The doors were open and she could hear loud voices. “Is that Aunt Sara?” Her voice was raspy and her throat hurt.
Jack kept scratching. “Yeah, it is. She’s having a three-way with Flynn and Cotilla.”
“The detective?”
“That’s him.” Jack turned to her and seemed to inspect her face. “Flynn is mad at Sara, Cotilla is furious with Flynn, Sara is angry at both of them. They’re having a screaming match, and by the sound of it, our Sara isn’t winning.”
Kate felt very weak and she suddenly remembered why she was there. Instantly, she started crying, the tears coming from deep inside her. “Did he kill them?” Her whole body was shaking.
Jack leaned over her, stroking her hair back as he motioned for the EMT to come. “We’ll sort that out later. They can give you a shot to let you sleep. Okay?”
She nodded. She wanted time to get the image of that man hanging there out of her mind.
“Good,” Jack said. “When I get you home, I get to undress you and put you to bed. I read about how to do it in one of Sara’s books. I’ll be gentle.”
As she felt a needle in her arm, she tried to make a saucy reply to him, but her eyes were already beginning to flutter. “Take care of Aunt Sara.”
“I will.” Jack kissed her forehead. “Just sleep now and dream of chocolate ice cream.”
“Strawberry,” she whispered, then went to sleep.
When she awoke again, it was still night. She was in her bed in Aunt Sara’s house and she could hear her phone. It was playing her mother’s favorite song, Bette Midler’s “Wind Beneath My Wings.” Her mother was calling her. Some deep, primal command—inspired by having been her mother’s caretaker for most of her life—made Kate struggle to stand up. Her clothes had been removed and she had on a cotton nightgown. Vaguely, she wondered who and how.
Her brain was foggy, but she stumbled toward the half-open double doors. She was still in the shadows when she heard Aunt Sara’s loud, angry voice.
“Ava, I don’t give a crap what you’ve read on the internet! No, you’re not going to talk to her now. She needs rest.” Sara paused. “Yeah? If I’d known what you were putting that child through for all those years, I would have had the law on you. No, I take that back—I would have made you get a job.” She listened. “Stop it! Your melodramatics don’t work on me. You’re about as delicate as a Sherman tank. If you don’t want me telling her the truth about all you’ve hidden from her, then you’ll do just what I tell you. You are going to be compassionate for her. Sympathetic for her. For once in your life you’re going to think of someone besides yourself and that worthless brother of mine. Do I make myself clear?” She waited. “All right. Now go rehearse what you’re going to say to her. And I warn you that if it isn’t loving and caring, tomorrow you’ll be going to job interviews.”
Kate’s mind was so fuzzy that she wasn’t sure what she’d just heard. Something about her mother and a job. But that made no sense. Her mother’s nerves had never allowed her to hold any job for long.
As Kate yawned, she glanced into the family room and saw Jack, his hands full of papers and photos. When he looked up and saw her, he was shocked. With a frown, he motioned for her to go back to bed.
“Of all the gall.” It was Sara’s voice.
Kate turned away and went back to bed.
When she awoke again, Jack was in her bedroom and slinging the curtains back so the daylight could come in.
“You can’t get in bed with me,” she mumbled.
“Darn! And that’s why I came in here. Other than that, I’m to tell you that you’ve slept the clock around and you need to wake up. Sara and Mom went somewhere, so I thought you and I should catch up.”
“I have to...” She motioned to
ward the bathroom. She wasn’t going to get out of bed in just her nightclothes.
With a shake of his head, Jack left the room. “I can’t believe your uncles didn’t see you as the prude you are.”
“Only with you, Jack,” she called. When she emerged from the bathroom, she went into her closet to pull on jeans and a T-shirt—and underwear.
He was in her living room with a pile of papers on the coffee table. And in a pretty glass dish were three scoops of strawberry ice cream with sliced strawberries and whipped cream on top. “For you.”
“I can’t eat that! The calories—”
He handed her the dish. “The doctor said you need to eat. Part of why you passed out was because you don’t eat enough calories to sustain the energy needed for sticking your nose into the business of everyone in town.”
“The doctor said that?”
“No. That was courtesy of Sheriff Flynn. He told Sara that we were the reason poor Dan Bruebaker died. If we hadn’t stirred up so much trouble, he wouldn’t have had to do what he did.”