Murder in the Smokies - By Paula Graves Page 0,52

Brothers slaughter the hogs and drain their blood. Apparently one big old fellow had an aneurysm somewhere in his system that didn’t bust until we dropped him on the way into the truck. Made an unholy mess, but since all the other meat is kept in the coolers, which are sanitized daily, I figured we could wait until after delivery to clean out the mess in the truck.” Pennock looked defensive. “Other people do it, too. I mean, nobody ever said there was a rule about it.”

“Other people?” Ivy asked. “You’ve seen other trucks being cleaned out after hours?”

Pennock’s brow furrowed. “You’re security, too?”

“Actually, she’s a police officer.” Sutton didn’t mention the different jurisdiction.

“Oh. This is against the law or something?” Pennock looked alarmed. “I swear I didn’t know. I won’t ever do it again.”

“Did you see other trucks cleaned out after hours?” she repeated, ignoring his sudden nervousness.

Pennock glanced at Sutton, as if looking for moral support. “A time or two.”

“Recently?”

“I saw one maybe a month ago,” Pennock answered. “Is there something going on?”

“Do you remember anything about the truck you saw a month ago?” Ivy pressed.

He shook his head. “It was just a truck. They were parked here and some guy was mucking out the back. That’s how I got the idea it was okay to clean up after hours.”

“Do you remember what was in the back?”

Pennock’s alarm was back. “No. Just something wet. I didn’t get a good look. I don’t even remember if there was any sort of sign on the side.”

Ivy looked at Sutton, frustration lining her features. As she opened her mouth to say something, Sutton’s phone buzzed in his pocket. He gave her an apologetic look and moved away from them, checking the number. It was a local Tennessee area code, the number unfamiliar. Sutton almost ignored the call. But at the last moment before it went to voice mail, he answered. “Sutton Calhoun.”

“Sutton, it’s Seth. Your daddy’s had a fall and he’s in the E.R.”

* * *

“IT’S A CLEAN BREAK of the humerus, about three inches above the elbow.” Cleve Calhoun’s doctor was a very young orthopedic surgeon who had introduced himself as Dr. Choudry. What he lacked in age and experience, he made up for in composure and confidence. “Right now he’s stable and resting under a mild sedative. We were able to realign the bones without surgery, but given his age and his stroke-related disabilities, we’ll want to keep him in the hospital for at least three more days, until we’re satisfied he can deal with the cast and its limitations on his movement.”

Sutton wanted to feel relieved that his father’s injury wasn’t far worse. It certainly could have been—Seth had looked pale and pinched when he greeted Sutton’s arrival to the River Bend Medical Center, as if the past few hours had taken years off his life span. “He tried walking on his own,” Seth had explained on the elevator ride to the fourth-floor waiting room.

“Why would he do such a thing?”

Seth had looked reluctant to answer.

“What aren’t you telling me?” Sutton had pushed.

“He kept yelling your name as he got up,” Seth had replied. “I heard him all the way from the kitchen, but by the time I got there, he’d already taken a tumble.” Seth had led him down the hall to the waiting area, where several other people sat in groups of two or three around the large room, but it wasn’t so crowded that they’d had trouble finding a couple of seats to themselves away from the others.

“You heard him say my name?”

“One of the clearest things I’ve heard him say,” Seth had admitted.

“What do you think it means?” The question had spilled from his lips before he could stop it.

“Maybe seeing you reminded him of what he used to be like,” Seth had suggested. “Could be he wants to be like that again.”

They’d waited another half hour before Dr. Choudry had arrived to catch them up on his father’s condition.

“Do you have any questions?” Dr. Choudry asked.

It was Seth, not Sutton, who answered. “His head was bleeding like it had cracked open. You didn’t even mention that.”

“It was a superficial cut. Head wounds can often bleed profusely. But the EMTs said he hadn’t lost consciousness, and the CAT scan showed no signs of a closed head injury. We’ll keep an eye on his vitals, but I don’t see any reason for concern. You’re free to visit with him until visiting hours are over. Just