Kat couldn't decide whether the chill in the house stemmed from lack of heat or from Chance Eliason's ice-cold presence. Whatever the cause the house needed a good warming. She switched on the heater.
She went into the bedroom and peeled back the curtain, just wide enough to see Chance raking his hair and stalking the fence line like a bull wanting to bust out of a corral. His face was hidden from her, but she suspected he was cursing.
She left him wiggling one of the fence posts and went into the kitchen to make peanut butter toast for breakfast. In the cupboard she searched for a jar of instant coffee but found only boxes of herbal tea. There were jars of dried herbs, vitamin bottles, and a container of protein powder. This amazed her. Brianna had never delved into health foods. As far as Kat could remember, Brianna had always had dreadful eating habits, same as Kat.
While standing in the kitchen and eating her toast, she could feel the tension from outside seeping through the walls. She couldn't relax until she heard Chance whistle for Zeke and saw him jog away from the house.
She didn't care if Chance was upset with her for questioning him. She had a right to ask about the relationship he had with Brianna, had a right to make sense of Brianna's death. Couldn't he understand her motivation? With no suicide note to go by, Kat was determined to find someone in this town who could provide her with answers.
When Chance was inside the house with her, she'd had a difficult time focusing. In such a small space the man's presence was powerful, almost suffocating. Projecting herself with force, bordering on anger, had been the only way she felt she could match his power.
His power was intoxicating indeed, and regrettably she was attracted to it. His looks didn't help matters either. His features weren't symmetrical; his nose angled to the right, one side of his mouth tipped upward, but in total he was very attractive. Dark hair on his arms and legs dusted Mediterranean skin. His sweat-soaked shirt had clung to a broad chest. He wasn't overly muscled, but his hard, powerful thighs hadn't escaped her attention. But neither had the ease with which his demeanor changed from warmth to ice.
From her experience in the business world, men like Chance wouldn't gravitate to a place like Rosswood. That in itself made her wonder what his background was and what he was really doing here.
Brianna's phone startled her out of her thoughts. Considering the strange call she'd had in the middle of the night, she hesitated before picking up. A man introduced himself as Tim Holmes of Holmes Auto Repair. Lenny Faulkes, the postman, had told him about Kat's ad, and he wanted to come by to look at Brianna's car.
"How did you know I was here?"
"Everyone in town knows you're at Brianna's house."
Small town gossip. Kat arranged to see him in an hour, giving her enough time to clean up.
The one-person bathroom was just large enough for her to circle around in. The portable heater took up half the space. It took Kat a full minute to regulate the water temperature. She slipped out of her clothes and squeezed into the metal shower stall. The hot water trickled over her body, providing her with more warmth than she'd experienced since her arrival in Rosswood. By the time she'd washed and conditioned her hair with Brianna's coconut-scented hair products, the water was lukewarm. She rinsed as quickly as possible before she was totally immersed in the cold.
She dried herself with a clean towel she'd found under the sink, dressed in a hurry, and blow-dried her hair. Out of habit she applied makeup, although she wondered why she even bothered to look good in a place like Rosswood.
Five minutes before the hour was up, there was a knock on the door. A sandy-haired man with sideburns, about her age, no taller than her five foot ten, gave her a nod. When he smiled, the cleft in his chin rose, and his eyes drooped downward. He wiped his palm on his greasy coveralls and extended it to Kat. "I called about the car."
She shook his trembling hand, but he snatched it away with an apologetic smile. "Nervous condition. Worse in the morning." With a curious look he stepped to the side and peered into the house.
"You said your name's Holmes. Are you related to the sheriff?"
"He's my dad. Best damn law enforcement officer in the county."
"I talked to him when I was here before. He helped me with the arrangements for my sister."
"I sure was sorry to hear about what happened to her."
Kat preferred to move the conversation along. "Why don't we look at the car?" She grabbed her jacket, and he made way for her to walk ahead of him. "You can go in and check it out if you want. I'd rather not go inside. I assume you know the history of it."
"Everyone in town knows about it, but I really don't need to check it over. I just want it for the parts. That's what your ad said, didn't it? I can buy it for the parts? I've got my tow truck here with me."
They both glanced at the truck with the black cab and "Holmes Towing" painted on the side in bold white script.
"I can haul it right away once we settle on a price. How much are you asking?"
Surprised anyone would call this quickly, Kat hadn't even thought that far ahead. "Gosh, I don't know. It's not much of a car. I don't even know if it runs." Wishing it out of her sight once and for all, her sales acumen disappeared like smoke. "You name a price."
"You don't have anything in mind?"
"Not really," she said. "What do you think it's worth?"
The way he stared at the car, not moving an inch to examine it, Kat figured he was more spooked by its history than he let on. Afraid she wouldn't be able to unload it, she said, "I'll give it to you free and clear. I just want it gone."
He raised his brows but didn't seem overly thrilled or surprised. "Okay, then. I'll have to ask you to move your car."
"Of course." She wrestled her keys from her jacket pocket, backed the SUV out, and parked in front of the house.
He maneuvered his truck into place, and she stood on the grass and watched him hook up the old Ford. When Kat came to Rosswood to see about Brianna, the sheriff had given her its contents: her keys, papers in the glove compartment, mittens, a stuffed dog she had in the back window, and other miscellaneous items. Kat worked the car keys off the ring that had a metal medallion engraved with the letter B.
He yanked the driver's door open and fished around inside. He brought Kat a red wool stocking cap, and his hand shook worse than before. "I found this in the back seat."
Kat clutched the hat to her body. "You should see about that."
"See about what?"
"The shaking."
"It's nothing." He slowly backed away from her and got in the cab of his truck.
"What about the title?"
"You can bring it around when you want," he shouted to her as he revved up the engine. As he inched down the driveway, Brianna's car, in protest, creaked and groaned like a beleaguered cow.
"Wait." Kat caught up with him before he made the turn onto the road. "Did you know Brianna? You didn't call my cell phone. You called Brianna's number."
"Sure, lady, I knew Brianna. Everyone knew Brianna." He stepped on the gas and sped up without so much as a wave or a thank-you.
Kat was too thrilled to be rid of the car to dwell on Tim Holmes's rude departure. The best thing about a small town like Rosswood was that word traveled fast, and the ad at the post office had paid off. One burden was lifted.
As to the dirty, musty garage, apart from burning it to the ground, she could do nothing about it except close the door and hide the hollow shell. She yanked on the rope to drag the door downward, but it caught at the halfway point. She yanked it again. It wouldn't budge. The metal arm was warped, and there was no way anyone could force the door to the ground short of hammering the arm straight. She tried tugging again, but the door snagged in the same old spot. Odd.
Everything about Brianna's death was odd. One day she was happy. The next day she killed herself in a garage with a door that wouldn't even close.
Kat shook her head in frustration. Enough of this. She came to Rosswood to take care of loose ends and get out, and that was exactly what she intended to do.
Inside the bedroom she opened the door to the closet and wasn't prepared for the wrench in her gut at the sight of Brianna's clothes: jeans, flannel shirts, some dress slacks, a blouse or two, and other odds and ends. Clothes were never as important to Brianna as they were to Kat. A small chest of drawers, snug in the corner, held Brianna's lighter garments.
Kat scanned the top shelf of the closet for clean sheets but found only an extra blanket draped over a cardboard box. A laptop lay next to it. She'd examine that later.
She gathered the dirty sheets. A portable washer/dryer was wedged into the kitchen corner originally intended for a table. She hooked the appliance up to the sink and stuffed it full with one sheet.
About a year after Brianna had moved into the cottage, she'd complained to Kat about how much she despised using the Laundromat. Although Kat had balked at the idea, she'd purchased the appliance and at great expense had it delivered to Rosswood. She was glad to have it now.
After she'd given Brianna a hefty down payment for the house and sprung for the washer/dryer, Kat had refused to offer any more monetary help. When Brianna died, she was a month behind on her mortgage. Could money issues have contributed to her downward spiral? Kat wished she knew.
She slipped on one of Brianna's flannel shirts, opened the windows that weren't stuck shut, and dumped the spoiled food from the refrigerator into the garbage can by the garage. After the fridge was scrubbed clean, she stood back and admired her work. Not bad for a person who hated to scrub anything beyond her toes. The house certainly smelled fresher.
She made up the bed with the newly cleaned sheets, knowing later her back would be grateful for it. She sat on the comforter to calculate how much more had to be done before she could leave Rosswood. The rest of the house needed cleaning. A fresh coat of paint would brighten the interior. Painting the exterior would definitely raise the value. She'd have to hire someone to do the work, but that could be done before she left, and she wouldn't have to be present.
And then there was the chore of going through Brianna's clothes and personal items, deciding what to keep and what to give to the thrift shop. However unpleasant a task that might be, she could possibly be out of Rosswood within a week. But for one day, she'd done enough. She longed for some fresh air.
On the closet floor she found a pair of sturdy walking shoes. It gave her a squeamish feeling wearing Brianna's shirt and shoes, but she hadn't packed well for a week in the country, not with her high-heeled boots and her flimsy leather jacket. She searched everywhere but couldn't locate a parka or other warm coat. The flannel shirt would have to do.
Outside, a light, crisp breeze fluttered the leaves that remained on the maple limbs. A robin flew up to one of the branches. Beyond the tree's reach, the sun warmed Kat's face.
She walked at a brisk pace down Maple Lane past the church parking lot. As she approached the main road, a gray-haired lady eyed Kat from her front porch with neither a nod nor a wave. At the junction a Jeep drove by Kat, and the driver did a double take. Along Randall Road a truck slowed, and a bearded man in a ball cap offered her a ride, which she politely refused.
The walk into town was only a mile long, but by the time she hit Central Street, her feet hurt in the shoes that were a size too small and narrower than her own. She spotted the beauty shop with an interest in getting a foot soak and a pedicure. But this was Rosswood, not Seattle. Still, she might get lucky.
As she stopped to cross the street, an older couple stared at her, and she recalled what Tim Holmes had said: everybody in town knew Brianna. They probably recognized Brianna's clothes. Passing the general store, she saw Hank craning his neck to get a better look at her. She quickly ducked into the Honey Comb Beauty Salon.
Yellow wallpaper, patterned with black combs with a bee perched on top, covered the salon's walls. A ceramic beehive sat on a narrow oak-veneered desk. The odor of permanent wave solution mingled with a honey scent from a diffuser near a table stacked with magazines. The space held an odd assortment of chairs. Beyond the desk, well into another area, were two work stations opposite two shampoo sinks.
A heavy-set woman with recently permed hair drew a quick breath when she saw Kat. She excused herself and squeezed through the doorway, leaving behind a whiff of the pungent aroma.
Behind the desk a hazel-eyed woman with thin lips, a prominent nose, and teased blond hair was counting a stack of bills. Despite the work she did, her pink blouse and white polyester slacks were bright and clean.
She scooped the money into a pouch and stuck it in a drawer, then smiled a look of recognition. "What can I do for you? Looks like you might need a color again in a couple of weeks or so."
Kat instinctively touched her hair.
"Roots. I can spot 'em a mile away. Bet your hair is as dark as Brianna's."
"As a matter of fact it is." Not only did this large-boned woman resemble Bertie in size, but she also talked in broad, blunt strokes, just like Bertie. "I'm Kat Summers. How did you know I was Brianna's sister?"
"The shirt and the shoes, plus you resemble her."
"I don't think we look that much alike."
"I guess not," the woman said. "Her features were more delicate than yours, little button-nose features. But, hell, she showed me your picture. I did that cute haircut of hers. Made her look like a pixie."
"I liked that style on her very much," Kat said. "I'm staying for a while to take care of Brianna's things. I was wondering if you did pedicures."
"Normally we do, but the gal I hired took off with her boyfriend and left me high and dry," she said with more than a little sarcasm. "Anything else I can do for you? Need a trim?"
"No, not today."
She stole a quick glance at the desk clock. "That being said, I have about forty-five minutes until my next appointment. I'm heading to the café for a bite to eat. Would you like to join me? We could chat over lunch. I could use the company."
Kat thought for a moment about whether or not to take the time. "A cup of coffee sounds good, and my feet need a rest. These shoes are a little snug."
"Great, and by the way, my name is Wilma Combs." She tossed a glance at the wallpaper. "Get it?"
Before Kat could comment, Chance Eliason stepped into the salon, carrying a handful of papers. Kat had to move aside to let him through.
He offered a quick smile. "Ms. Summers."
"Mr. Eliason."
Under Kat's blank, steady stare, he focused back on Wilma. "Here are the flyers for the town meeting on Saturday."
"Oh, goodie." Wilma made room for them on the desk. "Is Wheeler going to be there?"
"That's the plan."
"We'll see if the little weasel shows up. I hope he's up for more of our hometown abuse."
"We'll see, won't we? I better finish delivering these." He tipped his hat to Kat. "Good day, Ms. Summers."
"Mr. Eliason."
When the door closed, Wilma arched her penciled-in eyebrows. "It couldn't have been any colder in here if somebody filled this place with an iceberg. What's up with you two?"
"Oh, nothing. At least nothing to waste your time with. Shall we go?"
The Rosswood Café was by far older than Bertie's, although the checkered linoleum looked as if it had been recently scoured and buffed. The smells were more varied in the café; fried odors mixed with the aroma of soup, pancakes, and coffee. Straight back, a lunch counter with padded stools fronted the open kitchen. Formica tables were snug against windows and scattered in the center of the room.
The café, busy but not filled up, hummed with chatter and clanking dishes. Wilma led Kat to a window table halfway to the kitchen.
A woman with deep wrinkles on her forehead, dressed in dark slacks and a white blouse, swung by with water and menus. She left and returned with a coffeepot and addressed Wilma. "The usual?"
Wilma replied with a nod. "And coffee."
"What about you, miss?" she asked Kat. "Need more time?"
Kat felt the rush in her tone. "What's your soup today?"
"Vegetable beef. Homemade."
"I'll have a cup of soup and coffee, black."
The waitress righted the heavy, cream-colored mugs and filled them to the brim. "One grilled cheese and one cup of soup coming up." She was gone in a flash.
"Bev's a hard worker. Her husband had a heart attack two years ago, and she can barely support both of them." Wilma surveyed the room. "Sheriff's at the counter having his usual ham on rye. See that young gal with the frizzy hair and faded blue jacket at the far end, next to the wall? That's Tilly, short for Matilda. She's our resident cuckoo. Comes into the shop once in a while to stare at my customers. I have to shoo her out. She's a little touched is all, doesn't talk much. She lives with her grandmother on Maple."
"Near Brianna's house?"
"Yeah, but closer to Randall Road," Wilma said. "Whenever Brianna came to town, Tilly would follow her around. Brianna was kind to her. I guess Brianna defended her when some of the local boys teased her pretty bad."
"That sounds like Brianna," Kat said. "When we were growing up, she was always taking in stray pets and kids."
"See that emaciated-looking man with the thinning hair, sitting in the corner? That's Pastor Fletcher. I'm sure he'll be around to see you one day soon. He visits every new person in town, some more than others."
Kat couldn't interpret the smirk on Wilma's face. "I don't think I'll be here that long to warrant a visit. Tell me, Wilma, were you and Brianna friends?"
She returned her gaze to Kat. "Not the chummy variety. Other than coming in for haircuts, she'd stop by to say hi once in a while."
"Did she have any girlfriends in town, ones you would consider close?"
"Nah. You know how some women take to men better? That was Brianna."
Kat knew that about her sister more than anyone, though she'd hoped Brianna had changed.
"I'd go over to my cousin Bertie's for a beer after work, and Brianna would be flirting up a storm. Used to see her playing pool with the guys."
Kat's attention was drawn away from Wilma's chatter to the sheriff, who was walking toward them. His hair was a deep brown, silvery in places. He had a full mustache under a broad nose laced with spider veins. His high cheekbones gave him a youthful appearance. The cleft in his chin was the only feature he shared with his son. He held the top of his hat with one hand and the brim with the other. "Afternoon, Wilma."
"How're you doing, Gordon?"
"Nice to see you again, Ms. Summers," he said. "Word has it you're staying in town a while."
"Just long enough to gather Brianna's things and get her house in order, ready to sell. Not too long."
"What? A month or so?"
"Good heavens, no. Hopefully, a week, two at the most."
"If you need anything while you're here, I hope you'll give a holler."
"I might need someone to paint the exterior of the house if the weather cooperates. Of course, that might be next spring."
"I'm sure we can find you someone to do the work," he said. "Just let me know when you need them. In fact, you wouldn't need to be here. I could personally oversee the job. You and I could stay in touch by phone, so you wouldn't have to waste any more of your valuable time sticking around here."
"That's very kind of you, Sheriff," Kat said. "I'll give that some thought. And thank you."
"No problem at all." He seated his hat on his head. "Excuse me, ladies."
"Oh, by the way," Kat said, stopping him, "would you thank your son for hauling off Brianna's car? That was a weight off my shoulders. I really appreciated it."
"Sure enough." He continued out the door.
Wilma kept her eye on the door until it swung shut. "Did you know Brianna had a thing going with the sheriff's married son?"
Kat wondered if this was one of those stories Bertie had warned her about. "Do you mean Tim Holmes? Do you know that for a fact?"
"Everyone knew it." Wilma's face beamed with confidence. "Several times when I was at Bertie's, Tim would come in and sit in a booth alone, without his wife, mind you. Pretty soon Brianna would take her break and sit with him. They'd be holding hands."
Kat felt her defenses rise. "Bertie told me there were rumors floating around. Maybe that was one of them. Maybe you were mistaken."
"I saw it with my own eyes," Wilma said. "As far as Bertie goes, she and I don't see eye to eye on a lot of things. Take the resort project. She wants it and I don't. And with Brianna, Bertie acted like a mother hen with her, all protective. Bertie saw what she wanted to see." She swiveled from her chair. "Will you excuse me a minute? Nature calls." She trotted off to the back of the café.
While Wilma was gone, Kat sipped her coffee, reflecting. Deep within, she knew Wilma had seen exactly what she'd seen. Kat knew Brianna's ways. Still, she didn't want to believe it.
On her way back to the table, Wilma stopped to speak to an elderly couple. Kat overheard them ask about her, which made her feel even more uncomfortable about being in Rosswood.
When Wilma was seated again, Kat's curiosity about Tim Holmes and Brianna kicked in. "What do you mean, they had kind of a thing going? What kind of a thing did they have? A flirtation?"
"A full-blown affair in full view of this town," Wilma was more than willing to offer. "You ask anyone. And I know it for a fact because his wife, June, is one of my customers. She's a timid thing with three snotty little kids at home. She came in crying about it one day. It seems he hadn't been home for several nights. Don't get me wrong. I liked Brianna, but she didn't seem to make very good choices in men. Always gravitated toward the married ones."
Since their order arrived, Kat hadn't eaten a spoonful of soup; she had no appetite for it. All that trickled down was the coffee, leaving a bitter trail. "You said 'ones,' plural. There were others?"
"I'm afraid so, but maybe this is enough to lay on you for one day."
"No, I want to know it all," Kat said. "It seems I had a different view of my sister's life in Rosswood these last five years. Please tell me, so I don't get broadsided by an angry spouse while I'm here."
Wilma looked up and gave the middle-aged pastor a thin smile as he scooted by their table. When he'd left the café, she nodded his way.
Kat reared back. "You're not insinuating . . ."
"The truth of the matter came right out of the horse's mouth." Wilma's eyes sparkled with delight at spreading the news to Kat. "His wife, Patsy, comes in to have her hair dyed every other month, though she needs it more than that. Now, she didn't tell me right out, but her best friend spilled the beans when I was shampooing her hair. Next time Patsy comes around, I pry a little, and she has to say something. She denied it, but not very convincingly. She finally spilled the story, but she asked me not to repeat one word of what I heard. And I swear, as much as I wanted to, I kept my mouth shut about it."
Kat could hardly believe that.
Wilma continued, undeterred. "I was a little intimidated by him being a pastor and whatnot. Lightning can strike those who sin, so I'm told. I'm only telling you because Brianna's gone, and being her sister, you have a right to know."
Kat felt as if a dam had broken, and all of Brianna's sins were pouring over her, but she might as well know the details. "Was it a one-night stand? Did it last long? How in the world did it happen?"
"Hell, I shouldn't talk about it," Wilma said, "but you are her sister and have a right to know the full story. Apparently, it happened shortly after Brianna arrived in Rosswood. He went to her house to welcome her to the community, looking for converts, really. She let him in and that was that. According to Patsy, he would make excuses for going to the church every day when there wasn't a need to. Then he'd mosey on down the road to Brianna's. Mighty convenient, if you ask me."
"How did it end?"
"It had been going on about a week or two when Patsy finally got suspicious and followed him to the church one morning. Somehow she waited out of sight and saw him park and walk down the road. She waited for an hour, and when he came back to the church, she confronted him. Funny thing was, after all that converting, I don't think Brianna ever went to church." She sat back and heaved a huge satisfied sigh, as if she'd slipped off a twenty-pound jacket.
Surprised, but not in total shock, Kat wondered if there were any more stories. When the waitress refilled their cups with steaming coffee, Kat found the aroma more than comforting. She blew across the top and took a guarded sip. She braced herself for whatever else Wilma had to say.
"There were other rumors floating around, but those two affairs were the only ones I knew of for sure." Wilma paused. "She might have had something going on with Lenny over at the post office. But I'm sure that's a big fat rumor. No doubt he spread it himself."
"Why do you say that?"
"Because he likes to exaggerate everything," Wilma said. "He likes the ladies, and he was starry-eyed over Brianna. He only wished things were that way between them. He's the kind who lives through other men's escapades. Besides, his wife keeps him on a short leash. He can't breathe without her knowing about it. Clare Faulkes, now she's a piece of work."
"What do you know about Chance Eliason?"
"Chance? Not too much." Wilma thought a moment. "I do know he had a wife who died of cancer, and he has a daughter in college. He came into this town about the same time as Brianna and bought the ranch near the Pine Road cutoff. He's made himself a respectable place in this community. Everyone seems to like him. Other than that, he's sort of a mystery." She lifted her palms in the air. "But who cares? He's so damn easy to look at."
"How did you know about his wife?"
"He dated one of my customers. She said he was pretty closed up about his past. The only other woman in town he was close to here was Brianna. She'd do anything for him. He walked on water as far as she was concerned."
"What about him and Brianna? Did they have an affair?"
"That, I'm not sure of. I think she thought of him more like a father figure or an older brother. She seemed to lap up kindness from wherever it was offered."
Kat agreed wholeheartedly with Wilma's assessment of Brianna, but she was curious about Chance. "What happened to that woman you mentioned, the woman he had a relationship with?"
"She said he just stopped calling one day, never did know why."
"That sounds typical. So, does the woman live here in town?"
"She was a schoolteacher, but she wasn't here very long," Wilma said. "Shortly after they broke up, she transferred to another community. Broken-hearted, I guess. I don't think any woman could tie that man down. He's one of those men you dream about, but you can't have, like those movie stars. Whew! If I had a chance with him, I'd have me one good ride, all night long."
Kat laughed out loud, loosening the tension that had gripped her.
"I'd love to sit here and chat all afternoon," Wilma said, "but old Mrs. Tate is coming in for a perm. If I make her wait, she'll be staring at me in the mirror with her pursed little lips for two hours straight." Her face lit up with a sneaky grin. "Of course, I could always get back at her and give her hair the George Washington look." She took a last sip of coffee. "Sure was nice talking to you. Stop in and say hi next time you're in the neighborhood."
"I will."
"If I think of anything else about Brianna, I'll be sure to let you know."
"You've given me plenty to think about. But if there is anything, I'm staying in Brianna's house."
"Yeah, I know." Wilma paid her bill at the counter and had the waitress wrap up the sandwich she hadn't touched. Words had tumbled from her mouth, but nothing except coffee had made its way in. "Take care, honey," she said as she paused by Kat, "and stop by the shop to talk anytime."
Kat stayed to finish her coffee. She took a sip of cold soup, trying to digest everything Wilma had told her. The sheriff's son, Tim Holmes. No wonder his hands were shaky around her. The pastor. So much for piety. Lenny, the postman? If what Wilma said was true, could Kat believe anything he'd said about Brianna? Or was everything Wilma said pure gossip?
As for Chance Eliason, perhaps there was something about him and Brianna even Wilma wasn't aware of.
Kat left the café, pleased to be outside in the unsullied air where she could clear her head, overburdened with information she would rather not have known. Despite Brianna's weakness for married men, along with the heartache it might cause everyone involved, Kat thought Brianna had moved beyond those antics. Kat distinctly remembered Brianna telling her she was enthused about her life. Bertie said Brianna was happy, especially this last year. What happened to change that?
Kat wandered toward Hank's. Too much analyzing for one morning.
Inside the store Hank was handing a carton of cigarettes to a customer, one of the three men who'd sat near her at Bertie's. She recognized him by his plaid wool jacket and the dark stubble on his face. When she walked by him, she could feel him following her with his eyes.
She grabbed a basket. Though she was halfway down the middle aisle, the man's crude comments about her upper body rang out loud and clear. Something about him gave her the creeps, and she was relieved when he left the store.
She scanned several coffee brands and chose a jar of Folgers. Without a coffeemaker, instant would have to do.
She roamed the other aisles and picked up two cans of beef stew, a bag of peanut butter cookies, and a roll of antacids. At the back of the store were tools and miscellaneous household and clothing items. Brianna had a drawer full of wool socks but no slippers, and Kat had left her slippers at home. Among the miscellaneous items, she picked out a cheap pair of slip-ons.
At the end of the aisle she noticed the girl with the blue jacket and frizzy hair staring at her. In an instant the girl was gone in a flash of blue.
Kat strode to the front of the store. The door rang shut, and all she saw was a fleeting shadow. "Was that the girl named Tilly who just left?" she asked Hank as she deposited her basket on the counter.
Hank nodded and rang up her groceries in an uncharacteristic hurry. His face was strained, and patches of pink blushed both cheeks. "I'm sorry about Doug." He kept his eyes on his task. "He can be rather coarse at times."
"No harm done," she said. "Who is he anyway?"
"Doug Jones. He works on a ranch east of here. Comes into town more than I'd like. Kind of a rough fellow."
"Remind me to stay out of his way."
Hank slowed his pace and looked at Kat. "Do you know about Tilly?"
"I just heard about her from Wilma," Kat said. "The girl seemed to be watching me when I was in the back."
"Don't pay her much heed," Hank said. "She's an odd duck. She doesn't talk much, but she seems to have eyes in the back of her head. She turns up in the strangest places, and when she does speak, she comes up with the darnedest things." He shook his head and pushed the grocery sack across the counter.
Kat paid the bill and swept the sack into the crook of her arm. "Thanks, Hank."
"You getting along all right out at Brianna's house?"
"Everything's fine."
"I don't mean anything by this," he said, "but for the life of me, I don't know why you'd want to stay there in the first place after all that happened."
"I have work to do," Kat said. "Anyway, I don't intend to be there more than a week."
"You staying there nights all by yourself?"
"No reason not to."
"You're a brave one. I'm not one to be superstitious, but . . ."
"It really isn't that bad." Kat wondered how she could gracefully make her exit since he seemed to want to talk.
The bell jingled again. Two women entered and stared at Kat as if they'd never seen a stranger before. When Hank greeted them, Kat slipped outside. Saved by the bell.
She dug through the sack for the antacids and popped one in her mouth. Questions concerning Brianna were gnawing at her. Maybe it was time to pay the doctor a visit to see if he could add anything that might help her understand her sister's plight.
Except for a few teenaged boys lingering in front of the movie theater next to Bertie's, the town was deserted. Either people had left or they were inside the shops and restaurants.
She crossed the street and aimed for the building with two curtained windows. Written in red script, the sign on the door read "Doctor Steven Conklin."
No one was entering or leaving, but the door was unlocked. Kat slipped inside and was a little taken aback at how stark the room was: a tall ceiling; scuffed, beige-patterned linoleum; hard-backed chairs lining one wall; a metal desk facing the entrance. No receptionist was seated behind the desk to greet her, nor were there any patients sitting in any of the chairs. No pictures hung on the walls. The only sign of life was a vase of purplish-blue flowers on the edge of the desk, if dried flowers could be placed in that category.
She was about to leave when a stocky man in his forties, a little on the paunchy side, dressed in jeans and a wool shirt, with dull brown hair tamed to the side, came out from a back hallway. He had a large forehead and a squat nose set between the most piercing slate blue eyes she'd ever seen, like two BBs staring back at her. Kat recognized him from Bertie's as one of the three men sitting at the bar.
"May I help you?"
"Are you the doctor?"
"I am." His warm, welcoming smile showcased large, impeccable teeth. "But I'm not taking appointments today."
"I don't need an appointment," she said. "I wanted to talk to you about Brianna Whitley. I'm assuming you were her doctor."
His face lost its glimmer. "Yes, I was. There was a doctor in Benton, but she chose me. So, what is it you want to know?"
"I'm not sure, really." Kat realized she was twisting her ponytail in nervous spirals, a habit she'd acquired in childhood. She wasn't impressed with his brusque manner, odd for a person in his position. "Brianna had a history of depression, and I wondered if she ever came to you with her problems."
"Why do you want to know now?" he said, almost challenging her.
"It's the first chance I've had to slow down and think about it," Kat said. "I've been wondering about her mental condition. From what other people in town have told me, she seemed happy. I'm having a hard time believing she'd do what she did."
"I'm not sure you'll ever know why, Miss . . ."
"Summers, Kat Summers. I'm Brianna's sister."
"Yes. Forgive me." As his smile returned, the lines in his face faded. "I'm so sorry. I get so absorbed in my paperwork. I overheard you talking to Hank." He gestured to shake hands, so she shifted the grocery sack. He grasped her shoulder, as a politician would do, then slid a hand down her arm and embraced her hand with his. The warmth of his hands offset the intensity of his eyes. "I do apologize. I'm so deeply sorry about Brianna."
"No need to apologize." Kat slid her hand from his grip. "May I ask you a few more questions?"
"Whatever you need to know."
"I wondered if you saw her afterward."
"I'm afraid I didn't."
"Weren't you called in?"
"No, I wasn't," he said. "The sheriff couldn't locate me. He said she was deceased when he found her, so he called the coroner in Benton."
"Oh, I see."
"Come sit and we'll talk." He guided her by the elbow to one of the chairs against the wall, and she deposited her sack on the floor. When she turned back, he was staring at her shirt. "This is Brianna's, isn't it?"
"I needed something warm to wear."
"I'm sure she wouldn't have minded. She was like that," he said. "Now, where was I? Oh, yes. She used to come to me for the usual problems, colds, checkups. She seemed troubled at times, but as much as I tried to draw her out, she would never open up to me. I tried and I tried with her. It seemed to me she had a lot of pain inside."
"If you knew the half of it."
"Is that right?" He patted Kat's hand with his hot, moist palm, waiting for her to elaborate.
She reached for a strand of hair to twirl but caught herself. She also caught herself before she revealed too many secrets about Brianna to a stranger, at least a stranger to Kat. "Let's just say she had a rough childhood and leave it at that. When was the last time you spoke to her?"
"Oh, let's see now. It couldn't have been more than a day before she died."
"How did she seem to you? Was she depressed or upset?"
"Oh, no," he said. "In fact, I remember her being happy. I saw her in Bertie's at lunchtime, and she was flitting around that place making all the men feel welcome. Flirting, actually. She had a way with the men, you know. I tried to warn her about that, but she wouldn't listen to me. Just told me I was an old fogey."
"That sounds like Brianna."
"I tried and tried," he said, shaking his head. "She wasn't an easy girl to get close to. But to me there was no indication she would leave us that way."
"I'd like to believe that's true, but I'm just not sure."
"Of course one never knows what goes on inside the minds of others." He patted her hand one last time. "I have to get back to my paperwork now."
Kat gathered up her groceries. "Thanks for your time, Doctor."
He opened the door and placed his hand on her shoulder. "I hope you find some peace of mind about your sister, and please stop by for a chat anytime. Or let me know if I can help in any other way. I'm at your service." He squeezed her shoulder before closing the door behind her.
So far, no one in this town, not even the touchy-feely doctor, had given her an adequate answer. Kat was determined to discover why Brianna took her life. Until then, there could be no peace of mind for Kat.
The sun had dipped into the western sky, and the shadows were lengthening across the center of town. The air was cooling fast. Kat took off for home.
At the edge of town, where Center Street curved into Randall Road, a vehicle's horn sounded, and Chance Eliason's truck made the turn in front of her. He slowed to a stop and rolled down his window. "Can I give you a lift home?"
"I can manage." Except for one thing: her bladder was ready to burst. When the truck inched forward, she yelled after him, "Wait. I changed my mind. I'll take that ride." She climbed into the cab and set her grocery sack between them. "After the last time I saw you, I didn't think you'd give me the time of day."
He stepped on the gas, jerking the truck forward. "Maybe I'm trying to make amends."
She narrowed her brows. "That would be quite a miracle. So why the change of heart?"
He gave a shrug. Speeding up, he bypassed Maple Lane.
She looked to the left, toward Brianna's. "Hey, where are you going? You missed my street."
"I'm taking you to my place. I want to show you something."
Not again. Her bladder ached. Why did she have to pee every time she was around this man? "Listen. I just had two cups of coffee and bouncing around in this truck isn't helping matters."
"You can use my bathroom."
"How far do we have to go?"
He swung left onto a dirt road. "We're just about there."
She clenched her teeth and gripped the edge of the seat to cushion the bumps. When he pulled up to a sprawling brick rambler and cut the engine, she stayed put until he told her Zeke was out in the field with his hired hand. She bolted out of the truck to a chorus of braying burros. "Are those yours?"
"All twenty-five of them," he said. "We can talk after you've done whatever you have to do in there."
She glared at him. "Pee. I have to pee. And can we hurry?"
He unlocked the door and gave her directions to the bathroom. "I'll wait for you outside."
She rocketed through the great room and took a left down the hallway. While in the bathroom, she looked it over. The colors were muted, and nothing unusual stood out. It was a typical guest bathroom, clean and surprisingly neat.
Afterward, to satisfy her curiosity she traipsed down the hall to the master bedroom in search of something that would attest to his character, or reveal a secret, but the room was uninspired, typically male with masculine colors, beige and brown comforter and pillow shams, the bed neatly made.
She went into the guest bedroom, but again, nothing exciting, save for a little more color, a green bedspread with yellow accents. Both rooms were sterile, no pictures or knickknacks, nothing that would give her a clue about him.
She continued into the third bedroom, which he'd made into a study. A cherry wood desk took center stage. A bookcase covered one wall, and she perused the books to garner an idea of his reading tastes. Most were history and political books, but a few were thrillers and mysteries. On one of the shelves was a framed photo of a woman and a young girl, both with straight, mid-length blond hair and both attractive, his wife and daughter no doubt.
Kat held the picture a moment before wandering to the desk. His laptop was closed, but to one side was a stack of papers. Typed on the top page were the words "Black Cash." Whatever the hell that was. Thumbing through, she realized she was looking at a manuscript of some sort, perhaps a novel.
The front door opened and closed, and Kat swiftly set the papers in order and rushed from the room. At the end of the hall, she collided with Chance.
"We seem to be making a habit of this," he said.
"Oh, sorry." She took a healthy step back.
"I thought maybe you got lost."
"No, I was just . . ." She glanced past him, looking for an excuse to guide the conversation away from herself. Her gaze settled on the furniture. "You know, I love your modular furniture." She strode to the sofa and ran her palm over the cushions. "I like this combination of leather and fabric. What's the color? It's unusual."
"It's called thyme."
"Thyme. It's delicious."
He folded his arms and stared at her with his intense, perceptive eyes, which told her he knew exactly what she'd been up to, making her squirm a little.
She would put him on the defensive. She marched up to him and looked him in the eye. "So, why am I here? This is kidnapping, you know."
He laughed, cocking his head backward. "You're something else, Kat Summers. I offer you the use of my bathroom, and you accuse me of kidnapping."
"I never asked to come here in the first place," she countered.
"Do you ever back down?" His eyes lost their fire. He seemed suddenly weary.
"I'm sorry, really, but I'm not used to being taken somewhere against my will."
"All I wanted to do was show you how Brianna spent her time here. The other night you pushed a button, and I overreacted. I'd like to apologize."
"Why didn't you just ask me to come here?"
"Because I knew you'd refuse."
"So, you coerced me instead."
He tossed up a hand. "Yes, I admit it, but now that you're here, can we go outside? I'd like to show you what made Brianna happy." He paused. "Please, Kat."
Kat studied him for a moment. His plea seemed honest, even emotional. Maybe she'd read him wrong. Maybe Wilma was right about Chance Eliason being a stabilizing force in Brianna's life.
Kat followed him outside to the corral where the noisy burros greeted him. Several of the animals crowded each other at the fence line, just to get near him, trying to nuzzle his arm.
"Come here." He held out his hand to Kat. "They won't hurt you." But Kat hung back, wary. "You and Brianna aren't anything alike, are you? She loved these animals. She took to them right away."
Kat inched closer but not close enough to touch them. "She always brought home strays."
"How come that quality never rubbed off on you?"
Kat shrugged. "Bad experience, I guess. I got bit by a dog when I was five. A bad tear on the arm. Something like that stays with a person."
"That explains a lot," he said. "No wonder you're afraid of Zeke. I'm sorry if I was insensitive to that."
"You didn't know," she said. "You've sure been apologizing all over the place."
"If it's warranted." He rested a foot on the lower rung of the fence, but he had to move away because one of the burros kept nosing his shoulder. "That's Mojo. He's one of the oldest jacks."
"Did you name them all?"
"Brianna did. Like I said, she loved being here."
"How did she come to work here?"
He shoved his hands in the pockets of his jeans. "I used to see her around town. One day I was sitting at the bar at Bertie's and she came in crying to Bertie about something, which I couldn't hear because of the music, but she was pretty upset. Afterward, she sat next to me, and Bertie brought her a hamburger. At the time she didn't tell me why she was crying, but she did say she wished she could earn some extra money."
Mojo tapped him in the back, and he moved farther away. "I offered Brianna a job on Saturday and Sunday mornings, and she jumped at the chance. She'd come out here to feed and water the animals, clean the barn. She fell in love with it. She liked being in the outdoors. She was a natural on the ranch. It lifted her spirits."
Kat, though still curious about the personal relationship he'd had with her sister, didn't feel it was the right time to ask.
"What are you doing for dinner?"
"Dinner?" Did she want to spend that much time with him?
"Do you have other plans?"
She pictured herself curled up in her pajamas, holding a plate of warmed up canned stew. "Well, yes, no, not really."
He broke into a smile. "I happened to notice the contents of your grocery sack."
"You looked in my bag?" While she was snooping in his house, he was pawing through her groceries. Touché.
"Were you planning on having cookies and beef stew for supper?"
"Maybe I was and maybe I wasn't." Who was she kidding?
"I also noticed the frozen dinner and chips on your table last night. I don't know how you stay so trim and healthy eating like that."
"It's an art form I've perfected."
"I think you could use a lesson in nutrition," he said. "It must run in the family. I had to teach Brianna a thing or two. She used to come out here half-starved."
"That explains the vitamins and protein powder in her cupboard."
"And I got her to quit drinking so much alcohol."
"What else did you teach her?" she tossed at him. When he narrowed his eyes, giving her a cold warning stare, she knew she'd better back off. "So, are you inviting me to dinner?"
"I was, but if you're not comfortable here . . ."
"It beats spending another evening alone in that house."
"That makes me feel better."
Kat winced. "Why is it that I always put my foot in my mouth when I'm around you?"
"I must bring out the best in you." He walked past her toward the house.
He'd just delivered an insult, and Kat honestly wondered if they could spend a whole evening together without inflicting any pain.