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 in
to 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." Wh
o 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.
CHAPTER 10
Chance Eliason's kitchen was bright and cheery, owing to the two skylights he'd added. Kat sat on a stool at the breakfast counter and watched him thin-slice a chicken breast and afterward chop and slice an array of colorful vegetables.
"This is how you should eat most every day," he said, though by his amused expression she was sure he didn't believe his advice would sink into her hard head.
She grinned at him without saying a word. On her empty stomach the wine was shooting upward, a direct route from mouth to brain.
Once he'd placed the chicken and vegetables in separate skillets, the sizzling odors blended into a tantalizing aroma. Her mouth watered with anticipation.
"More wine?"
Kat held up her partially filled glass. "Nope. This is fine."
He finished sautéing and filled two plates. She insisted on eating at the counter since it seemed less formal and felt less like a date. For some reason she felt on edge, perhaps because she hadn't had a man cook her dinner in a very long time, or perhaps it was the wine.
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