Dangerous Conditions

“Sheriff and the state police are looking for his tags and the vehicle that hit him. Anyone you know want to hurt Dr. Sullivan?”

“No! Of course not. Everybody loved him.” She felt a jab in her belly as she recognized that she was already referring to her friend in the past tense.

Connor made a face.

“What?”

“I overheard Lou speaking to Dale Owens at the funeral home. Lou told him that your firm was investigating Sullivan. Something out at the plant was going missing. They were getting ready to fire him.”

“That’s ridiculous.” She again peered at Connor. He seemed to have done a fair amount of nosing around already. Why was he so interested in this? Was it just because he was concerned for the town’s reputation?

“They were onto him.”

“He’d never steal from his employer.”

“Maybe it was intellectual property. Like a process or formula. Could he have known they were onto him?”

“Are you suggesting he stepped in front of a vehicle and then stole his own ID tag as a cover-up?”

“Of course not.” His hand raked his hair again. “It’s just, we’ve never had a thing like this happen here. I helped bring that plant here, Paige, and I feel responsible for it and any trouble that comes because of this sort of industry. Could have been a bad drug deal or something.”

“Nonsense.”

“We are a peaceful village, Paige. Cows, cornfields and…”

“Opiates,” she finished.

Chapter Five (#u553d1668-fb5e-5481-855f-ae2f636d1ced)

Paige got home to find her mother cooking dinner, which was unusual. Her mom had made it very clear when Paige moved back in with her that she was going to raise her own daughter and that meant housework, errands and making her child’s meals. Her only concession had been picking up Lori after school because Hornbeck Central School did not have an after-hours keeper program.

“Where’s Lori?” asked Paige.

Her mother continued stirring white sauce on the stovetop as she half turned to speak to Paige.

“She’s out back making a leaf pile and then jumping into it. Malory is watching her from the porch.”

Paige did not think that Malory, her mother’s long-haired cat, was an adequate babysitter, but a glance out the side window showed her daughter tunneling through dry leaves in the spotlight of the backyard floodlight.

Paige set her satchel on a chair at the breakfast table and removed her coat and scarf. Then she folded into the adjoining chair. Her mother brought her a bottle of scotch and a small juice glass and set it before her.

She gaped and then met her mother’s serious gaze.

“You heard?”

“Whole village heard. That ogre of a company let you go a few minutes early today?”

Paige lifted the glass. The strong, distinctive aroma reached her before she took a sip and grimaced. The liquid burned all the way down.

“I took some personal time.”

“You should take tomorrow. Those pills can wait a day.”

“I don’t make pills.” She set the scotch aside and wiped her watering eyes.

“I know what you do. I paid for some of that fancy education, remember?”

It was impossible to forget.

“Though I expect our constable will have the culprit arrested in no time. That is if he doesn’t mistake the church bell for the fire truck again.”

One of Logan’s early blunders was to head over to the fire station at noon his first day when he thought he heard the siren. It had turned out to be the bells that the Methodist church rang every weekday at noon and at ten a.m. on Sundays.

Paige ignored her mother’s jab at Logan. She was used to them.

“I’ve been over to see Ursula this afternoon,” said her mother.

“How is she?”

“She looks terrible. But her sister is there, and Freda told me that they are accepting callers tonight and tomorrow.”

“Tonight?”

She was surprised. They’d only just learned, and Paige thought they’d still be processing the shock.

“Freda said that Ursula does not want to be alone. The church is organizing casseroles to be delivered each day. Mine is tomorrow, chicken tetrazzini casserole. I think I won’t add the cayenne. I don’t know if the Sullivans like spicy food.”

Paige’s hopes of dinner vanished.

“I’m making enough for us, too. I should bring some to Albert, feeding that man-child.” Albert Lynch was the widower father of Connor and Logan. And the man-child, she assumed, was his brain-damaged son.

“Logan is not a man-child.” Paige’s voice was sharp. “He is just as smart as before.”

“Hmm. Then why does he talk so s-l-o-w?” she asked, drawing out the last word.

Paige knew exactly how smart she and Logan both were, with her breakup with Logan after she discovered he’d reenlisted and then sleeping with him again her senior year in college before he’d shipped out. Nobody in Hornbeck knew he’d been to see her at school. She’d been so angry at him and scared for him and it had just happened.

Nine months later Lori had happened. She’d picked the name to honor Logan. Hoped they’d have a chance at a second start after she finished her undergraduate schooling. His plan had not included being wounded and nearly dying. And hers didn’t include giving up on him. Their families had convinced her to stop telling Logan about Lori’s paternity when he couldn’t remember anything new past a few hours back then. She’d agreed, but she had continued to bring Lori for visits. Seeing their baby brightened Logan. Only she believed that Logan could handle the responsibility of caring for a daughter. As it turned out, she’d been wrong.

She’d ignored them and Lori now had a scar on her chin that served as a constant reminder that Paige was not always the best judge where Logan was concerned. Her emotions and hopes were too tied up in his being able to love her and their daughter to allow her to be unbiased. Now she feared trying and failing again with him. She’d given him time, years to recover. He didn’t forget things anymore. His speech had improved, and he was working now. It seemed dishonest not to again tell Logan about their relationship and his daughter. She’d have to tell them both eventually, especially when it seemed Logan no longer forgot things. She’d been waiting for Lori to be old enough to understand that her father had a TBI. Was an eight-year-old capable of comprehending this?

Maybe his father would agree with her that it was time.

“If you weren’t so stubborn, you’d…” Her mother’s words trailed off.

Paige tried to ignore the urge to ask her mother to finish her sentence, knowing that she wouldn’t like what she had to say, and failed.

“I’d what?”