Grave Risk Page 8

  He reached out and touched her shoulder, urging her to stop again. “What if you have a compulsion to sacrifice for others? That isn’t healthy for you or your loved ones.”

  Jill caught her breath at those words. “I can’t believe you just said that.”

  He closed his eyes for a second. “Neither can I, but I’ve said it before.”

  “You were wrong before.” Disappointment seeped through her. He was no different from the rest. He thought she was nuts.

  His hand tightened on her shoulder. “Jill, I wasn’t completely wrong. You don’t have to lose your whole self in the lives of others to the point that you have no life of your own.”

  She pulled away. “You don’t know anything about the situation.”

  “Then maybe we could talk about it. What about that long story? What danger are you talking about? Is there something still going on?”

  She hesitated again, fighting the temptation to confide. But what would she say? That she suspected a problem with Edith’s death? That Noelle, who had also suspected a problem, might place herself in trouble once she thought about it a little longer?

  Besides, he would think it was her OCD talking. “How can you believe you still know me after all these years?” she asked.

  “I know OCD doesn’t just disappear. I’m not going to ignore the facts for the sake of politeness.”

  “Politeness? Well, far be it from me to accuse you of being polite. How can you come dashing into town and accuse me of—”

  “Jill—”

  “It’s a rhetorical question. You’ve said enough, I think. If you were waiting at the cemetery just to harass me, then your job is done.”

  “Jill, I’m sorry. I’m not trying to—”

  She raised a hand to silence him, then turned and stalked up the hill in the direction of her house, two blocks away. She knew there had been talk about her and Rex. She knew Blaze and Fawn and probably others had been hopeful about matchmaking.

  The next person who tried to set her up with a man was going to get socked in the mouth.

  Chapter Eleven

  Rex stood watching Jill’s retreating figure, and felt a sharp stab of regret. Why had he forced the issue? It was the same subject about which they had argued so many times when they were engaged. Had he suddenly decided he might just win the argument after all this time? What a moron he had been!

  There had been a few times that he’d wondered what his reaction would be if he ever came face-to-face with the woman he had once loved more than anyone else in the world. Well, he didn’t have to wonder any longer. Some things didn’t change, even after this much time. He still behaved like an idiot in her presence.

  Yes, he’d loved Margret, and had made sure he would have a good relationship with Jason and Tyler before he asked Margret to marry him. And he hadn’t allowed himself to fantasize about any “might-have-beens” with Jill. He’d put his whole heart into the marriage.

  But once that marriage was over, it had been so easy to make a comparison between Jill and Margret. Not fair, he knew. Still, the facts stood. Jill had sacrificed her life for others. Margret had always expected others to sacrifice for her.

  He understood why. She had been a forgotten child from a broken family. Now, for her, love meant the object of her affection must dance completely to her tune. She’d needed that kind of love from him, and she apparently also needed it from her sons.

  With a sigh of self-reproach, he turned and walked slowly back down the hill toward the Lakeside Bed and Breakfast. Maybe the church ladies would allow him to help serve in the kitchen. He knew he had things he needed to do at the clinic—checks and double-checks to make, reports to file—but he had the keys, and could go in anytime. Yes, it was better to work there when it was quiet, and today it would be, with most folks attending the memorial dinner for Edith. Still, he wasn’t in the mood to work. There wasn’t as much to do as he’d initially expected.

  This day had a pall over it that far surpassed the cloud that was beginning to allow sunlight through once more. Possibly just seeing Jill again, being shot back in time, had given him this feeling of heaviness. He was still haunted by Edith’s death. That dear lady. Everything had suddenly gone so wrong since he’d come here.

  He stepped past a thickly flowered rose arbor and caught a breathtaking view of the town square surrounded by the street, and a broad lawn on three sides that served as a border between the lake and the civic center. Dotted across that lawn, between the street and the community boat dock, were numerous gazebos in assorted pastel colors. The dock, the lawn and the gazebos were all new since he’d been here last.

  He saw two blond women with their heads together in the shade of a blue gazebo. The woman with short hair had her arm around the woman with long hair, as if to comfort her. If he wasn’t mistaken, the short-haired young woman was Karah Lee’s foster daughter, Fawn. He’d seen her around the bed and breakfast, where he’d learned that Karah Lee was living for the time being.

  The other woman looked like Sheena Marshall, from the spa. Both were most likely grieving Edith’s death, like the rest of the town.

  What a presence Edith Potts had been in Hideaway.

  The September afternoon sun suddenly burst through the cloud cover and struck Jill like shots from a laser gun seeking its target through the thick overhang of trees on the street to her house. She wanted to hide herself in the protective shadows and hibernate for the rest of the year. Or for a lifetime.

  Strains of the final solo that had been sung in Edith’s honor continued to echo through her mind. “If You Could See Me Now.” It had reminded her that Edith was now walking streets of gold. This melody would continue to haunt her until another one replaced it. She’d lived with music in her head for years, which grew louder when she was stressed.

  Right now there was a complete brass band clanging around between her ears as she trudged up the incline of the hillside road.

  Too many things…she couldn’t deal with them all.

  At Noelle’s urging, Jill had returned to the full dose of her medication on Saturday night. Unfortunately, it took several days, and often weeks, for the effects of the drugs to become noticeable.

  So she waited. And she grieved more profoundly than anyone around her could ever imagine. The grief itself became an obsession. Any distraction was welcome.

  Rex’s arrival was definitely a distraction. Even Austin’s, though much less intrusive. After all, she and Austin had seen each other around town for years, especially during class reunions at the Hideaway festivals in September.

  With that thought, she remembered the one coming up later this month. The one she was supposed to help plan. In fact, she had promised to take part in a pajama party in a cabin at Big Cedar with three women who had been her closest friends in high school. They were in charge of activities for their reunion.

  She was already dreading it.

  Jill had never been a great one for small talk, particularly when it became personal. Though she had kept in touch with Doris, Peggy and Sherry over the years—or rather, they had done a great job of keeping in touch with her—she couldn’t help worrying that she would quickly run out of things to talk about with them Saturday night.

  She hadn’t exactly been a joiner in high school. Trying to be a full-time mom for Noelle had taken up most of her free hours. Her girlfriends had done their best to give her a social life. Apparently, the role they assumed in helping Jill had never changed.

  She glanced back along the street. Rex was already out of sight around the curve with the rose arbor. She was methodically destroying any hope of a social life before it could even begin—and that wasn’t her intention.

  Not only had she asked Cheyenne about the possibility of an autopsy on Edith, but she had approached the sheriff about it, as well. Greg had been willing enough to suggest to the family that they could request an autopsy if they wished.

  The family did not wish. In fact, they were adamantly opposed to the id
ea. Most likely half the town already knew that eccentric Jill Cooper was suggesting there might have been more nefarious deeds in Hideaway—another murder to add to Hideaway’s growing list. She was bound to hear about it for months to come.

  She was still trying to find a good excuse to miss the all-nighter Saturday when she pushed open the gate to her front yard.

  She stopped at the edge of the flagstone walk that led to the porch of the sky-blue Victorian two-story with rose and navy trim. Something was wrong.

  For a moment, she couldn’t figure out what it was, but then she noticed that the sitting-room curtains had a gap between the panels.

  She never left the curtains gapped. That was one compulsion she had never quite overcome, even with drugs and behavior modification. Maybe that particular quirk had nothing to do with a mental disorder and everything to do with a woman living alone.

  She looked around the neighborhood. Many of her neighbors had been at the funeral, and she saw no one on the street.

  She couldn’t go inside. What if someone was still in there? Instead, she detoured around the side of the house and down the grassy embankment to the back. This old residential section of town was built into a hill, which offered a forever changing view of the lake that surrounded this peninsula.

  She loved it here. Until this past year, she’d had no reason to feel concerned about living in this house—which she had inherited from her grandparents. Now even this sanctuary seemed to be a source of concern.

  Everything looked okay, but then she checked the back storm door. It wasn’t latched.

  She always made sure the door was latched. Another entrenched habit. Someone had gone inside this morning. Family, maybe? Noelle had a key to the front door, but she would never have reason to leave this back door unlatched. Neither would their cousins, who understood her concerns from personal experience.

  Nervous tension crawled up her arms. Someone had broken into her house.

  She pulled her cell phone from her purse. It had been…what, two days since she’d called Greg about the autopsy?

  She could imagine his reaction this time.

  And yet, she wasn’t the one doing it. She wasn’t the one who intuitively knew there was something wrong about Edith’s death. Noelle simply wasn’t confident enough in her gift to make waves. But Jill knew Noelle was right. Not that anyone was willing to listen to either of them.

  And she wasn’t the one who left those curtains parted. This time she had good reason to call Greg. He would have to understand.

  Chapter Twelve

  The lobby and dining room of the Lakeside Bed and Breakfast was already filled with Edith’s mourners when Fawn stepped through the door. She saw Bertie sitting alone in an alcove across the lobby from the curved front desk.

  “You okay, Bertie?” she asked, stepping across the creaky wooden floor to join her.

  For once, Bertie Meyer looked and acted her age. “I’m fine. But it seems like I’ve been going to a lot of funerals this past year. First Pearl Cooper, then Karah Lee’s dad. Now…Edith.” Her voice cracked. “Before that, my husband. Sometimes things just change too much for a gal to stay on her feet.”

  Fawn sank into the ornate Victorian love seat beside Bertie and wrapped an arm around her stooped shoulders.

  “I don’t know how many times I’ve heard somebody say she’s better off in heaven now.” Bertie sniffed and patted Fawn on the back, as if to comfort her. “And I know it’s true, but what about the rest of us? What’ll we do without her?”

  “I don’t know.” But Fawn was thinking about an idea she’d had a couple of days ago. Would this be the right time to mention it?

  Bertie disengaged the hug and looked up when another group of mourners came in through the front doors and crossed the lobby to the dining room, where the church ladies were gathered.

  This alcove where Fawn and Bertie sat was a great place for a quiet conversation. Fawn loved to come here and sit with a book, or to do her homework. She could see everyone who came in, but she wasn’t in the middle of everything, and the greenery with which Edith had decorated the entryway tended to redirect the attention of those just stepping into the lobby away from the alcove.

  As she and Bertie sat in companionable silence, Austin Barlow came in through the front door, then hesitated, as if he were having second thoughts. Or perhaps he was unsure of his welcome. The door behind him opened again, and he was forced to cross the lobby with the incoming crowd. The dining room looked packed.

  “It was worse when Red died, of course.” Bertie blotted her face with a handkerchief, then blew her nose.

  “Wish I’d known him.”

  “I wish you had, too.” Bertie leaned back and folded her hands, a faint smile crossing her face. “That goat dairy of ours was a lot of work, but Red never complained.”

  “You did all the work yourselves?” Fawn knew the answer, but she knew Bertie loved to talk about the past, and about Red.

  “Sure did. At least, until the ranch boys started helping out. We raised vegetables and served this community for more than sixty years.”

  Fawn tried not to be obvious about watching Austin at the entry to the dining area, but she couldn’t help herself. He was, as Karah Lee would say, quite the schmoozer. As he shook hands and greeted people who were apparently old friends, his gaze darted around the room as though he were looking for someone in particular, someone he hadn’t spotted yet.

  “That Red was the most superstitious old cuss,” Bertie said, distracting Fawn from her study of that strange man.

  “Superstitious?”

  “One time he cut down a cedar tree in Cheyenne’s yard because he believed some old tale about it being bad luck.”

  Fawn chuckled obligingly. She’d heard that story before, too. “He was like a grandfather to the ranch boys.”

  Bertie nodded, glancing toward the dining room when talk and laughter swelled.

  “You’d think they were at a party,” Fawn grumbled.

  “They are. A remembrance party. I’ve noticed, over the years, that it seems the more loved a body was by the community, the louder the party gets.”

  “Then I bet they had a wild party after Red’s funeral.” The front door opened again, and Jed and Mary Marshall stepped inside. Mary carried a casserole dish covered with a towel.

  Fawn found it hard to believe that Jill and Mary were the same age. Though Mary had the same wide-set blue eyes and blond hair as her daughter Sheena, Mary’s eyes looked too old, not enhanced by the typical laugh lines that usually added to an older woman’s beauty and warmth.

  Mary’s mouth was set in a permanent frown. Any time Fawn saw her, she was frowning. She seemed to disapprove of everything and everyone. Poor Sheena. How had she learned to be so cheerful? Her father, Jed, never seemed to be that happy, either.

  “I know Blaze loved him like a grandfather,” Bertie said after a moment, and Fawn knew that Bertie was still in the past.

  “Blaze still talks about him all the time.”

  “Guess I do, too, don’t I?” Bertie patted Fawn’s hand, then slapped her knees and started to get up. “Guess I should see to my guests.”

  “Oh, no, you don’t.” Fawn grabbed her by the arm. “You let the rest of us handle the dining room today. You aren’t on duty. Tell me more about Red and Blaze. I heard Red was the one who taught Blaze how to train pigs to race.”

  Bertie chuckled, hesitated, then settled back. “That’s a fact. I know Dane likes to think he taught Blaze everything he knows, but Blaze was always hanging around our house, helping Red with the milkin’, picking his brain about things. I remember hearing Red tell Blaze one day, ‘Kiddo, pigs is just like folks. They want what they want, and what they want is Oreo cookies. Long as they know they’ll get what they want, they’ll run for you.’”

  Fawn rolled her eyes. “Blaze told me that a dozen times. I thought he was kidding.”

  “Worked for the pigs.” Bertie sighed as the laughter quickly died from h
er eyes. She looked tired.

  “You haven’t eaten yet,” Fawn said. “Why don’t I fix you a plate?”

  “The tables are all full in the dining room, I s’pose.”

  “We can sit right here. It won’t hurt us to have food in here this once. I’ll get us a tray.”

  Jill followed the sheriff’s large bulk up the back steps of her house, her neck and shoulders screaming with tension. She’d endured this particular scene a couple of times within the past year.

  Okay, three times.

  Normally, she was not a timid person. Even though she lived alone, she didn’t cry wolf unless she saw a long gray snout with fangs. She had never wanted to appear to be a needy single woman always asking for help.

  However, it had been less than a year since the tragedy that had finally exposed the root cause of all the deaths in the Cooper clan. She was understandably on edge. It was unfortunate that Greg and Tom—the sheriff and his deputy—had encountered this edginess far too often.

  Though they appeared to have listened with concern as she’d described her fears, she fully expected them to write her off as an hysteric, overreacting again. Chicken Little. Especially after the autopsy request.

  She still wasn’t sorry she’d asked. She trusted Noelle’s instincts. Had the authorities conducted an autopsy on Edith, Jill had no doubt they’d have found something.

  Too late now, however. The lab test had revealed nothing helpful.

  She would probably have done the same thing, herself, if she was in Greg’s place. Probably.

  Still, in spite of her suspicions about the big man’s opinion of her, she was grateful for his bulk in front of her as she followed him through the back door and up the stairs into the kitchen-dining area.

  Tom, the deputy, had entered through the front door with her spare key, and met them in the kitchen-dining area, stalking in from the sitting room, gun drawn.

  “Tom, would you put that thing away,” Greg groused. “You’re liable to shoot somebody with it, and I don’t want that somebody to be you or me or the lady in distress.”