An Embarrassment of Itches Read online

  The engine screamed as I stomped on the gas and delayed shifting gears as long as possible to allow my car to shoot forward. But the Subaru isn't built for racing, and mine was loaded down with equipment. The car behind me had the prior advantage of traveling at speed, and I braced for impact as it bore down on me.

  The thump of contact with my rear bumper was hard enough to snap my head back, but I retained control of the wheel. We were rapidly running out of straight road, and while I couldn’t maintain this kind of speed on the curves, I thought I might be the better driver there. My phone was still in my back pocket instead of sitting in the hands-free bracket where it was supposed to be, so I couldn’t even call for help. I was on this ride to the end, whatever that end might be.

  I drove even faster.

  A pair of green-gold glows by the side of the road caught my eye, but instead of braking as I’d normally have done, I laid on the horn and mashed the gas pedal to the floor. As soon as I’d passed them, I slowed and flipped up the rearview mirror.

  Silhouetted in the glare of the headlights behind me were the forms of several deer leaping across the road. My pursuer slowed at the sight of deer crossing ahead of him, but sped up as soon as the deer were on the other side of the road.

  But I knew something the other driver didn’t or had forgotten in his eagerness to run me off the road.

  There’s always one more deer than you think there is.

  The final deer, lagging behind the herd, stepped out in the middle of the road. Blinded by the oncoming headlights, it froze, staring in the direction of the car bearing down on it.

  Tires squealed behind me as the driver slammed on the brakes and twisted the wheel, throwing the car into a spin. As the headlights flashed away from the road out into the open field, the deer sprang away in a bounding leap. The car slid into the ditch, but it wasn’t steep. I knew if the driver was good enough, he could probably get out of it on his own.

  Which is why, heart pounding in my chest like a bird trapped in a room full of glass windows, I didn’t wait to see if the driver was okay. I gunned the engine and drove away into the night.

  Chapter Ten

  My hands were still shaking when I got home. Remy sprang from the car when released and raced up the stairs to the front door, leaping and corkscrewing in place while he waited for me. I climbed the stairs like an old woman, clinging to the handrail for support. Not enough of the right kind of food and too much emotional drama these past few days. My blood sugar had to be in the gutter.

  When I unlocked the door, Remy bolted within, headed for the kitchen. The sound of lapping water reached my ears before I’d even closed the door, and then the clatter of Remy chasing his metal bowl around the linoleum. Dinner was later than usual, and he wasn’t shy about letting me know he was starving to death.

  Ming’s yowls from the back room demanded I feed him as well. No sooner did I glop his canned food into his dish than he attacked it like a wolf going after his kill. I tiptoed out of the room while he growled and ate.

  After he inhaled his kibble, Remy parked himself outside Ming’s door like a sheepdog guarding the flock. He made snuffling noises with his nose pressed to the crack until a chocolate paw snaked out to bat him. Chastened, he flopped down with a heavy sigh a foot away from the door. I couldn’t decide if he thought Ming was part of the flock or a predator lurking at the boundaries. My guess was the predator.

  I spent the next hour tearing up the house, looking for Amanda’s drawing of Remy. I finally found it sandwiched in between two pieces of cardboard for safety, and still protected as such, placed it in the car so I’d remember to take it to the framers in the morning.

  By this point, my stomach was growling again, reminding me I hadn’t finished dinner. It was too late in the evening for anything substantial, so I made myself a stack of cheese and crackers, poured a glass of wine, and settled down at the kitchen table to read Amanda’s letter.

  I’m not sure what I expected. Certainly not what I read.

  Dear Ginny, it began.

  If you’re reading this, then I must be dead, and Mr. Carter has given this letter to you. I can only imagine the confusion, surprise, and disbelief you must be experiencing right now. I can picture the look on your face and the exact expression when you turn to the nearest person and ask, “Why me?”

  The reason is simple, really.

  I was born into wealth, and for the longest time, didn’t know any other life than to ask Daddy for whatever I wanted: money, a car, a ski trip, tuition for art school in Paris—it was all the same to me. Even when I went out on my own and refused to enter the family business, I still had more than enough resources. I was comfortable.

  But there was also a period in my life in which I lost almost everything. I know how hard it is to have to make it on your own. Samantha Taylor had to die so that Amanda Kelly could be born. And now, apparently Amanda Kelly is dead, too. That can’t be a coincidence.

  You probably don’t remember, but a few months ago, we had a conversation about you being the executor of your father’s estate, and how grateful you’d been that he had his affairs in order before his dementia set in. You said something that struck me at the time: how you’d made your own will, not because you had anything of value to leave behind, but because you wanted to spell out in writing your wishes for what happened to your animals in the event of your death. You made me realize I needed to do the same. Not only regarding my animals, which I entrust to you as the only person I could imagine taking care of them for me, but because I do have things of value to leave behind, and there are people in my life that don’t deserve them.

  I think you deserve them, Ginny. I’ve never met anyone as selfless as you have been, returning home to take care of your ailing father, giving up your life and income in the city to eke out a living at a much lower salary than you had before. I’ve seen you with your patients, and I know how often your big heart tempts you into discounting your fees or waiving them altogether. I know your dream is to start a real clinic, so you don’t have to run all over the county at all hours of the day and night. I want to be a part of something lasting, something good for a community that has been nothing but kind to me, even if I’m no longer here to see it.

  The gift of my estate comes with no strings attached, however. If you decide you’d rather sit on the couch reading books and eating bonbons all day, or take Scotty to Prix St. George or whatever the highest level of competition the two of you can attain, then go for it with my blessing.

  I can almost hear your protests, that you don’t deserve this, that you hardly knew me at all. I think that is precisely why I wish to make you my beneficiary at this time. You expect nothing from me.

  I must have sat in stunned silence, re-reading the letter I don’t know how many times, until Remy thrust his head under my arm in a demand to go outside. When we came back in, I half-expected to be unable to sleep, but between the wine and the adrenaline crash, I was out like a light the moment my head hit the pillow. I didn’t even notice when Remy left his perfectly good dog bed and crept up on the mattress with me where he didn’t belong.

  My dreams were the twisted stuff of anxiety. I was being chased; I was lost. I couldn’t find something I needed. At one point I saw Amanda standing on her back-deck waving at me, but every time I tried to reach the house, the path changed, a fence went up, or a canyon opened at my feet. When I started awake, my pulse thundering in my ears, it was good to reach out and stroke the silky coat of the warm dog curled beside me.

  Even if he took up most of the bed.

  DAWN’S EARLY LIGHT streamed around the edges of the blackout curtain in my bedroom. A faint, persistent sound drilled into my head. Remy got off the bed, padded out of the room, but soon came back. A long snout with a cold, wet nose nudged my elbow. Groaning, I jerked my arm back under the covers. Something depressed the mattress near my head, and I opened my eyes to see Remy resting his chin on the bed, staring at me with a bright, alert expression.
As soon as my eyelids lifted, his tail began to wag.

  The persistent sound transformed itself into the piteous cries of a cat locked in a bedroom while starving to death, and I dragged myself out of bed. Small wonder Amanda had realized something was wrong with Ming. The cat was a bottomless pit. Hopefully, the anti-thyroid medication would begin working soon. I think Remy’s insistence on my getting out of bed was just so someone would shut the cat up.

  After feeding the animals, I took Remy outside and inspected the car. Though the back bumper was dented and compressed, the damage didn't look too severe. Was it worth reporting the accident to insurance and paying the deductible to have it fixed? I wasn’t sure.

  No sense in counting on Amanda’s money until it was sitting in my bank account. In the meantime, I had to operate under the assumption I had to continue pinching pennies until Lincoln burped.

  The fields behind my house stretched toward the ridge where Amanda’s house sat. I couldn’t see her house from mine, but I knew it wasn’t far, as the crow flies. But the woods between her place and mine were nearly impenetrable, thanks to the greenbrier that gave the town its name. It was a pity I couldn’t just zip over and feed the cats without having to go through the rigmarole of having an escort.

  I’d just about resigned myself to taking Remy for a walk on my property, the way I usually did, when a cool breeze ruffled my hair, bringing with it the scent of rain. You know what? Screw it. There was nothing on the books until late morning. I could feed the cats at Amanda’s before my first appointment. I whistled up the dog and loaded him into the car.

  It had been too long since I’d taken the time to go hiking, but the morning was more or less open, so after bumping our way up the rutted service road to the trailhead, Remy and I set off for Lizard Rock. It was still chilly in the shade, but I stuffed my jacket in my backpack after we got going and my muscles had warmed up.

  Remy’s delight was a sight for sore eyes. Guilt stabbed at me even as I smiled when he ran big looping circles around me, leaping fallen tree trunks and splashing through puddles with the abandonment of a puppy. Periodically, he zipped up to me to make sure I was still there, and I acknowledged his check-in with praise and a treat.

  Too long. It had been too long since we’d shared this simple pleasure.

  When we climbed to the top of the ridge and reached the big, flat rock that gave the trail its name, I tossed my backpack on the rock and clambered up beside it. The sun wouldn't hit this west-facing ridge until late afternoon, which meant we would miss any basking lizards today. I didn't mind. After admiring the breathtaking view of the valley for a moment, I sat cross-legged on the rock and pulled a breakfast bar and a bottle of water out of my backpack.

  The distinctive cry of a red-tailed hawk made me look up, and I spied the bird of prey riding the drafts overhead. The wind murmured through the pine trees like a woman sighing. I traced the pale green lichen on the stone with my fingers, marveling at how firmly attached it was. A chipmunk, not realizing I was there, popped over the lip of the rock for a moment, then flicked its chestnut tail with a sharp chip of alarm and scurried away as Remy bounded through the woods behind.

  My mind emptied of thought as I became one with the rock, the wind, and the view.

  Eventually, Remy climbed up on the rock beside me, looking like Rin Tin Tin as he stared off into the distance. Stealthily, I snuck my phone out of my pocket and angled the camera so I framed his head against the backdrop of the distant mountains, their hillsides dotted with pink and white of blooming redbud and dogwoods. I took three pictures in rapid succession before he turned his head toward me at the sound of the clicking shutter and came up to lick me in the face. Laughing, I buried my chilly face in his thick ruff.

  I’d needed this. More than I’d realized. Time spent grounding in nature wasn’t just a pleasant activity for me. I needed it like a plant needs sunlight and water, and yet too often, I let other demands on my time override the need for self-care. A vision of myself as the dried-up and wilting orchid my mother had given me for a birthday gift came to mind. I had so many things to take care of on a daily basis. Houseplants, like myself, came last on the list.

  Even now, when I would have liked to sit on the mountaintop for longer, the pull to be up and about my responsibilities was strong. If I did take time off as a result of Amanda’s bequest, I’d need at least two weeks to unwind from a knee-jerk reaction to get up and do something productive.

  Stuffing the water bottle in the backpack, I said, “Come on, boy. We need to get back to work.”

  On the way back down the car, my mind wandered, as it did in the rare moments when I let it idle. It kept circling around back around to Amanda’s letter.

  What had she meant by “that couldn’t be a coincidence”?

  The question nagged at me the entire way back to the car.

  My phone began blowing up with messages as soon as I hit the main road again. This time, I’d remembered to put it in the clip attached to my dashboard, so I could see that I’d received several calls from the sheriff’s office, as well as a text from Joe. Like the night before, there wasn’t a good place to pull over right away. That didn’t stop me from worrying, though. A problem with one of the horses, perhaps? There was always a risk when you moved them to a new location that they’d find the one piece of barbed wire that had been overlooked for the last century. Or maybe it was good news about Amanda’s property. Maybe the coroner had finished with the exam and I’d be able to feed the cats without a babysitter.

  There was a little scenic overlook farther down the mountain, and I pulled into it and parked the car.

  The text from Joe was a simple: Where are you?

  I ignored that for the moment and replayed my voice mail. The first was a polite but generic request for me to contact the sheriff’s office at my convenience. A slightly more terse request that I come to the office as soon as possible followed. The third voice mail was from Joe, though I could hardly credit it. He introduced himself as Sheriff Donegan and stated I needed to come to the office at once.

  What the hell?

  I punched in the number for the sheriff’s department and got Joan at the front desk. Since we were being all formal now, I said, “This is Dr. Ginny Reese. I’ve received several messages from your office. Could you tell me what this is about?”

  “One moment, please.” Joan put me on hold, and a second later, Joe came on the line.

  “Where are you?”

  I knew that tone. Pissed, and doing his best not to show it in front of other people.

  “Good morning to you, too.”

  “I’m serious, Dr. Reese. I need to speak with you immediately. We’ve been trying to get a hold of you all morning.”

  Dr. Reese?

  The formality triggered a red flag, and my eyebrows lifted in response.

  “I went hiking. I must have been in a dead zone between cell towers. What’s wrong?” His tension had bled over the phone and infected me now. “Look, if this is about the incident last night—”

  “What incident last night?” The sharpness of his voice could have cut glass.

  “Er, nothing. Just a little thing with someone trying to run me off the road on the way home from Amanda’s last night.”

  “Did you report that?” His voice rose as he spoke, and I winced.

  “I’m reporting it now.” Although the way I ended that sentence, it could have been interpreted as a question as opposed to a statement.

  Was that grinding noise in the background the sound of Joe’s teeth?

  “I need you to come in for further questioning regarding Amanda Kelly’s death. While you’re here, you can make an official report as to this traffic incident.”

  “There hardly seems any point to that. I can’t give you a description or a license plate.” I glanced at my watch. “I can come in this afternoon. I have an appointment at eleven, and I still have to feed the feral cats. As a matter of fact, if you could—”

 
“Where are you?”

  The interruption was another bad sign.

  “Right now?” Okay, his attitude was pissing me off. “Currently sitting at the overlook near Lizard Rock.”

  There was a pause while he presumably calculated the time it would take me to get back to town. “Fine. I expect you here at the station in an hour. Don’t make me send someone to pick you up.”

  “For crying out loud, Joe.” Alarm coursed through me now. “What on earth is going on?”

  “I’ll tell you what you need to know when you get to the station.”

  He did not just hang up on me. He merely broke off the conversation. But I was mad enough that I didn’t immediately get back on the road and head toward the sheriff’s office. Joe could darn well wait until I got there.

  Instead, I sat in the wayside and checked my email. I quickly deleted the bulk of the promotional emails, keeping only the ones relevant to a house-call practice. I fired off a response to one hopeful looking for work that while I wasn’t hiring at this time, I would keep them in mind for the future—something that wasn’t necessarily a white lie for a change. I left the request for a transfer of records as unread until I could deal with it in the future and moved on to the email with “Amanda Kelly Property” in the subject line.

  That was an eye-opener. One that I would also have to put on the back burner for the time being.

  I’d just put the car in gear when I received another text from Joe.

  Are you on your way yet?

  Ugh. As if he had the right to act as though he still knew me.

  By the time I reached the station, I’d built up a good head of steam. I stormed into the station with enough force the door almost bounced back in my face, which would have spoiled my perfectly indignant entrance. Joan looked up with raised eyebrows as I stalked up to her desk.