The older woman’s wrinkled forehead was furrowed as Mason glanced at her.
“You think that man hurt her? And not Bruce? I feel awful blaming him if he really didn’t do anything, but I know what I heard that one day on the phone, and I just put that together with everything else and drew my own conclusion. No wonder she was so upset with me for maligning him.”
“You weren’t the only one who suspected him,” Mason pointed out. There’d been valid reason to suspect his brother. That reminder was one he needed.
“So you think this other guy did it? I mean, like I said, I think she really fell off the stepladder, but you said the breaks in her arm weren’t consistent with that…and the bruises on her face… So it must be this guy.”
“It’s possible.”
“I should’ve asked her about him. I probably didn’t do enough…”
“You did fine,” Mason assured her. “Great. It’s my job to take care of the criminal situation. She needs you just to be her friend. If she tells you something, then by all means, I hope you’ll help us by sharing it, but if she doesn’t, that’s okay, too.”
He wasn’t as desperate for Gram’s confession anymore. He expected to get one from the abuser himself that afternoon. Much better than Gram having to testify.
They’d quietly take care of Guthrie, make certain he never had the chance to hurt Gram again, and Gram could move home and resume her old life.
“I asked her to come back to the choral group when she gets home,” Grace said.
“Did she say she would?”
Grace shook her head. “She said she didn’t want to tire herself out. That she had a lot to take care of at home.”
He glanced her way. Saw her frown. He wished Gram’s answer had been different, but thought it might take time to get her confidence back.
“I wonder if maybe I pushed her too hard there. We’re in the second half of our seventies, heading toward eighty. I do my housekeeping, but not like I used to. I don’t have anyone else to clean up after or cook for, and I still tire more easily than I used to. Stands to reason that keeping house for someone else, doing all the cooking… She’s probably too tired to handle a full social schedule, too.”
He didn’t like the sound of that any better. He thought of the dirty dishes in the kitchen of Gram’s house when he’d gone there to investigate. Bruce’s things strewn all over.
He thought of his daughter in that house, thinking Bruce was her father.
“Then I guess it’s time my brother learned how to do some of his own housework,” he said, focusing on keeping his voice even. “Not enough to make her feel less useful, but enough to give her time to spend time on other endeavors, as well.”
Grace’s expression cleared. She nodded.
Having a plan, Mason felt better.
* * *
IT WAS LATE afternoon when Tasha, who’d been assigned to Miriam for the afternoon shift, summoned Harper, saying Miriam wanted to see her.
Brianna was at the pool with a couple of residents and their kids for another hour. Thinking this was a day for miracles, hoping that Grace’s visit had changed something for Miriam, enabling her to testify regarding her injuries, she left the reports on her desk and hurried across the resort to Miriam’s bungalow.
Tasha smiled at her as she went inside. “She’s alone,” was all she said.
Expecting Miriam to be there to greet her, Harper glanced around the living room and then through what she could see of the bungalow. “Miriam?”
Dressed in blue capris and a matching short-sleeved top, with white sandals, Miriam looked her usual classy, put-together self as she came out of the kitchen, drying her hands on the burgundy towel she held.
“I’d like a word with you,” she said, motioning Harper toward a chair at the dining room table—out of sight of the front window, through which Tasha could see them.
Understanding Miriam’s need for privacy, she joined her, taking a seat. Looked at Miriam’s cast, and then saw the anger in the other woman’s eyes.
Had Mason told her about Brianna? That was unthinkable. He wouldn’t have.
All the way over here, she’d been imagining her phone call to him, letting him know about Miriam’s breakthrough.