He was in Laurel Landing working on a
hit-and-run case, but he wanted me to update him on Ron’s condition the
second anything changed."

"Do
you mind sharing that with me?" Deputy Claremont asked.

"Ron’s
in a coma," I said.  "He’s done all the talking
he’s going to for quite a while now."

"That’s
not good, but it’s no wonder, after what I’ve found
here."  The deputy looked behind us into the parking area for the
barn, and after seeing that we were alone, he said, "I still can’t
let you in, but you can see for yourself what happened here."  His
hands were gloved, and he picked up a piece of bamboo leaning against the barn
wall.  Pointing with it to the loft near the ladder that led up to it, he
said, "As near as I can figure it, the toolbox fell from here and hit Ron
while his back was turned to it."

"I
had no idea that he was struck with something that heavy," Moose
said.  "No wonder he’s in trouble right now."

"What
I can’t figure out is what made it fall in the first place," I
said.

Deputy
Claremont took the bamboo and tapped it on the loft’s floorboards near
the ladder.  "There’s a hole in the roof of the barn directly
overhead, and the floorboards around this spot are all starting to rot. 
It’s a nasty coincidence that the toolbox fell while Ron was standing
under it, but the fact that it came down is no surprise at all."

"I
have one question, though," Moose said as he peered upward. 
"If the floorboards were rotten in the first place, why would anyone in
their right mind place a toolbox on them?"

"That’s
the irony," the deputy said.  "It appears that Ron was trying
to replace the rotten boards when one of them did him in.  Wally’s
sister, Jan, told me that he was here doing some chores for her as a favor from
Sally, and Ron must have been working when the toolbox hit him.  Jan’s
the one who called it in, and if she hadn’t found him when she did, poor
old Ron wouldn’t have made it."

"It’s
still not clear whether he’s going to survive or not," I
said.  "When will you be finished up here?"

"Not
for a few hours yet.  Even though I’m fairly certain that this was
an accident, the sheriff is being especially thorough.  I need to take
more photos, film it all, and then take a few samples of the floorboards before
I can release the barn."

"We
won’t keep you from your work, then," Moose said.  "Come
by the diner sometime and have a piece of pie, on the house."

"I’d
like nothing better, but the sheriff doesn’t approve of us taking things
we don’t pay for," the deputy said.  I knew that was true from
experience, since he didn’t allow his men to receive even a cup of coffee
on the house.  To be fair, the sheriff wouldn’t accept anything
gratis, either.  I had to admire him for his high standards, even though I
didn’t always agree with the way he investigated the major crimes that
occurred in his jurisdiction.

"Then
I’ll cut you an extra big slice of whatever kind you buy," I said
with a grin.  "Surely he can’t fuss about that, can he?"

The
deputy was too smart to answer that directly, but he did offer me a grin. 
"Not if he doesn’t know," he said, and then he got back to
work.

Once
Moose and I were away from the barn, I asked my grandfather, "What do you
make of all of that?"

"It’s
certainly plausible that it
could
have just been an accident," he
said after giving it a moment’s thought.

"True,
but if it
were
staged, it couldn’t have been done more
elegantly."

"That’s
a point.  I suppose for the moment we’ll just have to assume that it
was intentional, and try to find out who might want to shut Ron Watkins
up."

"Why
should we assume that, based on what we’ve seen and heard?" I
asked.

"Well,
if it really
was
an accident, what good is that going to do us in our
investigation?  It’s better for now if we try to figure out exactly
what happened to Ron, and if it was a direct attempt to keep him quiet. 
The real question is who would benefit most from him being permanently out of
the picture?"

"I
don’t have a clue," I said after I considered the question. 
"Since Ron’s been working on Sally’s farm, if she wanted to
shut him up, it would have been much easier for her to arrange something to
happen to him on her own farm.  Jan hasn’t been around long enough
for Ron to have anything on her as far as we can tell, and I can’t
imagine that his ties were any stronger with Dave or Penny."

"That
pretty much wipes out our complete list of suspects," Moose said. 

I knew
that he was right as I nodded in agreement.  "Since we’re
assuming that Ron was attacked for a reason, we have to believe that the same
person who murdered Wally Bain just tried to get rid of Ron.  Otherwise,
it’s all just too big a coincidence to swallow.  If that’s the
case, we need to find a reason for someone to kill both Wally and Ron.  So
you tell me.  Why would anyone want both of them dead?  Was it
because of what they knew, or could it have been because of what the killer
just
suspected
they knew?  It’s a shame Ron couldn’t
stay coherent long enough to name his attacker.  It surely would make our
lives a lot easier if he had."

"Beggars
can’t be choosers.  We have to take what we get," Moose said. 
"I just wish we knew why Wally was killed in the first place. 
Learning that would go a long way to figuring out who might have tried to get
rid of Ron as well, but if we’re being honest about it, we’re no
closer to the truth than we were when we started this investigation."

"I
agree, but we haven’t been at it very long.  These things take time,
so for now, all we can do is keep digging."

I was
about to suggest that we should head back to the diner until we could come up
with a new game plan when a car drove up and parked within a foot of my
legs.  I nearly took a step back as it approached, but Jan Bain stopped in
barely enough time to avoid hitting me, though I didn’t care for the
proximity of her front bumper to my shins. 

As she
got out of her car, Moose asked Jan, "You were cutting it kind of close
there, weren’t you?"

"Nonsense,"
Jan said as she quickly approached us on foot.  Apparently the woman drove
the way she engaged people, up front, close, and personal.  "I had
plenty of room.  What are you two doing out here on my farm, if I might
ask?"

It was
a fair question, but I didn’t have a very good answer for her that
didn’t include admitting that we were looking into what happened to Ron,
or her brother, for that matter.

Moose
came through, though.

"As
a matter of fact, we’re here on an errand.  We just spoke with Ron
at the hospital," he said.

Was it
my imagination, or did Jan’s pupils dilate suddenly at the news?

Chapter 8

"He’s
awake
?" she asked, leaning forward as she did.  I could feel
her breath on my cheek, something that gave me the creeps.

"Does
that really surprise you?" I asked.

"It
would surprise you, too, if you’d seen the man the way I found
him," Jan said, shuddering a little at the memory.  "It was
dreadful.  It’s hard to imagine that he could survive after losing
all of that blood."

"Well,
scalp wounds always tend to bleed a lot," Moose said, though how
he’d gleaned that particular nugget of information was beyond me. 
"Ron’s not nearly as bad as he must have looked then."

"What
did he have to say?" Jan asked a little coyly.  "Did he have
any idea how that toolbox fell on him?"

I
could see that Moose was about to bend the truth a little, but I knew that if
he did that, we’d lose all credibility with Jan Bain.  Besides, I
hated lying to anyone.  I knew from experience that if we did skew the
truth, it always seemed to find a way to come back and bite us later. 
"If Ron knew, he didn’t say," I answered, and Moose looked a
little disappointed by my response.

"But
remember, just because he hasn’t said anything yet doesn’t mean
that he’s not going to," Moose added ominously.  "Is
there anything you need to share with us, Jan?"