Authors: Gloria Repp
For some reason, he smiled, but he said, “Maybe later. First, you nap.”
Too sleepy to argue. He had her lie down on her bed and covered her with a blanket. He disappeared and returned with a warm washcloth. He bathed her face and found the stinging little burns on her neck. He spread something creamy on the burns, went away, and came back.
He knelt beside the bed and put his arms around her, cradling her. “Our mighty God! He protected you, Mollie.”
She lifted a hand to his face, curving her palm against his cheek. “The Lord kept me . . . from being so afraid.”
She frowned. “But then Kent pulled out that lighter. Why did God let me faint? I didn’t want that.”
The gray eyes glistened. “To keep you safe. To put the gun into your hand.” He brushed back her hair. “Sleep now. My brave girl.”
He stayed, smoothing her hair, and she drifted off. When she awoke, he was gone.
Tara stood at the kitchen window but she turned, looking dejected. “I thought you’d sleep all day.”
Madeleine stretched. “Guess I’m hungry.” And stiff. And hurting. And she wanted a shower. Where was Nathan?
“The doctor said for you to phone when you got up.”
He answered with a smile in his voice. “We’ve got a date, remember? Do you feel like pizza?”
“Let’s see,” she said, “flattened, maybe a little crisp around the edges? Yes I do, now that you mention it.”
He laughed. “You’re doing better than I dared to hope. I’ll be there soon.”
While she waited, her energy seemed to fade, but it returned as soon as she saw him. Maybe she was just hungry. Keeto’s takeout pizza tasted remarkably good, considering. She ate two pieces and began to yawn.
He stood up. “I’m off again. Back to bed for you.”
She stood too, saw fire blazing across a roof, and had to grab for the edge of the table. But after a moment her head cleared and she asked him, “Please, sir, may I take a shower?”
His smile teased her. “One-handed?”
“Whatever.”
“I don’t want that arm to get wet.” He sat her back down and covered the arm with plastic wrap secured by tape.
“How is Timothy?” she asked.
“He’s responding well, and I’m keeping him quiet. I haven’t told him about any of this, but he seems to have a sixth sense about you. He’s been asking where you are. Bria is nursing him and running the store at the same time.”
He took her hand, traced the bruises on her wrist. “You’re dizzy?”
“Sometimes.”
“When you think about the fire?”
“Worse then.”
“That’s it. You’re processing.” He smiled. “Be patient with yourself.”
He began to pack up his bag. “Tara, stay close while she takes her shower, okay? And next time she gets up, make her a snack, something simple.”
“Sure.” Tara’s face was as tired as her voice.
“Thank you,” he said. “I think you’re going to be a good nurse. Please excuse us for a minute? I need to tell Mollie something.”
He drew her into his arms and whispered, “Sorry, not much of a date. I’ll do better next time.”
“Do you give such personal attention to all your patients?”
“Only the one I love.”
She smiled into his neck. “Excellent varlet. Come back soon.”
The next time she woke up, it was almost dark. She sat up slowly, and all she could think was:
Nathan
. Where was he? How was his work going? He’d taken so much time to care for her. Would he come back tonight? Tomorrow?
She eased out of bed, picked up her hair brush and sat down again.
He’d already spent hours with her. Couldn’t she manage without him? She should get busy, get on with her life.
She began to brush her hair, taking long, weary strokes.
Remember the plan: he’d go back to Alaska, she’d go to New York and open her shop and . . . and . . . be miserable.
The brush wavered.
She didn’t want to go to New York. She didn’t want to go anywhere, except with him.
What about Strong-and-Independent?
The brush hit a snarl, and she yanked it through, hard enough to hurt.
Dependent? Perhaps.
Vulnerable? Yes.
Loving him? Yes.
She stopped brushing, frowned into the twilight.
She’d always thought of independence as a shining, glorious thing.
For someone else, it might be fine, even admirable. But in her case, it seemed to be tangled up with something more tawdry. Pride.
Kent’s pride had kept him talking, and it cost him dearly. He would probably spend the rest of his life in prison.
Was she, in her self-absorption, any different?
She dropped the brush onto the bureau, folded her arms on the gleaming old wood, and put her head down.
Forgive me, Lord, for my pride. Thank you for the gifts of Your grace. For Nathan. Teach me how to love him well.
Tara was sitting in the kitchen with a book, but she jumped up right away. “I’ll make our snack. The doctor phoned again. Asked how your shower went. Did we take off the plastic. Were you still sleeping. Where’s the bread?”
Madeleine sat down and put a hand to her eyes. After a minute her brain caught up. “In the pantry.”
“Found it,” Tara said. “Looks good for toast. Never saw a doctor as nice as him. He likes you a lot, doesn’t he? Do you want cocoa?”
Madeleine smiled. “Yes.”
While they ate their scrambled eggs and toast, she learned what had happened before she arrived that morning.
Tara had been in the kitchen getting a drink when Kent drove up. A few minutes later, Dixie was screaming at him in the front room, and a gun went off.
Tara had run out the back door to warn Uncle Sid, but he’d already heard the shot. He was “bellerin’ mad,” as she put it. He stormed into the front room, yelling at Kent, and they started fighting, and she’d tried to phone the police, but the phone was dead.
He and Kent were still fighting when she grabbed a butcher knife and ran into the woods.
The next thing she knew, smoke was coming from a window and Madeleine had driven up.
While Madeleine was struggling with Kent, she’d taken the valve cores out of his tires and waited for a chance to throw something at him.
Tara stopped talking and stared out of the window.
Madeleine tried to arrange the sequence of events. None of it seemed real except the flames and the blood.
After a minute, Tara said, “You’re a good shot.”
“Not really.”
“I saw it. You shot out the front tire so he’d crash into that tree.”
“But that’s just it.” Madeleine hunched over her plate. “I was aiming for the back tires—to slow him down. I didn’t know he’d crash.”
“I hope he’s dead,” Tara said. “He killed Aunt Dixie. He almost killed Uncle Sid. I thought he was going to kill you.”
“So did I,” Madeleine said. Dizzy again. Too much thinking. “I hope your uncle’s going to be okay.”
“The doctor said he had some bad cuts and a bullet in his leg, but he’s too ornery to die just yet. Do you have any rubber bands?”
“In that drawer.”
Tara pulled her hair back into a ponytail and stared into space for another minute.
Finally she said, “Uncle Sid’s going to be mad about the fire, especially his garage. And it spread into the woods.”
Something in her voice warned of bad news. What now?
Tara shifted her gaze to the tabletop and began pushing breadcrumbs together with a finger.
“My hideout,” she said slowly. “All my stuff is gone. I’ve seen those fires—like a furnace. Your stone. It’s got to be melted.”
Melted?
Tara swept the crumbs to the floor. “Guess it’s a lucky thing you kept the pendant. Give it to Bria and Jude.” Her shoulders drooped. “I don’t know what I’m going to do.”
Madeleine sat still. She should answer, should say something kind.
Tara was on her feet now, stacking up the plates. “Yeah, you’re going to tell me that stuff about how God knows, and He’s got a plan. I wish He’d let me in on the details for once. I’m going to take a shower.”
She carried the dishes to the sink. “Can I borrow your shampoo? I’ll sleep upstairs on that yellow sofa.”
“Fine,” Madeleine said. “I’ll get you some pajamas. In a minute.”
Her head was heavy, too heavy to hold up. She propped it in both hands and saw her paperweight, a shapeless lump in the midst of blackened rubble.
A hand flitted onto her shoulder and off again. “Mollie, you’re my very best friend. I’m awful sorry about this. Specially your stone. I loved it too.”
She pulled herself upright, but the girl had whisked away, and she didn’t see her again until morning.
Aunt Lin phoned to say that the doctor had called and she’d drive back right away, but Madeleine told her that tomorrow would be fine.
Nathan phoned too, but he sounded worn out, so she made her voice cheerful, told him to get some sleep, and he said he’d see her tomorrow, around noon.
In the morning, every muscle still ached, but she managed to make breakfast. Her dazed feeling persisted, even after two cups of coffee, and she had to ask Tara what day of the week it was.
“Wednesday,” Tara said. “I don’t care if I miss the English test. I’m staying here.”
That sunlit Tuesday morning seemed a long time ago.
Remi dropped by, saying he’d hang around and help if he could. He made arrangements to get her car towed, and he answered the phone and the door.
Official-looking men arrived, and the inquisition began.
When did you first notice the fire? Did you hear any explosions? How fast did it burn? Do you have a permit for that gun? Whose gun is it? How well did you know the deceased?
The deceased?
She’d killed him.
The questions still came, one after another, the same ones over and over. More questions, ranging further and further afield. She had to answer so many of them with “I don’t know” or “I don’t remember” that she began to wonder whether something was seriously wrong with her mind.
Nathan arrived at noon, spoke to the investigators in his doctor’s-voice and convinced them that they’d asked enough questions for now. He sat her down at the kitchen table and checked her bandages.
“You’re doing fine,” he said.
“So why do I feel like my brain has turned to mush?”
“You’re still processing.” But he gazed at her with the same watchful look he’d had for Greta’s baby. “In a few days you’ll be your old sprightly self.”
All she could do was mumble. “Sprightly?”
His face creased into one of those melting smiles. “You’ll see,” he said.
“C’mon, eat some lunch, you guys,” Tara said. “I’ve made a bunch of sandwiches.”
Remi grinned from where he stood in the doorway. “Us hungry guys thank you, heartily.”
Madeleine nibbled on a sandwich and drank three cups of tea while the men ate and Tara chattered. When Tara paused for breath, Nathan said, “These are good tuna sandwiches, Tara. It’s a shame Hey-You isn’t here.”
She looked uncertainly from him to Remi, who laughed.
“Take it as a compliment,” Remi told her. “Hey-You is Timothy’s dog, and he’s a real connoisseur of tuna sandwiches.”
His face grew serious. “Doc, did you find out anything about Kent’s past? California, wasn’t it?”
“A couple of things. He’s been involved with forest fires for years. A volunteer at Yellowstone. He enrolled in the Firefighter Academy near King City but dropped out after almost killing a man with his knife. Oddly enough, he kept volunteering.”
“Wasn’t he a teacher?” Remi asked.
“Winters, he taught at one small school after another. About ten years ago he moved up the coast to Oregon. He taught school there and wrote a book.”
He looked at Tara. “Your uncle, after claiming to know nothing at all, changed his mind. This morning he enlightened us about his relationship with Kent and an unsolved case from years ago.”
“Hazel Marshon?” Madeleine said.
“Yes. He admitted that he and his brother and Kent robbed the old lady’s house while she was off on a trip. A graduation prank, was the way he put it. But he claims that they left right afterwards.”
Remi looked skeptical. “All of them?”
“Said he and his brother drove down to the casinos in Atlantic City for the night. They were plenty scared the next day to hear that her house had burned down, with her inside.”
“Did they think it was Kent?” Remi asked.
“Apparently he liked to set fires,” Nathan said.
“So did they get caught?”
“No one could ever prove anything, and Kent had already left town.”
Madeleine felt her way through the haze in her brain. “Gemma told me that Rhys Castell was asking questions about the Marshon case.”