Читать книгу A Dad For Charlie - Anna Stewart J. - Страница 12

CHAPTER FOUR

PAIGE CLICKED OPEN the latch of Mrs. Hastings’s garden gate and steered her bike to the side of the porch. Lifting the box of fresh-baked scones out of the handlebar basket, her contribution to the weekly tea she and the elderly woman shared, Paige turned toward the front door as it flew open.

“Fletch.” Paige couldn’t keep the surprise out of her voice at the sight of the uniformed deputy. “What are you doing—” The question died on her lips as she registered the concern on his angular face. “What’s wrong?”

“Paige.” She couldn’t remember hearing her name said with such relief before. “Would you stay with her while I call for an ambulance? Her phone’s not working and I forgot my cell in the—”

“Told you once, I have no need for an ambulance, Fletcher Bradley.” The strained, familiar aged voice echoed from inside the house over the shrill whistle of the teakettle. “If I’d known you’d go all busybody on me, I’d have told you to forget those new locks and send you on your way.”

“I’m a deputy,” Fletch called over his shoulder. “Busybody is in the job description.”

“What’s going on?” Paige planted her hand on Fletch’s chest and pushed past him. She found eighty-four-year-old Celeste Hastings sitting in her antique rocking chair, a shaky hand pressed against her chest, eyes closed. She wore one of her usual floral high-neck dresses, her silver-threaded dark hair pulled back from her face in much the way Paige figured she’d worn it when she’d been the elementary and then high school principal.

“She said she feels dizzy,” Fletch said from behind her as Paige set her box down on the wooden coffee table that had been made by Mrs. Hastings’s late husband. “She was definitely wobbly.”

“She can speak for herself.” Mrs. Hastings dragged her eyes open wide enough for Paige to see the slight glaze. “I was getting our tea ready and felt a bit faint.” She aimed to pat the back of Paige’s hand but missed by inches. “The water’s hot.”

“So I hear.” Paige motioned for Fletch to turn off the stove before she focused on her neighbor. “Mrs. Hastings, have you been taking your medication?” Paige shifted to one knee and angled her fingers around so she could feel the old woman’s pulse. Fast and thready. Her skin was clammy, but not overly so.

“I keep forgetting,” Mrs. Hastings grumbled. “Darned pills are a nuisance. Too many of them. Makes me feel like one of those candy dispensers at the grocery store.”

“We talked about this, remember?” Paige scanned the room looking for the container of medication bottles Mrs. Hastings had insisted on maintaining herself. “Taking them on and off only makes you feel worse. Now, I’m going to get your kit and we’re going to test your blood. Then we’ll decide if you’re going to the hospital or not.”

When Mrs. Hastings nodded and closed her eyes again, Paige hurried into the kitchen and pulled open the cabinet over the sink. “Do you know if she passed out?” she asked Fletch.

“Not while I’ve been here. She seemed fine when she answered the door, then started to sway. I helped her to her chair.”

“Deputy Hero,” Paige said with a smile as she scanned the medication bottles. “A fall would have made matters worse. You probably got here just in time.” She found the daily pill organizers she’d purchased last week still in their packaging.

“Looks like you know what you’re doing,” Fletch said. “What’s wrong with her?”

“Diabetes,” Paige murmured. “And she has some blood pressure issues.” Neither of which were helped by missed dosages.

“I can hear every word you’re saying!” Mrs. Hastings called weakly.

“I’m sure you can. Where’s your testing kit, Mrs. Hastings?” Paige asked.

“By my bed,” was the response after a long sigh. “Darn thing makes my fingers hurt, and I can’t crochet with hurt fingers. I’ve got blankets to make for the holiday bazaar. No time for aches and pains.”

“I’ll get it.” Fletch disappeared out the second kitchen door and into the back bedroom.

“Nice young man,” Mrs. Hastings told Paige as she pulled up a chair beside the older woman. “Always been a good boy, that Fletcher Bradley. Took good care of his sister growing up. And his grandpa. He’ll make some young woman a nice husband.”

“I’m sure he will.” Paige hoped Mrs. Hastings kept her eyes closed long enough so as not to see the blush in Paige’s cheeks. The last thing she needed was for someone—especially this someone—playing matchmaker. “I thought we had a deal. I come for tea once a week and you take your medicine.”

“I’m an old woman. I forget things.”

“Old I’ll give you, but your memory is just fine.” Paige opened one of the bottles and dumped the pills into her palm. A quick count had her own heart jumping double time. Frustration bubbled in Paige’s blood. Mrs. Hastings hadn’t taken her pills in almost a week.

“Here.” Fletch approached from behind, handing the black bag over. Paige quickly opened it, readied the apparatus and clicked the springed needle against the side of Mrs. Hastings’s thumb.

“Ow.” Mrs. Hastings jumped, her brows drawing together.

“You’ve been testing on the pads of your fingers again.” Paige examined the faded black-and-blue marks. “You’re supposed to test on the sides so it won’t hurt after.” She may as well have been talking to herself given the thinning of Mrs. Hastings’s lips. When the readout blinked fifty, Paige’s training kicked in. “Fletch, see if there’s any orange juice in the fridge, please. If not, a soda or anything with high sugar in it.”

“Yeah.”

What Paige wouldn’t give for a stethoscope or blood pressure cuff. She reached for the old woman’s hand and took her pulse again, counting down the unending seconds until she felt a steadier beat.

“Here.” Fletch handed her a glass of orange juice. “Should I call the ambulance?”

“That depends.” Paige urged Mrs. Hastings to drink. “Let’s give this a few minutes and see how she feels. Okay? Nice and slow. There you go.” She smoothed Mrs. Hastings’s hair back from her face.

Mrs. Hastings nodded, her trembling hands taking the glass from Paige as she did as she was told.

Paige set the medications out on the table and filled the organizer, something she should have done in the first place.

“Your hovering isn’t going to make me feel any better, young man,” Mrs. Hastings said in a stronger tone. “You go fix my locks like you said you would.”

“Ma’am.” Fletch nodded but stepped back to look at Paige, who added her own gesture of encouragement as the concern melted from his gaze.

“I’ll call if we need you.” Paige pulled Mrs. Hastings’s free hand toward her and dropped today’s pills into her wrinkled palm. “Take them, please.”

“Don’t need a babysitter.”

“Apparently you do,” Paige said with a forced lightness of tone. Dealing with elderly patients took care and patience. Fighting them did no good and often created more problems than solutions. “I think you did this just to get me back here more frequently.”

Mrs. Hastings smirked, opened her now-clear eyes. “You have enough on your plate without worrying about an old woman.”

“I’m not worrying about an old woman—I’m worrying about my friend. Besides, Charlie would never forgive me if something happened to you. She loves coming here. Now take them, please.” She watched, satisfied when Mrs. Hastings followed instructions. “I’m going to go into the kitchen to finish fixing our tea. And if you’re feeling better in a few minutes, I’ll bring you one of the blueberry scones Charlie helped me bake yesterday.”

“Would be nice to see your Charlie again. You’re a good girl, Paige.” Mrs. Hastings caught hold of her hand as Paige got up. “I’m sorry to be such a bother.”

“You’re nothing of the sort. Now, you just rest and I’ll be back in a bit.” Paige returned to the kitchen and turned the kettle back on, sparing a glance over her shoulder to Fletch as he replaced the dead bolt on the back door. “It’s a good thing you were here.”

“Looks like.” Fletch shook his head. “Reminds me of my grandfather. They can seem so...”

“Fragile.” Paige nodded. “Yeah, I know.”

“You were very good with her.”

“I’ve had some experience with patie—um, situations like hers.” Paige bit the inside of her cheek and reminded herself to choose her words more carefully. “An elderly neighbor, where we lived before, had similar issues. Charlie and I used to check on her.” Had it really been over a year since she’d seen or spoken to Mrs. Brennan? Paige could only hope one of her grandchildren had stepped up to oversee her care.

“I think that’s the first time I’ve heard you talk about your past.” Fletch angled his screwdriver differently to pop the old lock off. “So much for my theory you and Charlie sprung out of someone’s flower bed.”

“I’m not one to dwell on what happened before.” Paige’s heart jumped in her chest. She spent most of her down hours doing just that. Could she be around the man for more than five minutes without lying? “How are you doing, Mrs. Hastings?” she called over her shoulder.

“I’m not feeling fragile, if that’s what you’re worrying about.”

Paige chuckled. Yeah, Mrs. Hastings wouldn’t be needing a ride to the hospital today.

“Fletch, I expect you to stay for tea once you’re done with those locks,” Mrs. Hastings called.

Fletch’s cheeks went red. “Yes, ma’am.”

“I’m not sure I’ve ever seen this side of you before.” Nor had Paige ever seen him look so uncomfortable or out of his element. She found it more charming than she expected.

“Once my high school principal, always my high school principal.” He bent down to retrieve the new lock and screw it into place. “I swear, I step foot inside this house and I’m a teenager again.”

Paige poured the hot water into the teapot to warm it before brewing—a lesson she’d received on her first visit a few months before. “It’s a nice problem to have.” She rose up on her toes to look out into the overgrown yard and spotted a collection of tools resting against the side of the house she didn’t remember seeing before. “Mrs. Hastings, have you been doing yard work?”

“Isn’t going to get done on its own. Stop snooping on me.”

Fletch leaned out the back door for a quick look, then shook his head.

“I hate weeds!” Mrs. Hastings announced.

“Right. Weed hater. Adding that to the list.” Paige pulled out her phone and tapped open her calendar, looking through for a spare few hours. “I get off from the diner early on Thursday, Mrs. Hastings. I can bring you an early dinner if you’d like.” And while she was there she could tackle some of that yard work.

“I don’t want to be a bother,” Mrs. Hastings repeated after a long hesitation.

“If it were a bother, I wouldn’t offer.” Paige added it to her schedule, avoiding Fletch’s curious look.

“I do like Ursula’s club sandwich,” came Mrs. Hastings’s reply.

“Who doesn’t?” Fletch said as he closed up, tested and locked the back door. “One down, two to go. Hold that tea for me, will you? I’ll just do the shed and then the front door.”

“Sure, yeah, okay.” Paige watched him trudge through the overgrown grass and weeds on his way to the rusted-out storage shed in the backyard as she pulled out a third dainty flower-painted teacup and arranged it on the tray beside the other two. “Deputy Fletcher does tea. Who knew?”

* * *

“I APPRECIATE YOU not bringing up Jasper or the break-ins while we were in there,” Fletch said a little over an hour later as he and Paige walked down Mrs. Hastings’s front steps. “She’s already worked up enough reading about them in the paper.”

“A lot of people are.” Paige retrieved her bike and walked beside him. “I hear plenty of them talking about it at the diner. I don’t suppose you’ve changed your mind about Jasper.”

“Contrary to what you might think, and the fact we did find evidence of his presence at one of the houses, I haven’t declared him guilty, Paige. But I would like to find him and talk to him.” Fletcher glanced at her. “Don’t suppose you have any idea where he might be.”

“No.” She visibly swallowed and flinched. “Why would I know?”

Why would she, indeed? But it was clear she was hiding something. “I’m going to take another walk through the houses, check over the notes again. See if there might be something else we missed the first time.”

“Well, that’s something, I suppose. You made Mrs. Hastings happy, staying for tea.”

“I try to make everyone happy.” Fletch hid his disappointment at not being given more credit for taking her suggestion and looking for answers beyond Jasper. “You really were good with her. Put her at ease, got her numbers stable.” With her blood sugar level, they’d gotten their charge settled in her room, an afternoon talk show on the TV, her latest crocheting project across her lap and a fresh-brewed pot of tea on the table beside her. “Am I wrong in thinking there’s more to your story than an old neighbor with similar issues?”

“If I tell you will you let me help you with Jasper?”

He chuckled. “No.”

Paige glared at him, and when he glanced down, he saw her knuckles whiten around the handles of her bike. “Huh. Well, you’re honest at least.” She swung a leg over the bar, but Fletch darted out in front, grabbed hold of the bike and kept her in place. She arched a challenging brow at him. “Mind telling me what all this new determination about the case is about? Why can’t it wait until Luke gets back?”

“Because it can’t.” Fletch clenched his jaw. He should just tell her the truth, that he needed to get his case closed if Luke was going to keep his job, but that would just open up a whole other avenue of questions...and probably send Paige down the warpath to City Hall.

Not even Mayor Gil Hamilton deserved to be on Paige Cooper’s hit list.

“How about you tell me how you first started having tea with Mrs. Hastings?” If he couldn’t get her to open up the direct way, he was happy to take the long way around.

Paige planted her backside on the seat, her feet on the ground, and looked at him. Before she turned to gaze at the house across from Mrs. Hastings. “She caught me daydreaming in the yard over there.”

“I wouldn’t have thought you left much time for daydreaming. What do you dream about, exactly?”

“A lot of things. But mainly this house.” Paige climbed off and tugged the bike from his grasp. She walked over to the sidewalk where a faded For Sale sign peeked out of a substantial growth of wildflowers blanketing the front yard of the bright yellow Tudor-style cottage. A weathered white trellis stretched up one side of the exterior and cascaded over with explosive red geranium blooms determined to see the end of summer in full glory.

“The day Charlie and I arrived, we took a walk up this way,” Paige told him. “We were staying at the Chrysalis Motel at the time.”

“I remember.” Not the nicest motel in the area; but not the worst. “You made quite the impression helping Holly the way you did in the diner.” There wasn’t a lot Fletch didn’t know about Paige’s time in town since she and Charlie had arrived. But before? That was another story.

“Charlie fell in love with this house from the get-go.” Paige tucked an imaginary loose strand of hair behind her ear and glanced up then down the street accented by an occasional parked car. “Once Holly hired me I started coming here on my lunch break. I’d just sit in the yard and listen to the silence.”

“And the occasional seagull.” Fletch glanced up as a pair of the feathered creatures squawked and circled overhead.

Paige smiled and followed his gaze. “I love that sound. Everything’s so peaceful here. Like a sanctuary.”

It wasn’t often Fletch saw Paige in calm mode. She was always buzzing around town, doing something somewhere, never stopping long enough to take a substantial breath. But here? In front of this particular house she seemed to relax. And breathe. “So Butterfly Cottage caught your attention, did it?”

“Hmm.” She pushed through the wooden gate and stood among the flora and fauna, looking as at home as a fairy in her garden. “That’s what Mrs. Hastings called it, as well. I take it the name comes from the window over the front door?”

“It does indeed.” Fletch had always loved the stained glass depicting a pair of brilliant monarch butterflies settling onto their eucalyptus branch. Almost as much as he liked the hand-carved door beneath it. His cell phone vibrated on his hip. He reached down, checked the message. Great. Another reported break-in. This time Everett White had called in to say his toolshed had been the target. Fletch mentally readjusted the next few hours of his day. “It’s one of my favorite houses, too, actually,” he admitted. “Is that what brings you back here? The window?”

“No. The For Sale sign.” The second she said it he heard the regret, saw the way she bit her lip and looked away from him, closing her eyes against the sun. “I just like to know it’s still available.”

So much for him thinking Butterfly Harbor was a pit stop for her and Charlie. “You thinking of buying?”

“No.” Her admission had the hope inflating inside him bursting like a bubble. “That would mean staying here permanently, and I’m not sure that’s in the cards for us.”

Paige confirming his suspicion only increased his disappointment. “But if you were to stay, this is the one you’d want.”

“Yes.” That she said it with a frown made him wonder if she’d thought about staying more than she was letting on.

“Because Charlie loves it?”

Ah, the frown vanished, replaced with that familiar heart-clenching smile of hers. “Because Charlie loves it. Speaking of Charlie, she said Luke gave her permission to walk Cash. I hope that’s okay with you. I don’t want her getting in the way of your...investigation.”

“Charlie is welcome at the station anytime,” Fletch told her. “If her mom doesn’t mind.”

“Even if I did I couldn’t stop her. She’s very fond of you, Deputy.” And didn’t Paige look positively thrilled at that idea.

“Fletch. And I’m pretty fond of her, too.”

“We aren’t staying,” Paige said, and he could tell by her expression she hadn’t meant to. “There will come a time we have to move on. So, I’d appreciate it if you didn’t let her get too attached to...Cash.”

Fletcher didn’t miss a beat. “Consider... Cash...forewarned. Unless he can convince you otherwise. If it helps, I don’t think you have a lot to worry about with this place being sold. The original owner’s family has a say over who buys it. They want the right tenant, someone who will appreciate it as is. They won’t sell it to just anyone.”

“Why would anyone want to change it?” The wonder in her voice brought another smile to his face. “She’s perfect.”

“Yes, she is.” But Fletch wasn’t looking at the house. He was looking at her.

And closely enough to see the rise of pink in her cheeks before she locked down her face in that detached expression of hers that seemed specifically reserved for him. She returned to her bike, climbed on and looked at him over her shoulder. “I’m on my way to Nina and Willa’s to look in on them. Is there anything you’d like me to ask them in particular?”

“Nice try.” He recognized her baiting technique and refused to bite. “But give them my best. I know where to find them. And you, if I have any questions.”

“I still think you’re looking for something that isn’t there.”

“Maybe. Maybe not.” Fletch could almost see the wall going up between them.