She held her breath. Her heart pounded. Something was wrong.
“Cecil?” Her voice came out in a croak.
Slowly, fearfully, she stepped toward the back of the storeroom.
In the center of the rear aisle, a ladder was wedged between the shelves, as if it had fallen. She could see more canned goods scattered over the linoleum floor.
In the shadows beneath the ladder, she saw the shape of a man, lying facedown.
“Cecil!”
She rushed to him, tripping and scrambling over canned goods, shoving the ladder so hard it clattered with a horrible racket.
She knelt at Cecil’s side and touched his face. It was stiff and cold. Too cold.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Rex sat in the recliner with his laptop humming softly in front of him. Working on a Saturday night.
Okay, so he wasn’t exactly working. Brooding was more like it. He was banished from his family, boys he had helped raise, and whom he had loved for twelve years.
Tonight he felt more lonely than he had felt in the three years since Margret asked him for the divorce. He also felt isolated, and he couldn’t take the complete blame for that, though he did take more than his fair share.
He’d made sure that Tyler and Jason knew he still loved and missed them. It was difficult to express his regret about the divorce without appearing to place all the blame on their mother, but that balancing act had to be attempted. While the boys didn’t need to hear verbal abuse heaped on their mother, they did need to know they were loved.
He stared out the open window over the dark street and up the slope of the hillside. From this suite, on the top floor of the main lodge of the Lakeside Bed and Breakfast, he could view the lake from the back deck, then walk through the kitchenette to the sitting room and view the town of Hideaway. Often in the evenings, instead of using the air-conditioning, he would open windows on both sides of the suite and enjoy the cross breeze as it floated through the spacious sitting room, kitchenette and bedroom.
From here, he could see Jill’s sky-blue, two-story Victorian with the burgundy and navy trim, a few blocks from the town square. After learning from Blaze where Jill lived, he remembered that Jill’s grandparents had lived in that house.
Tonight the sun had already set, but he still knew the exact location of the house.
Was it possible his loneliness was somehow intensified because of Jill’s presence here?
A breeze drifted through the open window, billowing the curtains toward him. He pushed the panels aside, catching the scent of cedar mingled with the smells of the lake. Somewhere, someone was grilling outdoors. It was perfect weather for that.
Glancing toward Jill’s house, he saw no lights, and wondered if she had gone out for the evening. From what he had observed and overheard, she didn’t get out at night very often.
Knowing Jill as he had so long ago—as well as hearing recent comments about her—he gathered she hadn’t changed much in twenty-two years. She was very much a creature of habit.
Apparently, so was he, because he found himself glancing in the direction of her house most evenings as he sat reading or working on the hospital project. He had noticed, without trying to, the lights glowing from the front of her house early in the evening, and then almost precisely at ten-thirty every night the downstairs lights went off, and the upstairs lights came on for a few moments before the house went dark.
Tonight he saw no lights. Maybe, in spite of all accounts he’d heard this past week, she did actually have a social life.
He was considering this possibility when an unexpected flicker of light caught his attention. It wasn’t downstairs, or upstairs where he assumed her bedroom was located, but in a dormer window of what was most likely the attic.
The brief beam of light puzzled him. It wasn’t his business what she was doing in her attic, but this was a startling switch from her usual routine, especially since no other lights were on in the house.
He gave in to his urge and picked up his cell phone, punching the number he had memorized when he’d wanted to call and ask how she was doing, maybe even apologize again for what he’d said on their walk from the cemetery.
After looking up that number, however, he’d realized he was being selfish and had decided not to call. She didn’t need more stress on top of her grieving.
Tonight, however, his defenses were down and his instincts were telling him something might be wrong.
Spontaneity wasn’t like him. All his life, he’d been a planner, deciding ahead what actions he would take in what situations. It wasn’t until his residency that he’d discovered how little could be planned ahead. Patients, being human, had a tendency to take a doctor off guard.
Even with that lesson, however, he knew he had remained a slight control freak. Maybe Jill wasn’t the only one who struggled with compulsive tendencies.
As he held the phone and waited, her answering machine went through its spiel.
“Hello, Jill, this is Rex,” he said after the beep. “I just called to talk and see if everything was all right.” He gave his cell number. “I’ll most likely see you at the clinic on Monday.”
And then he hung up, feeling silly for worrying.
Still stinging from Margret’s warning, now he felt doubly dejected. The light he had seen was no longer there, which meant Jill was elsewhere in the house. She obviously didn’t want to talk on the phone, especially to him, it appeared.
He disconnected and folded his phone, placed it back into his pocket.
“Stop it,” he muttered, disgusted by his own self-pity. He was alone because he chose to be. There were other people in this town besides Jill Cooper.
He could have gone fishing with Dane Gideon and Blaze Farmer this evening after dinner. Bertie Meyer could have used some company downstairs. Or he could have invited Ginger Carpenter, the clinic’s part-time physician’s assistant, to a Branson show.
Now, there was a fun lady. Ginger had a heart and sense of humor as big as her…uh…derriere. She had the copper hair, freckles and friendly brown eyes of a typical redhead.
But whenever he closed his eyes, his thoughts went to a dark-haired woman with a generous mouth, a serious, blue-eyed gaze and a need for control of her own life that surpassed his own.
If Rex had been in Jill’s situation, he might have become bitter. Jill didn’t know the meaning of the word, not even when it came to him.
Serving others seemed to be a joy in her life.
He was still thinking about their situation when a light from the general store down on the square attracted his attention. The store was usually closed by this time of night.
A slight figure appeared at the door, then stepped out on the sidewalk. He heard a faint cry.
Fawn Morrison.
“Help!” she cried, running out into the dark street. “Please, someone help!” Her voice suddenly carried well through the still, heavy evening air.
He shoved the computer aside and jumped to his feet as the scream came more loudly.
“Help! Somebody, help! It’s Cecil! I think he’s dead!”
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Jill sat in front of the fireplace in the cabin at Big Cedar, listening to her old friends catch up on the past and plan the final touches of the reunion.
“I still think Jill should bring those old school records,” Doris said. “I could bring mine, and we could compare.”
Sherry gave her a disapproving look.
Doris shrugged. “If nothing else, there will be a lot of people at the reunion who weren’t notified about the destruction of the records. Besides, if Jill and I have them, confidentiality’s already been broken.”
Sherry cleared her throat. “Excuse me?”
“Well, I’m just saying—”
“You’re just snooping, Doris, admit it,” Sherry said.
“It isn’t like a doctor-patient privilege,” Peggy said.
Before they could drag Jill into the discussion, her c
ell phone chirped.
“Hey,” Doris complained, “we were all supposed to turn off our cells.”
Jill shrugged and checked the caller ID. It was Noelle. “Sorry, I have to take this.”
She stepped out onto the deck, enduring glares and mutters of reproach. The thought of cutting herself off from contact with the outside world overnight had been appealing to her when Doris first suggested it, but somehow she hadn’t been able to bring herself to take that drastic a step.
“Noelle? What’s up?” She closed the French door behind her and stepped across to the wooden railing of the cabin’s deck.
“There’s been another…” Noelle’s voice wobbled. “Oh, Jill, it’s Mr. Cecil.”
“What about him?” Mr. Cecil was the name they’d used for Cecil Martin when they were children.
“Fawn found him at the store tonight, dead.”
Jill stared into the blackness of the cedar trees that surrounded the cabin, unwilling to hear those words. Not again. Please, God, no.
She sank into a deck chair. “How?” she could only whisper the word.
For a long moment, Noelle didn’t reply.
“What is it?” Jill asked.
“The sheriff says he fell from his ladder and hit his head on the floor.”
Jill heard the tightness in Noelle’s voice. “And what do you think happened?”
“Why ask me? The sheriff has already—”
“Noelle, this is me you’re talking to. We’ve been through this before. What do you suspect?”
“It isn’t just a suspicion.”
“Did you tell our sheriff not to jump to conclusions?”
“I suggested that it’s too much of a coincidence for Cecil to die just a week after Edith’s death.”
Jill knew her sister would never tell the sheriff about her gift. Very few people knew of it, and even fewer accepted it as an authentic gift from God.
“What did he say?” Jill asked.
“Same old thing. He patted me on the shoulder and told me it was natural for me to feel that way, after all my family’s been through, but that I needed to let it go. Not every death is a murder, even if it must seem that way to me.”
“He just dismissed you.”
“He was nice about it. Greg’s not a jerk, you know that. But he has his feet firmly planted in solid facts.”
“Has Nathan spoken with him about it? Maybe he can convince Greg to see—”
“Nathan’s in conference in New York, and I’m not calling him. Jill, I’m dropping it. I’m not a private investigator, and I can’t buck the system. I’m just going to leave it up to God.”
“You’re quitting.”
“I’m using common sense. I can’t fight it, and neither can you.”
“You’re thinking there might have been foul play, just like with Edith.”
“I’m not saying anything anymore.”
“Just tell me, okay? Is that what happened?”
Again, a long silence, punctuated by sniffling. Noelle was crying.
“You want me to come back to Hideaway tonight?” Jill asked. “You shouldn’t be alone.”
“I’m a big girl. I’m fine.”
“I’ll leave right away.”
“No. Stay there. You can’t do anything here, anyway. Greg won’t listen to you any more than he would—”
“I’m not coming for Greg, I’m coming for you. I’ll be there within the hour.”
“Jill, no. I’m fine.”
Jill disconnected. Time to pack and say good-night to her friends. She was back in “protective mother” mode, a role she’d assumed for many years—protecting her sister from danger. Last time the threat had lurked within their own family. Now if a killer suspected that Noelle was guessing Cecil’s death was no accident, she could be in danger from someone besides family—and Nathan wasn’t there to protect her.
For a moment, Jill debated calling her brother-in-law. She rejected the idea. Noelle would be livid with her if she did that.
Still, Noelle didn’t need to be alone. Not tonight. And Jill didn’t, either. She got up from the deck chair, pushed the French door open and stepped back inside the cabin. Noelle knew her well enough to be expecting her.
Rex sat in the overheated dining room of the Lakeside Bed and Breakfast late Saturday night, observing the aftermath of shock. Fawn was still shaking, holding on to Karah Lee, eyes reddened with tears, nose pinched and pink. Karah Lee and Bertie tried to calm her, but she wasn’t calming easily. She sat curled up in a tight ball on the chair, legs drawn up beneath her.
The kid had loved Cecil, and to find him like that…not something she should have had to experience, especially after all the other emotional traumas she’d been subjected to in her young life.
Something else disturbed Rex. When he’d rushed into the store in response to Fawn’s cries, he’d found Cecil lying facedown. And yet, the deadly injury had apparently been from a blow to the back of his head. It was possible one of the larger cans had hit his head after he had fallen.
Somehow, Rex didn’t feel all the pieces of the puzzle fit neatly. Yet the sheriff wouldn’t even consider this to be anything but an accident.
Like many people, when it came to the death of the elderly, Greg immediately blamed it on natural causes—or a simple accidental death.
Rex was still mulling over the situation when Austin Barlow came barging through the lobby into the dining room.
His face was paler than usual, his eyes darting anxiously from one face to the other. He was breathing hard. “So it’s true?” he asked softly.
Bertie looked up at him. “You already heard?”
“Cecil?” His voice held a distinct tremor.
“Word sure spread fast.” Bertie returned her attention to Fawn.
“A fella doesn’t…doesn’t miss much when he’s staying upstairs on the town square.”
“You saw what happened?” Rex asked.
Austin shook his head. “I was just walking back from the lake when the hearse pulled away. I met Frank on the sidewalk and he told me what he saw from his barbershop. What happened?”
“The sheriff says he fell from a ladder in the stockroom,” Karah Lee said.
Austin winced and seemed to catch his breath. “He sure about that?”
Rex studied the man more carefully, remembering the incident Thursday on the sidewalk outside the clinic, when it seemed as if Cecil was trying to evade Austin.
“Why do you ask?” Rex waited until Austin met his gaze.
This time the staring match wasn’t so much a contest of wills as it was a strange communication.
Once again, Austin was the one who looked away first. “This is Hideaway, Doctor. Folks who’ve lived here all their lives have learned not always to take everything at face value.” He shook his head. “I just saw him earlier this evening.”
“Where did you see him?” Rex asked.
“Where else? At the store, when I got some groceries.”
“What time was that?”
Austin shrugged. “Guess about an hour or so before sundown. There was a crowd of tourists in the store, and he was busy, so I didn’t hang around to talk.”
“Did he seem okay?” Rex asked. “Not dizzy or anything? Maybe confused?”
“Not Cecil. He was just as sharp as he’d always been. He even talked me out of buying some apples because they looked mushy to him. Who found him?”
Karah Lee and Bertie looked at Fawn. Austin pulled out a chair at the table and reached over to touch Fawn’s shoulder. “That must’ve been bad. You okay?”
She flinched from him, barely nodding, tears once again washing down her face as Karah Lee wrapped her in a hug.
Austin hesitated, as if unsure of whether or not to sit down, obviously aware he wasn’t exactly welcome at the table.
Rex pushed his chair back, gesturing to Austin, then nodding toward the lobby. “Mind if we have a talk?”
After another confused glance at Fawn, the m
an followed Rex into the alcove off the main lobby.
“Why do I get the feeling something else is going on here?” Austin asked, voice soft.
“I’m wondering the same thing.” Rex sank into an ornate Victorian chair.
Austin perched on the edge of the settee.
“You knew Cecil well when you lived here?” Rex asked.
“Pretty well. He’s been in this town all his life, just like me.”
“He was one of your teachers in school?”
“Yes. Were you the one who pronounced him dead?”
Rex nodded. “That’s right.”
“And you did that with the authority of a physician.” It wasn’t a question. “Which means you’re still licensed to practice medicine.”
“I’m licensed.”
“So as a physician, did you notice anything…maybe that didn’t seem just right?”
“Are you asking me if I think Cecil’s death was an accident?”
Again, Austin caught and held Rex’s gaze. “That’s what I’m asking.”
What, exactly, was Austin thinking? Rex avoided a straight answer. “I’m not the sheriff,” he said instead. “I have no jurisdiction here.”
Austin nodded again, then rubbed his face wearily, clearly getting Rex’s meaning. “So you’re not convinced, either. Greg’s a good man, but he doesn’t have a suspicious nature, and he’s not rooted here.”
“You suspect it was something else.”
“I don’t know what to think right now. I know I don’t feel safe, but I’m not going to go pointing fingers. Not yet. I did that before, and the guilt will follow me the rest of my life.”
Rex thought about Cecil’s seeming urgency to avoid Austin late Thursday afternoon. Why would that be?
If Austin were a guilty party, wouldn’t he behave just this way? Suspicious, trying to cast suspicion on someone else?
“So you’re still licensed to practice medicine,” Austin said again. “I’ve been wanting to get into the clinic to see you, and they keep telling me you aren’t taking patients.”
“That’s right. I’m here only as a consultant.”
Grave Risk Page 19
