NINETEEN

My blood pressure skyrocketed. “Where the hell have you been?” I demanded. She didn’t work for me, and she was almost young enough to be my daughter, but I didn’t care whether I had the right to yell at her or not.

The girl was visibly upset and she sat down hard in a chair. Her head dropped into her hands. A moment later she looked up, the tears in her big brown eyes magnified by her enormous glasses. If I wasn’t angry with her, not to mention suspicious, I would have felt some sympathy. As it was, I just wanted answers. But before I could question her, she asked one of her own.

“She’s been shot? Shot?” She was almost hysterical.

Jack came back in at that moment and looked from one of us to the other. He set one bottle of cold water in front of Caitlyn. “Drink,” he ordered. “Georgie and I will share this one.”

I felt an absurd little rush of joy. Sharing a bottle of water with no cups in sight? That had to be significant for our relationship. My joy didn’t last long as anger came rushing back in.

Caitlyn gave what would have been an adorable little hiccup under other circumstances and took a long drink of the water. It seemed to restore her, because she looked up at me. “She sent me out to do some research. I had to go to Watertown, the county seat, to do it. If I’d been with her, this might not have happened.”

I resisted the urge to snort. This petite little hipster with her skinny jeans and black-and-white saddle shoes thought she could have prevented this? What would she have done? Immobilized the killer with her exceptional cool?

“I think it’s time you told me what’s going on. The truth.” My maternal truth phaser was set to stun.

She looked from me to Jack, then back. She stalled by taking another long sip of the water, then wiping the condensation on her pants. “I can’t. She’ll kill me. I promised not to tell. Besides, I’m not done with my research anyway.”

“Georgie, can I talk to you for a minute?” Jack motioned me over to a corner.

“Don’t say I’m being too hard on her. She and Melanie are in some kind of mess and they’ve dragged me into it. They owe me answers, and right now she’s the only one who can give them.” Caitlyn could probably hear every word I was saying.

Jack rubbed a hand down my arm, leaving a trail of tingles in its wake. “She might not want to talk in front of me, which I understand. If you’re sure you’re okay, why don’t I leave you two alone for a little while. Maybe she’ll open up to you. Then if you don’t mind my bachelor’s quarters, once we know Melanie’s resting comfortably, you can come over and I’ll make you dinner.”

If I was in some kind of danger, I didn’t want to be alone tonight. Oh, let’s face it. I didn’t want to be alone ever. Over the last couple of months Jack had given me a glimpse of what life could be like with a real partner. And I liked what I saw.

“That sounds good. I’m dying to find out the extent of your cooking skills. And we still need to put Monty’s files back together.”

“Don’t worry about that,” he said. “Although I do have to get these boxes to Trish in Albany before she leaves for her field work. She’ll just have to live with the mess.”

I didn’t want to get off on a bad foot with the sister I’d yet to meet. “No, I want to help. It’ll keep my mind off things.”

His hand was still on my arm as he pulled me in for a hug. “I’m so glad I met you,” he said simply.

“Me too,” I whispered. “Call me later.”

He nodded to Caitlyn and left.

I sat myself back down at the table. My Jack-induced warm-fuzzy feeling chilled to the temperature of my lukewarm fish chowder. I put the lids back on the containers and deposited all the trash in the receptacle by the windows. Hopefully this trash got emptied every night because it would be quite fragrant by morning.

“You two are cute,” Caitlyn said.

“Don’t try to change the subject. In case you haven’t noticed, trouble came to Bonaparte Bay the minute you and Melanie arrived. When was that exactly?”

She chewed her lower lip. “The day before Doreen died. We stayed in Watertown that night. That day, we went to see her.”

Why was I not surprised? My mother had gone to see her cousin before she came to see her own daughter. “And?”

“And what?” The girl was infuriating.

“And why did you go to see her?”

She fiddled with the cap on her water bottle before she answered. “Melanie had some . . . business to discuss with Doreen.”

“Let’s cut the crap, Caitlyn. I know about the trust.” Well, not everything. But enough.

She started. “What do you know? She’ll fire me if I tell you any more.”

“If she dies, you’ll be out of a job anyway.”

We both turned as the door to the family lounge opened. Dr. Dinsmore came in, smiling. “She’s in recovery and doing fine.”

Both Caitlyn and I nodded, relieved. Although Caitlyn’s relief may have been more a result of us having been interrupted than the update on Melanie’s condition. Uncharitable of me, I knew.

“It was the spleen, as we’d thought,” the doctor continued. “We removed it along with the bullet and repaired the rest of the damage. She’ll go home in a few days, and then she’ll need a couple of months to recuperate.”

“Will she have any lasting limitations?” Caitlyn had pulled out her phone and begun typing into it. “The producers of the show will have to be notified and I need to know what to tell them.”

“Probably not. People can live quite normal lives without the spleen.”

“Can we go and see her?” I wasn’t going to get any more information out of Caitlyn now anyway.

“She’ll be in her room shortly. Second floor. I made sure she had a private room with a view of the river.”

“That was thoughtful of you, thanks.”

*   *   *

Melanie lay in her hospital bed. Her face was as pale as fine marble. She was hooked up to an IV bag on a pole as well as to various monitors that emitted a beep every now and then. I was glad she didn’t have a mirror because her normally perfectly coiffed hair was a big blond hay bale, with pieces sticking out in all directions.

My heart squeezed. No matter what she’d done to me, or what she still had up her sleeve to torture me with once she recovered, she was my mother. We’d never have the kind of relationship I had with Callista, but we might be okay someday.

Her eyes, which were nested in deep purpley shadows, began to flutter. Caitlyn came and stood next to me. The lids opened and closed again in slow motion, as though her eyelashes were an immense weight. Finally, she looked at me, then at Caitlyn.

“They said I’d been shot,” she rasped.

“That’s right. But you’re going to be good as new in a few weeks. Do you want a sip of water or anything?” My hand reached automatically for the plastic pitcher on the bedside table.

She shook her head. “Caitlyn.”

The girl bent closer.

“A few weeks?”

Caitlyn nodded. “That’s what the doctor said.”

“Fix my hair a little. Lipstick. Take my picture.” She lay back and closed her eyes again, exhausted from the effort of the conversation.

I frowned. “Melanie, are you sure about that? Why don’t you wait until you’re feeling more like yourself?”

But Caitlyn was already reaching for Melanie’s purse, which I’d set on a visitor’s chair when we came in. She pulled out a zippered bag and proceeded to give Melanie a touch-up.

While she was playing Max Factor, Melanie’s enormous purse tipped over once again and some of the contents spilled out. As I shoved them back in, a business card fell out of one of the pockets. It was bright white with a stark black border. Sheldon Todd, it read. In small black letters under the phone number and e-mail address was a single word: Genealogist.

I shoved the card into my pocket.

The floor nurse came in. “What’s this?” she said crisply. “Time for me to check Ms. Ashley’s vitals, then she needs to get some sleep.” She leveled her steely gaze at Caitlyn, then me. “Go home and get some rest of your own. She’ll be much more alert tomorrow during visiting hours.”

Caitlyn snapped a couple of photos with her phone.

“Come on, Caitlyn. Time for us to go.”

“Tweet it,” Melanie rasped. “My fans.”

Oh, for heaven’s sake.