The persistent ring of the telephone pulled Reid Talbot from
a disturbing dream. He felt as though he’d run for miles and never reached his
goal. He rubbed his eyes and groped on the bedside stand for the phone.
"Dr. Talbot here."
The gravely
voice of Ben Rodgers, Greenesville’s Chief of Police requested Reid’s presence
at the scene of an accident. "Two victims. Car slammed into an embankment
on County Road 7."
For a
moment, Reid wondered if he’d heard a hint of emotion in the usually stoic
man’s voice. "Be right there."
"Don’t
rush. One accident’s enough."
Reid pulled
on a pair of jeans and a blue polo shirt. Who this time, he wondered. He hadn’t
asked and Ben hadn’t said.
After
jotting a note for his live-in housekeeper, he lifted his medical bag from the
dresser. Before heading to his car, he stopped to look in on his sons. Gary
Twenty
minutes later, he rounded a bend in the road and spotted the patrol car. A sick
feeling settled in his gut. He knew the van and he knew the victims. In the
four years since he’d settled in Greenesville, Warren and Nancy Carey had
become his friends.
He parked
behind the patrol car. Ben strode over. "You need to check them."
"I
know." His stomach knotted. He looked at the shattered front end. There
was no way either could have survived. Thoughts of his wife’s broken body
arose. Her accident had taken place not far from here.
He grabbed
the medical bag. Ben’s round face mirrored the same sick feeling that roiled in
Reid’s gut. "You all right?" he asked.
"Good
as I can be."
Reid
reached the van. He sucked in a breath and felt for pulses.
"How
long?" Ben asked.
"Can’t
say without an autopsy. Six hours or so. Is there a need?"
Ben
shrugged. "Won’t know ‘til the van’s been checked over. Was on my way to
town for breakfast when I come on them. Not many folks travel this road at
night."
"What
do you think happened?" Reid turned away. There wasn’t a thing he could do
and that made him feel helpless.
"Dear,
I reckon." Ben rubbed his balding head. "Found a dead one ‘crost the
road." He frowned. "Wonder what brought them home in the middle of
the night. Thought they was staying in New
York City
"I
thought so, too."
"Asked
me to check on Miss Mary and the kids. Talked to her yesterday morning. She
didn’t mention they were coming back."
Reid
averted his eyes from the van. He couldn’t look; he couldn’t even grieve. Not
in public "Maybe she called them. Children could be a handful, especially
for a seventy year old."
Ben
chuckled. "She sure snookered you. She’s past eighty and she’s not one for
admitting she can’t handle anything." He shook his head. "Them coming
back don’t make sense."
Reid
nodded. Warren and Nancy had been excited about the contract for a series of
informative and witty histories of Colonial days. They’d talked about plays,
museums and people they wanted to see. Would knowing why they cut their trip short
explain the accident?
My Places
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