“That won’t work.” Taylor opened her car door for her.
She rolled her eyes at him. “Well, I don’t like it, either, but what else am I supposed to do? It isn’t like I can camp out in the park. It’ll mean I’ll have to drive a whole lot farther to work.”
“You volunteered to be on-call paramedic, right?”
“Yes, but isn’t there an office or someplace to hang out?”
“In this town? Hardly. There isn’t even enough money to pay for an office yet, it’s strictly volunteer call.”
“You’re telling me the revenue from tourism doesn’t help Hideaway pay the bills?”
“The mayor’s trying to get the city council to designate more of the tax dollars for things like that, but everything takes time. The only time you’d get paid is if you actually took a call, and you can’t be out of the area when you’re on call.”
“Just great,” she said. “So what am I supposed to do, stand on a street corner or stay at the clinic the nights I’m on call?”
“Nobody’s going to expect you to do that. We just won’t be able to bring you on until you can stay in the area.”
“Well, you’re sure a bringer of glad tidings,” she muttered as she slid behind the steering wheel of her car and looked up at him.
“I’m sorry.” He was the one who’d have to take up the slack, but even worse was the look of despair in her clear gaze. This time of year, not only was the deer population a factor on the road, but it could be difficult for Karah Lee to find a decent place to stay anywhere near Hideaway, especially a place that would allow pets. “From what I’ve seen, this town’s pretty good about helping people out. I bet if you told the ladies at Lakeside about this, they might have a spare room.”
She spread her hands and shrugged. “I heard Bertie tell someone just this morning that they were completely booked through the month of August.”
Karah Lee Fletcher had very feminine features, a delicate, slightly upturned nose and striking, golden amber eyes. There was something so vulnerable about her—which probably had to do with the fact that both times Taylor met her, she was in some kind of trouble.
“What about your boss at the clinic?” he asked. “You might room with her for a while until something became available.”
“That would be a thought if she hadn’t just moved to a small apartment over the bakery. I know that because she’s always bringing doughnuts to the clinic.” Karah Lee gripped the steering wheel of her car as if she’d like to steer it toward the dozer operator across the street. “I want to know what happened here.”
Taylor glanced over his shoulder at the dozer, grimacing at the noise. He wanted to know, too, but first things first. “You’ve got your scrubs on. What time do you have to be at work?”
“One. I’m doing the afternoon shift. Cheyenne’s working at Dogwood Springs E.R. this afternoon.”
He checked his watch. “That means we have forty-five minutes to find a place for you to stay, because you can’t leave your cat in the car, and I don’t want to have to cat-sit all afternoon. Follow me to the Lakeside.”
After an undetected trip into the women’s bathroom, Fawn strolled to the bus ticket counter, where several people stood in line. Glancing nervously around her—while trying hard not to look nervous—she stepped into line behind a man who was humming under his breath. As the ticket clerk chattered with another customer about area shows, Fawn tried to play Name That Tune with the guy in front of her.
It took a whole minute, at least, to decipher a butchered version of the “Star-Spangled Banner.” The patriot needed voice lessons real bad.
The line moved forward, and someone stepped up behind Fawn, so close she could smell perfume and men’s cologne mingled. Flowers and spice, with a little sweat.
Glad she’d changed her appearance so drastically, she kept her head down as the guy in front of her moved to the counter and requested a bus ticket via Hideaway to Bella Vista. Her ears perked when she heard the name. Hideaway. Danger there. She sure didn’t want that bus. It would cost less for a ticket to Springfield.
As the transaction took place in front of her between the smoky-voiced agent and the bad singer, the couple behind her argued quietly about which show they wanted to see.
“Raising America,” the woman insisted. “It’s just across the street, and I heard some ladies talking about how good it was.”
“Yakov,” the man said. “You knew I wanted to see Yakov. I told you before we even left for this trip—”
“We’ve got all weekend to see that, and this one starts in an hour.”
As the man in front of Fawn collected his ticket and charge card and stuck them, along with receipt, in the back pocket of his slacks, Fawn stepped forward. Behind the counter, the clerk turned away and held up a very familiar picture, gesturing toward the clerk working at the other end of the counter. The picture was a duplicate of the one Fawn had jerked from the bulletin board a few moments ago.
“Hey, Pat, you see anybody who looks like this, you let me know,” the clerk told her co-worker.
“Oh, yeah?” Pat said. “Who’s that?”
“That woman who killed her lover and a hotel employee last week. Come on, you remember. It’s all through the papers. Police seem to think they’re closing in on her.”
“Yeah, sure, whatever. Like anybody cares.” Pat shrugged and turned away. “Honey, I’m from Los Angeles. If the papers in L.A. made as big a deal with their murders as you people here do, there wouldn’t be enough paper to print it all.”
Before the clerk could turn back, Fawn stepped from the counter and, heart hitting her ribs like popping corn, she strolled as casually as she could away from the counter and blended into the crowd.
Closing in? What did that mean?
What now? How was she going to get out of Branson? Maybe she should’ve tried the old-geezer getup, after all.
She could do it, of course. She could turn herself into a woman again with a little soap and water and some accessories, a lot of makeup, some different glasses. She could even buy a dress in Wal-Mart, stash the backpack someplace safe and march right back up to that same counter in twenty minutes.
But, what if the clerk recognized her anyway? Maybe she wasn’t as good at this disguise thing as she thought she was. After all, if the police were closing in on her, as hard as she’d tried to cover her tracks lately…
Maybe she’d wait until another clerk took over, one who didn’t seem so sharp-eyed. Still, how many other pictures of her were tacked up on the brochure racks around town?
The automatic door slid open at the side entrance to the store, and Fawn followed some other teenagers in. She could change her appearance in twenty minutes, easily. But did she want to chance it?
She strolled to the clothing section to check out the dresses. She’d have to go back to Vegas, because that was the only place where she knew her way around and could get another ID. Without an ID, she couldn’t work, and without a job she’d be back on the street.
She couldn’t go there again. And she didn’t have a home to go to, not with a wicked stepfather infesting the place, and a mother who’d rather play stupid than risk losing another husband.
She pulled a dress from the rack and automatically held it up to her body and glanced at the mirror. Ick. Boy with dress.
Too late, she saw a woman watching her from the dressing-room desk with upraised eyebrows. The dress went back to the rack in a hurry, and as Fawn returned to the main aisle, she saw a familiar man two aisles away, with a bus ticket sticking out of his back pocket. He peered at the watches in the jewelry section, then glanced at his own watch.
She studied his movements, and glanced again at the ticket. If she could figure out a way…but that was crazy. He was going to Hideaway, and she didn’t want to go there.
Still, if she couldn’t get a ticket, herself, what else could she do? And besides, how was she going to feel if she didn’t come clean with the police—or somebody—and
then a bunch of people got hurt or even died?
But what could she tell the police that they would believe? They thought she was the killer. She didn’t really have any information of value…did she?
What about the flash drive? Bruce had told her that if anything happened, she was supposed to give the device to someone she trusted. Only she didn’t trust anybody.
He’d asked her to do the right thing, but what was that?
Maybe if she knew what was on the device, she would have a better idea about what to do…and maybe if she knew what was going on in Hideaway, she’d be able to figure out whom to tell.
But then, why couldn’t she just hand the little silver case over to some policeman somewhere, then run? Or mail it to someone?
No. Stupid idea. She’d learned from life on the Vegas streets that some cops couldn’t be trusted. Bruce wanted her to give the information to someone she could trust.
So, taking a deep breath and fixing her gaze on the lame singer with the ticket to Hideaway in his back pocket, she casually strolled toward him. Back in Vegas she’d run with some pickpockets for a couple of weeks. Not fun. She’d lost those losers as soon as she got her fake ID and landed a job, and when she saw them on the Strip after that she’d avoided them. But when she was with them she’d noticed some of the tricks of their trade, and even practiced it a couple of times. Problem was, she could never make a living at it because she’d felt so guilty, she’d actually tried to return a woman’s hundred-dollar bill to her one night.
Today, though, she was desperate. If she could just get that guy’s ticket—it wouldn’t be hard at all, with it sticking out of his back pocket—then somehow delay him from getting to the bus on time, she might have a chance.
That was the big problem. How in the world was she going to stop him from going to the bus?
But maybe that wouldn’t matter. If he didn’t have his ticket, then he couldn’t get on. Simple logic. Of course, he could raise a ruckus, but so what? It would be his word against hers…
Hmm…maybe she’d better prevent that situation. But first things first—get the ticket, then worry about how to waylay the ticket’s rightful owner.
She slipped up behind him on the aisle, and as he passed a group of kids in the toy section, she bumped into him from behind to divert his attention, then easily slid the ticket up and out and stuffed it beneath her roomy shirt.
“Excuse me,” she said in her gruffest voice when he started to turn, then before he could get a good look at her face, she pivoted and joined the group of kids going the other way.
He didn’t call out to her, and when she risked a glance at him over her shoulder, she saw him continuing down the aisle, obviously not aware of his recent loss.
And then she noticed where he was headed, and she stopped and smiled. Perfect!
The men’s room.
She fingered the ticket, and felt an extra thickness behind it. She pulled it out and her blood chilled. Not only had she lifted his ticket, but she had also lifted the credit card he’d used to pay for it. She examined the name. Casey Timble.
Okay, she was not a pickpocket. She wasn’t. No way would she steal more than a bus ticket from the poor guy. But this credit card could serve as her identification card, at least for the next few hours.
Maybe she’d be able to pull this thing off, after all.
Karah Lee sat in the lobby of the Lakeside Bed-and-Breakfast, munching on a black walnut dumpling—one of Bertie Meyer’s newest recipes. Dear old Bertie knew how to cook the comfort food, and Karah Lee desperately needed comfort right now.
“Dozed down your new house!” Bertie exclaimed. “I’m telling you, those people are weird out that side of town. If that don’t beat all.” She shook her head and clucked her tongue. “You call the police?”
“I’ll be checking it out.” Taylor looked tall and awkward sitting on the delicate Victorian chair in front of the lace-curtained window. “The problem is, the house belonged to Beaufont, so if they had a permit, they could do whatever they wanted with their own property.”
“But it just don’t make sense to me, a place all ready to rent like that getting dozed down,” Bertie complained. “They oughta at least have to find a place for Karah Lee to stay.”
“Oh, I plan to get my deposit and rent money back,” Karah Lee said. “And I’ll send them a bill for additional expenses, but right now I don’t want to argue with them.”
“They’re a little difficult to reach,” Taylor explained. “Do you know of anyplace she might be able to stay, Bertie? From what I hear, rentals around here are grabbed up before they hit the classifieds.”
“Wish I’d known earlier,” Bertie said. “She could’ve stayed where she was.”
Taylor looked more disappointed than Karah Lee felt, and she was touched. Even though this was only the second time she had met him, it was obvious the man had a tendency to go out of his way for people. Since she struggled with the same tendency—and with being exploited for that trait—she couldn’t help finding it attractive.
“Do you have any friends in town with a spare room?” Taylor asked Bertie.
The elderly lady frowned as she thought. “Well, I guess I could get on the phone and make a few calls…or here’s an idea. You knew the ranch boys were doing some construction work for us on the third floor? It’s kind of a work-study program for them. It’s too small up there for two separate suites, but it’d be a good-size single unit, lots of room for a big bedroom, plus a sitting room, desk, couch, eating area. Only problem is, the bathroom up there ain’t done yet, and half the outside wall’s knocked out.”
“How long before that’s done?” Taylor asked.
Bertie scrunched up her face. “Well, we could probably get the wall back into place by the end of the weekend if the boys work a little overtime tomorrow. Tuesday at the latest, if the boys hop to it, but that won’t help Karah Lee in the meantime.”
Karah Lee glanced at her watch, then out the window toward the clinic. She didn’t have time for this. “I’m due at work in fifteen minutes.”
“Why don’t you call Cheyenne and explain?” Bertie said. “She’ll understand.”
“I can’t call in,” Karah Lee said. “Cheyenne’s already gone, and there’ll be patients waiting by the time I get there.”
Bertie shook her head and patted Karah Lee on the knee. “Don’t let this get your britches in a knot. Somebody in this town’ll have a room to spare you for a few days, then you can move right into our third floor. Mind you, it won’t be nothing fancy, as we won’t have time to do any decorating, but I can sure cut you a good deal on it.”
“I’ll take it,” Karah Lee said. “As long as you’ll put up with Monster.”
“Oh, sure. You can leave him here this afternoon if you want. He can spend time down with Mildred in the goat pen, or I can keep him in the lobby with me. Now, you get on to work. Taylor, you want to hang around for some coffee and cobbler whilst Karah Lee heads for the clinic?”
He glanced at Karah Lee, then shook his head. “I think I’ll walk her to work.”
Bertie paused and glanced at him, then at Karah Lee, and nodded, a slow grin spreading across her face.
After leaving the irritable black cat with the doting proprietress, Karah Lee walked beside Taylor toward the town square. “Thank you,” she said quietly. “I know this wasn’t your problem.”
“Want to bet? You’re scheduled to take call this weekend.”
She chuckled as she easily matched her stride to his. “Okay, you’re right. I should’ve just dumped the whole problem in your hands and left you to it.”
“I’d have probably thought of something dumb, like letting you stay at my place while I camped out at the ranger station.”
“How far is the station from here?” she asked.
He turned and pointed behind them along the road to the west. “A mile down Turtle Creek Access. You wouldn’t want to stay there. It’s a twenty-foot-by-twenty-foot cabin, with har
dwood floors and a leaky roof.”
“You obviously live somewhere around here,” she said. Then she added, “Not that I’m suggesting I stay at your place.”
“I live in a motor home.”
“You’re kidding.”
“Nope.”
“You mean, like a fifth wheel or something?”
“No, I mean a motor home, almost as big as one of the tour buses that pull into town every day. I bought it used at a good price when I left Arizona, and it works well. If I want to change jobs or move, I won’t have to worry about selling my house. I’ll just drive it wherever I want to go.”
“Where are you parked? Or do you call it parked?”
“There’s a private hookup down by the shore, not too far from the station. I’ve been there for a year.”
She looked at him again as they crossed the street to the clinic. His ranger hat shaded his face. He had laugh lines around eyes that were now solemn.
He gave her a quick glance, then looked away, obviously uncomfortable about the scrutiny. She had drawn erroneous conclusions about people in the past, but judging by the scant amount of information she had about this guy, he didn’t abuse his authority, he was willing to work long hours to make sure people in Hideaway had access to medical care—and sometimes those people weren’t the most appreciative.
“You don’t get out much, do you?” she asked.
“Why do you say that?”
“Not many people know you, and you’ve been here a year? In a town like this, that’s phenomenal. You’re a loner?”
“It’s hard to be a loner in Hideaway, but I try to get out of town on my days off.”
She nodded. “Being in town probably feels a lot like work. It’s almost like you’re on duty whenever you’re walking down the street.”
He glanced at her again as he opened the clinic door for her, and she felt, rather than saw, his surprise. “Exactly.”
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