Chapter Fifty-four

Parrott lifted Claire onto the golf cart, seating her between Pennington and himself on the wide bench. He drove her home, where Tammie flew into action, wrapping the ankle in ice packs and making Claire comfortable on the sofa in the office, with the leg elevated.

“Do you want me to take you to the emergency room?” she asked.

“So I can wait all night for an x-ray? I’d rather take Tylenol and call the doctor in the morning.” She turned to Robert, who had pulled up a chair next to her and was holding her hand. “Much as I appreciate your comforting me, you need to get back home before anyone starts to suspect something. You and the detective wouldn’t be driving around in the dark, looking for marijuana plants.”

“She’s right,” Parrott said. “Let’s get you home. We’ll say it got too dark, and we’ll go out again tomorrow morning. I’ll need to figure out a way to get Claire’s cart back, too.”

“That won’t be a problem,” Claire said, flapping her hand. “The cart can stay out overnight. We have an extra battery in the garage, and we can move it tomorrow morning.”

Parrott flashed on the lithium battery he’d seen in the garage, chagrined for suspecting its possible connection to the meth explosion.

“I checked out the golf cart this afternoon, as usual,” Tammie said. She was carrying a tray with a bowl of consommé, a plate of cheese straw pastries, and a highball glass filled with Dewar’s on the rocks. “Nothing unusual then.” She placed a linen bib around Claire’s neck. “Anyway, top priority tomorrow morning is getting you to a doctor.”

“Fine. We can have Charlie take care of the cart. He’s back from Delaware.”

Parrott had moved toward the doorway, eager to return Pennington and his golf cart to ModCom Way, but he returned to the sofa. “Don’t involve Charlie. My investigator and I will take care of bringing your golf cart back. I don’t want anyone touching it until we’ve had a chance to process it.”

Somebody sabotaged Claire’s golf cart, someone who watched her and/or knew her habits. Someone wanted to harm her, even if only temporarily. Figuring out who and why was Parrott’s next step, but he didn’t share these thoughts with Claire or Pennington.

He had plenty to worry about, too. On the way to dropping Pennington and his golf cart off, Parrott asked about the timing and location of the rendezvous and where Claire had parked her golf cart. Then he hopped in his car and swung by the station to make notes. This evening had put a new slant on the meth lab explosion and Tripp Anderson’s death. Whoever committed those crimes was a schemer and a planner. He or she knew the way around Brandywine Valley, taking a risk to enlist Wyatt Wukitsch’s assistance, and, if Parrott was correct, taking another to follow an eighty-two-year-old woman and sabotage her golf cart.

Pressure mushroomed on Parrott now, sitting like a boulder between his shoulder blades. Unless he was mistaken, Claire Whitman was in a good deal of danger.