A Stirring from Salem Read Online Free PDF Page B

had.
    Glancing out across Hyde Park, she could see stragglers heading toward the end of the parade route.
    “You know who I am? Don’t you?” she said quietly. Then she downed the stiff libation.

Bill was nursing an unbelievable hangover when he heard Patch’s Jeep pull into the gravel driveway.
    He was not ready for company, especially Patch.
    The year had been a long one for Bill Horton. Both his older brother, Mickey, and his beloved mother, Alice, had died. The year anniversary of Mickey’s death was in a week, and it weighed heavily on Bill’s shoulders. Had he been in Salem at the time, would he have been able to save his brother?
    The answer, of course, was no. Mickey had died of a massive heart attack before the paramedics arrived, so even the most celebrated heart surgeon in the world would have been helpless.
    The brothers had had a long and complicated relationship. They had been in love with the same woman, Laura, who had borne a child who was Bill’s biological son but who had grown up thinking Mickey was his father.
    Laura was now Bill’s estranged wife, and he’d seen her again at his mother’s funeral. He’d also seen his daughter, Jennifer, and his son, Lucas, who was the product of an illicit relationship years earlier. All in all, it had been an emotionally tumultuous time.
    The doorbell rang.
    Bill sighed and then got up from his leather chair. Over the hills, a crack of lightning lit up the sky, signaling an encroaching thunderstorm.
    “Hey,” Bill said as he opened the door.
    “Hey,” Patch answered. “Can I come in?”
    “If I said no, would it make a difference?” Bill asked lightly. He and Patch had become friends. He didn’t dislike the guy, but he wasn’t in the mood for company.
    “Not really,” Patch said, entering.
    “Some iced tea?” Bill offered.
    “Sure.”
    Bill padded to the kitchen and took a pitcher of sweet tea from the fridge. Nothing was said as Bill poured a tall glass for Patch. Nothing had to be said.
    Patch took a long drink. “He lost a lot of blood, but he made it.”
    “Great.” Bill sighed with relief. “From what I could tell, he was shot by some bastard trying to poach a rhino.”
    “I hear the guy succeeded.”
    “Too many of them do,” Bill said.
    The desire for rhino horn had escalated tremendously since they’d opened the clinic. More than two hundred rhino had been poached in South Africa alone in the past year. While rhino horn had always been cherished by wealthy Chinese for use in herbal medicines and for aphrodisiacs, it had recently gained more popularity than ever around the world, even though science had proven it produced nothing more than a placebo effect.
    “At eight thousand for an ounce of powdered horn on the black market, I guess that’ll happen,” Patch admitted.
    There was a long silence, punctuated by one of the quick summer downpours that could happen on a moment’s notice.
    “Wish I could tell you what happened, Patch, but I’m clueless.”
    “You left Kayla holding the bag. Or the scalpel, I guess.”
    “And the last thing I remember is driving into Ngala.” Bill noticed Patch’s quizzical expression. “I had a quick one with Cornelius at the Trading Post and then headed for New Year’s Eve drinks with the VP from First National in Jo’burg. I got the call about the ranger on my way and called Cornelius, then you.”
    “He never got the message,” Patch said.
    “I called him,” Bill said, defending himself. “Then Kayla.”
    “What was so important at Ngala?” Patch queried.
    “Mueller, the VP,” Bill said. “I heard that guy never stops working, even on a holiday. At least I hoped so.”
    Bill’s expression was glum. The lines on his handsome but well-worn face were more prominent than ever.
    “Talk to me.”
    “I am so sorry.” Bill sighed heavily. “We’re broke, Patch. We’ll be flat broke at the end of this month. He’s my last gasp.”
    “We? You mean Tom-Ali?”
    Bill nodded.