Satan's Pony Read Free Page A

home. My office was located in a wooden cabin to one side of the modern concrete hulk of a motel. There were three cabins, throwbacks to the days when the Oakview Motor Lodge was “Oakview Cabins” and the automobile was a novelty. When I’d first arrived, Paul had offered cabin number “1” to me for an office, as part of his lure to get me to stay. The cabin had been in terrible shape. But, with a little
carpentry and a lot of paint, I had rehabbed it into an acceptable office and waiting room. I even had a steady trickle of patients that helped my main source of income—the motel trade. I provided health care to the guests of a number of motels in the area and made my calls on my motorbike. The locals called me Motel Doctor, but I preferred to think of myself as a general practitioner. When I had practiced in New York with a swanky group at an elite big-name hospital, I had been a pediatrician. But the death of a child, due to my misdiagnosis, had humbled me and sent me packing to the wilds of south Jersey. I still hadn’t come to grips with my guilt over Sophie. But I was working on it. Maybe one day …
    Bayfield lay in a remote part of rural Jersey, on the Delaware Bay. Isolated and thinly populated, it had a distinctive beauty all its own. In the spring, the fields turned a shade of green that rivaled the Emerald City of Oz. And in the fall, instead of the flashy reds and oranges of New England, the trees turned softer shades of rose, lavender, and gold.
    It was the sky that hooked me. Growing up around Manhattan, I hadn’t seen much of it. Here, instead of snatching little peeks of blue between buildings, you had sky to spare. It spread around you like a huge shawl, changing color according to the weather. In Manhattan, the Chrysler Building had been my weathercock. On gray days it was a dull pewter and when the sun shone it sparkled like a jeweled crown. I still missed it. Bayfield, however, has a serene quality with a healing power that I needed right now. At least it did have—until the Satan’s Apostles arrived!
    When I came in the office there were three patients waiting. The first was Esther Lockweed, the local gossip. As healthy as a horse, and weighing about the same, she had probably dreamed up some bogus ailment in order grill me about the trial. I determined to keep her visit short.
    When she was seated, I asked, “What seems to be the trouble?”
    â€œOh, the usual aches and pains. My left knee is swelled up something terrible.” She yanked up her skirt, revealing a plump knee that was slightly swollen.

    â€œI’ve told you—”
    â€œI know; I know I should lose weight. But you don’t know how hard it is when you love to cook and eat as much as I do,” she whined.
    â€œAre you taking your Voltarin?”
    She nodded. “But it doesn’t do much good. Can’t you give me something stronger?”
    I opened a drawer at my side, drew out her file, and studied it.
    â€œYou’ve been over to the courthouse?” she asked.
    I gave a brusque nod.
    â€œHow’s Maggie doing?”
    â€œShe’s doing fine. I think we can increase your—”
    â€œHas she taken the stand yet?”
    â€œYes. We can increase your dose to—”
    â€œWhen will he be taking the stand?”
    I put her file down. “You know, Mrs. Lockweed, the trial is open to the public. You could go and see for your—”
    â€œOh, I couldn’t do that. Go and gawk at my neighbors when they’re in trouble?”
    â€œMaggie’s not in trouble.” I bristled.
    â€œNo, but her son—”
    I slapped Mrs. Lockweed’s file folder shut and scribbled a prescription. “Fill this at your local pharmacy.” I handed it to her and stood up. “And have a nice day.”
    Sarcasm was lost on Mrs. Lockweed.
    â€œDo you think he really did those awful things?”
    I turned away, intent on