Point No Point Read online

  CHAPTER 12

  By the time Claire got back to her feet, Chet had disappeared into the woods on the far side of the parking lot.

  Claire stopped for a moment to think about where he was headed. The woods were just tucked into the side of the hill. At most they covered an area of about an acre, an overgrown couple of lots on a hill that backed down into town, with Highway 25 at the bottom.

  She knew she should call for backup, but there was no time. Claire had to catch Chet before he got too far away. Even though he had a head start, she figured he had to be somewhat slowed down by his hospital stay. She took off across the parking lot after him.

  Claire swore under her breath as she plunged into the thicket of locust and oak with a dense understory of gooseberries and raspberries, all of them tearing at her pants. She couldn’t see him, but could hear wood snapping and crashing ahead of her as he forced his way through the tangle.

  “Chet, stop,” she hollered as she ran, surprised by how winded she already was. Then, louder, “Chet, this isn’t the way.”

  She stopped yelling. He wasn’t listening to her. It was clear he had been planning this escape all along. She was wasting her breath. Trying to avoid low branches, she stooped as she ran.

  As she neared the far side of the woods, she caught a glimpse of the white of his shirt as he broke out of the woods. Once he hit the highway, it would be clear sailing for him, easy to run along the sidewalk or disappear into the town. She wanted to catch him before he got across the traffic.

  Claire put on a burst of speed and came out of the woods right behind him.

  Chet was stalled out on the side of the road, waiting for traffic to clear. At least that’s what Claire thought he was doing at first. He glanced back at her and jumped forward just as a large delivery truck came speeding down the highway in the outside lane. It looked like Chet stepped out into the highway, purposefully putting himself right in its path.

  Claire came up behind him. She lunged at him and grabbed the back of his shirt, pulling him backward, barely out of the way. Chet fell toward her and hit Claire hard, right in the chest, causing her to lose her balance.

  Her left arm shot out to break her fall and hit the edge of the curb, taking her full weight as she crashed down with Chet on top of her.

  A bolt of pain shot up her arm and then burst in her head. It was unlike anything she had felt before. She rolled over onto her back, looking up at the blue sky with a burning, tearing sensation radiating out from her arm. She sucked in air. Scared to look at her hurt limb, she lay still for a moment. When she tried to push herself up with her other arm, it hurt too much to move.

  Chet stood over her, looking down with concern. “Sorry,” he said, then reached down as if to help her up.

  She didn’t want him to touch her. He might hurt her even more. She couldn’t stand that thought. “Don’t,” she said.

  He shook his head and took off running across the highway.

  Claire stayed sitting on the sidewalk, surprised that no one was stopping to check on her. At least she was out of the way of traffic. She felt her arm and didn’t like how sore it was. She was afraid she had done some serious damage to it. Sweat poured off her body and she felt sick to her stomach, but held it in.

  Breathe from your belly, she told herself. You need to take care of yourself. Panic will not help the situation. You’re going to need to get on your feet somehow. Stay calm. Breathe.

  Chet was long gone. Forget about him. She needed to get her arm checked out by a doctor.

  No one was stopping. She couldn’t just sit there, waiting for someone to help her. She had to get herself back to the government center. She thought of trying to flag a car down, but the center was only a block away, up a hill. This time she wouldn’t cut through the woods. She could make it.

  She needed to stabilize her arm and the only way to do that was to wrap her other arm around it. She reached over with her good right arm and gently moved her broken arm in closer to her body. Any jolt to it sent pain washing through her.

  Claire undid the two buttons of her shirt above her pants. As carefully as she could she slid her broken arm into the opening of her shirt. Then she rolled to her side and up onto her haunches.

  She rocked in a squat position, waiting for the nausea to subside. She pushed herself up and stood, hanging her head, breathing deeply. She never knew pain came in so many colors. They rolled through her head as she tried to ride out this latest

  surge.

  Cupping her left elbow in her right hand, she cradled the injured arm. For a moment, she felt okay. She felt hope. It might be possible to walk up the hill if she took it very slowly.

  Claire knew that in the first few minutes after an accident, the victim usually didn’t realize how badly they were hurt. She hated to think that her arm was worse than she thought. Or maybe her body had skipped that step. Not fair.

  She held her injured arm right against her body and took a step. It was tolerable. Slow and steady. Never jerking. Pushing up the hill, step by step, slowly but steadily. No movement that would jar her arm.

  Claire was sure it would take forever to walk up the hill. Here she had a man on the lam and she couldn’t even manage the few steps back to the department to call out the forces.

  When she saw the government center and knew she would make it, she almost sat down with relief. But instead she leaned against a tree and kept her sight on the parking lot, the building.

  As Claire stepped onto the tarmac, someone came out of the building. She stopped and waited for them to see her. The person waved. She could tell it was a man, a deputy in uniform, not sure who it was, couldn’t tell. She stayed holding her arm in place.

  He looked over at her and she tried to motion with her good arm but it hurt to much to move anything.

  “Hey,” she yelled. “Help.”

  As the man got closer, she could see that it was Jeremy. He started to run toward her and she got scared of what he might do.

  “Jeremy,” she yelled again.

  “What’s the matter?”

  “He got away. Chet ran away.”

  “But what happened to you?”

  As he got closer, she stuck out her good arm to stop him. “Don’t touch me. I’m afraid it’s broken.”

  Jeremy stopped and stared at her, his mouth slightly hanging open. “How’d you do that?”

  “Jeremy, now’s not the time. I need to get to the hospital. And you need to let the sheriff know about Chet.”

  “Can you walk?” he asked.

  She could see his face, his mouth moving, but she didn’t really know what he was saying. “Oh, yeah. I’m fine.”

  Claire took a step toward him. He shut his mouth and reached for her. That was the last thing she remembered.

  * * *

  Bentley raced ahead as Rich walked down the field road that cut through Chet’s property. Rich had opened the pasture gate and the two horses, all on their own, galloped back to the barn. They’d be waiting for him when he got there. He skirted the perimeter of the property, just to get a little walk in. Bentley seemed enthusiastic about the idea, tearing ahead of him, then trotting back to see what was keeping him.

  Rich walked toward the woods, hoping to find some shade. The record-breaking heat wave was showing no signs of abating. Mid-nineties again today. The fields were turning brown a little earlier than usual because of the dryness and heat.

  Grasshoppers whirred up around him as he walked through

  the tall grasses. Clicking sounds filled the air. Bentley snapped at the grasshoppers, then he’d shake his head if he caught one. Must not taste too good.

  Rich was torn about going back to his house for the night. He had stopped by around mid-day and checked on the pheasants, had a peanut butter and jelly sandwich with Meg, and picked up another clean t-shirt and boxer shorts just in case he decided to stay on at Chet’s.

  Meg had asked him when he was coming back. He told her in the next few days. As soo
n as Chet was home again. When she asked him what was going on between him and her mother, he tried to sidestep the question, but she stopped him.

  “I know you guys are fighting. Mom told me she’s turned into a bitch, plus I have eyes and ears you know.”

  “We just needed a little break, that’s all. I love your mother, but she can get on my nerves.”

  “I know she’s kinda bossy, but I think most of the time you like that about her. She knows what she wants and, for better or worse, I think she wants you.”

  He smiled at how blunt Meg could be. Just like her mom. Funny how much more tolerable it was in Meg, even admirable. A young girl needs all the attitude she can muster. “I do like how clear and straightforward Claire is but in this instance, I wish she’d try to see things in a different light.”

  “I told her that too. I think it’s hard on her. In her job she has to be so decisive, everyone’s counting on her.”

  “You’re right, Miss Meg. But a few days apart won’t hurt us.”

  “I hope not.”

  Rich stood staring over the fields and thinking of his life with Claire. It had been so full of promise when they met. Somehow he thought she would fit into his life more than she ever had—bake him a pie, go fishing with him, morel hunting, help him with the pheasants—be more of a partner to him. He had never wanted to turn her into a housewife, but he had thought she might integrate more into his concerns. It had taken him a long time to accept how all consuming her job was; how, even when she was home, it filled her thoughts.

  He was never bored with Claire, but he wasn’t often as content as he’d like to be sometimes. As he grew older, that quality seemed to grow in importance.

  Bentley growled at something off in the weeds. Rich hoped he had been right in what he had said to Meg. He hoped that nothing basic in his relationship with Claire was being destroyed.

  He followed Bentley and saw a path through the grasses as if a large vehicle had driven through recently. The grass was bent over and broken. The field sloped down into the woods and as they came over a rise, he saw what looked like a truck parked at the edge of the forest, hidden in sumac bushes.

  Typical old farmer behavior. Truck doesn’t work anymore, just drive it into the weeds and let it rust its little heart out. He hated that everyone still did that. Calling Bentley to him, he walked up closer to get a better look.

  Rich pushed aside the hairy sumac branches and saw that the vehicle was a relatively new Chevy pickup, probably still worth some money. It wasn’t Chet’s truck, that he knew for sure—Chet was a Ford man. What would it be doing in his

  woods?

  The grass had grown up around the tires and he could barely make out a path where the truck had driven into the woods. Didn’t happen yesterday.

  Maybe, during his walk, he had crossed over the property line. He wasn’t sure exactly where Chet’s property ended. But still, why would anyone dump a decent truck like that in the weeds? You’d think even if it didn’t run anymore, a salvage company would come and pick it up just for parts.

  One more thing he’d have to ask Chet about when he saw him next.

  * * *

  As the end of the day approached, Amy wasn’t looking forward to going back to her hot apartment. Bill had already left, but she might have to call him up and bribe him with some ice cream to let her stay over. She had had no luck with the tree guy and was quite disappointed that her find hadn’t panned out. Maybe a discarded red t-shirt is simply a discarded red t-shirt, not some clue to solve the crime of the year.

  She had called all the tree services in Red Wing and the surrounding area. She had even gotten a call back from the two services she had left messages with. Everyone she talked to sounded disappointed when they found out she wasn’t calling about needing any work done.

  One of the owners had explained to her it had been a relatively quiet summer, not many storms, no tornadoes or straight-line winds, so there hadn’t been as many felled trees as

  usual. As a result they weren’t using many extra workers and none of them had any workers who were missing.

  None of them knew anything about a red shirt with a tree on it. Maybe the tree guy was from Wisconsin after all. She thought to herself, Maybe I’m barking up the wrong tree, and had a short fit of hysterical laughter.

  She was just about ready to give up when she picked up the Shopper and read an ad for a tree service located between Red Wing and Hastings. It was just a small note in the classifieds. Seemed odd for them to be advertising in a Wisconsin paper, but it answered her first question, which was “do you do work in Wisconsin?”

  She called the listed number and a woman answered the phone, not with the name of the company, which was Timber Tree Services, but just a simple, “hello.”

  “Hi, is this Timber Tree Services?”

  There was a pause and then the woman said, “My husband isn’t available just right now.”

  “Oh, but he runs Timber Tree Services?”

  “Yes, when he’s around.”

  “May I ask where he is?”

  “Who is this?” the woman’s voice rose.

  “Oh, sorry. I’m calling from the Pepin County Sheriff’s Department. My name is Amy Schroeder.”

  “What do you want? Is there some problem?”

  “I know this is an odd question, but does he have a red t-shirt with a tree on it?”

  “He had a bunch of those shirts made up for him and the guys. Why?”

  Amy sucked in her breath. “I need to talk to your husband. Do you know how I can get hold of him?”

  “My husband’s not here. He’s been gone for nearly a week this time and I haven’t heard a peep.”

  “Have you reported him missing?”

  “Not worth the trouble. He’ll show up in the next day or two with some lame excuse about where he’s been. I don’t get too worried about it. Is he in trouble or something?”

  “What’s your husband’s name?”

  “Dean Swaggum.”

  “Is he a big guy?”

  “Yeah, weighs about two twenty, over six feet tall. Why?”

  Amy was afraid to ask the next question, the make-it or break-it question. “Does he have a tattoo?”

  The woman’s voice quavered as she answered, “Yes. He got it when he started the business.”

  “May I ask what it is?”

  “Why? What’s happened to him?”

  “Maybe nothing. Can you describe the tattoo?”

  “A whole tree, not just the branches, but the roots too.”

  Amy sat stunned in her chair. Now what did she say? She had never broken the news of a death to someone before. She wished Claire were here. “Mrs. Swaggum, I’m afraid I’m going to have to ask you to come to Durand.”

  CHAPTER 13

  Amy was sitting in front of the computer when she heard someone running in the main room. Bernice, the secretary, called out Claire’s name. She heard someone say that Claire had been hurt, was in the parking lot passed out on the ground. Amy pushed her chair back so hard it tipped over and she ran out the door.

  By the time she got there, Jeremy and three other deputies surrounded Claire. Amy pushed Jeremy away and squatted down to check on Claire. Her face was blotchy red and covered with sweat. She was unconscious, but breathing.

  Then Amy saw what the problem was. Claire had tucked her arm in her shirt, but the break was so exaggerated that the arm bent where it shouldn’t. At least it hadn’t broken through the skin yet, but she could see the bone pushing against the forearm from the inside.

  Frank pulled a squad car up as close as he could get to Claire and opened the back door. “Let’s get her in here. No sense waiting for an ambulance. We can take her just as fast.”

  The four of them lifted Claire up and laid her in the back seat of the car. Amy got in from the other side and put Claire’s head on her lap, trying to stabilize her body. “Let’s go,” she said.

  “Just take it nice and easy.”

&
nbsp; Claire moaned and opened her eyes. “What?” she asked.

  “You’re going to be fine. We’re taking you to emergency. Hang in there.”

  “Chet?” Claire said the word as if there was more.

  “What about him?” Amy asked.

  “Chet got away.”

  “He was with you?”

  “He ran through the woods, then across the highway.”

  “Shit.” Amy turned and said to Frank. “I think Chet Baldwin’s loose. Maybe give a holler back to the department and let them know.”

  “He got away,” Claire mumbled again.

  “Don’t worry. The guys will find him.”

  Reaching down with her good hand, Claire felt along her other arm. “I think it’s broken.”

  “Looks like it.”

  Claire gave a wan smile. “At least it’s my left. I can still write and drive.”

  “You might have to take some time off.”

  Claire shook her head. Then she touched her broken arm again. “I suppose they’re going to have to straighten this out. Not looking forward to that.”

  * * *

  “Claire was right here. Looks like he ran into the woods down there a ways.” Bill pointed out a path in the underbrush.

  Sheriff Talbert glanced up at the sky, then shook his head. “What the hell do we do now? We haven’t arrested him, at least

  not formally. We need to talk to him, but I’m just not sure we should do a large-scale manhunt for Chet. Technically, no reason he couldn’t walk off if he wanted to.”

  “But what about assaulting a deputy sheriff?” Bill asked, disappointed that he wasn’t going to be allowed to organize a major search and concerned about the treatment of a fellow officer. “After all, Claire’s got a broken arm.”

  “Did he do that?”

  Bill had to admit he wasn’t sure. “Where do you think he’d go?”

  “Well, I’m sure he’s headed home. But who knows, he might have gone downtown for a cup of coffee.”