Dangerous Conditions

“You would stop following Logan like a puppy and pay a little more attention to Logan’s older brother. Connor’s been sweet on you for ages and he’s asked you, I don’t know how many times, to go out with him. He’s got a thriving business and a political position. He has that big house that I’m sure he bought because he knows you love it.”

“That isn’t true.” But even as she said it, Paige suddenly feared it was true. “Logan is Lori’s father.”

Her mother sniffed. “Who can’t tell a baby from a remote control,” she muttered as she continued the rhythmic stirring.

Connor was the smart choice; any of the single, employed professional men at Rathburn-Bramley would be. She’d been asked. She’d said no.

Because she was an idiot. Because she didn’t love Connor. She loved the man who had left her behind. That man had not come back. As for Connor, fondness and guilt were poor foundations for a relationship.

Paige thumped her elbows on the table and cradled her forehead in her hands.

“Lori deserves a father, Paige. One qualified to care for her.”

She pressed her mouth closed to keep from lashing out. Her daughter did deserve a father and had one. It was Paige’s decision to keep them apart. And it was a decision she reconsidered daily as Logan improved.

“He’s not going to remember you, Paige. He’s just not and he never will. And even if he did, do you want to be married to a man who earns his living at the benevolence of others? He’s the village idiot.”

Paige pressed her hands flat on the table and rose to her feet.

“Mother, if you ever call him that again, I will take Lori and that job offer in South Carolina.”

“Might be better for you if you did. Better than seeing you mooning around after that boy.”

Paige gaped. She’d never expected her mother to call her bluff.

“Mom, is that what you want? For us to go?”

“I want what I’ve always wanted—what is best for you. And that boy never was and never will be.”

LOGAN FINISHED DIRECTING the rush of vehicles leaving the company lot and funneling up to Main to then head toward Mill Creek to the east or Ouleout to the west. After he stopped back in his office to lock up, he headed toward his blue 2004 Ford pickup. Then he made his way home. The temperature had dropped, and he worried that it might rain on Saturday. That would put a damper on the Harvest Festival. If this kept up, they could even have snow on their big day.

Instead of stopping at his home, he passed it and turned down Cemetery Road, crossing the West Branch of the Raquette River and then heading along River Street. Dr. Sullivan had lived in a Dutch Colonial home just outside the village. He had planned to only drive by but found cars and trucks parked in the drive and on the lawn. The porch was lit up and callers spilled across the porch and down the steps.

He parked across the road, off the shoulder, and headed over to the property. Logan tipped his hat and murmured hellos to the familiar faces and didn’t even try to focus on one speaker or another. With so many folks conversing at once, he just couldn’t identify who was talking. He passed Mr. Sinclair Park, who stood on the steps. He knew that Paige’s department reported to him, because she’d once pointed him out as her boss’s boss. He worked at the plant, something in production, and had moved to Hornbeck soon after being hired about the same time Logan started as a constable.

“Logan,” said Mr. Park. “Paying your respects?”

“Yes, sir.”

“That’s a good man.” Park slapped him on the upper arm as if he were a draft horse.

Logan stepped in from the cold and into the bright hallway. He removed his hat and gave it a spin before unzipping his constable jacket. He had intended to find Mrs. Sullivan, seeing her in deep conversation with her sister, Freda, in the living room, but then he spotted both Sullivan’s fourteen-year-old son, Steven, and eleven-year-old daughter, Valerie, sitting with their chins on their knees on the steps leading to the second floor. Instead of the familiar basketball shorts and sneakers, Steven wore gray slacks and a black shirt, and Valerie was wearing a forest-green skirt and white blouse. He’d never seen them in this sort of attire.

Steven’s chin lifted when he spotted Logan, assistant coach of his travel basketball team.

“Coach,” he said, his expression hopeful.

Logan changed direction and headed up the stairs, pausing to sit two steps below the kids. He placed his hat on the same step.

“I’m sorry about your dad, Steven, Valerie. He was a really good coach.”

Valerie didn’t make a sound, but tears sprang from her eyes and rolled down her cheeks.

“You going to be our coach now?” asked Steven.

“I don’t know. Probably.”

“Everyone keeps hugging me,” said Steven, his expression now cross. His lower lip and the break in his voice told Logan that Steven was on the verge of tears. A swipe of his sleeve across his eyes confirmed Logan’s guess.

“It’s okay to cry, Steven. When my mom died, I cried for months. Not all the time but a lot and sometimes when I didn’t expect it. I’d just start crying.”

“How’d she die?” asked Steven.

“It was an aneurysm in her aorta.” He pointed to his heart. “That’s like a bubble in the artery. The wall of that blood vessel is thick and tough, but my mom’s was thin there and when it let go she died very fast.” Right beside him at the grocery store just after he turned eleven. He remembered the way she’d fallen, as if she had been a marionette with all the strings cut at once. The grapefruit in her hand had rolled straight down the aisle in the produce section like a bowling ball. He’d hit his knees beside her and stared at her face. She’d looked so surprised. But she’d already been gone.

“Where is my dad now?” asked Valerie, shaking him from his dark memories. He wondered if the child meant metaphorically or physically. As he pondered how to answer, Steven cut in.

“Nobody will tell us,” said Steven. “They just say he’s in heaven. Or with God. But where is he really?”

“Do you mean his remains?”

They nodded in unison, eyes wide.

“They took your father’s body to Owen’s funeral home. They have beds there for folks who have passed. And since it was an accident, the state police need to have a look at him for clues to help them catch whoever did this.”

“And put him in jail,” said Valerie.

“Might be a him,” said Logan. “Might be a her. But we’re trying every way we know to catch them.”

“Is he cold?” asked Valerie.

“No. Definitely not.”

“I’ve only ever seen dead animals. They get all stiff and swollen,” said Steven.

“No, that won’t happen. The people at the funeral home will wash him and dress him and treat his body respectfully.”

“Why?” asked Steven. “He can’t feel anything now. Can he?”

“It’s more for the family. Rituals to take care of our dead. It’s a last act of love.”

“You ever seen a dead body?” asked the boy.

Logan had seen many, according to his military record, but he remembered only one. “My mother, when she died and then again the day of her funeral.”

“What about at war?” asked Valerie. “Dad said you were in combat and that some of the other soldiers with you died.”

He’d been awarded the Silver Star for valor after half the roof had caved in on him and his men in a building in Fallujah.