“But why?”
He shrugged, and said, “I don’t think it has much to do with his being murdered. So, it’s not important.” Before I could ask anything else, he said, “I thought you said you’re done with this.”
“I am.”
“Then why are you still standing here?”
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
None of it really mattered. It didn’t matter that we’d probably never find out who killed Reverend Hessel (I hadn’t much confidence in Detective Lehmann). And it didn’t matter that I didn’t have enough money to get home. The important thing was… I was dating a doctor. Or rather, I WAS DATING A DOCTOR!
Yes, there was a part of me, a big part, that wished I could say I was dating a doctor as in Beverly-Hills-plastic-surgeon, but I couldn’t. I had to deal with reality.And, just because I was dating a small-town trauma doctor didn’t mean he wouldn’t be willing to move across the country and change his specialty. C’mon, stranger things have happened.
Anyway, when I returned to Dr. Blinski’s office, Nana Cole was standing on the sidewalk. She no longer had a walker. Instead, she was sporting a very sturdy looking metal cane with four prongs at the bottom for balance. As soon as she saw me, she wobbled across the grass to the curb.
I jumped out of the SUV and ran around to help her in. After I opened the passenger door, I attempted to help guide her, but she slapped my hands away. I stood back, crossed my armsacross my chest, and watched as she ungracefully wrenched her way into the vehicle.
Shaking my head, I walked around the SUV and got in. As I pulled away from the curb, I asked, “Is it safe to leave you alone?”
“Yes, Dr. Blinski said it was safe to leave me alone. Not more than eight hours. You can go back to work now.”
That part was not exciting. I didn’t have much interest in tromping around people’s back forty. Yeah, I know, I had to do something with my life. And since I wasn’t exactly sure what that thing was, I might as well do this. Except, I already knew I didn’t want to work for the Conservancy forever. Or even another month.
When we reached the end of the driveway I turned off the Escalade, and said, “Wait until I get around to that side before you—”
“Let’s just sit for a minute.”
“Huh?”
It was awfully quiet. Even for Masons Bay. Finally, she said, “Do you know how many generations of our family have lived on this farm?”
“Not a clue,” I said, truthfully.
“Your mother never talked about it?”
The only thing she ever said about the farm was how much she hated it.
“Well, we’ve been here six generations.”
“You mean, my family. It was Grampa Cole’s farm.”
“No, it came to me. My grandfather was the first Scheck. I think his family was here for a while. He came from back East at the end of the Great Land Rush. Around the time the county was founded. There was a lot of land then.”
There was still a lot of land, but okay.
“We grew corn before the Civil War, but then planted orchards around the turn of the century. She meant the last century, not the recent one.
“Does this story have a point?” I asked.
“You don’t feel any connection?”
“No.”
For a moment, she looked like she’d just taken a punch. Then, ignoring my request, she opened the passenger door.
“Wait,” I snapped, jumping out. I ran around the Escalade to find her clutching the door with her cane on the ground. I picked up the cane, set it where she could reach it and then peeled her off the door.
Watching her every step, I walked her over to the back door. As we went, I said, “You really need to learn patience.”
