Chapter 44
Chapter Forty-Four
Willa
A s I pulled up in front of the cottage, I frowned. Where was Cole’s car? He had practice tonight, and he always closed down the rink for Arthur on Thursdays.
But it was after eleven. He should have been home hours ago.
I walked inside, flipped the lights on, and called his phone.
Straight to voicemail.
With a huff, I kicked off my shoes. Then I changed my clothes and paced around the house, as if I’d find an answer hidden in a corner or behind a piece of furniture. This was so unlike him. He always texted if he was going to be late.
Maybe he’d stuck around to skate and shoot some pucks? He did that a lot, and I knew how much he loved having the ice to himself.
Even if that were the case, I couldn’t imagine he’d stay out past nine. Practice had ended hours ago. Had he had an accident? The roads were incredibly icy. It was February, for God’s sake.
Unease wound through me, upsetting me to the point that I called Jude.
“Have you heard from Cole? I went to dinner at Magnolia’s house and just got home.”
“Not since this morning. Doesn’t he have practice on Thursdays?” he asked, his casual tone irking me.
“Yes.” I nibbled on my thumbnail. “But it’s so late.”
He sighed. “It’s not even midnight, Willa.”
“Midnight?” I bit back far too loudly. “Midnight in Lovewell, Maine, is like three a.m. in a normal town.”
“He could have run into someone and struck up a conversation. Or maybe he went to the Moose?” Jude offered. “Or maybe he was hungry and drove to Heartsborough to get Wendy’s. He’s not the most responsible, and phone batteries die…”
I pinched the bridge of my nose, annoyance joining the party worry had started. “You know, your version of Cole sounds very different from mine. The man I’m married to comes home on time, texts on the rare occasion that he’ll be late, and never lets his phone battery die.”
I was pacing now, my stomach clenching painfully. I didn’t have time to lecture Jude about the man his brother had become. I had more important shit to do.
Like find my husband.
So I hung up without saying goodbye, threw my boots on, and grabbed my keys. If I had to drive around all night, I’d do it.
My heart was pounding in my ears as I drove into town. God, please let him be okay .
Deciding to start at the rink, I headed past town hall and down Route 16. When I pulled off into the dimly lit parking lot, I held my breath. Immediately, his Tahoe came into view, where it was parked sideways, taking up two spots.
I pulled up, cut my engine, and jumped out.
What the hell?
Cole was in the driver’s seat, slumped across the center console, unconscious.
Hands trembling, I tore the driver’s side door open and reached across his body to feel for a pulse.
Okay, strong pulse. Good sign.
And then the smell hit me.
Alcohol.
Heart racing, I scanned the interior. Quickly, I discovered two empty bottles of whiskey on the floorboard and another, this one unopened, in his cupholder.
What was going on?
“Cole,” I said, shaking him. By the way his body was contorted, he hadn’t just fallen asleep.
“Cole.” I shouted, grabbing his shoulders forcefully and pushing him with all my might.
One of his eyes opened, and I shook him even harder.
I needed to get him out of the car and examine him.
Just as I was trying to figure out how to maneuver his giant shoulders out the door, sirens wailed in the distance.
“Cole,” I said, pulling him onto the cold ground and silently thanking him and my own determination for the strength I’d built over the last few months. The jostling and the cold asphalt were enough to rouse him, thank God, and give me access to examine him fully.
As the sirens got louder, I peered over my shoulder. Had someone called 911? It wasn’t a bad idea. Who knew what could have happened to him.
The police and fire trucks were pulling into the parking lot when another odor hit me. A terrible smell that made my nostrils burn, like gasoline and chemicals.
I waved, hoping to get their attention, but they passed by and didn’t stop until they’d pulled up to the side of the building. I straightened and took off for the emergency vehicles. It wasn’t until I was a few yards away that I noticed a massive hole in the side of the building and the Zamboni on its side in the embankment of snow by the parking lot, with shorting lights and sparking wires and hoses and valves leaking and spraying icy chemicals in every direction. Oh my God. What had happened?
“Ma’am,” a voice called out. “Please step back.”
The man was decked out in turnout gear, so it took a moment to recognize him as Matt Graves, whose kids were my patients.
“It’s Dr. Savard,” I said, shoving my freezing, shaking hands into my pockets. “What happened?”
He shook his head. “Dunno. But we need to secure the scene. Please step back.”
With a nod, I spun, eager to get back to Cole. As the Tahoe came into sight, my heart stopped.
Chief Souza and his deputies were standing next to the vehicle. I took off, slipping on the ice but catching myself before I fell.
The chief stood over Cole, who was slumped against the driver’s side of the Tahoe, his hands on his belt and a look of pure pleasure on his face.
“Oh boy,” he said to Office Fielder. “Take photos. Do you see all those bottles?”
He tapped Cole’s leg with the toe of his boot and shook his head. “My, my. What kind of shit have you gotten yourself into now, boy?”
“Excuse me,” I said, stepping directly in front of Cole—who was awake but clearly not lucid—and forcing Chief Souza to take a step back.
“Dr. Savard, did you see the mess your husband made?”
Behind me, Fielder took photo after photo. With every click of the shutter, my eye twitched. Damn, I wanted to stomp on his phone. I didn’t know what they were implying, but this was not what it looked like.
“Hebert here got blackout drunk and drove the Zamboni through the building. And then did God knows what else. From what the fire crew is saying, the condensers are shot, and there are leaks everywhere.”
“I didn’t do anything,” Cole said slowly.
“You did.” The pompous prick stood over us, trying to intimidate us. “You have a record of petty crime. You’re only coaching hockey because of legally mandated community service, isn’t that right? And you just destroyed the place, meaning the rest of the season will be canceled for all those kids. Such a shame.”
“I love coaching,” Cole said, clutching his head, his eyes squeezed shut in pain. “And I love this rink. It’s where I grew up. I would never.”
Shit. I had to intervene. He clearly didn’t have all his faculties. Who knew what he might say.
I grabbed his shoulder and squeezed hard. He took the hint and closed his mouth.
“My husband did nothing wrong,” I said curtly. “He is ill, and I’m taking him home.” I had no legal experience, but every instinct I had was telling me to get him the hell out of here.
“No, ma’am. I’m afraid I can’t allow that. This is a crime scene.”
“No.” I crossed my arms and lifted my chin. “That—” I waved in the direction of the rink. “Is a crime scene. This is a parking lot, and we’re going home.”
The chief took a step toward me, his face softening. “Willa, I’ve known you your whole life. I have great respect for your parents, so I’m going to be honest with you. You married a drunk and a criminal. I know that’s hard to hear, but you’re a young woman with a bright future. Don’t ruin it by hitching your wagon to a Hebert.”
Rage flaring inside me, I took a step toward him, resisting the urge to throw a punch. “Do not talk about my husband like that.” I hissed. “You have no evidence, and he’s ill.”
“If you leave, then I’m gonna have to go wake up a judge and get a warrant. Then I’ll come all the way out to your house to arrest him.”
I glared at him. “There will be no need. You have no evidence, and he’s done nothing wrong. Looks like the environmental police have arrived.” I nodded at the vehicles pulling into the lot. “You should probably go deal with them.”
I squatted and draped Cole’s arm over my shoulder. Then, using all my strength, I got him to his feet. We did it, and I vowed never to complain about our morning workouts again.
Slowly, I walked him to my car, taking care not to slip, my mind spinning.
I pushed him into the front seat and peeled out of the parking lot. A mile down the road, I pulled over.
“What’s going on?” he asked as I fired off texts to his brothers. This was bad. Really bad. As I looked at his confused face, I knew in my bones he wasn’t drunk.
“Stay here,” I said, hopping out. Since the house call I’d made to Kara’s, I’d been keeping my medical kit in my trunk. I had everything I needed to perform field surgery if necessary.
“Take your shirt off.” I sanitized my hands and wiped everything down with alcohol pads.
“What are you doing?” he asked.
“Here.” I thrust a small container of ammonium carbonate near his face.
He gagged, his eyes going wide. “What is that?”
“Smelling salts,” I explained. “Shirt, now.”
He took off his layers, his movements still slow.
When he’d finished. I wiped him down with alcohol and tied a rubber tourniquet around his bicep.
“What is that?” he asked as I popped the top off the butterfly needle with my teeth.
“I’m drawing blood,” I said, steadying his arm. “You’ll feel a pinch.”
He dropped his head back against the seat and closed his eyes. “Why?”
“Shh,” I said, focusing on making sure there was adequate flow into the collection tube.
I popped out the first one and shoved a second in for good measure. Then I disconnected, slapped a Band-Aid on his arm, and wrote the date and time with a Sharpie on each.
“Drink this.” I shoved a plastic bottle of Pedialyte at him. “I may need a urine sample too.”
“Why do you need my blood?”
I shot him a look as I maneuvered through town.
“And where are we going?”
“Bangor,” I explained. “I have a friend at the lab who owes me a favor. I took your blood to test so we can figure out what happened to you.”
“I don’t remember. We had practice. I put the girls through some drills.” He shut his eyes again and breathed deeply. “Then I had to make ice. I wasn’t feeling well, so I made sure to drink extra water. I close up on Thursdays and then…” He trailed off.
His speech was slow, but he was coming out of the fog.
“Drink your Pedialyte,” I instructed. “And then try to rest. I’m calling your brothers. God knows what was done to you.”
“Done to me?” He frowned, his eyes glassy. “Do you believe me? I swear I didn’t drink. I haven’t had a drop since our wedding night.”
I glanced over at him again, taking in his drawn, sallow skin. I suspected he’d been drugged, but I’d let the lab confirm that. “Of course I believe you. You’re my husband.”