Framed to Death (A Faith Hunter Scrap This Mystery Book 4) (19 page)

TWENTY-THREE

I had reached our block after the police cordoned off the street, and now was stuck on the wrong side of the tape. Ted was allowed past the barricade along with Wayne, Wyatt, and Steve. Charlotte, Hannah, Brandon, and I were instructed to remain behind the tape.

“Why can’t I go home?” I pointed across the street. “You know where I live.”

Officer Mitchell ignored me. The lights on the ambulance swirled and pulled out of the driveway.

My grandmothers were huddled together on their porch, watching the ambulance transport Mrs. Barlow to the hospital. I wanted to comfort and be comforted by my grandmothers. Who would hurt Mrs. Barlow?

“My grandmothers need me,” I pleaded.

“Davis went home. He’ll take care of them,” Mitchell said.

Ted walked over to the tape, lifted up an edge, then nodded at me and Charlotte. “A word with you two.”

“I disagree, Detective.” Mitchell blocked our entrance. “We shouldn’t give them permission to interfere in this investigation.”

“I’m questioning Miss Hunter and Ms. Hanson, not inviting them to play a round of Clue.”

I scooted under the crime scene tape. “I wasn’t here.”

“You were sometime today,” Ted said.

“You think they saw Mrs. Barlow’s attacker?” Mitchell grabbed my arm, yanking me fully to my feet. “Or they directed the assailant to her?”

Ted placed a warning hand on Mitchell’s shoulder. “Watch the roughness.”

“I don’t want the accomplice to get away,” he said.

“Accomplice?” I looked at Charlotte. She scanned the area like she was preparing a plan to bolt. I hooked my arm through hers. No way was I being left to face this alone.

“How else would the attacker know when Mrs. Barlow walked her dog at night, and where she kept all the notes she takes on what’s going on in the community?” Mitchell asked.

Ted stayed uncharacteristically silent. He usually had no trouble adding in a word or two when it came to my shortcomings.

“I don’t know when Mrs. Barlow takes her dog out at night. She’s the one who tracks everyone’s comings and goings,” I said.

Charlotte kicked me in the shin. I guess she didn’t approve of my commentary.

“And you probably didn’t like that one bit,” Mitchell said. “Is that why you went over to her house tonight? To tell her to stay out of your business?”

I fixed my gaze on Ted. The expression on his face either meant, “You’re getting what you deserve” or “Where is Mitchell pulling these theories from?”

“Mrs. Barlow was having a nail wrap party. She invited me this afternoon, and I asked Charlotte to come along.”

I searched for Steve. Even though we weren’t together anymore, and he’d moved—I drew in a deep breath. Steve moved. Why had he gone into the townhouse? Did he have another set of keys?

“A weird choice, considering Charlotte owns a nail salon,” Mitchell said.

Ted still remained silent, gaze wandering off in the direction of my grandmothers. Was he worried Cheryl would come over and give Mitchell a browbeating?

“I wanted to check out what my business is competing against,” Charlotte said.

Good. I didn’t want to do all the talking.

“In searching Mrs. Barlow’s home, we didn’t see anything party or nail related. Am I right, Detective?”

“That you are,” Ted said.

“That’s because the consultant, Lake Breckenridge, never showed up,” I said. “She was being questioned at the police station.”

Ted strode forward, breaching my personal space. “And how do you know that?”

“Mrs. Barlow told us.”

At the end of the road, two small eyes glowed from the police cruisers’ headlights.

“Where’s Snickerdoodle?” I strained my eyes to get a better look at the critter jogging down the road. “You said Mrs. Barlow was walking her dog.”

“The dog wasn’t there,” Ted said.

I crept forward. “I think I see him.”

The men turned. In the dark, all we saw were the glowing white eyes moving closer.

“Come here, baby,” I sing-songed, tiptoeing forward. “That’s a good doggie.”

Yapping, the dog bolted behind what was once Steve’s house. Or maybe still was. I ran after Snickerdoodle.

Why would Steve lie about moving? I saw the boxes he’d packed.

“Faith, stop,” Ted said.

“We can’t let Snickerdoodle get hurt.”

Mrs. Barlow loved her dog. He was her companion. Her best friend. Her heart. Now was when she’d need him most. There was no way I’d stand back and let her come back to a Snickerdoodle-free home.

A round furry object veered around the fence that separated my grandmothers’ and my yard from Steve’s. Snickerdoodle circled around, heading straight for me. I opened my arms…and landed flat on my face as Ted tackled me from behind. Grass tickled my nose and almost became my dinner.

“I almost had him.” I pushed myself up on my elbows and tried wiggling out from under Ted.

Ted snagged my waist. “Go home. I’ll finish asking what I need there.”

“What about Charlotte? No questions for her?” I finally escaped from Ted’s grasp.

“Officer Mitchell is taking her to the station.” Once again, his arm was around me, bringing me close to his body.

I was having trouble breathing and the world suddenly turned hot. “Aren’t you afraid of being accused of favoritism? Why did you stay behind to question me and send Charlotte off with Mitchell? My interview is being conducted in my cozy home and she’s being dragged to the station.”

“I can’t argue that this isn’t cozy,” Ted’s words whispered across my cheek, “but I disagree with your assessment that Charlotte was dragged anywhere.”

“Unhand me,” I said.

“I’m not letting you run away from me.”

“What’s going on out here?” Steve strode over, Snickerdoodle cradled in his arms.

“We were chasing after Mrs. Barlow’s dog.” I smiled. “And you found the little rascal. Thanks.”

“It’s easier to locate a fugitive when you’re not rolling around in the grass.” Steve stared at Ted’s hands clasped around my waist.

I slipped away from Ted. “You gave me the keys to what had been your place. How did you get in?”

“What are you talking about?”

“Officer Mitchell said you went home. You don’t live there anymore. You gave me your keys.”

“He was mistaken.” Steve placed the dog in my arms, murmuring into my ear as he drifted a kiss across my cheek, then left.

Fear filled me at his parting statement. “For everyone’s sake, let this go.”

I couldn’t. Mrs. Barlow had been hurt because of this case. Because of me. I brought her into this mess and shouldn’t just sit safe and sound in my house while her attacker roamed free. I knew the police were looking for the person who assaulted her, but I was also responsible. I had to do something to quiet some of the guilt roaring through my head and heart.

The most important thing I needed to do was check on Mrs. Barlow. She was probably scared, and her daughter was a fifteen-hour drive away. There was no way Mrs. Barlow should spend the night alone in the hospital. After putting Snickerdoodle in my bedroom, I snatched up my keys and ran out to my car.

As I sped down the road, I remembered a car had left the woods near Piece A Pie. What if that had been the arsonist? The person probably saw us and took off before they could be identified. But why would they go after Mrs. Barlow? The person had to know she had information they’d want kept quiet. That meant the arsonist had to be someone local and knew Mrs. Barlow kept an ear on everything going on in Eden.

The parking lot was surprisingly full considering how late it was. I recognized a few of the cars. I should’ve known my grandmothers and Gussie would show up at the hospital. I was also sure the dark-colored sedan was Ted’s unmarked squad car. I doubted he’d think I was only here to find out about Mrs. Barlow, and I wasn’t in the mood to deal with him. Instead of going into the emergency room, I went inside the main area and over to the nurse manning the receptionist station.

“I want to check on a friend of mine. She was brought in recently.”

She smiled at me. “I’m sorry. I can’t give that information out to you.”

I was sure her gentle smile was to soften her answer. “I’m a neighbor.”

“I’m sorry. Family only.” The nurse turned her attention to a stack of papers on her desk.

Drat. I should’ve guessed I wouldn’t receive any information. But I bet Gussie would’ve found a way to get it. I was going to have to gather up my courage and sass and just go into the emergency room. I couldn’t let Detective Ted Roget scare me away. Besides, with my grandmothers and Gussie there he wouldn’t jump all over me too much. Then again he might not have to, as it was likely my grandmothers knew what I’d been up to early in the evening.

If a comeuppance was the only way I’d learn about Mrs. Barlow’s condition, it was worth it. I headed for the emergency room, stopping in my tracks when I heard sobs coming from inside the women’s restroom.

I stepped inside. Lake straightened, wiping her face with paper towels.

Lake had Mrs. Barlow working on her scrapbook for an insurance adjuster who was arriving in town. Charlie. She was supposed to have been at Mrs. Barlow’s house, but had cancelled because the police took her in for questioning. Had the attacker mistaken Mrs. Barlow for Lake? Or had Lake lied about the reason for not coming?

“Are you all right?” I rested a hand on her shoulder, deciding to take a more subtle approach to get some answers.

“I’m fine.” Lake shrugged off my hand and reached for the door handle.

I blocked the door. “Something has you upset.”

She huffed out a breath. “Of course I’m upset. A friend of mine was hurt tonight. Who wouldn’t be upset? Besides you.” She punctuated the last statement by fixing a haughty look on me.

“I’ve moved past the upset stage into anger. Whoever hurt Mrs. Barlow will not get away with it.”

“They better not.”

“I’m glad you agree because I need your help.” Did I really want to involve someone else? Too many people had already been hurt. I had to. I was certain Lake had some of the answers. And if she hadn’t told the police, now was the time.

Her eyes widened. “I can’t help you.”

“You can help Mrs. Barlow. You have to tell the police the truth.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“You hired someone to set fire to your shop.”

She paled and grew unsteady on her feet. She drew back, placing a hand on the sink. “How can you accuse me of such a thing?”

“The pictures you gave Mrs. Barlow to scrap were taken the day before the fire.”

“Just a coincidence,” she squeaked out.

“I don’t think so. And I don’t think the investigator believed it either. That’s why Charlie Powell came to Eden. He was working on your and Dawn Carr’s claim. There was a business card for Vulcan Catering mixed in with your pictures. Vulcan isn’t a new food business in town.”

Tears filled her eyes. “It was a coincidence. I had nothing to do with that man’s murder.”

“I don’t think you did it. But I do think you have information that will help the police find the person who is responsible.”

She shook her head.

“I can’t. If I know the person responsible it means I committed a crime. I’ll go to jail.”

“Tell Detective Roget everything. He’ll understand. He’ll help you.”

“If I did hire someone to burn down my store, do you really think it would matter that I was losing money because people are buying their flowers at the box store and my health insurance premium takes up most of my income? If I’m going to have enough money to retire I needed to unload it. No one is interested. Jim’s having the same trouble. No one wants to buy a business located at our end of town.”

“Two people were murdered. Mrs. Barlow could’ve been killed. This person needs to be stopped and you possibly have the information to stop them.”

Lake pushed me out of the way. “I have nothing to say to the police. I already made that clear to Detective Roget. I’m not going to jail.”

“It’s better than being dead.” I hated myself a little for it but knew it needed to be said.

She paused with her hand on the door handle.

“What if the person who hurt Mrs. Barlow had actually thought it was you they were attacking? I’m sure Mrs. Barlow had told practically everyone in town about her nail party. You don’t think this person wants to keep their identity a secret? How can they trust that you’ll keep quiet?” Every question I asked made me feel a little bit worse. “But there’s no need for you to worry about it. Right?”

Lake hightailed it out of the restroom.

TWENTY-FOUR

Light seeped past my eyelids, mingling with the muddled images in my mind: Felicity arguing with Chad, the aftermath of the fire, Dawn and her mother, Charlie’s murder, being shot at, Mrs. Barlow bruised and bloodied, Steve’s warning, threatening Lake.

Grimacing, I stretched my neck, working out the kinks from sleeping in the recliner all night. The notebook and reports Mrs. Barlow printed out for me slipped from my lap, cascading onto the floor.

A car door slammed across the street. Was someone bringing Mrs. Barlow home? I knelt on the chair and turned around, scooping back a corner of the blinds with my index finger. Ted and Jasper hauled cleaning supplies from the back of Jasper’s car. There was something I could do for Mrs. Barlow. I hurried upstairs, making myself presentable to the world, then headed out the door.

Ted glanced in my direction. I was too far away to get a read on his expression. He didn’t like me getting involved in solving crimes, but his attitude toward me was even brusquer than usual. I wished I knew what the problem was.

Ask him. I slowed, giving myself more time to turn over the command in my head. There were some times I shouldn’t listen to my instinct, and I believed now was one of those.

“I’m here to help,” I said.

“Right.” Ted stretched out the word.

Jasper looked at Ted, then me. “We could use it. Mrs. Barlow has woken up and might be released this weekend. The doctor is limiting her visitors right now to immediate family. My grandmother is heading over hoping to sweet talk the doctor—she’s friends with his parents—into letting her in because Mrs. Barlow’s daughter won’t be here until this evening. She doesn’t want Mrs. Barlow to be alone.”

I smiled at Jasper. “Thanks for letting me know.”

He patted my shoulder. “No problem. I know you’ve been worried. You’ve always kept an eye on her.”

The small amount of good mood in me crumbled. “Except for last night.”

“That wasn’t your fault.” Jasper opened up the front door. “Mrs. Barlow has always stuck her nose into everything. She had plastered photos of Andrew Taylor at the bonfire all over her blog last night.”

“I should read her blog. I bet she keeps a detailed list of everything going on in the community.”

“And whatever she thinks is happening. Stay out of it, Faith.” Ted shoved a mop and a bucket at me. “Why don’t you go swab the deck?”

“I’ll take care of the deck.” Jasper removed the items from my hands. “You and Faith can take care of inside.”

“I think it’ll do her some good,” Ted said.

“And I think you’ll regret it.” There was a sharp edge to Jasper’s voice.

“Nothing else that’s happened has made a dent in her stubbornness,” Ted said.

“You can take up my insubordination with Chief Moore.” Jasper headed to the back. “There’s no way I’m letting her clean up that mess. And if you weren’t so angry this morning, you wouldn’t let her either, Detective Roget.”

The mess out back. Mrs. Barlow’s blood. I felt a little queasy. I pressed my hand to the doorframe, steadying myself.

“Jasper’s right. That’s not something I should’ve asked you to handle.”

“Why do you hate me?” The words tumbled out before I regained my equilibrium.

Without replying, Ted headed down the hallway to Mrs. Barlow’s office.

I went after him, wanting an answer, and also to see what damage was done in there. With Ted’s behavior and what he’d said, I knew the attack on Mrs. Barlow had everything to do with Chad and Charlie’s murders and the fires. “I asked you a question.”

“Were you in this room yesterday?” Ted opened the door. “We’ve dusted for prints, and I’d like to know whose I might find.”

He was dodging the question. Fine. I wouldn’t care anymore. Let him act however he wanted. “Charlotte and I were in this room for a little while yesterday. Mrs. Barlow was showing us all her gadgets since Lake Breckenridge had to cancel the nail wrap demonstration because she was having a chat with someone at the police station. I wonder what about.”

“Not for you to know.”

“Of course it isn’t,” I said. “According to you, nothing is for me to know, including the reason for your obvious hostility toward me.”

The CPU unit for Mrs. Barlow’s computer was missing, the file cabinet drawers were empty, and a portion of the rug was cut out.

“That wasn’t gone yesterday.” Ted squatted down. Using the end of a stylus, he lifted up a corner of the cut rug.

“I didn’t hear anyone come back last night,” I said.

“You might not have since your room is on the second floor in the back.”

“I slept on a chair in the living room near the window,” I confessed. “I wanted to be able to hear—”

“If the attacker returned so you could go deal with him.” Ted slapped his hand onto the wall. “When are you going to learn? This is dangerous.”

“If Mrs. Barlow came home,” I corrected him. “Contrary to your belief, I’m not an idiot. If I’d heard something, I would’ve called the police, not tangled with the person one on one.”

“I don’t think you’re an idiot. I just think you’re a little too headstrong and you feel the need to be everyone’s hero.”

“What’s wrong with wanting to help?”

“Nothing, except you take it too far and put yourself in danger.” Ted continued to check out the rug. “It’s exhausting worrying about you all the time.”

“Nobody asked you to.”

“You think it’s something I can consciously control?” Ted pulled out his cell and sent a text. “It’s time for you to go to work. Get a cup of coffee. Do anything except hang around a crime scene.”

“I’m not hanging around a crime scene. I’m cleaning up a friend’s house.”

“It’s a crime scene,” Ted said. “I’m formally requesting that you leave.”

“Fine.” I had other things to do today, like go to work and conduct an impromptu get-well-soon-card party. Mrs. Barlow would love to be showered with cards. It’d perk her right up to know that everyone took time out of their day for her and that she was the talk of the town. I whipped out my cell phone and posted a message on the store’s Facebook page.

“And stop interrogating people.”

I twisted to stare at him.

“I know you spoke with Lake.”

His attitude today hinted that she didn’t tell him the truth. If she did, he’d be a step closer to solving the case and that was a good thing. “Did she tell you about a scrapbook Mrs. Barlow was making for her?”

“Not for you to know. By the way, I don’t hate you,” Ted said. “A guy wants to be the first choice, not the default.”

My heart went into freefall, then ricocheted back up, getting stuck where my conscience resided. My emotions had always tumbled when I was near Ted, tempting me. I had always drawn back, reminding myself I had chosen Steve. The safer bet. The man I believed would never make me doubt his feelings for me, who’d always put my best interests first, who wouldn’t challenge me. I wanted to feel safe, on even ground all the time. I wanted a relationship where I was in firm control and could adjust the intensity at my will. What I wanted, and thought only Steve could bring to my life, was security and calmness. When I realized that would never be the reality again between me and Steve, I ended it. I had fallen for an illusion and couldn’t only blame Steve for creating it.

Ted wasn’t safe. Ted challenged me. He was the one who pushed me past my comfort zone and made me see a life alone was one controlled by Adam, not by me. Ted made me break down my walls, try my hand at living a fuller life, even if it meant I fell in love with another man. He argued with me. Consoled me. Counseled me. Ted made me face the world, rather than allowing me to hide from it and wallow in the past. He wanted more from me—and for me. The truth dumped on me felt like a bucket of ice water. I trusted Ted with my insecurities and found myself being truly one hundred percent me around him more than anyone else in my life. Ted had encouraged me to open my life up, to take a chance on Steve. I looked over my shoulder, meeting Ted’s gaze.

“You were never the default.”

The Silhouette Cameo machine hummed and chugged along, making a slight clicking sound as it cut another base for a pop-up box card. I had gathered a mix of embellishments and placed them on one of the cropping tables along with the bases. Three customers had already arrived and were working on making either a swing-style or box explosion card. We had decided Mrs. Barlow deserved something with pizzazz for her get-well cards.

An older woman clutching a cane hobbled up to the counter and held out a pop-up box. A little dog resembling Snickerdoodle waved a sign saying “Get well soon,” while the other slots for the pop-ups were filled with other types of dogs, a cat, and a baby. Wobbly hand-drawn line-stitching details highlighted the bright blue cardstock used as the base of the card. “How does this look? Heather loves babies and cats. You know, blue is her favorite color and you don’t have many blue squares.”

“I’ll be sure to cut some more.” I gingerly took her creation from her, giving it the reverence it deserved. “It’s beautiful. She’ll love it.”

“I also brought her some magazines.” She motioned for the young woman sitting at the table.

The girl stopped working on her Biology homework, carried over a sealed brown paper bag, and handed it to me. She stepped back out of eye range of the older woman and mouthed “don’t open.” Knowing Mrs. Barlow’s love of men in uniform, I decided not to see what type of reading material was being gifted to her in a sealed package.

“I’ll give it to her.” I placed the reading material into my large tote and made a mental note to save it for last. I wanted to be out of the room when Mrs. Barlow started browsing through her magazines.

The bell above the door jingled and jangled. “Welcome to Scrap This,” Marilyn said.

Allan Sullivan had walked into the store. He swallowed a couple of times, sweat beading his brow. He glanced around the room, taking in everything and everybody, before his gaze settled on the card-making supplies on the table.

“We’re making some get-well cards for Mrs. Barlow,” I said. “I’ll be taking them over in a little while.”

“Is it all right if I tried putting one together?”

“Sure,” I said.

Staring wide-eyed at all the supplies, Allan sat down. He chose the base for a swing card, opened it, turned it over to the side, then put it right back. Next, he picked up the base for the pop-up box card, again studying it from every angle, and then placed it back on the table. The man looked lost.

“I think he needs help.” Marilyn walked behind the counter and nudged me. “You should go.”

“Why don’t you? You know how to make them.”

“Because I have a feeling he didn’t walk into Scrap This to make a card. He’s not on our mailing list.”

I took a good long look at the man. He seemed despondent, not like he was ready to engage in a battle, and regardless of what Ted thought, I had learned lessons from the other murders I solved. One should never confront a murder suspect without some sort of a plan, even out in the open. I patted my pocket. My cell was in reach.

I headed over. “Need some help?”

He held up both bases. “Do you have anything less complicated to make?”

“They’re easy once you know how they go together,” I said. “We can make the pop-up card.”

I picked up a base and a scored and cut piece of cardstock, and used a bone folder to press the folds to make sure it folded easily. I chose two matching blue strips to glue inside the base for our pop-up elements. I flattened it and dragged over some choices of pattern paper toward us. “Glue a piece of cardstock onto the front of the card, and then a long strip of cardstock is glued onto the inside part of the card that acts as the backdrop for the pop-ups.”

Allan chose a few pieces, and I closed my mouth. It was his card. The patterns weren’t ones I’d mix together, but this was his creative endeavor and I didn’t want to discourage him. The world needed more male scrapbookers and card-makers.

“How’s this?” He held it up.

“Great. Open up the box and glue in the strip to either side of the card. Add some chipboard pieces or die cuts onto the strips.” I pointed to each pile.

“Felicity would love to make these. But with her arthritis, all the folding and cutting would be hard on her,” Allan said.

“I can make some kits for her. All she’d have to do is glue them together.”

He smiled and placed the explosion card in the palm of his hand. “I appreciate it. It upset her when she had to stop hand-making Christmas cards.”

“Did you want to talk to me about something? I have a feeling you didn’t come to stock up on crafting supplies for your wife who’s in jail.”

Allan reddened and sweat beaded on his forehead. “I had nothing to do with those fires.”

That was a popular statement lately. I remained quiet, allowing him to continue.

“After the Made With Love fire, I told the police I had insured all of those businesses. I was worried because it looked like someone was targeting my clients. Lake. Clive. Chad. When Charlie Powell arrived and told me some of his findings, I got even more concerned. An hour before the fires, all three clients used our online option to purchase an increase in their coverage.”

Disappointed flooded me. Clive was involved. “What’s going to happen to them?”

“I don’t know, since it looks like their accounts were hacked.”

“Are you sure?” Happiness was restored. Clive wasn’t guilty of insurance fraud. I kind of liked the old guy.

“The IP addresses were traced to the fire station.”

“Who told you this?”

“Karen. She got a hold of one of the police reports.”

“Why did Felicity confess?”

“Because she wants to help our family and thought it was the best way.”

“She was afraid the police would suspect you?”

“She hadn’t known I’d already brought my concerns to them. I gave them a list of the stores I insured and also the ones who had filed claims. Detective Roget hoped keeping it quiet might make the arsonist slip up, that they’d get cocky. He didn’t want them on guard. Felicity was under so much stress between her illness and Brandon’s medical issues, I hadn’t wanted to give her one more thing to worry about, so I didn’t tell her. Now I wish I had.”

“What’s her connection to Andrew Taylor?”

Allan rubbed his eyes. “She made threatening calls to Andrew. She found out that while Chad sold the drugs, Andrew was the one who handed it to Brandon.”

“She had a motive to kill Chad and set up Andrew.”

“My wife’s biggest regret is she couldn’t have killed Chad for ruining our son’s life. Since no one else wanted to claim it, she did.”

“She couldn’t have killed Charlie. She was in jail.”

“But she could’ve told Andrew Taylor that Charlie Powell was going to prove he killed Chad, and that set the murder in motion.”

“Why would she put another man at risk?”

“She didn’t think she was. She doesn’t really believe Andrew’s a murderer, but she wants him to suffer too.”

I heaved my overfilled bright pink tote bag onto my shoulder, squeaking my way across the hallway in the hospital. Mrs. Barlow was at a room at the end of the hall being guarded by Gussie. The police might not have thought the elderly woman needed protection from her attacker, but her friends had.

If I ever needed a bodyguard, I’d feel safe knowing Gussie was nearby. She might not be young and spry anymore, but she packed a wallop, and had such a fierce expression it wouldn’t surprise me if she literally turned a bad guy into a frozen block of ice.

“Bearing presents and get-well cards.” I struggled to lift the bag up higher and show it to Gussie.

“She’ll be thrilled.”

I tapped on the door.

“It’s Faith.”

“Come in.”

I opened the door and was hit by the overwhelming smell of flowers. There was a mix of roses, gardenias, carnations, and even pine in the room, making it look like Mrs. Barlow decided to open a flower shop in her hospital room. Vases of flowers filled every spare inch of table or window space. Balloons were tied onto the visitor chairs and the head of the bed.

Mrs. Barlow swatted one away from her head. “I didn’t want them blocking the television. Now I’m afraid one of them might strangle me in my sleep. I didn’t have the heart to turn away any gifts.”

I retied the balloon so it wasn’t threatening to wrap around Mrs. Barlow’s throat. “You could donate them to the pediatric floor. I bet the kids would love them.”

She beamed and raised the head of the bed. “That’s a terrific idea. It’ll make me happy to know the balloons are appreciated.”

“I hope you don’t mind, I have more gifts.” I plopped my bulging tote onto the bed. “I have cards, chocolates, and magazines.”

“What type of magazines?” She peered into the bag.

“I don’t know. A friend of yours gave them to me in a sealed brown paper bag.”

“Thank you.” Blushing, Mrs. Barlow tucked the package under her pillow. “I’ll take a look at those later. It’d be very rude to thumb through a magazine while I have company.”

“How are you feeling?” I sat in the closest visitor’s chair.

“Better.” She held her hand over the bandage on her left temple. “Just a little headache and my arm aches some. The doctor says it’s fortunate I didn’t break anything when I fell.”

“You fell?” Had we all been mistaken about what happened to Mrs. Barlow? My phone rang. I turned it down and set it on the bedside table, letting the call go to voicemail.

“Not on my own. I took Snickerdoodle out for his before-bed potty time. He started whimpering, so we went back inside to put his booties on. He doesn’t like it when the ground is cold. I checked my messages, and you girls hadn’t called yet, so I had to make some calls. I was worried.”

“Sorry about that. We had a bonfire to break up.”

“I wish I had known. I called Detective Roget, Steve, Daniel, Officer Jasper, Wayne, and Wyatt. I hate the fact I sent them on an unnecessary call. No one is going to take my calls seriously if I call for nothing. To think, I might have gotten you girls in trouble because no one wanted to head out until I told them exactly why I was worried. That detective was the crankiest of the lot.”

“That’s not a surprise.”

“While I was talking to all the men, Snickerdoodle kept trying to get the muffins from the buffet, so I put those away and then put all my records away and made a backup of all my data. I hadn’t done it in a week, and with everything going on, I thought that would be a good idea.”

“Where do you keep it?” My phone buzzed and skidded around the table.

“Shouldn’t you answer that?”

“I’m more interested in your story.”

Smiling, Mrs. Barlow settled herself more comfortably against her pillows. “I hide the memory stick under my mattress.”