Where There's Smoke

She jumped onto the hood of her car and thrashed her legs, trying to kick away the howling attackers. Key emitted a shrill whistle that brought a sudden halt to the barking. A few of the hounds whimpered as they slunk back to their hideouts.

“Good Lord! I could have been chewed to pieces.”

“All’s clear now. Hurry.” He pushed open the screen door. Tentatively Lara placed one foot on the ground. Out of the darkness came a menacing growl, but when Key ordered, “Hush!” the dog fell silent.

She picked her way up to the porch. “Whose house is this? Why am I here?”

“Helen lost the baby.”

She stopped dead in her tracks and looked at him meaningfully. He motioned her inside with a brusque movement of his head. By the light of the Berrys’ homey living room, he noticed that Lara’s face was free of makeup. She hadn’t taken time to brush her hair. It was still pillow-tousled, reminding him of the first time he’d seen her. That night, she hadn’t known his name. She’d smiled at him a couple of times, even when threatening to notify the sheriff of his gunshot wound. She wasn’t smiling tonight. Her expression said she wouldn’t waste spit on him if he was on fire.

“Where is she?”

“Back here.”

“When did the spotting start?”

“Spotting?” he repeated. “She was goddamn near bleeding to death when I got here.”

He led her through a long, narrow hallway. The walls were decorated with framed photographs that chronicled the growth of a family. Time had yellowed some of them. The most recent one was of Helen in her graduation cap and gown.

Key stood aside and let Lara precede him into the bedroom where Helen lay in a single bed, clutching a teddy bear to her chest and quietly weeping.

“Helen? The doctor’s here.” He moved to the side of the bed and took her hand. It was flaccid and cold. He pressed it between his own, trying to restore animation and warmth.

He didn’t know which was worse, her abject despondency now or her previous hysteria. She had called him at The Palm. “It’s a woman,” Hap had said as he passed him the telephone receiver. “Says your sister told her to try and catch you here. She sounds stressed out.”

That had been an understatement. He’d hardly been able to hear her above the din inside the bar, but her alarm came through loud and clear. When he reached her house and rushed into the bedroom, he saw a copious amount of dark, clotted blood on her sheets. He’d immediately called Lara Mallory.

“Hello, Helen,” she said now, bending down and laying a gentle hand on Helen’s brow. “Everything’s going to be all right. I’ll take care of it, okay?”

Her bedside manner was flawless, but Helen didn’t buy it. “I lost my baby.”

“You’re sure?”

Helen nodded and glanced across the room. Lara followed her gaze to the soiled sheets which Key had stripped from the bed and piled up in the corner. Lara looked at him. “Will you excuse us, please?”

He gave Helen’s hand a hard squeeze. “Hang in there, sweetheart. I’ll be in the living room if you need me.”

“Thanks, Key.”

He backed out of the room. Lara was placing a blood pressure cuff around Helen’s arm as he closed the door. In the living room he posted himself at the wide picture window and stared out into the night. Away from the lights of town, the stars were brilliant. It never failed to astonish him how many there were. That was one of the reasons he loved night flying. Only then could he fully appreciate the vastness of the sky and know peace.

He wished like hell he were up there now.

A hound dog loped up onto the porch, slurped water from a bowl, yawned broadly, then dropped its head onto its front paws and went back to sleep. A night bird called plaintively. Occasionally the old lumber inside the walls would shift with a groan and a creak. Other than that, the house was quiet.

He wondered what was going on in the bedroom. How long would it take for Dr. Mallory to do whatever she was doing? Time crawled. When the bedroom door finally opened, he turned away from the window and rushed to meet her halfway down the hall. She was wearing surgical gloves and carrying the bloody sheets.

“Seeing these is upsetting her. They need to soak.”

He led her to a screened-in back porch that ran the width of the house. It was equipped with a deep utility sink, into which she put the sheets, and then turned on the cold water. “You know your way around the house very well.”

“Her daddy’s about the best hunter in East Texas. I’ve gone with him lots of times, ever since I was a kid.”

“That’s why you know how to call off the dogs.”

“Yes. This is where we cleaned up after dressing our kills.” He nodded down to the sink now filling with pink water.