Wedding Rearrangement: 6/?
by Nan Smith
Previously:
"Did you see a little girl come out alone a few minutes ago -- maybe eight years old, brown curly hair, brown eyes -- wearing shorts and a T-shirt?"
Clark frowned thoughtfully. "Maybe. Were the shorts blue?"
Lois nodded. "Did you see if anyone was waiting for her?"
"I wasn't paying much attention," Clark said. He continued to frown, obviously prodding his memory. "Yeah, there was."
"Oh." Lois drew a relieved breath. "I guess it's okay, then. Who was it?"
"A guy -- I guess it was probably her grandfather."
"Her grandfather?"
"Uh huh. He looked like he was maybe about fifty. Tall guy, some grey in his hair, thinning a little at the temples. Why?"
That photographic memory again, Lois thought. Clark's incredible memory definitely gave him an advantage over the average newsman. "I don't know, really. She was in the ladies room alone. She looked kind of -- oh, I don't know -- a little scared, maybe. I wondered if anything was wrong."
"Well, she went with the guy. I thought maybe she was just tired, but now that you mention it --" He paused.
"What?"
"Well -- she kind of hung back, but she didn't do anything to attract attention."
Lois bit her lip. "It's probably okay," she ventured.
"Yeah, probably." They looked at each other. "But now that you've brought it up, neither of us is going to get a wink of sleep until we know for sure. Right?"
"You took the words right out of my mouth, partner," Lois said. "Let's go see if we can find out."
**********
And now, Part 6:
Martha was pouring dishwashing detergent into her dishwasher when there was a brisk knock on the door. A glance out the kitchen window showed that the battered pickup truck that she recognized as belonging to the Ross family was now parked in the open space next to the hen house. Greg Ross, the younger brother of Clark's best friend during his high school days, had arrived.
Greg Ross was between three and four years younger than Clark, and certainly seemed too young to be a deputy sheriff, Martha thought as she opened the door. He resembled his older brother a good deal although his hair was more red than light brown and he displayed considerably more freckles than Pete ever had. He was dressed casually in jeans and a T-shirt and didn't look anything like an officer of the law. Martha guessed that Rachel had directed him to blend in, instead of allowing strangers to realize that there was a sheriff's deputy on the premises.
"Come in, Greg," Martha said, opening the door wider. "I guess Rachel told you you're on babysitting detail for a few days."
To her surprise, Greg blushed up to his hairline and shook his head vigorously. "It's nothing like that," he said quickly. "You and Mr. Kent could probably handle some city slicker bad guy without much trouble, but Sheriff Harris wants to be sure somebody's here to help, just in case." He looked around the living room as he stepped inside. "I guess you got a new rug since Clark left home," he said. "I remember you had this brown one that was all different shades."
"That was to disguise the dirt you kids tracked in all the time," Martha said. "I figure you've probably grown out of that stage -- finally."
"Kind of," Greg said. "Is Mr. Kent around?"
"Jonathan's outside, finishing the chores," Martha said. She glanced at Sport, the dog that had adopted them last year. He had followed Greg into the house and was sniffing at the backs of his legs. "It's a good thing he catches rats. He's useless as a watchdog. Out, Sport," she commanded, holding the door open for the animal.
Sport obeyed, ran down the steps and vanished into the barn. Martha turned to Greg. "Have you had dinner yet?"
"Huh?" The deputy looked blank for a moment. "Oh, yeah. I picked up a sandwich at Maisie's around four."
"Then it's been nearly four hours since you've eaten," Martha said. "Come on into the kitchen and have some coffee and pie." She led the way as she spoke. "How's Pete doing these days?" she asked. "We never hear from him since he got the job at the state capital."
"He's on Senator Benson's staff," Greg said. "He says that our local assemblyman's talking about retiring instead of running for re-election. Pete's thinking about running for the seat."
"Really?" Martha opened the refrigerator to remove the apple pie. "I guess he's doing pretty well then." She located a pie plate, sliced off a generous serving of pie and set it before the deputy, following it a moment later with a cup of coffee. "Here you go."
"Thanks," Greg said. He inhaled the aroma of the coffee. "Rachel said your coffee was going to spoil me for the office stuff if I'm here for a couple of days," he added. "It sure smells good."
"It sounds like your coffee maker needs to be cleaned," Martha said. "Or maybe you should adjust your timer settings. I don't do anything different than most people when they make coffee."
"Mom used to say that making coffee was an art, and that some people had the knack while others never learned it," Greg said. "I'll bet that you could even force our cranky old coffee machine to make decent coffee." He sipped the brew with deep appreciation.
Martha busied herself with loading the remainder of the dishes into the dishwasher. As Greg finished the cup of coffee, the front door opened and closed and a moment later Jonathan Kent entered the kitchen. "Are we having more pie? I could use a slice before bedtime."
"I thought you might," Martha said. She set a second plate of pie on the table. "You get a smaller piece," she informed her husband. "I've been counting your calories for the day."
Jonathan glanced at Greg and patted his stomach. "Just my luck. She cooks like that and then complains when I eat it."
Greg grinned. "Tough luck," he remarked. "So who's the guy that showed up this afternoon?"
"Clark said he called himself Maher," Jonathan said. "Ben Maher from the Topeka Intelligencer."
"The Intelligencer, huh?" Greg took a last bite of pie. "That was terrific pie," he told Martha. "Did you see their interview with Elvis yesterday?" He grinned. "Rachel -- I mean Sheriff Harris brought it in for us to read at lunch. They're probably channeling the ghost of Luthor now and we'll get the story in a few days. Maybe they want to get Ms. Lane's input."
Martha snorted. "Probably. Or maybe they're getting a viewpoint from their Martian contacts."
"Or the mole men," Jonathan put in, brightly. "Can't forget them."
Martha shook her head in amusement. "At least no one from any of the other papers has found us so far."
"That's good." Greg handed his pie plate and fork to Martha. "With luck, nobody else will show up and this big time enforcer will turn out to be a dud, too. If we're all real lucky, some other big news story will crowd the Luthor story onto the back page. In the meantime, though, if somebody you don't know *does* drive up, don't go out there without me. All right?"
Martha and Jonathan nodded.
"Good." Greg pointed at the small TV set that Martha kept in the corner of her kitchen counter. "There's all kinds of creeps running around these days. We were put on alert this morning for that guy."
Martha turned to look at the picture of a man of about fifty glaring at the camera from a police photo. "I've seen a couple of reports about him today," she said.
Jonathan looked questioningly at Greg. "Nasty looking customer," he remarked. "What did he do?"
Jonathan had been working outside, Martha thought. The radio they kept in the barn had quit a week ago and she hadn't found time to replace the batteries, so Jonathan wouldn't have heard anything about it.
"Guy's a child predator that finished up his sentence a few weeks ago in Missouri," Greg told him. "There were all kinds of protests from his hometown about letting him out -- except his dad, who says he was wrongfully convicted -- but the courts didn't have a choice. Anyway, they think he snatched a kid off the street on her way home from school. He might be headed this way. Kansas law enforcement's watching for him."
Martha shuddered.
**********
Rachel Harris glanced at the little thirteen-inch television set that sat on a shelf near the rear of the Sheriff's office. The LNN News-at-Eight Hour was on and she listened to it with half her attention. The newscaster was reporting on the kidnapping in Missouri where Bethany Ann Gordon had been snatched two days ago while walking home from school. The police were searching frantically for her and for the man believed to have kidnapped her -- a violent sex offender who had been released from prison three weeks before. David Waters had been seen in the area at about the time of Bethany's kidnapping and the description given by her six-year-old brother matched. There was an interstate alert for the fugitive and the little girl, and Bethany's mother had been shown repeating her tearful plea for her daughter's return. Rachel shook her head. If Waters had really taken the child, the family's pleas wouldn't make an impression on him. Rachel knew his type -- a sociopath who couldn't have cared less about the pain that he was inflicting on others. If anything, he would probably enjoy it. For perhaps the fiftieth time, she studied the flyer that had come in this morning about the case. Various tips now led the police to believe that the pair had crossed the Kansas state line and the search was spreading across the area. As if she didn't have enough to handle, this had to happen just now. Still, she hoped that someone would spot the guy and call the cops before it was too late. The news program had found an expert on the subject who had warned that it was just a matter of time before Waters killed one of his victims. Rachel very much feared that this might be the time. If he turned out to be their man, he certainly must know what it would mean for him if he were convicted again.
Almost on the thought, the phone rang. Rachel's heart jumped at the suddenness and she made herself draw a deep breath before picking up the receiver on the second ring. "Sheriff's office. This is Sheriff Harris," she said, making her voice calm and steady mostly through force of will.
"Oh, thank heavens!" The feminine voice on the other end of the line sounded as if its owner were on the edge of hysterics. "I think he's dead!"
"Hold it," Rachel said. "First tell me who you are."
"This is Maisie Allen, over at Maisie's Diner. I just stepped out in back to dump the trash and there's a guy lying behind the dumpster. I don't think he's breathing!"
"Did you call 911?" Rachel asked.
"Yes but I think he's dead! There's blood all over his shirt and --"
"I'll be right there," Rachel interrupted. "Don't touch anything."
**********
Smallville's only paramedic van had arrived almost at the same time as Rachel. It pulled into the narrow alley right behind her squad car. Rachel stopped as close to the dumpster as she could reasonably manage in order to give the paramedics room and set the brake, leaving the headlights on for visibility.
Maisie was standing in the alley -- or perhaps standing wasn't exactly the word. She was leaning against the wall and looking ready to either faint or throw up when Rachel got out of the car and approached. She looked the older woman over with a critical eye and made a decision.
"Maisie, go inside and sit down," she directed. "You can't do anything here. Get yourself some coffee or something. I'll be in to talk to you in a few minutes."
Maisie gulped and nodded, rolling an eye in the direction of the body, and obeyed without a word. Rachel turned toward the man on the ground.
The situation was much as Maisie had described it. The victim was almost certainly dead. He was lying face up and his shirt was rent in three places, and covered with dried blood. Stabbed, Rachel thought, shining her flashlight on his face.
It was no one she knew, she realized with a trace of relief, for which she mentally chastised herself. It was still most likely a homicide and probably some time ago -- perhaps several hours.
The paramedics were kneeling by the body and the taller one glanced up at her, shaking his head. "Guy's been dead for hours," he said. "Looks like somebody stabbed him." Harry Talbot was from Rachel's graduating class at Smallville High and in the illumination of the headlights from Rachel's car and the van his complexion had taken on a greenish tinge. "Guess we'll be taking this one to the Coroner."
"Any ID?" Rachel asked. She went to her car and removed the camera that she kept in the trunk for situations like this. This would be its inaugural use in such a situation.
"Doesn't look like it. Could be one of those reporters that have been looking for the Kents. Maybe somebody at the motor court knows who he is."
"I'm sure they're going to love being called in for an identification," Rachel said dryly, but her mind was working rapidly. Police Inspector Henderson, from Metropolis, had told her that an enforcer from the criminal organization formerly run by Lex Luthor was headed for Smallville. Could it possibly be connected with this?
Sure it could, she was telling herself ten minutes later as she watched the paramedics loading the unidentified man into their van. There hadn't been a murder in Smallville in nearly ten years. And now, right after Clark showed up with Lois Lane, who was apparently the target of unnamed criminals from the city, an out-of-towner was found dead behind Maisie's Diner. It might be a coincidence but she was inclined to think it wasn't.
Rachel walked to her car and reached for the radio. Greg was at the Kent farm but she had three other deputies available who weren't going to like being called away from their homes at this hour. Which was too bad, but nobody had ever said this job was only about catching the occasional sneak thief or issuing citations to someone who parked in the handicapped zone at Lang's Emporium. This time they were going to have to earn their pay. And it looked like it was time to call in the forensics team from Wichita. Big city crime had definitely come to Smallville.
**********
“He headed up the same path we came down,” Clark said, keeping his voice low. “There are branches to three other campsites from it besides ours. How do you want to work this?”
“How is your hearing coming along?” Lois's voice was softer than his, but he could hear her without difficulty.
“It's better than yesterday but it isn't back to normal,” Clark answered. “The trouble is that I don't seem to have full control of it. It happened the same way back when I was first getting my powers.”
“What do you mean?”
“It just started this afternoon. We'll be talking and all of a sudden the super hearing kicks in and it's like I'm in a crowd with everyone screaming at the top of his lungs,” Clark said. “I can get it under control but it takes a second or two.”
“Oh. How about your eyesight?”
“I can see in the dark fine,” Clark told her. “And my telescopic vision is better than it was yesterday. My X-ray vision is partly back. I could see the bottom of the lake this afternoon without any trouble.” He paused. Should he tell her? Instantly he made up his mind. No more keeping things from Lois. He'd promised himself that while they were still lost in the mountains. “There's one problem with it, though.”
“What?”
He hesitated and then plunged ahead. “A couple of times in the last couple of hours it's cut in when I wasn't trying, the same way my hearing does.”
“Is it a problem?” she asked quickly.
“Not exactly.” He hesitated. “Uh – while I was waiting for you outside the ladies room was the second time it did it. It was a little embarrassing.”
Lois grinned. “I guess Superman's crack about the lead-lined robe was a bluff, huh?”
Clark could feel himself blushing. “Yeah. I was kind of upset. I'm really sorry about what I said. If I'd been a little more rational about the whole thing, we might have avoided what came afterwards.”
“True,” Lois agreed, “but then some of the other things wouldn't have happened either. You'd probably have your powers but I wouldn't know the truth about you and who knows what Lex would have done when I turned him down. He'd still have the Kryptonite cage, too, and he'd be more determined than ever to kill Superman.” She stopped in the middle of the path and turned to face him. “You said we weren't going to rehash all the mistakes we made, remember? You blew it but so did I, and there's no way to know how things would have worked out if we'd done things differently. Given that, I'm glad that we're here, even with everything that's happened. I've finally figured out who I really love and you're with me, alive and safe. That's worth everything we went through -- at least to me.”
“It's worth it to me, too,” Clark said. “You're right. I'll try to quit kicking myself if you'll do the same.” He smiled at her in the darkness. “I know how you've been blaming yourself for what happened. Can we just stop trying to assign blame? We both made some mistakes but we don't have to keep dwelling on them.”
Lois hesitated and then lifted her chin. “You're right.”
“I am?” he said. It wasn't like Lois to give in on any argument.
“Yes, you are. We've got more important things to do than sit around and blame ourselves for things that can't be changed. The thing that I'm wondering about is that you say these things -- your powers cutting in unexpectedly -- happened when you were first getting them, too. I think that means they're really starting to come back now.”
He'd heard that changing the subject was a feminine trait, but Lois definitely raised the talent to a new high, Clark thought. He blinked at her for a second. “I never thought of that. I guess I'll have to be ready for the others to start kicking in unexpectedly, too.”
“Exactly,” Lois said. “Now, back to the plan. We're going to find where the guy and the little girl are camping and you're going to use your powers to eavesdrop. Then, when we find out what's going on we'll decide what else we need to do. If anything.”
As a plan, it left a good deal up in the air but Clark had to agree that it made sense. “Okay. Come on.”
**********
tbc
