“Seems to me a real estate agent could make some good money in LA,” Bertie said.
There was a short pause. “Money doesn’t mean as much as I used to think it did.”
Fawn realized she was partially shielded by the greenery that Edith loved to keep on the counter. And she realized she was indulging in one of her worst habits—eavesdropping.
Her best friend Blaze and her foster mother Karah Lee had nagged her so much about it that she’d almost broken the habit. Until now. Right now she couldn’t leave without drawing attention to herself.
Bertie’s passion for hospitality drew more customers here than to any hotel or lodge in a twenty-five-mile radius, but the tone of her voice did not sound welcoming. It sounded wary.
The man walked across the lobby to her. “I’m not here to cause trouble for anyone, Bertie.” His voice softened until Fawn could barely hear what he was saying.
Austin…wasn’t his last name Barlow? Was he the guy who used to be mayor of Hideaway?
“I didn’t think you were,” Bertie said. “I’m just curious, is all.”
“Got a cottage I could rent for a couple of weeks?”
Fawn nearly snorted out loud. This place had been booked solid since early April.
She listened to the murmur of quiet voices for a moment, too low for her to hear and yet just loud enough to frustrate her when she heard a word or two now and then.
Ashamed, but unable to stop herself, Fawn finally scooted her chair back so she could hear a little better.
“Have you heard from Ramsay lately?” Bertie asked.
“Just yesterday. You might not believe this, but he’s living at a boys’ ranch up in northern Missouri. How’s that for payback after all the griping I did about Dane Gideon’s ranch for so many years?”
There was a long silence. Fawn peeked over the counter and saw Bertie’s expression. Fawn knew that look. Bertie had such a tender heart.
Ramsay. Fawn remembered Blaze telling her about him. They’d been friends, or so Blaze had thought. Then it turned out Ramsay was vandalizing the town and allowing his father—Austin—to place the blame on Blaze. Finally Ramsay had flipped out completely and tried to kill Cheyenne because she had done something that made his father mad.
And what was the kid doing at a boys’ ranch? Shouldn’t he be in a place that took psych cases?
“Bertie, I came to apologize,” Austin said in a rush, as if he couldn’t be sure he’d have the nerve to get all the words out. “I thought I’d start with you. I know I have a lot to answer for, and it’s time. Way past time.”
Fawn couldn’t make out Bertie’s response, but she knew that Austin Barlow was forgiven.
Rex Fairfield shoved the heels of his hands against the yielding flesh of Edith Potts’s chest, taking his turn at the grueling task of CPR. He felt the sweat of desperation on his own forehead and heard the despair in Cheyenne’s voice as she continued to call orders to them.
“Where’s that airlift?” Jill asked. “It should be here by now. It’s been—”
“Too long,” Cheyenne said, her voice brittle from the force of tight control. Grief drew lines of tension around her mouth and eyes.
It had been twenty minutes. Rex knew this would be a tough one for all of them. He also knew they had done more than was normal for a code such as this.
“Sheena,” Cheyenne said, “go ahead and—” She frowned, and Rex glanced at Sheena Marshall crouched in the far corner of the room, arms wrapped tightly around herself, eyes glassy as she stared at the floor in front of her.
“Noelle,” Cheyenne said, “call the airlift and cancel—”
“No!” Jill’s usually mellow voice broke, ragged with pain. “Please, Chey, just a little longer.”
Rex continued to pump rhythmically.
“It’s been taken out of our hands.” Cheyenne spoke with tender sadness.
Jill shook her head, short jerks of denial as she reached once more for the crash cart. “Atropine is next, isn’t it?”
“We’ve already maxed out the Atropine.” Karah Lee placed a hand on Jill’s shoulder and squeezed, her voice husky with sorrow.
“There’s some left, though. Can’t we just try one more—”
“Honey, it’s time,” Karah Lee said.
“Epi again, then.” Jill’s movements had taken on the frantic tightness of extreme anxiety. “One more dose, Chey. Please, just one…”
“Jill.” Cheyenne caught Jill by the hands. “She’s gone. We knew it was a reach when we saw the rhythm in the first place. We’ve carried this much longer than was warranted already.” She nodded to Karah Lee, who had taken over the recording from Rex. “Time of death, 2:30 p.m., September third.”
“Oh, Edith, no!” Jill’s cry filled the room.
Chapter Four
Fawn watched Bertie return to her work in the dining room, and then saw Austin Barlow’s broad shoulders slump as he reached for the handle of the front door. She suddenly felt sorry for him, though she couldn’t understand why.
The guy was a bigot. He’d accused Blaze of vandalism simply because Blaze was black in a cream white town. The former mayor had complained constantly about Dane Gideon and the boys’ ranch, and according to Blaze, he had even tried to cause trouble for Bertie Meyer.
Bertie didn’t hold grudges, and she’d been kind to Austin after the initial awkwardness. Still, she couldn’t pull a room for rent out of thin air. There was nothing to be had in town.
Fawn remembered a few more things Blaze had said about Austin Barlow. He was a real estate agent, and one time he’d rescued a starving horse from a pasture he had listed, then had taken the animal to Cheyenne’s farm, since he lived in town. When Cheyenne had hired Blaze to take care of the horse, Austin had been angry. The moron had actually expected to use the starving horse as an excuse to see Cheyenne more often.
Had to give the guy credit for originality, but it was still stupid. He must not know much about women.
“I hear you used to be the mayor.” The words slid from Fawn’s mouth before she realized she was going to say anything at all.
Austin turned and glanced around the room, and she could tell he hadn’t even known she was there. That ficus tree made a good eavesdropping blind.
She stood up.
He blinked, the heavy expression in his eyes suddenly lifting. “That’s right.”
“Sorry about your son.”
He nodded. “Thank you. So am I.”
“If you’re looking to stay a couple of weeks, Grace Brennan might sublet her apartment to you. She’s on tour this month.”
He stepped across the hardwood floor to the counter and leaned against it, obviously to get a better look at the instigator of this conversation.
“Grace Brennan’s on the road?” he asked.
“That’s right. She’s got a song that’s a crossover hit, and she and Michael Gold are getting married.”
Austin whistled softly. “When’s the wedding?”
“During the festival on the twenty-fifth of this month. Karah Lee Fletcher’s getting married to Taylor Jackson, too.”
Austin