The boy looked too alert.
“Every four hours?”
“Yes.”
Nola watched.
Wren uncorked the bottle.
Smelled it.
Then:
“I’ll bring another tomorrow.”
Nola spoke casually.
“No need.”
Wren looked toward her.
“I found more downstairs.”
Silence.
“More?”
“Yes.”
“In Mrs. Hale’s old box.”
The doctor’s pupils seemed to tighten.
Nola continued:
“Same bottle.”
“Same color.”
“Same curious sediment.”
Garrick’s hand curled behind his back.
Wren recovered.
“Old medicine should not be used.”
“Why?”
“Preparations degrade.”
“Interesting.”
Nola stepped closer.
“I used to work in an apothecary.”
That changed him.
Not much.
Enough.
“Oh?”
“Yes.”
“St. Joseph.”
“Old Mr. Bell’s shop.”
“Perhaps you know it.”
“I do not.”
Nola nodded toward the bottle.
“What is the active compound?”
Wren’s smile disappeared.
“The formulation is proprietary.”
“To whom?”
“My supplier.”
“Which supplier?”
He looked toward Garrick.
“Your housekeeper is unusually curious.”
Garrick replied:
“She asks questions.”
“I noticed.”
Wren closed his case.
“I recommend continuing the prescribed treatment.”
Nola said:
“Of course.”
The doctor looked at her.
For one second, neither pretended.
Then he left.
Garrick watched from the window.
Wren mounted.
Instead of turning north toward Hollow Creek town, he rode south.
Nola’s pulse quickened.
“Where is he going?”
Garrick stared.
“Crow land.”
They waited ten minutes.
Then Garrick saddled two horses.
Nola looked at the mare he assigned her.
“You assume I ride.”
“You crossed half the territory.”
“On a stagecoach.”
“You can ride?”
“Yes.”
“Then why complain?”
“Habit.”
He almost smiled.
Eli appeared at the barn.
“I’m coming.”
“No.”
Both adults said it simultaneously.
The boy glared.
Nola pointed toward the house.
“Your brother needs somebody here.”
“Clara—”
“Is five.”
“I’m almost eleven.”
“Magnificent.”
“You’re staying.”
Eli looked toward Garrick.
His father nodded.
“For once she’s right.”
“For once?”
Nola stared.
Garrick mounted quickly.
Coward.
They followed Wren at a distance.
The trail cut through scrub pine and low ridges where late-summer grass had turned pale beneath the sun.
Wren did not look back.
After five miles, he crossed a dry wash and climbed toward Crow’s property.
Garrick’s jaw tightened.
Nola whispered:
“Not proof.”
“He rode straight there.”
“Still not proof.”
“You enjoy saying that.”
“I enjoy keeping you out of prison.”
“Debatable.”
They reached a ridge overlooking Vernon Crow’s ranch.
Crow’s headquarters was larger than Hollow Creek.
Fresh-painted barn.
Wide corrals.
Several hired men.
A two-story house with a deep porch.
Wren rode into the yard.
Vernon Crow came outside before the doctor even dismounted.
As if he had been expected.
Nola and Garrick lay low behind the ridge.