family used when speaking to her.
That’s why she needed to get out of town, to explore other places in the world where people didn’t know her as Baby McBride with the strange autoimmune disease.
“Cassie?” Madeline pressed.
“I’m fine,” she said, closing her eyes.
“You’re not fine. Do you want to talk about it?”
“Nothing to talk about.”
“Finding a dead body—”
Cassie’s eyes popped open. “So she was dead?”
“You didn’t know?”
Cassie shook her head.
“I’m sorry.” Madeline patted Cassie’s shoulder.
It was just the beginning, Cassie thought, the beginning of her family and friends smothering her until she could no longer breathe.
God, please help me cope.
She suspected all the prayer in the world wouldn’t change the way people looked at her: like a fragile doll, a sick little girl who could barely manage on her own. But she wasn’t a little girl anymore, and she’d outgrown her illness, although the technical term was remission.
That fact wouldn’t change the way people treated her. She decided to take the offensive.
“Have you assessed my injuries?” she asked her cousin.
“Your arm will need a few stiches, and the ER doc will probably order a CT scan of your head.”
“I didn’t hit my head.”
“You might not remember hitting your head, but you’re exhibiting symptoms of head trauma.”
“Like what?”
“Obsessing over a random dog.”
“An orphaned dog.”
“And you’re anxious.”
“Rocky’s driving too fast.”
Madeline shook her head and bit back a smile. “Rocky, this is base, over,” a voice said over the radio.
“Go ahead.”
“Chief Walsh has the dog, over.”
“You hear that, Cassie?” Rocky said over his shoulder.
“Yeah, thanks.”
“Okay?” Madeline said.
Cassie nodded and closed her eyes, wanting to avoid arguing with her cousin. She’d save her energy because she knew there’d be more discussion, more arguments about her choices today as she defended herself to her mother, older brother, sister and whoever else jumped on the “help Cassie” bandwagon.
She thought about her bank account, now up to two thousand dollars and change. It wasn’t enough to support herself for six months to a year overseas, even if she stayed in hostels. After tonight’s fiasco, she might lose the awesome-paying property manager job. At the very least, her family would forbid her from going anywhere by herself for a while.
They reached the hospital, and Rocky and Madeline wheeled Cassie inside. Once transferred to an ER bed, Madeline slid the curtain closed.
“The doctor will be here shortly. I think Dr. Rush is on duty. You’ll like her,” Madeline said.
“I need to speak with Chief Walsh.”
“Oh yeah?” Maddie said with a raised eyebrow.
“Stop fooling around. It’s important.”
“I think he’s at the cabin managing the investigation into the woman’s death.”
“Oh, right.” Cassie wanted to call and give him a description of Shovel Man. She reached into her pocket. “Where’s my phone? Can you check the ambulance?”
“Sure, if you promise to stay here and wait for the doctor.”
“As opposed to going dancing?”
“See? Sarcastic. That’s not like you, which is why I suspect a head injury. So relax. I’ll be right back.”
Cassie laid her head against the pillow and closed her eyes. She knew she didn’t have a serious head injury, and was upset that her cousin wasn’t listening to her. Cassie needed to call Chief Walsh and describe the man who’d stalked her. She could still picture those heavy eyebrows and thin lips. He reminded her of Mr. Gruner, a curmudgeon who used to yell at Cassie and her friends whenever they’d pass by his boat at the Emerald Lake Pier. They were terrified of him, until the day he saved Izzy Bingham. No one knew Izzy couldn’t swim. After the save, the kids had changed their opinions of Mr. Gruner. He was just lonely, not mean.
She had a feeling Shovel Man didn’t fall into that same category.
A shiver snaked down her arms. She slipped into her jacket to get warm. The more agitated she appeared, the more her family would close ranks and suffocate her. She had to show them she was strong, healthy and capable, that she wasn’t that sick little girl anymore.
The curtain slid open.
“Did you find it?” she said, assuming it was Madeline.
“I’m here to take you for a CT scan,” a male voice said.
“Oh, okay.”
She opened her eyes, but he stood behind her as he pushed her bed out of the examining area.
“I was hoping you were my cousin with my phone,” she said.
“Nope, sorry.”
“How long does a CT scan take?”
“Not long.”
She knew they wouldn’t find anything, but she couldn’t fault the doctor for being cautious. They entered the elevator, and he pressed the button for the bottom floor.
“How did you get injured?” he said.
She glanced at the orderly, who wore a surgical mask. A surgical mask?
“I’ve got a cold,” he said in explanation.
Yet even behind the mask she recognized the thick eyebrows of the man who’d been carrying the shovel.
The elevator doors closed.
Cassie was alone with the killer.
A ball of fear rose in her chest.
No,
