Ridiculous. Was it possible she had made a break with reality?
No. She had a neurosis, not a psychosis. She needed to trust Noelle’s faith that God was in control of this situation.
She mentally shook herself and gazed up into Austin’s eyes. Familiarity and comfort seemed to lie beneath the surface of that questing gaze. How she needed comfort right now.
“We’ve just had a horrible shock, Austin,” she said, surprised at herself for speaking about it. “Edith Potts just died. Noelle and I are on our way to tell Bertie.”
Her shock seemed to transfer to him. His hands tightened on hers. His eyes widened. “What happened?”
“Cheyenne thinks it was her heart,” she said, gently disengaging from his grip. Cheyenne was seldom wrong. But this time…
He released her immediately. “Cheyenne?”
She heard the sudden, lingering interest in that one spoken name. So, the rumors were true. Poor Austin must have fallen hard. “She tried everything to bring Edith back. Nothing worked.” Jill knew it was the truth. She felt badly about her behavior at the spa. “You knew she was the director of the clinic, didn’t you?”
“I’ve heard a few things, but I haven’t kept up with everyone now that Mom is no longer in town. Is Cheyenne sure about the cause of death?”
“I don’t know at this point.”
“So she will investigate further to make sure?”
Jill hesitated and frowned at him. “Austin, is there some reason you feel it should be—”
“No, of course not. I’m sorry.” He placed a hand on her shoulder. “I know you were good friends with Edith. Will you be okay?”
She nodded, thanked him, turned toward the bed and breakfast with Noelle at her side.
Amazing that she was able to behave so rationally—and politely—when her brain struggled to contain all the thoughts that tumbled through it—telling her she had killed Edith.
Noelle had been right, this was the wrong time to try to cut the meds. I’ll start back on the full dosage tonight.
She and Noelle found Bertie in the dining room, scrambling to keep the buffet table filled with enough black walnut waffles to satisfy the Saturday-afternoon brunch crowd.
One glance, however, brought Bertie to her side, dish towel in hand.
“Jill Cooper, you look like you could use a good, filling meal. Was that massage at the spa too much for you?” She gestured for Jill to follow her into the dining room.
“I…um…Bertie.” She froze. She couldn’t do this.
Bertie, diminutive, white-haired, already looked too fragile. She had suffered so many losses in her life. Her only child had died young, decades ago. Her husband, Red, had died two years ago. And now this? Her business partner and best friend?
“Uh-oh,” Bertie said. “I can tell by that look on your face you saw our visitor. Wasn’t Austin your old high-school sweetheart?”
“Yes, Bertie, he was, but—” She looked at Noelle.
With a nod, Noelle gently took Bertie by the arm and led her out of the dining room. “We need to tell you something.”
“Well, for goodness’ sake, what is it?” She looked at Jill, and her warm, friendly eyes darkened with distress. “Jill, didn’t you and Edith go to the spa this…oh, no. Did that ticker of hers pitch a fit again? I keep tellin’ her to remember her medicine, but half the time she goes off without it. Someday it’s gonna—”
“Bertie,” Jill said, “this time she didn’t make it.”
There was a startled pause as the words registered, then the news pressed Bertie’s slender shoulders down with their weight.
“I’m sorry,” Jill said, once again feeling the loss like a knife in her heart. “I’m so sorry.”
Chapter Seven
Hours before the funeral service at the Methodist church on Wednesday morning, Jill stepped tentatively through the front door of Noelle’s Naturals and Spa.
When Jill was a horseback-riding youth, she’d been taught early to get back on the horse quickly after being tossed so she wouldn’t develop an unnatural fear of horses. The concept had worked then. Would it work for her in this situation?
Of course, she’d never been a fan of spas, whereas she had always loved horses, dirty and dangerous as they could be. They still weren’t as dangerous as humans.
As a nurse, she was in close contact with people every day, but she was the one giving the care. She was in control. In a spa, she felt vulnerable. The memory of Edith’s death continued to weigh heavily on her.
Soothing music emanated from hidden speakers, and an abundance of plants thrived in this roomy waiting room.
Imitating what Dane Gideon had done with his general store years earlier, Noelle had purchased two empty store buildings with a shared wall within the town square complex. She had knocked out a portion of the connecting wall and combined the space so she could easily oversee the natural herb and food shop while managing the spa. She had also dipped deeply into savings to develop a Web site and an all-out marketing campaign that reached the entire southwest area of Missouri.
“Hi, Jill. Back for another massage?”
Jill turned to find Sheena Marshall stepping out of one of the massage rooms. Her blond hair was tied back, and her pretty blue eyes had circles beneath them. She looked as if she had lost weight since Saturday. Gone was that characteristic perky smile.
“Not today, thanks.”
“Didn’t think so.” Sheena went into Noelle’s office and sat at her desk. She pulled open the top drawer and took out a pad of sticky note paper.
“Are you with a client right now?” Jill asked.
“Nope. It’s been slow, so I’m making a supply list.” She closed the drawer and stood up. “I guess no one wants to come to a place where a nice old lady died. Like maybe she was contagious or something.” Sheena shook her head sadly. “You know how superstitious people can be.”
Jill nodded as she glanced toward the broad entryway to the herb and food shop. “I’m sure it’ll pick back up. It’s just a time of mourning.”
“You’re looking for your sister, I guess.” Sheena stepped back out into the hallway with a pen and the notepad.
Actually, Noelle wasn’t who Jill was looking for. They’d had another long talk last night.
“She’s gone to Springfield to pick up some supplies,” Sheena explained. “Nathan decided to go with her. Those two are so sweet to each other, Mom says sometimes she just wants to gag.” Sheena smiled, and it was a sad smile. Ordinarily, she was the giggling type, but since Edith’s death,
