Hero’s Welcome

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Sometimes a broken fan belt and an overheated engine can lead to a journey of 1,000 miles.

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Here I am a million miles from home…
  –David Soul, “Silver Lady”

 

“Two days, son.”

“What?”

“Two days.”

Starsky leaned across the counter separating him from the man in front of him and shook his head, not believing what he just heard.

“Can’t do any better than that, bub?” he questioned, hopeful, though he knew the answer to the question before he even asked it.

“Nope. Afraid not.”

Starsky eyed the tall, slender, weathered-looking man. “Look, uh, Jasper,” he squinted at the embroidered nametag over the left pocket of Jasper’s grease-stained mechanic’s shirt, “there’s an extra hundred bucks in it for ya if you can just…”

“Sorry, kid,” Jasper interrupted the bribe, shaking his head and scratching at his salt and pepper beard. “It’s that souped-up engine you got in her. Requires a special fan belt. The closest place I could find one is LA, and it’s gonna take some time to get it up here.”

“Two days,” Starsky repeated flatly.

“Yep. Two days, and that’s sending it Priority.”

“Terrific.” Starsky sighed, turning away from Jasper and staring out the dirty, streaked window of the Fix It All Garage. He scanned the contents of the dirt yard… ancient but functional gas pumps, junk cars, pickup trucks, tractors… until he found what he was looking for.

His precious Torino was being lowered from the back of the tow truck, steam still billowing out from underneath the hood. Hutch stood nearby watching in disgust, his hands on his hips, steam billowing out from under his collar.

“Damn,” Starsky muttered under his breath, wondering how the hell he was supposed to explain a two-day delay to his already agitated partner. He shook his head. So far this little road trip wasn’t exactly working out as planned.

They’d been on the road for over 12 hours now and had covered about 700 of the 900 miles their journey was leading them over. Starsky had taken a wrong turn somewhere past the Oregon border, and they were just about to turn around and double back when the Torino’s engine overheated, leaving them stranded on a practically deserted two-lane highway. Unable to reach anyone on their police radio, they had geared themselves up for the hike back to the last sign of civilization, an estimated 20 miles down the road, when an older couple in a remarkably pristine 1962 Rambler mercifully happened along and promised to send help. After an hour-long wait and some serious bickering between the two, a tow truck finally showed and hauled them another 15 miles down the road to where they were now, at Jasper’s Fix It All Garage in Somewhere, Oregon. They really needed to find out just where they were anyway, Starsky mused, so they could get the hell out.

While Starsky stood inside the garage pondering their circumstances, Hutch lingered outside, wiping the sweat from his brow and eyeing his prey. When the Torino’s bright red body was loosened from the tow and settled itself onto its chassis, Hutch visibly drew in, then blew out, a deep, deep breath and swiftly threw a sharp kick at the right front tire.

“Hey!” The blatant abuse of his car forced Starsky out of his reverie and he pushed away from the counter and out the glass door in one fluid move, leaving Jasper open-mouthed. “I saw that!”

Hutch’s fiery gaze snapped from the car to his rapidly approaching partner. Never taking his eyes away from Starsky, he pursed his lips together with purpose and blindly landed another kick at the defenseless car, this time making contact with the lower rocker panel.

“Cut it out!” Starsky put a little more determination in his step, brushing past the fuming blond and laying a soothing hand on his bruised baby. “Do that again, Hutchinson, and you’ll be pulling my foot out of your a….”

“Aww, shut up, Starsky!” Hutch yelled, pushing Starsky out of the way and yanking open the passenger door. He snapped the front seat forward and leaned in, rummaging through his satchel in the back seat.

“What are you doing?” Starsky asked, peering over Hutch’s backside into the car.

“I’m getting my gun.” The tight reply wafted from the Torino’s back seat.

Starsky’s eyes widened. “You brought your gun on vacation?”

“Yes, I brought my gun.” Hutch backed out of the door and plopped his bag on the ground, forming a cloud of dust. He crouched next to it and continued to rifle through its contents.

“Hutch, what are you going to do with your gun?” Starsky waved the dirt away from his face and absently caught a pair of green boxer shorts that were tossed from the duffel bag in his direction.

“Well, Starsk, here’s the thing, see,” Hutch began matter-of-factly, using his hand to shield the afternoon sun from his eyes as he glared up at his partner. “I’m going to shoot your car.”

“Shoot my car?”

“Mm-hmm,” Hutch nodded. “I’m going to put it out of my misery.” He returned his attention to the mission of locating his weapon.

Starsky blinked, not believing for one second Hutch would actually shoot his car. “Don’t you mean its misery?”

Hutch shook his head, standing upright, holstered gun in hand. “No. I mean my misery.” He leaned in closer to a slightly intimidated Starsky and plucked his boxer shorts from the smaller man’s hand. “This bright red, glorified sardine can has been the bane of my existence since day one. It’s crossed me one too many times, my friend, and now I’m going to blow a hole right through its persnickety little engine.” A vengeful grin overtook his face as he slung the shorts over his shoulder and headed for the front of the car.

“Hutch?” Starsky followed, suddenly convinced his partner had lost his mind right here in the middle of… where the hell were they, anyway?

Hutch flipped the snap on his holster and began to slide the Python from its sheath. Starsky’s hands grappled to cover Hutch’s, stopping him from drawing the weapon.

“Come on now, buddy. You’re not really gonna shoot my car, are ya?” Starsky pleaded for the Torino’s life, his brow creasing in desperation.

Hutch contemplated the plea for a moment. “Watch me,” he breathed, pulling the gun out of Starsky’s grasp.

“Hutch?”

Hutch grinned evilly and aimed dead center of the Torino’s steaming hood.

“Hutch?”

The click of the .357 being cocked was unmistakable.

“Huuuutch!”

“Hey, now, wait just one minute!” Jasper’s voice bellowed from the garage doorway. Hutch turned in the direction of the shout and watched the older man amble toward the twosome, his movements much faster than his age should have allowed.

“You two looking for trouble?”

Suddenly embarrassed, Hutch remembered himself and lowered the gun, sliding it back into its holster. “No, no, sir,” he stammered, tossing the gun on the Torino’s hood with a thud, forcing a flinch from Starsky. “We’re, uh… we’re cops… detectives… see?” He reached into Starsky’s shirt pocket and produced his badge, displaying it to an apprehensive Jasper. “I was just trying to put a scare into my friend here.”

“You pull a gun on all your friends, sonny?”

“No, just him,” Hutch hitched a thumb in Starsky’s direction and chuckled.

Starsky remained stock still, gulping for air as he stared wide-eyed at his almost murdered car.

“C’mon, Starsk, you know I was just kidding,” Hutch pasted on a wide grin and yanked the curly head against his chest, slinging his arm around Starsky and patting apologetically at his shoulder, an attempt to show Jasper they come in peace. “It’s not even loaded.”

Jasper studied the badge and eyeballed the two detectives warily. “Well, ain’t that a hoot?” He slapped at his knee. “Cops… and from LA even. Maybe you should have brought a spare fan belt with ya, ya think?” He turned his attention to the flabbergasted Starsky and laughed heartily at his own joke.

“Fan belt?” Hutch brightened, his grip on Starsky loosening. “Is that what’s wrong? Well, that shouldn’t be too hard to fix.”

“You wouldn’t think so, would ya?” Jasper chuckled.

Hutch’s brow rose and he turned a puzzled look to Starsky. “What does that mean?”

Still traumatized from the autocide his partner had come dangerously close to committing, Starsky managed a partial smile and silently pulled out of Hutch’s grasp.

“Starsk?”

“Well, see,” Starsky cleared his throat and took a few steps back, snatching Hutch’s gun from the Torino’s hood and tossing it casually through the window into the front seat, “With the engine she’s got in her and all, she, uh… she needs a special fan belt.”

“And?”

“And, uh, well, Jasper here… Oh, by the way, Hutch, this is Jasper. Jasper, my partner, Ken Hutchinson.”

“Good to know ya,” Jasper extended a friendly hand to Hutch.

Hutch absently took the hand and shook, his eyes never leaving Starsky’s.

“And?” The stall tactic clearly didn’t work.

“And,” Starsky licked his lips, his eyes darting back and forth as he searched for the right words. “And…”

“And I don’t have one.” Jasper interjected, fed up with the pussyfooting. “It has to be delivered.” Taking sudden pity on Starsky, Jasper sized up Hutch and, in an honorable show of bravado, threw his shoulders back and formed a barrier between the irate blond and the squirming curly head.

“Delivered from where?” Hutch’s tone was surprisingly calm.

“Los Angeles.” Jasper placed his hands on his hips while Starsky merely smiled apologetically and nodded over the old man’s shoulder.

“Los Angeles?” Hutch’s brow rose.

“Mm-hmm. Kind of ironic, ain’t it?” Jasper looked back at Starsky and the two shared a nervous titter.

Still eerily calm, Hutch cleared his throat, regaining their attention “And just how long is it going to take for this fan belt to arrive from Los Angeles?”

“Two days, son.”

“What?”

“Two days.”

Hutch’s gaze shifted from Jasper to Starsky. “And just what the hell are we supposed to do for two days?”

“Wait, I guess.” Starsky shrugged.

“Wait where?”

“Here.”

“Here?”

“Yeah, here.”

“Where is here?”

“Well… I don’t know exactly.”

The twosome stared quizzically at Jasper, who was too deeply mesmerized by the tennis like exchange to realize he was being questioned until Starsky poked him lightly in the ribs.

“Oh! You’re in Bridgewater, Oregon, boys.”

“Bridgewater?”

“Yup.” Jasper smiled broadly. “Welcome.”

Hutch shook his head. “I’m not waiting two days in Bridgewater.”

Jasper suddenly bristled. “And just what is wrong with Bridgewater?”

“There’s nothing wrong with Bridgewater, Jasper. Bridgewater is lovely, I’m sure, but this is my vacation, and I wasn’t exactly planning on spending it waiting for a part to arrive for this worthless hunk of tin.” Hutch smacked the hood of the Torino with his hand.

“Watch that!” Starsky stepped out from behind Jasper’s protective shield and petted the spot Hutch had just walloped. With newfound vigor, he took a step toward Hutch and jabbed a finger in his chest. “And for your information, this is our vacation. You think I’m looking forward to spending two days in the middle of nowhere?”

“It’s your lousy car!”

“If you remember correctly, I wanted to fly. But, nooo, ‘We have to drive, Starsky. I want to see the countryside, Starsky. The foliage will be terrific this time of year, Starsky.'” The nasally imitation of Hutch was anything but flattering. “Well, here you go, pally, countryside galore!”

Jasper folded his arms across his chest, watching as Starsky took another step toward Hutch. He found himself suddenly admiring the smaller man’s hidden grit, figuring he had to be a real spark plug when he noticed Hutch stand down just a bit.

“Well, you were the one who insisted we take your car,” Hutch finally retorted.

“That’s because you can’t drive over 35 miles an hour in your hunk of junk without parts blowing all over the highway.”

Hutch reclaimed his ground and Jasper knew things were about to get interesting as the two stood toe to toe. Apparently the blond was quite the spitfire himself.

“Let me tell you something, buddy boy,” Hutch began, “my hunk of junk is a reliable, solid, tested and true workhorse. My hunk of junk wouldn’t have blown a gasket on a deserted highway in the middle of nowhere. My hunk of junk would have delivered us safe and sound to our resort hours ago.”

“Resort!” Starsky snorted. “That’s a laugh. It’s a lousy hunting lodge. And she didn’t blow a gasket. Her fan belt snapped. It coulda happened to any car.”

“Oh, well, excu-u-u-se me.” Hutch bowed sarcastically at the Torino. “I hope her royal highness finds it in her heart to forgive my misdiagnosis of her latest affliction.” He started to pace away from the car and Starsky, then changed his mind, turning abruptly back. “And just when did this overripe tomato become a she anyway?”

“About the same time your hunting lodge became a resort.”

“Well, you didn’t have to agree to come along, you know.”

“I only agreed to come along because you told me you were going to a fancy resort.”

“I never said fancy, and it is a resort.”

“Not by my definition, it ain’t.”

“It’s right in its name, South Ridge Resort. And how would you know anyway, since we’re apparently never going to get there to find out!”

“Because I saw the brochure, dummy, that you were trying to hide in your bag. When you told me I’d meet pretty girls, you failed to mention they’d be wearing camouflage and carrying a gun!”

Jasper laughed out loud at the comment and stepped in between the two, deciding enough was enough. “Now wait a minute, boys,” he giggled, reaching out to disarm Hutch of the waggling finger that was suddenly aimed in Starsky’s direction, “Did you say you were going to South Ridge Resort?”

“Mm-hmm,” Hutch nodded.

“You’re a bit off course for heading to South Ridge, ain’t ya?”

“Yep, we sure are.” Hutch nodded again. “You can blame that on Magellan over there. He never could read a map.”

“I can so read a map! You were the one who told me to turn left, then fell asleep!”

“I only fell asleep because you told me you knew where you were going.”

“I did know where I was going, and I turned left!”

“Your other left, moron!”

“All right, all right!” Jasper laid a hand on each of their chests and pushed them both back a step. “Look, there’s no point in getting all fired up over this. You’re here now. Wrangling with each other isn’t going to help.” He ran a curious eye over the partners. “You wouldn’t happen to be brothers, would you?”

Both sets of blue eyes merely blinked at Jasper.

Jasper blinked back. “What? Did I just sprout horns?”

“Jasper, with all due respect, do we look like brothers?” Hutch asked.

“Not exactly. But you sure do sound like ’em.”

“Well, we’re not brothers,” Starsky said flatly. “We’re just partners.”

“Just partners, huh? Well, Lord help the Los Angeles police department.”

“Hey!” Both Starsky and Hutch balked together.

“All right, all right,” Jasper waved his hands in the air. “Listen, I think I’ve got a solution to your problem. If you can wait until tomorrow morning, I can drive you in to Caribou and you can catch a bus to South Ridge.”

“Caribou?” Hutch chuffed. “What, does Santa drive the bus?”

“Those are reindeer, dumb ass, not caribou.” Starsky rolled his eyes.

“That’s it!” Hutch’s arms flailed. “I swear to God, Starsky, I’m gonna…”

“You’re gonna what?” Starsky mocked, sticking out his chin.

“For the love of Pete, cut it out!” Jasper grabbed a fistful of both detectives’ shirts and yanked them closer. “Do you two want help or don’t ya?”

Stunned at being manhandled, Starsky and Hutch both stared down at the hand that had a firm hold on each of them. “Yes,” they replied in unison.

“All right then.” Jasper let go of their shirts, smoothing Starsky’s collar as he spoke to him. “Caribou is a little town about 50 miles east. You should have passed through it before you got here.”

Starsky frowned, obviously having no recollection of such a place.

“Boy, you really did take a wrong turn, didn’t ya? Lucky you didn’t end up in Canada somewhere.”

Hutch began a sarcastic snort, which was stopped abruptly by a sharp look from Jasper.

“Look, you catch the bus,” Jasper continued, “have your vacation at your resort with your pretty girls. When you’re done, you come back, I’ll pick you up in Caribou, and your car will be waiting for you here, all fixed and ready to go. Sound like a plan?”

Hutch and Jasper watched as Starsky contemplated the proposal. “Well, I don’t know,” he finally whined.

“Don’t trust me with your car, son?”

“Don’t be offended, Jasper,” Hutch rolled his eyes. “He wouldn’t trust his own mother with that car.”

“OK,” Jasper shrugged, “then I guess you wait two days. I’m sure South Ridge will be able to hold your reservation.”

“I’m sure they will,” Starsky muttered under his breath.

“How’s that?” Hutch asked, clearly ready to dive into another argument should it present itself.

“Nothin’,” Starsky shook his head. “Nothin’ at all.”

“Mm-hmm,” Hutch nodded at his partner, glaring at him through slit eyelids. He turned to Jasper. “Is there a hotel here?”

“Nope.” Jasper shook his head, scratching at his beard.

“Where can we stay?”

“Oh, I expect I can fix you up a couple of bed rolls in my barn.”

“What?” Starsky looked horrified.

Jasper slapped him on the back, laughing. “Ah, you city kids. You’re a real hoot!” The old man grasped their shoulders and steered them around so they were facing the street. “See that big old farmhouse?” He pointed to a white house with blue shutters and chickens in the yard. “That’s Miss Mildred’s General Store. She rents out rooms over the top, and there’s one available. You two can stay in the same room without shooting each other, can’t ya?” The comment was aimed at Hutch, who shamefully looked to the ground, scuffing his foot through the dirt.

“Yes.”

“All right then. Grab your stuff and go on down.” Jasper clapped Starsky on the back, knocking him slightly off balance.

Hutch nodded and turned toward the Torino to begin unloading their gear. Starsky remained, staring down the road at their accommodations, reaching out and grabbing Jasper by the shoulder as he began to head back to the garage.

“Umm, Jasper?” he whispered, not wanting Hutch to hear.

“Mm?”

“Are… those… chickens?” Starsky swallowed hard.

“That, they are, son.” Jasper nodded and began to step away once more but was stopped by another firm grip on his shoulder.

“They don’t come in the house, do they?” Starsky turned questioning eyes to Jasper.

“Only after they’ve been beheaded and plucked,” Jasper patted Starsky’s arm reassuringly.

“I see,” Starsky nodded, turning back to stare at the chickens uneasily.

Hutch moved up next to his partner, loaded down with their gear. “Got your stuff, Starsk. Ready?” He draped a bag over Starsky’s shoulder.

“Yeah.”

“Then let’s go.” Hutch marched toward the road, leaving Starsky behind. “Thanks, Jasper,” he called over his shoulder. Noticing that Starsky hadn’t moved, he stopped and turned around. “Starsky, are you coming or what?”

“Yeah.” Starsky blinked. “Yeah, I’m coming.” He adjusted the bag on his shoulder and slowly fell into step with his partner.

“See you boys in a bit!” Jasper called after the mismatched pair as they trudged down the street, smiling when he heard Starsky grunt something about “lousy chickens” as he plucked the forgotten underwear off of Hutch’s shoulder.

******

Yeah, they’re living it up at the Hotel California.
  –The Eagles, “Hotel California”

“Starsky, will you come on?” Hutch stood on Miss Mildred’s porch, hands on hips.

“But the chickens,” Starsky whined from behind the safety of the gate surrounding the yard full of fowl, left eyebrow cocked in a cagy expression as he watched the birds peck at the ground and squawk at one another in their quest for feed.

“Oh, my God,” Hutch blinked at the quivering form of his partner. “You’re afraid of the stupid chickens.”

“I’m not afraid of the stupid chickens.” Starsky shook his head, his eyes never leaving the big white birds. “They just make me… nervous.”

“It’s OK, Starsk,” Hutch reassured. “They’re not attack chickens.”

“What?” Starsky’s head shot up. “There are attack chickens?”

Hutch rolled his eyes. “Starsky, they’re chickens. You know, the universal symbol for fear? They’re not going to hurt you. Come on!”

“All right.” Starsky reached a shaky hand toward the gate and hesitated. “They’re looking at me funny.”

“You do kind of resemble a big sack of grain.”

“That’s not very funny.” Starsky shook his head at Hutch and pushed on the gate, abruptly jerking his hand back at the angry squawk and flutter of a riled chicken’s wings. He turned wide eyes to his partner. “Won’t hurt me, huh? No way, Hutch. We’re gonna have to find somewhere else to stay.”

“And where do you suggest that is, Starsk? The Waldorff hidden in that field of ryegrass over there? Just come on, would ya?”

“Nope,” Starsky planted his feet a little firmer and shook his head. “I’m not gonna get bitten by a chicken.”

“Bitten by a… That’s it!” Hutch plopped his belongings onto the porch floor and bounded down the steps. He stomped down the walkway, the flock of chickens scattering with each step. He jerked open the gate and grabbed Starsky by the shirtsleeve, yanking him through the entryway.

“You know something?” Hutch grumbled as he towed his reluctant partner down the walk and through the sea of chickens. “As long as I live I’ll never be able to figure you out. I’ve seen you run down a dark alley in the middle of a moonless night chasing some deranged killer armed with an AK-47, and you didn’t even flinch. Never batted an eye! But a few lousy birds, and you’re scared witless? What is that, Starsky, huh? Huh?”

“I… uh… I…” Starsky stammered, tripping up the steps and looking back disbelievingly at the chickens he’d just been pulled through. “I don’t…”

“Never mind,” Hutch shook his head and released his grip on Starsky’s shirtsleeve. “I don’t want to know. It’s probably some tall tale about an uncle who was killed by a man-eating chicken.”

“Uncle? Man-eating chicken? No, I… no,” Starsky continued to sputter, still staring wide-eyed at the chickens, who appeared virtually unaffected by the intrusion as they reassembled to peck carelessly at the ground.

Hutch rolled his eyes, slinging his bag over his shoulder. “Let’s just go in.”

“In… yeah, in.” Starsky nodded, stumbling backwards and bumping into Hutch, who was trying to open the door.

“Will you please!”

“Sorry.” Starsky shook the trauma of the previous few minutes away and turned to follow Hutch into the house.

The twosome entered the foyer of the old Colonial. To their right was a sitting room containing a stone fireplace and a dark-stained hardwood floor with a blue and gold Savonnerie area rug in the center. The furniture consisted of a Victorian couch and chair set upholstered in blue velvet with gold accents to match the floral pattern of the rug, an antique high-back rocking chair and a dark roll top desk. To the left was the small general store, containing basic boxed and canned goods, bins of fresh vegetables and bolts of fabric. The walls of the hallway dividing the two rooms were decorated with black and white pictures in antique frames and calico print wallpaper, a big wooden staircase, and a set of French doors leading to a backyard deck. Hutch drank in the décor, letting out a contented sigh.

“This is kind of nice,” he admitted, his bad mood diminishing slightly.

Starsky hardly noticed, pulling a lace curtain back and squinting through a window at the ominous chickens. “We’re gonna have to go through that every time we leave, aren’t we?”

“Go through what?” Hutch was barely paying attention to his partner as he continued to take inventory of the antique furnishings.

“The chickens. We’re going to have to walk through them every time we leave.”

“Well, yeah, Starsk, I guess we are.” Hutch ran his hand along the dark wood of the staircase railing. “Just where exactly do you think we’ll be going all that often anyway?”

“Well, I don’t know.” Starsky shrugged and scratched at his jaw, taking sudden interest in the house, peering specifically into the store. His face scrunched at the selection of boxed and canned goods on the shelves. “We have to eat. There’s got to be a restaurant somewhere. And I’m going to have to check on my car. I mean, don’t get me wrong, I liked Jasper, but do you think he really knows what he’s doing?”

“Sonny, I was fixing cars before you could even reach the gas pedal.” Jasper wheeled out from behind the roll top desk, startling the detectives.

“Jasper!” Hutch smiled. “What are you doing here?”

“I keep an eye on the place for Miss Mildred. I’m here to check you two fine boys in. While you were riling up the chickens, I came in through the back.” Jasper smiled broadly and nodded his head toward the back entrance.

“Oh.” Starsky stepped into the sitting room and leaned on the desk, giving Jasper a sheepish grin. “Look, I didn’t mean…”

“Save it, sonny.” Jasper dismissed the apology with a wave of his hand. “It’s all right. I know what it’s like to think a lot of a car. Back when I was a young fella I had myself a 1939 Dodge pickup, fire engine red just like your car.”

“Candy apple,” Starsky corrected.

“Huh?”

“It’s candy apple red.”

“Oh. Sorry.” Jasper turned a questioning gaze to Hutch, who just shrugged his shoulders. “Well, anyway, I sowed her up good–uh, I guess that’s what you boys would call ‘customizing’ now–and even used to take her up to Portland and drag her from time to time. She was a real streak of lightning. No one could touch her. My pride and joy, Louise was. I didn’t let too many tinker with her neither.”

“Louise?”

“Yep. That’s what I named her, after Louise Parks, this pretty little blonde I took a shine to.” Jasper shook his head and whistled. “Now she was something.”

Hutch grinned. “She was your girlfriend?”

“My girlfriend? Oh, no.” Jasper laughed heartily. “A little hotsy like Louise never would have gone out with the likes of me. She was just a fantasy to me and about half the other fellas in Winterville County.”

“Oh, come on, Jasper, I’ll bet you were a real lady killer back in the day.” Starsky waggled his eyebrows.

“Nah, not me.” Jasper blushed. “Only to my sweet Sarah.” The old man glanced out the window, a wistful expression on his face. “Guess I never gave Louise too much thought after I met Sarah.”

“The girl or the pickup?” Hutch asked.

“The girl,” Jasper grunted, adding, “I really missed the pickup.”

Starsky nodded, understanding completely a man’s adoration for a fine automobile.

“What happened to Louise?” he asked.

“The girl?”

“The pickup.”

“Oh, well, Sarah made me sell it after I made the mistake of calling it Louise in front of her.” Jasper shook his head, grinning. “She never did care much for Louise Parks. But then, not many girls did.”

“And what about the girl?” Hutch chimed in.

“Sarah?”

“Louise.”

“Hmm,” Jasper scratched his head, “I don’t know really what happened to her. She probably found herself some handsome chap who whisked her away to bigger and better things.” He shrugged. “She always did seem to crave more than these parts could offer.”

“I’m familiar with the type,” Hutch nodded, understanding completely a man’s adoration for a woman who couldn’t be satisfied with the simpler things in life.

“Just what do these parts have to offer, Jasper?” Starsky asked.

“Well, that depends on what you’re looking for, son.”

“Food.” Hutch chuffed. “He’s always looking for food.”

“Yeah,” Starsky nodded, patting his growling stomach. “Any good restaurants?”

“Oh, you bet!” Jasper grinned. “Miss Ethel’s across the street makes the best venison loaf in town.”

“Venison loaf? That’s deer, ain’t it?”

“Mm’m, yeah, it’s good. Finish it off with some of her homemade mincemeat pie, and you’re in heaven,” Jasper licked his lips, “nothing like it.”

“I’ll bet not.” Starsky nodded politely. “What’s mincemeat?” he asked Hutch out of the corner of his mouth.

“Venison in a pie.” Hutch answered.

Jasper nodded in agreement and Starsky turned green.

“Just wait, Starsk. You’ll love it.”

“What do you know about it? When have you ever had mincemeat?”

“My grandfather used to bag a deer every year.”

“Oh?” Jasper looked up from the paper he’d begun writing on. “Where are you from, Kenneth?”

“Minnesota, and you can call me Hutch.”

“Huh. And how ’bout you, Davy?”

“New York City originally. Let’s just say my grandfather didn’t ‘bag a deer’ every year.”

“I’ll bet not,” Jasper winked and held out a room key and a form for one of them to sign.

Starsky took the key and tossed the form in Hutch’s direction. “Just sign there,” Jasper pointed to a line on the paper with the tip of his pen, smiling at the way these two young men operated as a team. “So how’d a boy from Minnesota and a New York City kid become partners on the Los Angeles police force?”

“Just dumb luck, I guess,” Hutch shrugged as he signed the form.

“Well, you two must think an awful lot of each other, going on vacation together and all.”

“Yeah, we must.” Hutch shot Starsky a tiny smile and handed the form back to Jasper.

Jasper watched as Starsky smiled back shyly, the partners offering a silent apology for taking out all their frustration on each other over the last few hours. He felt just a twinge of jealousy, remembering a time when he and his brother used to share such moments after a good row. “You two are all set,” he sighed away the thought and stood, leading the two detectives out into the hall to show them where their accommodations were. “You go up the stairs, and your room is the first door on the left. Bathroom’s at the end of the hall. There’s a full bath and shower. Just installed that myself last year. But make sure you knock before going in. The lock broke last week and I haven’t had time to fix the darn thing yet. Clean towels are in the closet just outside the door.”

“Wait, does that mean we have to share a bathroom?” Starsky asked.

“Fraid so. It’s not usually a problem, but then it’s not often that we have a full house like this.”

“Full house? How many other people do we have to share the bathroom with?”

“Oh, just one,” Jasper reassured. “There’re only two rooms.”

Hutch laughed. “Who’s in the other room?”

“Lucy. She’ll be staying for a while.”

“Lucy?” Starsky and Hutch questioned in unison.

“Don’t worry yourselves about Lucy. She keeps to herself and you’ll hardly hear a peep from her. Just make sure you knock before barging in the bathroom. I’d hate for there to be an incident up there.”

“Got it.” Starsky nodded.

“So go get your stuff settled and get cleaned up. You can head on over to Miss Ethel’s when you’re done. I’ll catch you there, introduce you to some of our townsfolk.” Jasper clasped his hands together, excited. “You boys are in luck! It’s Miss Mildred’s 90th birthday and there’s a big celebration tonight. I expect most of Bridgewater will be there.”

“That sounds nice, Jasper,” Hutch smiled warmly, finding himself taking a real liking to the old man. “Thanks.”

“You bet.” Jasper returned the smile and nodded, steering the twosome toward the steps. “Now get a move-on, boys. I don’t want you to miss out on that venison loaf.”

“Terrific.” Starsky grimaced.

“Starsk, I’m telling you, you’ll love it,” Hutch patted his partner on the back. “Tastes just like chicken.”

Starsky sneered at the not even close to funny joke.

“Ooh, that reminds me…” Jasper snapped his fingers in the air and headed to a closet in the hall. He pulled out a hatchet and tucked it under his arm, yanking the front door open. “Gotta run. See you boys in a bit!” he called over his shoulder as he headed out the door, hatchet in hand. Starsky watched the hasty retreat and gulped, turning wide, questioning eyes to Hutch when Jasper could be heard clucking, “Here, chick, chick, chick, chick,” in the yard.

“Look on the bright side, Starsk,” Hutch patted his bewildered partner on the arm, “that’s one less man-eating chicken you’ll have to worry about.” He smiled, slung his satchel over his shoulder and started up the stairs, leaving Starsky open-mouthed at the bottom.

******

Word gets around in a small, small town…
–Martina McBride, “Independence Day”

Miss Ethel was a stout older black lady who wore her graying dark hair tied neatly back in a hair-net covered bun, a yellow gold rope chain swaying from her glasses as she walked. The apron covering her pink waitress uniform was covered with gravy and meat stains, evidence of the day’s hard labor preparing a four-course meal for the 15 tables full of people currently gathered in her large dining hall. She expertly glided through the sea of townspeople, making certain water pitchers and bread baskets were never allowed to go empty and that everyone had been properly fed. Her robust smile never faded as she joined in conversations with ladies about their latest quilting projects, listened intently as men discussed their plans for getting their crops out before winter settled, and children talked excitedly about costumes to be worn at the upcoming Halloween festivities held annually at the Lutheran church.

The clank of silverware against china and the buzz of good-humored conversation and laughter filled the crowded room. A “Happy Birthday, Mildred” sign hung neat and straight over the mantel of the stone fireplace that housed a glowing orange blaze, making the atmosphere cozy and warm. A three-layer birthday cake was perched on a table covered in a white linen cloth in the corner. A second woman, younger, but donning a similar stained apron and waitress uniform, along with a very pregnant belly, moved much more slowly and quietly among the diners, nodding and smiling politely at their thank-yous and shyly answering questions about when the baby was due. The familiarity of the souls in the room was palpable, with the exception of two, who sat at a corner table, one talking merrily with the elderly couple who had joined them, the other scrunching his nose at the vegetables on his plate.

“What’d you say these are called again?” he asked his companion, using his fork to jab at the green glob.

“Fiddleheads, Starsk. They’re good.”

“Fiddleheads?”

“Mm-hmm.” Hutch nodded, reaching for the vat of vinegar in the center of the table and pouring it liberally over the pile on his partner’s plate. “Try them now.”

Starsky’s scowl deepened at the now vinegar-soaked mess. He gently laid his fork down next to the plate and pushed it toward Hutch. “You eat ’em. I’m done.”

“Thanks,” Hutch grinned and began shoveling the fiddleheads into his mouth, sighing with satisfaction.

Starsky leaned in close to the blond. “You know, I always knew you were weird, with your herbs and your vitamins and your desiccated body parts, but I had no idea just how weird until now.”

Hutch cocked an eyebrow. “What do you mean?”

“Hutch, you just ate Bambi… in a loaf nonetheless.”

“Well, you just ate one of Jasper’s chickens,” Hutch retorted, pointing to the empty spot on Starsky’s plate where a hunk of baked chicken used to reside.

Starsky frowned, not having considered the possibility that the chicken breast he’d just consumed had come from one of his earlier acquaintances. Regardless, it still wasn’t as weird as the weeds Hutch was so merrily stuffing into his gaping maw.

“That may be true, but you’re now on your second helping of these… these… these…”

“Fiddleheads.”

“Fiddleheads. You’re eating something called fiddleheads, Hutch. Fidd-le-heads.”

Hutch just nodded and grinned, scooping up more of the greens on his fork.

“Do you even know what fiddleheads are?”

“Yes, I know what they are,” Hutch answered around a mouthful. “Do you?”

“Nope, can’t say that I do.”

“They’re unfurled ferns.”

“Ferns. You’re eating ferns.”

“Mm-hmm, with vinegar.” Hutch smiled, unaware a hunk of fiddlehead had wedged in his teeth.

Starsky rolled his eyes in disgust and turned his attention to their dinner companions. “Weird, I tell ya. Weird,” he said, grinning and hitching a thumb in Hutch’s direction. The twosome merely shook their heads at the shenanigans and continued picking at their own plates full of Bambi loaf and ferns.

Earlier in the afternoon Evelyn and Elmer Bean had been returning from their weekly drive to Caribou for groceries and knitting supplies when they happened across the stranded detectives and had been the ones to send Jasper out to retrieve them. When they arrived at Ethel’s and discovered the strangers sitting alone under the heavy scrutiny of the rest of the patrons, they parked themselves at their table without hesitation. It wasn’t often that outsiders stopped in Bridgewater, and the couple was certain there had to be a story lurking behind the sudden appearance of the mysterious duo. They were a little disappointed to discover it was nothing more sinister than a broken fan belt and a lack of a sense of direction, but Evelyn in particular found the fact that these two young men were big-city detectives utterly fascinating. She was a bit of a detective herself, she’d exclaimed, Elmer nodding his head in agreement, and prided herself on the fact that she knew just about all the goings-on of every family in town. Anything they were curious about, just ask, and she would happily fill them in.

“More water?” The pregnant waitress suddenly appeared at their table, a white ceramic pitcher in hand.

“Yes, please,” Starsky smiled and nodded at the young girl as she removed the empty pitcher and replaced it with the new one. “Thanks.”

“Would you like more bread?”

“No thanks, we’re done,” Evelyn answered, grabbing Elmer’s plate as he was about to sop up the remaining gravy with his third slice of bread. She snatched the bread out of his hand and, ignoring his protests, covered it with a napkin before lifting the pile of dirty dishes toward the waitress. “If you could clear these plates, though, Lucy, that’d be nice.”

“Lucy?” Hutch asked, adding his and Starsky’s plates to the stack. “You wouldn’t happen to be the Lucy staying over at Mildred’s boarding house, would you?”

“Why, yes, she is,” Evelyn offered before Lucy had the chance to respond. “Lucy, this is Dave and Ken. They’re going to be living across the hall from you for a few days. They’re detectives.” She whispered the word “detectives” as if it were top-secret information.

“I know,” Lucy whispered back, trying to juggle the water pitcher and pile of plates. “Uncle Jasper told me.”

“Oh, yeah? You’re Jasper’s niece, huh?” Starsky questioned.

“Mm-hmm.” Lucy nodded, not offering any other information. “Will you all be having pie or cake?”

“Pie,” the Beans and Hutch answered in unison.

Lucy turned her attention to the only person at the table who didn’t answer. “And you, sir?”

Starsky cocked an eyebrow in the birthday cake’s direction. “The cake doesn’t have some kind of critter or unfurled fern in it, does it?”

“Not that I’m aware of,” Lucy couldn’t help but giggle, “just the usual flour, eggs and sugar.”

“Then cake it is,” Starsky waggled his eyebrows, offering the young girl his widest grin. “And I’ll bet someone as sweet as you could score me some extra frosting.”

Lucy sighed, but returned the smile to the charming despite himself stranger. “I’ll see what I can do. Be back in a bit.”

“Starsk, cut it out,” Hutch disciplined his partner when Lucy was out of earshot.

“What’d I do?”

“Your flirting routine. Look at her, she can’t be more than 20 and she’s pregnant!”

“I haven’t a clue what you’re talking about, Hutchinson. I wasn’t flirting.” Dark eyelashes fluttered innocently in Evelyn’s direction. “Was I flirting, Evelyn?”

“You just can’t help yourself, can you, honey?” Evelyn batted her eyes back and grasped Starsky’s hand.

“Careful, schweetheart, don’t want to make Elmer jealous,” Starsky murmured out of the corner of his mouth, covering Evelyn’s hand with his own and leaning in closer. It was a wasted effort, however, as the portly Elmer concentrated on spreading butter on the piece of bread he’d manage to rescue from Lucy, paying no attention to the exchange.

“All the charisma of an ear of corn,” Evelyn sighed, shaking her head at her unaware husband. “But Ken’s right, honey,” she patted Starsky’s hand. “Don’t waste your time on Lucy. The girl’s got trouble on top of trouble.”

“Oh? What kind of trouble?”

“Big trouble. Poor girl, she’s had it rough her whole life, what with that father of hers and all.”

“What’s wrong with her father?”

Evelyn’s eyes danced, happy that the two detectives had taken her bait. She leaned in and motioned for them to come closer, getting herself comfortable to begin relaying the whole sordid tale.

“Jedidiah Farley was a no-good drunk, pure and simple,” she half-whispered, “a real embarrassment to his family. Poor Mildred, God rest her soul, she did the best she could with him.”

“Miss Mildred?” Hutch asked, nodding toward the “Happy Birthday” sign.

“Mm-hmm.”

“Miss Mildred is dead?”

“Oh, heavens, yes. Has been for years.”

“But this is her birthday party.”

“Yes,” Evelyn blinked, obviously not understanding the young man’s point.

“I don’t mean to be rude,” Hutch leaned in closer, lowering his voice just a bit, “but why are we celebrating her birthday if she’s dead?”

“Well, we celebrate George Washington’s birthday, right?” Evelyn answered matter of fact.

Hutch nodded.

“And he’s dead, right?”

“Uh, yes,” Hutch agreed, “but he was the Founding Father of our country.”

“Well, Mildred Farley was the Founding Mother of Bridgewater. This town wouldn’t be half of what it is if it weren’t for Mildred.”

Starsky stifled a snort, wondering just what exactly the town was anyway. “What did Mildred do?” he asked.

“Well,” Evelyn leaned in even closer, “after her husband, Jasper Sr., died…”

“Whoa, wait,” Starsky interrupted. “Jasper Sr.? Mildred was Jasper’s mother?”

“Of course,” Evelyn seemed annoyed at the interruption. “After he died, she had to figure out a way to put food on the table for her and her two little boys, Jasper and Jed. She sewed and cooked and cleaned for people and managed to save up enough money to start that little store across the street. It was, and still is, the only store between here and Caribou. It’s real convenient for people who run out of something and aren’t able to drive all the way into Caribou to get it.”

“Smart,” Hutch nodded.

“Darn right it was smart. She even was able to start up this restaurant and ran it and the store until the day she died. She left the restaurant to Ethel, who was the daughter of Mildred’s best friend, Harriet. Poor Harriet, she died giving birth to her second child. The baby died three days later. No one ever knew why. Then Ethel’s father died not even a year later… of a broken heart, they claim. Ethel was left to live with her grandparents until they died. She was just a teenager. Mildred took her in at that point, treated her like one of her own. Poor Ethel, she’s seen her share of tragedy, that’s for sure. Wasn’t easy coming from the only black family in town. And then she married Harley, who’s white, you know?”

“Really?” Hutch acted more shocked than he actually was.

“Mmm, now that was a scandal,” Evelyn nodded, then realized she’d sidetracked herself. “Sorry, I can go a little off course sometimes. Where was I?”

“Umm, Mildred died and left Ethel the restaurant,” Starsky answered.

“Oh, right!” Evelyn looked pleased Starsky’d been paying attention. “Jasper and Jed got the store. Now Jasper Jr., he’s a good man, smart just like his mother. Before Mildred died, he worked in the general store and Frank Perkins’ garage all throughout high school, then took the garage over when Frank retired.”

Starsky scratched at his jaw, finding himself curiously drawn to the tale. “So what was wrong with Jed?”

Evelyn rolled her eyes, looking around to make sure Lucy was a good distance away. “Jed was trouble practically from the day he was born. Gave his poor mother nothing but grief. He killed Jasper Sr., you know?”

“What?” Starsky and Hutch questioned in unison, exchanging a glance.

“Yep.” Evelyn nodded, enjoying the captivated looks on the faces of her audience of two. “He shot his own father. Jasper Sr. had taken them on their first hunting trip. Jed wasn’t paying attention, as usual, claimed he mistook his father for a deer and fired, killing him right then and there.”

“God,” Starsky shook his head. “How old were the boys?”

“Oh, around 10 or 11, I guess.”

“Ten or 11? They were allowed to hunt at 10 or 11?”

“Starsk, there’s a special hunting permit for kids under 15,” Hutch explained. “As long as they’re accompanied by an adult, they can hunt. And probably back then that wasn’t even necessary.”

Starsky turned his attention to his partner. “And I suppose you had a gun when you were 10, Davy Crockett?”

“A low-powered rifle, yes,” Hutch nodded. “The only things it would kill were rabbits and birds.”

“Boy, I’m just finding out all kinds of interesting things about you today.” Starsky shook his head, his eyes returning to Evelyn. “But, still, Jed was just a little boy. I mean, how could anyone blame him for that? It was an accident.”

“Well, that’s what Mildred said, too. She never once blamed him. That woman loved both of her boys with all her heart, but Jed was just a bad egg. No matter how hard Mildred tried, he kept getting wilder and wilder. While Jasper was working his tail off, trying to make a go of things, Jed was getting himself in all kinds of trouble. Sarah was the only one who could turn him around.”

“Sarah?” Starsky looked at Hutch. “Didn’t Jasper mention a wife named Sarah?”

“Yeah, I think he did.” Hutch nodded. Two sets of blue eyes turned to Evelyn for an answer, which she was all too happy to provide.

“Jasper’s Sarah was Jed’s Sarah.”

“They were married to the same Sarah?” Starsky’s voice rose.

“Shhh,” Evelyn quieted him, glancing back to make sure Lucy hadn’t overheard. “No, Jasper was never married to Sarah. But Jed was.”

Starsky squinted at Evelyn, confusion clearly having set in. “How the heck did that happen?”

“Well, see, Jasper and Jed got drafted in the middle of the Second World War and were sent off to France. Jasper had just taken over the garage and had asked Sarah to marry him. She vowed she’d wait for him to return, but after a year, we received word that Jasper went MIA and was presumed dead.”

“Oh, my God.” Starsky gulped.

“When that happened,” Evelyn continued, “the Army sent Jed home, what with that new law about sons from the same family being in combat together and all. The whole town was heartsick over the fact that Jasper was gone. No one ever said it so as Mildred could hear, but everyone thought the wrong son had died.”

Hutch winced at the comment, exchanging a quick glance with Starsky. “Miss Mildred must have been devastated. First her husband, then her son.”

“Oh, she was,” Evelyn nodded, “but she kept plugging on, grateful to at least have Jed back.”

“What happened to Jed?”

“He decided to try and take over the gas station for his brother, even though he was more of a mess than he had been before the war. He couldn’t make a go of it, not that he tried very hard, mind you. He was always drunk and the place was only open half the time. It was so sad to see all of Jasper’s hard work go down the drain. Mildred, I think, was in denial about Jed, always making excuses for him. But Sarah just couldn’t stand it. She finally stepped in to help and business picked up.” Evelyn shook her head. “She was a scrapper, that Sarah. She knew her way around an engine almost as good as Jasper. And apparently Jed knew his way around Sarah.”

Starsky’s brow rose. “What do you mean?”

“Wasn’t a year and he and Sarah are wandering around, holding hands, claiming to be in love.”

“Oh.” Starsky nodded. “I see.”

“Mmm. It was strange, but, you know, it seemed to be a good thing. She really turned that boy around. He stopped drinking and became pretty responsible. The garage stayed in business and after being engaged for a couple of years, they finally got married.”

“A couple of years? What had happened to Jasper?” Hutch asked, nodding in Jasper’s direction across the room, where he was finishing his dinner and getting undivided attention from the table full of widows with whom he sat. “Obviously he wasn’t dead.”

“Obviously.” Evelyn smiled. “Turns out, he was being held prisoner of war. About five years after Jed and Sarah got married, Jasper comes wandering into town one day on the back of a farmer’s truck. Just out of the blue, he’s back with no notification from the Army that he’d been found alive, nothing. Everyone was so happy. There were celebrations for weeks. He got a real hero’s welcome.”

“Deservedly so,” Starsky nodded, his respect for Jasper climbing to a new height.

“Oh, you bet,” Evelyn agreed. “But, of course, there was the fact that Jed had married his brother’s fiancée while he was being held for seven years in a dirty, rat-infested POW camp.”

“Mm, yeah. How’d Jasper handle that?” Hutch asked.

“Oh, God love him, he never uttered an angry word. He congratulated them and was happy to see Jed finally making something of himself. He still loved Sarah, you could tell, and Sarah still loved him, but he never tried to win her back. He went back to work at the station and carried on like everything was fine. Lucy came along about three years later, which was a real blessing. Everything seemed to be fine until…”

“Until what?” Starsky’s eyes widened.

“Until one night about 15 years ago, right around this time of year,” Evelyn lowered her voice again to just above a whisper. Starsky and Hutch couldn’t stop themselves from leaning in even closer to hear the rest. “Jasper and Jed had gone into Caribou for some parts for the garage, and somehow Jed managed to wander into a bar and get himself plastered. The man hadn’t touched a drop of alcohol in years. I can’t even begin to imagine what possessed him. When he got home, either Sarah was roaring mad or he was too drunk to make it upstairs, because he ended up passed out on the couch. He had apparently had a cigarette and put it out in an ashtray on the windowsill. The cigarette hadn’t gone all the way out, and the curtains caught fire. The place went up like a tinder box and Jed just stayed passed out on the couch. Jasper saw the flames from the garage and went running in to save them, but it was too late. He was only able to get to Jed downstairs in the living room. Sarah burned to death in her own bed.”

“Oh, my God.” Hutch gulped. “Where was Lucy?”

“She was spending the night at a friend’s house, thank God.”

“Holy cow, Evelyn.” Starsky sat back in his chair, watching Lucy place slices of her dead grandmother’s birthday cake onto plates, unaware her whole family history was being rehashed by the town gossip just a few feet away. Hutch’s eyes found his partner’s and they shook their heads, both of them contemplating the tragedy of it all.

Evelyn smiled smugly at the boys’ stunned reactions and took a sip of water.

“Don’t you want to know what happened to Jed?”

“Uh, yeah,” Hutch nodded, not believing there could possibly be more. “What happened?”

“Well, when he sobered up and realized that he’d killed poor Sarah, he went crazy. He spent a few months at the mental health hospital in Caribou. Why they ever released him is beyond me, but they did, and he promptly drove up to Portland and right straight off a bridge into the Columbia River. We all figured that he was drunk and it was an accident, but investigators determined it was intentional. Seems he at least had the good sense to rid the world of himself before he killed another poor, innocent soul.”

“Evelyn!” Elmer spoke for the first time in about a half an hour. No one had realized he’d even been paying attention .

“Well, it’s true, Elmer. Who in the world besides Lucy and maybe Jasper ever missed Jed Farley?”

“So what’s Lucy’s story?” Starsky couldn’t help but ask, despite the fact he knew that Evelyn was taking too much pleasure in relaying the tale.

“Well, by this time poor Mildred had been gone for close to a year. Sarah’s parents were too old to care for a little girl, so Jasper took her in. Raised her just like she was his very own. And she was a good girl, too. Didn’t take after her father, thank goodness. She was every bit as smart as Mildred and Jasper. She even went off to the state university in Portland. Had planned on becoming a doctor to open a practice here in Bridgewater. She started med school, but…”

Evelyn was an expert at throwing in a pause for dramatic effect.

“But what?” Both Starsky and Hutch couldn’t stop themselves from asking.

“But she met some wild boy at school and ran off and got married to him. You know what they say about girls marrying men like their fathers? Well, that’s not always a good thing. Never met the boy, but I’ve heard a lot about him. He’s been in jail for drugs and theft and I’ve heard he hits her, though she’s never admitted it. I can’t imagine what a good girl like Lucy ever saw in the likes of him. But then love is blind.” Evelyn’s eyes wandered to Elmer, who was currently enthralled in the mission of excavating for crumbs on the tablecloth and licking them off his fingertips. “Thank God, though, once a baby came into the picture, she had the good sense to get away. She’s been back in Bridgewater for close to a month now. Getting bigger by the day, poor dear. It’s going to be hard raising a baby all by herself.”

“Wow.” Starsky shook his head. “That’s quite the story, Evelyn.”

“Oh, that’s nothing.” Evelyn’s brown eyes danced with pride. “See the family sitting way over in the corner, the one with the old man in the wheelchair?”

“Yeah?” Starsky looked in the direction to which Evelyn had casually nodded.

“Want to hear about them?”

“That’s OK, Evelyn.” Hutch shook his head. “I think we’ve heard just about enough for one night.”

“Oh, but they’ve got a whopper of a story. You see…”

“Maybe later, beautiful,” Starsky interrupted, leaning heavily against Evelyn’s shoulder and maneuvering his mouth just centimeters from her ear. “Right now we’ve got some sweet stuff to eat.” He aimed his smile at Lucy, who had returned to the table with three slices of pie and one slice of cake.

“Suit yourself then,” the disappointment was obvious in Evelyn’s voice as she flinched away from Starsky’s touch and concentrated on her pie.

“There was no extra frosting,” Lucy grunted, rolling her eyes at the tangle of curls and face full of teeth grinning up at her.

Starsky sighed, his smile deflating as he accepted the fact that the double shots of patented Starsky charm had somehow failed him miserably. Evelyn was obviously not buying it any longer and Lucy apparently never did to begin with. Oh, well, he shrugged and dove into his cake without extra frosting, telling himself he’d get ’em next time. He always did.

******

Oh, love, oh, love, you fickle thing…
–Dixie Chicks, “Tortured, Tangled Hearts”

A couple of hours later, and the boys found themselves still at the restaurant after having become acquainted with about three-quarters of Bridgewater’s finest. The majority of the crowd had cleared after a rousing rendition of “Happy Birthday” was sung to Miss Mildred’s spirit and Jasper, who it turned out was also the town’s mayor, gave a simple but touching speech in honor of his mother and a State of the Township address that took all of two minutes. Starsky watched in silence as Hutch devoured two pieces of mincemeat pie, realizing he’d never seen his partner pack away that much food in one sitting. The odd assortment of gamey cuisine was apparently exactly what it took to get the usually finicky eater to toss aside his food inhibitions. He was welcome to it, Starsky told himself, mentally counting the days until he was back in the city with tacos and pizza and beer.

The few scattered souls who remained after the party were clearing rapidly. Miss Ethel had finally been able to make her way to greet the boys after the majority of the crowd had left, and she introduced them to her husband, Harley, who, they soon discovered, made a living out of handcrafting guitars. Hutch was, not surprisingly, fascinated with the choice of profession and jumped at Harley’s invitation to go upstairs to his workshop and see some of his latest handiwork. Despite his growing concern that he could very well lose his partner to Bridgewater and its quirky ways, Starsky waved the eager Hutch off and told him to go ahead with Harley. He was going to finish the game of Chinese checkers he’d started with Calvin Green, the local taxidermist, and would catch up with him later.

Starsky was feigning interest in Calvin’s account of the hunt for the Bigfoot currently going on in the mountain region and his detailed plans on how one would properly stuff and mount the gigantic man-ape, when a loud crash came from the kitchen. Lucy and Ethel, who had been gathering tablecloths for the wash, ran through the swinging doors, followed closely by Starsky and Calvin.

“Morty, what the heck happened?” Ethel asked of the red-cheeked man wobbling over a stack of broken dishes lying in the middle of the floor.

“Don’t know, Ethel,” Morty hiccupped, swaying as he looked up into Ethel’s angry face. “I was jus’ puttin’ ’em in the sink. Guess they slipped,” he shrugged and giggled.

“Morty, the sink’s over there,” Ethel pointed to the opposite side of the kitchen.

Morty’s whole body swung in the direction of Ethel’s pointing finger. “Oops.”

“Yeah, oops,” Ethel shook her head. “You promised me, Morty, no hooch until after the dishes were done.”

“I did?” Morty’s brow rose as another hiccup jerked him backward.

“Yes, you did,” Ethel placed her hands on her hips, her foot tapping angrily.

“Well,” Morty slurred and did a crazy drunken dance, turning to face Ethel again, “Everybody knows that I’m a bald-faced liar.” He smiled smugly, then his facial expression switched to remorse, his bottom lip jutting out in an exaggerated pout. “I’m sorry, Ethel,” he sobbed, slapping his face into his palms. “I only had a little, I swear.”

“Yeah, yeah, I know, Morty, I know,” Ethel rolled her eyes at the drunken dishwasher as he cried loudly into his hands, muttering, “I’m sorry,” repeatedly between sobs and gasps for air.

Ethel turned apologetic eyes to Lucy. “I’m sorry, hon, looks like it’s you and me and the dishes tonight. You up for it?”

“Don’t worry, Ethel,” Lucy nodded, retrieving a push broom from the utility closet. “I’m OK. We’ll get them done.”

“I can help.” Starsky spoke up, sensing Calvin make a hasty retreat behind him before anyone could ask him to do the same.

“What? No.” Ethel shook her head. “You’re a guest here. I couldn’t ask you to…”

“S’no problem, really,” Starsky waved off the protest, taking the broom from Lucy and starting to sweep up the broken dishes. “I’d be happy to help. It’ll give me something to do until Hutch gets back.”

“That’s awfully sweet of you.”

“Well, I’m awfully sweet,” Starsky grinned.

“That you are,” Ethel patted Starsky’s cheek and grabbed her coat. “Come on, Morty, I’ll take ya home,” she said to the still sobbing drunk and steered him out the door. “I won’t be long.”

“More like you’re awfully afraid,” Lucy snickered as she brushed past Starsky.

“Excuse me?” he asked, fumbling with the dustpan Lucy had slapped against his chest.

“You’d rather wash dirty dishes than have to face the chickens alone,” Lucy grinned knowingly, turning the water on to fill the sinks. “Uncle Jasper told me you have a slight aversion to birds.”

“Oh, he did, did he?” Starsky leaned on the broom, placing a hand on his hip. “I’ll have you know I’m not afraid of the lousy chickens. I’m just not used to casually strolling through a yard full of wild animals like everyone else here seems to be.”

“Wild animals?” Lucy guffawed. “They’re chickens! They’re more afraid of you than you are of them.”

“I’ve already had this conversation once today, thank you,” Starsky squinted at Lucy. “If you don’t want my help with the dishes, just say so. No skin offa my nose.”

“Touchy little bugger, aren’t ya?” Lucy smirked and squirted soap into the sink. “Just keep sweeping, Colonel Sanders.”

Starsky pursed his lips together, quickly sweeping up the mess and wondering just how many of the people he’d met tonight knew about his run-in with the chickens. He could picture Evelyn Bean at next year’s birthday party perched all high and mighty at a table, enchanting a crowd of listeners with her fascinating tale of the strange detective who was scared of chickens and refused to eat ferns.

A groan from the other side of the kitchen caught Starsky’s attention. He turned to see Lucy doubled over, one hand leaning on the sink, the other resting on her belly.

“Hey,” he dropped the dust pan full of broken glass into the garbage can and hurried to her side, “You OK?”

“Yeah,” she grunted, straightening but still leaning on the sink for support. “I’m OK. Baby just kicks up a storm sometimes. I’ll be all right.”

“You sure? You want to sit down?”

“No, no.” Lucy waved off Starsky’s concern. “I’m good, really. Tired, but I’m all right.” She gave Starsky a genuine smile and lifted a stack of dishes to put in the dishwater.

“Well, here, let me help,” Starsky took the dishes from Lucy and lowered them into the sink, returning the smile and gently bumping her out of the way with his hip. “I’m an expert dish washer. We’ll have these done in no time.”

“An expert, huh?” Lucy watched him hunt down a dishrag and toss it into the water, then sling a dish wiper over his shoulder before rolling up his sleeves and diving elbow-deep into the soapy water. “How’d a big-city detective become an expert at washing dishes?”

“Work study at the Academy. Got half of my tuition paid by bussing tables and doing dishes in the commissary.” He flashed her another grin, putting a huge dent in the suit of armor she was wearing to protect herself from finding him even remotely cute or amusing.

“Yeah?” she recovered from the grin and hunted down another dish wiper to help with drying the dishes. “How’d you get the other half paid?”

“Well, it wasn’t working on a chicken farm, I can tell ya that.” He scratched at his nose with the back of a soapy hand, leaving a tiny glob of suds dangling from the tip.

Lucy giggled at him. “You don’t say?”

“No, I don’t.” Starsky managed to wipe the soap from his nose, but not before it elicited a healthy sneeze.

“Gesundheit.”

“Thanks.”

Another grin was fired in Lucy’s direction, hitting her dead center in the chest. It was all she could do not to double over from the force of it.

“Did you always want to be a cop?” Lucy asked, trying not to notice that he smelled good, too.

Starsky pondered the question and shrugged, sliding a fresh stack of dishes into the sink. “Pretty much. Following in the old man’s footsteps and all that.”

“Your dad was a cop?”

“Yep.”

“He must be proud.”

“Well, he would have been, I hope,” Starsky paused. “He died when I was just a kid.”

“Oh,” Lucy looked away, studying the plate she was wiping. “Sorry.”

Starsky smiled. “S’alright. How about you? What’s your story?”

“Oh, come on,” Lucy snorted incredulously, “you just had dinner with The Mexican Talking Bean. I expect you know my story, and probably the stories of just about everyone else in this town.”

Starsky stopped washing the dishes, his eyes aimed squarely into Lucy’s. “I don’t pay attention to gossip. I’m a detective, remember? I gather facts.”

Lucy turned away and began vigorously wiping at a glass. Starsky placed a hand over hers. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to…”

“No, it’s all right,” Lucy smiled apologetically. “It’s just… Well, the fact is that everything that Evelyn probably told you is true. My mother and father died when I was just a little girl so my Uncle Jasper raised me, worked real hard to send me to college so that I could make something of myself, but then I managed to fall in love with a man who makes Charles Manson look like Mahatma Gandhi and threw it all away. Now I’m going to have a baby all by myself and will probably end up waiting tables here for the rest of my life. End of story. Not exactly what everyone here had envisioned for their only heir to the Bridgewater throne.”

Starsky’s brow rose. “The Bridgewater throne?”

“My Grandmother Mildred is the Queen of Bridgewater, in case you hadn’t noticed, and Uncle Jasper is the crown prince. That makes me royalty. You should be humbled to be in my presence.”

“Oh, I’m humbled all right,” Starsky chuckled and dove back into the dishwater. “Believe me, I’ve been humbled pretty much since I set foot in this town.”

Lucy laughed, stretching uncomfortably to place a stack full of plates onto a high cupboard shelf.

“No, no, let me do that,” Starsky quickly dried his hands and moved behind her, reaching over her head to grab the plates. His body brushed against her back, and she flinched away, instinctively feeling intimidated by having a male presence looming over her regardless of the innocent intent. Starsky noticed the unnatural reaction and stepped back, allowing her to move to the side and away from him. The two exchanged a quick, knowing glance, and Lucy went back to busying herself with drying the dishes.

Starsky cleared his throat. “So have you picked a name?” he asked casually as he rested the dishes in the cupboard, trying to ease Lucy’s obvious embarrassment.

“Sort of,” Lucy shrugged.

“Sort of? Is that a boy’s or a girl’s name?”

Lucy shook her head. “You really don’t have any idea how not funny you are, do you?”

“Guess not.”

Lucy rolled her eyes at the pathetic, wounded look on her dishwashing partner’s face. “Millie if it’s a girl–not Mildred, mind you–but Millie.”

“Millie, that’s cute. And Jasper if it’s a boy, right?”

“Jedidiah,” Lucy answered flatly, “after my father.”

Starsky closed his eyes, chastising himself for not even considering she’d name her baby after her troubled father. He made the decision to not bring up the sensitive issue of Lucy’s family or past ever again.

“Well, I think if it’s a boy you should name him after the man who rescued you from all these dishes.”

“David?” Lucy smirked.

“Yeah, David. It’s a nice name.”

Lucy shrugged teasingly. “I guess. Or maybe… what did I hear your partner call you?”

“Dummy?” Starsky’s brow rose.

“No,” Lucy laughed. “You know how all you macho types call each other by your last name? You call him Hutch and he calls you…”

“Starsk,” Starsky smiled, “He calls me Starsk.”

“Starsk, huh?” Lucy contemplated the sound of the nickname. “Maybe not. I kind of like Hutch, though.”

Starsky put on his best hurt look. “Well, that’s gratitude for ya. I don’t see him down here getting dishpan hands.”

“Don’t you think you ought to consider naming the baby after its father, you bitch!”

The loud bellow from behind them startled both Starsky and Lucy. They turned abruptly to find a tall, rugged man, his face red with anger, standing with clenched fists in the middle of the kitchen.

“Or maybe this is the baby’s father!” he spat at them, taking a step closer.

“Larry!” Lucy shrieked, stepping back to the sink. Starsky immediately stood in front of her, forming a barrier.

“Who the hell is this?” Larry screamed at Lucy, pointing at Starsky.

“Who the hell are you?” Starsky growled back.

“That’s my wife you’re screwing around with!” Larry’s face grew redder with anger.

“Larry, please,” Lucy sobbed, her attempt to step toward him stopped by Starsky’s arm. “How did you…”

“Surprised to see me, huh? You thought you could just turn me in to the police and I’d rot in jail for the rest of my life, didn’t you, you bitch?”

“Larry…” Every ounce of spunk Lucy’d been displaying for Starsky’s benefit immediately drained from her. She inwardly cursed her uncontrollable flow of frightened tears and the powerlessness she felt against this man who’d made her life a living hell.

“Guess you never heard of bail. Did you think I wasn’t smart enough to figure out where you were?”

“Please,” Lucy sobbed, wishing someone would wake her from this nightmare, “Please, Larry, just leave me alone.”

“I’m not going anywhere without you.” Larry made a lunge toward his wife, surprised when it was cut short by Starsky’s firm grip on his forearm.

“No way, buddy,” Starsky shook his head, his eyes darkening to a deep azure as they roamed over the man in front of him, challenging him. “Back off… now.”

“Your boyfriend here’s a tough guy, huh?” Larry jerked out of Starsky’s grip and cocked an eyebrow at him, returning the challenge.

“Larry, Larry, please,” Lucy repeated, trying to make her way around Starsky. “Why can’t you just let me be?”

“Because you’re my darling wife and I love you,” Larry mocked, stepping to the side to reach Lucy. Starsky stayed in step with him, keeping the barrier intact. Larry’s agitation became more evident. “Call your guard dog here off, Lucy, before he gets hurt.”

Starsky stood his ground, one arm shielding Lucy behind him, the other at his side, ready with a clenched fist. Experience and instinct told him Larry had gone over the edge and he would stop at nothing to get to Lucy. He wasn’t about to let that happen. He tightened his grasp on Lucy and began maneuvering her toward the door.

“Lucy,” Starsky said, his eyes never leaving Larry’s, “get out of here.”

“What?” Lucy blinked back tears. “I can’t…”

“Get out of here,” he repeated, nodding over his shoulder to the door. “Run. Go get Hutch… or Jasper…”

“David…”

“Dammit, Lucy, go!”

“Don’t you run away from me, bitch,” Larry spat, making another lunge. Starsky shoved him in the chest, propelling him backward. Larry recovered from the stumble, stopping himself from falling, and sneered at Starsky.

“You little prick, you’re asking for it,” he eyed his opponent, who stood between him and Lucy, readying himself for another attack.

“Lucy, get out of here,” Starsky repeated, “go get someone.”

“Larry, why?” Lucy cried, backing toward the door. “Why couldn’t you just leave it alone?”

“Lucy now!” Starsky shouted as Larry leapt toward him, grasping him by the shirt collar. Starsky braced himself against Larry’s force and grabbed at Larry’s shirt, trying to knock him backwards. Larry let go of Starsky’s shirt, surprised by the smaller man’s strength. He threw a punch at Starsky, but Starsky was ready and caught his fist before it had a chance to connect. Starsky’s left fist came up and cracked Larry in the jaw, sending him to the floor.

“Listen to me, fella,” Starsky tried to reason, hovering over Larry, “you don’t want to do this. You can leave quietly on your own or you can leave in handcuffs. It’s your call.”

“All right,” Larry croaked, shaking his head and raising his palms in surrender. Starsky didn’t trust him for a second, but he gave him the benefit of the doubt and allowed him to turn onto his belly and reach out to grasp the counter for leverage to stand.

It took only a heartbeat to realize that was a mistake.

There, on the countertop, well within Larry’s grasp, was an eight-inch slicing knife. Larry reeled from the punch and his vision was blurry, but he recognized the feel of the cold steel at his fingertips instantly. Filled with an uncontrollable rage that left all reason abandoned, he turned the knife to Starsky, a smug smile taking over his face. Starsky had seen the wild look in Larry’s eyes far too many times in his career to allow himself the luxury of believing he wasn’t about to be stabbed. His first instinct was to reach for his gun, but the familiar feel of the Baretta’s bulkiness under his right arm was not there, leaving him defenseless.

“Lucy, for the love of God, run!” he shouted, aggravated at the feel of her presence lingering behind him. He prayed he was able to stall Larry long enough for her to get upstairs or to the gas station where Jasper was before he could reach her. The fury in Larry’s eyes made Starsky’s blood run cold, and there was no telling what he would do to her if he caught her.

Starsky heard the creak of the outside door and felt the cool night air on his back as Lucy slowly backed out the door. “Go!” he bellowed as Larry let out a savage cry and lunged toward him, knife raised high in the air. Lucy paused in the doorway, watching Starsky neutralize Larry’s arm and struggle to bring the knife down and away from himself. She turned to run, but not before she saw the knife slash through Starsky’s belly and the brave detective crumple to the ground.

******

It only hurts when I breathe
–Melissa Etheridge, “Breathe”

Hutch hummed as he trotted down the stairs that led him back to Miss Ethel’s dining hall. He’d spent the last half-hour in a musician’s heaven, his fingers still tingling from the strings on the gorgeous handcrafted rosewood and spruce guitar he’d just been given the privilege to play. Calculating how much money he’d have to set aside from each paycheck for the next two months in order to afford the masterpiece, Hutch scanned the empty dining room for his partner. Maybe, if he played his cards right, he could talk Starsky into buying the guitar for him for Christmas. Hutch snorted at the thought, knowing any spare money Starsky managed to save went into that parade float from hell he called a car.

“Starsk?” Hutch called out, noticing Starsky’s jacket still resting on the back of a chair as he shrugged into his own. “Hey, Starsky?”

He heard a muffled reply from inside the kitchen and headed toward the swinging doors.

“Starsk,” Hutch began, pushing the large white doors open, “you won’t believe how beautiful Harley’s guit…”

Hutch was stopped cold by the sight of his partner on his knees trying to pull himself up with the help of the butcher block in the middle of the kitchen. Starsky was grasping at his middle, blood pooling between his fingers at an alarming rate. He was too weak to stand upright, and he tumbled back to the floor in an undignified heap.

“Starsky!” Hutch was across the floor in two long strides and dropped to his knees next to his wounded partner.

“Hutch…” Starsky grunted, his fingers locking around Hutch’s knee.

“What happened?” Hutch gently pulled Starsky onto his lap, tugging the blood-soaked shirt away from the gash to see the extent of the injury. “My God, were you stabbed?”

“Lucy…” Starsky reached out blindly, grabbing Hutch’s arm.

Hutch’s eyes widened, finding his partner’s. “Lucy did this?”

“N—no.” Starsky shook his head. “Her husband… He tried to…” A raspy cough cut the sentence off.

“Shhh, easy,” Hutch soothed, loosening the cloth from around the wound.

“Hutch…” Starsky took in a ragged breath and hissed in pain.

“Easy, easy,” Hutch quieted him. “Where is he? Where’s Lucy?”

“She ran,” Starsky nodded toward the door. “He went after her. I tried to… stop him…”

“Shhh, s’alright,” Hutch followed his partner’s gaze to the closed door then glanced around frantically. “Where’s the damn phone! Who do I call? Is there even a doctor in this God-forsaken town?” he ranted to himself, hating the fact that he had to struggle to figure out what to do in the unfamiliar surroundings.

Starsky’s fingers tugged weakly at Hutch’s shirtsleeve. “Lucy, Hutch, Lucy.”

“Buddy…”

“No,” Starsky protested, shaking his head with what little strength he could muster. “Go help Lucy.”

“Starsky, if you think for one second that I’m going to leave you alone and bleeding on this floor…”

“No!” Starsky tried to roll off of his friend’s lap, wanting out of the confining grasp. He’d get up and go find Lucy himself if he had to. The movement only managed to drive a searing pain through his middle, forcing him unwillingly back against Hutch.

“Starsky, don’t!” Hutch tightened his arms around the quaking body on his lap.

“Hutch, please,” Starsky’s voice shook with pain and frustration. “Help her. I’m… all… right.”

“You’re not all right,” Hutch said forcefully, leaning in and adjusting Starsky’s head so they were looking directly into each other’s eyes. “And I’m not leaving you, so just shut up and let me figure out what the hell to do. Got it?”

Starsky opened his mouth to protest, but his strength was quickly dwindling and he found himself struggling just to remain conscious. He blinked away the darkness that tinged at his vision and choked back an irritated sob as Hutch’s warm hand gently rested on his cheek and then his brow. Headlights suddenly flashed through the kitchen window, drawing both of their attention. Hutch felt another slight tug on his shirtsleeve and he looked down to find glassy violet eyes drifting muzzily toward him.

“Ethel… she’ll help me… Hutch… please… Lucy….”

“Starsk…”

“Please.”

The plea was a mere whisper, but it plowed Hutch over like a locomotive. The insistent, begging eyes held him transfixed, and he knew he had no choice in the matter.

“All right.”

Just then Ethel burst through the door, grumbling about the cold. She stopped short when she saw Starsky’s crumpled form on the floor and Hutch hovering protectively over him.

“Sweet Jesus, what happened?”

“He’s been stabbed.” Hutch hurried himself out of his jacket and placed it under Starsky’s lolling head in exchange for his lap.

“Stabbed?” Ethel watched Hutch jump to his feet and bound toward her. “Who?”

“Lucy’s husband.” Desperate steel blue eyes were all Ethel could focus on as Hutch grasped her by the shoulder. “Ethel, listen to me, you’ve got to get somebody here quick. An ambulance, a doctor, whoever you all call here in an emergency. He’s losing a lot of blood. When you’re done, find some clean cloths to cover the wound and keep pressure on it with your hand until help gets here. And try to keep him awake. Please.”

“Sure,” Ethel blinked down at Starsky, who, it seemed, had already drifted off.

“All right.” Hutch ran his hand through his hair, following her gaze to Starsky. A sudden thought made him grasp Ethel’s shoulder to stop her as she headed toward the swinging doors to get to the phone in the dining hall. “Does Harley have a gun here?”

“Yes,” Ethel nodded.

“Do you know how to use it?”

“You kidding?” The lines around Ethel’s eyes crinkled as she grinned smugly.

Hutch let out a small breath of relief. “Good, then get it, just in case he comes back. But call for help first. Understand?

“Got it,” Ethel nodded and turned toward the dining hall.

Hutch watched Ethel’s plump form disappear through the doors then hurried back to Starsky, wondering how the hell he was supposed to leave him in this condition. He crouched next to him, “Starsk, ya still with me?”

“I’m here,” Starsky’s eyes didn’t open and his speech was slurred. “Question is, what’re you still doin’ here?”

Hutch couldn’t stop a slight smile, but it quickly turned into a concerned glower. “You listen to me, Starsky, I’m going now. I’ll get Lucy. But, dammit, don’t you go anywhere. You’d better be waiting for me when I get back. You hear me?”

“Not goin’ nowhere.” Starsky barely murmured, his eyes remaining closed. “Jus’ go.”

“Right,” Hutch squeezed Starsky’s shoulder, the torment of leaving evident on his face as he stood. A tiny breath that sounded like an attempt at his name brought him back down to his partner’s side. “What is it, buddy?”

“See ya,” was all Starsky could manage before unconsciousness finally claimed him.

******

There’s a storm on the loose…
  –Golden Earring, “Twilight Zone”

The chickens cleared a path for the feet that pounded down the walk again, disturbing them for the second time in less than three minutes and moving so fast they barely had time to flutter out of the way to avoid being stepped on. Hutch hardly realized the birds were even there, the thudding of his heart so loud in his own ears, it drowned out their squawks of protest. He’d dashed through Miss Mildred’s and bounded up the steps two at a time to retrieve his gun from his and Starsky’s room and now was on his way back into the night. He hoped the light visible from Jasper’s garage meant that Lucy had gone there, she and Jasper were safe and sound, and her husband had somehow miraculously decided to get out of Dodge. Wishful thinking, he knew, but it never hurt to hope. Truth of the matter was, her husband was most likely right there in the garage with them holding them hostage. His attack on Starsky had proved this man was nothing short of crazy and was obviously out for blood. God only knew what was actually going on inside the confines of the garage.

The deserted street was dark, only dimly lit by the few lights shining from inside the sparsely scattered structures along the road and the glow of the harvest moon peeking from behind heavy clouds, streetlights apparently a concept that had managed to elude the tiny town of Bridgewater. Hutch ran across the street and stumbled, forgetting there was actually a sidewalk. He fell into a utility pole and clung to it tightly to keep from sprawling on his face. The adrenaline pumping through his veins was causing his breath to come much too rapidly for the moderate amount of physical exertion he was engaging in, and he realized he needed to take a second to collect himself and his thoughts before he ended up making what could easily turn into a fatal mistake, given the circumstances.

Hutch leaned against the pole and glanced quickly in the direction of Miss Ethel’s. It unnerved him that there was no activity outside of the restaurant. Guessing an actual ambulance was too much to hope for, he’d expected at least a doctor or a medic or someone with medical training to have arrived by now to tend to Starsky. He turned his attention to the gun in his hand and clicked the chamber of the Python open. With shaky fingers, he rammed six bullets into place and stole another glance in the restaurant’s direction. The urge to go running back in there was strong, but he shook the thought away, remembering his promise to his partner.

“Hang on, Starsk,” Hutch murmured, the chamber of the gun snapping back into place as he swiped at his brow with the back of his arm and switched his gaze to the Fix It All Garage. Blinking as his eyes adjusted to the dark, he slipped effortlessly into cop mode and pushed himself away from the pole to slink slowly toward the old gray building. As he got closer to his target, elevated voices became audible from the inside of the garage and three silhouettes were clearly visible in the yellow glow of light from behind the shade drawn over the big glass window. A definite desperate tone was detectable in the loudest of the voices along with a soothing, cool calmness in another.

Hutch threw himself against the building and crouched, sliding along the rough cement walls in search of an opening of some sort to allow him to see the exact positions of his subjects. Discovering a small window on the side of the building with no covering, he raised up to peer over the sill. Jasper was back-to to the window, facing Larry, who was backing toward the door with Lucy in tow. He held her pinned against him, one of her arms pulled behind her back and his upper arm wrapped around her opposite shoulder, the jagged edge of an already blood-covered knife—Starsky’s blood, Hutch realized with a shiver—held taut against her neck. Larry’s eyes were wild, darting crazily around as he shouted for Jasper to keep back, the knife’s blade coming dangerously closer to puncturing the flesh it was held against with each frantic shout.

“Easy, Larry,” Jasper’s muffled pleas drifted through window. “Don’t hurt her, Larry. Let her go, Larry. For God’s sake, she’s carrying your child, Larry.” The old man was inching his way cautiously toward his niece’s attacker as they continued toward the door. “You don’t want to do this, Larry. Please, let her go.”

“Shut up! Stay back!” Larry screamed again. The knife once again jerked in his hand, this time making actual contact with Lucy and immediately leaving an ugly red scratch.

“OK, Larry, OK.” Jasper waved his hands in desperation and stopped in his tracks. “Don’t hurt her, Larry, please. Please.”

That’s it, Jasper, keep using his name. Take it slow. Hutch crouched back down to take a second to think, marveling at the fact that Jasper sounded and was acting like an expert hostage negotiator. He knew there was no way he could just burst in there, gun drawn. Larry was too close to the edge. One false move, and Lucy’s neck would be sliced open. Deciding the only thing he could do was to allow Larry to exit the garage and surprise him from behind, he took a final look through the window to estimate the length of time it would take for Larry to reach the doorway, then scanned the garage’s dimly lit lot. He thought for a moment then crept toward the front of the building, a plan in place.

The Torino was parked about 50 feet from the building and slightly apart from a group of other vehicles in need of repair. The symbolism of the garish car separated from the more modest vehicles was lost on Hutch as he made his way across the lot and to the passenger’s side of the Torino. He dropped to his knees, crawling to the front fender, then rose to a crouch and leaned his shoulder heavily against the cool metal of his partner’s car, taking comfort in its familiarity. He pulled his gun from the waistband of his pants and clicked off the safety, allowing himself to take a fraction of a second to check on activity at the restaurant down the street. Still nothing. He shook his head in frustration and let out a shaky breath before turning his attention back to the garage.

The tiny bell attached to the glass door jingled as it was pushed open a crack and Hutch positioned himself, teetering on his feet like a cat about to pounce. He watched the door slide slowly open and scanned the lot again, reaffirming in his mind where he guessed Larry would be heading. A tan Chevy Monte Carlo was parked parallel to the building, blocking the garage bay doors and facing in the same direction as the Torino. Hutch assumed the car belonged to Larry, not remembering it being at the garage earlier this afternoon when the Torino had been brought in and knowing it didn’t belong to Jasper. It had to be Larry’s mode of escape.

Well hidden behind the Torino, Hutch watched Larry moving backwards out of the doorway, Lucy held securely against him. Larry was keeping Jasper at bay, yelling for him to stay right where he was. A glint of light flashed off of the knife’s steel blade, its jagged edge still resting dangerously close to Lucy’s neck. They backed slowly out the door and Hutch made the decision to move, sprinting unnoticed across the lot to the gas pumps. He crouched behind one of the big orange tanks and listened as Jasper made one last desperate attempt to get Larry to let Lucy go. The old man no longer sounded like an expert hostage negotiator, but merely a terrified uncle, begging for his niece’s life.

Larry laughed and swore at Jasper, warning him if he took one more step, it was all over. The knife tightened against Lucy’s skin and Larry backed completely out of the doorway, leaving Jasper standing just inside the frame, the fingertips of his right hand all that was keeping the door open. Hutch positioned himself against the edge of the pump, ready for the ambush. He knew that Larry was going to have to release Lucy at some point to get her into the car, and it was then that he would make his move. He had complete confidence in this plan. He’d experienced the result of the wide barrel of the Python shoved into the vulnerable temple of a perpetrator too many times in the past to doubt its potency now.

As Larry took a few more steps back, Hutch gripped his gun tighter and moved back from the pump, situating himself in the middle so he could attack from the right or the left, depending on whether Larry shoved Lucy into the car from the driver’s or passenger’s side of the car. Larry appeared to be backing toward the driver’s door and Hutch was just about to spring into position behind the car when the shrill wail of a siren pierced the air. Startled, Hutch turned abruptly in the direction of the source of the offending noise.

An ambulance.

The vehicle had come screaming out of nowhere, flying at breakneck speed down the highway, past the garage and toward Miss Ethel’s. The relief Hutch felt at its presence was short-lived, realizing that it had not only distracted him, but attracted the attention of Larry, who now stood facing in Hutch’s direction, his grip on Lucy never tighter.

“Who the hell are you?” Larry screamed.

Dammit. Hutch closed his eyes and swallowed hard, cursing the timing of the ambulance’s arrival, all the while thankful it meant his partner was finally getting the help he needed. “L–Larry,” he stammered, opening his eyes, “Take it easy. No one’s going to hurt you.”

“The hell you aren’t!” Larry’s eyes darted to Hutch’s gun. He tightened his grip on Lucy, forcing a gasp from her throat. “Who is this? Another one of your men, you slut?” he spat at her, his hot breath dancing across her cheek.

“Larry, please…” Jasper stepped forward gently.

“Stay where you are, old man!” Larry turned so that he was able to keep an eye on both Hutch and Jasper. “Don’t either one of you come one step closer.”

Hutch made eye contact with Lucy, the terror in her eyes heartbreaking. He remained where he was, extending his free hand out to the desperate man. “Larry…”

“Shut up! Shut up!” Larry backed away, one step closer to the Monte Carlo. Hutch could feel Jasper staring at him and blinked in his direction, silently telling him to stay put. Larry licked nervously at his lips, his gaze shifting between Jasper and Hutch, finally coming to rest on the gun held at Hutch’s side. “You!” he shouted and nodded in Hutch’s direction. “Gimme that gun.”

Hutch looked down at his gun, then back up at Larry. “I can’t do that, Larry.”

“Well, I say you can and you will.” The statement was punctuated with the knife pressed firmly against Lucy’s already scratched flesh.

“All right.” Hutch held the gun lax in his hand and extended it toward Larry. “Don’t hurt her, Larry.”

Larry couldn’t stop a smile at the rush of power he felt over Lucy’s would-be rescuer. “Put it down and kick it over here,” he ordered.

Hutch did as he was told, the gun coming to rest a few feet from Lucy. The wheels in Larry’s head were visibly turning as he eyed the gun, realizing he may have been hasty in his decision to have Hutch put the gun on the ground. He’d have to let loose of Lucy to pick it up, and he knew that the second he did that, neither Jasper or Hutch would hesitate to grab him, gun or knife be damned. He turned wild eyes to Jasper. “You pick it up and give it to me.” His attention switched to Hutch. “And you don’t move a muscle or I’ll kill her. I swear to God, I will.”

“I’m staying right here, Larry.” Hutch reassured, nodding at Jasper to go ahead and get the gun, though he didn’t know what they were going to do once this lunatic was armed with a loaded .357.

“Larry, what will you do with the gun? You don’t need it,” Jasper tried to dissuade.

“Just shut up and give it to me or I’ll slit her throat right here.”

Jasper looked down at the gun, clearly considering his options. He raised his eyes to meet Larry’s. “No,” he shook his head. “I’m not going to give you that gun so that you can shoot Hutch and me and then kill Lucy anyway. If you want the gun, get it yourself.”

Hutch held his breath at Jasper’s defiance, his eyes attempting to lock with Larry’s frantic, erratic gaze. There was a sudden flicker of movement just beyond Larry and Lucy. Against his better judgment and his will, Hutch blinked – just once. He started to raise his hand to brush at his eyes and thought better of it. Hutch’s keen peripheral vision detected the movement once again and he bit his lip, his iron will kicking in. He couldn’t let Larry see his eye wander, but there was something or someone moving in the darkness just behind Larry.

In the split second it took for Hutch to realize something was behind them, a body sprang out of the shadows and wrapped an arm around Larry’s neck. A large hand gripped the arm that held the knife to Lucy’s throat, struggling to pull it away. Jasper stood frozen, stunned at what was happening, and Hutch himself had to shake away the incredulity of the situation before jumping to action.

The knife glistened in the moonlight as it was tugged away from Lucy and off to the side. Hutch yelled for her to run as he extended his arms and bounded toward her. Bewildered, she staggered forward and fell into Hutch’s arms, bringing them both down to the ground. The struggle continued between Larry and the man who had come out of nowhere, one of their feet accidentally kicking Hutch’s gun in the scuffle and sending it flying under the Monte Carlo.

Jasper snapped out of his stupor and ran toward Hutch and Lucy, dropping to his knees in front of her to shield her in case Larry was able to overtake his attacker. Hutch freed himself from Lucy, turning her over to Jasper’s care, and crawled toward his gun. Larry grunted and cursed vehemently as he tangled with the man who had besieged him, both grappling for control of the knife. Hutch lifted himself from the ground, retrieved Python in hand, just in time to witness the knife, still held firmly in Larry’s own hand, be maneuvered toward Larry and plunge deeply into his middle. Larry let out a pain-filled gasp and his eyes rolled back in his head as he fell face-first in a crumpled heap to the ground, dead before he got there.

The immediate silence that filled the air was deafening. Hutch’s hand shook as he cautiously raised his gun at the man who had just killed Larry, though he knew there was no threat with the intimidating knife now lodged six inches deep in Larry’s belly. It was merely an instinctive reaction.

“H-hold it,” he stuttered, shaking his head, “Put your hands in the air.”

The man stood frozen, his gaze shifting from the dead body in front of him to Lucy and Jasper, then to Hutch, who was visibly stunned by the odd familiarity of the distressed eyes now locked with his own. His brow rose when he realized who this stranger must be. He allowed himself to steal a glance at Jasper, who was slowly helping Lucy to her feet, the look on his face as dazed and confused as Hutch’s. Jasper cradled Lucy’s head against his chest, petting her hair lovingly and shushing her crying, his eyes focused intently on the man who had leapt to their rescue. Hutch’s own gaze switched between the two, disbelief at the turn of events still shaking his soul.

Lucy managed to regain a bit of her composure and pulled away from Jasper, turning tear-filled eyes to the man who had saved her. Immediate recognition overtook her features and she gulped, stepping forward. Hutch could do nothing but lower his gun when he heard Lucy’s broken, feather-light whisper float toward him through the chilly night air.

“Daddy?”

The four figures stood stock-still, the swirling red lights of the ambulance down the street sweeping across each face to highlight their astonishment. Lucy was the first to move, taking another step closer to her father and repeating her plea.

“Daddy?”

The man lowered his frightened eyes and nodded once, bowing his head to study his wringing hands now covered in Larry’s blood.

“Dear God,” Jasper finally breathed, stepping in line with Lucy and placing a comforting hand on her back, “Jed.”

Another heavy stillness filled the air as Hutch watched Lucy and Jasper allow Jed’s sudden presence after all these years to register in their heads. Jed shook a strand of shabby gray hair out of his eyes and continued the examination of his hands, his gaze only darting upward once, startled when Hutch’s voice broke the silence.

“Jasper, does Bridgewater have a police department?”

“N-no,” Jasper stuttered, still transfixed on his brother.

“Who has jurisdiction?”

Jasper shook himself out of his shock, suddenly realizing Hutch’s involvement in all this and his own responsibility. He turned away from Jed, “I—I do.”

Hutch’s brow rose. “What do you mean, you do?”

“I’m—I’m the constable here,” Jasper latched a shaky hand to his forehead as he took inventory of the crime scene, at an obvious loss of what to do.

“I should have known,” Hutch allowed himself a slight chuckle and shook his head.

The sound of voices from the restaurant driveway grabbed Hutch’s attention. He turned and watched paramedics unloading a stretcher and other equipment from the back of the ambulance. His desire to get to the restaurant and to his partner’s side forced haste into his movements as he took control of the situation. He tucked his gun into his waistband and stood between Jed and Lucy, placing his hands on her shaking shoulders.

“Are you all right?”

She merely nodded at him, her glistening eyes never leaving her father. Hutch moved to Larry’s prone form, checking for a pulse in his neck and not at all surprised when he found none. He turned his attention back to Jasper.

“You’re the constable, Jasper, and that’s fine, but there’s got to be someone else who can handle a situation like this. You need a crime team, a coroner, detectives…”

“The state police,” Jasper offered.

“Right. Right, the state police,” Hutch nodded, patting Jasper’s shoulder. “Call them. You can cover him up,” his hand waved over Larry’s body, “but don’t touch or move anything.”

Jasper nodded his understanding. Hutch moved back to Lucy, stealing a quick glance at Jed, who continued to stare downward, his throat working in a constant nervous swallowing motion, though he hadn’t uttered a word.

“You sure you’re all right?”

“Yes,” she shivered and nodded.

“OK, then. Go inside, all of you. Get warmed up and wait for the police to come. Tell them they can find me wherever Starsky is taken. I’ll give them my statement from there.”

Hutch grimaced at the uneasy feeling he got when his eyes connected with Jasper’s. He knew full well that he was the only one who had any experience in these circumstances and, for the first time in his career, felt like he was shirking his professional responsibility. His concern for his partner–a separate responsibility, one he took far more seriously than any other–consumed him, however, and he had to go. He just had to.

Sensing Hutch’s apprehension, Jasper pasted on an air of confidence and slung an arm around Lucy, steering her away from her father and toward the gas station. He laid a gentle, guiding hand on Jed’s shoulder and quietly prompted him in the same direction.

“I’ve got it, Hutch,” he whispered, the slight tremor in his voice the only thing belying his poised demeanor. “Go to David. I pray to God he’s OK.”

Hutch watched the old man carefully maneuver his family around Larry’s dead body and toward the station. “Me, too,” he breathed, swallowing hard and taking one final sweep of the scene before him, then ran with everything he had toward Ethel’s and Starsky.

******

He spoke with tears of 15 years…
–Bob Dylan, “Mr. Bojangles”

Starsky was barely conscious when Hutch arrived, but he asked immediately about Lucy. The blond took up position at his partner’s side and put him at ease that all was well, telling him he’d fill him in on the details when he was better.

The volunteer fire and ambulance crew that had responded to Ethel’s call worked with amazing speed and precision, having already placed an IV in Starsky’s arm and had put in a call to Bridgewater’s doctor, Carl Simms, who was on his way to evaluate the situation at this very moment. Not surprisingly, there wasn’t an actual hospital in the town, just Dr. Simms’ office, which served as a triage center and emergency care facility for those who were injured or sick. Caribou was the closest fully staffed hospital, and if Starsky’s condition proved serious enough for surgery, he would be airlifted there. The hospital had been contacted as well and a chopper was already on standby, awaiting word on whether Starsky’s injuries warranted their presence or not. Ethel reassured Hutch they could be there in a matter of minutes if necessary, citing the tractor accident last year that had severed Don Brown’s hand, which was successfully saved and reattached thanks to Caribou’s crackerjack medical team. Hutch had no idea who Don Brown was, but right now he had no other choice than to have faith that the same people who had rescued him would be able to do the same for his partner.

Starsky was transported to Dr. Simms’ office, and after a thorough evaluation, the doctor determined that his condition appeared much worse than it actually was. The slash to his middle was merely a flesh wound, but because of its location, the blood loss was substantial, though not enough to require a transfusion. It probably hurt like hell, Dr. Simms conceded, then proceeded to stitch the three-inch gash closed with consummate skill.

Back at Miss Mildred’s, Hutch felt surprisingly at ease as he watched the doctor and Lucy, who had agreed to help with Starsky’s overnight care, settle Starsky into bed. A healthy dose of pain medication had been administered, along with a prescription for a couple of days’ rest, and the drugged detective was well on his way to complete and total oblivion. Dr. Simms summoned Hutch to a corner of the room and reassured him Starsky was going to be just fine. He would return in the morning to check on his condition and could be there in a heartbeat should his condition take an unexpected turn. With that, he gathered his bag, yawned a goodbye in Lucy’s direction and toddled out of the room.

“Thank you, David,” Lucy whispered, brushing soft curls off his forehead and placing a kiss on his cheek.

The action earned her a healthy, albeit weakened, grin. “Aw, shucks. No need ta thank me, ma’am,” Starsky managed a nod and a tip of an imaginary cowboy hat, “‘S my… jo…” His hand fell to his chest and his head lolled to the side, the painkillers forcing him completely under their control before he could finish.

“What he meant to say,” Hutch smiled and pulled the quilt up to his sleeping partner’s chin, “is, it’s his job.”

Lucy shook her head. “His John Wayne is as bad as his Bogart.”

Hutch chuffed and nodded in agreement. “That’s nothing. Wait until you hear his Jimmy Durante.”

“Do I have to?” Lucy grimaced.

“We’re here for two more days,” Hutch guided Lucy out of the room, taking one final look at Starsky before snapping off the light, “Trust me, you’ll hear it.”

“Can’t wait.”

Hutch draped his arm around Lucy’s shoulder as the twosome made their way down the hall. “How you doing?” he asked.

“I’m all right,” she sighed. “Tired.”

“You should get some rest. It’s been a long night.”

“Going to be even longer.” Lucy stopped at the head of the staircase, tears welling in her eyes. She unconsciously rested her hand on her pregnant belly. “I don’t know how to thank you. You both did so much.”

“Hey,” Hutch gathered Lucy to him, granting her permission for a much needed break-down. “I’m just glad we were here to help.”

“If David hadn’t have taken on Larry like he did…” she sobbed into Hutch’s chest. “God, he was almost killed.”

Hutch smiled slightly, his hand rubbing gentle circles on her back. “Yeah, well, I admit, I could have done without my partner almost being gutted like a trout,” he tried to lighten the moment, “but he’s going to be OK. It’s all going to be OK.”

Hutch rested his chin on Lucy’s hair and held her while she cried. She pulled away from him after a few moments and swiped at her eyes. “I’m like Scarlett O’Hara,” she half-laughed, “I never seem to have a handkerchief when I need one.”

Hutch chuckled, wishing he had something to offer her. “How’s Jasper holding up?”

“Uncle Jasper is one of the strongest men I know.”

Hutch had seen enough of the old man in action in just the few short hours he’d known him to know that statement to be true. “And your dad?” he asked gently.

Lucy bit her lip. “He hasn’t uttered a word, not to me anyway. I think he’s in shock. Hell, we all are. I keep wanting to reach out and touch him, see if he’s real. But he looks so fragile.”

“He’s real all right,” Hutch gave her an understanding smile, then glanced at the antique grandfather clock at the foot of the stairs. It had been four hours since Larry’s death. “How did he do with the questioning?”

Lucy turned away from Hutch and stared in silence down the stairway.

Concern welled up in Hutch. “Lucy? What is it? The police didn’t arrest him, did they? They know it was all in your defense, right?”

“No,” Lucy shook her head, “he hasn’t been arrested. He and Uncle Jasper are downstairs in the sitting room.”

“Really?” Hutch questioned, something in the hesitant tone of her voice setting off an alarm. He thought about the ride by the garage on the way back from Dr. Simms’ in the ambulance. It hadn’t connected in his mind at the time, but there had been no police cars or any of the usual activity in the aftermath of a crime. A significant amount of time had lapsed, true, but there still should have been some lingering investigators, crime tape marking off the scene at the very least. There was no way the investigation could be complete. No one had asked him or Starsky for their statements yet.

“Lucy, have the police even been here?”

Lucy’s gaze remained transfixed down the staircase and she swallowed hard.

Hutch grasped her shoulder. “Lucy?”

“No,” she admitted, “they haven’t been here. Uncle Jasper called them. He needs to talk to you.”

“What?” Hutch couldn’t believe it. No police force could be that incompetent. “Where the hell are they?”

“Please,” Lucy turned from Hutch and headed down the stairs, “just talk to Uncle Jasper.”

“But…”

Lucy waved Hutch off, her pregnant body awkwardly descending the staircase. He waited for her to disappear around the corner before shaking his head in wonderment and heading down the stairs himself.

“Jasper?” Hutch blinked into the darkness of the sitting room. He could make out the shadows of two still forms on the couch.

“Hey. Hutch.” Jasper stood and moved toward the detective. “How’s Davy?”

“He’s all right. He’s asleep,” Hutch answered as Jasper steered him into the sitting room, switching on a small lamp on the roll top desk. The tiny bit of light made Jed, who remained sitting on the couch, flinch. “What’s going on?”

Jasper half-smiled, “Just getting caught up.” He nodded toward the chair in the corner that sat away from Jed and was just barely within the glow of light. “Sit. You look dead on your feet.”

Hutch didn’t hesitate to sit. Dead on his feet didn’t cover the way he felt, but he knew there was too much to take care of before he could get any rest. He decided to get straight to business. “Jasper, where are the police?”

Jasper lowered himself into the chair at the desk, his eyes only wandering from Hutch’s briefly. “I called them. They’re pretty busy right now. There are some forest fires…”

“When are they going to get here?” Hutch cut Jasper off, at the moment not having any patience for excuses.

“They’re going to try for tomorrow morning, but they said it could be two days.”

“What!” Hutch shouted. Jed jumped at the shout, almost coming off of the couch.

“It’s all right, Jed,” Jasper soothed, then turned back to Hutch. “Take it easy, would ya?” he snapped, lowering his voice. “He’s nervous as hell, and I told him we could trust you.”

It took Hutch some effort to put calm into his voice. “Two days, Jasper? That’s ridiculous,” he shook his head. “And trust me for what?”

“We need to talk.”

“Yeah, so I heard. What exactly do we need to talk about, Jasper?”

Jasper grimaced at the frustration evident in Hutch already. This hadn’t even begun. “What we’re going to tell the police.”

Hutch contemplated Jasper’s words for a moment, his eyes blinking rapidly. “We’re going to tell the police what happened.”

“We can’t, Hutch.” Jasper shook his head. “We can’t tell them the truth.”

“Why?”

“Look at my brother. What do you see?”

Hutch studied Jed’s trembling form for a moment, the whole situation suddenly becoming clear. This he could handle. “You’re worried he’s going to get into trouble, aren’t you?” The detective sat forward, switching to the reassuring tone he’d perfected over the years for use on reluctant witnesses. “I can guarantee you, he’s not. He had no choice. If he hadn’t have acted when he did, all three of us would be dead right now.”

Jasper’s continued silence unnerved him. “You didn’t think I wouldn’t tell the police that, did you?”

“No, no, not at all. But that’s not the point.”

Hutch leaned back in the chair and scrubbed at his weary eyes, not believing or understanding what was happening at all. “I’m afraid you’re going to have to explain to me just what the point is then, my friend, because you have lost me.”

Jasper leaned forward, resting his folded arms on his legs with newfound hope that maybe he could get through to Hutch after all. “The point is that he can’t handle this, Hutch. He can’t handle all the attention this is going to bring to him. It will kill him.”

Hutch kneaded the bridge of his nose with his thumb and index finger. “Jasper, just what exactly did you tell the police?”

“That Larry tripped and fell on his knife.”

“What?” Hutch’s eyes shot open.

“You heard me. I told them that he fell on his knife.”

“And they bought that?”

“I’m the mayor and a constable,” Jasper shrugged, “They have no reason not to believe me. They pulled Larry’s record, they know all about him. They also know about David’s stabbing and that he attacked Lucy, and as far as they’re concerned, it’s a wrapped case. They’re just sending someone here to file reports for protocol’s sake.”

“Protocol.” Hutch shook his head. “What did you do with the body?”

“Mockler’s Funeral Home came and got him. They put him in a vault until the police release his body and someone comes to claim him. We left him just as he was—you know, with the knife and all. They’re not going to be able to tell the difference.”

“Well, not after two days, they’re not, no,” Hutch shook his head in disbelief. “What about fingerprints? Surely these idiots are going to know enough to check for fingerprints on the knife.”

Jasper squinted at Hutch, obviously not having considered that. “Well,” he brightened at a sudden thought, “the knife was in Ethel’s kitchen and had probably been used a hundred times last night. Do you know how many fingerprints there will be on that knife? Hell, your partner’s fingerprints are probably on it. Good luck pulling off one that’s identifiable.”

Hutch chuffed and shook his head. “I don’t believe this, Jasper. Do you know what you’re doing here? Do you know what you’re asking me to do?”

“Yes. Yes, I do.” Jasper scooted his chair closer to Hutch and rested his hand on the bewildered man’s knee. “Look, I tried to avoid even getting you involved, but Ethel knew about the stabbing and that you were out there looking for Larry. I had to mention you in case they question her.”

“Just what exactly did you tell them about me?”

“That it was all over by the time you got there. Larry had already fallen and was dead.”

“I see,” Hutch sighed, “so I got there, saw that Larry was dead and that you and Lucy were OK, and went back to Starsky.”

“Right, right,” Jasper nodded enthusiastically. “That’s all you know.”

“But that’s not all I know, Jasper.” Hutch’s eyes trailed to Jed.

“Hutch, please, listen to me,” desperation dripped from Jasper’s lowered voice. He leaned in even closer to Hutch and stared him straight in the eye. “I don’t expect you to understand, and I know that I’m asking an awful lot of you, but you’ve got to hear me out. He can’t handle this. I know he won’t get into trouble… not legal trouble anyway, but do you know what kind of attention the fact that he’s still alive is going to draw? This whole town is going to go crazy. Do you have any idea what’s going to happen?”

“He’s probably going to be considered a hero.”

“Probably,” Jasper nodded, his gaze never leaving Hutch’s.

Hutch’s eyes wandered over Jasper’s face briefly, then he closed his eyes and shook his head, not able to stop an exhausted sigh. “Jasper, I am way too tired for this. Way too tired.” He opened his eyes and sat back in the chair, beginning a tirade aimed at no one in particular. “I’m stuck in this strange town, my partner was almost killed, I was involved in a hostage situation… and I’m supposed to be on vacation! Do you know I haven’t had a day like this on my worst day at work?”

“OK, OK,” Jasper waved his hands in the air, a determined look overtaking his face. “Look, you’re right, he probably will be regarded as a hero. The second Evelyn Bean finds out he’s still alive and what happened, she and Elmer will squeeze their fat selves into that car of theirs and everyone in a 50-mile radius will know within hours. Ethel will start cooking for his welcome home party, there’ll be a line all the way to Caribou of people coming to see him, all of them with big cheery grins pasted on their faces and pats on the back for a job well done. It’ll be a real hero’s welcome.”

“And that’s a bad thing how?” Hutch asked, still confused.

“These are the same people who 15 years ago were dancing on his grave.” Jasper paused to let the meaning of his words sink in. “He’s not up for that, Hutch. He doesn’t want it and I’ll do anything to protect him from it.”

“Protect him? Jasper, I don’t know if you realize it or not, but your brother needs help.” Hutch purposely raised his voice, feeling a pang of guilt when Jed drew into himself, but knowing he needed to make a point. “You’re not doing him any favors by keeping him like this.”

“I know he needs help, dammit, and I’m going to get it for him. But not here, not for the entertainment of everyone in this town.” Jasper stood from the chair and turned away, leaving Hutch to stare at the back of his head, contemplating the validity of the argument.

“He’s only ever asked me for one thing in our whole lives,” Jasper’s hoarse whisper broke the silence. He remained back-to to Hutch and lowered his head. “Don’t you see? I can’t let him down, Hutch, not this time. I owe him.”

“Owe him?”

Jasper’s head nodded. “Yes, owe him. More than you could ever know.”

“Jasper, what…” Hutch began to stand, but Jasper’s raised hand stopped him and he lowered himself slowly on the edge of the chair.

“You know about the fire?” Jasper peered over his shoulder at Hutch.

“The one that killed Sarah?”

“Yes.”

“Yes, I know about it.”

“It wasn’t his fault.”

“You mean he didn’t start it?”

“He started it, but it was an accident.”

Hutch shook his head. “Of course it was an accident. Nobody thought he did it on purpose, did they?”

“No. But the accident wasn’t his fault. It was mine.”

“Yours? How?” Hutch stood and moved closer to Jasper. “Jasper, were you there?”

“No, I wasn’t there.” Jasper stared down at the floor, clearly searching for words to explain.

“Then what happened?”

With a sigh, Jasper turned to face Hutch. “He and I had gone to Caribou that day for some parts for the garage. He told me that Sarah had just found out she was pregnant again.”

Hutch blinked in astonishment. “Oh, my God, she was pregnant?”

“Evelyn didn’t tell you that?” Jasper raised his brow.

“No.”

“Well, then, obviously she didn’t know. That’s a miracle.” Jasper allowed himself a tiny smile that immediately fell flat. “Yes, she was pregnant by a few months, but…”

“But what, Jasper?”

“There was no way the baby could have been Jed’s, if you know what I mean.”

Hutch thought for a moment. “You mean they hadn’t…”

“Not for a while.” Jasper shook his head.

“He was sure?”

“You remember the last time you bedded a woman, don’t ya?”

Hutch nodded his understanding. “So Sarah was obviously having an affair.”

“Mm-hmm.”

“With who?”

“Who do you think?”

Hutch paused for a second, taking into account what he knew of the situation. “The baby was yours, wasn’t it?”

“Yes.”

“And you told him that?”

“I had to. He was convinced that it was Don Brown and he was going to kill him.”

“Don Brown with the severed hand?”

“He had two at the time.” Jasper shook his head and turned to face Jed, his back once again to Hutch.

“So you confessed to the affair.” Hutch prodded him to continue.

“Yeah.” Jasper placed his hands on his hips, watching the myriad of emotions that played across Jed’s face as he thumbed through an old photo album he’d found on an end table. “And, you know, he didn’t even get mad at me. He said he deserved it for taking her away from me all those years ago. He said he knew that she loved me and he was just living a lie, and if it hadn’t have been for Lucy he probably would have left a long time ago.” Jasper turned back to Hutch. “That’s when I decided to come completely clean. God, looking back on it now, I should have just let it go, but…”

“Come clean about what, Jasper?” Hutch interrupted.

Jasper took in a deep breath, readying himself to make a confession to a virtual stranger–a confession he’d only made to one other living soul. “Lu…”

A slight rap on the doorjamb stopped him and he turned to find Lucy standing just outside the door. “Everything all right in here?” she asked, her eyes darting from her uncle to Hutch.

“We’re fine, sweetie.” Jasper smiled and nodded reassuringly. “You all right? You look so tired.”

“I’m fine.” She returned the smile, peering into the room, her gaze lingering on her father. “I’m going to bring a pitcher of water up to David and sit with him for a little while. You’ll be up soon, Hutch?”

“Yeah.” Hutch ran his hand over his face, feeling more weary than he thought he’d ever felt in his life. “If he wakes up, tell him I’ll be there in a little bit, OK?”

“OK.” Lucy paused for a moment before heading down the hall.

Jasper and Hutch stood silent, listening to the creak of the wooden steps as Lucy climbed them. Hutch folded his arms across his chest and looked at Jasper.

“It’s Lucy, isn’t it?”

Jasper nodded, looking down.

“She’s…”

“Mine,” Jasper whispered.

“So you and Sarah had been having an affair for a long time.”

“Yes.”

“And you confessed all of this to Jed and he got upset and drunk and that’s what caused the fire.”

“Yes.”

“Does Lucy know?”

“No, and she never will.” Jasper’s head shot up and his eyes locked with Hutch’s. “Jed was—is—a wonderful father. She has always loved him. There’s no need for her to know the truth.”

“I see.” Hutch sighed and turned toward the easy chair. The weight of the situation forced him heavily down into it, and he rested his head against its back, staring at the ceiling.

“I have no choice, Hutch,” Jasper croaked.

Hutch remained silent, still examining the ceiling.

“Do you have a brother, Hutch?”

Hutch lifted his head and faced Jasper. “No… well, not biologically.” His eyes wandered upward, indicating the man lying asleep upstairs.

“Think about if David was suddenly torn from your life. How would you feel?”

Hutch didn’t have to think about it. In their profession, it was something they were faced with every day. “I’d be devastated,” he answered.

“Of course you would. And imagine if you felt responsible for it. Imagine carrying around that guilt for 15 years. Then imagine he suddenly reappears and he asks one simple thing of you. One simple thing and you can make it all right again. Wouldn’t you go to the ends of the earth to do it?”

Hutch paused before answering, studying the determination in Jasper’s eyes. “Jasper…”

“Wouldn’t you?” Jasper’s voice rose.

“You know I would, but…”

“But nothing.” Jasper shook his head. “You’d do it, Hutch, damn the consequences. I know you would.” Jasper lowered himself wearily back into the chair, firing off his last desperate attempt to get Hutch to understand. “Look, I know you don’t know me or my family very well, and I know you think I’m asking you to put your career on the line here. And, believe me, Hutch, if I thought for one second there was a chance that was going to happen, I would’ve thought of something else. I’m not going to ask you to do something you feel is wrong. All I’m asking is that you think about it. Think about all I’ve told you tonight and think of the big picture. Larry is dead. There’s nothing we can do to change that. Does it really make a difference how he died?”

“There’s a difference, Jasper,” Hutch argued, trying to hold on to one last bit of his professional obligation. “There’s a difference between an accident and a murder.”

“Murder?” Jasper’s voice rose. “You said yourself if Jed hadn’t have acted when he did, we’d be the ones lying up in Mockler’s morgue right now.”

“You know what I mean.”

“Hutch, Larry is dead. It’s over for him. But Jed is still here. There’s still hope for him. Lucy and I have him back. We can get him help. But it’s not going to happen here, not where he will be on display like some store-window mannequin. Do you understand that at all?”

Hutch understood. He didn’t necessarily agree, but he understood. “Have you thought about what you’re going to do with him?”

“Lucy was talking about going back to Portland. Now that Larry’s gone, she can get her life back in order. I was thinking I’d go with her to help with the baby for a while. We can get him help there.”

Hutch nodded and sighed, supposing that made sense. He glanced over to the couch and found Jed watching the exchange between him and Jasper. He couldn’t help but wonder what the past 15 years had been like for the poor man. “Has he been wandering around like this all this time?” he asked in a half-whisper.

“I don’t know,” Jasper shrugged and looked back to give his brother a loving smile. “He hasn’t said much. That’s something we need to find out.” He turned back to Hutch, his intense gaze boring into Hutch’s soul. “Hutch, I need to know, will you help us?”

Hutch looked away, contemplating. “Give me until morning to think about it,” he finally answered. “But let me tell you right now, the first thing Starsky is going to want to know when he wakes up in the morning is what happened. I’ve never lied to my partner, Jasper, ever, and I don’t like the idea of starting now.”

“Not even if it’s for his own good?” Jasper asked as he stood, leaving Hutch to consider the question. Hutch watched Jasper move toward the couch, Jed eyeing his brother’s every move. For a split second, he pictured Starsky sitting there, staring up at him with the same combination of bewilderment and trust, and totally dependent on him to make the right decision. Would he be able to match Jasper’s strength in the same situation? God, he hoped so.

“David doesn’t have to be involved more than he already is, Hutch,” Jasper said as he reached down and grasped Jed by the arm, helping him to stand.

“Yeah,” Hutch said flatly, nodding once.

“You’ll think about it?” Jasper paused in the doorway, reaching to the switch on the desk lamp.

“I’ll think about it,” Hutch agreed, and the light was snapped off, leaving him alone in the dark with his thoughts.

******

Cast me gently into morning, for the night has been unkind.
–Sarah MacLachlan, “Answer”

He was standing in a field of ryegrass, feeding a herd of deer. The deer were so trusting, so gentle, as they laid their noses into his palms, feasting on handful after handful of oats and grain. He reached into the burlap sack to retrieve more food for the hungry herd and was surprised to find a tin-foil covered plate resting on the bottom. Puzzled, he slowly pulled the plate out of the bag and lifted the foil back to reveal a big hunk of Miss Ethel’s venison loaf. Looking around nervously, he tried to stuff the concoction back into the bag before any of his wildlife friends noticed, but it was too late.

Suddenly the deer were angry. They bowed their heads and dug their feet into the ground, ready to charge. He backed away from the angry animals only to stumble into a group of fiddlers, playing their instruments furiously as they surrounded him. Bows were drawn harshly over gigantic curled fiddle strings, forcing him to slap his hands over his ears to drown out the cacophony of the strings’ high-pitched scratching and screeching. His eyes danced around the field in a desperate search for help and finally found his partner sitting on the front steps of Miss Mildred’s across the street, eating a piece of pie… mincemeat pie, he realized with horror.

“Hutch!” he yelled, trying to find an opening to break free from the incensed mob of deer and fiddlers that surrounded him.

Hutch apparently heard his cry and stood, smiling and stuffing another forkful of pie into his face.

“Hutch! Help me.” The fiddlers and deer moved in closer.

Hutch’s mouth moved in words he couldn’t hear and he pointed to the sky. Starsky looked up to see a flock of big, white birds hovering over him, long talons poised to attack.

“Huuuuutch!”

“I’m right here,” a soothing voice mixed with the cackling of the wild birds. He reached upward to bat them away, but his hands were pulled down to his side.

“Starsk, wake up,” one of the fiddlers said and shook him.

With a gasp, Starsky’s eyes flew open, looking directly into his partner’s concerned gaze. Hutch hovered over Starsky, his gentle grasp pinning his arms to his side.

“Hey,” Hutch frowned, “you all right?”

Starsky blinked, looking around the room. “Yeah,” he managed, recognizing their accommodations at Miss Mildred’s.

“Bad dream?”

“Yeah,” Starsky repeated, relaxing into the softness of the bed.

“OK now?” Hutch asked, releasing his arms.

“Yeah, yeah, I’m OK,” Starsky nodded, shutting his eyes against the dull throbbing in his head. He brought his hand up to his forehead as the memory of the previous night’s events came back to him. The tight stitches pulled at his middle with the movement.

“Ow.”

“Ow what?” Hutch’s hand was instantly back on his arm. “Are you in pain?”

Starsky opened his eyes and shot Hutch an exasperated look. “Yes, I’m in pain, dummy. I was stabbed, remember?”

“Well, aren’t you just a breath of fresh air?” Hutch rolled his eyes and sat on the edge of the bed, pulling the covers back to look at Starsky’s bandaged belly. “Do you remember talking to the doctor last night?”

Starsky shook his head, his memory of anything beyond sending Hutch off to find Lucy fuzzy.

“Well, it’s just a flesh wound. You’re going to be OK.”

Starsky blinked down at the bandage, “Nothing important fell out, huh?”

“Nope, your intestines of steel remain fully intact,” Hutch smiled, pulling the blankets back up to Starsky’s chest. “Dr. Simms will be here in a while to check you out. You thirsty?”

Starsky nodded yes and studied Hutch’s weary features as he poured him a glass of water. “You get any sleep?” he grunted, pulling himself up into a sitting position.

“Easy,” Hutch grimaced at the movement, handing Starsky the water and fluffing pillows behind him. “I dozed a little in the chair. I knew you weren’t too thrilled over having to share a bed, but, really, Starsk, you didn’t have to go to such drastic lengths to get it all to yourself.”

“Sorry,” Starsky mumbled into the glass as he took a tiny sip. The argument they’d had when they discovered there was only one bed in the room seemed to have taken place eons ago.

“S’alright,” Hutch petted Starsky’s arm, glad to see some color had returned to the rumpled grump’s cheeks. “What were you dreaming anyway?”

“Don’t remember,” Starsky lied, taking another sip of water. No way was he going to admit to seeing attack chickens in his dreams.

“You weren’t being chased by chickens, were you?” Hutch grinned.

Starsky narrowed his eyes, glaring at Hutch over the brim of the water glass. “I really hate you sometimes, you know that?”

“No, you don’t,” Hutch’s grin remained as he took the glass from Starsky and placed it on the nightstand.

“Yeah, well, I really want to hate you sometimes,” Starsky sighed, lifting the covers to look at his stomach again. “What happened to my clothes?” he asked from under the covers, wondering who had put him in his blue pajama bottoms. He seemed to have a vague recollection of Lucy hovering over him. He tugged at the elastic of the pants, not able to remember what he’d put on for underwear yesterday–or if he even had put on underwear. He was relieved to find a regular pair of white jockeys.

“I’m afraid they went in the garbage can, pal.”

“Terrific,” Starsky’s head emerged from the blankets and he threw his hands up in frustration. “That was my best pair of jeans.”

Hutch chuckled. “Maybe next time you’re sliced open, you’ll bleed a little neater, huh?”

Starsky glanced around the room, squinting at the sunlight. “What time is it anyway?” He grabbed his left wrist, his eyes widening when he found it unnaturally naked. “Where’s my watch?”

“Will you relax?” Hutch stood from the bed, placing his hands on his hips. “I’ve got your watch and your rings, your badge, your wallet, everything you hold near and dear, put away in the top drawer of that dresser.”

Starsky’s eyes followed Hutch’s pointing finger to the bureau across the room. “How long do I have to stay here like this?”

“A couple of days.”

“How many days?”

“Two.”

Hutch smiled as an anticipated “terrific” was grunted at him right on cue, quickly followed by a whiney, “I have a headache.”

“I’ll find some aspirin.”

“I’m hungry.”

“Well, that’s a good sign. I’ll try to find some breakfast to go with your aspirin.”

“This bandage itches.”

“Leave it alone.” Hutch paused for a beat. “Anything else you’d like to grumble about?”

Starsky thought for a second. “No. I’m done.”

“Hallelujah,” Hutch sighed, plunking himself down in a chair, knowing the conversation was about to take a difficult turn now that the litany of complaints was finished.

Starsky shifted in the bed to face him. “So, tell me, what happened? Lucy’s all right, right?”

“Lucy is fine.” Hutch nodded, looking down.

“Well?” Starsky prodded, “What happened?”

“It was weird, Starsk,” Hutch shook his head, “weird.”

“What happened?”

“I…” Hutch began, then paused, looking up. Jasper’s request had been plaguing him for hours, but he still hadn’t made up his mind about what he was going to do. Should he lie to his best friend about what happened? He stared into the trusting eyes he knew so well blinking expectantly back at him. Could he?

“You what?” Starsky’s already thin patience was quickly dwindling.

“I ran over here to get my gun,” he continued, then smiled smugly despite his inner turmoil. “Good thing I brought it, huh?”

“Yeah, yeah,” Starsky rolled his eyes. “You’re always right. I get it. Go on.”

“Well, I saw the lights on at the garage, so I figured that’s probably where Lucy went,” Hutch’s smile faded as he spoke. “I found out later that she’d driven herself there in her car to get help, but Larry was close behind, and by the time I got there, he was holding her hostage with the same knife he used to filet you.”

“Had he hurt her?”

“No, no, he hadn’t cut her. Jasper was trying to get him to let her go, but he wasn’t hearing anything of it,” Hutch shook his head. “I honestly didn’t know what to do, Starsk. I knew if I just busted in there, he’d kill her.”

“Yeah,” Starsky nodded, his eyes widening as he envisioned the scene.

“So, anyway, after crouching behind the tomato for a few minutes, trying to figure out what to do, Larry finally came out the door with Lucy. So I ran across the lot to ambush him, but the damn ambulance picked that exact moment to come tearing down the street, and he turned around and caught me.”

“Shit. What’d he do?”

“He got a tighter hold on Lucy and told me to surrender my gun.”

“Jesus,” Starsky shivered at the thought. “Did you?”

Hutch shrugged. “I didn’t see where I had any other choice. He was holding that knife so close to her neck and all I could see was the blood all over it–your blood–I knew he wasn’t fooling around. He was really going to kill her. So I put the gun down and slid it toward him.”

“God, Hutch,” Starsky lowered his eyes, knowing how powerless Hutch must have felt to have to surrender his weapon. He hated that he wasn’t there to back him up.

“Yeah, well, check this out,” Hutch continued, “then he told Jasper to pick it up and give it to him. But do you know he wouldn’t do it?”

“What?” Starsky’s eyes shot back to Hutch in disbelief. “Jasper wouldn’t give him the gun?”

“Nope,” Hutch shook his head. “The old codger flat out refused. Told him if he wanted the gun he was going to have to pick it up himself.” Hutch paused for a moment to let the thought of it sink in. “I swear to God, Starsk, I almost shit myself. I thought for sure Larry was going to slit Lucy’s throat right then and there.”

“Well, yeah,” Starsky nodded, his brow raised, “What the hell was he thinking?”

“I don’t know,” Hutch threw up his hands and shrugged, “But it turns out it was the right thing to do.”

“How’s that?

“Well,” Hutch paused, “because…”

“Because what?”

“Because…” Hutch trailed off, realizing the moment of truth had snuck up on him and he still had a decision to make.

“Hutch?” Starsky’s tone became anxious. He reached a hand to his partner’s knee. “What?”

“Be–because just as Larry bent down to pick up the gun…” Hutch swallowed hard. He stared up at Starsky, opening his mouth to speak, but no words were able to make it around the huge lump that had lodged in his throat. What was he going to say?

“Hutch?” Starsky’s voice rose, as did his concern. He shook the knee his hand still rested on, “Hutch, what the fu…”

A rap on the door cut the question off, startling both Starsky and Hutch. They both turned to watch the door ease open just a crack and Ethel’s smiling face poke through.

“Anybody in here hungry?”

Starsky smiled gratefully in Ethel’s direction, at the same time squeezing Hutch’s knee to let him know this conversation was not over. “I am!” He waved a raised hand and instantly regretted it, clutching at the pain the movement caused in his belly.

“Whoa, easy there, young fella. Don’t pop anything,” Jasper said, following Ethel and Evelyn Bean into the room. His eyes made a nervous connection with Hutch’s as he moved to stand next to him.

Lucy trailed the parade of visitors, easing herself down onto the edge of Starsky’s bed. “How you feeling?” she asked as she picked up Starsky’s wrist to take his pulse.

“M’fine,” Starsky smiled brightly at his company. “‘Tis but a scratch.”

“Oh, boy, please don’t tell me he does Monty Python, too?” Lucy grimaced at Hutch.

“Got me,” Hutch shrugged, grateful for the distraction. “This one’s new. I think he did see ‘The Holy Grail’ last week, though.”

“There ought to be a law,” Lucy shook her head, studying her watch as she measured Starsky’s pulse.

“I can hear you, you know,” Starsky shot an angry look in each of their directions before being quickly shushed by Lucy so she could get an accurate pulse rate.

“We got lots of food for our two heroes,” Ethel nodded at the two trays she and Evelyn carried, each containing a huge tin-foil covered plate of food, glasses of orange juice and milk and mugs of coffee. “You get to pick first, sweetie,” she smiled at Starsky.

“Oh, boy,” Starsky’s smile returned and he pulled his arm out of Lucy’s grasp to rub his hands together in anticipation. “I’ll take that one,” he pointed to Ethel’s tray.

“All right, then you get that one,” Ethel said to Hutch and nodded back at the identical tray Evelyn carried.

“So you two had an eventful night, huh?” Evelyn asked eagerly, putting her tray down on the nightstand next to Hutch’s chair, hardly able to contain her excitement over being able to get the scoop from two of the main participants of one of the most exciting events in Bridgewater history.

“Yeah, kind of,” Hutch nodded, his stomach growling as the aroma from the tray in front of him teased his nostrils. He couldn’t figure out what it was, but something about this place had thrown his appetite into overdrive.

“Kind of?” Evelyn snorted. “Jasper and Ethel told me all about how the two of you stood up to that awful–and I’m sorry, Lucy, but he was awful–man. And you, poor dear,” she turned to Starsky, “getting yourself stabbed. It was justice what happened to him. Pure justice.”

“And just what did happen to him?” Starsky questioned Evelyn, catching Hutch’s eye from the corner of his own.

“Ken didn’t tell you?” Evelyn’s excitement grew at the prospect of being able to relay the information.

“Uh, no, we hadn’t gotten that far in the conversation yet. He was about to, but…”

“Well,” Evelyn didn’t let Starsky finish, perching herself on the edge of the bed before anyone had a chance to open their mouths, “he’d been apparently lurking outside of the restaurant all night long, and when everyone had left, he snuck in and…”

“Evelyn, he knows that part,” Ethel interrupted, rolling her eyes.

“Oh, right, right. Of course he does,” Evelyn’s eyes danced as she mentally skipped ahead in the tale.

Starsky took advantage of the temporary quiet. “All I need to know is what happened to Larry. I know the rest,” he stated flatly, visibly drawing the wind from Evelyn’s sails.

“He’s dead,” Evelyn answered with less enthusiasm than if Starsky had asked what color the sky was.

“Dead?” Starsky questioned, his eyes shooting straight to Hutch’s with the assumption that he’d been the one to bring Larry down. “Oh, Hutch…” he started to soothe, knowing how difficult having to use that kind of force was on his partner emotionally.

“It wasn’t Hutch,” Evelyn quickly corrected him.

“No?” Starsky rose his brow at Hutch.

Hutch shook his head at his partner, sighing and pushing the tray away. His appetite quickly disappeared as he realized that Jasper and Lucy must have already made their rounds with their fabricated story and he was about to be shoved face-first into the lie whether he liked it or not.

The room grew entirely too quiet for Starsky. “Well then, what, for God’s sake? What happened to him?”

“Well…” Evelyn began, but was quickly cut short by Lucy clamping a hand on her shoulder.

“Evelyn, please, let me,” Lucy asked, removing her hand from the gossip’s shoulder and resting it on her belly. Her eyes wandered to Jasper, who gave her a slight nod.

“It was my father, David.”

Hutch couldn’t stifle a gasp at Lucy’s admission, a reaction that went unnoticed by everyone but Starsky.

“Jed?” Starsky questioned, his gaze lingering on Hutch. “But how? I thought he…”

“We all thought he was dead,” Jasper spoke up, drawing Starsky’s eyes to him. “He sprung out of the bushes and pushed Lucy out of the way. He and Larry fought for a bit and Larry was stabbed in the struggle and died.”

“Are you sure it was him?”

“Yes, David, it was definitely him,” Jasper nodded, folding his arms across his chest.

“What happened to him? Don’t tell me he was killed, too?”

“No,” Jasper shook his head. “No, he ran away in the middle of the night. We don’t know where he is.”

Jasper’s words sounded a little too rehearsed to Starsky’s detective ears, and he cocked an eyebrow in Hutch’s direction, wondering if he sensed something wasn’t quite right as well. What exactly it was that he saw in Hutch’s eyes, he wasn’t sure, but it unnerved him.

Starsky’s unease was palpable, to Hutch anyway, and he swallowed hard, diverting his eyes from Starsky’s questioning gaze. He studied Jasper, not able to tell if Jed actually had pulled up stakes or if this was another contrived tale to keep his whereabouts a secret.

“There’s no trouble?” Hutch asked, deciding he didn’t need to know what had actually happened and that Jasper probably wouldn’t tell him the truth anyway.

“No trouble,” Jasper shook his head and offered a tiny smile. “I have a couple of friends on the force. They understand the situation. It’s OK. It’s over, Hutch.”

“Yeah,” Hutch agreed, looking down, knowing that, for him at least, it truly was. He’d been let off the hook and couldn’t help wondering why he didn’t feel better about it.

“I shouldn’t have done what I did,” the statement was aimed directly at Hutch, an apology of sorts for putting him in such an awkward position. “I shouldn’t have let Jed out of my sight,” he continued, a cover for the benefit of the others. “I know that now. I didn’t think he’d run, but he did. I misjudged him.”

“We all misjudged him,” Ethel said quietly, her meaning clear.

And there it was. In that one instant, with four little words, 15 years of Jedidiah Farley being regarded as the disgrace of Bridgewater had been erased. It was the only hero’s welcome he’d receive, the only one he required.

A silence fell over the small group. Starsky’s gaze shifted between Hutch and Jasper, heavily scrutinizing the exchange that just took place between the two. Something more had definitely gone down last night, of that he had no doubt, and it was his intention to find out exactly what, but not here and not now.

“So where are the state police?” Starsky questioned, his unwavering faith in Hutch allowing him to put aside his uneasiness. “I haven’t given a statement yet…” he paused, considering the hours he’d lost last night in a pain and drug induced haze. “Or have I?”

“No,” Jasper laughed at Starsky’s befuddled look. “It’s going to be a few days before they get here.”

“How many days?”

“Two days, son.”

“What?” Starsky looked at Hutch, amazed.

“Two days,” Hutch nodded, looking more like himself. “Can you believe that?”

“Uh, no,” Starsky shook his head. “Is it just me, or does everything here take two days?”

“It’s just you,” Lucy said flatly, smiling.

“Is it going to take you two days to eat your breakfast?” Ethel asked, nodding at the trays of food she’d been up since the crack of dawn preparing. “It’s not going to stay warm forever, you know.”

“Right,” Hutch smiled, remembering his appetite. He slid the tray back toward himself and pulled the tinfoil off the plate. Starsky’s eyes grew wide in amazement as a stack of delicious looking blueberry pancakes dripping with butter and syrup was slowly revealed. A far cry from the grayish brown Bambi loaf and sticky green goo he’d watched everyone in this strange little town consume last night.

“Oh, boy,” Starsky growled in anticipation and reached to rip off the foil covering his own plate. His breakfast was different than Hutch’s, but appeared equally delicious. A slab of glazed ham lay next to some golden hash browns, a pile of scrambled eggs and buttered homemade toast. “Oh, boy,” he repeated, licking his lips.

“Ethel, these pancakes are delicious,” Hutch crooned around a mouthful. “Just delicious.”

Starsky watched Hutch’s eyes roll back in his head as he swallowed the mouthful of food. He enthusiastically sliced off a hunk of ham with his knife and raised it to his lips then paused, scowling at the pink meat dangling off his fork.

“S’matter, Starsk?” Hutch asked, his mouth full again.

“You didn’t see any pigs around here, did ya?” Starsky grimaced.

“No,” Hutch shook his head as he continued chewing. “I think you’re safe.”

“Good,” Starsky smiled and stuffed the meat in his mouth, happy that he hadn’t actually met the animal he was about to consume.

“No pigs,” Hutch couldn’t stop a smile. “But I wouldn’t think about where those eggs came from if I were you.”

 

Well, I’m already finally out of words
–Jason Mraz, “You and I Both”