telephone arranging an appointment. Though her voice remained professionally serious, her lips shaped a smile around her words as she saw Wintone.
“I guess you’re here about Claude Borne,” she said when she’d hung up the phone. She looked tired, and the slightly wilted red chrysanthemum pinned to her white uniform did little to add color to her pretty but haggard features.
“Claude’s what I’m here about,” Wintone confirmed. He felt he should apologize to Sarah for his anger at their last meeting, yet he still resented her intrusion into his most private thoughts. He figured it best to let the matter lie.
“It was like the Larsen boy …” Sarah seemed to blanch even paler. The red flower on her dress was like a splash of blood. “The same kind of horrible injuries … the lower bone in his right arm was crushed almost flat. Doc Amis said he’d never seen that sort of injury except in industrial accidents.”
“Is the doc in?”
Sarah nodded, pressed an intercom button. “Billy Wintone is here.”
Doc Amis’s voice said over the intercom that he’d be right out.
“Looks like business is slow,” Wintone said, glancing at the waiting room’s empty vinyl chairs.
“Is slow right now,” Sarah said. “In a town this size where you know most everybody, you’re glad to see it slow.”
Wintone smiled at her. “Same way with my business.”
“Maybe things’ll slow down even more for you with all those tourists an’ such leavin’ the area. Leastways you’ll only have this Bonegrinder thing to take up your time.”
“Way it looks, it’s gonna take up a lot of my time. I really figured it’d be over with the Larsen boy … one of those unexplainable things that just happens every so many years somewhere or other.”
Sarah seemed to look into herself, shook her head in a series of quick little tremors as if cold. “Lord, what could it be?”
“Everybody has a theory,” Wintone said, “but what they want is some real live late-night horror-show creature bent on killin’. Or that’s what they wanted till a few days ago, when it looked like they got their wish.”
“Claude Borne described it, didn’t he?”
“As best he could.”
Sarah appeared thoughtful. “Nothin’s ever been spotted in the lake before, but then this end of the lake’s been left pretty much alone. An’ the country’s wild, frightening.”
Wintone was surprised to hear her say that; she’d been raised here.
Doc Amis came into the waiting room, gray, erect and noble. Wintone often thought that many a politician would give up his graft to look like the doctor.
Wintone nodded to him. “Claude Borne,” he said.
Doc Amis slipped the fingertips of his right hand into a vest pocket. “He died of massive internal hemorrhaging. He was broken up inside, Billy.”
“Outside, too,” Wintone said.
“Either way it’s loss of blood, loss of life.”
“Was Claude one of your patients, Doc?”
Doc Amis nodded, keeping his gray eyes fixed on Wintone. “Most everyone in these parts is, one time or another.”
“What was wrong with him?”
Doc Amis seemed to consider answering for a moment. “Cirrhosis of the liver, almost to the serious stage.”
“How were you treating him?”
“High-protein, high-carbohydrate diet supplemented by vitamin-B complex and liver extract.”
“What about alcohol?”
“I prohibited it.”
“How long ago?”
The doctor walked to a file cabinet, pulled open a drawer and checked inside a yellow folder. “Almost a year,” he said. “Borne had shown some improvement, too.” He replaced the folder and shoved the long drawer shut, shaking his head. “Hell, I should have let him drink and enjoy himself.”
“You shoulda told him not to go fishin’.”
“Everything’s a lot simpler lookin’ back on it,” Sarah said, fixing her gaze on Wintone, then looking down and rearranging some envelopes on her desk.
“Was there any alcohol content in Claude’s blood?”
“I guess you’re here about Claude Borne,” she said when she’d hung up the phone. She looked tired, and the slightly wilted red chrysanthemum pinned to her white uniform did little to add color to her pretty but haggard features.
“Claude’s what I’m here about,” Wintone confirmed. He felt he should apologize to Sarah for his anger at their last meeting, yet he still resented her intrusion into his most private thoughts. He figured it best to let the matter lie.
“It was like the Larsen boy …” Sarah seemed to blanch even paler. The red flower on her dress was like a splash of blood. “The same kind of horrible injuries … the lower bone in his right arm was crushed almost flat. Doc Amis said he’d never seen that sort of injury except in industrial accidents.”
“Is the doc in?”
Sarah nodded, pressed an intercom button. “Billy Wintone is here.”
Doc Amis’s voice said over the intercom that he’d be right out.
“Looks like business is slow,” Wintone said, glancing at the waiting room’s empty vinyl chairs.
“Is slow right now,” Sarah said. “In a town this size where you know most everybody, you’re glad to see it slow.”
Wintone smiled at her. “Same way with my business.”
“Maybe things’ll slow down even more for you with all those tourists an’ such leavin’ the area. Leastways you’ll only have this Bonegrinder thing to take up your time.”
“Way it looks, it’s gonna take up a lot of my time. I really figured it’d be over with the Larsen boy … one of those unexplainable things that just happens every so many years somewhere or other.”
Sarah seemed to look into herself, shook her head in a series of quick little tremors as if cold. “Lord, what could it be?”
“Everybody has a theory,” Wintone said, “but what they want is some real live late-night horror-show creature bent on killin’. Or that’s what they wanted till a few days ago, when it looked like they got their wish.”
“Claude Borne described it, didn’t he?”
“As best he could.”
Sarah appeared thoughtful. “Nothin’s ever been spotted in the lake before, but then this end of the lake’s been left pretty much alone. An’ the country’s wild, frightening.”
Wintone was surprised to hear her say that; she’d been raised here.
Doc Amis came into the waiting room, gray, erect and noble. Wintone often thought that many a politician would give up his graft to look like the doctor.
Wintone nodded to him. “Claude Borne,” he said.
Doc Amis slipped the fingertips of his right hand into a vest pocket. “He died of massive internal hemorrhaging. He was broken up inside, Billy.”
“Outside, too,” Wintone said.
“Either way it’s loss of blood, loss of life.”
“Was Claude one of your patients, Doc?”
Doc Amis nodded, keeping his gray eyes fixed on Wintone. “Most everyone in these parts is, one time or another.”
“What was wrong with him?”
Doc Amis seemed to consider answering for a moment. “Cirrhosis of the liver, almost to the serious stage.”
“How were you treating him?”
“High-protein, high-carbohydrate diet supplemented by vitamin-B complex and liver extract.”
“What about alcohol?”
“I prohibited it.”
“How long ago?”
The doctor walked to a file cabinet, pulled open a drawer and checked inside a yellow folder. “Almost a year,” he said. “Borne had shown some improvement, too.” He replaced the folder and shoved the long drawer shut, shaking his head. “Hell, I should have let him drink and enjoy himself.”
“You shoulda told him not to go fishin’.”
“Everything’s a lot simpler lookin’ back on it,” Sarah said, fixing her gaze on Wintone, then looking down and rearranging some envelopes on her desk.
“Was there any alcohol content in Claude’s blood?”
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