The Captain's Mission

“Chaplain, there’s a first aid kit in the back of my pickup. Would you get it for me?”

Once Sanchez handed the kit to Phil, he pulled out an ACE bandage and wrapped it snugly around her ankle. “That should help. At least until I can get you home.”

“You have to talk to Mrs. Taylor, and I’m going with you.”

The woman could be stubborn, but he knew better than to voice that observation. Instead he remained quiet as he handed the first aid kit back to Sanchez. “I’ll drive Agent McQueen’s vehicle. You follow in my truck.”

Once Phil slipped behind the wheel, he glanced at her and then in the rearview mirror to ensure the chaplain was ready before he started the engine. “We’ll pay Mrs. Taylor a visit and tell her about her husband. When we return tomorrow, we’ll ask her why a series of traps was rigged on the land not far from her mother-in-law’s property line.”

Kelly’s eyes widened. “You saw more than one?”

“As dark as it was, I can’t be sure, but I thought I passed a couple of rigged snares on my way to find you.”

“Animal traps?”

Phil shrugged. “Could be, but if so, they were looking for mighty big critters. Any bear sightings in the area?”

“I haven’t heard of any.”

“Tigers or lions?”

He could see a hint of a smile tug at her sweet lips. “Not recently.”

“Then as near as I can determine, the traps were set to catch another type of game.”

Kelly’s smile faded. “You mean the human kind.”

“Roger that.” Phil steered the car onto the road. “Wonder what’s going on in these woods that someone wants to keep off-limits?”

“And why,” Kelly added, “was a teenage boy, who was at a live-fire demonstration on post earlier today, wandering around in the night?”

Kelly’s leg hurt. Not that she would mention her discomfort to Phil. The mishap in the woods had caused him too much of a delay already. He and the chaplain needed to notify Taylor’s widow of what had happened as soon as possible. A difficult task, to say the least.

Still concerned about the wounded teen, Kelly called the Freemont police and told the dispatcher about the injured youth. He promised to send an officer to check the woods in case Kyle was still in the area.

“I’ll call them back tomorrow and see if they found Kyle,” Kelly said once she hung up.

Phil nodded, then pulled his eyes from the road and glanced at her injured leg. “How are you doing?”

“Fine.”

“Really?”

“It smarts a bit, but nothing I can’t handle.”

“I still think you need to have it X-rayed.”

“A couple doses of ibuprofen and I’ll be good as new.”

“Right.”

As they rounded a bend in the road, Kelly spied the mailbox and the split rail fence. Phil pulled up next to another car that had stopped just before the narrow dirt driveway.

Lieutenant Bellows lowered his window. “I was beginning to get worried, sir, when you didn’t show up. Everything okay?”

“We had a slight delay. Is this the place?”

“Yes, sir. As I mentioned, Corporal Taylor and his wife lived with his mom.”

Phil glanced at the farmhouse sitting on a knoll in the distance. “Let’s get this done.”

“Yes, sir.”

The three vehicles turned onto the drive and headed along a path marked with potholes to a gravel-covered parking area to the left of the house. A porch light illuminated the clearing, sending long shadows into the darkness.

“Stay put and I’ll come around the car to help you,” Phil said to Kelly as he opened his own door. Before he could reach the passenger side, she had stepped onto the gravel.

Putting weight on her ankle sent a razor-sharp pain straight up her leg. She groaned. Not loud, but loud enough for him to extend his arm and grab her elbow.

“I said I’d help you.” He closed her door.

She was grateful the darkness hid her flushed cheeks. She didn’t need the handsome captain, who was standing way too close, to realize she was anything but composed at the present moment.

“I’m fine, really.” She tried to extricate her arm from his hold, but he continued to support her.

“The gravel is uneven, Kelly.”

She shoved her chin up a notch and averted his gaze. Her body’s reaction to his nearness must be the result of the upside-down tumble she’d had in the woods. Everything inside her was out of kilter, including her ability to remain focused on anything except the tall, broad-shouldered guy who had become her shadow.

Surely he was aware of the effect he had on women. Kelly had seen him numerous times at the club on post surrounded by a gaggle of beautiful women. Okay, maybe that was stretching the point. After all, she wasn’t even sure how many women constituted a gaggle. Three? Four? Maybe five?

But the women she had seen fawning over Phil had been tall and svelte and drop-dead gorgeous. Thinking of her own petite frame, Kelly knew she was anything but svelte. Slender, maybe. Intelligent, yes. But svelte? Definitely not!

Squaring her shoulders, she limped toward the porch and grasped the railing as she climbed the stairs with Phil at her side, his hand supporting her. He leaned closer to ensure she could navigate the last step, causing her knees to almost buckle. Seemed the attentive captain had a strange effect on her equilibrium.

At least she remained upright thanks to his hold on her arm, which proved the captain was good for something. Instantly, she regretted the internal sarcasm.

“You’re too critical of men.” Her mother’s words came back to taunt her. Kelly didn’t need the mental recollection of a chastisement she had heard too often growing up, which was usually followed by, “Your father loves you in his own way.”

Her mother painted a picture of their little family that was anything but pretty to Kelly. Invariably, she chose to ignore the very obvious fact that Kelly’s father had never seen the need to marry her mother.

Kelly was a McQueen—her mother’s maiden name—instead of a LeBlanc. In Kelly’s opinion, the lack of a marriage certificate proved her father, Charles LeBlanc, was only interested in sweet-talking her mother and not establishing a long-term relationship with either her mother or his only child.

Daddy dearest had died thirteen years ago on a dismal night she tried to block out of her mind. Not that she was always successful.

Still holding her elbow, Phil raised his hand to knock just as the farmhouse door flew open. A woman with chestnut hair stood in the doorway, her green eyes alight with expectation. Confusion quickly took the place of the initial glimmer of hope. Her forehead wrinkled and her hand flew to her heart.

“It’s Rick, isn’t it? What happened?”

“I’m Captain Thibodeaux, ma’am. Commander of C Company. We met at the family picnic shortly after the unit returned from Afghanistan.”

Mrs. Taylor nodded.

He pointed to the others. “Special Agent Kelly McQueen from the CID office, Chaplain Sanchez and Lieutenant Bellows. May we come in?”

Phil removed his hat as he opened the screen door, motioned Kelly inside and then followed her into the living area along with the chaplain and lieutenant.

The wife turned to stare at them, her eyes wide with worry. “Where’s Rick?”

Phil’s face wore the grief they all were feeling. “Ma’am, I’m sorry. There was an accident. Your husband was hit by a live round.”

“Oh, dear God, no.” She slumped onto the couch. The chaplain hastened to her side. “Was … was anyone else hurt?” she asked.

“Only Corporal Taylor, ma’am.” Phil pulled in a deep breath. “The medics were on-site. They tried their best, but your husband suffered a massive loss of blood and couldn’t be saved.”

She lowered her face into her hands and moaned. “Why?” she repeated over and over again. The lieutenant huddled over her.

Kelly watched as the men offered words of comfort. Mrs. Taylor shook her head back and forth and began to cry. Her heart-wrenching sobs soon filled the small living area. The chaplain handed her his handkerchief, which she accepted, but her face remained buried in her hands.

Mrs. Taylor appeared to be in her mid-thirties, which was at least half a decade older than her deceased husband. Medium height and slight of build, she had appeared capable and in control when she’d first opened the door. Kelly’s initial impression was of a strong woman who usually got what she wanted.

Now, sympathy for the grieving widow welled up within Kelly, overriding her attempt to look at the situation with an impartial eye. A lump lodged in her throat and sorrow wrapped her in a tight hold. No matter how competent Mrs. Taylor seemed, nor how much any one of them regretted what had happened just a short time ago, Kelly couldn’t do anything to change today’s tragic events.

Wrapping her arms around her waist, she stepped into the hallway, partly in hopes of distancing herself from the pitiful site of the broken widow and partly because she was aware of another sound.

Above Mrs. Taylor’s sobs, Kelly heard a feeble call for help. The men, hovering around the grieving widow, seemed oblivious to the frail voice that cried out once again.

She followed the cries to a small bedroom at the rear of the house. The door hung ajar. Peering into the darkened interior, she saw a hospital bed with the side rails raised.

Kelly stepped toward the pile of covers that nearly hid the wrinkled prune of a face that stared up at her. Big eyes—as blue as the sky on a summer’s day—blinked open.

“Mrs. Taylor.” Before Kelly could say anything else the sound of clipped heels signaled someone’s annoyance and approach. Kelly turned to find Lola Taylor standing in the doorway.

“I glanced up as you left the living room.” The widow’s face was blotched from crying, but her eyes reflected anger instead of sorrow. “What are you doing in here?”

“I heard someone call for help,” Kelly quickly explained.

“My mother-in-law suffers from dementia. She doesn’t understand what’s going on. You didn’t mention—”

Kelly shook her head. “I haven’t said anything.”

The younger Mrs. Taylor swiped her hand over her cheeks to wipe away her tears before she approached the bed and smiled down at her mother-in-law. The senior Mrs. Taylor focused her gaze on Kelly. Her frail lips moved as if she was trying to speak.

“Mildred, it’s time for your medicine.” Lola grabbed a bottle on the side table, an extra-strength analgesic sold over the counter. She spilled two pills into her hand and reached for a glass of water on the nightstand.

“Let me help.” Kelly raised the older woman’s shoulders off the pillow so she could swallow the pills. Mildred’s gray hair was pulled back from her face and appeared freshly combed, but an odor of urine wafted up from the crumpled bedding.

Once she had taken the pills, Kelly gently lowered her head back to the pillow and pulled the covers up around the woman’s shoulders, feeling a stab of guilt at her own inability to have cared for her mother at home.

Being in the military meant Kelly could be sent anywhere on a moment’s notice. She had needed a stable environment for her mother, and the local nursing home had been the best option at the time.

Plus, keeping her mom in her own home would have meant round-the-clock care, which wasn’t possible on their limited incomes. Her mother had nothing more than a small social security check coming in each month, and Kelly’s warrant officer pay had been stretched thin just to cover the few extras her mother needed.

Mildred’s eyes drooped closed, and Kelly turned from the bed. As she did, her gaze took in the wide assortment of sleeping pills and over-the-counter pain medications on the nightstand.

Phil appeared in the doorway. “Everything okay?”

Kelly nodded. “I heard a call for help and found Corporal Taylor’s mother.”

He glanced at the now-sleeping woman and then at the widow before he lifted his brow to Kelly. She nodded, hoping he would pick up on her nonverbal cue that she would explain what had happened once they had left the house.

Turning to the widow, Kelly asked, “Do you have relatives in the area?”

Lola shook her head. “My family is from Kentucky, and Rick was an only child. But I have friends in town.”

“How long have you lived here?”

“A little over a year. Rick and I were married fourteen months ago. He was stationed at Fort Knox when we met and was on orders for Fort Rickman. We moved to Freemont a month before he deployed to Afghanistan.”

“You were practically newlyweds.” As soon as the words left Kelly’s mouth, she wanted to reel them in again.

Lola’s face clouded. “Rick said military life would be an adventure. I never thought it would end like this.”

Kelly’s heart went out to the widow. She opened her arms and pulled her close, feeling her slender frame shake with grief. Kelly patted her back and tried to think of something to say to lessen the load this woman carried. Nothing came to mind except that life is fragile, which someone had mentioned at her own mother’s funeral. The memory caused Kelly’s eyes to burn. Phil stood in the doorway, his gaze lowered, his face drawn.

For a long moment, the only sounds in the room were the heavy pull of the old woman’s breathing and Lola’s sobs. Eventually, she stopped crying and turned away from Kelly to grab a handful of tissues from a box on the bedside table. She dabbed at her eyes, and when she glanced back at Kelly, her face was surprisingly clear and she appeared in control once again.

“It’s been a long day,” she admitted, motioning them into the hallway.

“A survival assistance officer will be assigned to help you with all the death notifications and paperwork,” Phil said as they walked back to the living room.

“My husband’s insurance?”

“Yes, ma’am. He’ll guide you in completing the necessary forms so you can receive the money as soon as possible. The company and the entire battalion stand ready to assist you. You have Lieutenant Bellows’s phone number at the platoon?”

She nodded.

Phil handed her his own card. “Don’t hesitate to call the company if you can’t reach Lieutenant Bellows. Perhaps tomorrow we can return to discuss any arrangements you would like to have for your husband’s interment.”

“Tomorrow?” She seemed unsure.

“Someone will phone you first.”

“Yes, of course.”

Lieutenant Bellows stood. “Mrs. Taylor, is there anyone who can stay with you tonight? Perhaps a friend?”

She stepped toward the door as if ready for them to leave. “I’ll be all right.”

“Are you sure you feel like being alone, ma’am?” Phil asked.

She nodded. “I’m not alone, Captain. My mother-in-law is with me. We’ll be fine. Her mind is sometimes more clear in the morning. I’ll tell her about Rick’s death after her breakfast tomorrow.”

As much as Kelly hated to leave the widow, she knew Lola wanted and perhaps needed her privacy now. Phil would call her in the morning and make arrangements for them to visit again. Once a survivor assistance officer was selected, that person would be her connection to the military and a support throughout the next few months as Mrs. Taylor tried to get her life in order.

Kelly held out her hand. “Mrs. Taylor, I’d like to talk to you tomorrow. I’ll come out with Captain Thibodeaux.”

Her eyes narrowed as she glanced from the CID agent to Phil. “What do you need to discuss?”

“I’m investigating your husband’s death. I’d like to hear more about what his interests were outside of the military. Perhaps something pertaining to his off-duty time could have had bearing on what happened this evening.”

The widow shook her head. “I don’t see how that could be.”

Before Kelly could answer, Phil tapped her shoulder and nodded toward the door. “I’ll call you tomorrow,” he said to Mrs. Taylor.

The cool night air swirled around the small military entourage as they stepped onto the porch. The door closed behind them. Phil supported Kelly as she hobbled down the stairs.

A stiff breeze picked at her jacket. She pulled the edges closed. Patting the slick waterproof fabric, she expected to feel moisture from Lola’s tears. Instead, the fabric was dry.

Turning to look over her shoulder at the farmhouse, Kelly spotted a curtain pulled back ever so slightly in the living room window.

A second gust of wind assaulted her. Kelly shivered.

Phil protectively placed his hand on her shoulder. “Cold?”

She shook her head and stepped toward the car door he held open. “Confused is more like it.”

“Probably that mishap you had earlier,” he said.

She would let him think what he wanted, but being caught in a snare wasn’t the reason for the way she felt. The real problem was trying to sort through a number of mismatched signals from the widow. The woman had sobbed in Kelly’s arm without producing tears to wet her jacket. But something else didn’t add up in the CID agent’s mind.

If Mildred Taylor was as sickly as she appeared, surely she would be under medical care, yet all of the bottles on the nightstand were over-the-counter painkillers and sleeping pills. Strange that none of her medication had been prescribed by a doctor.

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