Teardrop Lane (6 page)

And it could have been Galen just as easily. He could have come down on a stake instead of his arm. There was a stack of rebar in the alley behind the studio. The kids ran around back there all the time. Any one of them could have slipped and fallen on top of the steel rods.

Cicero didn’t know to whom the steel belonged—
but he’d damned well see that it was hauled off first thing tomorrow
.

His thoughts went down the dark rabbit hole of what-ifs. He imagined the reactions of Jayne’s children had
they suffered another tragedy right on top of the loss of their mom. He wasn’t sure they’d survive another blow. Keenan would probably start stealing candy cigarettes from the Stop & Shop—if they still made candy cigarettes, that is. Galen would revert to wetting the bed every night. Misty would fall into one of her books and never come out. On top of all that, he doubted the Parnells possessed the intestinal fortitude they’d need to support the children through something so tragic.

For about the millionth time, he wondered about the kids’ fathers. Three deadbeat dads.
What the hell was wrong with men?
Cicero understood the basic biological drive as well as any guy, but nothing excused carelessness.
Jayne had sure known how to pick ’em
.

Cicero’s dark imaginings opened the mental door to additional worry about the children’s guardians. He hoped his sister’s instincts had been better when it came to choosing guardians than it had when picking bedmates.

Jayne had met Amy Parnell when the two waited tables at the same restaurant in Portland, Oregon. Amy had been the sister Jayne had always wanted. In fact, he always suspected that transforming their friendship into family had contributed to Jayne’s decision to accept Amy’s brother’s marriage proposal. After all, she hadn’t married the fathers of her first three children.

He was damn glad she had married Daisy’s father. Otherwise, Scott and Amy might not have stepped up to the plate when Jayne asked them to be guardians after her husband was killed. He gave them plenty of credit for that. Heaven knows, he wouldn’t have wanted to do it.

Cicero had never wanted kids. He was too selfish. Too involved in his art. Too old at this point to start down that particular road. These short little visits and pockets of responsibility were all he cared to handle, thank you very much.

What would he have done if Galen’s accident had resulted
in something worse than a broken arm? How would he have managed the others? How was the family of the snowmobiler managing now? He wondered if the dead teen’s parents had other children to comfort and cling to tonight.

He hoped Rose Anderson had treated them with compassion rather than a perfunctory “I’m sorry for your loss” like he’d received in that Houston hospital room. He gave her points for ensuring the family’s privacy, but he wouldn’t forget her perfunctory manner in the wake of the teen’s death. Pretty face, but a cold heart. He didn’t need that in his life. Wintertime in Eternity Springs was chilly enough. When he went looking for feminine companionship, he wanted warmth. Heat.

So quit imagining how she looks wearing that damned white coat and nothing else
.

The movie ended and they made a stop at the beloved McDonald’s for dinner before hitting the road for home. Experience told Cicero that the movie popcorn, hot dogs, sodas, and candy wouldn’t put a dent in their appetites, and he’d been right. These kids could pack it away.

During the return drive to Eternity Springs, Keenan entertained them with knock-knock jokes. When Galen requested a sing-along, Misty actually stopped reading and joined in. She had a lovely voice, Cicero decided as he hummed along to the theme song from
The Lion King
, glad for the distraction from thoughts of death and frozen-hearted doctors.

Twenty minutes away from town, a telltale shudder indicated that the SUV had a tire issue. He pulled off at a scenic overlook and changed the tire without incident, though the frigid night air soaked into everyone’s bones. By the time they arrived home, it was time for baths and bed. Thank goodness.

“Less than twelve hours to go,” he muttered once the bedtime ordeal was done and he went to chase the lingering
chill away with a hot shower, only to discover that Misty had drained the tank yet again. As he pulled his clothes back on, he recalled the hot mineral springs located beyond the estate’s rose garden and tennis court.

Well now, he thought, a smile playing on his lips. The little kids were asleep. Misty was reading. He could slip out for a soak with a glass of scotch and a cigar, and he wouldn’t be shirking his duty one little bit. Or breaking the promise he’d made to Amy not to smoke or drink or do drugs in front of the kids. Not that he ever did drugs, and he smoked cigars only on rare occasions—and as a rule, he drank far less than had the little monsters’ mother.

But after the day he’d had, he deserved a little indulgence.

He called up to the resort’s main house and ordered both his drink and his smoke to be delivered to the hot springs, then changed into the swimsuit and heavy robe the spa provided. He checked on the kids one last time, and headed outdoors.

The cold night air was still; the estate grounds quiet. While he wasn’t the only guest at Angel’s Rest right now, this was definitely the off-season. He did hear a curious thumping sound he couldn’t place, and it got louder as he made his way through the bare winter rose garden.

He didn’t hear the voice until the tennis court came into sight. Spying movement, he stopped abruptly and tried to process what he was seeing. Somebody was playing tennis by moonlight in the frigid cold? Yes, alone. Using a ball machine.

“Okay, this is just weird,” he murmured.

Then he heard the voice. A familiar voice. One filled with anger and frustration and pain. “Idiot kids!”
Whack
. “Stupid snowmobile!”
Whack
. “Fudge monkey possum sucking tree branch!”
Whack. Whack. Whack
.

Cicero’s chin dropped as he realized he was watching the doctor beat the absolute hell out of tennis balls while
screeching a curse he didn’t think he’d ever heard before. And he knew a lot of sailors.

She held the racket with clenched fingers gone white with the pressure of her grip. Tears streamed down her face. Her voice vibrated with fury—and grief.

He watched her for a few more minutes until the icy winter air chased him to the hot springs, where he discovered his drink and cigar waiting for him. He settled into the water with a sigh of contentment and reflected upon the scene he’d just witnessed.

Maybe Dr. Delicious wasn’t as coldhearted as she’d let on
.

“Come on in out of the cold,” Shannon O’Toole said when Rose stepped into Murphy’s Pub. “It’s miserable out there. I’m beginning to think winter will never end.”

“That’s always how I feel in February.” Rose pulled off her hat and gloves, then unzipped her jacket and slipped it off. She hung it on the coat rack beside the door and approached the bar. “I’m tired of the snow, tired of the cold, tired of winter gray.”

Tired of death
.

She glanced around the empty bar. “Where is everyone?”

“Poker game at the barber shop.” Knowing her customer, Shannon set a wineglass on the century-old polished mahogany bar. “Zin or cab tonight?” she asked.

“Neither. It’s a vodka martini night. Dirty, with extra olives.”

Shannon’s brows arched with an unvoiced question.

“Nathan Oldham’s funeral was this afternoon,” Rose explained.

“Of course.” Shannon’s caramel-colored eyes softened with sympathy as she began to mix the cocktail. “I heard St. Stephen’s was packed to the rafters.”

Rose pictured the church pews packed with students wearing letter jackets. “Yes. The Oldhams are well liked
in town, and all of Nathan’s classmates and their families attended. Lucca Romano coached him in basketball, and he gave a very moving eulogy. Eternity Springs will grieve this loss for some time.”

Shannon gave a stainless steel cocktail mixer a shake, then poured Rose’s drink into a martini glass. “And what about you? How are you doing?”

“I’m fine,” Rose responded automatically. When Shannon pinned her with a doubting look, she admitted, “Okay, I’m a mess.”

It was true. All her training and experience had seemed to fail her in the past three days. She burst into tears at the slightest provocation. She had trouble getting to sleep, and once she finally did drift off, she had the most horrible nightmares.

Shannon threaded olives onto a toothpick, dropped the garnish into the martini, then set the glass in front of Rose.

“I’m sorry. Want to talk about it?”

“Not really. Thanks, though.” Rose took a sip of her drink, then closed her eyes and savored. “Talk to me about something else. Anything else.”

“Okay, then. Want to hear our latest remodel woes?”

“Absolutely.”

Shannon had moved to Eternity Springs last year after inheriting Murphy’s Pub from a distant relative. She lived in a darling little dollhouse of a Victorian—a real fixer-upper—over on Pinion Street, and she was doing much of the work herself.

Her past was a bit of a mystery. She managed to charmingly thwart the town busybodies every time they pressed her for details. Rose was curious herself, but she didn’t pry. She liked Shannon a lot, and the two of them had become friends. Shannon would share her past when she wanted to talk about it—or not. People were
entitled to their secrets. Heaven knows, Rose had secrets of her own.

“—dry rot. It’s not something I can do, and it’s going to take an extra ten thousand for the repair.”

“Oh, Shannon. That’s terrible. I’m so sorry.”

“Thanks. My piggy bank is starting to oink in pain.”

“Well, the house is going to be lovely once it’s finished. You’ll turn a nice profit when you flip it to summer tourists.”

“Like they say, from your mouth to God’s ears. Of course,” she added, her expression going sly, “I’d be remiss not to mention that it would make a lovely home for a physician, too.”

“I’m not buying your house, Shannon. I have a cushy deal at Angel’s Rest, and I love my garret apartment.”

“See, I have an ulterior motive. If you’d buy my house, then the apartment would be empty, and I could rent it. I’d love living there, and I could finish my own novel.”

When Celeste first introduced the two women, Shannon had confessed to having a secret desire to write a mystery. Rose had encouraged her, and the shared interest had created a bond between them. “Speaking of writing, will you have new pages for me to critique this week?”

“I will. I murdered two people.”

“You go, girl.”

“What about you?”

Rose shook her head, then took another sip of her martini. “Nothing so far. I haven’t been able to concentrate.”

Her thoughts drifted back to the funeral and her dark mood returned. The alcohol had loosened her tongue just enough to allow her to admit, “This one hurts as much as any I can remember.”

The kindness in Shannon’s eyes almost undid her.
“For a former army doctor during wartime, that says a lot.”

“War is different. It’s …” She searched for the right words to express the emotions inside her. “It’s death and maiming and never an easy thing to accept. But I’ve had it cushy since moving to Eternity Springs. No IED shrapnel or suicide-bomber fallout to deal with, no battle wounds. Even accidental deaths here have been rare. And I’ve never lost a sixteen-year-old on the operating table just a week after I watched him play high school basketball. I’ve never had to tell his mother that her son was dead. It sucks, Shannon. Especially since I ask myself if I could have saved him if I’d only had better equipment or more knowledge or more skill. I’ll never know. It’s impossible to know such things. But the questions haunt me.”

“Rose, you can’t do that to yourself. You did your best. That’s all anyone can ask or expect. Doctors aren’t gods.”

“Far from it. We’re human. Fallible, flawed, imperfect, human beings. That’s why our malpractice insurance is so high.”

“Nah,” Shannon drawled. “For that, let’s blame those who are truly responsible—the bloodsucking lawyers. Not the good ones like Mac Timberlake, mind you. I’m talking the real ticks.”

Rose’s mouth twisted in a rueful grin as she silently toasted the sentiment. Upon finishing her drink, she signaled for another. She seldom drank hard liquor and rarely more than one, but she wasn’t on call tonight. If she needed a crutch to get through the end of this horrible day, then so be it. She wasn’t hurting anyone. She’d walked to Murphy’s, and she’d walk back home. A little self-destructive behavior upon a rare occasion wasn’t the end of the world. She wasn’t going out on the prowl,
planning to hook up for some indiscriminate, unprotected sex.

More’s the pity
.

A cold wind blew into the pub when the front door opened and a figure stepped inside. Not just any figure, either, she saw as she glanced over her shoulder, but the fire-breathing dragon himself.
Play your cards right, and maybe sex wouldn’t be out of the question
.

Rose snorted at her own foolishness while Shannon greeted the newcomer with a friendly smile. “Hello. You’re Gabi Romano’s friend, Cicero, aren’t you?”