South of Superior - Ellen Airgood [96]
“I’d be pleased to if you’re sure it’s not an imposition.”
Of course not, Gladys assured him stiffly. He shook all their hands, saving Arbutus for last, and held hers a little longer than he might have.
Just as he pulled out of the drive they heard a siren wailing. Gladys went to call Mabel Brink, as she did every time the ambulance went out, because Mabol had a scanner. Arbutus went in the parlor and turned on the television to catch the tail end of her favorite program. Madeline went to the kitchen sink and ran dishwater and Gladys was taken aback, but decided not to stop her. Not Until after she’d made her phone call anyway.
Two minutes later Gladys set down the phone and went into the kitchen, feeling dazed. “Mabel says it’s a car accident down the highway. I guess they think it’s Randi, with those summer kids she’s been running around with lately. It’s bad, she says.”
Madeline looked as shocked as Gladys felt. “What kids? The last I heard she was working for Paul and at the bar, how would she have time to run around? And what about Greyson, did Mabel know?”
“She didn’t know. With Randi, I’d have to think. Jo Jo Finn’s out of town, and Fran Kacks put her back out last week, had to tell Randi she couldn’t sit anymore. Maybe he’s at the Trackside, but—” Gladys shook her head, full of trepidation.
“I’m going to go see,” Madeline said, wiping her hands on her jeans and heading for the door. She looked apprehensive but resolved. She was going to do something, and Gladys was relieved.
22
The accident happened eight miles south of town, on the sharp curve that people sometimes missed if they were going too fast.
Madeline pulled to a stop well out of the way. The wrecked car was an older sedan, and it sat sideways to the road, its hood crumpled into a power pole, the side banged and creased, skid marks making figure eights on the road. Three kids stood huddled Under blankets, their faces somber and frightened. Madeline recognized them from Garceau’s—summer people, college kids. Too late, too late, Madeline thought. We’re always too late to realize our mistakes, all of us.
The ambulance crew was working on the front passenger’s side, which was crumpled from the force of the impact. One of the crew was the basket-making woman. Madeline recognized the man from the gas station, too. He and John Fitzgerald were carrying a stretcher toward the car. John’s expression was bleak. Madeline felt sick.
She heard sirens approaching from the south and within minutes, two state police cars arrived. Then Paul’s car appeared on the horizon, headed north from Crosscut. He pulled over and Madeline ran toward him.
“What’s going on?” he asked.
Madeline had decided as she ran just to say it, flat out. “I think Randi’s in the car. I think it’s bad. I’m so sorry. I’m sorry you had to find out this way.”
His face went blank. “No. That can’t be her, she’s supposed to be at work in fifteen minutes. I don’t even know whose car that is.” His eyes widened with a further realization. “Greyson?”
“I don’t know,” Madeline said, and felt her hands begin to shake. Paul looked as if he was going to be sick. Madeline took a ragged breath. “I’m going to see if I can find out anything.” She was terrified to go closer, terrified of what she’d learn, but she headed across the highway anyway.
A policeman stopped her before she got to the other side. “Ma’am,” he barked. “Stay back. Get back in your vehicle and move along.”
“I know. I’m sorry. But we heard it was our friend in the car, his girlfriend. I—we need to know.” She looked back at Paul who stood with his arms wrapped around himself.
“I can’t help you. Get back in your vehicle. You’re in the way.”
“I’m sorry, I am. But—is she alive? Is it Randi?”
“I don’t know who it is, and I don’t know their condition.”
“But there’s a woman in the car?”
After a moment the officer nodded, his eyes steely. “Yes, ma’am, there is.”
“Is there a child, too? A little