Kate had blinked at that senseless statement a couple of times and Tayla wiggled her eyebrows.
“I met her,” Melissa said. “Cute little woman. Gray hair and blue eyes—and dripping gold jewelry. Tell her all about our pretty town and how your boyfriend can remodel the house any way she wants it done.”
Kate knew she was prying about Jack. “Gil is not my boyfriend.”
Tayla gave a little guffaw of laughter at the way Kate had deflected Melissa’s gibe.
Kate had picked up her paper-filled tote bag—Prada, borrowed from Aunt Sara—and easily found the house. It was a two-thousand-square-foot, three-bed, two-and-a-half-bath that needed updating. She paused in front of the house for a moment. The shrubs were scraggly and sparse. There were bare areas in the grass. She’d have to sell it with the name of a good landscaper.
When she saw that the front door was ajar, she frowned. It had a Realtor’s lockbox on it and she was supposed to open it with a code.
Cautiously, she pushed open the door. Ever since she’d found Dan Bruebaker hanging, she’d developed a fear of what was behind slightly open doors. “Hello?”
Around the corner came a tall woman with hair too black to be natural, sun-darkened skin, and, as Melissa had said, dripping gold jewelry. But she wasn’t little, cute or gray.
“Hi,” she said. “I’m Barbara Richardson.”
Even in those few words, her Southern accent was heavy.
“I bet you were expecting my sister-in-law, Charlotte. We married brothers, and since their passing, she and I tend to do things together.”
Kate shook the woman’s hand. It was a very firm grip. “I’m Kate Medlar. Did someone let you in?”
“A young man. Tall, brown hair. Not to be unkind, but his nose is a bit too big for his face.”
Kate relaxed her shoulders. “Larry. He works in my office. I wonder why he didn’t say something.”
“Honey,” Mrs. Richardson drawled, “if you want me to explain men, I haven’t lived long enough.” She slipped her arm through Kate’s. “I brought some of my rose-petal tea from home and I want you to try it.”
The woman was overly friendly in a way that Kate didn’t like. “I don’t think—”
“I won’t hear a no.”
Kate walked with her into the kitchen. Set up on the counter was a flowered teapot, two cups and saucers, a milk pitcher and a sugar pot. “How pretty.”
“We do have some lovely traditions in our hometown.” She poured the cups full of tea. “Milk? Sugar?”
“No, thank you. This is fine.” Kate sipped. The tea was delicious. Fragrant and hot.
Mrs. Richardson started to drink, then put down her cup and picked up her Louis Vuitton bag. “Oh, dear. I’ve misplaced my sugar tablets. I must have left them in my car. I’ll just be a moment. Go ahead and enjoy your tea.”
Kate finished the cup, then poured herself another one. It really was extraordinarily good. Just as she heard a door open, she felt a bit dizzy. The house was unfurnished but there was a deep windowsill. She sat down on it, her hand to her forehead.
“Oh, no!” Mrs. Richardson said. “You look awful. But I know that look. You’re expecting a baby, aren’t you?”
“No, I’m not. I just...” The room seemed to be going around and around.
“You can’t fool me. I know the signs. We better get you to your doctor. Who is your obstetrician?”
“I’m not—” Kate began but couldn’t finish. When she tried to get up, Mrs. Richardson put her arm around Kate’s shoulders and helped her stand.
For all that she looked older, Kate thought she certainly felt strong. She leaned on the woman as they walked toward the kitchen door. “Don’t have a doctor.”
“That is too bad. I’ll just take you to mine. My car is in the garage.”
“Larry shouldn’t...done that.” Kate’s words were slurred. Even to herself she sounded drunk.
Mrs. Richardson’s black Mercedes was in the warm, dark garage and Kate gratefully slumped onto the tan leather seats. Instantly, she closed her eyes.