Part 45 (1/2)
Brett was getting close.
”You'd better go,” Kyle told me.
I knew Kyle was sacrificing himself. I gave him a nod of thanks and eased forward through the gathering bodies.
”Travis! Don't you leave!” Brett warned, pointing his night stick at me.
I hollered out my window, ”Just meet me at the clinic!” and kept going.
In my mirror I saw a four-way spat going between Brett Henchle, Kyle, the christ, and his long-lost mother. Then Rod joined up and they had a five-way going. Antioch was definitely an exciting place to visit.
I reached the clinic in two minutes. Charlie and Meg Fordyce were already there and took Sally inside. They'd gotten the word around. Morgan Elliott was also there, along with Jim Baylor, Joe and Emily Kelmer, and Bruce Hiddle. They all saw Sally's condition before her parents hurried her through the door, and now they gathered around me.
”Don't worry about a thing, Travis,” said Joe.
Morgan put one arm around me, gave me a quick hug, and let go.
”We'll see whose side old Henchle's on,” said Jim.
Brett Henchle screeched to a halt right beside my car and almost fell out, he was so upset. ”Travis-” Then he regarded the others standing around me and balked a little. ”Now folks, I wouldn't recommend getting involved in this.”
”Come into the clinic and have a look at Sally,” I said.
”First I'm taking you in!”
”No you're not,” said Joe. ”He was transporting an injury victim. It was an emergency.”
”I'll be the judge of that!”
Rod Stanton drove into the parking lot of the clinic with Kyle sitting in the back of his squad car.
Brett nodded toward his backup and said, ”It's over, folks. Now unless you all want to be arrested, you'll stand aside and let me do my duty.”
”I think you'd better take a look at Sally and do your duty!” Jim demanded.
”Let's do it,” said Rod.
Brett jerked his head around and glared at his deputy. ”I'm giving the orders here, deputy!” Then he noticed Kyle wasn't handcuffed. ”Where are his cuffs?”
”He's not under arrest.” It wasn't just a statement of fact. It was an act of defiance, and I could tell Rod knew it. ”He hasn't done anything wrong, and besides that, he helped me quell that second Jesus situation.”
”n.o.body's getting arrested here today,” said Joe.
”Unless it's Mr. Brandon, the home wrecker and lover beater!” said Jim, jabbing his finger toward the ranch.
”Brett,” I said, ”I'm hoping your loyalty is still to the law and to this community. If so, I'm sure you can understand my not stopping-”
”You resisted an officer, Travis! You resisted an officer, fled an officer, disobeyed an officer, acted like a jerk, made an officer look like a jerk . . .”
”Don't give us that *officer' business!” said Kyle. ”You're not an officer of the law-you're an officer for Brandon Nichols and you know it!”
Brett turned deliberately and put his hand on his gun. ”You want to say that again?”
Bruce interceded. ”Officer, I think Kyle is asking you to clarify where your loyalties lie: with the law, and justice, and the good of this community, or with Brandon Nichols. Just who's calling the shots here?”
Brett just stood there, stuck.
Rod tapped Brett's arm with the back of his fingers. ”C'mon. Let's talk to Sally and take it from there.”
For an agonizing moment, the only sound was Brett's labored, angry breathing.
Finally, abruptly, Brett started toward the door of the clinic, but not without barking a few ”last word” orders. ”I want this parking lot cleared! If you've no business here, then clear out! Now!”
I tagged Kyle and Morgan. ”Let's get to a phone.”
I HELD THE RECEIVER to my ear and dialed the number I got from information. ”Come on, now, time's getting tight.”
I was sitting in Morgan's office at the Methodist church. Morgan and Kyle were sitting in the church office behind the foyer, listening in on a speakerphone, its microphone muted. We all listened as the telephone rang at the other end once, twice, three times, four times- ”h.e.l.lo?” The voice sounded grumpy, gravelly, and a little slurred.
”h.e.l.lo, is this the Cantwell residence?”
”Yeah, who's this?” The man could have been drunk. It was hard to understand him.
”h.e.l.lo, I'm Travis Jordan. I live in Antioch, Was.h.i.+ngton. I suppose you've read about us in the papers-”
”No.”
”Oh. Well, I'm calling to speak to Lois Cantwell.”
”She's not home right now.” This guy could never get a job telephone soliciting, that was for sure. He could get a job discouraging solicitors.
”Well then, is this Reverend Ernest Cantwell?”
”Yeah, who's this?”
I told him who I was again. ”I think we might have a mutual acquaintance. Would you by any chance have a son named Justin?”
There was silence at the other end, but I could hear a labored breathing.
”Are you there?”
”I don't have a son named Justin, no.”
”Any relation at all named Justin?”
”No.”
”Do you have a son?”
”No!” The tone of his voice told me otherwise.