"Dr. Galloway asked me to check our files again myself after your last visit," she added. "The only Sheehan we've seen her is a sixty-eight-year-old male, Joseph. The doctor treated him for conjunctivitis."

"That's her father," Frank said. "Dr. Galloway wrote Joe a prescription, which he filled months ago. That still leaves us with the question of how Mary Pat got the prescription for the antibiotic."

"May I hazard a guess?" Constance asked. "Perhaps Mr. Sheehan took a blank from the prescription pad for his own purposes. The older folks on limited incomes are always looking for a way to save money. He might have seen this as a way to extend another prescription-maybe one for his wife-without having to pay for a checkup with her physician."

Constance continued in her soft, reasonable voice. "He could have been saving it for a rainy day. Then his daughter found it and used it. He probably wouldn't want to admit that to you."

Frank supposed it was possible, but Constance seemed a little too pleased with the explanation. "What about Judy Penniman? She's in here a lot. She's an LPN."

"Judy?" Constance's brow furrowed. "What about her?"

"You both happen to live on Harkness Road. The place where Mary Pat died. The place she visited regularly during her pregnancy."

Contance smoothed her gleaming silver hair and bit her lower lip. "Ah, Judy. She has a very difficult life, you know. Her son's therapy is so expensive. I'd hate to think that she would take prescription blanks and sell them, but I suppose it's possible." She pondered this for a moment, then shook her head and met Frank's eye. "But I doubt it. She can be a little brusque at times, but I'm sure she's quite honest."

"All right-one more question. When is the last time you saw Diane Sarens?"

Constance looked at him blankly. "Diane Sarens? That name doesn't ring a bell."

"She's a patient here. A young, pregnant, unmarried patient."

Constance tilted her head to one side and regarded him with birdlike puzzlement. "Really? The nurse on duty would check the weight and blood pressure of a pregnant patient before Dr. Galloway sees her. This girl must always have come in when Elaine was working, not me. Otherwise, I'm sure I would remember her."

Constance Stiler displayed no signs of nervousness. Either she was telling the truth or she was the kind of liar who could trump a lie dectector test. "Okay. Thank you, Mrs. Stiler. Could you send Dr. Galloway in now, please?"

Frank stood in the doorway of the examining room to make sure Constance had no opportunity to prep Galloway before he entered. Stacey had obviously alerted the doctor to Frank's visit, because Constance merely tapped on the door of the other examining room and nodded toward Frank.

Galloway entered with a scowl. "Now what?"

Frank saw no reason to be any more polite than he. "Given any more thought to how Mary Pat Sheehan got that prescription?"

"I think it must have been the father," Galloway said. "He's been a patient here. He's a short, stocky guy with reddish-gray hair, right?"

Frank nodded.

"I remember when I was examining him, I got interrupted. Some woman came into the waiting room screaming b.l.o.o.d.y murder that her son had chopped his finger off. I had to check on him, and I left Mr. Sheehan alone. Probably I had just pulled out my prescription pad. I'm sure that was it."

"So you're saying he stole it in advance, knowing his daughter might need it months down the line?"

"Of course not," Galloway snapped. "More likely he was planning a drive up to Canada to buy a two-year supply of blood-pressure medication. That's what all the old people do-save money, or die trying."

This sounded a lot like Constance's theory. Had they planned to give him the same story, or was it really the logical explantion?

"Maybe," Frank said. "Now, there's one other little matter."

Galloway scowled. "What?"

"One of your other pregnant patients seems to have disappeared. I'm wondering if you can help me locate Diane Sarens?"

Galloway stepped backward and stumbled into a chair. He caught the chair before he fell and sank into it.

"Let's start from the beginning," Frank said. "Diane Sarens is a patient of yours?"

Galloway coughed. "Yes, but she's close to delivering. I turned her file over to the obstetrician in Saranac Lake last month."

"But you've seen her since then."

Galloway shook his head. "No."

"Don't lie to me!" Frank stepped directly in front of the doctor and loomed over him. "I saw you talking to the girl on the porch of the Rock Slide."

Galloway's eyes blinked rapidly and he shifted in his seat. "Oh, that...well, I just ran into her there."

"You were talking to her for some time." Frank didn't know how long they'd been there, but it was worth a shot.

"She was upset. I just..." Galloway's voice trailed off.

"Upset about what?"

"It's confidential-she's my patient."

"Let me just see if I can guess," Frank snapped. "She was upset about what to do with her baby when it's born. And maybe you were telling her how you could take it off her hands. That there might even be a little money in it for her, and the baby would go to a nice rich couple. Is that what you were talking about?"

"No!" Galloway protested. The horror on his face was unmistakable. "No, it was nothing like that. I've been trying to help her. She's got nothing to do with what happened to Mary Pat Sheehan."

"Well then, explain it. And tell me where she is."

"I can't." Galloway seemed to find some inner reserve of courage. "I won't betray her trust."

The radio on Frank's belt squawked to life, startling them both. "Frank? Frank?" Earl scrupulously adhered to proper radio procedure; something must have panicked him.

"Trout Run One here, over."

"Frank, a call just came in from the Mountain Vista Motel. Mr. Patel has been shot!"

27.

"SHOT? YOU MEAN in a robbery?" Frank was already out the door as he spoke into the radio.

"I don't know. Someone who's staying at the motel called it in. I could hardly understand her, she was so worked up. I sent the Rescue Squad over there."

"Good. I'll be at the motel in ten minutes. You sit tight," he added, in case Earl got any clever ideas to head to the scene himself.

Frank flicked on the siren and lights, urging the cars in front of him onto the shoulder as he sped past. Who would rob the Mountain Vista in broad daylight? For that matter, why would they even choose the motel as a target? Patel would be unlikely to have much cash on hand-most people paid for a motel with a credit card. Maybe the thief had been breaking into rooms looking for valuables, and Mr. Patel had surprised him. He hoped the poor man hadn't been killed trying to protect some tourist's camera.

Frank soon pulled into the Mountain Vista parking lot, glad to see that the community ambulance of Trout Run and Verona was already there. As he ran toward the motel, the office door opened and Roger Einhorn emerged, waving Frank in his direction. Then the volunteer paramedic disappeared back inside.

As Frank drew closer, he could see splotches of bright red blood on the sidewalk leading to the office door. He pulled it open, expecting the worst.

Mr. Patel lay on a stretcher. The little man's chestnut-brown face had an ashy gray cast to it and blood stained his beige pants. The right sleeve of his white shirt had been cut away and his arm was wrapped in layers of gauze. He looked bad, but thank G.o.d, he was alive.

"Roger, Mr. Patel, what happened here?"

"I have been shot!" Mr. Patel said in his high voice. "Shot as I go about my work in my own place of business!"

"Roger, can I get a statement before you take him to the hospital?" Frank asked. If there was any chance of catching the shooter, he needed information now.

Mr. Patel answered before Roger could open his mouth. "Yes, yes. I want to talk. Hospital can wait."

He turned his head toward Frank. "I am in the back taking the garbage out when I hear a loud bang. The next thing, a big force has knocked me over. Only a moment later do I feel a burning in my arm. I see the blood. I am shot!"

"Looks like the bullet pa.s.sed right through the fleshy part of his arm," Roger said. "He was incredibly lucky."

"I crawl to office, in case they shoot again. The woman in Room Ten is pulling in just then. She called for help."

Frank could see part of a gra.s.sy backyard that ran for about seventy-five feet behind the motel before turning into dense woods. "You mean the shot came from the woods?" he asked. "This wasn't a robbery?"

"No, no. No one is trying to steal from me. But I know why this has happened."

"You do?"

"Yes. It is because of that meeting on Monday. Because I spoke against closing Raging Rapids."

"You weren't the only one to oppose it," Frank pointed out.

"Ah, yes. But I am the only foreigner to say this. They make of me an example, a warning, because I am Indian."

"Who?" Frank and Roger asked together.

"That group, that Green Tomorrow."

The ambulance tore away, siren blaring. Frank hesitated for a moment. Everything in his experience told him it would be foolishly risky to charge into those woods by himself to look for the shooter. He had radioed the state police for backup, but depending on where the trooper on duty was at the moment, it could be half an hour until help arrived. The shooter was probably long gone, anyway.

He started making the rounds of the guest rooms, but apart from the woman who had called in the report, all the rooms were empty at midday.

Roger said the bullet had pa.s.sed clean through Mr. Patel's arm. Frank took gloves and plastic bags from the patrol car, then went around back to look for the bullet. Immediately he saw a small round hole in the side of the heavy yellow plastic can, but no exit hole on the other side. The bullet was somewhere in there. Frank sighed and picked up his radio. If ever there was a project that he could use Earl's help with, this was it.

Earl arrived within minutes, and Frank filled him in as they dug through bags of paper towels and soap wrappers and the remains of Mr. Patel's curry.

"So you think someone with Green Tomorrow shot Mr. Patel?" Earl asked.

Frank shrugged. "I don't want to jump to conclusions. More likely he was. .h.i.t by a careless hunter. He was wearing a white shirt, you know."

"Yeah, except they're still hunting bear now, not deer. And no one could mistake little Mr. Patel for a bear."

Frank nodded as he shook the near-solid contents of an ancient quart of milk. "Still, people have been known to get a little overeager for opening day of deer season."

Earl wasn't buying it. "You don't poach in broad daylight, Frank. Why shouldn't it be Green Tomorrow? After all, they've blown things up out West."

Frank sat back on his haunches amid the sea of trash. "They could be retaliating for what happened to Nathan Golding and the attempt on Katie Petrucci. But why go after Mr. Patel? All the poor man said was that closing Raging Rapids would be bad for business."

"He explained it himself-because he's Indian."

"That doesn't fit," Frank answered. "Green Tomorrow's a bunch of ultra-left-wing types. They're more likely to go after a redneck white guy like Roy Fenstock."

"Wasn't Nathan Golding staying at the Mountain Vista the night before he was shot?" Earl asked. "Maybe they had an argument."

Frank shook his head. "Mr. Patel claims he didn't know who Golding was at the time."

Earl sank his gloved hand into a tangle of cold spaghetti in a carryout tin. "Here it is!" He held up what looked to be a 9mm bullet.

Frank stared at it. "That's not from a hunting rifle-that's from a pistol." So it definitely wasn't a hunting accident. Had the gunman really been trying to kill Patel, or just scare him off?

Earl glanced back at the woods. "You'd have to be a very good shot to even hit a man, shooting from clear over there with a revolver."

The arrival of two state troopers ended their speculations. Together, they searched the woods until the fading light made it useless to continue. They found nothing.

There was no question now about waiting for Katie to uncover information about Green Tomorrow's motivations. The attack on Mr. Patel moved the talk with Stan Fenstock to the front burner. But as Frank headed out to Raging Rapids on Monday morning, Doris stopped him.

"They're going to be too busy to talk to you," she said. "Stan took off for a long weekend and they're really shorthanded. April called my house last night, wondering if my Jeff could fill in."

Frank pivoted and returned to his desk. He sat staring at the phone, considering whether to call Abe now or wait for Stan to get back.

"Remember there at the end of the meeting, Abe Fenstock said something about pa.s.sing up another opportunity to sell Raging Rapids?" Earl asked. "I wonder what he meant by that?"

Frank had forgotten all about it, but now he could picture Abe up at the podium, right before the whole meeting had dissolved in an uproar, making his "over my dead body" speech.

"Maybe it's nothing," Earl said. He still had trouble distinguishing between Frank thinking and Frank ignoring him.

"No, it's not nothing. It's a very good observation."

Earl beamed as Frank s.n.a.t.c.hed up the phone.

"Say, Abe," he began after April had put him through, "Earl just reminded me of something you said at that meeting the other day. Something about another offer to sell Raging Rapids that you didn't take. When was that?"

"Last year. Some lawyer called me from the city. Said his client was some company that wanted to buy my land. He offered me a million dollars. I said no."

"Just like that? Did your family agree that was the right thing to do?" Frank could imagine quite a family showdown over a million-dollar offer.

"I didn't even tell them, but then the guy wrote me a letter doubling the offer. Stan opened that, and he thought we ought to consider it. But Roy and I talked him out of it."

"How come? Two million's nothing to sneeze at."