in on the end of the trial since moving here. I don’t think the Freeson relatives ever shared an authentic tear over Wendy’s death. From all accounts I found, they didn’t know her. But any family member can bring a lawsuit for a wrongful death, no matter how ridiculous.”
“That I believe,” she said. “I wasn’t surprised to learn they’d had to hunt down an attorney all the way down in Florida—some guy with a license to practice in Missouri—because they couldn’t find anyone nearby to take their case.”
“The guys in the precinct back in Sikeston used to joke that half of the attorneys in practice graduated in the lower fifty percent of their classes.”
Finally, she gave a grim smile. “The attorney who took the Freeson case must have had a particularly low graduating score.”
He nodded, glad to hear another surge of fight in her voice.
“Wendy’s medical record showed she was what the emergency department personnel called a frequent flier,” she said. “She cried wolf too often. How could I have known that one time, out of the dozens of times she showed up demanding narcotics for make-believe pain, that she’d overdose?”
John heard the grim tone of Lynley’s compassion, despite the fact that Wendy had caused her own death by the illegal use of someone else’s buffet of prescription medications.
The only person he’d known to shed a tear about Wendy’s death was Lynley Marshall, the triage nurse who’d been unfairly blamed for it.
Lynley walked into the kitchen for a drink of water, glancing with obvious trepidation toward the woods past the deck.
Now was not the time, of course, but John couldn’t keep from admiring the grace of her movements, the beauty of her slender, athletic form. Her lush, thick, dark brown hair fell across her face as she leaned forward, covering the firm chin and graceful lines of her face.
She walked back into the shadows of the living room, shoulders hunched, looking miserable. She was obviously held in the grip of a shock so profound that she looked to him for direction. This was not like her at all.
Time to start the investigation process. He walked past her and touched her shoulder, squeezed it. For a moment she appeared to be leaning toward him.
“That lawsuit’s been a nightmare from beginning to end,” she whispered. “Now it seems there’s actually not going to be an end.”
“I did some background checking on the Freesons after I got here.”
She blinked up at him. “You never told me that.”
“I didn’t want to distract you.”
“What did you find out?”
“None of the family members had a history of violence, no prison records, nothing. I wouldn’t expect any of them to be rocket scientists, but Wendy was the only problem family member. As you already know, they were distant cousins.”
“If only I’d paid closer attention to her when I did triage that night, but her vitals were stable, and she looked the same way she’d looked the three times I’d seen her before during that same week. How could I have known she was in trouble on that particular night? She’d refused the CT scan and left against medical advice.”
“Which cleared you.” He waited until she looked up and met his gaze. “You’re second-guessing yourself again. You did everything right, and the court decision bore that out.”
She closed her eyes. “I know.” She looked back up at him. “But what you’re saying is that anyone could be behind this...this perverse joke.” She jabbed her fingers at the Christmas-colored note. “Everyone in the 417 area code knew about Lawson’s death and the inheritance.”
“Everyone but me, apparently. It’s almost as if this little macabre greeting card came from someone using public records as a fulcrum. The demand is for money, not revenge.”
“But so was the lawsuit.” Lynley caught her breath. “Mom. She could be in danger.” She rushed back to the phone beside the sofa. “I need to get her back here.”
John pulled out his cell and spoke Gerard Vance’s name. In seconds he was talking to the only other man in Jolly Mill with good police experience—Vance was a former cop from Corpus Christi, Texas, who’d given up his career to use family money and help the homeless. Another set of eyes on this situation would be helpful right now, and Kirstie was at the rehab center today.
The former cop’s deep voice greeted him in the middle of the first ring. “Hey, Chief. You change your mind about helping in the kitchen today?”
“Sorry. As a matter of fact, I need to see you. Now, please. I’m at Kirstie’s with Lynley. Could you bring her down with you?”
“Hey, this sounds serious. What’s up?”
“Her daughter’s life has just been threatened.”
“Lynley!”
“Bring protection.”
“Let me hunt down Kirstie and I’ll get her there.”
John disconnected and nodded to Lynley. “I’m here, and I won’t let anything happen to you.”
Though Lynley knew John meant every word, she still wished she could return to a few moments ago, when she felt safe in his arms. She resisted the urge to move closer to him. After her disaster of a marriage, she vowed to never again place herself in such a vulnerable position. When she made that vow, however, she hadn’t counted on befriending a man like John, who had all the characteristics her ex-husband had lacked.
“And what of you?” she asked.
His eyebrows raised in surprise. “What about me?”
“While you’re placing yourself in harm’s way to protect me, who’s going to protect you?” When they’d first begun seeing each other on a friendly basis, she’d promised herself that she would break off the friendship if it threatened to turn into something more. Of course, when she first felt the threat looming in her heart, she’d struggled to convince herself she could certainly control her own emotions, and that breaking off their friendship would be a mistake.
She’d lied to herself, of course. Right now she could no more control her feelings toward John than she could scout out the person who threatened her life. The thought of John incurring injury in his duty to protect her was like a kick in the gut.
She should have read the signs months ago—about the time she found herself driving here to Mom’s when she had more than one day off at a time. Her apartment in Springfield had become oppressive lately. Lonely. She studied John’s face and realized it had become more precious to her every time she saw him—which was every time she came home.
John, too, appeared to look forward to her days off.
He tapped her on the arm. “This town is a safe place to be. You can stop worrying.”
“Yes, but—”
“Have
