Dorothy Garlock - [Tucker Family] (12 page)

It wasn’t that Luther had any reservations about killing Samuel Barlow. If necessary, he would spill the man’s blood without a moment’s hesitation; Luther had been in enough drunken brawls, plenty of bar fights where pool cues and rickety chairs were weapons used to bash a man’s brains in, that he was no stranger to violence. His father had always preached
turning the other cheek
, but Luther was rather partial to the idea of
splitting a man’s lip
instead.

There was no doubt in Luther’s mind that Barlow deserved to die for what he had done; any man in his position would feel the same way. He
could
kill Barlow if it came to that.

But even though Luther’s instincts, on that first morning of sobriety when he’d puked his guts out,
screamed
at him for vengeance, they had given way to something different…Now he wanted Barlow broken, utterly hopeless, desperate, and struggling.

Just like I am!

Standing there, watching the doctor’s office, Luther realized that Donnie’s revenge was going to take longer than he had first expected. He would continue watching, he would keep following Barlow, until he found the answer to his puzzle. He would find what the old doctor treasured the most, maybe his widowed sister or a special patient with whom he always shared a laugh. Hell, even murdering the bastard’s pastor was an option. But just then, Luther was struck with an even more enticing thought; he should do to Barlow
exactly
what was done to him.

Barlow had two nephews, Tyler and Holden Sutter, who’d both been put on a goddamn pedestal by the people of Longstock. Luther’s memory was a bit hazy on the details, but one was supposed to be smart enough to become a senator or president, while the other was handsome enough to turn the head of every woman who laid eyes on him. Either of them would’ve been more likely to spit on Donnie or Luther Rickert than give him the time of day. They were successes where Luther remained an utter and complete failure. Where there was hope for their futures, his was as bleak as a desert in July. But it was because of all of those things that they had value. What if something was to happen to one of them?

When Luther took his hand off the gun and turned on his heel to walk away from the doctor’s office, he was filled with a purpose, one that would bring him satisfaction.

C
HRISTINA SLAMMED SHUT
the passenger’s door to Tyler’s car and hurried as quickly as she could up the short walk to Dr. Barlow’s office. Worry gnawed at her that the trip to Tyler’s beehives had taken too much time and that the doctor would be angry with her; nearly two hours had passed since she allowed herself to be led from the coupe and into the woods. Tyler had volunteered to smooth things over, but Christina didn’t want him making excuses for her behavior. If she had
wanted
to leave Tyler’s company, she would have demanded he take her back sooner.

Behind her, Tyler loudly revved his car’s engine and sped off back to the garage, the tires screeching, followed by a playful blast of the horn. Christina wondered if he’d had the misfortune to inherit his uncle’s reckless driving habits.

Christina rushed into the doctor’s office. She was surprised to find that not a single chair in the waiting room was occupied. The whole building was oddly quiet; the only sound was the faint whirring of the fan on Callie’s desk.

“Is anyone here?” Christina called, her voice loud in the otherwise deep stillness.

Then she heard footsteps moving toward her from the rear hallway. “I’m sorry, but I’m afraid we’re closin’ up for the—,” Callie began as she came into view, stopping only when she realized to whom she was talking. “Goodness gracious, honey! I didn’t know it was you!”

“Where is everyone? Why are we closing so early?” Christina asked, more than a little confused.

“Dr. Barlow said that we should call it a day,” Callie shrugged, “so I’m doin’ as he told me. I was just getting ready to lock the door.”

“But what if someone needs help?”

“This isn’t quite the same as what I reckon you’re used to with that military hospital, darlin’. Back there I suppose there’d never be a day where somebody wasn’t in need, but here in Longstock things run at a different speed.” As she talked, Callie went around the office lowering window shades, switching off fans and lights, settling business until the next day. “Some days it’s real busy around here with runny noses, aches and pains, and even a broken bone to spice up the goin’s-on, a never-endin’ stream of folks. But then there are other days when nothin’ happens.”

“And today is one of
those
days,” Christina said.

“Maybe not as slow as
that
, but the doctor seemed intent on shuttin’ the door, so that’s what I’m doin’.”

Listening to Callie explain what had happened, Christina worried that she was the reason for Dr. Barlow’s decision. She remembered how he had protested Tyler’s intention to take her with him and even recalled hearing the doctor complain just before they were out of earshot. She imagined him coming back to his office and waiting for her, growing more impatient and angry with every passing minute, until he finally became so incensed that he stormed out of the office, ordering Callie to lock the door behind him.

“Did Dr. Barlow seem upset to you when he left?” Christina asked.

“I know you haven’t been in town long, but I’m sure you noticed how moody he can be,” Callie answered, oblivious to Christina’s reason for asking. “That frown of his can come out at the most unexpected times.”

“Are you sure that he wasn’t angry—”

“Why are you askin’?”

Christina told Callie everything: about how Tyler had shanghaied her from the doctor’s car and taken her off into the woods; Callie’s eyes narrowed occasionally at some of the more exciting elements of her story, but she never went so far as to tell Christina what she was thinking.

“I don’t think that was the reason Dr. Barlow closed for the day,” she said when Christina finished.

“But what if it is? I’ve only been in town for two days. The last thing I want to do is upset the man I just started working for.”

Callie thought about it for a long moment before finally shrugging. “Then I suppose the best thin’ to do is go over to his place and ask him. That way, you’ll set yore mind to rest.”

“He wouldn’t mind if I stopped by?”

“Honey, if he’s already mad at you, throwin’ a little more gas on the fire isn’t gonna hurt,” Callie said, laughing even though she saw the distress on Christina’s face.

Christina couldn’t help but think that maybe Tyler had been right; maybe she
did
need to work on her sense of humor.

Once Callie had given the directions to Dr. Barlow’s home, she let Christina out the front door. But just as Callie stuck her key in the lock, she stopped.

“Did you give any thought to my Abraham?” she called out to Christina. “About how I’m goin’ to get him to sing?”

Despite all the things that had happened that day, an idea had occurred to Christina while she had been talking with Eunice Hester.

“What about suggesting that the two of you sing a duet?” Christina proposed. “Find a song that was specifically written for two and each of you take a part. That way, he would
have
to join in.”

Callie was already shaking her head. “It
is
a good idea,” she said. “But I already tried that.”

“Why didn’t it work?”

“When I first suggested it, Abraham didn’t say no. We sat down at the piano and I started to play,” Callie explained. “The first part was mine, but then when it came Abraham’s turn it proved to be just another disappointment.”

“In what way?” Christina asked.

“Instead of singin’ the words, he just hummed along to the melody.” Callie chuckled. “I thought for
sure
that was gonna work! I darn near slammed my fist into those piano keys!”

At that, Christina joined Callie in laughing. “I guess I’ll have to keep working on it then.”

“You do that! I’ll get my Abraham to sing yet!”

Samuel Barlow’s home was a short distance from his office. Following the directions she had been given by Callie, Christina walked back to Main Street and followed it away from the center of town for a couple of blocks. Though she passed a few stores she hadn’t looked into yet, she was far too distracted to window-shop. Finally, she turned down a residential street, with homes along both sides of the broad, tree-lined boulevard.

Dr. Barlow’s house sat on the opposite corner of the first intersection she reached. Unlike his sister’s area, this part of Longstock seemed to have been built a long time ago. Grand Victorians rose all around Christina among towering trees that had to be hundreds of years old. Most of the houses were in pristine condition, with crisply painted columns that supported long porches; beveled glass on the windows; and well-manicured lawns.

The doctor’s house was not as well maintained as those belonging to his neighbors: the front of his porch sagged a bit where one of the supports seemed to have rotted; tall weeds sprouted from spidery cracks in the walk; the whole house looked a little worn and weathered and appeared to need a new coat of paint. But to Christina’s eyes it looked to be more well lived-in than decrepit.

Taking a deep breath, Christina went to the front door and knocked. There was no answer. Though she strained her ears to listen, she heard no sounds from inside. Christina knocked again, much harder and more insistently than before, but still there was no reply.

“Where could he be?” she wondered.

Suddenly, Christina was struck by a truly frightening thought; maybe he’d fallen down like Eunice Hester had or suffered a heart attack. Maybe he was unconscious and in dire need of medical attention. Maybe it was something worse.

Desperately trying to suppress the fear that had begun to constrict her chest, Christina pounded on the door hard enough to make her hand hurt. But nothing stirred. Frantically, she turned the knob but found it locked tight.

“Dr. Barlow!” she shouted; her voice sounded faint to her own ears, swallowed up by the rustling leaves and chirping birds. Still, she had to make herself heard. “Are you in there?”

Convinced that something horrible had happened, Christina was determined to gain entry to Samuel Barlow’s home. Quickly, she raced down the front stairs, crossed the lawn toward the driveway, and skirted a particularly unkempt row of bushes. Sitting at the back of the drive and just before the open doors of the garage was the doctor’s coupe. Seeing the car erased any chance that this was a simple misunderstanding or that Samuel Barlow had stepped out for a moment; he
was
home.

Hurrying up the drive, Christina found what she had been hoping for. On the side of the house, just before the walk that led to the backyard, there was a side door; she imagined that when the house was first built it was used as a servants’ entrance. But just as Christina was about to reach for the knob, she heard something that stopped her cold.

From the backyard came the sound of shattering glass.

Christina was frozen in place. When she’d first noticed Eunice Hester’s feet lying in the hallway of her home, Christina’s imagination had created an intruder, someone who had done the older woman harm. While
those
fears had proven to be unfounded, they now returned tenfold; there was little chance that Christina had misheard;
someone was here
.

But Christina did not run. Not because she was paralyzed with fear but rather because her concern for Dr. Barlow was so great that she could not bring herself to abandon him, not if he was in need of her help. She suddenly found herself wishing that Tyler were there with her.

While she continued to listen, there came the sound of slurred speech, peppered with cursing, followed by a long groan.

Christina headed toward the back of the house. With every step, she fought the tremors that rose within her. Her hope was that, if confronted by an assailant, she would still have time to run away.

The inside of the garage was dark and foreboding. Christina peered intently into its depths but couldn’t make out anything no matter how hard she tried. She fearfully expected someone to jump out from the shadows and grab her by the wrist, dragging her back into the garage to a fate she couldn’t bear to imagine. But even as she waited for it, there was a sudden, loud commotion, as if something had been knocked over, but instead of the garage, it sounded as if it was coming from the backyard.

Still unwilling to commit herself too far in case she could no longer escape, Christina decided to take a quick look around the corner and gasped at what she saw.

Samuel Barlow wobbled unsteadily near the tall fence at the rear of his property. While Christina watched, the doctor tried to take a step but immediately lost his balance; he would have fallen on his face if his hand hadn’t managed to find a fence post to support him. As near as Christina could tell, he appeared to be talking to himself.

What…? Is he…drunk…?

Christina simply
could not believe
what she was seeing. Though she’d only known the doctor for a couple of days, he’d never struck her as the sort of man who would get drunk in the middle of the afternoon. He certainly had his share of flaws, he’d been stubborn at times and his driving was undeniably erratic, but there was little doubt that he took his responsibilities as Longstock’s lone doctor seriously; at least she had thought so, until now…

She never could have imagined
this
.

But just as Christina had begun condemning the doctor for his drunkenness, she began to notice things that painted a different picture. For one thing, he wasn’t as unsteady as might’ve been expected; growing up with her uncle Otis, Christina was well accustomed to the teetering and tottering of someone who had been drinking. She also noticed that one sleeve of Dr. Barlow’s shirt had been unbuttoned at the cuff and rolled up past his elbow.

Wait…he couldn’t be…

“…did all I could, but…,” drifted across the distance between them, the doctor lazily punctuating his words with his hands.

Even as Christina tried to make sense of Dr. Barlow’s ramblings, she discovered the shocking truth. Several medical instruments she was quite familiar with lay on top of a weathered table beside the doctor: a length of leather with a buckle on one end, a small brown bottle, and a depressed syringe. Though she was much too far away to read the label on the bottle, there was little doubt in her mind as to what it contained.

He had taken morphine.

Looking at Dr. Barlow, Christina now saw his behavior for exactly what it was: that of someone on drugs.

Even if she had wanted to try, Christina couldn’t believe that Dr. Barlow’s actions were the result of her afternoon with Tyler. He clearly hadn’t liked having his new assistant taken away, but it couldn’t possibly have angered him so much that he sought solace by injecting morphine.

Then why had he done it?…

The question that Christina now faced was whether she should reveal herself to the doctor. She was certain he hadn’t noticed her; she wondered if it wouldn’t be better to just walk away and let him sleep it off. But in the end, she knew that there wasn’t any choice to make; if she were to leave him and something happened, if he hurt himself, she’d never be able to live with her shame. Taking a deep breath, she stepped around the corner of the house.

“Dr. Barlow,” Christina said forcefully, announcing herself as she strode to where he wobbled unsteadily.

“What’s that…?” the doctor mumbled, turning to look at her; Christina noticed how he peered intently, his eyes drowsily fluttering, as if he was trying to stay awake. It wasn’t until she was standing before him that she saw a spark of recognition. “Ahh, my dear girl,” he cotton-mouthed. “Come to…join me…perhaps…?”

Without answering, Christina snatched the hand with the rolled-up sleeve and pulled it toward her. Just as she’d expected, there was a fresh needle puncture in the crook of his elbow, the mark red on his pale skin. What she
hadn’t
anticipated were all of the other, older tracks that were dotted around the newest one. Somehow, she stifled her gasp.

“What are you…?” Dr. Barlow asked, trying to pull his hand free from Christina’s grasp, but she held firm. Looking down dreamily at it, he seemed momentarily surprised by the markings of what he had done. “I suppose you’re wondering how in the hell that happened…?”