I was so overwhelmed myself with the situation that I wasn’t willing to consider her suspicions.”
Graham felt a surge of sympathy for the woman who had endured so much tragedy. Now it was obvious why she held everyone at arm’s length. He’d be suspicious, too, if he’d gone through that.
“One good thing about all this,” Preston continued as the nurse returned with his medicine. “Willow happened to be awake last night, or we’d probably both be dead.”
“Has she said anything more about what woke her?”
“We didn’t have a chance to talk about it. She’s been too worried about me. But mark my words, she’ll be wondering about last night’s fire.”
Graham knew that, among other things, Willow had already been interviewed by the fire captain, and no one was talking about it.
“If it was arson,” Preston said, “Willow will be convinced it was set by her husband’s killer.”
Graham felt a chill slither down his spine at the thought that there could be a murderer in Branson.
Chapter Five
W illow carried an armload of packages into the motel room that she had just rented for the week. Ginger followed close behind, also loaded down with packages.
“You’re sure you want to do this?” Ginger released her burden onto the cheap, floral-print spread that covered the only bed in the small room. “The guest bedroom at the house where I’m staying is three times this size, the ambiance is—”
“I’m sure it’s a paradise.” Willow suppressed a smile, surprised by the rapport she had developed with this woman with the big mouth and the bigger…uh…fanny.
For the past three hours, after treating Willow to a generous feast at a breakfast buffet, Ginger had played tour guide between stops at the outlet malls. The woman had given a rundown of the shortcuts and backstreets that would help Willow avoid Highway 76—the Branson creep show during the busy months, when traffic crept along more slowly than the tourists on the sidewalks.
Ginger pulled some articles of clothing from one of the bags and spread them on the bed. “Well, anyway, as I said, I don’t know that it’ll benefit you much to stay right here so close to the hospital when you already know the shortcuts through town. Graham gave the other renters condo suites. Insurance covers it.”
“Is there a condo nearby?”
“Here in Branson, there’s always a condo nearby. There’s a furnished duplex over on Blackner that’s always looking for renters. The manager’s a friend of your brother’s. It’d be barely a five-minute drive to the hospital from there.” Ginger quirked an unplucked, copper-bronze eyebrow. “However, the best place to stay is—”
“I know, I know.” Willow chuckled. “Hideaway. You sound like a commercial for the place.” She had almost weakened a time or two under Ginger’s determined but sweet-natured onslaught, especially since she enjoyed this woman’s laid-back attitude and up-front sense of humor.
But she couldn’t allow others to control her life right now, no matter how well-meaning they were. They didn’t know her situation, and she needed that control.
Ginger held up the one purchase she’d made for herself at the Dress Barn. “Mind if I use your bathroom to try this on?” She glanced toward the tiny room. “If I can fit into that broom closet. I want to see if our all-we-could-eat breakfast has affected my dress size in the past couple of hours.”
While Ginger changed, Willow unpacked socks, shoes, jeans, T-shirts, toiletries and a flashlight, while listening to Ginger’s comments, accompanied by an occasional grunt from the bathroom.
“This dress is the gift Graham’s getting me for my birthday,” Ginger said through the crack in the door, which she’d left ajar. “He just doesn’t know it yet. I plan to spring it on him before he can buy me something totally inappropriate.”
Willow unwrapped a package of socks. “When’s your birthday?”
“Next Tuesday. I’ll be fifty-three.”
“No way.”
“Big way. My age is one of the reasons I was forced to come back to America.”
Back to America? “Fifty-three isn’t old.”
“It is to some people.”
“Where were you living?”
Another grunt, then a low mutter about too many buttons. “Belarus. I’m a physician’s assistant, and for ten years I worked at a mission clinic on the outskirts of Minsk.”
“You’re a missionary?” Now that she thought about it, Willow realized that Ginger hadn’t talked much about herself today, nor had she asked any personal questions about Willow. What she had done was fill Willow in on the Branson hot spots and tell her all about the charms of Hideaway and its residents. And she’d called the hospital every hour for a progress report on Preston, who was still sleeping.
Ginger had been the perfect hostess, putting Willow totally at ease—quite an accomplishment. Until today, Willow would have thought that would be impossible.
“Was,” Ginger said. “Was a missionary. Big difference.”
“Why did you have to come back?”
“Heart problems. Mine got broken one too many times by some of the children who came through our clinic. Of course, the chest pains might’ve had something to do with it, as well.”
“Chest pains?” Willow asked.
“Yes, and some big mouth told Graham about it, and he insisted I come back to the States for a workup. So here I am. I had the workup, found a little problem, nothing worth mentioning, and while I was away, some new med school grad replaced me.” She came out the door, her face flushed from exertion. “But I’m not bitter.”
She wore a leopard-print dress that made her look like a very fluffy female stuffed animal with Grand Canyon cleavage. “Well, what do you think?”
Willow tried to keep all expression from her face. “About what?”
Ginger held her arms out and did an ungainly model’s pirouette. “How do I look?”
Oh, boy.
“Come on, give it to me straight.”
“The color looks good,” Willow said. “Excellent color choice.”
“You really think so?” Ginger pattered barefoot to the small dresser and did another pirouette, straining to turn her head far enough to see the back of the dress. “You know, this is the first time in years I’ve had a chance to go shopping for something nice like this. I don’t even know what’s in fashion anymore.”
“Nose rings and tattoos,” Willow said dryly.
“That I cannot do. I’m not a fan of pain. So you really think this dress looks good on me?” She turned to face Willow,
