Grave Risk Page 14

  Jill glanced around the perimeter of the cottage and toward the lakeshore to make sure there was no one near enough to overhear her from the cottage deck. “I don’t know what’s going on with you right now, Fawn, but you’re jumping to some faulty conclusions.”

  “Not according to Blaze.” Fawn’s pretty blue eyes filmed with more tears, but this time they didn’t fall. Jill had seldom seen the girl cry.

  “Is Blaze being mean to you? If he is, I’ll beat him up for you.”

  Jill was rewarded by a bare hint of a smile in those eyes.

  “He said Karah Lee had to postpone her wedding because she didn’t think I could pull it off in time,” Fawn said. “He makes it sound like I mess everything up.”

  “Are you sure about that?” Jill asked. “Because it looks to me like you’re a pretty capable young woman.” And Fawn had always prided herself on that capability. She was more fiercely independent than anyone Jill had ever known. Except maybe for herself.

  “Then why did Karah Lee postpone?” Fawn asked.

  “I wasn’t privy to all the scuttlebutt.”

  Fawn frowned at her. “Huh?”

  “I obviously didn’t hear what Blaze heard, but my impression was that she just wanted to have more quality time with you before adding Taylor to the mix.”

  “Why would she do a dumb thing like that?”

  “Because she’s a wise lady. Because she takes her foster-mother role seriously. Because she loves you.”

  Some of the lines of resentment slowly eased from Fawn’s face. “Did she tell you that?”

  “She doesn’t have to,” Jill said. “It shows in everything she does. Karah Lee isn’t very good about verbal expression, but she doesn’t have to be. She lives what she believes, and she loves you.”

  Fawn swallowed. “Okay.”

  “I doubt she’s told you that very often,” Jill said.

  “No.”

  “Sometimes, when a person’s lived in a dysfunctional family, the L-word is hard to say.”

  “Yes.”

  Jill fingered some droplets from the side of her face, amazed by her sudden ability to spurt wise words to a teenager, and just as amazed by the certainty she felt in those words. “I guess I can speak from some experience, being a single woman myself, but if I had a fantastic kid like you under my protection and was getting ready to marry a man I loved to distraction, I’d do all I could to make sure all three of us would make a good match.”

  “You mean you wouldn’t secretly want the fantastic kid to move out on her own and give you time alone with the love of your life?”

  “Why would I want that? Life is about relationships—not just one, but many. I have a lot of people I love, and one man isn’t going to meet all my relationship needs. A woman who has her head on straight isn’t going to destroy one relationship in order to build another one. She’s going to do just what Karah Lee’s doing. She wants to make sure you and she and Taylor have time to bond before you all start living together.”

  Fawn sat staring at Jill for a long moment, as if she were trying to decipher a different language. “You really think that?”

  “Why don’t you ask her? For that matter, you could ask Taylor the same thing. But first, I want you to cut my hair, and I want you to do a good job.”

  The gamine grin gradually resurrected itself across Fawn’s features. “You don’t think I’ll ruin your chances with Dr. Rex?”

  Jill’s eyes narrowed. “Excuse me?”

  The grin peeked out further, and she continued to tease, sliding her gaze over Jill’s face. “Karah Lee didn’t want her eyebrows tweezed at first, until I showed her what a good eyebrow shape could do for the rest of her face.”

  “Karah Lee is better with pain than I am.”

  Fawn appeared to settle for the haircut, but Jill didn’t trust her.

  Jill winced as the young woman snipped the first few strands, bending over to look at the long, dark locks that drifted to the wooden floor of the deck. “Not too short.”

  “It’ll be okay. Trust me, I said. I’m thinking something cute and perky.” Fawn snipped more from the top.

  Jill watched in alarm as a few more longer strands of hair fell in front of her. “I’ve never thought of myself as perky.”

  “Sure you are. It’s a kind of in-your-face perky, but it’s doable.”

  “I want people to recognize me on the street.”

  “Maybe Dr. Rex will learn to appreciate you a little more if—”

  “I don’t even want to go there.”

  “Why not? And I know I saw you with him yesterday after the funeral.”

  “Maybe, but—”

  “So he, like, walked you home.”

  “No. We didn’t make it all the way there.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because we ran out of things to talk about.” It wasn’t a lie, exactly.

  “Well, you obviously had more to say later, at the dinner.”

  “You’re pushing it, Fawn.”

  “You know, you’re a babe, and Rex isn’t bad for one of those stuffy doctor types. He’s single. You’re single.”

  “Don’t even talk about it, Fawn. It isn’t happening.”

  “Sure it isn’t.” Snip-snip. “How about a perm? Or, hey, we could maybe even go blond for—”

  “Hold it right there, young lady.” Jill suddenly doubted her sanity for allowing this child, who was barely eighteen, to make such drastic changes in her appearance.

  “Okay, no perm. You’re right. Curls wouldn’t look good with your features. Still, a few streaks of blond and a bouncy, short—”

  “Fawn Morrison, I’m a forty-five-year-old woman, not a cute, perky teenager.” Jill grabbed the armrests of the chair, prepared to escape if she had to. “I have more important things to do with my life than fake a good haircut and face to encourage a man.”

  “It’s not fake when you’ve already got the goods, Jill.” Fawn pressed Jill back into the chair, all the old self-assurance back in place. “Let me finish. You’d look like a freak if you paraded down the street with your hair like that, and excuse me, but you don’t need the extra publicity, if you know what I mean.”

  Jill glared at her. “No, I don’t know—”

  “When I’m done with this hair, I want to pluck, and don’t argue. If you don’t like it, the hair will always grow back. But when it comes to this kind of stuff, I’m an artist. Just be my sculpture a little longer.”

  Jill relented, reluctantly. Whatever.

  “Why wouldn’t you let Sheena do this when she wanted to last week?” Fawn asked.

  “You may not have noticed, but Sheena Marshall is a bit of a space cadet. There’s no telling what she might decide to do once she got her hands on me.”

  “Space cadets need love, too. And she’s not as much of a cadet as you think. She’s just…had a strange life. She doesn’t see things the way others do, because of her poor mother. I mean, that woman has issues.”

  For the first time since the haircut began, Jill’s attention focused on Fawn instead of what Fawn was doing. “Yes? Issues?”

  “Well, you know I always thought she was just a grouch. I’ve known a lot of grouches, and she’s queen of ’em all, no matter what Bertie says about her. I mean, Bertie’s been walking with God so long she just automatically thinks the best of everyone. She says the reason Mrs. Marshall is never happy is because she’s always trying to please God on her own, and failing. Or something like that.” Fawn put down her scissors and picked up tweezers.

  “Hold it,” Jill said. “Sheena’s eyebrows make her look surprised all the time.”

  “Sure they do. That’s because I’m not the one who does them. She overplucks, but we had a talk about that the other day, and she’s letting them grow back.”

  “You and Sheena are really buddies?” Jill asked.

  “Sure. She’s nice, and she doesn’t treat me like a kid.” Fawn reluctantly put the tweezers down and picked up her scissors again
. “She said you stopped by the spa and asked a few questions about the day Edith died.”

  “A few.”

  “Did her mother chase you off?”

  “No, but she wasn’t exactly welcoming.”

  “Didn’t you two go to school together?”

  “Yes, but Mary’s behavior is a mystery to all of us. She just suddenly changed, and she never changed back.”

  Fawn’s movements slowed, then stopped. “Why did you ask Sheena about who was in the spa that morning? You think something in the clinic killed Edith? Like, maybe she was allergic to something?”

  “I don’t know. I’m just not sold on the theory that she died of a heart attack.”

  “But Cheyenne and Karah Lee—”

  “I realize there were three doctors in attendance at the time of Edith’s death, but it’s this…gut feeling.” That wasn’t a lie, either. It was her own gut feeling, combined with her sister’s gifted knowledge, which only intensified her concerns.

  “Sheena’s a sad case,” Fawn said, snipping again, this time shaping instead of removing length. “I think she’s still at home because she feels so connected to her mother. I’m so glad I never had to worry about that kind of thing.”

  Jill’s attention suddenly riveted on Fawn’s voice. So much bravado, and yet, beneath that there was a hurt child, still wondering why her own mother didn’t love her.

  “You may have to worry about it with Karah Lee,” Jill said. Yesterday evening, just before she left for home, Bertie had stopped her and told her about Fawn’s sudden idea about working at the bed and breakfast. It wouldn’t fly, and Fawn would learn that very quickly if she would just speak to Karah Lee. Unfortunately, she was going about this whole thing the wrong way.

  Fawn placed the scissors down and reached once more for the tweezers. “Come on, Jill, let me at ’em. You’ll love the way it makes you look when I do it. It’ll open your eyes.”

  “My eyes are already open.”

  “It’ll make you look younger.”

  “I don’t want to look younger. I’m proud of my age. I’m forty-five, and I want everyone to know it.”

  Fawn gave a quick, impatient sigh. “Are you just afraid to let men see how attractive you can be? You’re built like Karah Lee, with all the goods in all the right places. With a good wardrobe, you’d be—”

  “I like my wardrobe, and I don’t want to be on display. In fact, the only reason I’m letting you do this is so you can practice.”

  “Oh, really? You mean practice handling cranky customers?”

  Jill glared, then winced. “Ouch! You snuck up on me!”

  “Just a few. Let me do a few.”

  What have I done? She sighed and braced herself. “What do you call a few?”

  “Enough to give you an arch, but not enough to make you look like a freak. Don’t worry, Dr. Rex won’t have any trouble recognizing you next time you see him.”

  “If you continue to take that tone with me, young lady—”

  Fawn chuckled. “Sorry. You’ll thank me later. Just let me make you beautiful this once.”

  “Ouch!”

  “You’re tough. You can take it.”

  Jill closed her watering eyes. “What sadist decided thin brows were beautiful?”

  “It’s the eyes. You need to open up the eyes.”

  “Ouch!” A tear from pain reflex trickled down Jill’s cheek. “This isn’t opening my eyes, it’s closing them!”

  Had she lost her mind? Yes, obviously she had. How did Karah Lee do it?

  For a moment, there was no more pain, though Jill couldn’t open her eyes. Then she felt stinging cold on her eyebrows.

  “Ice,” Fawn said. “It’ll reduce the swelling.”

  “Swelling? What swelling? Fawn Morrison, if I walk out of this place looking like Frankenstein’s monster, I’ll—”

  “Would you calm down? I never realized your face mottled red like that when you were mad.”

  Okay, Jill knew she could do this. And as she’d said, the hair would always grow back. But was she going to have to walk home with a paper sack over her head?

  It should be relaxing to close her eyes and listen to the chatter of the ducks down on the lake, and—

  “Ouch!”

  “Just a couple more, then I’ll start on the other brow.” Fawn giggled. “You’re gonna love this!”

  It wasn’t relaxing. It was stressful. Even worse, it was uncomfortable to have someone interested in her love life to the extent that they wanted to give her a makeover. Not that she had a love life.

  Still, the fact that someone believed she could have one made her wonder what it would be like to become a part of the human race. Normal.

  What was normal?

  “Ouch!” This was definitely not normal. Or at least it shouldn’t be.

  “Done!” Fawn fluffed Jill’s quickly drying hair, then held up a hand mirror. “Now, aren’t you glad you let me do it? Just think what you’ll look like with the right clothes and makeup. You’re one hot chick.”

  Chapter Twenty

  Edith had been gone a week.

  Jill checked her bedside clock. Actually, it would be a week in six hours, seventeen minutes.

  The sun wove an exquisite tapestry against the bedroom ceiling, casting elaborate shadows of dark and light through the branches of a spruce outside Jill’s window. All she wanted to do was cover her head and sleep the day away.

  But it was time to get a grip on her emotions. Maybe it was a good thing she had the slumber party tonight, as silly as it sounded to have four grown women in their midfor-ties trade insults and recipes at a bunking party.

  But there was still the whole day to endure until she drove to Big Cedar. What else could she do to kill time?

  She had already gone through the things Edith had left her. The study Bible was the best item, especially since Edith had made her own notes in the wide margins of the script. Her words had been a calming influence these past few days, when every crack between door and jamb sent Jill rushing to see if someone could be watching her from the other side of that door. Every odd sound in the house made her tense with fear.

  She thought about the boxes she had shoved beneath the stairwell. If there was any kind of clue about Edith’s death among those things, she certainly hadn’t found it. She remembered the bluebird button, which she had placed in her medicine cabinet for safekeeping. The button looked handmade, and it still intrigued her.

  She had found a sheet from Mary Marshall’s, then Mary Larson’s school record, though it was incomplete. The record contained notes of Mary’s grades—which had spiked during the first semester of their junior year, then dropped sharply at the end of that year.

  Jill had found a handwritten list of dates for conferences with Miss Marilyn Sheave, but no record of those conferences. Maybe Mary had picked them up.

  Jill couldn’t place Miss Sheave. Maybe she would ask the others about it tonight.

  She’d done a cursory inspection of the files Jonathan seemed to think Edith would want her to have. Why he thought that was anybody’s guess. There were some other student records besides those of the three boys. The file folders had looked much like her own, which she had picked up in August when the school placed an announcement in the paper that they would be destroying all old student records that weren’t picked up before the next school year began.

  Her own records were pitifully inadequate, with half the information wrong. Obviously, Edith hadn’t been in charge of forms and student records back when Jill was in school, or they’d have been done properly and completely.

  Anyway, there was nothing more there through which she might dig and kill some time. Maybe she could show up at the clinic this morning. Ginger Carpenter was covering it with Karah Lee and Blaze. The clinic was open only two Saturday mornings a month now, since it also provided later hours on Tuesdays and Fridays for the convenience of those who worked weekdays.

  Jill usually loved her days off. Today, how
ever, she’d rather be cooped up in the clinic with a rush of patients. It was better than being cooped up in this house with the darkness of her memories pressing at her from every side, and a silence from God that implied, in her opinion, that she wasn’t worthy of a reply to her prayers.

  This week she’d been in a tug-of-war argument with God about the OCD. God wasn’t budging.

  Shouldn’t an obedient, dedicated Christian be able to work up enough faith to overcome these tormenting compulsions?

  And yet Cheyenne, Karah Lee, Ginger and every other medical professional reminded her that what she struggled with daily was no less a disease than diabetes or multiple sclerosis. She could tell that most people, however, certainly behaved differently around her than they would around, say, someone with heart disease. Someone like Edith.

  Maybe Ginger wouldn’t mind a break from the clinic this morning. All these thoughts were getting far too heavy.

  A quick glance at the clock told Jill she’d slept two hours later than usual. The clinic had already opened for business. She was just about to pick up her bedside phone when a muffled thump outside her window startled her.

  Her bedroom, on the second floor of her Victorian house, overlooked the street, and was, unfortunately, above the roof of the porch. She couldn’t see who might be on the porch—if anyone.

  The muted tones of the doorbell echoed through the house, reaching her even through her locked bedroom door.

  Taking slow, deep breaths to calm the unreasonably fast beat of her heart, she slid from bed and pulled on her red silk robe while checking the street for an unfamiliar automobile. She saw it immediately. The silver Jeep Grand Cherokee parked at her front gate.

  What on earth was Austin Barlow doing here? Especially this early in the morning.

  When she opened the front door, he was holding his big cowboy hat in his hands. “Sorry to bother you, Jill. I thought you usually got up earlier than this. You always were a morning person.”

  “It’s okay. I was up.”

  He gave her robe a pointed glance.

  “I was awake, anyway. What’s up with you?”