Grave Risk Page 11

  How could he have forgotten her trademark impatience? Once, in the middle of winter, he had taken her to a mountainside down at Roaring River, on the far end of Barry County, where bald eagles were known to roost during January and February. They’d hiked for thirty minutes up the mountainside.

  When they arrived, breathless and perspiring, she’d glanced at her watch. “You said they’d be here at five-thirty. It’s five-thirty-three. Where are they?”

  He smiled at the memory, then realized she was watching him with that same, familiar impatience.

  “What would happen if I apologized again for being a jerk?”

  “I’d tell you that actions speak louder than words. Prove it.”

  He gestured for her to have a seat on the sofa in the alcove. She hesitated, watching him.

  “I mean it, Jill. I did not intend to start an argument with you today of all days. You’ve been through enough.”

  “What you said to me wouldn’t have gone down easy, no matter what day it was.”

  “Of course not. Jerks don’t usually take that kind of thing into consideration.”

  “You’re right, they don’t.”

  “But some jerks mean well.”

  “So they say.” At last, she relented and sat down on an ornate, overstuffed chair.

  He sat across from her on the sofa. “I heard some interesting news a few moments ago. Did the sheriff visit your house today?”

  She rolled her eyes.

  “I take that as an affirmative.”

  “It isn’t my favorite topic of conversation right now.”

  “Mine, either, especially if it means you could be in trouble. Is everything okay?”

  “The sheriff and deputy didn’t see signs of forced entry, and no one was in the house.” Her hesitation spoke volumes. “I’m sure it’s just my overactive imagination. Again.”

  He frowned. There was obviously a lot more to know. “I’d like to hear the whole story, Jill. Especially if it’s about your safety.”

  Her blue eyes searched his for a long few seconds. “Since my aunt Pearl died last year, I’ve earned the reputation of being afraid of my own shadow,” she said at last.

  “That’s interesting, since I’ve never known you to be afraid of anything.”

  “Maybe you don’t know me anymore.”

  “Or maybe something has given you a reason to be afraid now?”

  She looked down at her hands, as if giving herself time to decide how much to tell him. “There have been a few incidents this past year when I felt the need to call the sheriff. Once I panicked when Noelle came to my house when I was gone, and she didn’t tell me. I saw signs that someone had been there, and thought the worst. Another time, I believed someone had broken into the clinic, but it turned out that Blaze had come back, looking for a file, after I had closed up for the day.”

  “Have you been expecting a break-in now?”

  She paused, as if trying to decide how much to tell him. “Last summer, a killer broke into the clinic searching for Fawn, and nearly killed her and Karah Lee before he could be stopped. We’ve all been on especially high alert since then, but I guess I’ve been worse than the rest.”

  Rex leaned forward, elbows on knees. “You told me about the tragedies with your father and grandparents, but you haven’t told me much about last year.”

  Jill glanced toward the lobby, where Richard Cook and Willy consulted about tables and chairs. “Fawn witnessed a murder in Branson and was followed here after disguising herself as a boy. She’s good at disguises.”

  “I do remember reading about that incident with the Beaufont Corporation when their condo building collapsed in the middle of town due to faulty surveying. I’m not always good about keeping up with the news,” he said, “but I paid attention because it was about Hideaway, and I’ve always had a soft spot when it comes to this place. You weren’t mentioned in the news reports. I watched for your name.”

  She blinked, startled, but didn’t pursue the subject. “I wasn’t interested in speaking to the news media then. That was a bad time for our town.”

  “What else happened last year?” he asked.

  “You remember my cousin Cecil?”

  “Sure. Big guy, doesn’t smile much. Didn’t Edith tell me your cousin was named after old Cecil Martin?”

  “Yes. Old Cecil’s a good friend of the family.” She smiled. “Used to be, it was Big Cecil and Little Cecil. Now it’s Old Cecil and just plain Cecil. Anyway, my cousin doesn’t smile much because he, too, was forced to come back to Hideaway to take care of business. And he’s been under the Cooper curse as much as the rest of us.”

  “Cooper curse?”

  She glanced at her watch. “I’ll spare you too many details, but I’m sure you know that OCD runs in families. It’s quite prevalent in ours. Last year, our great-aunt Pearl abducted Cecil’s daughter, Carissa, to try to cover up the fact that Pearl also had OCD.”

  “Why would that be such a concern?” he asked. “It isn’t a psychosis, it’s a neurosis. Not usually life-threatening.”

  “It was to our family. There was a codicil in our great-grandfather’s will stating that no one with obsessive-compulsive disorder would inherit Cooper holdings.”

  “Why would he do that?”

  “Because we had a family member whose compulsion was to hoard papers and magazines of all kinds. She filled her house with them. They caught fire and burned the house to the ground, killing her. There were other incidents involving other family members. My great-grandfather called OCD a curse—that was before obsessive-compulsive disorder became a common topic of discussion. Nowadays, it seems nearly half the population in this country is affected by some degree of mental illness, and OCD is usually easier to live with than many other neuroses, such as depression or bipolar disorder.”

  “So he chose to leave the property only to those family members who weren’t affected by the disorder,” Rex said.

  Jill nodded. “Unfortunately, everyone is affected, whether or not they have the illness. Anyway, long story short, Aunt Pearl reacted badly. Over the years, she was the one who killed my mother, and then later my father and grandparents.”

  Rex swallowed hard, struggling with the shock.

  “We don’t know for sure if she had a compulsion to kill,” Jill said, “or if the compulsion actually prevented her from killing even more people, but she was determined not to allow anyone to discover that she had ‘the curse.’”

  “No wonder you’ve been afraid. Why do you stay here? Have you considered leaving this place, and the memories?”

  Jill slowly stood up. “The memories will always be with me, and I’d rather face them here, with the people I love, than go somewhere else and start all over again.”

  He stood with her. “Why doesn’t that surprise me?”

  She smiled at him, a sad smile. “You’re probably going to ask about my sister now, and warn me not to overcompensate for—”

  “That isn’t true.”

  “She doesn’t have that family curse.” Jill glanced toward the lobby, where some people were leaving, and she lowered her voice. “But she is uniquely equipped with God-given discernment in some situations. For instance, she found Carissa when no one else could. She was aware of danger when no one else was.” She paused, then stepped closer to him. “She believes there’s more to Edith’s death than a simple heart attack. I know her too well to doubt her, because she is never wrong. Never.”

  “How can you be sure? Does she know what happened to Edith?”

  Jill shook her head. “If a word of knowledge is truly from God, it is never wrong. When Noelle was a little girl, she had a very pure and powerful faith in God. Even as a child, she had that special gift. It frightened me then, and after our mother died, I did everything I could to prevent Noelle from speaking about it to anyone else.”

  “Why did it frighten you?”

  “I thought she was conjuring spirits or something. I didn’t get that it was so
mething completely different, even though she never did anything to encourage the gift, never did anything unbiblical. During her teens and early adulthood, she strayed from the faith and…well, you know about that rebellion. I never saw any evidence of her gift during that time. But when Carissa was abducted, Noelle’s gift returned in force.”

  Rex felt the tiny hairs stir along his neck and shoulders. “You never told me.”

  “I was afraid to talk about it. But now I believe her. If she says Edith’s death is suspicious, then I’m suspicious about it. Simple as that. I want to do all I can to find out what really happened.”

  Another group of people came through the lobby.

  Jill leaned forward, lowering her voice. “Edith’s nephew, Jonathan, thought he saw someone running from the back of her property when he and his wife arrived last night. Could have been just some curious neighbor kids, but after what Noelle said, I don’t think that’s all it was.” She straightened and drew back. “I’m going to Karah Lee’s. They’ll be wondering why I’m taking so long, and I’m not in the mood for a lot of silly teasing today.”

  “But what about—”

  She turned away, tossing a wave of hair over her shoulder.

  He had been dismissed.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Fawn deftly tweezed Karah Lee’s thick, golden eyebrows, then filled them in with just a hint of deeper color. She loved working in front of an audience. Jill and Bertie were good for the ego, and Fawn appreciated it every time Bertie said, “Girl, you’ve got a gift,” or Jill studied a technique, as if memorizing each movement.

  Last year, Fawn had transformed Karah Lee from an outspoken, larger-than-life, fun-loving woman to a beautiful, fun-loving, outspoken woman with a fiancée—a man who adored her beyond belief.

  Not that Fawn’s makeover of Karah Lee actually had anything to do with Taylor’s attraction to her. Those two had made a heart connection before Fawn performed her magic.

  With a quick glance in the mirror, Jill gave her own reflection a brief study. It didn’t look to Fawn as if that reflection pleased Jill at all. Which was silly. Jill was a pretty woman, especially for her age. So many women gave up on their appearance and just let gravity take its course. Jill kept active, and had recently lost weight. She didn’t even have much of a double chin, as some women of her age had.

  Jill caught Bertie watching her from Karah Lee’s lounger, and grimaced.

  She eyed the set of scissors on the dresser. “Fawn.”

  “Yeah?”

  Jill fingered the over-long bangs that fell into her eyes.

  “How did you get so good with hair and makeup when you’ve never been to cosmetology school?”

  Fawn grinned at her. “You think I’m good?”

  “Stop fishing for compliments,” Karah Lee teased.

  “You worked a miracle with Karah Lee,” Jill said.

  Fawn felt a flush warm her cheeks.

  The miracle lady shot Jill a glare. “She simply enhanced what I already had.”

  Bertie chuckled. “She did a good job of it, though.”

  “I had a roommate who was a cosmetologist.” Fawn brushed powder onto Karah Lee’s face in circular motions to create a flawless foundation. “She taught me how to do hair. I hung around the drama club at school, and I learned how to do makeup. Want me to fix yours, Jill?”

  “What do you mean ‘fix’?”

  Fawn glanced at Karah Lee and nearly laughed. Okay, someday my mouth will get me into trouble.

  Jill frowned into the mirror. “You think you could make my face look more…dignified?”

  “What’s so great about looking dignified?” Bertie asked.

  “I mean, a little less…um…unsophisticated.”

  Fawn knew what Jill meant. She wanted to look less like a wild woman with OCD. That was what Jill thought about herself. She had such a hang-up about her…hang-up.

  Noelle had told Fawn that she’d nagged Jill for years to change her hairstyle from a short, sprayed-on helmet of brown to something more feminine and appealing. And so Jill had allowed her hair to grow. But the lion’s mane the poor woman sported now couldn’t be described as appealing, either.

  Fawn couldn’t help teasing a little. “How about attractive? You know, like, you want to look good for…someone?”

  “I want to look good for me,” Jill said. “Is that so strange?”

  “How old are you?” Fawn asked.

  “What does age have to do with this?”

  “What I mean is, you’ve lived with the way you look for what, thirty-five years?”

  “Don’t patronize me, kid. You know I’m older than that.”

  “So why are you suddenly wanting to change?” Again, she couldn’t stop the grin. She winked over her shoulder at Bertie. “There’s nothing wrong with wanting to look good for a guy. Dr. Fairfield isn’t bad-looking.”

  “That’s not what this is,” Jill said.

  Fawn shrugged. “Suit yourself.” She reached out and fingered Jill’s hair. “I could take a machete to this mess and change your world.”

  “Fawn,” Karah Lee warned, “don’t make promises you can’t keep.”

  “How much of my world can you change in fifteen minutes?” Jill asked.

  Karah Lee rose from her chair. “We can work on my haircut later. Jill, grant me a reprieve and have a seat.”

  Ordinarily, Fawn wouldn’t allow Karah Lee up until she was finished, but she’d wanted to get her hands on Jill for a year now. Jill was like a blank canvas to an artist.

  “Come and be amazed,” she invited.

  Jill glanced at the chair, then at Karah Lee. “You’re in quite a hurry to move on out, aren’t you?”

  “You’re the one who said I worked a miracle on Karah Lee,” Fawn reminded her.

  “As Karah Lee said, there was already quality under the girding,” Jill reminded Fawn.

  “You make me sound like a condominium,” Karah Lee complained. “Just let her do your hair, Jill, and see what you think.”

  Jill frowned at the scissors Fawn held in her hand, then backed toward the door. “Amaze me later. First, I need to talk with Edith’s family before they leave, and I want to write some memories down in that book Cynthia’s passing around. Then I have some things I need to do at home.”

  Fawn and Karah Lee exchanged glances in the mirror. Karah Lee nodded.

  “What?” Jill asked, stopping in the doorway between the bedroom and living room of the small cottage.

  “And Rex is probably still out there,” Fawn said.

  Jill didn’t grace them with a reaction as she pivoted away.

  “When will you be back?” Fawn called after her.

  “You have school for the rest of the week,” Jill called back.

  “I’m out early tomorrow afternoon. I could do it after you get out of the clinic.”

  “Fine, I’ll check with you then,” Jill said as she stepped out the front door. “Unless I come to my senses and change my mind.”

  Bertie chuckled. “Guess you’ll have to be content with that.”

  Fawn shrugged. Diverting Bertie’s mind from the grief of this day had been their main goal.

  Rex was nowhere to be seen when Jill returned to the lobby of the bed and breakfast—not that she was looking for him. She did see Junior Short in the dining room.

  True to his name, Junior was barely five foot six, with muscle turning to fat these days, and a thick bull neck. Junior never missed a free meal. His son, Danny, sat beside him, chowing down on a plate of spareribs, barbecue sauce on his chin and the front of his T-shirt.

  She was about to join him at the table and ask him a few questions about last Saturday when good ol’ Cynthia Ratcliff stuck her circulating journal under Jill’s nose, accompanied by a pen.

  “Jill, you knew Edith as well as anyone in town, except maybe for old Cecil. Got any memories you want to share with her family?” Cynthia had hazel eyes, bright with curiosity. She would be pretty if not for her perso
nality. Even in a town like Hideaway, where everyone knew everyone’s business, Cynthia took the prize for being the nosiest, most annoying gossip.

  Jill accepted the journal with a nod, searching the dining room for Jed and Mary Marshall, or Austin Barlow. They weren’t around.

  “So, you going to tell me what that hullabaloo was all about at your house this afternoon?” Cynthia asked, following Jill toward the alcove in the lobby.

  “Hullabaloo?” Jill opened the journal and found a blank page near the back of the book. It occurred to her that she might want to see what memories others had of Edith in these pages.

  “The sheriff. Really, Jill, he and Tom are busy men. If you’re just looking for attention, give me a call and we can go to lunch or something.”

  Jill smiled to cover her annoyance. “Why, thank you for the offer, Cindy, especially since I know what a sacrifice that would be for you.” Cynthia hated to be called Cindy. “Next time someone breaks into my house, I’ll gladly call you before I call the law. I’m sure you’d be better protection.”

  Cynthia’s fake smile died. “With that sharp tongue of yours, you could slice any intruder to ribbons without even having to think about it.”

  Jill didn’t reply. Good thing Cynthia wasn’t called on to think very often. She seldom had two intelligent thoughts in a row.

  Cynthia fixed her with a pointed look and a raised eyebrow. “You thought someone broke in before.”

  “Of course. What could I have been thinking? My imagination must be working overtime again.” Jill didn’t attempt to conceal her sarcasm. “Listen, I’d love to share some memories,” Jill said, holding up the journal. “Mind giving me a few moments to write them down?”

  “Go right ahead,” Cynthia said. “I tried to get Jed and Mary to write something, but they had some kind of little tiff. Last I saw of them, Mary was storming out the front door with Jed right behind her, grim as the reaper. Then I saw Austin and Junior with their heads together a few minutes ago. Any idea what’s up with that?” Again, that lively, curious gaze. Sharp words never slowed her down for long.

  “Why would I?”