Taylor wondered how much more intrusive it would have to get before the citizens of Hideaway decided to preserve their town.
By noon on Thursday, Karah Lee had a good feel for the routine of the office, and decided she was going to enjoy a more relaxed atmosphere among the staff—the very small staff. Cheyenne had been searching for someone to work the reception desk for two weeks.
All morning, however, one irritant had nagged at Karah Lee mercilessly, and she decided to stay and eat her lunch alone while the others went out. Blaze apparently knew the ladies at the bed-and-breakfast, and as he walked out the door he assured her that Bertie would let him into the cottage to check on Monster.
Karah Lee wasn’t worried about Bertie, but she wished him lots of luck with the cat.
When the others were gone and the front door closed on the final patient of the morning, Karah Lee picked up the cordless phone and punched in her calling-card number, then a number she had unintentionally memorized many years ago. An unfamiliar voice answered.
“Kemper MacDonald, please,” she said.
After several seconds of wrangling with the overprotective secretary, she was put on hold for several minutes. She was about to hang up, when her father came on the line.
“Karah Lee? Is this really you, or am I getting another crank call?” The voice, masculine and professionally smooth, with just the right emphasis on just the right syllables, immediately produced a visceral response in her. She stood up and leaned against the counter.
“It’s me, Dad.”
“Hmm. This sounds like my daughter’s voice, but since it’s been so long since I’ve had the pleasure of actually speaking with her—”
“Cut the sarcasm.” She’d always hated his guilt trips, and he’d always been a master at them. She refused to squirm this time.
He paused long enough to give her a little more time to think about her many offenses. “So. What is my favorite doctor doing today? You aren’t in Jefferson City, are you? We could have dinner tonight—oops, no, wait a minute, I have a dinner appointment, but—”
“You spoke with my boss this morning, so obviously you’re aware I’m at work.”
“Actually, your boss wasn’t in the mood to discuss your whereabouts.”
In spite of the tension, Karah Lee grinned as she thought about Cheyenne’s reaction. “She isn’t a team player.” Or at least not the kind of player Dad liked.
“Then it sounds as if the job will be a good fit for you.”
The grin died. Okay, so he did still have that special way of manipulating her feelings. “It’ll be a good fit if you don’t call and interfere again.”
There was a pause, and then, “I just wanted to check in on you and see if your new job was working out well.”
“It’s fine.”
“You like your new employer, then?”
“She’s excellent.”
“But she’s giving you trouble about my phone call? That doesn’t sound—”
“You mean because you tried to use your position to manipulate employment for me in the first place? As if I couldn’t do it myself?”
“I knew you would never resort to such underhanded maneuvering.”
“And so you decided to do it for me.”
“You can’t blame a father for trying to help his youngest—”
“Okay, hold it right there. I don’t think help is the word for it. I think the word you’re looking for is control.”
“All I wanted to do was give you a little boost,” he snapped. “You didn’t exactly get in on the ground floor. Some people will wonder why, at your age, you’re just now completing residency.”
That stung. Karah Lee bit the inside of her cheek to keep from snapping back. She sank onto the office chair as an ugly new idea occurred to her. How many times had he used the tactic to “help” her in the past?
“Hon?” His voice was soft again. Conciliatory. Quick tempers ran in the family. She’d long ago grown tired of his endless apologies.
“You know what, Dad? You need to leave me out of your attempts to overcompensate for ancient history. Believe it or not, I’m very happy where I am in my career right now, and if it embarrasses you, just keep in mind that no one has to know your youngest daughter is such a loser. We don’t even share the same name.”
“Thanks to your mother.”
Thanks to you. “I need to ask you a question, and I want an honest answer.” Yeah, like that was going to happen. This was a question she should have asked many years ago.
“Okay, what is it?” The words came out in a resigned sigh.
“How many times in the past have you made your ‘influential’ telephone calls on my behalf?”
For a moment, he didn’t respond, and she almost wished she hadn’t asked the question.
“The Sebring Scholarship?” she asked. “The chairman of the committee, Reverend Donaldson—wasn’t he a good friend of yours?”
“Karah Lee, why are you doing this?”
“So you influenced him to award me that scholarship on what? Grade-point average? Sparkling personality? Pity for the orphan?”
“Stop it.”
Of course, he could have denied it. Michael Donaldson had died six years ago. Karah Lee was shocked by the rush of disappointment when her father didn’t even attempt denial. She hadn’t earned that scholarship, after all.
“Okay, tell me what strings you pulled to get me into med school after they had already sent me the rejection letter.”
More silence.
“Okay, I see.”
He cleared his throat. “Doesn’t it mean a thing to you that your father cared enough about you to help you in any way he could, in spite of your constant refusal to even accept my phone calls?”
“What it means to me is that my own father had so little faith in my abilities that he didn’t think I could do it on my own.” And apparently, she hadn’t done it on her own. “Dare I even ask about my appointment to residency training?”
“I’m honored to know you think I have that much political clout.”
“You’re a senator.” And he hadn’t answered the question.
“And you are a senator’s daughter. Why can’t you enjoy some of the amenities the family ties afford you?”
“Because if I didn’t really earn those steps in my education, then maybe that means I’m not really a doctor, and if that’s the case, then I really feel sorry for my patients. Do me one big favor, okay? Don’t do me any more favors.”
She replaced the receiver and closed her eyes. Before she had time to absorb the conversation, she heard a bell outside signaling the arrival of a patient.
Chapter Eight
Fawn awakened Monday morning to the sound of a motorboat nearby on Lake Taneycomo, and the screams and laughter of what must’ve been a dozen kids out in the pool behind the complex where she had been hiding out since last Thursday. She’d love to go out there for a dip herself, but couldn’t risk it. Besides, she didn’t have a swimsuit. Somehow, that hadn’t been important to her last week.
No longer limping, she stepped out the sliding glass doors of the two-bedroom apartment, which overlooked the narrow lake from the third-floor balcony. The bright sunshine soaked into her skin, and she wished she could lie outside and work on her tan. She would go nuts if she had to hibernate in this place another day, without television, radio, anything to keep her connected to the outside world except that stack of novels in the corner of the living room. She’d heard of “getting away from it all,” but the owner of this place must’ve popped a cork.
Still, it was probably the lack of those things in this apartment that had allowed her to get away with the con for a whole, long weekend. Who could survive without television for even a day? Nobody was going to rent this place unless it was the last one left in Branson. And besides that, some of these condo-rental agencies must be hard up for good help.
All it had taken for Fawn to con her way into this place last week had been for h
er to get a key from the bubblehead at the rental office, who had been so busy talking to her boyfriend on the telephone that she’d barely looked up at Fawn, and hadn’t even asked for ID or proof of age. Dumb!
If Fawn had a safe ID, she’d take that job away from Bubblehead in a neon minute. Even after Fawn had been gone long enough to copy the key and return the original to the rental desk, that dumb woman had still been talking on the telephone.
Of course, Fawn should probably thank the woman. Because of her, Fawn had been able to hide out in an air-conditioned place with a bathroom and a bed. It was more comfy than the average cave.
For the first three days after escaping the killer and the police, Fawn had nursed her injured feet and practiced disguises and makeup techniques in front of the bathroom mirror. She’d stayed inside, out of sight, and lived on the food she’d brought in her pack. Then yesterday, when she heard church bells echo across the lake, she’d worked up the nerve to step out onto the private balcony, and she’d discovered that the overhang of trees blocked the view of this place from most directions except for a small section of the lake.
Today she’d run out of food, and she couldn’t hole up any longer. It would be okay. Nobody should be able to recognize her.
A car passed by on the street half a block away, and Fawn ducked back inside, even though she knew they couldn’t see her. She hated having to hide out like this, always worrying that someone would come barging in when she wasn’t alert, and shoot her or handcuff her before she could get away. She kept the dead bolt locked on the only access, but still…
She stepped into the bathroom and turned on the light, then stared at her reflection in the mirror. She’d gotten accustomed to the short, spiky haircut, the burgundy-brown hair from the food coloring. She’d practiced in front of this mirror for hours, experimenting with shades of face color, eye shadow and eyebrow pencil. She’d figured out how to line her face to look old, and she knew if she bought some hair color she could smear some on her face, neck and hands to irritate the skin just enough to make it look dry and patchy. She’d accidentally done that a few months ago.
But could she fool anyone by dressing up as a little old lady?
She picked up a light brown eyebrow pencil and smeared it onto her fingers, remembering what she’d learned from that makeup artist with the theater guild to shape her face with the color. She smudged it onto her eyebrows and drew it down the sides of her face and above her upper lip, like a guy trying to grow out his mustache.
Smudging complete, she frowned at her reflection in the mirror. Not quite right. She reached for the small pair of scissors beside the sink and snipped a few strands of hair. Ah. There. A little shorter around the ears, and she didn’t look so girlish.
She looked like an underage kid who should be traveling with a parent.
She reached into the deep, right front pocket of her jeans. The money was still there. If she was careful, she could live on this for a while yet. Still, the fact that she even had the money to begin with made her wonder sometimes…why had Bruce sent her out to the ATM machines that night? What had he known?
When she did run out of money, what would she do?
If only she could get a new fake ID, but she didn’t know anybody here, and couldn’t risk trying to make contact with too many people, not with both sides of the law looking for her.
She tightened the strap of her backpack and stepped out onto the landing and down the two flights of steps. First thing she had to do was find food and a better disguise. Later, she could discover the best way out of town, if she decided to leave at all. If she could fool that ditzy woman at the condo-rental desk, she might be able to pull another con. With a little luck, she might even be able to pull this off for quite a while. Maybe the ID could wait.
Karah Lee washed her hands for at least the fifteenth time on Monday morning, scrambling to keep the patients straight in her mind in case she needed to add notes to their charts. She dried with paper towels, glanced through the reception window to make sure the waiting room was cleared out, and breathed a sigh of cautious relief.
Thank goodness Cheyenne had scheduled them to work together today. There had been three patients already waiting when Karah Lee arrived for work, and a steady stream came through the doors for two hours afterward. Along with the typical complaints of weekend sunburn, sprained ankles, minor injuries and tick bites, they dealt with more serious cases of asthma, chest pain and premature labor.
Neither Karah Lee nor Cheyenne had a chance to sit down until midmorning, because not only did they have an unusually heavy influx of patients, but they also had to help with office duties, since Jill was overwhelmed with nursing duties and they presently had no secretary-receptionist. Blaze was a great help, but his handwriting was atrocious, and he occasionally lost charts in the manual filing system.
Karah Lee took a cup of freshly brewed coffee and collapsed on the padded chair in Cheyenne’s office. She selected a cream-filled doughnut from a small box that had been delivered from the neighboring bakery. She sank her teeth into the sweet, crisp parcel of temptation with a moan of pleasure. After oversleeping this morning, she’d missed her usual filling breakfast at the bed-and-breakfast.
Cheyenne slipped into the office a moment later, closed the door and sank into the chair behind her desk with a sigh of relief. “What a morning!”
“Is it always like this?” Karah Lee asked.
“Sometimes.” Cheyenne selected a chocolate-iced doughnut from the box. “Especially Mondays, since the patients save up all their injuries and illnesses from the weekend, if they can. The closest urgent-care or emergency-care facility this side of the lake is at least a thirty-minute drive from here.” She bit into the doughnut and leaned back. “How was your first weekend in Hideaway?”
“Quiet.” And lonely, though Karah Lee wasn’t going to admit that, especially since Cheyenne had invited her to church. “Jill told me I could go on a float trip with her and her family, and Blaze invited me to help him milk the cows and watch him train his pigs at the ranch. I opted to take a walking tour of Hideaway, instead. Why would a sane person try to train a pig to do anything?”
Cheyenne’s dark eyes lit with affectionate amusement as she licked chocolate from her fingers. “You might be amazed at what Blaze can get those animals to do. Has he checked your cat yet?”
“Oh, yes, he and Monster became fast friends as soon as he walked in the door of the cottage last Thursday. My cat seems to love everybody but me.”
“We should probably introduce Monster to Blue,” Cheyenne said.
“Blue?”
“My cat. Bertie practically forced the kitten on me last year, and my life has never been the same since. I wouldn’t want it to be. Those loving little animals can be such wonderful companions when we’re feeling alone in the world.”
Was Cheyenne Allison a mind reader? “Companionship, huh? I guess growling and snoring could be mistaken for companionship. Somehow, that isn’t what I’ve always had in mind when I dreamed of connection to another living being. I get the impression my cat would prefer another companion, as well. He makes his feelings known with discouraging predictability.”
“Don’t take it too personally,” Cheyenne said. “Maybe he’s just got bad digestion.”
“I’ll give him an antacid next time he growls at me. So what’s this deal about training pigs?” Karah Lee asked. “Doesn’t Blaze have enough to do?”
“Yes, but the highlight of his year is the pig races at the community fair Hideaway has every September. He trains most of the racers, and I think it makes him feel a little more welcome in the community.” Cheyenne wiped her mouth with a napkin. “Mind if I ask a personal question?”
“Ask all you want. I don’t have to answer it, right?”
“That’s right.”
“Then shoot.” Karah Lee took a sip of her coffee.
“Last week when we talked, you implied you and your father were estranged.”
“That’s right,” Karah Lee said. “It’s been that way for many years. If it’s a part of my job description to make nice with a state senator, I’ll—”
“It isn’t.”
“Good.” She took another bite of heaven, surreptitiously studying the contents of the box for her next selection as her stomach reminded her how long it had been since she’d last eaten. The chocolate frosted cruller looked scrumptious.
“I won’t interfere,” Cheyenne said. “It’s just that family has always been important to me. My own parents live down in Florida, and I miss them. I try to keep up with them by calling them every week or two, but I still miss them. Do you have any other family besides your father?”
“My grandmother died two years ago. I have an aunt and cousins in Oklahoma, and one aunt in California who keeps in touch as often as possible.” Aunt Phyl, Mom’s older sister, had been in a wheelchair for the past twenty years, but she didn’t let that stop her from living her life.
“No brothers or sisters?” Chey asked.
Karah Lee grimaced. “A sister who works for my father.”
“Sisters can make wonderful friends.”
Karah Lee raised an eyebrow. “Shona is four years older than me, and she’s a tad…I don’t know…competitive.” Try hateful, overbearing, obnoxious at times. It had been that way for years.
Cheyenne cupped her hands around her coffee mug, shoulders slumping. “That’s a shame.”
Karah Lee took a doughnut hole and dunked it into her coffee, then cautiously slipped it into her mouth.
“My sister was killed in an automobile accident a little over a year ago.” Cheyenne’s words came slowly, with obvious pain. “She was my…my best friend.”
Karah Lee heard the catch in her boss’s voice, and the appeal of doughnuts waned. “Oh, Chey. I’m sorry. That must have been horrible.”
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