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A week later the coroner called Sheriff McAllister with his report. "What's up, Doc?" Gabe said and laughed. "I always wanted to say that."
"Yeah, yeah, like I haven't heard that one before," Dr. Connors answered. He sounded aggravated, so Gabe got down to business.
"I got more of the lab results in today. Henry Jessup was murdered, although probably not intentionally. Like I said at the beginning, a younger, fitter man would most likely have survived. Henry suffered a broken nose, black eye and the kicker was a posterior fossa hematoma, where the blood pools in the intracranial cavity," the doctor concluded.
"Okay the first bit I got, but explain that posterior thing."
"I believe he got hit on the head—which knocked him out. Whoever it was, got him inside, and when Henry came to, someone slapped him around, but the damage was already done. He was bleeding into his brain. He would have been able to walk to his room, thinking he only needed to rest, but he was already dying."
"Jesuss, Doc, the poor guy."
"He just went to sleep and never woke up. Unfortunately, it's not that uncommon. Even if he did survive the night, he was walking around with a time bomb in his head. I talked to Dr. Winters. Henry was on Coumadin for a slight heart problem."
Sitting on the edge of his desk, Gabe asked. "What's that Coumadin stuff do?"
"It's an anti-coagulant. His blood would be slow to clot. He bled-out in his brain, and that's also why his broken nose and that cut near his eye bled so badly."
"Thanks for filling me in. Let me know if anything else pops up."
"Sure thing, Sheriff."
After the doctor hung up, Gabe sat back down at his desk. His head was down, elbows on the desk, resting his chin on his clenched hands, deep in thought. At the sound of a polite knock on his open door, he looked up and was surprised to see Nora standing there.
"What brings you to town, Nora? Must say I'm glad, though, whatever it is."
"I think I left out something important the other day.
"Have a seat," he said, pulling a scarred-up office chair over to his desk. "Can I get you a coffee, a cold drink, water?" he asked.
"No, thanks, I'm good," she answered—manners and good looking, hmmm. "Gramps is picking up a couple of things so I have to be quick. I forgot to tell you there was a plane that night."
"A plane?" he asked.
"I was sitting on the porch reading. The plane was coming in low, too low. I thought it was going to crash. It flew right over Jessup's and back up. It didn't have time to land. That's how I saw the lights. I was looking for the plane."
"Any chance you saw any lettering or numbers?"
"No. It was too dark, but I do know it was a Piper Malibu."
"How do you know it was a Piper Malibu?" he asked.
"My dad had one. I know the sound of the engine. He and my mom actually died when it crashed a couple of years ago."
"I’m sorry, Nora," he said and meant it.
"I haven't flown since that day."
"I'm guessing you have a pilot's license?"
"Yes. I had just passed my solo for the license. I would have been with them, but Jasper was getting new shoes that day.
Gabe was becoming more and more intrigued by the minute. Not only beautiful but . . . she had a head on her shoulders and used it. The combination fascinated him.
"Look, I've got to go meet Gramps. I hope the information helps."
"Yes, it does. Thanks for dropping by. I'm going to make a couple of calls and get back to you," Gabe said and thought quickly. "Can I come out later tonight, and you can show me the route the plane took as it came and went? Maybe sit on that porch of yours for a while. In case it comes back."
"I think that might be okay. You have to get the facts right, don't you?" Nora said.
"You said you were on your porch? About what time was that?"
“It must have been around nine or so.”
"Right," he said. He was looking in her eyes and not down at his note book.
"Gramps is waiting, so bye for now." She turned and hurried away before she changed her mind.
Gabe stood there and watched her go. "Crap," he muttered out loud, watching the sway of her hips. He rubbed his hands over his face. An idea was turning around in his head . . . actually two ideas: one about the plane and the other about Nora. He went back to sit at his desk and shuffled through an old notebook he kept with phone numbers he had hoped he would never have to use down here in the land of cows and oranges.
