Free Paperwhite Narcissus by Cynthia Riggs Page B

her into the back. The ambulance started up, the siren cut in, and the flashing red lights disappeared down State Road in the direction of the hospital.
    Victoria turned back to the man and boy.
    “I’m Sean Michaels,” the father said. “And this is my son Sean.”

    Young Sean was shivering. “I didn’t know she was there,” he said. “I didn’t see her at all.”
    “Tell me what happened,” Casey said gently. “I know you’ve got permission from the owner to shoot here.”
    The father shifted uncomfortably. “Thursday is my day off. We wanted to get in one last practice shoot before my cousin Wilfred moves his hay.” He pointed to a stack of about a dozen hay bales with a bedraggled paper bulls-eye. “We set up those bales last fall.”
    Casey took notes.
    “Are you the one who found the woman?” Victoria asked the boy.
    “Yes’m.”
    His father explained, “We’d finished for the day. I was wiping the guns. Me and the boy planned to clean them once we got home, you know?”
    Casey nodded.
    “I was about to take the guns to my truck, clean up the place. But never did. Sean walked down to the brook to see if there was any watercress. That’s when he found her. Just this side of the bushes.”
    Young Sean said, “She’ll be okay, won’t she?”
    “The EMTs say she’s still alive,” Casey said.
    “I didn’t mean to shoot her,” young Sean said.
    His father tightened his grip on the boy’s shoulder. “We weren’t shooting in that direction, son.”
    “Where were you standing?” Casey asked.
    The father paced about a hundred yards away from the hay bales, parallel to the brook, to a stamped-down area. “We always stand here so we don’t crush too much hay. We keep our backs to the road and shoot at the target. There’s no house in that direction.”
    “And the woman, where was she?”
    The father pointed toward the brook. “Right about there, at right angles to the line of fire.”

    “Well away from it, looks like,” said Casey.
    “Yes, ma’am,” said the father.
    “Did you hear her call? Or cry out?” Victoria asked the boy.
    Young Sean shook his head. “No, ma’am. She was just lying there, like.”
    “Who called the police?” Victoria asked.
    “My dad, on his cell phone. He called nine-one-one. I covered the lady with my jacket.” He looked at Casey, his face troubled. “Do you think I can get my jacket back?”
    “I’ll make sure you do,” said Casey.
    As Victoria walked, her boots left prints that filled in with water in the soft ground. Above them, scud raced below the higher clouds.
    “Let’s go to the station house to finish up,” Casey said. “You can get hypothermia even in June when you’ve given up your jacket and you’re worried.”
    “Thank you, ma’am,” the father said.
    “I’ll meet you at the police station. I’ve got to call the state police before we leave. They’ll need to check the scene.”
    “I didn’t mean to shoot anybody,” the boy said again to his father.
    Sean held the boy close to him. “I think you may have saved her.”
    On the way to the police station, Casey said, “You know, Victoria, I don’t see how the kid could have shot her. He’d have to have done it deliberately and with his father watching.”
    “Unless he was careless and pointed his gun in that direction and accidentally pulled the trigger.”
    “Not likely,” said Casey. “Big Sean was teaching the kid how to shoot properly. I checked him out before I gave my okay. The poor kid. We’ll know more after the state police check the ballistics.”
    They passed Alley’s and Casey turned right down Brandy Brow. Victoria removed her scarf, shook it out, and folded it neatly.
    “I’ll take you home, Victoria. It’s been a full day.”

CHAPTER 9
    Victoria and Elizabeth were eating breakfast the next morning when Casey stopped by. “I’ve been to the hospital,” she said. “Candy Keene is still alive. The bullet didn’t come from either the boy’s