“Baylor’s right about Abby,” Bessie said and chortled. “And I wouldn’t cross him if I were you.”
“Warning noted.” He studied each of them and they all seemed serious.
“And they’re watching.” Bessie jerked a thumb at the other table.
The pair of women waved. “Hi, neighbor. We live across the street from Abby.”
“Good to know.” Reed finished off the last few bites of his breakfast.
“Yup, your best bet today is to head down to the hardware store.” Bessie chased sweet roll crumbs from her apron with a sweep of her hand.
“You’ve all been very helpful.” Reed passed out his business cards, paid his bill and tipped Vala for every darlin’, honey and sweetie pie because he could and because no one in the coffee shops in Chicago’s Loop used endearments like that. Then he bid them all thanks and goodbye. When he stepped outside the sun had warmed the day to toasty and the sky was the biggest and the bluest he’d ever seen.
He took a big breath of the clean air just for the novelty of it. He’d be back to pollution soon enough.
The people of St. Adelbert had drawn him a picture of Jesse. They liked his brother, foibles and all. For some reason that meant a lot to Reed. Could just be that he was glad he wasn’t hunting for some reckless brother who didn’t deserve to be found. Could be he was remembering how much he and Jesse had loved and depended on each other as kids and was missing his brother.
He stepped off the curb. The redbrick building called Avery Clinic sat perched back from the roadway across the street. A sheriff’s squad car parked under the awning at the front entrance was the only outward sign of life at the clinic. Must be a slow day. Might be a good opportunity to go in and ask the people there about Jesse. Abby might be there since her car was gone when he’d got up, but he was less sure about Abby since he started wondering about Kyle and Jesse. Did she have a secret the town didn’t know about?
He strode up the ramp and at the top, the glass-and-aluminum doors popped open allowing him entrance. There must be a parking lot out back somewhere because inside, the clinic was hopping. In the waiting room off to the side were several adults and three very loud children. One of the men was trying and failing to control the kids. One elderly woman sat rocking back and forth as if all the noise and activity was soothing to her. If Reed had to guess, he’d say she had turned off her hearing aid. A child’s shouting and screaming came from the treatment area beyond the closed double doors.
A side door opened and another family poured in to raise the clamor to chaos. A man in scrubs emerged from the treatment area and intercepted the new arrivals. He spoke with the parents and with the injured child. Then he asked them to add themselves to the crowd in the waiting room.
Two firefighters, probably volunteers like Baylor Doyle, the cowboy he’d just met in the diner, strode out of the patient treatment area and hurried out toward the door. Two of the boys from the waiting room chased after them and their father hurried after them.
A woman at the reception desk looked up and gave Reed a large PR smile. “May I help you?”
“Maybe, Arlene,” he said, using the name on the tag on her blue uniform.
“I’m Reed, Jesse Maxwell’s brother.”
The receptionist nodded and furrowed her brow as if she already knew who he was, but was willing to let him spin his own tale or even hang by his own rope.
“Is Abby Fairbanks here?”
He looked up when the double doors to the patient treatment area popped open. Abby emerged accompanied by the sheriff, the very big sheriff. Tall and broad, who made Reed, who didn’t consider himself so, feel small. The man’s gaze took Reed in. An eagle would have nothing on this man.
“There she is.” The receptionist nodded toward Abby and her, for all intents and purposes, bodyguard.
Reed smiled and Abby gave him a tentative smile in return.
The radio on the sheriff’s belt squawked. He hefted it to his mouth. “Sheriff Potts,” he said as he walked back inside the treatment area, probably for privacy.
“Hello, Abby.”
“Reed, is there something wrong?”
“Can we talk for a second?”
She nodded and without speaking led him through the doors, across an open area with two treatment rooms on either side and finally down a quieter corridor with exam rooms and offices.
“Now, what can I do for you?”
The sheriff poked his head inside the hallway. He looked at Abby, and studied Reed for another long moment, and then said to Abby, “I’ve got to go. We’ll have to talk later or tomorrow.”
“Thanks, Sheriff Potts.”
He gave her a one finger salute to the brim of his sheriff’s hat and gave Reed another sizing-up, then hurried away. Reed tried not to feel paranoid, but this was one of those times when he knew he was a long way from Chicago. These people could circle the wagons and he’d get nothing from them.
Abby turned to him and repeated, “Now, what can I do for you, Reed?”
She gave him a pleasant therapeutic smile and he realized he was meeting nurse Abby. That smile made him believe she could fix anything, anything at all.
“I was over at the diner and I thought I’d stop in.”
A woman, a tech her tag said, in dark blue scrubs walked by, gave Reed the once-over and turned to wink broadly at Abby. Abby waved her off.
“You were at the diner,” Abby prompted.
“I met a bunch of the nice townsfolk, but they didn’t have much in the way of information about Jesse.”
“Well, I—”
“I don’t want anything on my arm.” A child’s plaintive shout came from one of the treatment rooms they had passed earlier. A murmuring female voice tried to convince the child otherwise.
“Nurse Abby, we need you.” The woman who had winked earlier called out to her.
Abby turned to Reed. “Can you wait a minute?”
He held a hand out indicating by all means and she walked away quickly, quietly and disappeared into the nearby treatment room.
Reed followed, hanging back a bit in the hallway. He might gain some insight into the woman if he could see “Nurse Abby” at work.
CHAPTER FOUR
“I DON’T WANT A CAST.”
Reed watched as Abby sat down beside the boy, but not close enough so that he might try to scoot away, and then she ignored him.
“I don’t. I don’t.” The red-haired, freckled-face boy of about Kyle’s age sat holding one forearm in his other hand. An ice pack sat on top of the arm.
“Yeah,” Abby said without looking at him. “I don’t like it when people treat me special, either.”
The boy frowned but didn’t say anything to that.
She ignored him again and fiddled with the stethoscope around her neck as if it held great interest.
“It’s icky,” she spoke again. “Having people do my chores for me.”
“Wadda ya mean?” The boy blew at the hair drooping in his eyes so he wouldn’t have to use a hand to push the lock aside.
The boy’s mother stood in the corner biting her lips so she wouldn’t grin. Reed knew how she felt. He found himself doing the same thing.
“Well, you wouldn’t be able to do dishes—at all—for at least a week, maybe longer, and then maybe badly enough that your