"I appreciate the concern." Hannah chuckled. "But I'm not sick, I'm"
"There, there, hon." Henry Don held a work boot against the screen door. "Just relax and everything's gonna be fine."
A crunching noise heralded a blue-and-white county cruiser pulling into the driveway. Pinky Dobbs looked from it to Henry Don to Hannah. His natural flush intensified. "I get it," he murmured. "Here we go again."
"Uh-huh." Henry Don peered in the direction of the development's entrance. "No ambulance yet." A key ring keeper was unclipped from his belt and handed off to a crewman. "You boys better move the truck down the road a-piece to make room, though."
The designated driver and both coworkers sprinted for the green king-cab pickup with the Valhalla Springs logo on the door.
"Ambulance?" Hannah said. "What ambulance?"
David Hendrickson emerged from the patrol unit as gracefully as his six-foot-three-inch frame allowed. He was dressed in street clothes, but a curt "Hold it" had the desired effect on the fleeing groundskeepers. Adding, "Y'all stay put, now," he strode to the porch, his expression a mixture of cop-face and confusion.
"Afternoon, Mr. Tucker, Mr. Dobbs." David motioned Henry Don away from the door. To Hannah, he said, "Still living in a one-bedroom refrigerator, eh?"
A rhetorical question, she presumed, thrilled to have another pair of male eyes inventorying her bag-lady ensemble. "What's this about an ambulance?"
Henry Don whispered, "I hope it's here quick, Sheriff. She's gettin' agitated, same as Owen McCutcheon did, back before they come for him."
Pinky chimed in, "Even after that shot they give him, it was a booger wrasslin' him into that backward coat with all them buckles and such."
Hannah's mouth fell open. Disjointed syllables stuttered out, then she doubled over laughing.
Owen McCutcheon, the previous operations manager, was labeled eccentric, but a decent-enough guy, until he started covering the windows with aluminum foil to deflect particle beams. In truth, after Owen's breakdown and transport to a mental health facility, he was finally receiving the treatment his family had denied him for years.
Henry Don and Pinky weren't convinced that Hannah's grasp on reality wasn't slipping until they entered the cottage. Malcolm was curled up on the sofa under a Scooby-Doo beach towel. The muttsicle raised his head, whimpered and retucked his snoot between his paws.
Henry Don sucked in a deep breath and exhaled. "After melting out yonder on the porch, it feels plumb wonderful in here to me."
"Give it a minute or two," David said. A wink reminded Hannah that playing wilderness camp-out under a comforter with a big, hot sheriff was an excellent remedy for a broken central air-conditioning system.
Pinky shivered and thrust his hands in his pockets. "You've got a hundred pounds more insulation on you, Henry Don. It's colder'n a witch'ser, cold enough to freeze theUh, well, it's sure to goodness cold in here, all right."
Feeling vindicated, Hannah sat down at the desk and arranged the robe over her legs. "Now that we've established I'm reasonably sane, and before Pinky turns blue, care to tell me why you're here?"
The department superintendent deferred to the sheriff, sitting on the arm of the sofa. When David gestured be my guest, Henry Don pulled a sheaf of folded checks from his T-shirt pocket. "The bank told us and the boys that these weren't no good."
Hannah's heart skipped a beat. A CPA in town monitored the development's cash flow. She plied the computer keyboard for an online review of the account's current balance. Another zero or two, and she might commit grand larceny and flee to a country with no extradition treaty with the U.S. "There's no reason they shouldn't have cleared, Henry Don. My guess is, the teller transposed the account number when she punched it in."
"He didn't punch in nothin'," Pinky said. "Took one look at your John Hancock down at the bottom and all but accused us of forging it."
On closer inspection, it did appear as though she'd clenched a pen between her toes and countersigned her name below Tripp Irving, CPA. Wearing mittens to finish yesterday's last batch of checks had produced the same effect.
Henry Don was now bear-hugging himself. Pinky bounced on his heels like a child waiting his turn for the restroom. She said, "I'll bet you guys can't wait to get back outside now."
"Uh-uh," Henry Don chattered. "Don' know how you stan' it in here."
"Funny you should say that." Hannah raised her poor, trembling hands, which only seconds ago had nimbly manipulated the computer's keyboard. "I'd be happy to replace the checks, but my signature will probably look worse now than it did yesterday."
Wise to herwhich wasn't always a good thingDavid said, "It looks to me like the sooner the AC is fixed, the sooner you can pay these men their due."
Hannah nodded vigorously. "Maintenance was supposed to take care of it last night. Now it's one-thirty and"
"Don't you worry, hon." Henry Don raced Pinky to the door. "There'll be somebody here in ten minutes, if we have to chain his ankle and drag him behind the truck."
David contained his laughter until they were out of earshot. "Darlin', you've got about twice more orneriness in you than any one woman ought to have."
Hannah sat down on his lap and curled an arm around his neck. "Whatever works. I'm tired of shlumping around in this Nanook of the North outfit."
He waggled his eyebrows. "That could be arranged."
"Not in ten minutes, it can't." She nibbled his lower lip, her tongue flicking the outer edge. "Even you can't thaw me out that fast."
A lecherous groan reverberated in David's chest. "Flip off the circuit breaker." A warm, broad hand slithered under Hannah's sweater, then her bra. "The bedroom door's got a lock on it."
She arched her back as most of her muscles began to liquefy. Some, oh yes, a sweet, sensitive few, tightened and started to swell. Just before her mind completely melted, she gasped, "Circuit breaker?"
"Umm hmm," David mumbled, his mouth otherwise occupied, then added, "For the AC."
Hannah's eyes opened. She cocked her head, replaying the conversation. Particular attention was given a select verb and a couple of nouns.
She wriggled upright and tugged down her sweater. "Do you mean, I could have flipped off the breaker, instead of freezing my ass off for the past twenty-nine hours?"
Her tone and abrupt change of trajectory probably accounted for his slack-jawed expression. The majority of his blood supply having diverted well south of his brain triggered a "Yeah," rather than insisting she'd imagined any reference to electrical circuitry.
It also strengthened her opinion that mechanical lie detectors would never be as accurate as foreplay, which was how she'd confirmed a former lover was cheating on her with a flight attendant.
"But," David said, "before I left this morning, I asked if you wanted me to kick off the breaker."
"Did I happen to be awake at the time?"
"Your eyes were open. And you shook your head."
"Ha. Nice try, Hendrickson. You know as well as I do that conscious isn't the same as awake."
His mouth crooked into that irresistible grin. "Okay, I did neglect to ask how many fingers I was holding up." Four of them dove under the hem of her sweater and began the trek upward again. "Surely, I can think of some way to make it up to you."
Hannah nodded at the maintenance department van turning into the driveway. Henry Don Tucker's pickup hovered so close behind, it could be attached to a tow chain. "Not with the cavalry coming to my rescue."
The look David leveled at the two-vehicle caravan should have blistered their paint jobs. He stood and did the hip maneuvers common to hula hoop aficionados and the sexually deprived.
"Reminds me of the bad old days." He smoothed his shirtfront and adjusted his sport coat's lapels. "Back when someone or something interrupted every time I rounded second base and charged for third."
"There could be extra innings," she said, "if they can fix the AC as fast as Delbert broke it."
"I wish." Although fleetin
g, David's tongue-intensive kiss had its usual effect on Hannah's equilibrium and libido. Meaning the former whirled off its axis and the latter shifted into overdrive.
"It's your fault I started what I didn't have time to finish." He glanced at the men stamping up the sidewalk. "I'll have to boogie to make that ice cream social down in Passover as it is. One look at you and politics is the last thing on my mind."
Hannah surveyed her ensemble. "You're a strange man, Sheriff."
"Nope. Just crazy in love with a redhead and tired of" He grimaced.
"Tired of what?"
"Being tired," he finished, a bit too quickly. "I don't suppose you've talked to Luke today."
"Luke Sauers?" The leap from unrequited horniness to his campaign manager bewildered her. "No. Why?"
"Just wondering." His smile seemed forced. "I'll call you as soon as I can, sugar."
Hannah stared after him as he passed the incoming crew on the porch. She was usually as adept at reading his mind as he was hers. How Luke factored in, she couldn't guess. What David was tired of was hardly a mystery, but if he thought she was using her job as a stalling tactic, he was
Well, he wasn't right. Sure, he'd hired subcontractors to finish the house faster, instead of doing it himself. But just last month, who'd said they might as well postpone the wedding until after the election?
* * *
Mother Nature and Murphy's Law preordained that by four o'clock, all the cottage's circuit breakers were shut off until the repairman scored a replacement thermostat in town. And consequently, the humidity was outpacing the air temperature.
Oven had replaced igloo as the operative word for the great room. Hannah elected to conduct an employment interview on the back deck. The roofed front porch was arguably a degree or two cooler, but too visible to curious passersbyspecifically, IdaClare Clancy.
The gumshoe gang's second-in-command would not kill to retake Hannah's job, but targeted maiming wasn't entirely out of the question. After the previous manager's restrained departure, Jack had taken leave of his senses long enough to let his bossy, my-way-or-the-highway mother take charge.
A geriatric civil war erupted almost immediately, although civility on both sides was in short supply. Hannah considered IdaClare the kindest, most generous woman she'd ever met, but beneath that plump, grandmotherly exterior beat the heart of a tungsten magnolia.
If IdaClare knew Hannah was interviewing replacements, she'd ask Jack for a second chance at dictatorship. Then she'd beg. Then threaten to cut her only child out of her will and bequeath her estate to Itsy and Bitsy, her grandchildren disguised as teacup poodles.
Or worse, she'd call in the two million bucks she'd loaned Jack to secure additional financing for the development. Real estate speculators whose net worth swung from Happy Meal to the Forbes 500 list were understandably hesitant to antagonize their wealthy, widowed mothers.
To stay off IdaClare's radar, classified employment ads hadn't run in newspapers within a hundred miles of Kinderhook County. Résumés were posted to Clancy Construction & Development in St. Louis, or e-mailed to Jack's executive secretary. Wilma screened the lot, ran background checks, then forwarded any survivors to Hannah.
Juline Shelton, the fourth prospect granted a personal interview, seemed impervious to air that would be easier to chew than breathe. Also to perspiration rings, mascara meltdown and the frizzies.
Her immaculate white chinos were wrinkle-repellant. A bright, cap-sleeved blouse, cubic zirconium studs, bead necklace and espadrilles personified summer business-casual.
Hannah, now stripped down to jeans, a silk tank top and straw slides, felt her hair volumizing into an atomic frizzball and her makeup congealing like forty-weight motor oil.
"It's beautiful here," Juline said, sipping her first glass of iced tea, while Hannah chugged her third. "Honestly, I can't imagine why you'd want to leave."
Honestly, Hannah didn't. If human cloning were possible, she could have it all, all at once, but that was beside the point. It wasn't her fault the hills weren't crawling with people eager to take on the responsibility of managing a retirement community. And David did agreeshe couldn't jump ship before finding a new captain.
Who might be seated across from her right now.
"Believe me," Hannah said, "when I came here in April, getting married wasn't even in the deck, much less in the cards."
"You met your fiancé here?" Juline's tone suggested that Hannah had landed a kazillionaire geezer, ŕ la Anna Nicole Smith.
"Not the first time. We met when he pulled me over for speeding and slapped me with a huge fine and court costs. Then a couple of days later, when a tenant" Hannah interrupted herself, sensing that the murder of a Valhalla Springs resident probably wasn't a prime topic for discussion. "Oh, enough about me. Quite frankly, I'd like to hear why a single, attractive, twenty-six-year-old would want a job in the boondocks."
Juline's brows met at the bridge of her nose, as though the question were of the trick variety and algebra was required for the answer.
Strike one, Hannah thought. Because it's there isn't a logical reason to climb Mount Everest, much less apply for employment.
"The salary's okay," Juline said. "And the house is really cute. Two bedrooms would be better, but it's a lot larger than my apartment in Kansas City."
The wind swept a silky swath of hair across the young woman's face. As she pushed it back, she straightened in the deck chair, craning to see between the trees. "Gosh, look how weird the sky looks all of a sudden."
A dark wall of clouds loomed in the distance. The ominous, deep purple-cobalt layer compressing a dingy gray-blue layer resembled a second horizon. It was a sight Hannah had seen before: a tornado had flattened a quarter of Effindale, Illinois, her childhood hometown. Effindale hadn't been America's garden spot before the storm, but the speed and extent of the devastation were as vivid now as the day it happened. Instead of fear, the experience kindled respect for Mother Nature's power and a gut-level humbleness.
A tornado watch had been issued for central Missouri moments before Juline arrived. Watches and warnings were hardly rare between April and October, but the current bulletin included a weather-related job qualification that Hannah hadn't considered.
"Valhalla Springs has dedicated storm-warning sirens linked to the National Weather Service." Hannah pointed at the community center, visible through the trees. "The center's basement is a designated shelter, along with several others in the shops in the commercial district."
Juline picked at the buttons on her blouse, then at her beaded necklace. "If you're half as terrified of storms as I am, I'll bet you could get to one of those shelters in ten seconds flat."
"Not until I was sure our 396 tenants were safe."
"Are you serious?" Juline flinched. "Wait, that didn't come out right. What I meant was, how can you, or I, if I get the job, herd that many old people all by yourselfer, myself?"
Herd? Old people? Hannah decided to give her the benefit of the doubt. After all, when Jack offered her the job, she'd responded with a remark about bingo tournaments and Metamucil as a food group.
"Other staff memberspaid and volunteerassist in any type of an emergency, Juline. Longtime residents are terrific about escorting new neighbors to their block's designated shelter."
"Sounds like a kindergarten fire drill," Juline said, laughing. "'All right, children, quiet as a mouse, let's join hands with a buddy and form two lines at the door.'"
Strike two. Which could have been three, but Hannah was determined to prove her standards weren't too high for anyone to meet. Juline's interview had lasted longer than anyone's thus far, but not because the others were rejected without cause.
One man blithely disclosed a criminal record that Wilma's background check hadn't caught. Another smelled like a brewery neighboring a men's cologne factory. A fifty-two-year-old widow admitted she was on safari for a new spouse but couldn't afford to lease a residential cottage.
; The most recent reject was about thirty, with full-sleeve tattoos, nose rings, a pierced tongue and a magenta mohawk. Poor Malcolm had slunk away from her with his tail between his legs, too traumatized to pee on her motorcycle's tires.
Still, Juline Shelton's kindergarten fire drill comment wasn't just inappropriate, it raised Hannah's antennae. A review of the application's personal information page found the box labeled Dependents was blank. On a hunch, she said, "So, how old are your children?"
"Six and" Juline's nostrils flared. She tossed aside the necklace she'd worried like a talisman. "Think you're smart, huh? You don't even have kids, do you? Try having two, and finding a decent job and a safe place to live."
Tears welled in her eyes. "When I saw the ad, it was perfect. A dream come true. I could stay home with my kids and work."
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